The Pantheon

The Doctor

Vulcan’s Expanded Arsenal
—or as Ashley liked to call it, Operation: Turn the Fire Dog into a One-Pokémon Apocalypse.

When he wasn’t playing big brother to the Pantheon—teaching Chione timing, nudging Mercury’s form straight, giving Mars a begrudging nod of approval—Vulcan trained. Hard. Quietly. Like it was a responsibility, not just a job. And as Ashley and Brock sat down to evaluate his current move pool, it became clear:

“He’s all teeth,” Brock said, arms folded, watching Vulcan chomp through a training dummy like it owed him rent.

Ashley winced as foam and sawdust flew. “Yeah… he’s got Fire Fang, Thunder Fang, Ice Fang, and even Bite. He’s basically a one-mon haunted house.”

“Problem is,” Brock continued, “that all means close range. Which is fine when he’s faster. But what if he’s not?”

Ashley made a face. “...He gets smacked.”

“Exactly.”

So, Brock mapped out a plan. Expand his coverage. Give him options. Bring some utility into that fiery fluffball of doom.

First up? Ground coverage. Always a win.

Brock prepped a training area filled with soft dirt and rocky slopes while Ashley gave Vulcan the rundown. “Alright, buddy,” she said, crouching in front of him. “Time to learn how to make the earth angry. You down?”

Vulcan snorted and pawed at the ground, already liking this.

Bulldoze came naturally to Vulcan—but not at first in the way anyone expected.

His first attempt looked more like a pup throwing a tantrum in a flower bed. He dug at the ground with both front paws, kicked a bit of dust, and looked up at Ashley like, Did I do it?

Ashley blinked. She did not know what to say to that spectacle. Luckily, Brock had it covered.

“Plant your weight,” Brock called from the sideline, gesturing with his hand like he was guiding a wrestler into position. “Shoulders down. Rear legs ready. Don’t just kick—shake. You're not digging a hole, you're making the world trip.”

Vulcan exhaled.

And then—he dug in.

Forelegs spread. Muscles coiled. One deep inhale.

Then—

Stomp.

The ground rippled.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t clean. It was a low, rolling force, like the kind of rumble you feel before a rockslide hits. The dirt buckled under him, the tremor spreading out in a visible wave. Training dummies staggered, then fell like a row of tipsy Graveler. Even a few of Brock’s rock-lined cones shook loose and clattered to the ground.

Mercury, who had been watching too close, let out a panicked, “VEE!!” and launched himself onto a nearby boulder, ears flat, eyes wide.

Ashley’s jaw dropped. “Did he just earthquake a playground?”

Brock grinned. “Perfect. Now give it speed.”

That’s when Vulcan started really having fun.

He began charging first—bounding into the move with momentum, paws hammering the ground as he surged forward, then ending the run with a ground-splitting Bulldoze that left the field looking like a Dugtrio had been through a mood swing.

By the sixth run, he was tearing across the dirt like a runaway Rapidash, Bulldozing everything in his path and slowing opponents before they even realized what hit them. Ashley scribbled frantically in her notebook. She will need a new one soon.