Night had settled softly over the Ketchum estate.
The ancient forest outside the mansion whispered in the wind, leaves brushing against the tall windows like old friends sharing secrets. Through the glass, moonlight filtered between gnarled branches, casting shifting shadows that danced across the Persian rugs. Inside, the air still buzzed with the warm afterglow of laughter and conversation. The family had just finished dinner—long mahogany tables now scattered with empty plates, sweet crumbs, and half-drunk mugs of spiced cider that had gone lukewarm.
The Sorcerers had left a while after the summoning ceremony had ended.
In the grand sitting room, small clusters of cousins, parents, and their Pokémon lounged across mismatched antique chairs and velvet cushions that had seen generations of use. A low fire crackled steadily in the massive stone hearth, its orange light playing across oil paintings of long-dead ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow the movement in the room. The familiar scents of burning applewood and lingering spices from dinner created a cocoon of comfort and safety.
Ash lay sprawled on the thick burgundy rug, one small arm flung over his eyes, Pikachu curled against his side like a living teddy bear. Both were dozing in that peaceful way that comes after good food and better company. Nearby, Lance sat cross-legged with remarkable poise, quietly brushing Deino's midnight-blue fur with slow, meditative strokes while Iris polished a scuff from Axew's small fin with the focused attention of someone who found peace in caring for others.
Gary had claimed a large armchair and was reading what looked like a textbook about genetics, occasionally glancing up to watch the adults with the sharp intelligence that made everyone forget how young he was. His Squirtle dozed on the chair's arm, occasionally opening one eye to check on its young partner, while Lorelei slept cuddled up with her Seel.
Red and Freya occupied opposite ends of a worn leather sofa, mock-arguing about some old family story—again—their voices carrying the comfortable rhythm of siblings who had perfected the art of disagreement without malice. Grandma Eleanor held court at the card table, her weathered hands moving with surprising speed as she systematically demolished three Elders who definitely should have known better than to challenge her at poker.
The grandfather clock in the corner ticked steadily, its brass pendulum catching firelight with each measured swing. Outside, a barn owl called softly to its mate, the sound muffled by distance and glass. This was the Ketchum estate at its most perfect—three generations gathered in contentment, the weight of the outside world temporarily forgotten. Here, surrounded by family and their Pokémon, the children could almost pretend they were normal.
Then the telephone rang.
The sound cut through the warm atmosphere like a blade through silk. It was an old rotary phone, heavy black Bakelite that belonged to another era, sitting on a carved wooden side table inlaid with protective symbols that seemed to pulse faintly in the firelight. The ring was sharp, insistent, carrying an urgency that made everyone's shoulders tense without quite knowing why.
The room didn't just quiet—it held its breath.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Gary looked up from his book, immediately alert. Even the Pokémon seemed to sense something wrong; Pikachu's ears twitched as he lifted his head, and Deino stopped purring under Lance's brush. The fire continued to crackle, but somehow its warmth felt less certain.
Only one person moved: Elder Thomas, David's uncle and the second-oldest member of the family present. His skin was like worn parchment, mapped with lines that spoke of decades spent making difficult decisions, and his dark eyes held the kind of depth that came from keeping the family's greatest secret safe. He stood slowly, age making the movement deliberate, while his Reuniclus materialized from the shadows—a massive psychic creature whose gelatinous form pulsed with barely contained power.
The children had never seen anything quite like Reuniclus outside their own family. To the rest of the world, such beings were impossibilities, fantasies from Japanese cartoons. But here, in this room, they were as real as the fire in the hearth.
Thomas's hand hovered over the receiver for just a moment, as if he could divine the nature of the call from the vibrations in the air. Then he lifted it to his ear.
"This is Thomas."
His voice was measured, careful. The voice of someone who had learned never to reveal too much too quickly.
The family tried to resume their activities—Red picked up his argument with Freya, Gary returned to his book, cards were shuffled—but there was a false quality to it now, like actors playing their parts while their attention remained fixed on the man by the phone. The very air seemed to thicken with unspoken tension.
Thomas listened.
And listened.
His weathered face remained impassive, but those who knew him best—David, Grandma Eleanor, a few of the older cousins—noticed the subtle signs. The way his free hand curled into a fist. The slight tightening around his eyes. The way Reuniclus began to glow more brightly, psychic energy building like storm clouds.
"When?" Thomas asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The children were all watching now, pretending not to. Ash had sat up completely, some instinct telling him that the safe bubble of family time was about to burst. Gary had set his book aside entirely, his young face serious beyond his years. Lance and Iris exchanged glances, their Pokémon pressing closer.
