Killer Croc lunges forward, a guttural roar tearing from his throat. He's a hulking green mass, all muscle and fury, but Zygarde 10% is simply too quick. The Pokémon sidesteps with an almost casual grace. Its paws barely touch the ground as it moves, a blur of green and black that effortlessly evades every clumsy, powerful swing Croc throws.
From a ridge overlooking the Sanctuary, a small herd of Tauros watches with wide, wary eyes. A solitary Xatu perches on a branch nearby, its gaze unblinking, sensing the immense power radiating from the small guardian.
Zygarde 10% decides it's time to teach this overgrown lizard a lesson. It stomps a single paw onto the earth, a focused tremor spreading through the ground.
WHUMPH!
Bulldoze!
The ground around Croc's massive feet shudders violently. The unstable earth seems to twist and pull at his footing, sapping his speed and making him stumble. He struggles to keep upright, his balance disrupted.
Before Croc can regain his footing, before he can even think about retaliating, Zygarde 10% lunges. Its jaws glow with a dark, crackling energy.
CHOMP!
Bite!
Zygarde 10% sinks its teeth into Croc's shoulder, the sharp fangs tearing through his scaly hide. Croc lets out a surprised bellow of pain, a sound of both injury and frustration. The attack is designed to inflict pain and instill fear, a clear message that 10% controls this terrain and this fight. He is not just fighting a creature; he is fighting the very ground beneath his feet.
Killer Croc snarls, the sharp teeth of Zygarde 10% still embedded in his shoulder. He swings a massive claw, a desperate, wild arc, but the Pokémon is already gone, a green flash in his peripheral vision. Another sharp impact lands on his side. CRUNCH! He stumbles, a growl rumbling in his chest. This isn't a fight; it's a humiliation.
He's Killer Croc in the sewers of Gotham, feared and respected in his own way. Here, he's a clumsy, oversized toy for this zipping green dog. Every move he makes is met with a faster counter, every attack dodged with an almost mocking ease. He feels his formidable strength slowly draining, not from damage, but from the sheer futility of it all. His mind, usually a fortress of brute resolve, starts to splinter. The thought of just giving up, just lying down in this pristine grass, feels both shameful and incredibly tempting.
Zygarde 10% senses the shift in Croc. It pulls back, moving to a small hillock and standing perfectly still. Its hexagonal eyes glow, a green light pulsing with controlled power. The air around it seems to hum with a quiet authority.
Then, a jolt, sharp and unwelcome, slices through Croc's mind. It's a mental command, clear as a bell, forcing its way past his anger and pain.
Glare!
A wave of pure, unadulterated dread washes over Croc, a paralyzing cold that seizes his muscles. His massive body locks up, rooted to the spot, his breath catching in his throat. This isn't just fear; it's a shutdown, a biological override. His body refuses to obey him. A secondary message, chillingly precise, invades his thoughts.
Surrender invites finality.
The meaning is unmistakable: giving up won't earn him mercy; it will only invite a more permanent end. Croc wanted to quit, to escape this ridiculous battle, but now he's trapped. His eyes dart around, searching for an exit, but his body won't move. He's a statue of terror, frozen in place by an invisible force.
The paralysis was absolute. Croc couldn't even twitch a muscle, let alone lash out. His mind screamed, a raw, primal terror that he hadn't felt since he was a child, locked in a cage, while cruel eyes peered at him. He was completely helpless, forced to stare into the glowing, emotionless eyes of Zygarde 10%. It was an executioner, silent and precise. The threat of being crippled or killed if he gave up echoed in his mind, a constant, chilling refrain.
The promise of a secure home, of steady food from Kingpin—it all seemed so foolish now, a paltry exchange for this moment of abject fear. His life hung in the balance, and he realized with sickening clarity the monumental mistake he had made. He had walked into something far beyond his understanding, far beyond any street brawl or hero-villain spat he had ever faced.
