Private/Closed Grave of the Forgotten

[Storybook]

Earth, pebbles, dust and dirt, a cloak, a shroud that obscured the eye and irritated the light as it shone on the reign of terror the still air commanded, stifling the dirt's flow as it tried again to settle to the floor. The boy huffed at the dirt's futility as it struggled to settle, a task that seemed simple, to be completed in a finite amount of time, and yet never appeared to be able to finish, trying to struggle out of the trap of infinity. Facts told the boy that with enough peace it would settle in time. For now, it was confused. Thinking its finite struggle was infinite, never to be completed.

Huh.

The boy emerged from the tomb of a den, following closely the girl as he tried to think about her words, brain spent on petty observations. He felt fatigued, the world shifting in and out of focus, sweat tainting his ghostly skin and mutating it to a pallid, pearly, rusty red, as if frost had permeated within it and burned it with its frozen teeth. And yet he was hot, so hot. His palms were clammy, his forehead a paste as particles of dirt clung to the sweaty skin, and the world slipped in and out of existence.

He started, flicking his head towards the girl, body registering the name before his mind did in an instant reaction, feeling a rush of cold blood cloak his neck as if worry had swarmed his brain in the absence of surprise. Air, dreary and tired, wrapped around his wrists as if trying to wipe away the heat that radiated from it. Que had a vague feeling that something was wrong, and he uneasily looked away from the girl, forgetting to process the question before he responded.

''Yeah. When'd I tell you?''

Curiosity was absent from the question, dull and reactive from his first instinct. For a moment, he thought on the subject, realizing vaguely that he couldn't actually process his memories. Had he always been in these caverns, always walking, always fatigued, cold and hot all at once, silence a shadow tearing at his footsteps? He couldn't remember past the last day, the last hour. He was tired. He wanted to go to sleep.

The boy found he was walking with the girl, through the darkness, through the caves. His arm hurt. It hurt bad, like a poison in his skin. He rarely felt pain. Rarely went outside, rarely ran, never played. His skin was eerily pale, void of any oddities, no bruise, no freckle, not even a scratch. He hadn't felt pain before. He didn't understand how it hurt, how it tore at him, how it barraged him, how it poisoned him, how it constantly raked at his mind. He just wanted the distraction.

And oh, did the boy love it. And oh, did the boy hate it. As he walked, the world vanished into a void, a limitless nothing forever, and sweat padded his skin like a sponge. But then his arm wrenched the vision from his eyes in a spout of agony and the world was clear again, the air was cold, gravity chained him to the smooth floor and he ran his arm across the wall with an addictive urgency, feeling its smooth, perfect touch, the coolness of the ancient stone caressing his skin. And then the girl vanished and he was alone and he was dead but the pain tore away the false reality and replaced it with another, one that hurt, one where he felt alive. And Que was addicted to life as much as he was addicted to death, because he hated pain and he never wanted to be alone.

She'd called him a monster.

Had she?

Or was he possessed by a demon that she thought he wouldn't fight, some sort of... thing, some thought, some vision. No, she was saying something else, some conversation he hadn't been there for, couldn't remember, couldn't understand. He'd give her an answer anyways. Her serrated gaze overpowered him, slit through his soul until he felt cold at her sight and he shivered beneath an answer he didn't want to understand.

''If I'm trapped by this... monster, if it's trying to steal me away- If that's true, then what? I can't fight what I don't understand.''

The cool subterranean air clawed at his limbs, chains that tore him towards the floor. His slouch deepened. He swayed, feverish and confused, walking as if the earth were pushing him on, speaking words that were far away. The watcher shivered at the steely eyed form's shoulder, feeling himself being repulsed again and again by the fevered form, terror gripping near his chest until he couldn't control himself and he reached to become a part of the creature that was a wretched void. And it hurt, and it hurt, and puzzle piece emotions clung to his skin and tore him away.

''Everything changes-,'' the boy stated simply, as if such a fact would explain everything he had stated before, why he didn't fight a monster he didn't understand. His voice declared he didn't care, monotonous and simple, but his face was skewed, his forehead drenched, his thin lips parted in a whisper that was simultaneously loud and nonexistent, raging at the silence while being destroyed by it. He slowed his pace, hand clasping the cool rock wall almost as if he were leaning into the cold embrace.

''I don't want to.''

And his voice was as silent as a cold winter breath, pained and afraid.

He paused. He stopped walking, moving. He didn't want to walk he didn't want to move he never wanted to leave the spot in which he stood, hand against the wall, addicted to its cool touch, frosty and serpentine. He didn't care that the girl walked on, he didn't care that he had trapped himself in these caverns of the dreadful truth, he didn't care, he didn't care as long as he never moved, a statue of the constant present. He'd pretend he could stop time, and it would work. He didn't want to walk and he didn't want to move and he didn't care that the silence pressed against his chest and choked him, wrapped around his ghostly face and pulled the breath from his lips, closed his eyes, numbed his tongue from all taste into a sans that would stop everything forever.

His heartbeat writhed against his ears.

His arms burned with an itching agony, like the fire itself had dug its rotting teeth into his arm, sharply pointed incisors bleeding puss into the pallid flesh.

The girl walked on.

Had she walked on?

The girl walked on.

Darkness enveloped the earth like a cloak of solitude, silky and cold, pressing noise into the abyss of a void. And he told himself he wanted peace and he told himself he wanted nothing to ever change and he wanted to stay still forever, but forever was never and his arm bled with agony and the girl disappeared into folds of darkness like she had never existed at all. He reminded himself he hated standing still, hated it with every fiber of his being, as much as he hated the world changing, and yet he couldn't seem to remember why. He ran after her not with the knowledge of the pain of the nothing he mistook as everything but with a primeval terror, a strain of poison in his bones that caused his heart to race into his ears and the silence to cut and tear him to pieces every time he dared to draw a breath.

''If we're going to revert back to the formalities, then hello. My name is Que, and yours is Cassie.''

It was always easier to run away.

A stupid strategy, the Dedenne considered. Better to fight with every fiber, to live existence to stop the looming terror that wrenched at her shoulders and made her muscles fall weak. She twitched her tail impulsively, she counted in her head, she pondered without pondering and cleaned her fur until she tugged it out. And then the rodent found a bout of relief and she pulled more fur from her tailbone, nipping it off with her teeth, anxiety causing her to shiver uncontrollably, sure that if she just did everything a religious five times than it would all be alright. Everyone would return. Everyone would return forever. It was up to her, all up to her. She controlled fate. She couldn't make a single mistake.

There was only one explanation for all of this. For the nightmarish memory, for the cascade of terror, for event after terrible event on this horrid day. Or night. Or whatever it was. It must be a pre-Tuesday, the Dedenne decided - as in, Sunday, pre-Tuesday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The day of bad luck and demons and hate. Yes, it was the demon day, the day of all her troubles, where agony tagged at her tail and emptiness clung to her chest. Such was its demonic tendency that the Dedenne refused to even call the day by its name, as if it held bad luck just to state the word. She was a superstitious being. She wouldn't say the name of the second twelve, let alone dare to breath of pre-tuesday.

Maybe this would all be fixed if she skipped to Tuesday. Yes, that was it.

The Dedenne ripped a few more shreds of fur from her tailbone and then skittered off of the boy's shoulder, wriggling between the zippers of his backpack into the dank, calming darkness beneath the folds of cloth. She circled a spot five times, twitched her ears, tail, and nose, cleaned her body and circled the spot again before falling asleep.

And silence was a void above it all, a serrated icicle in a frosted world. Que slouched further, not because he felt curious nor heavy nor sad, but because he felt weak, tired and faint. The world passed in and out of his eyes and pain allowed it to travel, the payment for the ticket gate to flee the bridge of insanity. He swayed on the verge of delirium, grabbing his left wrist, radiating clammy heat and sweating more than he'd ever sweat before until the paste of hair upon his skull was sticky with the salty liquid paste. Again, the boy felt that something was wrong, and this time he knew it with a surge of anxiety in his chest.

Footsteps scattered his feelings and thoughts, and silence evaporated them into its void. The world was a pearl in the mouth of a clam, singing a song of hatred and terror with its core of debri and its skin of pretty gems. Que touched the wall again and praised its frozen demeanor as it seeped the heat out of his feverish skin.

He walked, the world pushing him forwards.