"I understand," Thomas said finally. "We'll handle this from here."
The conversation in the room had died completely now. Even the fire seemed to burn more quietly. Thomas placed the receiver back in its cradle with infinite care, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment before the storm.
He turned to face the room, and in that turning, everything changed.
"Call the other Elders," he said quietly, but his voice carried to every corner of the large room. "All of them. Now."
Freya was the first to stand, her relaxed posture evaporating like morning mist. "What's happened?"
The question everyone was thinking but afraid to voice.
Thomas's eyes swept the room, taking in each face—the children who still thought their secret world was safe, the teenagers who were old enough to understand danger but young enough to believe they were invincible, the adults who knew exactly how fragile their peace really was.
"It's Andrew," he said.
The name hit the room like a physical blow. Andrew—David's cousin, one of the gentlest souls in the family, a man who worked as a veterinarian in the outside world while secretly caring for injured creatures no one else could heal. Andrew, who had married his childhood sweetheart just two years ago. Andrew, who was supposed to be safe.
David was on his feet before he consciously decided to move. "What about him?"
Thomas didn't flinch from delivering the news, but his voice carried the weight of every difficult conversation he'd ever had to initiate.
"He's missing. Sarah called—his wife. He left early this morning for Manhattan, routine veterinary conference. He was supposed to be back by evening." Thomas paused, and in that pause, everyone could hear their own heartbeats. "She got a distress signal through his ghastly just after noon. Then... silence. Complete void where his presence should be."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Ash didn't fully understand the implications, but he knew something terrible had happened to Uncle Andrew. His small hands clenched into fists, and Pikachu pressed closer, sensing his distress.
Red's hands had clenched too, but with adult understanding. "A psychic void doesn't just happen."
"No," Thomas agreed grimly. "It doesn't. Someone with considerable skill created it. Which means..."
He didn't finish the sentence, mindful of the young ears in the room. But the adults understood the implications. You didn't mask someone's psychic signature unless you knew they had abilities worth hiding. You didn't risk that level of exposure unless you thought you'd caught something valuable.
Grandma Eleanor rose from her chair with the fluid grace of someone who had been protecting this family's secret for decades.
"How long?" she asked.
"Sarah waited four hours before calling, hoping he was just delayed." Thomas's jaw tightened. "So at least six hours, possibly more."
Six hours. Gary's quick mind immediately began calculating distances, transportation methods, possibilities. At eleven, he was already thinking like the strategist he would one day become.
Lance stood slowly, his usual calm cracking to reveal something dangerous underneath. Even at twelve, he had the bearing of someone born to command. "This wasn't random."
"No." Thomas's confirmation carried the finality of a funeral bell. "Andrew was careful, always. He never used his abilities in public, never gave any sign of what he could do. But someone saw something. Suspected something. They took him because they thought he might be... different."
The implications hung in the air like smoke. In a world where mutants were increasingly feared and hunted, someone with Andrew's gentle healing abilities might seem like a prize worth taking. The fact that what he could actually do was far stranger and more wonderful than anything the outside world could imagine made it both better and worse.
Iris had gone very still, the way she did when she was thinking hard about something that scared her. "Will they hurt him?"
The adults exchanged glances over the children's heads. How do you explain to a child that people fear what they don't understand? That there were groups out there who would hurt someone just for being different?
"We won't let them," David said firmly, and there was something in his voice that made even Ash feel a little safer.
Gary spoke up, his young voice carrying an edge that shouldn't have belonged to someone his age. "So what do we do?"
Thomas's Reuniclus pulsed brighter, its psychic energy beginning to reach out through dimensions most humans couldn't perceive. "Mismagius is already searching for traces. Other scouts are being deployed as we speak. We'll find where they've taken him."
"And then?" Freya asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
David stepped forward, and in that moment he looked every inch the head of one of the most unique families in the world. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"Then we get him back." His eyes swept the room, taking in each face—young and old, human and Pokémon. "If someone thinks they can take one of ours because they suspect he's different, they're about to learn exactly how different we really are."
Red moved to stand beside his brother, and suddenly the resemblance between them was unmistakable—not just in features, but in the cold promise of retribution that radiated from both men.
"The entire family mobilizes," Red said quietly. "Every resource, every ally. We find Andrew, and we make sure our family stays safe."
Ash didn't understand all the implications, but he understood that someone had hurt his family. Surrounded by Pokémon that existed nowhere else in the world, he was already learning that being special meant being careful. And that sometimes, it meant being dangerous.
"Can we help?" he asked, his voice small but determined.
