Chapter 22: Battle Against a Gastly

  The air boils in an eerie silence. Not a single creaking floorboard, not even the whisper of the breeze—only the heavy, dense gloom clings to the ancient walls of the Pokémon Tower. Dust rises in tiny specks against the flickering candlelight. And in the center of this small chamber, Dozy—the Alolan Grimer—and Noizy—the Zubat—prepare to battle the Gastly hovering before them, spewing violet smoke from its mouth in a grotesque grimace.

  Aspen, leaning against the wall, can barely stay on his feet; his breath is still ragged, and his heartbeat pounds in his ears. The echo of that impossible experience—the horror he witnessed not long ago—still lingers in his mind, and his battered body prevents him from moving freely enough to intervene directly. All he can do is watch, give orders, and pray that his companions, wounded and nearly out of energy, manage to triumph in a battle that seems tailored for a twisted audience.

  Gastly floats at mid-height, its misty aura stretching far around it. A portion of the surrounding fog slithers across the floor, softly licking the remains of shattered tombstones. Its twilight-colored eyes gleam with a hint of mocking fury; its mouth remains slightly open, revealing gaseous fangs more fitting for an ancient predator than a lesser Pokémon. Since Aspen and his team arrived, this ghost has not stopped emitting a low, almost hissing sound, as if preparing its next move. And by all appearances, it is outraged by their presence—it will not let them escape, nor allow them to advance. Aspen realizes that a confrontation is inevitable.

  Dozy, for his part, bears all manner of bruises and wounds, evidence of the successive battles and tensions endured up to this point. Beneath his muddy skin, venom churns, and his breath is a thick mass of bubbles, each containing a faint trace of toxin. Noizy, the Zubat, clings to the air with awkward flaps, unable to find a perch and unwilling to leave her trainer defenseless. Despite their fatigue, both position themselves in a loose semicircle, trying not to obstruct each other.

  Aspen closes his eyes for a moment, trying to regain clarity. He feels minuscule in this perilous setting, with his mind hammering and his body aching. The image of the colossal Gengar that nearly ended him still echoes in his mind. But now, the challenge is different—more tangible. This is a normal-sized Gastly, though it feels stronger than usual: the way its mist undulates and the fury in its gaze hint at abilities beyond the ordinary.

  Thinking that this might be the Pokémon his grandmother instructed him to capture—the one that commands the shadows—pushes him to face the risk. He cannot afford to falter. If he succeeds in catching it, he will fulfill Julia’s will and add a crucial weapon to his team to withstand the clans that hound him.

  Unfortunately, Dozy and Noizy are in poor health. He does not want to fight, but Gastly refuses to back down; the anger it radiates makes its demand clear—it wants a battle.

  —Noizy— Aspen whispers, struggling to sound firm. —Try using Chatter. Make it lose focus.

  The Zubat tilts her small head, blinks a couple of times, and, with a few wingbeats, rises to face the ghost. Then, she emits a shrill, disjointed squawk, filled with a chaotic vocal jumble that assaults the eardrums of anyone nearby.

  The effect of Chatter, as always, aims to confuse the enemy’s mind—if Gastly gets disoriented, it will temporarily lose control, allowing Dozy and Noizy to take advantage.

  The shriek reverberates against the walls, makes the candle flames flicker, and its twisted echo distorts in the darkness.

  The ghost seems to shudder at the sonic cacophony; a slight flicker in its eyes suggests that it felt the auditory blow. But before Aspen and his team can seize the offensive, Gastly exhales a viper-like growl. It opens its mouth and releases a dense cloud of gas, expanding like a shroud. It’s Poison Gas, an obvious attempt at infection.

  But Noizy and Dozy are both Poison-type—they cannot be poisoned—and Aspen, who stands a few steps back and has venom resistance, is unaffected by the move.

  Sensing the futility, Gastly becomes more irate—disgust contorts its face, and its purple halo flickers with an intense glow.

  —Dozy, Swift— Aspen orders, his voice somewhat steadier, trying to exploit Gastly’s hesitation.

  Grimer musters his strength—he growls and summons a flurry of luminous stars that shoot forward like gleaming blades. Due to Swift’s nature, it is nearly impossible for the attack to miss.

  Gastly takes multiple hits, though none land with crushing force; even with its weakened state, the solidity of its spectral gas disperses some of the energy. The ghost howls in irritation, retreating a few inches, while Noizy, hovering over the scene, lets out another threatening screech.