 

[Curtkid]

"Oooooooh, SWITCHblades, I get it! I actually have a Switchblade that I got from the back room of a Chinese Western Weapons shop in a mall, left it a home though....the blade is only like three inches big, not very practical for stabbing anything but another person....", Curt said, droning on like there wasn't a rampaging beast chasing after his Croconaw companion. Thankfully, Gerald was of more sound mind then Curt was, and immediately set Switchblades upon the beast to hack and slash at it while empty would try to creep up on it with Shadow Sneak slow it down with X- Scissor. Even in Curts high state, he realized that was a fairly clever strategy considering the Pokemons condition, unfortunately, Lockjaws panic-attack proved to be stiring things up a little too much, as the monsters rampaging and lumbering form proved inaccurate to hit Lockjaw, causing it to throw itself all around the cavern, losing stones and sending the entire cavern crumbling down. Fortunately, no one, neither trainer or Pokemon (or unfortunately, the monster) was hurt, but it did come with the price of leaving both trainers and Pokemon separated from each other.

"Ooooooooh shit....O.K, Gerald, this might be...O.K, it is kinda....really bad", Curt said, the seriousness of the situation piercing through his high, "I mean, I'm pretty sure Empty, Switches, and Lockjaw could have....you know....taken that thing if we were there to help them but...I mean, Lockjaw is smart, but if he's panicking like that...I dunno....". Even Curt was able to piece together that this was bad, and that they needed some sort of solution fast, or at least some help, now! In this case, help seemed to come in the form of the two people who were just going out of their way to try and kill them, as Thomas and the Rocket Grunt, Justin, came to them with an olive branch. After all, this creature seemed to posses power that you only heard of in legends, like in the tales of the hero of Sinnoh and his Bidoof, or the champion of Johto and his partner, the Typhlosion with the White flames!

“So how about this, since I’m no longer in office hours, how about we work together to get out of here huh?” He pulled on an insincere grin, somehow possessing the nerve to even extend his hand for a handshake. “Look, it’s nothing personal. It’s just business.”

Now, normally Curt might have been just the tiniest bit suspicious, after all, those two were just trying to kill them, but in his high Curt didn't give it a second thought. Actually, perhaps even a sober Curt would have jumped straight into an alliance, considering what he had just saw and the fact that Lockjaw, hell, perhaps even the rest of his team, were in server danger with that monster running around. No, even a sober Curt would side with the Rockets if it meant even giving them a chance in help saving Lockjaw, Embertail, and the rest of the group!

"Thomas....Justin.....considering the circumstances....you got yourself a partner!," Curt said with a cheery grin as he fist-bumped Thomas's extended hand,"and Justin, don't worry about Guineeovanni, 'cuse we're probably going to have to kill that mutated puss ball, and I'm cool with letting you guys keep its head, that way if your boss starting asking questions, you can just throw its head on his desks, real conversation stopper that'll be...OH! And by-the-by Thomas, sorry for shooting you in the shins earlier, I mean, you were trying to kill us, but I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if you are, Lockjaw, and probably Embertail and the rest too need our help, and if taking Rockets as partners is a risk that might save them, theeeeeeeeeen SO BE IT!" Curt was still on a bit of a high from the morphine, that was obvious, but who knows, maybe the group could use Curt's temporary ability to shrug of pain? No doubt if the Rockets would have been left speechless if they saw Curt just walking through the tear gas earlier like it was nothing.

"Now, Gerald, unless you have any objections, I suggest we get moving, as ugly as that thing was, it did look kinda strong, and I think our buddies would appreciate some help dealing with it!", Curt said with a sense of confidence that certainty didn't fit the situation, "besides, Embertail is still in that...nightmare thing, and I'd kinda like to a get him out of it as soon as possible a little bit....it you don't mind?"
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jasper and Raviel still weren't entirely certain what had gotten Nine so worked up, but they both decided that it would be best to follow Nine and hold all questions for now, as much as both Pokemon mutually hated being kept in the dark. Normally the Pokemon, particularly Raviel (as a point, he rarely, if ever, got into something without getting the finer details, his life on the streets taught him that much, would have demanded more info from the Ninetales, but neither could deny a creeping down their spin. A certain feeling of dread, of imminent doom that was closing in on them every second they stayed their, so they continued forward with the group without a fuss. They both watched as June lite one of her magazine's pages alight and dropped it into the abyse below, the flames disappearing from sight before in hit any sort of bottom. Raviel was a tad unnerved by the thought of how deep and huge the cavern could be, but Jasper was a Cubone, her kind had lived in caverns and mountains for as long as anyone of her species could remember. As much of a weird vibe this place gave her, it was still a cave and a small part of her felt...not at home per-say, but it still felt a bit like familiar territory to her.

And then came the screams.

The entire party immediately jumped on the ready, Jasper was a brave soul and was going to do her damnedest to make sure no one lost thier life on her part, while Raviel drew bravery from his pride, he was not about to look like a chicken in front of all these Pokemon, he had a reputation to maintain. At first, both Pokemon were struck by surprise to see Lockjaw sprinting down the caverns, flailing his arms and screaming about a "monster", with Nine taking charge and grabbing the Croconaw by his tail with impressive reflexes. Raviel barked out an assumption of the darkness of the caves freaking him out in typical fashion, but Jasper had known Lockjaw a good deal longer then Raviel did. She had seen the sudden spurt of courage and growth that came from when he evolved from a Totodile, and though he was mostly still the same Lockjaw they knew and loved, Jasper knew that Lockjaw was significantly harder to scare now, and whatever had caused him to freak out like that was some mundane matter that would have scared him before.

Jasper, Raviel, and indeed the whole party, got their answer far sooner then they anticipated, as the Rockets Pokemon came charging after them. At first, Jasper readied herself for a fight, till Raviel advised the party otherwise, the observant Jolteon noticing a unique pattern in their sprints, and a peculiar, and all to familiar look in their eyes. These Pokemon weren't charging, they were fleeing! Raviels suspecions proved true when they saw the Pokemon sprint past them, Weavile clambering over the sides of the walls, Koffing hovering above them, Ekans and Rattata darting through the larger Pokemons legs to avoid being slowed down. Even the mighty Bisharp charged right past them, also screaming something about a "monster". Once again they pondered on a question: what they meant by "a monster", and once again they got their answer unfortunately quickly.

Charging down the hall, in hot pursuit of the fleeing Pokemon, was what only could be described as a massive, human shaped, creature made of sores, tumors, and grey twisted flesh came charging at them. It's arms were massive and looked strong enough to got toe to toe with a Machamp in a wrestling match, where as the legs contrasted in that they were almost comically thin by comparison. It's ears were pointed like those fantasy creatures humans created (kelves where they called?), where as it's face was twisted and striped of almost any recognition of whatever creature it might have been, with the exception of one dangling eye ball. The entire party stood their in awe for a brief moment before darting with Nine into the safety of the other room, leaping through the hole in the wall to avoid being trampled by the creature. Jasper made sure she went last to avoid them all getting wedged in the hole, ushering Pokemon through the tiny hole in the demolished wall. Jasper was a brave, perhaps some would even call heroic, Pokemon, who always put the needs of others before herself, and was almost stomped flat for her selflessness. Thankfully, Junes psychic abilities helped her out of their just in time, pulling her through the hole with remarkable reaction time. That one action had instantly earned Jaspers respect.

And then their they stood, face to face with this twisted monstrosity of a waking nightmare, everyone felt a heavy sense of fear, even Jasper who had almost given her life to the creature if not for June. But one of the many things that separate a Pokemon from a wild animal is the idea of going against your instincts, the logical thing would be to ditch Embertail and Nine and then run, giving them up for lost and leave them to distract the creature for a moment for them to make their escape. The thought may have entered their minds, it wouldn't be unreasonable if it didn't, but what mattered is that they immediately shoved that idea away and stood their ground. Embertail, Nine, and even June, and Puff, they were their friends now, made so by being bound in this nightmare together, and they would rather throw themselves to the creature then flee like cowards and leave their friends to die.

