Mewtwo stood once more on the battlefield. He opened his eyes slowly, the familiar silence of the empty arena surrounding him. He was alone. Off to one side, a massive digital clock blinked steadily. Only thirty minutes had passed since he entered his mindscape. Just thirty minutes—despite the fact that it had felt like two full hours inside.
Time moved differently there.
That was a game-changer.
If he could tap into that place for training, even short sessions could yield huge results. But there was a catch—he couldn't go back. Not yet. The other Mewtwo had made it clear: next time wouldn't be so gentle. There were expectations, and Raiden knew them well—because they were his own.
If that part of him wasn't going to destroy him, then it was there to push him. And maybe that was worse.
Still, if he was going to become stronger, he needed to understand what he was working with.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, flexing his fingers and closing his eyes for a moment. "Let's do a review. What exactly can I do?"
First—telekinesis. The foundation of his psychic abilities. The power to move objects with his mind. It was versatile and effective, but it had limits. At the moment, Mewtwo could lift up to 5 tons of non-living material without much effort. A couple of cars, maybe a small truck—easy.
The real challenge came when it involved living, resisting targets.
Ordinary people were no problem. He could throw them around like dolls, even accounting for their weight being doubled by his calculations. As long as there weren't dozens of them, he could manage just fine.
But when it came to individuals with Quirks—trained, high-level ones like Kaina or Hawks—it became almost impossible to restrain them. They could shatter his psychic grip in an instant.
After observing and testing his limits, Mewtwo had figured out that the issue wasn't just raw strength. It was a combination of three factors: physical power, bursts of energy that broke his concentration, and mental resistance. The stronger their will, the harder it was to hold them.
Still, there were workarounds.
Instead of targeting their bodies directly, he'd begun to focus on their clothes, gear, or weapons. Fabric didn't resist. Steel didn't fight back. That gave him more control in tight situations—though it wasn't always reliable.
Through practicing his telekinesis, he had also stumbled upon something else: perception.
To move something, he first had to feel it. That sense—an invisible awareness—had evolved into a kind of psychic radar. He could sense the world around him in subtle waves of energy. But this new ability came at a cost: focus.
Until recently, it had taken all his concentration just to lift heavy objects. He couldn't afford to divide his attention. Now, however, he had begun to manage both—the movement and the awareness. It was still mentally taxing, and far from perfect, but it was progress.
There was one concern, though. He suspected that when he used this sensory extension, others could feel it—just like they did with his more direct telekinetic pushes. No one had confirmed it yet, but the way some people reacted made him almost certain.
Then there were the moves—Confusion, Swift, Agility. These weren't just flashy techniques. They were focused manifestations of his psychic power, shaped and refined through instinct and training.
A strike of raw energy could, under the right emotional and mental conditions, become something more.
Psycho Cut was one such example—a precise, blade-like projection of psychic energy. He hadn't studied it. It had just happened during battle. But the mechanics were clear: it was a refined form of concentrated psychic power, shaped into a cutting force.
Then there was Shadow Ball. That one was different.
He wasn't entirely sure how it worked, but he knew it drew on something deeper—darker. It was like tapping into a well of negative emotion and focusing it into a physical form. Fear, anger, doubt—compressed into a ball of energy that exploded on contact. To him, it felt... tainted. Not evil, necessarily, but heavy. Murky.
So, if I want to recreate the attacks I saw, I need to first figure out what category they fall into—physical or special attacks, Mewtwo thought, hovering just above the arena floor. Most energy-based techniques fall under special attacks. And from what I saw, Flamethrower definitely fits into that category. Let's give it a try.
He brought both hands together, leaving a small space between them.
Concentrating, he channeled his psychic energy into the gap, letting it flow in a raw, unrefined state—the same way he used it when performing Confusion.
The energy began to pulse and shift, building pressure as it coiled inward.
Heat started to form naturally from the friction of the energy, which was common with many of his psychic techniques. But this time, he needed more than that—he needed controlled, sustained heat. Not just a spark from an explosion, but something steady, something deliberate.
Visualize it. Imagine exactly what you want, he reminded himself.
A faint spark flickered to life in the center of the purple energy swirling between his hands.
He focused on that tiny glimmer, locking onto the feeling of heat and ignition. Feeding more energy into that point, he coaxed the spark into a flickering flame. It wasn't much yet—barely enough to be called fire—but it was there. Real fire, born from his own power.
It was a beginning.
He held the flame steady, maintaining the delicate balance needed to keep it alive.
It reminded him of the time he first learned to create Shadow Ball—how it had taken time to shape his negative emotions and channel them into something tangible. This was the same, only now he was building heat and combustion instead of darkness.
Bit by bit, the flame grew. It became more stable, its shape smoother and more defined. In a few minutes, it had reached the size of a basketball, hovering above his palm like a living ember. The warmth radiated across his fingers, but it didn't burn. He was in control.
Good, he thought. But if I want to replicate the full Flamethrower effect, I need more than just a flame. I need a stream—a concentrated burst. A cannon of fire.
