Words can't express how based this moment is.

While you're being a huge faggot trotting around the globe taking badges, making Pokemon friends, and trying to become the league champion, this nigga was in the strongest cave in the world, training until he's lost all concept of sanity or even reality.

Battling countless strong Pokemon in the deepest darkest cavern, not ever leaving this damned place to rest, probably eating Pokemon meat and drinking Pokemon milk for sustenance. Leaving society behind. Misty who? Brock what? Not even trying to be the strongest trainer ever anymore, the "very best" (which he has long since surpassed), but simply to be stronger than yesterday, creeping towards godhood.

Of course, there is still some semblance of humanity here and there. Most noteworthy is his relationship with Pikachu, who he has kept in the base form even after all these years, his Pokemon who's bond with him has surpassed "juvenile" concepts such as friendship or even love, but rather contracting a holy sacrament in which one would probably collapse and die should the other falter.

And the Pikachu itself, once so full of life and personality, now a cold dark visage of limitless power. His ashen face blurred in a whirling dervish of lightning, fighting encounter after encounter in the infinite darkness. His hardened body, long since turned sterile, having realized he will have no such destiny except to fight and die alongside his General.

When you approach him, he cannot even speak. His cold face belies his shock that another has arrived to this holyfield, surrounded by the decaying corpses of thousands of behemoths and dinosaurs and other such monsters. "Wow, another trainer!" "How did you get here?" "You're a league champion too?"

Such questions are only whispers in his mind. Thoughts from a world long since abandoned. This geomancer of Pokemon training, still unconscious and lost in his eternal battle dance, can only react to you in one way. And so you fight.