Nine almost immediately threw up safeguard and protect, which Jasper immediately took some shelter in, not because she was unwilling to face the creature head on. She was a durable Cubone, but even she knew it might be pressing it a bit to get into close quarters with that monster, besides, if she then Nine would be the only defense Embertail had, and as strong as Nine was, Jasper wasn't comfortable leaving him as the unconscious Embertail's only defense. So, from the protection of the Nine's shields she launched a barrage of long ranged attacks, first Ice Beam to see if the cold would slow it down and then Flamethrower in hopes of burning it and crippling the creatures incredible strength. Raviel however, felt more confident in taking a bit more...direct approach, he wouldn't charge the creature of course (he wasn't Whips after all), but dancing around the monster, blasting it with a quick and light Thundershock attack seemed to be the best course. Even if all he could do was keep the monsters attention, he felt that could be enough, the one-eared Jolteon was probably the fastest long range attacker her (Puff might be able to match his speed, but he was fairly certain she was restricted to physical attacks) and Raviel felt he could surpass even the monsters speed, what with ability to dart around the area at the speed of sound in short, electric jolts. He just had to make sure he didn't get over confident and at the same time not burn through too much of his energy, he had recently evolved into a Jolteon, and those high-speed jolts took a bit more energy then they should have. He just hoped he could keep this...things attention long enough to wear it down.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"(Hmmm, this might be trouble, it's getting harder and harder to sense things in here, its like that force we felt earlier is trying to block out my magic)", Flare said, her brow furrowed in concentration, trying to pin-point where exactly everyone was. They had come to a cross-roads of sorts in their path through the caverns and were uncertain of which path to take. Taking the wrong choice could prove disastrous, Flare had Nine and the rest pinpointed just a few moments ago, and they felt close too, but now it seemed like they were getting harder and harder to locate. The moans of the caves, echoing from the unseeable ceiling above seemed foreboding, as though warning them of an encroaching danger that was closing in on them more and more the longer they waited, but even a haste decision could mean disaster as well. If they chose the wrong way, it could potentially take hours, even days before they meet up with them again, and they would just have to default on just finding an exit and hope that everyone else made it out alright. Neither Flare nor Whips wanted to do that, they both knew that there was...something, lurking in these caves, and even if they, by some miracle, made it out alive, then that meant leaving everyone else at the mercy of...whatever was roaming in the dark. Of course, they both knew that everyone was at least a competent fighter, but still, they weren't about the leave their friends lives in the hands of...whatever was out here.

"(Well, I guess this is it, we're going to have to keep moving or we're definitely going to lose them...if we have to chose, I'm going to say we go-)"

"Geeyroh?", Whips said, pointing to what appeared to be a fluttering light, drifting down from above.

"(Hmmm, Oh? W-What is....)", Flare joined Whips in watching the light drift down to meet them, as it got closer they took a few cautious steps back and waited for it to land on the ground. After a moment to make sure it wasn't apparently a threat, they took a cautious step toward the flickering light. Firstly, the light turned out to be a fire, second, what it was burning certainly didn't seem dangerous, but after what had been happening today, it was better to err on the side of caution. As the got closer, it was made clear the it was simply a mostly burnt away piece of paper, nothing more, but taking a closer look enabled them to identify the burning page as....

"(Is that....a magazine of some kind? Whips didn't that June girl have a habit of carrying these things around?)", Flare remarked as the both looked up into the inky blackness above, "(If that's so, then its not unreasonable to assume that everyone else is up thei-AHHHHHAHAHAHA, WHIPS!)". Flare cried in surprise, holding back a sharp yelp, which instead came out as some bizarre moan. The Dragonite had wrapped Flare's waist around his arms the moment they knew where to go and wasted not time in heading up the inky darkness. The fact that the magazine hadn't completely burnt up meant that everyone else was near bye, and this could be their best chance to catch up with them. Still, Whips didn't go full speed up the gorge, here you always had to err on the side of caution, no matter how sure you were of your actions, what they heard the moment Whips touched down on the caverns higher levels proved those suspicion correct.

A roar, beastal and primal, filled with a fury that Whips and Flare could only match with one other creature they had ever encountered in their entire life, and said creature had nearly killed them, Jacob's teams, and almost half of Meteor Falls along with them. True, this creature didn't sound exactly like that monster they encountered in the Falls, but it held all the ferocity and blood lust that the extraterrestrial nightmare had. Whips and Flare exchanged a brief glace, their eyes saying everything that needed to be said, in that one exchange the knew the fear each other felt at the prospect of facing that....whatever it was. They also knew that each shared a fear of what could become of their friends if, whatever that thing was, got their hands on them.

No, inspite of their fears, both Flare and Whips knew that the only path for them was forward.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Shiver's of fear pulsed through Embertails body as he cautiously took a step back from the two Charizards, both stood at the same height and were considerably imposing. The male gazed at Embertail with a flat and straight forward expression, but if one, even a person completely unfamiliar with the Flame Pokemon, looked closely, it would seem as though he was trying to avoid looking Embertail in the eye, his face hiding subtle traces of sadness, pity, and perhaps even a hint of...regret? The females, however, could not be more different, she held herself higher then the male, and looked Embertail in the eye's with pure fury and contempt, as though Embertail had personally insulted her to her face.

Dragons were proud and honorable Pokemon, and though the Char-line were technically not of the Dragon-type under usual circumstances, they were extremely close kin, and many kept the same pride and honor found in most Dragonic Pokemon, and that was most evident in a Charizard. Charizard were extremely rare Pokemon, though many trainers from the Kanto region were often given the option of choosing a Charmander as a starting partner, very few trainers had the skill, fortitude, and determination to strengthen to spend the years to evolve their starting Pokemon into its final stage, and such a process was even more harsh in the wild that few would live long enough to do. But for Pokemon who love battle like Charizard,it served perfectly to establish a clans hierarchy.

In a clan, Charmander are often charged with gathering food (a Charizard wouldn't even turn its breathe on an opponent weaker then it), manual labor, and other menial tasks, only allowed to fight when their homes were being directly threatened or invaded, destined to forever stay at the bottom of the hierarchy, except under one condition. Those Charmander that trained hard enough and managed to evolve into Charmelon were considered worthy of the honor of battle and proving themselves on the field, on average, one out of every three Charmanders in a clan would evolve into a Charmeleon. But even among those Charmeleon, fewer still would managed to survive numerous battles and distinguish themselves by bring down many strong opponents, to become Charizards, the finest warriors of a clan and the top of the hierarchy. All members of the a clan desire to move up in the hierarchy, and not just for honor or respect, but for a species of Pokemon that value strength and fire above all else, it is viewed that only the strongest are allowed to breed, in hopes of passing down their strength to the next generation. Charmander's are not allowed to breed, being viewed as weak and unlikely to sire strong children, only Charmeleon and Charizard are allowed to mate, but Embertails clan had a special, unique tradition. That being, the clans two strongest warriors of each gender are to take each other as mates, in hopes that they would produce a Pokemon of exceptional strength.

Embertail never knew any of that until a few months ago, he was abandoned by his clan when he was just a few years old, and had ended up adopting human culture the moment Curt and his family adopted him. Even the time he lived with his clan, the majority of it was spent hidden away in back of a tiny, dark, cave. Even with the faint light from his tail, it was still very dark and, even worse, cramped, he could hardly see anything, couldn't move around much, and he was always afraid. He always assumed that were his claustrophobia came from and why he didn't like being in Pokeballs. That's not to say he was entirely left alone, occasionally he was allowed to be with his family, mostly during meal times, though no one ever talked to him, well, except of his "uncle" (as humans would know him) and his son. For Embertail, some of his earliest memories were of his uncle, with him cleaning the cave dirt from him, entertaining him with his fire breathe, or sometimes even just talking to him (even though Embertail could hardly remember what he said).

Sometimes, when he was alone and found his thoughts drifting back to his clan, he found it strange, and a little sad, that he remembered his uncle more vividly then he remembered his own father. In fact, from what little he remembered of his father, the Charmeleon seemed to want nothing to do with him, spending all his time with his younger siblings, the few happy memories he had of his time with his clan almost always involved his uncle or his cousin. To Embertail, his uncle was the beacon of light in his early childhood, his uncles unusual cheery, even sometimes goofy, attitude was an extreme rarity amongest Charizards, and his uncle's influence was probably the reason why Embertail acted like he did today. Everyone else was cold or distant, but his uncle, whenever he could, gave him the kindness and love his parents didn't. He never liked giving those days much thought though, until the day came that Curt and his family decided to take a trip back to their homeland.

They had won a good sum of prize money for placing in the top Eight of the Kanto League Tournament, enough for them to consider taking a vacation to the country where Curt and Embertail were born. After he heard that, for some reason, all he could think about was visiting his clan, if only to give that part of his life some form of closure. Of course, Curt, Whips, Jasper, Lockjaw, Raviel, Flare, everyone was happy to help Embertail fulfill his wishes. Locating the mountains he was from was easy, there was only one mountain range near-bye that had reported Charizard sightings, but getting to his clan was a different matter. The climb was treacherous without flight, even with all of his teams skilled they had a few close calls, and even when they made it past the climb, they almost got roasted by the very clan they were trying to find. If it wasn't for the timely arrival of Embertails uncle who, unfortunately, recognized him, they would have most likely been forced to flee then and there. What really surprised Embertail though, was how...panicky his uncle seemed when he reunited with him, he always remembered the Charizard being very happy and kind, at least to him, but from what Embertail recalled, apparently his uncle was one of the strongest warriors in the clan. Initially, he absolutely refused to take them into the mountains, insisting that they leave, but Embertail was at least able to convince him to take a minute to talk and catch up at least, just so their trip hadn't been for nothing. The two talked for a bit, his uncle actually seemed interested, even impressed, at some of tails Embertail told of the adventures with his friends and hearing of the Pokemon and challenged he faced along the way. Perhaps that was why he changed his mind about leading Embertail, Curt, and everyone else to his family, much to the Charmanders surprise and delight.

