Chapter 9: The Culling
The slaughter was swift and absolute. How could ordinary children hope to escape the fury of trained, powerful Pokémon? The arena quickly became a gallery of horrors.
One boy almost reached the safety of the survivors' side, his hand outstretched, a cry for help forming on his lips— yet a blade of air sliced through him, reducing him to gore. Only his severed hand remained, landing at the feet of another child, who promptly screamed and lost control of his bladder.
When the last scream faded, five hundred mutilated corpses were strewn across the floor. Dismembered limbs formed small, grotesque hills, and viscous, crimson blood pooled underfoot.
The five hundred survivors stared, their faces ashen. The sounds of retching filled the air. The stench of blood and human waste was overpowering. A few children simply broke, their minds shattering under the weight of what they had just witnessed. They clutched their heads, screaming hysterically.
"No more! I don't want to be a part of this! Let me go!"
"I want to leave! This is hell!"
"Help me!"
Even Giovanni's face was pale. The scene was more horrific than anything he had ever imagined. He felt a faint tremor from the Poké Ball in his hand, a small vibration of support from his new partner inside. It was enough to ground him.
He took a few quiet steps back, distancing himself from a boy who was screaming and clawing at his own face.
From her platform, Madame Boss calmly took out another Poké Ball. With a flash of light, a golden Alakazam appeared, floating in mid-air. Its aura was immense, radiating a power that felt on par with that of an Elite Four's ace, or perhaps even a Champion's.
"If you cannot handle this," Madame Boss said, her voice cutting through the din, "then you have no place in the trials to come. I have no use for weak-willed trash."
At her command, the Alakazam raised its silver spoons. They began to glow, and a wave of psychic energy washed over the crowd. One by one, the hysterical children floated into the air, their screams silenced as invisible forces constricted their throats.
Then came a series of wet, sickening pops. Bang. Bang. Bang.
A fine, red mist exploded above the crowd, showering those below. Giovanni, despite having moved back, was splattered with warm blood. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, his expression grim, but he held back the nausea.
After the weak-willed had been eliminated, a terrifying silence fell. The remaining survivors, even those on the verge of a breakdown, forced themselves to regain their composure.
The lesson was clear: show any weakness, and you die. Terror had taken root in their hearts with death their constant companion.
The Alakazam's terrifying power also had another effect. For a select few, it didn't just inspire fear; it ignited a burning hunger. A hunger for that same power—the power to control the life and death of others.
Madame Boss gestured to the grunts on the blood-soaked ground. "Clean this up."
"Yes, Boss!" they responded, immediately getting to work.
She then nodded to Miyamoto, who stepped forward once more.
"There have been some... necessary sacrifices," Miyamoto announced, her voice cold and professional. "However, I congratulate the rest of you for surviving the first stage of the selection. You will now have fourteen days of rest. This period will also serve as the second stage. During these fourteen days, infighting is forbidden."
"Later, you will be escorted to collect supplies, register your information, and receive your own Poké Balls."
A collective sigh of relief went through the tense crowd. Musashi, in particular, looked relieved. He had been afraid Giovanni might come for him during the rest period.
He shot a venomous glare across the room. Just you wait,. He thought. As soon as my starter hatches, you're finished.
Giovanni caught his gaze and returned it with a look of pure, undisguised killing intent.
Miyamoto's tone sharpened. "However, you must remember: if any of you are foolish enough to be caught breaking the rules, the only punishment is death.
And one more thing... if your Pokémon has not hatched by the end of these fourteen days..." She pointed a slender finger at the heaps of dismembered bodies still being cleared away. "That will be your end."
The brief moment of relief vanished. The survivors paled, clutching their incubators as if their warmth could speed up the process. Many now looked at Giovanni with emotion: raw, burning jealousy. His Weedle had already hatched. He had passed the second stage without even trying. He was safe.
Seeking to cause trouble, Musashi whispered into the ear of one of his lackeys. The boy, though reluctant, was clearly afraid of his leader. He stepped forward and pointed a trembling finger at Giovanni.
"Ma'am!" he shouted at Miyamoto. "What about him? His Pokémon already hatched! Isn't that unfair to the rest of us?"
Misery loves company. Others immediately chimed in.
"He's right! That wasn't skill, the Pokémon hatched on its own!"
"It's not fair!"
"His qualification should be revoked!"
The sentiment spread. If they could eliminate the dangerous boy who sat on corpses, their own chances of survival would increase. Musashi sneered, eager to see Giovanni taken down a peg.
But Giovanni remained perfectly calm, his expression unreadable, as if he weren't the one being targeted. He knew luck was a part of strength. These children might not understand that, but Madame Boss certainly did.
He simply made a mental note of every face that spoke out against him. While they were all his opponents, he could certainly deal with the most annoying ones first.
Miyamoto frowned at the outburst, but before she could speak, Madame Boss glided forward. She was pleased by Giovanni's composure. That was the mark of a true leader.
"Luck," Madame Boss said, her voice silencing the crowd, "is a component of strength. If any of you possessed his luck, and the egg in your arms hatched right now, then you too would pass the second stage."
She let her gaze sweep over them. "I do not wish to repeat myself. If you wish to dispute my judgment, you had best think very carefully about your next words."
The Alakazam's eyes glowed faintly. The children who had been shouting just moments before fell silent, trying to shrink into themselves.
Giovanni turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Musashi's eye. He met the other boy's twisted, furious expression with a faint, mocking smile and deliberately raised a middle finger.