When Mewtwo finally broke free from the prison that had confined it, a heart-wrenching scream echoed through the safehouse. Logan collapsed to his knees, clutching his left arm as his body crumpled in agony.

Pain. Blinding, soul-piercing pain—far more excruciating than the burning air he’d once inhaled, stabbing into his lungs like a thousand needles. This pain burrowed into his bones, slicing through flesh and soul alike. His brain seemed to have lost all sense of function; under this kind of torment, any ordinary person would have blacked out. Yet somehow, he remained conscious, cursed to feel every second of it.

His unfocused gaze fell upon his left arm. The skin, marked like a tattoo, had begun to writhe violently. The pattern was slowly crawling upward toward his shoulder—agonizingly slow, yet utterly unstoppable.

This was the price of attempting to control an incomplete Mewtwo. Until Mewtwo’s genes were fully stabilized, any moment outside of the gene-regulating fluid would trigger a rapid activation of the Mewtwo cells implanted within Logan’s body. And with that activation came erosion—his very body being consumed from within.

Just days ago, he was nothing more than an ordinary office worker. A life free from major illness, his worst pains limited to the occasional bump or bruise. Yet now, he was enduring torment akin to being flayed alive—cut apart not just in flesh, but in spirit. It was a pain no human was meant to survive.

He tried to grit his teeth and bear it like a man, but his body betrayed him. Tears streamed down his face without restraint, and his cries of anguish turned hoarse and raw.

“Logan!”

Professor Oak rushed to his side, pressing down on his trembling body. Logan, now half-conscious, shook his head weakly. The pain was unbearable, but there was no turning back. It was either death… or agony. And if he chose the latter, perhaps—just perhaps—he might gain the power he so desperately needed.

“Hold on, Logan! Just a little longer!” shouted Blaine.

With a loud command, he released all five of his own Pokémon. Along with the Lapras he’d borrowed from the Cerulean Gym Leader, his full team of six took the field. Their combined strength surged like a tide, momentarily halting the Rocket army’s assault in the narrow corridor. It was even starting to feel like the defenders could push back.

Yet in the midst of the blaring alarm sirens, the Rocket members began to panic. Desperation twisted their faces. Some of them went mad, yanking syringes from their belts and injecting their own Pokémon with glowing serum.

“That’s Rocket’s latest invention,” Blaine said grimly. “A drug that forces Pokémon to evolve rapidly and gain immense strength. But the side effects are devastating. The Pokémon often go insane immediately, and their lifespans are drastically shortened. They’ve never used it on their own partners before—only on wild-caught Pokémon. But now… now they’re willing to risk everything.”

Even through the fog of pain, Logan registered Blaine’s words. His thoughts were a blur, but a strange empathy welled up inside him. Perhaps this was just human nature—even so-called villains, even the cruel Rocket members who experimented on humans and Pokémon alike, still held love and affection for the partners they’d raised. No matter how violent, how twisted a person might be… there was always something—someone—they cared for.

Logan understood that. He used to be a dog lover. On the street, he’d always smile when passing a stray. But if a neighbor’s dog bit his own pet? He wouldn’t hesitate to grab a stick and beat the attacker half to death.

That’s humanity—cruel and kind, selfish and forgiving. A paradox of contradictions.

Just as Blaine had warned, the injected Pokémon began evolving en masse. Their attacks grew fiercer, but so too did their madness. Even from a distance, the frenzy in their eyes was obvious. These were no longer Pokémon—they were monsters, lost to chaos.

Then, abruptly, Logan felt the pain in his arm begin to subside. It was still excruciating, but no longer unbearable. Something—someone—was rapidly approaching. He could sense it. Deep in his consciousness, he felt the presence of something intimately connected to him.

Mewtwo.

Its thoughts were filled with urgency. The moment it sensed Logan’s suffering, Mewtwo unleashed its full psychic power, blasting a direct tunnel through the research lab—tearing a path toward the safehouse.

On the left wall of the shelter, the one Blaine had proudly declared the “strongest metal on Earth,” cracks began to form.Blaine’s eyes widened as he realized what was coming. He quickly recalled his Charizard and had it spread its wings protectively in front of them.

A thunderous explosion shattered the steel wall, and shards of metal flew in every direction. Charizard shielded them with its body and wings. Through the gaping hole, a legendary figure hovered into view—holding a spoon the same size as its own body, Mewtwo floated silently in the air.

As Mewtwo drew nearer, the pain in Logan’s arm lessened further. It was as if its presence alone quelled the rogue cells. Slowly, Logan released his grip on his arm. His breath came in ragged gasps, his clothes soaked with sweat, his eyes stinging as the salty droplets seeped in.