Embertail would regret stepping foot in that mountain for the rest of his life.

 

[BurbleBurble]

Wait, Curt owned a Switchblade? Weren't those illegal? But Gerald's thoughts were quickly displaced as a crashing cacophony filled the halls as the beast plowed down the roof.

They were unharmed, yes, but separated yet again. Empty, Switchblades, and Lockjaw, along with the beast, held on one side, and the men on the other.

"Ooooooooh shit....O.K, Gerald, this might be...O.K, it is kinda....really bad, I mean, I'm pretty sure Empty, Switches, and Lockjaw could have....you know....taken that thing if we were there to help them but...I mean, Lockjaw is smart, but if he's panicking like that...I dunno...."

Curt had a point. While the Switchblade's were more or less intelligent, Empty would barely move without command or "encouragement". The good news was, they didn't need food, water, or made much noise, or anything of the sort. Perhaps they'd live a happy silent eternity.

But his focus shifted again to the two rocket members who reemerged, but this time, Thomas began talking. Of peace.

And for some reason, Curt was agreeing with them??

"I-I...What? Yeah, I have a couple of fucking objections! Listen, I don't know what game you all are playing, but..." He grunted as his wound began stinging yet again. He looked at the mark, then back at the Rocket's. "I don't have much of a choice, huh? Listen, listen. I have one Pokemon left. So, don't try anything funny." He unclipped the final Pokeball on his belt. "Eight feet of poisonous Megapede. He's only coming out if he needs to. Hopefully he won't have to, for your sake." Gerald was probably teetering on a fine line. The Rocket's still had guns. The shoulder wound wouldn't be the only hole in his body if he kept it up.

-----

The Lopunny was panicking again, frozen in stupor. The crashing noises, the unearthly roars of a beast not Pokemon or Human, Lockjaw's screaming, the terrified tapping of feet of the Rocket's Pokemon...his nose occasionally twitched, his legs tensed and ready to dash off, yet locked in place.

June was properly unnerved, much less than Puff, but still unnerved. What were the Rocket's Pokemon on about with the mons...Oh.

Ooooooh.

The sprinting Pokemon were followed by Nine and a familiar Croconaw, and something so disgusting and twisted, June felt like vomiting. Of course, there was no time for that. She snatched Puff out of his terrified state and forced him through a hole in the wall, which wasn't hard thanks to his size. She quickly slipped through after him, and finally Jasper attempted to get through, but got half stuck. With the monster rapidly approaching, she whipped out her wand, and used a weak psychic to more or less rip the Cubone out, which was quite lucky, as the beast burst through moments afterwards. Nine attempted to hold it off, but all for nothing as the shields shattered under the sheer force of the creature, knocking Nine back effortlessly.

Raviel and Jasper were attempting to use their range and speed to disorientate and distract the monster. Not a bad plan. June summoned five purple flames from the tip of her wand, a Will-O-Wisp attack. She could attempt a Attract, but did she really want that thing fawning over her? Not to mention, she couldn't truly discern any indications of the thing being male or female...either or, she sent the flames sailing towards the abomination.

Puff was slowly confronting the reality of it all. Couldn't move out of fear. Shrinking into the back area. But...something. Something told him to stop. Stop being a coward. Perhaps a feeling of camaraderie to the new acquaintances of the nightmare. To emerge and fight back. The back of his throat began dropping in temperature.

He took a step forward. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to not hide. He wanted to fight. The cold began forming frost on the back of his tongue. He took aim not for the beast directly, but under it. Specifically, where it's feet were about to set down, in a somewhat intelligent move.

A thin sheet of ice materialized on the ground, thanks to a thin beam.

-----

The blades stopped alongside Empty to be distracted by the rock slide, luckily avoiding it, but being seperated from Gerald as well.

By the time the rocks fell and the cacophony noise faded, they only caught a glimpse of it charging after Nine and Lockjaw.

They started to chase it down, before remembering a immobile companion of theirs. So now they had to turn around and scoop the shell up with a tassel, and once again followed the monster. While it was long gone, and battle noises were distant, there were obvious signs of it's passing by the sheer amount of wreckage scattered through out the ruins. The murals, pain staking carved into the walls, all for naught, lying on the floor in rubble.

Continuing on, another relic was pointlessly destroyed, the statue of Darkrai, a fantastic and wonderful creature to the blades. One of the swords did a little salute to the fallen rocks, a being that they'd never be able to top.

Empty could care less.

But just as they were about to head down further into the halls though, something was emerging from the black abyss. Maybe...Maybe...was the creature of darkness rising from the eternal pit? They set down the Shedinja (Who still didn't care) and raised their tassels in a salute...

Only to be sorely disappointed by a Dragonite and Ninetales emerging instead. They let out metallic cries of disappointment, picked Empty back up, and continued onwards, lacking any fear. The collective swords simply had one desire and order.

To spill the blood of the monster.

 

[Storybook]

Screams, ancient and terrorizing, blood-curdling, demonic. Jagged, rusted shrieks like broken glass on sensitive ears. An odor, rank and hideous, disease ridden, cancerous, acrid and burning, demonic, as hideous as death itself that burned their noses like acid and caused their stance to shrink and wither as if the odor were the plague itself. A figure, pussy and undead, with teeth like maggots, unsightly proportions, ears as sharp as a shark's tooth and a clotted, festering, tumorous skin that was agony upon vision itself. The deer, encased in exhausted anger, lowered her gaze and gnashed her teeth as the treacherous world caved in around her, rubble pouting as it hailed from the ceiling, catapulted to the floor by a rage so great it surpassed the deer's own, for it was a festering, boiling, ancient, mind-consuming rage of madness and hate and agony and evil.

The deer believed in evil, for she saw it everywhere, in the shadows and in the light, stalking her, poisoning her stance and tearing at her skin with its festering, mutilated, hateful teeth. But this... this rivaled any evil she thought she knew, any demon she thought stalked at her shadow and stopped her heart. It was a great, terrible, hateful evil that pulsed with darkness and greed and hate like the largest, strongest, most powerful heart the world could ever conceive, one that lusted for agony and beat just feel the flesh tear and hear the blood's weeping song. It was a heart that could never die because the power of its hate made it immortal and it lived just to snarl and kill and destroy and desolate. It was an evil unrivaled by the greatest of crimes, void of pure intentions beneath the mangled mass of tumors and callous spit. Within this evil there was no love, no compassion, not even any pride, for it was pure in its impurity, a heart that beat for nothing more than to thrash its hands into the bosom of the earth and tear out the essence of life. It had no motivation, no thought, no humanity. It lusted for agony for no reason other than that it lusted for agony, it killed for no reason other than to kill, it ravaged for no reason other than to ravage, and it felt no love for the deaths and tears for it didn't inflict them to see them wither and seize but simply because they were deaths and tears and every twisted, primeval, unsurmounted instinct told that they must be inflicted because they must be inflicted. And the deer saw within this beast this true, ugly, terrible evil that seemed a plague, a reign cursed to torture forever, to maul and mutilate and be the force of death itself.

She shrunk, for the deer knew that nothing could stand to evil that truly was evil, a word that was meant to be spit on the floor but instead was wrenched out of the tongue. And she shivered and stared and cried because she was staring at a beast that seemed the manifestation of demons itself, unhindered by javelins of rock protruding from its curdled skin, and all at once it was all too much, for she couldn't comprehend the creature before her, so great was his presence, so terrible his power and will, and she stood frozen for she knew what she faced not through any thought but through a mind wrenching terror and gut churning knowledge that this was evil and everything else that she thought was evil was merely a pebble in the landslide of the darkness of the world. There must be something that this beast was, for no longer could she call him a demon and no longer could she call him evil because those words were true and withered on her throat and tongue like mutilated leather, choking her before she dared to think of their existence. And so, so great was his evil, that the beast was no longer evil and simply was It.

And the deer struggled to process this It, this power, this hate, this agony, but as she stared at his eyeless sockets she stared into the sockets of death and the deer created her own image of It, for she knew what It was, she knew exactly what the It was.

He was a God.

He was the hand of fate. The ugly, disgusting, crude hand of fate.

He was a Demon.

He was everything terrible that had happened to her.

He was The Cause. The Cause of all the deaths she couldn't prevent, off all the deaths that started before the life could begin. The Cause that had so evaded her all these years as it preyed off her love to add fuel to her hate.