  However, Noizy is struggling with exhaustion—each wingbeat makes her tremble. A couple of well-placed blows would be enough to knock her out.

  —Come on, Noizy— Aspen murmurs, keeping an eye on the Zubat. —Hang in there just a little longer…

  Gastly’s gaze, now free of confusion, locks onto Noizy. It shifts its vaporous body with a swift motion, and from the corners of its jaws, dark filaments emerge.

  This is the prelude to a Ghost-type attack, and Aspen recognizes it—Lick. If it hits Zubat, the likelihood of paralysis, and therefore rendering her an easy target, increases.

  Gastly lunges at an impossible speed. Noizy, forcing her wings to move, twists to evade—but she collides with a section of the wall, and her maneuver fails. Gastly manages to graze her with its ethereal tongue.

  Zubat lets out a piercing screech, and her flight stumbles due to the tingling spreading through her fragile body. A tremor runs through her wings—an incipient paralysis that does not fully set in but weakens her further.

  —Noizy, return— Aspen shouts urgently. —Don’t… don’t push yourself any further.

  The red beam of the Poké Ball envelops Zubat in a flash and withdraws her from battle. A few beads of sweat roll down Aspen’s cheek as he grips the sphere with a trembling hand.

  Now he is left with only one Pokémon—Dozy. Gastly shifts its focus to Grimer, aware that it has lost its airborne reinforcements.

  Meanwhile, Dozy stares at his adversary with determination. He glances at Aspen, as if asking what to do. The boy nods, his voice quivering from exhaustion:

  —Dozy… use Stockpile… gather energy… w-we have to endure.

  Grimer grunts in acknowledgment, closes his eyes, and begins inhaling deeply, reinforcing himself from within. His body gains a faint glow, increasing his Defense and Special Defense.

  Gastly, watching this, does not remain idle—it stretches its mist to the sides, seemingly trying to surround its opponent, and in a ghostly whisper, conjures its next move.

  The humidity in the air rises slightly, and the staircases creak with a distant echo. The ghost seems to be setting the stage for something dramatic. Aspen suspects it might be Confuse Ray or something even more lethal; however, the energy burst does not arrive.

  Instead, Gastly lunges with Sucker Punch, trying to strike before Dozy finishes his action. But Dozy is not attacking at this moment—he is using Stockpile—so Sucker Punch fails, hitting nothing but empty air.

  Gastly grinds its fangs in frustration. Without hesitation, it opts for another strategy.

  Aspen watches in surprise as the ghost conjures a thick veil—Smokescreen. The atmosphere darkens with a blackish smoke that reduces the accuracy of anyone attempting to target Gastly.

  Quickly, the entire room becomes enshrouded in darkness, making it difficult for Dozy to see clearly.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Yet, despite this, Grimer completes his first Stockpile and opens his eyes with an exhalation.

  Aspen must remain calm.

  —Dozy, repeat Stockpile— he orders, determined.

  He understands that his best option is to turn Grimer into an unbreakable wall. Once properly reinforced, he might be able to land a decisive blow. Dozy, without wasting time, focuses again. As he does, the black mist from Smokescreen swirls around him.

  Gastly, seeing its opponent insist on bolstering its defenses, grows irritated. It swiftly changes position and spits out a distorted beam of light—Confuse Ray. Against a target that isn’t attacking, the move is much easier to land, and Dozy has no way to dodge amidst all the smoke.

  A spectral glow floods Grimer’s mind, making him shudder with a confused whimper. He stumbles, nearly losing his focus. But with sheer effort, he completes the second charge of Stockpile. His body is now tougher, his viscous exterior vibrating with stored energy.

  —Good…— Aspen murmurs, feeling a small sense of relief. But he realizes that Gastly won’t stop. It writhes with a malevolent shiver, letting out a brief growl filled with rage. Perhaps it is planning something even more devastating.

  Aspen’s heart clenches as he notices a strange glimmer in the ghost’s eyes. An aura of menace surrounds it—too intense.

  With a frenzied gleam in its gaze, Gastly begins concentrating its energy, as if preparing for a final move. The surrounding darkness trembles, and Aspen recognizes the urgency of an imminent Explosion. His mouth goes dry. He knows exactly what this means—massive, indiscriminate damage.

