Several decades passed, and the desert changed—slowly at first, and then all at once.
What had once been scattered territories and loosely defined hunting grounds developed into something far more structured. Under his presence, the Flygon pack expanded steadily, drawing in more of their kind while forcing other Pokémon either into submission or out of the region entirely.
Although the pack rarely left its core territory, its influence extended across nearly the entire desert. It would not have been an exaggeration to call them the true overlords of that land.
At the center of it all stood the one the others had long since begun to regard with a mixture of reverence and fear.
The Horned Desert King.
Time had only intensified what he had always been.
His growth, which had once been rapid and abnormal, eventually slowed, but it never truly stopped. Even as the years passed, he continued refining his moves, gaining experience through countless battles against the strongest Pokemon(s) the desert had to offer.
Eventually, however, those battles lost their meaning.
There were no longer any opponents capable of challenging him in a meaningful way. No fight required him to adapt, and no enemy pushed him to his limits. At some point, he reached a level of strength that no other Pokémon in the desert had ever approached.
The difference between him and the rest could no longer be measured in small differences.
There had once been a time when the strongest Pokémon in the desert could at least force him to take a fight seriously. That time had long since passed.
Now, even if the 9 strongest among the top 10 strongest Pokémon(s) in the desert were to face him together, the result would be still his win. Not because of strategy, but because none of them possessed a similar level to him to threaten him anymore.
The female Flygon had also grown considerably during these years. Among the pack, she stood firmly at the top, second only to him, and far ahead of the others. Her strength, experience, and level made her an unquestionable leader in her own right.
Even so, the distance between them had never stopped increasing.
No matter how much she improved, she could not close the gap. The difference in their growth rates ensured that she would always remain behind, separated from him by a margin that could not be overcome through effort alone.
Strangely, this did not bring him any sense of pride. Instead, it left him with a growing sense of emptiness.
Strength had once been a necessity for survival, then it had become a tool to shape his environment. Now, it existed without purpose, no longer tied to struggle or progress.
The desert, vast and harsh as it was, no longer offered him anything new. Every hunt ended predictably, and every potential opponent either fled upon seeing him or was defeated without resistance.
Even internal conflicts within the pack had disappeared over time, suppressed by the simple fact that none dared to disrupt the rules he had established.
There was nothing left that demanded his full attention.
During this long period, he and the female Flygon attempted to produce offspring again. The decision was not driven by any strong personal desire on his part, but rather by her persistence and the lingering idea that their lineage might result in something worthy of their combined strength.
She became pregnant three times.
Two of the eggs failed before they could hatch, the life within them fading quietly before ever seeing the world.
The third survived.
When it hatched, the young Trapinch appeared entirely normal. There were no horns, no unusual size, and no visible signs of mutation. Its potential was above average compared to a typical Trapinch, but when measured against its parents, it was nothing remarkable.
Even compared to the female Flygon alone, it failed to stand out.
To him, the result carried little weight. He had never expected anything from his offspring, so there was nothing to be disappointed about. Whether they were strong or weak did not change anything in his eyes.
The female Flygon reacted differently.
She did not voice her thoughts, nor did she show any outward frustration, but her silence carried meaning. She watched the young Trapinch with a steady gaze, one that lingered just a little too long.
He noticed it immediately. The disappointment was subtle, but unmistakable.
For a brief moment, his attention shifted from the child to her. He studied her expression, observing something he had rarely needed to consider before. Unlike him, she had expectations—expectations that reality had failed to meet.
He said nothing. There was no comment, no attempt to address what he had seen.
Over the many years he had spent ruling his domain, there were very few moments that truly stood apart from the endless repetition of survival, growth, and dominance that defined his existence.
Strength had long since lost its appeal, battles had become predictable, and even the rare appearance of a powerful opponent failed to stir anything meaningful within him, leaving his life stretched across time in a dull, almost suffocating monotony.
The only exceptions to this pattern were the rare occasions when he encountered humans.
Deep within this desert, far beyond the regions most trainers considered safe, such encounters were exceedingly uncommon, as even experienced trainers hesitated to venture into this place.
Because of this, each meeting was separated by years, sometimes even decades, yet despite their rarity, they left a far stronger impression on him than any battle or territorial conflict ever had.
He remembered the first encounter clearly.
On that day, he had been flying without purpose, his movements guided more by habit than intention, when something unusual caught his attention far below.
At first, it was simply a cluster of Pokémon gathered together in a way that did not align with the natural order of the desert, as different species rarely remained in close proximity without conflict unless forced into it.
As he observed them more closely, he realized they were not fighting, nor were they hunting.
They were following something.