And her quivering became an onslaught of uncontrollable shaking, and she bared her teeth, ears flat against her skull, head down, horns glowing with a ferocity because the deer's hate controlled her, gripped her muscles into a tight scorn and narrowed her eyes until her pupils were unseeing pins. If her hate had been a pebble before, it was a mountain now. If it had been a mountain, it was the earth. If it had been the earth, it was the galaxy, the whole universe. She'd never hated more in her life, never wanted so badly to mangle and slaughter and destroy and wreak a plague upon the enemy she could finally face, the enemy that after all these years had snuck out of the shadows where it terrorized her and tortured her and now finally dared to face her fury. So great was her hate that seemed, even, to rival The Cause's evil, for it was the monster who had tormented her, the monster whose fault was her agony and her pain. It was the greatest kind of hate, the purist, the strongest, for it was a hate stemmed from the pure agony of a mother's heart.

And she wanted nothing more than to charge and rip and kill and destroy and mangle The Cause, the God, the Demon, the hand of fate. But Que had taught her well. So through the purist, most agonizing bloodlust of this shaking deer, she had become so calm it seemed she was inhuman, so calculated was her ferocity, so churned her vengeful mind. In her mind she strategized her hate, in her body she quivered with its force, her anger the harbinger of her calm bloodlust. The Cause saw by hearing. She couldn't stop making sound, the deer decided, but the boy had taught her that there were always two extremes. If she couldn't stand still... she'd just be really loud.

The deer tossed her horns, beads of energy being thrown from them and clattered across the stony floor, driven on by her vengeful scorn. As swiftly as they traveled through the air they ingrained themselves within the stone, thin, stringy roots slithering from them in a tangled lace, weeding through the floor and cracking the stone. Tendrils emerged from the glowing seeds, seeping into the air like Medusa's hair, waving and wriggling with a weedy hiss. They snapped against the ground with a vengeance, whipping the stone with a sharp, piercing whistle and a crackling snap, and the noise filled the room like a forest fire, each crackle a cackle in the stony room, each whistle a snap at the silence until it appeared to drive it away completely.

The move was Leech Seed, but it appeared nothing like the normal, weedy parasite. It seemed to have a mind of its own, writhing and flailing, a plant possessed. Either the Sawsbuck had incredible control of the move, or it was just as hateful and angry as her. She followed up the hissing plants with a barrage of energy balls, bombarding the walls and ceiling until the earth shook and weeped and cried, dust and rubble crumbling to the floor. And with every ball of energy she sent, her chest heaved, and her breath sucked at the cluttered air, and once she fell faint in a partial swoon. But her anger overwhelmed her until she was furious, willing to take the world out with her as long as she took revenge on that beast, on The Cause of her anger and her agony of grief. She'd destroy herself if she had to, she'd destroy the whole world.

Except... for Growlithe. Like a mother, she longed to cover him, to protect him from all harm, and yet The Cause enraged her beyond all instinct of motherly love. For one long gaze she stared at him and her anger was gone, watching him huddled on the floor, ears back, eyes drunken and confused, nose curled and lips in a long, silent snarl. And yet he sat still, incredibly still, stiller than a mountain of stone, as if, out of fright, he had become caught in the belief that no harm could come to a rock that could come to a beast of flesh and bone. Her heart surged. She yearned to cover him and yet she yearned to destroy The Cause. And she yearned and she yearned yet she felt torn apart.

And then rage filled her with its puppet strings and she advanced towards the beast, her gaze a gaze of pure scorn.

She was taking revenge.

She had found The Cause.

 

[PentheWonderful]

The elevated platform erupted in a fiery shockwave the moment the beast had raised its engorged arm to smite. Something, anything, and for a few nanoseconds there was simply air, before it had collided with the tough stone of Darkrai's statue. Intricately carved limbs were shattered and crumbled and thrown heedlessly into the abyss below. Swallowed by darkness. Erased from existence. Waves of red, blue, and yellow erupted, mixing together in a blinding ball of luminescence that would leave all maladjusted eyes blinded.

But the beast was already blind.

It howled, and yet it was not one of pain. It was one of utter annoyance. With each strike, beginning with a piercing Ice Beam from Jasper's club, followed by an intense Flamethrower afterwards, countless of its tumors and growths erupted in irritated fury. Pus splattered to the ground, and yet it felt nothing. It was too far gone and far too numb to feel anything. To care. To pity itself. It was mindless, wild. Driven by the will of its tumors and cancerous growth's need to expand, to overtake its entire being.

The sounds, violent and clambering. Screeches and roars, the unholy sound of solid gentle hissing, and then violent cracking as stones cracked and crumbled beneath the force of slithering plant life. Pop, pop, crackle, snap, pop, like an endless fire that simply refused to be calmed. The quick pitter patter of feet surrounding it, knocking it left and right with deafening cracks of electricity. The low groan of the very platform which they all resided, complaining of its abuse. And the beast was disoriented, lost. The only thing it could do was hear, and now, even its primary sense, the only thing it had left, failed to function. It lifted its swollen limbs up to its ears, protecting it, keeping it safe, dropping itself onto the icy ground where it struggled to remain upright on its skinny feet. The overflow of input against its eardrums was overwhelming. It began to tremble, and convulse, falling onto its backside on the ground where it pressed its ears shut, and let out a roar.

Gutorial.

Raw.

Primal.

Resonating.

The very platform before them shook and the stalactites clinging on the cave ceilings.

And they all fell silent.

The plants of Shank's creation, for the quickest moment, paused.

And Nine felt all of the furs along his spine stand on end. He wanted to run, and yet his feet were cemented to the ground. Cassie wouldn't want him to run, no, she'd want him to face down the beast with everything he got and win. She'd want him to win. And yet, there was such a clear message in its wild roar that he wondered if his telepathy was now somehow working both ways.

'SHUT UP.

BE STILL.

LAY DORMANT,

LET ME KILL YOU.'

But in the echoes that continued to bounce, the message began to morph. It grew more sinister. More bone chilling. And he could hear the beast, with his stomach churning, stating, 'I've mapped you. I know where you are. I know what you are. And I'm gonna kill you.'

Without awaiting the silence that came before the storm, the storm had hit them with full force.

The plants had resumed their destructive rampage, and the beast swung its massive arm, counter clockwise to the direction Raviel circled him with and blocked any attempts at evading, jumping over, or sliding under as its gargantuan size dragged across the icy ground with amazing speed in order to smite him with the force of a Giga Impact. At the same time, it threw its other arm to sweep the other Pokemon within range clear off the platform. Nine could see its stomach rolling, as if pushing something out of its very guts. Convulsing, its throat bobbing. And then it opened its bear trap-like jaws to spew a massive jet stream of stomach acid aimed at the Pokemon positioned further away. Green, steaming jets of acidic liquid swept over the platform and whatever it hit, it dissolved in a hiss of unforgiving chemicals. Gone were smoothly carved and polished stone. Gone were the vengeful plants spawned from Shank's Leech Seed.

Nine watched it all occur in slow motion. The first arm, just inches away from Raviel's face. The second, coming right toward him, and Jasper, and the Arcanine, and Sawsbuck. He almost forgot Embertail was still soundly asleep on his back, yet that only raised the stakes even further. He'd be dealing damage to two, at the very least. And the acid? It was ever only coming closer.

What could he do? He couldn't stop it all from happening. He couldn't save or protect anyone. Not even Cassie. Not even Flare.

Flare...

Where was she? He could only wonder. Was she safe? Was she somehow out of the ruin already? Perhaps she'd found Cassie too. Perhaps they'd regrouped outside and they were all patiently waiting for him. For everyone.

He wasn't going to make them wait. He was going to meet them. He was going to see the sun again if that was the last thing he'd do. A fire raged inside of him, so intense and violent. He felt it coursing through his veins, boiling his blood. He felt strong, oh so powerful. Was the ruin doing this to him? Well, he'd take what he could get.

In the count of nanoseconds, Nine opened his mouth. An inferno raged inside of him and he compiled it all into a concentrated ball just at the edge of his tongue. With every ounce of muscle fiber he had, he fired the ball with a speed that rivaled a bullet, aiming the arm coming right for him.

The ball of flames flew, and struck the beast's arm with an impressive force. The counter force halted the arm's collision course, and the explosion that ensued engulfed the entire chamber with heat and light. Like a solar explosion, the Flame Burst knocked the beast's arm into itself, subsiding the stream of acid when the arm slapped its own jaws shut.

The smell of burnt flesh wafted through the room like a twisted dish gone wrong.

But the beast was still standing, and it was angrier than before.

However, it now stood on an island of solid rock surrounding by a sea of acid. Unfortunately, it was desperate enough to keep going, and was yet again tapping its fat, deformed finger on the floor, gauging the new map.