Mewtwo narrowed his focus, pouring more energy into the flame while compressing it, forcing the heat into a denser, more explosive form. The ball of fire shrank slightly but intensified, the core glowing a deep orange. When he felt the pressure reach its peak, he thrust his hands forward and released it.
Instantly, a wide stream of fire erupted from his palms—a spiraling vortex that roared as it surged forward.
The flame stretched nearly three meters wide and traveled about seven meters across the arena before dissipating.
The ground beneath the blast was scorched, blackened in a jagged path. It hadn't melted through the surface, but that wasn't the point. It was a first attempt, and it had worked.
He stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. Then he felt it—that familiar sensation when his body and mind locked onto something new.
This time, he already knew how to create the fire. Mewtwo summoned it effortlessly, compressing it between his palms and launching it forward. In seconds, another Flamethrower burst from his hands—larger than before, with greater range and intensity. He watched it surge across the arena.
"I unlocked it. Finally," Mewtwo said aloud, staring at the trail of scorched ground the flame had left behind. It wasn't perfect yet—he still needed to refine it for combat use.
Lately, he'd learned that if a move couldn't be executed instantly, it was useless in a real battle. So he'd have to practice until summoning Flamethrower became second nature. But for now, he'd done it. He could wield fire.
"Now, time for thunder," he muttered, already shifting focus.
Repeating the process, he called forth energy again. This time, it was surprisingly easier. His psychic power had a natural tendency to spark when overloaded, so it was just a matter of directing that instability.
At first, the electricity was weak and flickered with a harmless purple hue, barely more than a static charge. But after half an hour of refining the flow—adjusting how he layered and released the energy—the electricity began to shift.
It turned yellow.
Now the lightning was wild and aggressive, crackling with real force. It was more refined than Hyper Beam, but still volatile. Uncontrolled sparks danced across his arms and leapt to the ground, leaving singe marks on the floor of the arena.
It took him another hour to tame it.
He discovered that this kind of energy behaved differently from the rest of his abilities. It resisted being shaped, reacted quickly to emotion, and surged unevenly unless held with precision.
But eventually, he adapted. When he finally got the balance right, he gathered the charged energy in both hands and released it in a sharp burst.
A bolt of lightning shot forward—quick, and loud. It struck the wall with a blinding flash and a crack of thunder that echoed through the chamber.
"Thunderbolt," he whispered, lowering his hands. One more ready.
"Only two more left," he said to himself, glancing at the time. It was getting late, but he could afford to stay a bit longer.
Without wasting another second, Mewtwo summoned lightning once more. This time, he added a layer of telekinesis to the process, lifting the energy slightly above his palm and compressing it into a sphere. Now that he had Thunderbolt, manipulating the electric charge was much easier.
The ball stabilized quickly, pulsing with a controlled hum. Once it held steady, he hurled it forward.
The Electro Ball spun through the air before bursting on impact—another technique added to his arsenal.
Three new moves in one day.
He let out a tired breath. "Now I understand... I should've started this earlier. I could've been so much stronger by now." He looked at his hands, still glowing faintly with residual energy.
"My close-range combat is solid, I know that. It's as good as it can be. But my long-range power—my strongest potential—was falling behind."
At least now, he had a foundation to build on.
He stood up suddenly, an idea striking him like a reflex. He closed his hand into a fist and allowed his energy to flow through his body. It was the same movement he used when activating Mega Punch. His fist started to glow—but this time, he took a different path.
Instead of raw psychic force, he directed the energy to shift. He visualized it transforming, not into pressure or force, but into lightning.
Immediately, the glow turned yellow. Sparks began to crackle around his fist, and then the light fractured—becoming pure electricity. His hand was now wrapped in a volatile coat of lightning, pulsing with power.
He struck the ground.
The impact wasn't as physically strong as Mega Punch, but it was faster—lightning-fast. And the electricity surged through the floor on contact, its secondary effects adding an extra layer of danger. Against certain opponents, it might even be deadlier than a purely physical blow.
Mewtwo looked at his hand, still flickering with sparks.
Mewtwo repeated the process for hours, tirelessly experimenting with different ways to manipulate his powers. It wasn't easy—far from it. More than once, he lost control, triggering unstable bursts of energy that exploded right in his face. When that happened, he was forced to rely on Life Dew to heal the burns and bruises that followed. The trial and error was exhausting, and progress was slow at first.
But by the end of the day, something remarkable had happened. Mewtwo had unlocked six new moves—a staggering leap forward, especially considering how gradual his development had been until now.
Flamethrower. Fire Punch. Thunderbolt. Electro Ball. Thunder Punch. And finally, Confuse Ray.
Each one came from careful testing and pushing his limits. The last of them, Confuse Ray, had emerged by accident while he was trying to reshape Shadow Ball into a focused beam. Instead of producing raw damage, the new form used significantly less energy and created a disorienting effect. He quickly realized it could be used as a debuff—a tool to disrupt an enemy's focus during battle.
Looking back on the day's work, Mewtwo felt a rare sense of satisfaction. His body was worn, and his energy reserves were low, but the results spoke for themselves. This wasn't just progress—it was a breakthrough.