Killer Croc felt his body scream in protest. The paralysis still held him, but the primal urge to survive, to flee, tore through the fear. He had to get out, no matter what. With a desperate, animalistic grunt, he forced his massive bulk forward. His muscles tore, tendons protesting, but the sheer will to escape propelled him.
He burst through a dense thicket of thick, thorny bushes. CRACK! Leaves and branches snapped under his reptilian hide, leaving fresh cuts and scrapes. He didn't care. The thick forest beckoned, a desperate hope that the shadows and towering trees could hide him from this relentless green dog. He bolted deeper into the woods, his heavy footsteps thudding against the soft earth. Each panicked heartbeat echoed in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against the overwhelming silence of the Sanctuary. He could smell his own fear, sharp and metallic, on the wind.
A calm, utterly terrifying thought, clear as a bell, entered his mind. It wasn't spoken; it was simply there, an undeniable truth from Zygarde 10%. I feel your every panicked heartbeat. I smell your fear on the wind. There is no hiding here.
There really was no hiding, was there? The realization hit Croc like a physical blow, even as he continued to crash through the undergrowth. This wasn't Gotham's sewers, where he knew every twisted pipe and shadowy nook. This was its territory, the guardian's domain. He was just a trespasser.
Suddenly, Zygarde 10% appeared, a flash of green and black that materialized directly in Croc's path. There was no sound, no warning, just a sudden, unavoidable barrier. Croc slammed into it, a solid, unyielding force. He reeled back, stunned, but the Pokémon was already moving. The lesson was over.
Zygarde 10% launched itself at Croc, a blur of concentrated violence. Its paws connected with brutal force, sending jolts of pain through his body. THWACK! Fangs snapped at his arms and legs, tearing at his thick hide. RIP! Croc bellowed, a roar of pain and outrage, trying to swing his heavy fists, but the attacks were too fast, too precise. He couldn't land a single blow. He couldn't even properly brace himself.
He stumbled back, a fresh wave of impacts slamming into his chest. WHUMP! His legs buckled, and he collapsed onto one knee, then completely to the ground. Zygarde 10% didn't relent. It continued its assault, a relentless flurry of kicks and bites, each one calculated to hurt, to disorient, to utterly break his will.
Croc lay there, battered and bleeding, unable to even stand. His vision swam, a dizzying mix of green foliage and flashing emerald light. He was defeated, thoroughly and completely. There was no more fight left in him, only the ragged sound of his own heavy breathing.
Zygarde 10% coiled, its body a taut spring of raw power. Emerald light gathered in its maw, pulsing with a vibrant, inner fire. The air crackled with barely contained energy.
ROAR!
Dragon Pulse!
A shimmering, draconic blast erupted from the Pokémon, a concussive wave of green energy. It slammed into Croc with the force of a freight train. The attack lifted his massive body clean off the ground, sending him flying backward through the forest. He hit the earth with a sickening THUD, his consciousness shattering on impact. Killer Croc lay there, a broken, unconscious heap amidst the trampled foliage.
Orion, Pikachu, and Latias stepped through the portal. The cheerful buzz of their shopping trip died the moment they saw the shattered doors of Pokémon Home. A cold gust of air blew through the gaping hole, carrying the scent of ozone and something vaguely reptilian. Their happy mood simply vanished.
"Oh, geez," Orion muttered, his voice flat.
Pikachu's ears drooped, a low pika escaping its lips. Latias, in her human form, looked from the broken entrance to Orion, her golden eyes wide with concern.
They hurried inside, their grocery bags clutched tight. The lobby was a mess of debris, but the worst sight lay beyond, in the Sanctuary. There, Zygarde 10% stood calmly, a silent, green sentinel. At its feet, Killer Croc lay sprawled, barely recognizable as a living being, his scaly body battered and unmoving.
"Well," Orion said, sighing deeply, "looks like we missed quite a bit while we were out getting ketchup."
***
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Advance chapters in P@T0n Najicablitz.