Leaving it at the mercy of its opponents.

-

"Thomas....Justin.....considering the circumstances....you got yourself a partner!,"

Aloof were the trainers left behind in the sealed passage. Thomas watched with caution. His handshake returned with a fist bump. And he grinned because it was very awkward.

"and Justin, don't worry about Guineeovanni, 'cuse we're probably going to have to kill that mutated puss ball, and I'm cool with letting you guys keep its head, that way if your boss starting asking questions, you can just throw its head on his desks, real conversation stopper that'll be...OH! And by-the-by Thomas, sorry for shooting you in the shins earlier, I mean, you were trying to kill us, but I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if you are,"

Thomas frowned deeply at the memo on his trembling knees and the fact he had to depend on Justin for support just to stand upright. He'd need a cane, at the very least. But, preferably a pack mule to carry him around.

"Lockjaw, and probably Embertail and the rest too need our help, and if taking Rockets as partners is a risk that might save them, theeeeeeeeeen SO BE IT!"

"Now, Gerald, unless you have any objections, I suggest we get moving, as ugly as that thing was, it did look kinda strong, and I think our buddies would appreciate some help dealing with it!"

The two Rocket members watched this comical display with a look of uncertainty on their faces. Maybe they would be better off facing off with whatever lay ahead on their own. Even with Thomas' busted shins. Although... They could probably use the blond as some sort of sacrifice and/or distraction when things get messy. Yeah.

"besides, Embertail is still in that...nightmare thing, and I'd kinda like to a get him out of it as soon as possible a little bit....it you don't mind?"

"Is this guy high?" Thomas began with an amused glint in his blue eyes when he looked toward Justin, and then Gerald, with a wide, snide grin pulling his lips. "I think he's high. High guy, I like you. You're a funny dude. Even if you might've possibly crippled me for life, but ey, water under the bridge. If you carry me around on your back."

Well, at least the red head seemed as baffled as they did. "I-I...What? Yeah, I have a couple of fucking objections! Listen, I don't know what game you all are playing, but... I don't have much of a choice, huh?" And then his attention turn to them. "Listen, listen. I have one Pokemon left. So, don't try anything funny. Eight feet of poisonous Megapede. He's only coming out if he needs to. Hopefully he won't have to, for your sake."

Justin gave a nod in begrudging agreement, but Thomas simply glanced back between the two of them with a strange look of hopefulness. When no one seemed to have anything else to say, he said instead. "I was serious about the piggyback thing."

"He's serious about the piggyback thing." Justin repeated and emphasized. It seemed even the military trained grunt wasn't too thrilled about lugging Thomas around the whole while. "Drugs make a man ten times as strong. And you'll want me with my hands free so I can deal with whatever's lurking in the dark." At this, he placed his hand on the gun hanging from his belt.

"If you know what I mean."

And indeed, a few feet ahead of them would be what used to be a dining hall. Dusty and abandoned, yet full of helpful treasures.

-

Echoing footsteps. Aimless, and soon forgotten. Falling into obscurity so easily, everything fell into obscurity so easily. Cassie couldn't see where she was going, nor did she want to. She simply wanted to keep going and that was it. She wanted to keep moving to leave all her fears behind. Put distance in between and keep moving until it was no longer seen. No longer existed.

Cassie was facing her problems and yet, she was avoiding them at the same time. She was separated from her Pokemon, so she would go to find them, and yet she had no idea where to go. She was trapped in a ruin with Team Rocket members after her life, so she needed to escape, and yet she was not truly avoiding them. She was isolated with a boy she did not know, so she needed to become acquainted and gain his assistance and yet she she simply did not want him to discover her in return. So she kept silent. And she kept walking.

''Yeah. When'd I tell you?''

The words resonated in her mind and she mulled it over and over. When... Had he told her? 'When we were sitting down together. But not in the den. It was still peaceful, but not when we'd first fallen down. He told me because we thought we were going to die.' And yet, the memory was out of place. Out of time, and out of flow. It had no home in her records and it had no purpose there either. It was simply hovering alone, a record borrowed from someone else. Was it even real? Had it even happened?

Was it a delusion?

Another one?

But then, why was it correct?

'Cassie, are you psychic too?' Peridot exclaimed in awe, holding onto her trainer's neck, but Cassie simply stared ahead. With a not very intelligent look on her face.

''If I'm trapped by this... monster, if it's trying to steal me away- If that's true, then what? I can't fight what I don't understand. Everything changes-,''

That pause again. She wanted to look back and check if he was still there, but resisted the urge.

"I don't want to."

"People like us don't have the luxury of getting what we want. We get what we get." Her voice a low rumble, just above a whisper. She squared her shoulders further and turned a corner, ducking her head and tilting it to the side. Rubbing her ear against the warmth of her shoulder. She felt cold.

"If we're going to revert back to the formalities, then hello. My name is Que, and yours is Cassie."

"You're still so strange." Cassie breathed out a chuckle. Mere hitches of breath while the tape recorder holding all her memories began to play each one simultaneously, all at once. She was overwhelmed by visions, memories and delusions. It was difficult to pick them apart. So she didn't try. The only problem was that they were blinding her and she found herself walking right into a dead end.

A breath left her.

And she remembered they were lost.

And she would possibly never get out.

And she would possibly die there and everyone who truly knew her would also die there and she'd have no one to remember her.

No one to say she ever existed.

That feeling of dread, creeping winter frost up along your spine. Her shoulders lowered, her hands uncurling. She heard her heart beat. And yet it was not a pleasant feeling because at that moment, she wanted it to stop. She wanted to give up. "No... Not yet... Not yet."

Her fingers burying themselves in her wild locks while her eyes searched the ground frantically for an answer that wasn't there. Cassie turned in a sharp whirl, and she remembered that Que was still there. She wasn't alone because she wasn't truly lost. He was there, and he was real. He was... Real. Was he real? "G- give me... Give me your hand." Her voice trembling and uneven. Perhaps pushing off the traces of tears behind her aching throat. Cassie reached for his hand without an answer and she clutched it tightly.

She trembled into it and she moved her fears into it and she memorized the feeling of solid matter, of warmth, that radiated in his hand. And she could feel his heart beat and his trembles and she knew that he was real. He was really there, and she was still in reality. Because between the void and the ruin, the difference was hair thin.

Peridot was giggling.

Deep breaths. In and out. The emotions came and left, and all that was left was her broken mind. She'd still make some use of it.

Slowly, gradually, her grip loosened, soon releasing. She lowered herself onto the dirt and the ground and pulled off a glove, simply to touch and feel the ground beneath them. Beside them. All around them. She laid herself on the rich soil and pressed her ear against it, eyes sliding shut to listen, and Peridot moved to the back of her head while she did so.

There was silence. And then, there was the unmistakable sound of water flow.

Her eyes flew open. "Dot, can you detect that water flow?" She asked quietly.

The Ralts on her head fell silent, but just as soon, she was responsive again. 'Yeah! It's going that way!' She pointed the way back with her little white arm. Pulling herself to her feet, moving Peridot into her arms, Cassie said hopefully,

"Show us the way."

And they were moving again. Down the winding tunnel and through branching paths. It all moved so quickly and all Cassie could see was the path. A catwalk in the surrounding darkness, illuminated only by Peridot's soft glow.

 

[Curtkid]

"Is this guy high? I think he's high. High guy, I like you. You're a funny dude. Even if you might've possibly crippled me for life, but ey, water under the bridge. If you carry me around on your back," Thomas responded, making it clear to Curt that he too was willing to let bygones be bygones. All he asked in return of their help is for Curt to carry him on his back, piggyback style, which he was more then happy to do. Gerald, on the other hand, seemed less then eager to forge a partnership with the Rockets, but the direness (direnss, was that even a word?) of the situation was not lost on the man, and in the end reluctantly agreed to an alliance. Good thing to, as he was down to one Pokemon and Curt was, well, Curt's team was out by their lonesome in this place, even in his drugged up state that managed to spark some level of alertness in him, that and the Rockets words on his...condition.

"AWWWWW, don't be a baby Thomas, I shot ya with a BB, your shins are gunna be fine, I mean, between that Koffings poison and the tear gas, and nearly being chocked to death by that alien super weapon, my lungs have probably suffered irreparable damage at this point, but you don't....you know....hear me complaining about it! By-the-by, my name is Curt, Thomas not Haiguy, Haiguy is that masked dude in those Mario games....but anyhoo, you need me to carry you, then nooooo problem Thomas my man!", Curt said as he stretched his back, knelt down, and threw Thomas over his shoulders like he was an exceptionally heavy pack, the man was piggy-backing alone for the ride, "All that working out is gonna pay off today! But we better get moving, the longer we dally, the longer Embertail, Lockjaw, and the rest could be in danger!" Truthfully, the humans were probably in more danger then their Pokemon, even an unconscious Embertail had Nine, Jasper, Raviel, June, and Puff to protect him if that the monster had manage to find its way towards the group, which was far more protection then they currently had. But still, they were all stronger together, and the sooner they meet back up, the better it would be, and right now there was only one possible path left to take.

"Alright then, if we're all in agreement, let's go, our Pokemon need us!", Curt said, determination in his voice, as he lumbered off towards the only path available to them....and completely failing to properly avoid the jutting out stones in his path.

*CRACK*

"OWWWWW! SON OF A FUCK!!!!!", Thomas yelled, grasping his skull, his head having been bashed against a rock protrusion due to Curts clumsiness and his own unawareness due to the boys sudden actions.

"Oppps, sorry....", Curt said, sounding fairly sincere even in his drugged up state.

"GAK! YOU!.... deep breaths Thomas...",Thomas in a eerily calm voice and taking said deep breathe, "I-it's fine just watch where you're going from now-!"

*CRACK*

"AAAAUUUUGGGGGHHH!!!!!", Thomas yelled, his head hitting yet another rock.

"Ooops, sorry...."

*CRACK*

"Ooppps, sorry...oh wait that was just my head this time....never mind!"

Thomas was beginning to wish he let the monster take him instead.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was strange, just when one thought things had reached the peak of chaos and disorder, life just seems to find ways to add to the insanity. There they were, at the maw of madness itself, with the spawn of Girantina itself starting down at them with a blood lust like most had never seen. Yet, despite the fear in there hearts, they pushed on, they fought the creature, and, whats more, they dared to believe they could win. Jasper's assault of a Ice-Beam and Flamethrower combo definitely seemed to damage the creature, though it didn't slow it down, while Raviels battering it with Thundershook and high speed dodging seemed to be keeping its attention...for the most part. June had readied a Will-O-Wips attack and launched it at the monster in hopes of burning in and reducing its strength while Puff and froze the ground over with Ice Beam, perhaps with the idea of tripping it up.

Raviel, in spite of the nightmare in front of him, found himself almost with a cocky grin on his face as he jolted around the shadowy battlefield. They were doing it, he thought, they could beat this thing, the monstrosity was being thrown around and disorientated by their attacks, if they kept this up it would be dead in now time. Raviel was feeling the confidence surging through him inspite of the horror that now stood against him, perhaps a little too much confidence, as he found himself blocked in by the creature as it readied a Giga Impact to end him in one swift blow. The one-eared Jolteon cursed himself, he couldn't believe he let himself get cocky and get cornered like that! A time ago he'd never let something like this happen, but ever since he evolved he had been noticeably more brash. Different eeveelutions can effect an Eevee's base personality after evolving, from what they heard, and apparently a side effect of evolving into a Jolteon was an increase in confidence, perhaps on occasions to the point to over-confidence.

Panic set in as Raviel blindly fired a Pin Missile attack at the monster, thought the attack seemed to cause visible damage, the creature just plowed through it like it was nothing. Raviel clenched his muscles as he braced for the impact, still not letting up on his Pin Missile barrage (If this was his end, he wanted to go down fighting) but for the second time that night, Nine proved his salvation as a heavy Flame Burst knocked the monsters attack of its trajectory, allowing Raviel to quickly jolt his way across the beast and back towards Nines side. Jasper quickly voiced her concern for the Jolteon, but Raviel was quick to brush of the Cubones worries, replying hastily the he was fine. Truthfully, the only thing really injured was his pride, once again by having to be rescued by Nine, which he both appreciated and begrudged the Ninetales for (just a bit though), but still was not completely above showing the fox a bit of gratitude.

"Rehnea, roguhg rena!", Raviel smugly barked to Nine, telling the Ninetales that he was beginning to think that he had a crush on him, considering how frequently the kitsune came to his aid. That little taunt was Raviel's way of saying "Thank-you", for him, flat out saying it would hurt his "image" so to speak, and though Raviel normal didn't like bringing up that side of him (for some reason he also thought it would affect his image), Nine had been traveling with them for a few months so he definitely knew by now. But pleasantries and taunts would have to be pushed aside for now, the beast may have ended up trapped in the middle of a pool of its own acid, but the creature sure as hell wasn't going to give up so easily. After all, it still had its long ranged acid spit to keep them on their toes, but just as the creature seemed to be reeving up an acid barrage, a massive wall of fire spurted out behind it, the acid being easily ignited by a decent amount of fire. Apparently, the roar of the flames was enough to catch the creatures attention for half-a second, but that was enough for a large mass of scales and muscles to fly in and ram that creature into the flames.

"(Sorry we're late, something about this cave made it a bit hard for me to track you)", Said Flare as she walked up next to Nine, ("I assume that was the creature we heard roaring up a storm? Good lord what a nightmare....either way, I'm relieved we could make it to you before anyone got seriously hurt)". Both Jasper and Raviel were also relieved beyond words to see Whips and Flare not only in one piece, but being in good enough condition to assist them in their fight against this thing. Still, Flare may have spoken too soon as only moments later did the monster come shambling out of the flames, now also engulfed in fire. The beast either did not seem aware that it was on fire, or simply did not care as it let out yet another twisted cry and charged at the group. This time however, Flare was their to assist Nine with his efforts in forging a Protect, though they had back up now, the creature was also far more dangerous now that it was alight. Still, that might prove to be a mixed blessing for the group.

"(Listen, everyone, the creature might be more dangerous to some now that it is on *erk* on fire, but it will also die significantly quicker, this is an endurance test now, we just got to stay strong for a minute or two till the flames....the flames eventually kill it!)", Flare said with her telepathy, struggling under the monsters blow on her and Nines protect. Whips was quick to catch the creatures arms and moving himself into a position where it could not easily spray him with acid. Though normally the Dragon Pokemon would have been able to over power the creature, between the recent fighting with the Rockets and the fact that he was literally holding back a monster that was on fire while trying to avoid getting sprayed with acid, he was only able to currently match the creatures strength. Dragons may have a natural resistance to fire, but even that could only carry them so far.

"(We might need a bit more help dealing with this thing, but don't worry, we didn't come alone)", Flare said as she looked to the shadows behind her, as though expecting someone else to appear from them.

 

[Storybook]

Dirt, debris, a column of light evaporating darkness and yet holding no substance of its own, fiddle in its own existence, scattered by nothing but a shivering hand. The eyes told of a certain heaviness in the light, an unarguable plea of its truth and its substance. It was solid, strong. With just his eyes, the light existed, and the brain pretended it always had and always would be. Just look at it, how heavy, how bright, how irreplaceable. But then the hand- yes, the fingers curled and the skin awaited the breath that never came, the touch of the light, a feathered embrace, on his ghostly skin because, oh, hadn't it existed just before? Hadn't it been heavy and truthful and strong? Hadn't his eyes promised that it would exist?

Lies, lies, lies. The brain, the fingers, the eyes, the words. Never trust anything to exist forever, never trust an always, never believe in forever. But, oh, the boy wanted to stand invisible to the impact of this never, of this change. He wanted to stay Que forever, to slip away from the grasp of time. Everything changed. Que didn't want to.

A conflict of interest, of truth and irrational desire. He hated the lie of the light, he hated it because it never came true and yet again and again it said it would. But applied to himself the boy believed, because the world, relative to him, constantly moved, but he, relative to himself, never changed. He sat in a train, speeding through the path of time, but never did he move from his seat. Que never budged, never wanted to budge, told himself he never would even though he was moving just as fast as the train. But the world outside his windows... that world was always shifting, always scattering, never the same from one second to the last, blurry and darting into the unknown faster than it could become known. And somehow... all of this change, of these lies, of these promises began to appear as betrayal. Stupid, ugly, disgusting, corrupted betrayal, because he could sit on the seat of the train and stay Que but he couldn't make the world stop with him.

Que gave up trying to find substance in the light, casting an eye away from his hand into the darkness the caves naturally conjured. Darkness was different from light, he thought. Light gave a promise of substance, soon to betray. Darkness gave one as well, but the promise was well hidden behind layers of disguise because he couldn't see the hand shiver, couldn't watch the substance that wasn't scatter and fold and cease to exist. And at times, the hand lied with the eyes. The hand imagined that there was something there out of fright, unsure because the eyes couldn't see to back it up, couldn't realize that, yes, there hadn't really been anything there at all. So he touched and he felt the darkness in a manner that couldn't be done with light, for it deceived and it sneered and it played dirty, manipulating the senses, alerting paranoia into a hallucination of its existence. And it was a frightful existence, plagued with uncertainty because darkness was just as light was, just as solid and resolute, able to evaporate the other with a moment's notice, but light was different from darkness because darkness hid and darkness laughed and darkness was a cape over the senses so that the mind could exercise free will over the body's existence. Perhaps this was why those that feared it loved it, too. Why Que could pretend that the lies of the light could apply to the world and not to him, why everything could change and he could remain the same. Hypocritical. Childish. Blinding the senses of truth and letting will irrationalize the rational. And Que pretended he played the game of light and truth and facts, but the light was a cape of darkness that he couldn't dare to peep through.