“Blaine,” Logan said hoarsely, “didn’t you say that metal was impenetrable?”

“Haha… I guess… Silph Steel was never tested against Mewtwo,” Blaine laughed awkwardly, rubbing his bald head in embarrassment. Despite everything, he was relieved. If they had all died here, he would have deserved it. But dragging Oak and Logan into it—he would’ve never forgiven himself.

This was Logan’s first time seeing Mewtwo up close. It was just like he’d imagined—around two meters tall, its body a striking fusion of pure white and deep violet. Their minds connected instantly in the psychic realm. No words were needed. No gestures. They understood each other as if they were old friends—or family.

There was no mental barrier between them. No wall of human thought. Just perfect synchronization.

Logan nodded. Mewtwo nodded in return. It descended to the ground, standing before him, gripping the same reality-breaking spoon that had just torn through the steel wall. Then, turning toward the enemy, Mewtwo assumed a battle-ready stance.

“Logan,” Blaine said urgently, “these are all the abilities Mewtwo has. I know you’re not a real Trainer yet, and you’ve got no battle experience. But that’s fine. With Mewtwo, you don’t need strategy. Just order it to attack!”

As he said that, Blaine handed Logan a stack of A4 papers. Logan glanced at them—detailed listings of Mewtwo’s known moves. Clearly, Blainehad prepared for this in advance.

But Logan only gave it a cursory look before tossing them aside.

Instead, he reached out with his mind:

[Mewtwo, what moves can you use?]

The moment he asked, knowledge flooded his mind. Mewtwo transmitted the details directly into his brain via telepathy—no need for speech, no diagrams, no words. Just pure understanding.

[How… how do you know so many moves?]

Logan was stunned. He’d known the real world wasn’t like the games—Pokémon weren’t limited to just four moves—but the sheer number Mewtwo showed him was overwhelming. Not just its genetic moves or level-up techniques, but nearly every known TM and HM. All of it.

In this world, there were no magical discs that instantly taught moves. Learning skills outside of one’s heritage required years of training. Even elite Trainers would never waste time mastering every move—only the essentials.

[I don’t know,] Mewtwo responded. [The moment I chose to help you, all these techniques just… appeared in my mind. But they don’t feel natural. I can use them—but not perfectly.]

Its telepathic voice was much smoother now, no longer halting or awkward. Calm and melodic. Its purple eyes, however, remained fixed on the enemy.

[Doesn’t matter,] Logan thought. [Use them all. I want to see what they can do.]

It was bizarre—was this the classic “cheat” of reincarnation stories? A psychic bond with a literal godlike entity? But Logan didn’t care. In his eyes, Mewtwo was his golden ticket. The pain was real. The cost was great. But so was the power.

He didn’t know what Pokémon attacks looked like in real life. So he decided to experiment.

And what better test subjects than the Rocket grunts in front of him?

Though it seemed like a long conversation, psychic communication took mere seconds. Logan raised his left hand. Mewtwo mirrored the gesture, lowering its spoon and lifting its own hand in sync.

He visualized the move in his mind.

If he didn’t know what it did, then start with the strongest.

“**Mewtwo— Psystrike!”

Mewtwo’s eyes blazed with violet light. It clenched three fingers together—and unleashed a pulse of energy so silent, so precise, it felt like reality itself had been sliced.

In front of it, the Rocket members and their Pokémon froze in place. They were still standing. But the spark in their eyes—gone. The fire of life snuffed out.

Their bodies still moved. But their minds and souls… had been torn apart in an instant.

Thud. Thud. Thud—

Bodies crumpled one after another. No more flames. No more surging water. Just stillness.

Silence.

The battlefield fell into a quiet more deafening than any roar.

They were still breathing. Still warm. Still… present. But Logan knew the truth.

They were dead. Not in body—but in essence. Their spirits shattered. Obliterated.

Logan slowly lowered his hand. His breathing quickened. A tidal wave of euphoria, madness, and dread surged through his veins.

This… was power.

A kind of power he had never—could never—feel in his old life.

This power didn’t belong to his body. It belonged to Mewtwo. But that didn’t matter.

For a Trainer, a Pokémon’s power… was his own.

In that moment, Logan felt like a god.

And before the divine… mortals were but shadows, waiting to be erased.

T/N:

Check out my Patreon

[email protected]/FictionalRealms784 – (Replace ‘@’ with ‘a’)

for 5 Advanced Chapters absolutely FREE—or unlock 35 Advanced Chapters

——————–

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep