I used to think “Who’s the strongest Pokémon?” was a dumb question. I mean, just look up base stats, right? The numbers are right there, data-mined and codified for generations. But after decades spent grinding from the Game Boy Color days to the current Switch meta, I’ve realized the question actually cuts to the heart of why I care about this franchise-and why so many other fans fight about it online. It’s not just about who’s got the fattest numbers or the wildest lore. This debate is about what kind of strength really matters in Pokémon, and what we, as players and lifelong trainers, value in our monsters and the world they inhabit.
I first started caring about this question after my hundredth online battle where some brat with a hacked Mega Rayquaza wiped my entire team in three turns. It made me sit back and wonder: What’s the point of all these “powerhouses” if half of them are banned, restricted, or just not fun to fight against? Anyone who played Gen VI’s competitive ladder knows the horror of running into Mega Mewtwo Y and feeling instantly doomed, no matter how clever your set. On the flip side, some of my favorite moments have been clutching absurd victories with absolute weirdos like Clefable or Whimsicott, trouncing monsters like Zacian on sheer mind games and prediction. I’ve spent hundreds of hours in Showdown and cartridge formats obsessing over this dichotomy—a far cry from just checking the Pokédex’s Attack stat and calling it a day. That’s when I realized: the answer changes depending on what kind of player, and Pokémon fan, you are.
Let’s break down the (messy) dimensions of “strongest Pokémon,” and why I think even Arceus can’t claim the title unchallenged.
I’ll never forget the first time I beat Lance’s Dragonite with a level 50 Jolteon back in Gold. That wasn’t supposed to happen. And yet, with some clutch Thunder Waves, smart switching, and a couple critical-hitting Pin Missiles (remember when that move sucked?), I took down the king. That’s when my relationship with “strength” in Pokémon fundamentally changed. Since then, fighting game fundamentals bled into my Pokémon mindset: anticipation, reading the opponent, squeezing value out of every niche mon, even when the “meta” says otherwise.
Flash forward a couple decades and I’ve poured thousands of hours into both mainline and competitive battling. I’ve had my soul crushed by Mega Kangaskhan’s epic brokenness. I’ve seen Ubers become boring playgrounds of statistical monsters where every fight feels the same. I’ve also watched 600 BST ‘mons like Togekiss or Mandibuzz absolutely demolish “stronger” legends on the right team. So yeah—I get heated when people try to end the debate by just pointing at the Pokédex and yelling “ARCEUS!”
The argument for Arceus is straightforward: 720 base stats, god in the lore, can become any type, and canonically created most of the universe. If you’re going by the lore, sure—who else compares? Eternamax Eternatus is the only thing with more raw stats, but that thing only shows up as a scripted boss—you can’t battle with it, so it might as well be a movie prop.
What Game Freak loves to do is dangle these “unknowable” cosmic threats so they can fleece us with event legendaries and keep non-legends in their place. But in practice, is Arceus even fun to use, outside meme formats? Does anyone enjoy fighting against a well-built Arceus team? I don’t—and neither do most of the single-battle community. That’s why “Ubers” is a polite way to say “the banlist.” No matter how much of a role Arceus or Mega Rayquaza plays in the mythos, they’re often too dominant to be interesting for real battles.
In my book, if you build a mon so strong you can’t play with it, is it really the strongest? Or just a mistake that warps the entire competitive ecosystem?
Let’s talk reality: in Smogon’s OU and even VGC, raw stats matter, but nowhere near as much as movepool coverage, typing, and team synergy. Kingambit is everywhere in OU right now, filling gaps Arceus can only dream about, because Kingambit does what it does so well—supereffective coverage, Sucker Punch priority, sheer bulk, and a killer ability. Its BST? A “measly” 550.
Same goes for Great Tusk. In Scarlet/Violet, this prehistoric Donphan overshadows legendary competition not just out of brute force but because it fits into offensive and defensive cores better than any supposed Uber mon. Often, the actual “strongest” is whoever fits the current meta—the toolbox Pokémon, the unexpected threat, the glue guy. Stats only tell you what’s possible, not what’s powerful.
I love watching—and playing—these “underdogs” demolish overloaded legends on ladder. It’s gratifying, and it’s proof that Game Freak did something right with the competitive balance—at least for now. Every time someone tries to sweep with a so-called “strongest” mon only to get demolished by clever play, it’s a reminder that numbers aren’t destiny.
Let’s not dodge the crazy: Mega Rayquaza, Mega Mewtwo X/Y, Primal Groudon, and friends exist to break the games, sell TCG packs, and juice movie plots. Sure, it’s fun seeing Mega Rayquaza nuke the heavens, but do you want a meta built around that? Of course not. That’s why you get endless bans, strict tournament clauses, and outrage when even “lower” Uber threats sneak into standard play.
If we’re judging by “Who hits the hardest, who can’t be killed,” then Eternamax Eternatus is king. Except you can’t have it. So what’s the point? Are these just digital trophies—dangle-the-carrot events for kids who want to feel special for thirty minutes until they discover they can’t use them anywhere that matters?
Don’t get me wrong, the Pokémon mythos is a blast. The fact that Arceus created time and space is rad. But if we’re talking about what’s meaningful over years of actual play, I care a lot more about whether my Pokémon can cut through opposing teams and hold up in real battles. That’s what makes Mewtwo so damn iconic: not just “Uber” stats but reliability, flexibility, and the aura of threat that lasted through generations of tournaments and casual play. The toughest Pokémon isn’t just the one with the highest BST or the thickest lore—it’s the one with the legacy of real-world victories, hard-fought and hard-won.
When people ask “Who’s the strongest Pokémon?”, they usually mean, “Who’s the one I’d use if I wanted to win for real?” But the real answer has always been “it depends.” What matters is what you value—raw stats, mythic lore, actual in-game performance, or simply who you love seeing in the winner’s circle. I used to idolize legendaries because I was a kid who loved the mythos. Now, after all these years, I respect the “underdog” ‘mons that punch above their weight way more. If you’re a competitive player, you know there’s always some Togekiss or Kingambit lurking to upend your team of gods.
And that’s why this debate keeps kicking. Every player brings their own answer. For some, it’ll always be Arceus, lording over the universe. For others, it’s the latest meta-defining threat clawing its way to OU glory. For me? It’s whichever Pokémon turns my prediction and strategy into a win, no matter how the stats shake out.
As a lifelong fan, I get why we keep asking who’s the strongest. It’s a way of picking favorites, of sorting out which part of Pokémon—lore, stats, or competition—matters most to us. But don’t buy into the myth that there’s a single correct answer. Arceus is not the strongest, just the most convenient mascot for a complicated conversation. The real answer is “it depends”—and as long as Pokémon keeps mixing up stats, stories, and meta threats, that’s exactly how it should be.
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