Lance nodded seriously, speaking for all the children. "We want to help."
Grandma Eleanor looked at the young faces—Ash with his fierce loyalty and spirit already blazing in his eyes, Gary with his brilliant mind already working on solutions, Iris with her quiet strength, Lance with his natural leadership, and Lorelei with her calm, observant gaze that missed nothing, the stillness before a storm. They were so young, but they were Ketchums. And being a Ketchum meant protecting family, no matter the cost.
"You'll help by staying safe," she said gently. "By being ready if we need you. And by remembering that what makes us different also makes us strong."
Outside, the wind picked up, causing the ancient trees to sway and creak. The cheerful domestic scene of thirty minutes ago felt like something from another lifetime. But if the warmth had fled, it had been replaced by something else—something harder and more dangerous.
The Ketchum family had been keeping their impossible secret for generations. They had survived in a world that would fear them if it knew the truth, had built a life where creatures of legend could exist alongside the mundane reality of homework and grocery shopping and family dinners.
They would survive this too.
And whoever had taken Andrew was about to discover that some families were more than they appeared to be.
***
Mutant Research Facility, Nevada
The cell was silent.
No groaning pipes. No humming lights. Just air—stale, recycled, unnaturally still. Too still.
Andrew Ketchum sat on the edge of the cot, bathed in dim fluorescence. Cuts crisscrossed his brow, his knuckles were split. A small trail of dried blood flaked from the corner of his mouth. He hadn't slept. They'd made sure of that.
He hadn't screamed either.
That part had surprised them.
Behind the mirrored glass, the scientists watched. Guards in black armor stood tense, one of them rubbing the back of his neck like something was watching him. The psychologist had stopped taking notes. No one wanted to admit it aloud—but the man in the cell wasn't breaking.
He was waiting.
Like something had already been set in motion.
A voice crackled overhead from a speaker: clipped, clinical, desperate to retain control.
"You're isolated. Aura readings are suppressed. We've disabled any latent psychic triggers. You're outnumbered. Trapped. You have nothing. Why are you smiling?"
Andrew didn't answer.
He smiled wider.
His hands rested loosely between his knees. Blood had crusted over his wedding ring. He flexed his fingers slowly, like feeling the weight of something gathering.
Another voice—hushed this time—spoke behind the glass.
"He hasn't made contact in hours. Are we sure he—"
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then again—longer this time. Like the building itself took a breath it wasn't supposed to. The temperature dropped.
A metallic creak echoed in the vents. Not from wind.
Not from movement.
From pressure.
Andrew lifted his gaze to the mirror. Direct. Unblinking.
And then he spoke. Low. Even. Without emotion. As if reciting a death sentence written hours ago.
"You opened a door."
No one moved.
"You don't know what you let in."
His eyes glinted—not with Aura, not with fire. But with certainty.
From behind the glass, someone whispered, "Sir… there's something coming up on the outer perimeter. Fast. It's not on sensors—it's just there—"
Alarms didn't go off.
They choked.
A deep hum reverberated through the walls. Then static. Then silence again.
Andrew rose to his feet.
Calm.
Measured.
Inevitable.
He walked to the mirrored glass, step by step, like a man walking toward a grave that had been dug by another's hand.
No threats.
No warnings.
Just a quiet sentence spoken like a curse that had already taken root:
"You shouldn't have touched me."
He stared into the mirror. The glass didn't show his reflection—it showed theirs. Pale. Shaking. One of them backing away from the console. Another crossing themselves.
"You shouldn't have taken me."
A shadow passed behind him—though there was no one else in the cell.
Then another.
Something flickered in the corners of the security monitors.
Figures.
Moving between frames.
Wrong. Warped. Watching.
He pressed one bloodied hand against the glass. Not to intimidate.
To mark it.
"You made a hole," he whispered. "Now they're coming through."
The lights cut out.
The screaming began one room over.
Andrew Ketchum just smiled—and sat back down.
As if he already knew how this would end.
***
The night air outside the mansion was cold—but not the kind of cold you could feel in your skin.
It was the kind that settled into the marrow of your bones.
The kind that made the birds stop singing, the Pokémon stop stirring, and even the firelight from the great hall feel too far away.
Ash stood near the edge of the stone veranda, where the forest met the light. Pikachu was perched on his shoulder, unusually quiet.
The others gathered in hushed groups behind him. Elders. Cousins. Parents. Shadows in motion. Their silhouettes were black against the moonlight, and there was something ancient in the way they moved—silent, fluid, like predators preparing to strike.