  For Gastly, being a gaseous entity, the aftermath isn’t as concerning. But for Dozy and Aspen, it could be catastrophic.

  —No… please…!— He almost wants to beg, but he knows the ghost won’t listen. This is a desperate act.

  Gastly contracts at its center, drawing in all the surrounding mist, and its body begins to glow with murderous pulses. The air grows heavy, and a high-pitched hum rises in the atmosphere. Aspen feels an icy panic climbing up his spine.

  To his horror, he realizes he cannot stop this attack. The only thing that might save them is maximizing their defense and, with some luck, enduring the impact.

  —Dozy… Stockpile again! Hurry!— He yells, his voice barely a thread, possibly his last hope.

  Grimer, still reeling from the previous confusion, tries to obey. A disoriented jolt causes him to slam his head against the wall in a clumsy motion. A painful groan echoes.

  Even so, his will to protect Aspen pushes him to focus once more. He closes his lone eye and absorbs the surrounding energy. A transparent aura encases his sludge, condensing it—his third Stockpile.

  Meanwhile, Gastly completes its countdown. The hum becomes a deafening roar. A white-violet glow explodes at its core, expanding into a terrifying orb of gray light.

  —Cover yourself!— Aspen mumbles, throwing himself to the ground. He knows there is nothing else he can do.

  A horrifying blast detonates in the middle of the corridor, generating a thunderous explosion that shakes the Tower. The smoke from the impact swells into a massive cloud, and a deafening rumble echoes through the walls.

  Dozy, with his enhanced defenses, throws himself in front of Aspen, spreading his viscous body into an improvised shield. The shockwave pummels him mercilessly, tossing his sludge around like scattered debris.

  Despite Dozy’s protection, Aspen is still hurled several meters backward, crashing his hip against an offering pedestal. His entire side burns; a scorching heat sears his flesh, and dizziness creeps over him. The echo pounds in his skull, and for a moment, he loses his sense of direction.

  The thick, acrid smoke invades the space. It takes nearly half a minute to clear—or at least to thin out enough to see.

  The silence that follows is overwhelming, broken only by the occasional falling debris and the ringing in Aspen’s ears. He struggles to regain awareness. His vision blurs with colored specks, but he blinks rapidly to clear it. Pain shoots up his leg.

  —Dozy…— he gasps, his throat dry. Crawling across the floor, coughing up dust, he spots the dark mass of his Grimer. The Pokémon lies sprawled, as if its sludge has lost cohesion. It doesn’t move; its eye is closed, and its breathing is imperceptible.

  Aspen pushes aside a piece of debris, his voice breaking into a sob.

  —Buddy… please, wake up…

  There is no response at first. Aspen’s heart tightens with anguish. He notices cracks on Dozy’s sludge-like body where the explosion tore away parts of his venom. This is the first time he has ever seen his companion completely knocked out.

  He tries to assist him with trembling hands, perhaps to give him a Revive or a Potion—anything to stabilize him. But he has nothing left, only a couple of useless berries in his torn-up bag.

  A cold shiver of guilt and helplessness runs through him.

  Meanwhile, to his right, a residual mist stirs. And that’s when he sees it—almost just a whisper of dust—Gastly.

  Or what remains of it.

  It hovers close to the ground, its mist so faint in places that it appears almost transparent. No physical Pokémon could have survived such a brutal Explosion without being completely knocked out.

  But Gastly, being a gaseous entity, does not “die” in the blast—it suffers severe damage, yes, but it still exists. Even with its mind clouded and its rage simmering, it clings to the physical plane. It breathes in a hollow hiss, struggling to maintain its form.

  Aspen, with his heart still battered, notices the weak look Gastly gives him—its energy is drained, its strength on the verge of collapse, likely incapable of another attack.

  With his body aching, the boy pushes himself up on his elbows and drags himself forward, slipping in Dozy’s scattered sludge.

  He doesn’t know if the ghost could still retaliate, but he senses its will to fight is exhausted—there is no spark left for another explosion.

  With a groan, he steadies himself on one knee.

  —You… are you…?— he mumbles, surprised by his own question, as if he actually cares about the Pokémon that almost killed him.

  But he needs to end this battle. If he lets it escape, the explosion will have been in vain, and the mission incomplete.