Curiosity, one of the few impulses that still managed to influence his actions, led him to change direction and accelerate toward the group, his powerful wings cutting through the desert winds as he closed the distance at a speed that few creatures could perceive in time to react.
From above and from a great distance, his gaze quickly identified the center of this unusual gathering.
A human.
Although he had been aware of humans before, his interactions with them had been limited to distant observation, never direct engagement. Because he wasn't strong enough.
This time, however, he chose not to remain a passive observer, as something about the situation drew him in with a quiet but persistent interest.
As he approached, the human's Pokémon reacted first.
A Gardevoir.
Its Perception were sharp, far sharper than most creatures he had encountered, yet even so, the difference in their strength combined with the interference of the desert's shifting sands delayed its awareness just enough to matter. By the time it fully registered his presence, he was already too close for a easy escape.
"A very powerful Pokémon is approaching," the Gardevoir telepathically warned his trainer, his voice tense, unable to hide his fear.
The human's reaction was immediate. His expression hardened, and without wasting even a second, he issued a command that revealed both experience and quick judgment.
"Prepare Teleport immediately."
It was the correct decision. Under normal circumstances, it might have saved them. But this situation was far from normal.
Before the command could be fully executed, he was already there. The distance that had existed moments ago vanished in an instant.
The human's composure cracked.
"Is that a Flygon…?" he muttered, his voice strained as his eyes locked onto the towering, horned figure before him. "No… what is this… This level… this is a Mid Champion level… Pokemon?… How is that possible?"
The man was not weak, but compared to what stood before him, his strength was insignificant. He was only a mid-level Elite trainer.
To him, this was not a battle he could win.
The Gardevoir, despite the shock, attempted to act, gathering psychic energy in a desperate attempt to execute the Teleport that represented their only chance of escape.
However, to Flygon, the Psychic Energy Movement were obvious, as years of combat had refined his instincts to the point where he know which move Gardevpoir was probably preparing.
He did not hesitate. The moment the energy began to gather, he moved.
Quick Attack.
It was a move he had born with a talent for, but over the years, he had refined it to a level far beyond its Master rank,
Quick Attack at the master rank had speed that became indistinguishable from instant movement. When he used it, his body blurred, crossing space so quickly that it appeared as though he had simply vanished and reappeared at his target.
The impact was immediate and powerfull.
The Gardevoir was struck before it could complete his move, his concentration shattered as he was driven into the ground, unconscious before he could even process what had happened.
In that moment, silence fell over the group.
The human stood frozen, his mind struggling to process the sudden collapse of his only escape route, as the reality of the situation began to settle in.
When he finally looked up, the fear in his eyes was no longer restrained or hidden.
It was fully visible.
And as Flygon observed that expression, something within him shifted.
For a long time, he had felt nothing but indifference toward the world around him, as nothing had been capable of stimulating his mind in any meaningful way.
However, as he watched the human's strong reaction, he felt a faint spark of something unfamiliar begin to take shape.
Enjoyment.
His instincts reacted immediately, urging him to end the encounter quickly, to eliminate his prey efficiently and not hunt for fun, but for food, just as he had always done in the past.
This time, however, he did not follow that instinct. Instead, he chose to ignore it.
What followed was not a battle, but something far more cruel.
He began to play with them. He allowing the human and his remaining Pokémon to flee while maintaining a constant, overwhelming pressure that ensured they could never truly escape. Each time they gained distance, he closed it effortlessly, and each time he caught up, one more Pokémon fell.
The process repeated itself over and over, stretching what should have been a brief encounter into hours of sustained fear and exhaustion.
There was never any doubt about the outcome. The human could not win. He could not escape.
The only uncertainty lay in how long it would take before everything ended. Throughout it all, he observed.
He watched the human's expressions change, shifting from fear to desperation, from desperation to anger, and from anger to something deeper, something heavier.
Each reaction fascinated him, drawing his attention in a way nothing else ever had, as if he had finally discovered something capable of breaking the endless monotony of his existence.
For the first time in years, he felt something that resembled excitement.
By the time it was over, the human had nothing left.
No Pokémon remained to protect him, no options remained to save him, and yet, despite everything, he did not collapse entirely. The fear was still there, visible in his eyes, but it had been tempered by something else.
Anger.
"Why…" the human demanded, his voice trembling yet filled with defiance. "Why are you doing this?"
Flygon looked at the human, his expression shifted slightly, the faint smile that had formed earlier becoming more pronounced as a single, clear thought passed through his mind.
'Humans are the best.'
Slowly, he stepped forward, lowering his head as he closed the final distance between them.
This time, he did not rely on any moves, choosing instead a far more direct approach, one that allowed him to fully experience the moment he had drawn out for so long.
With deliberate intent, he used his horns to end the human's life.
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