Ash didn't know who picked up the phone earlier. One of the Elders, maybe. But the way the joy had drained from the room… he wouldn't forget that. Not ever.
Then a voice broke through the quiet.
"I found him," said someone with a sharp grin.
Ash turned and saw Uncle Brann—another one of David's cousins. His hair was tied back with a leather band, and two Mismagius floated lazily behind him, their eyes like drifting lanterns in fog. Brann's voice had a roughness to it, the kind that came from too many nights of combat and too few of sleep.
He held up a map of light projected with the help of his Zoroark to create illusion, showing a blinking red dot.
"He's in some kind of lab complex—underground. Sealed up real tight. But my girls," he said, gesturing to the ghosts behind him, "found a way in. Idiots used steel-lined floors. Ghost-types just passed right through."
He chuckled darkly.
"Easy mission. One-way in, no way out—for them."
Ash blinked.
He wasn't sure what scared him more: the fact that Uncle Brann said it so casually… or how right it felt.
Then Freya stepped forward. Her coat was already strapped on, her Houndoom walking beside her like a hellhound carved from obsidian.
"Why not bring the kids?" she asked, like she was offering a picnic suggestion. "Let them see how this world really works before it eats them alive. Better they learn it now—with us."
A few murmurs passed through the family like a gust of wind. Some looked uneasy.
Ash glanced at his mother. Annie's lips were tight, her arms folded. She didn't argue.
Then Noah Ketchum—the Elder—spoke. His voice was soft, but it wrapped around the group like iron vines.
"At some point, every child must stop looking to the sky and realize the fire beneath their feet is burning, too."
He looked at the younger cousins—Ash included.
"They'll go. Not to fight. To watch. To remember. To understand that this family does not forget its own."
Ash swallowed. His heart was racing, but not from fear.
From certainty.
He had known his family was strong. But this—this was different.
This was something primal. Bound by blood, yes—but also by rage. And they wore it like armor.
Suddenly, a gust of hot wind swept over the veranda.
Ash turned—
—and saw a silhouette descend from the sky.
Red.
His coat billowed like a stormcloud as his Charizard landed on the stone with a ground-shaking thud, wings still half-extended, embers glowing in its throat.
Red didn't say a word. Just looked around.
And everyone moved.
Bags were slung over shoulders. Pokéballs clicked open and closed. Psychic Pokémon formed teleportation circles with eerie precision, their eyes glowing brighter by the second.
Freya was already pulling on a second glove. "Get ready. We're not waiting for the next sunrise."
Ash felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down and saw Pikachu staring up at him.
They didn't speak.
But in that look, Ash understood.
They were going.
Together.
And somewhere underground, someone who had hurt their family was about to learn—
They hadn't taken a man.
They had taken a Ketchum.
***
They arrived in silence.
The teleportation was instant, but the chill in the air came after. Ash's boots crunched against the frost-laced ground of a clearing, maybe a mile out from the facility—just enough distance for them to plan, and strike hard. The dark trees around them whispered like they knew something was coming.
Red stood at the head of the group, the fire of his Charizard's tail casting an eerie orange glow across his battle-worn cloak. His presence alone quieted the murmurs. Everyone looked to him.
Annie and other 'normal' members of the family remained on the estate. They had already left Aunt Myra, Cousin Lyle, and the others behind at the estate to protect them.
He turned his head slightly. "Brann," he called out.
Uncle Brann, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped forward.
"You're on kid duty," Red continued. "Don't let them wander, and if things go bad, get them out."
Brann gave a short nod, already stepping toward Ash and the others.
Ash stood still beside Gary, Pikachu balanced on his shoulder, silent and alert. Around them, cousins and aunts began releasing their Pokémon—dozens of them, emerging in a whisper of light and shadow. He'd never seen this many Ketchums gathered for a single purpose. And never like this.
A single command from Red, and the air changed.
"Ghost-types. Cloaking perimeter—now."
Dusclops, Mismagius, and Gengar materialized out of the mist, their eyes glowing faintly as they dispersed into the woods and hills, their spectral forms leaking illusion and dread into the night. Shadows deepened. The wind seemed to vanish.
"Dark-types—on overwatch. Keep the mist tight."
Umbreon, Houndoom, Sableye, and other shadowy figures melted into the fog, blending into the terrain like predators in waiting. They covered the entire area in thick mist.
"Electric-types—on me," Red ordered. "We'll hit their tech with an EMP. If they've got cameras or sensors, we fry them."
Several cousins stepped up, releasing Luxray, Electivire, Magnezone, and Jolteon, electricity already crackling between them. The night sang with silent voltage.