  Gastly’s spectral head dips in a gesture almost like surrender. It lacks the energy to vanish. Its gaze drips with hatred but is tinged with resignation—or perhaps curiosity toward this human who refuses to die.

  Aspen clenches his jaw, remembering his grandmother’s words:

  “You will find a Gastly with Shadow Tag, with the ability to manipulate shadows…”

  Moreover, having seen it use Explosion with such violence proves that it does not fear its own destruction.

  A Pokémon this reckless could become a formidable ally—if its strength is channeled correctly.

  And right now, Aspen has no other choice.

  —Will you come with me…?— he asks, voice barely above a whisper, as he fumbles at his belt for an empty Poké Ball.

  Feeling its shape gives him the smallest sliver of hope—if he captures it, he won’t have to restrain it by force or leave it at the mercy of the Tower, where it might reappear and attack others.

  And if his intuition is correct, this Gastly is the one he needs for his future.

  The Pokémon gives no response; it barely seems conscious, breathing with difficulty. The silence weighs heavy, broken only by a distant drip and the ringing in Aspen’s head.

  The boy summons one last ounce of courage, raising the red-and-white sphere. He throws it with a shaky arm, and the Poké Ball strikes Gastly, absorbing it in a scarlet flash.

  The sphere drops to the ground, trembling furiously.

  Aspen’s adrenaline surges—if Gastly breaks free, his entire effort will be wasted, and he won’t have the strength for a second attempt.

  The Poké Ball shakes once… twice… three times…

  Then, it clicks shut, and the central light blinks—indicating a successful capture.

  Aspen collapses, letting out the most relieved sigh he’s given all night.

  It’s a costly and bitter victory.

  Dozy lies unconscious, Aspen himself is covered in cuts and bruises, and Noizy remains curled inside her Poké Ball with her injured wings. But at least the mission is complete—he has captured the terrifying Gastly, the one that likely possesses Shadow Tag.

  If this guarantees him a powerful tool to protect himself and appease his grandmother, then the ordeal was not in vain.

  With a trembling hand, he reaches for the Poké Ball, lifting it against his chest, while the slow-moving mist begins settling onto the ancient stone of the tower. He breathes through the pain, casting one last glance at Dozy, whom he carefully recalls into his Poké Ball. He will tend to him later, with whatever medicine he can find.

  He wants to cry from relief and despair at the same time.

  And at that moment, a chilling noise freezes his blood.

  Like a soundless roar, a groan from the very walls themselves, the darkness swirls.

  Aspen knows what’s coming even before he turns around.

  The air grows dense, saturated with a ghostly venom that quickens his pulse with a familiar terror.

  Lifting his gaze, he catches sight of a Gengar, its proportions imposing—though not as gargantuan as the serpent-like nightmare that once invaded his mind.

  Still, the sheer force radiating from its aura presses down on him with an unbearable weight.

  And its glowing red eyes, ablaze in the darkness, stir the memory of that serpentine chaos that tormented him in a past hallucination.

  Aspen’s pupils tremble as the shadows contort, the world distorts, and terror—pure and boundless—grips him.

  The colossal illusion of slithering horror, the warped reality, the primal nightmare—it all rushes back at once as he stares into those eyes.

  This Gengar is large, but its true menace comes from the evocation of that primordial fear buried deep in his psyche.

  The Pokémon floats ominously in the corridor, surrounded by darkness like a master of the night.

  Its mere presence shrinks Aspen’s spirit.

  He is still on the ground, clutching the Poké Ball containing his newly captured Gastly, while Dozy remains unconscious beside him.

  The Gengar has not spoken a single word, but its judgment looms over the scene with an oppressive silence.

  Aspen knows—if this Gengar decides to attack, there is no way he can defend himself.

  Not his body. Not his spirit.

  He has nothing left to give in a second battle so close to the abyss.

  A faint flicker of movement—like the flutter of a dying candle—and a wintery breeze drifts through the corridor, snuffing out all sound.

  For a brief moment, Aspen plunges into a void almost as vast as his hallucinations, feeling each heartbeat drag him toward sheer desperation.

  And then, without warning, a voice emerges from the darkness.

  A voice that is ancient, malevolent, almost human—but disturbingly inhuman.

  It vibrates through the Tower’s gloom, resonating from the Gengar or perhaps from the very shadows themselves.

  —Give me one good reason why I should let you take my descendant.