Ash's heart thundered as he looked around. He saw strength, unity, precision. Not just battlers—but hunters. Guardians. Wrath given shape.
And Red, at the center of it all, smirked.
"Attack."
The command wasn't shouted. It didn't need to be.
The Pokémon surged forward in unison, silent as falling ash, deadly as a storm.
Ash watched as the mass of bodies and power disappeared into the mist, the last flickers of flame, shadow, and lightning vanishing between trees and stone.
He stood still for a long breath, Pikachu tense on his shoulder.
Then, almost unconsciously, Ash whispered under his breath:
"To whoever dared offend the Ketchums… I hope you prayed."
Because tonight… no god would answer but them.
***
From the ridge, half-concealed by mist and low-hanging branches, Ash crouched beside his uncle Brann, heart thundering, mouth dry.
He'd never seen war. Not really.
He'd seen training. Sparring. Pokémon battles.
But not this.
Not the silence before the storm. Not the moment the earth screamed.
The facility—a bland concrete husk tucked between trees and cliffs—looked lifeless, almost boring. For a heartbeat, Ash wondered if they'd overprepared.
Then the ground exploded.
A Steelix tore out of the dirt like a god of metal and rage, its massive silver coils erupting through the earth like divine punishment. Concrete shattered beneath it. Sirens began to wail.
The quiet forest turned to chaos in under three seconds.
Ash flinched as floodlights snapped on and search alarms blared. Tiny dots—soldiers—spilled out of the building like ants. Shouting. Pointing. Some already firing.
Then Red gave the signal.
A blinding pulse of blue-white light tore through the mist.
CRACK.
The EMP.
Every light died. The sirens stuttered and fell silent. The compound was swallowed in a darkness thick as ink, broken only by distant fire and sparks.
That's when the Pokémon moved.
And Ash couldn't breathe.
Like a tide of shadows and lightning, dozens of Ketchum Pokémon surged in. A Houndoom leapt over the shattered gate, its maw ablaze with hellfire. A Luxray pounced on a gunner before he could scream. A Gengar slithered from the wall itself, whispering curses that made men drop their rifles and run into the fog.
Ash watched a Rhydon smash through a barracks wall like paper. A pair of Scyther moved like silver-green wind, blades catching moonlight as they danced through lines of armed men.
This wasn't a battle.
It was a massacre.
And somewhere deep in the chaos, Ash knew, was Red—commanding without speaking, his Charizard raining fire from above. Freya, laughing as her Heracross broke bones with precision. David, silent and swift with his Noctowl, dropping men with sleep powders before they could fire.
Every cousin. Every aunt and uncle. One family. One army.
And Ash couldn't look away.
***
Inside the Facility – Soldier/Scientist POV
Private Keen never had a chance.
One moment, he was checking the perimeter readouts. The next, he was flat on the floor, alarms screaming in his ear, lights flashing red—
Then nothing. The power died.
In the blackness, something laughed behind him. He turned—too slow.
Something cold passed through his chest. He screamed. Nobody heard him.
Down in the control center, a senior researcher was mid-call with HQ.
"No, you don't understand—this isn't a mutant attack, it's—" She looked up just as a shadow passed through the glass. Her voice died.
"Who are these people?"
Another tech shouted, "Our cameras are down! Communications jammed! We can't call for backup!"
Then the wall exploded inward, a massive Tauros bursting through with blood on its horns. Screaming filled the room.
"THEY BROUGHT AN ARMY!"
And in the center of it all, strapped to a chair deep within the holding cells, was Andrew Ketchum.
Blood on his lip. Bruises blooming across his ribs. And grinning.
Outside his reinforced door, footsteps rushed. Guards yelling. Guns clicking.
Andrew looked up lazily, resting his head back against the cold steel.
"Wanna hear something funny?" he said through cracked lips.
No one responded.
He chuckled. "I left my Pokémon with my kid. Just one day. One day. And this is what you tried."
A guard turned to yell something, but a thunderous roar from outside shook the entire facility.
Andrew's smile widened.
"That sound? That's my family."
He leaned forward slightly, letting the overhead flicker light catch the mad gleam in his eyes.
"They don't give second chances."
He laughed then. Low. Quiet. And full of something worse than threat—promise.
And above them, in the dark forest beyond the ruins of the front gate, Ash whispered one word under his breath:
"Damn."
_________________________________________________________________
A.N. Had a lot of fun writing this chapter, hope you like it!
I probably won't upload another chapter today. Got a DnD session scheduled for today, but you may get 3 chapters tommorow.
POWER STONES NEEDED!!!!