The boy tilted his hand in the column of light, then swung it out into the darkness and searched for the coolness of the wall, the shiver in his sweat soaked palm addicted to its frozen bite. In his eyes, the world swung, tilting into his vision, and he found that he had slipped out of the light all together, stumbling out of Peridot's gleaming sphere of truth and into the cozening shaft of darkness, where he could pretend he could be lone unaffected by time.

Words, delicate threads of light, filtered through the darkness and threaded into his skin like lone ripples on a pearl lake.

People like us...

Whispers of a snake, swallowing the girl's sentiments and hissing them in his ears, morphed by his hatred and his fears. He was leaning against the cavern wall, addicted to the coolness of its touch, for he felt like his skin itself was hell, so wafted the tide of feverish heat, and for a moment, again, he felt as two, the watcher staring the steely eyed form in the face, a rational truth facing the irrationality of overwhelming emotion. Voice like a serpent's bit at his ear, spoken by both in unison as Peridot's lobe of light shifted between the two, pulling back darkness' comforting cape.

We never get what we want, trapped beneath that beam of light. You'll change. You'll always change. Always is never and forever will die, swept towards the march of death in a river where no one can stand on the banks. You are what you hate. You are the promises abandoned, you are the one who walks away and never returns. You are in the unknown, and you are the unknown. You are moving forwards, towards nothing, away from nothing. There is only something when you stand still, only something when nothing ever has a chance to disappear. Then there will be something forever. But no one can stand still. Forever is never.

Get out of the train.

"No..."

"No... Not yet... Not yet."

The world shifted away, curling, shivering, visions vanishing into the black as the light was whisked onwards, forwards, always moving, always shifting. Que breathed in quickly as if he were afraid.

"Wait up."

Echoing footsteps, a race for the light. A breath intake as she clasped his hand, fear a parasite in his veins. He tightened his fingers with a cold rush that spread quickly to wrap around his chest, entangling the life into a standstill. The boy vaguely recognized fear, and he wondered whether she was unnerved by his arm's perilous tremble, whether she sensed the flare of feverish heat or felt the paste of sweat upon his pale, ghostly skin, whether she could sense the plaguish sicklyness of his tired, wasted finger tips. And as the girl withdrew, he trembled, afraid that she saw what he did, felt the angst of darkness and the hatred of light, afraid that she felt herself collapse into nothing, because if she did as well then there was truth to his fears and truth and truth and all of it was true...

Giggles, sighs, a rustle of cloth and a tingle of flesh upon dirt. Que found he could breathe, relishing the fact, pulling cool, dusty air into his lungs and skin. He trembled, and he hated that he trembled, and he sweat, and he hated that he sweat, and Que was aware that he was terrified and he hated that he was terrified, and the watcher shivered above it all and wept into his ghostly hands, tears glimmering like stars that evaporated before they could cool the earth as if they were ghosts themselves, an invisible rain above the shivering, wavering, steely eyed form that stood silent, stunned and afraid and disgusted at himself. And he wept because, in the calm of darkness's lake, he knew that he wasn't supposed to be him, wasn't supposed to float, a deteriorating ghost above a rusting machine of a boy. It was all wrong, all wrong, all wrong... oh, and he hurt, and his throat convulsed, and the tears fell, and he was overwhelmed.

A tug at his heart, a throb in his muscles, a tear in his throat, and he was weeping just because he could weep, because he was a ghost of confusion and pain above a shell that stood immovable, vacant and numb, like a cicada's skin, a fragile black hole. And as the ghost cried, he realized that his shell was dying, deteriorating, falling away to the point of no return, and that the watcher couldn't take, so he grabbed the boy's arm with a frightened hand and bit his lip until it bled because it was agony to touch the shell, agony to dare to return, and with his other hand he pulled himself closer to the shell, fire like vultures ripping his skin, and the watcher held on through every ounce of serrated, rusty, jagged, agonizing pain and screamed, and the shell screamed with him.

Something about water, about showing the way, about leaving, about escaping. about hope, about whatever, the steely eyed form didn't care. His arm hurt, it hurt worse than a bullet, worse than a burn. It hurt like all fire eating his skin, like pins in his muscles, knives in his flesh. It hurt worse than any physical pain imaginable because it was a pain not just of the fire that ate his flesh but of the tornado of emotions that he had spent so long escaping, had tricked even his mind to sending them away and leaving him an empty shell, a pain he'd never ever learned to take, and it felt like this pain, these emotions, these turmoils themselves had wrapped around him in an agonizing blanket and squirmed like parasites into his skin until it was his skin, and all that was physical burned with all that was emotional and again the boy screamed, a terrifying, hair prickling plea of a desperate, pained scream, and the watcher screamed with him, for he felt this pain but he didn't care because the words of the girl and visions of the world had squirmed into his brain and told him to stop running away, for the longer he ran away the farther he slipped from existing at all and this, truly, was a terrifying thing, yes, it was a nothing that no one could ever take, a ghost in an infinitely clear reality.

And the watcher needed the shell of a boy and the boy needed the watcher.

And the watcher was terrified that he would slip away.

And the cicada shell, brittle and cold, understood naught but the agony and pain, and the shell wanted to run away but found no strength within his limbs.

Stone on his cheek, dirt at his feet, he was on the floor, collapsed upon the cavern wall. His skin was on fire, not just the burn but his whole body, a draping of lava over his form, and his left arm quivered uncontrollably, sweat a paste on skin and scalp, breath ragged, heart, charcoal twisted in his throat, and then everything was ice and snow and blizzards with a lungful of frost before the light flickered and it was all fire again. Que shook, fatigued, confused, mind numb.

What was going on?

He stood, he walked, he ran, he flew, he fell, he stood again, he chased the light. His chest was ice, his throat was fire, thought was smoke whisked out of existence by the air. The girl was walking, following some presence of water, some hope, some light, and he felt the need to tell her how hopeless it was, how forever was never, how promises were always broken, but all he could choke out of the dryness of his throat was ''I think I'm on fire." And he stood for a moment, wavered, collapsed, stood, walked shakily behind her because he felt that all strength had been tapped from his limbs and drained like a flood of blood from the soles of his feet. His vision swam, his arm spasmed uncontrollably, his glasses slipped from his sweaty nose and were crushed beneath his shaky steps as a pearl of a tear joined them to wet the earth with a sentiment to the boy's pain.

Que had a fever.


Scents, smells, odors as foul as rotting flesh obscuring the vision of the nose and causing the beast's lips to curl and his whole body to tremble, for twice in that day, in that hour he'd found that his nose had failed to supply an image of the earth. When he sucked in air, he sucked purely in the scent of death, and it overwhelmed the creature as he growled low, cloaked by the stench that by some sorcery had masked all other aromas. Noise, breaths, echos, jeers, his ears layed flat against his skull, too sensitive to hear it all, the whips of the plants and the cries of the earth slashing through the sensitive hairs and causing them to curdle, wither, and tear until the beast was left with just one sense to rely on.

Sight, failing and drunken, eyes that lolled uselessly within their sockets, for long had Growlithe abandoned their stupid, dying visions that jeered to his brain songs of their uselessness. But overwhelmed, the beast, with a sigh, strained to catch some blur of sense, for all around him was courage and fear and a stubborn aptitude for getting out alive, and these emotions the beast sucked in with great, heaving breaths and stood addicted to the courage of a fight.

Everything was a shadow, color dulled into shades of grey, blurs of chalk on a pavement of the walls and the air. He strained uselessly to make out those that were enemies and those that were friends, but in the vague pool of ash and grime it seemed impossible to judge even the distance he was from the creatures, if they were even creatures at all. A lighter shade, a darker shade, a head, perhaps, or just a rock, and with every strain of vision he made he flared his nostrils and begged for some scent that hadn't been corrupted by the stench of the thing that with a crumble and a crash had blinded him of his sense of smell. Seconds flickered past and the beast, like a statue trapped upon the earth, snorted and tossed his head and bristled his wolfish mane out of pure frustration, for he'd catch a whiff of some creature through the dank folds of corrupted scent and swung his head and strained his eyes to find its source, but by the time he'd identified some grainy mirage the scent had vanished like smoke, and the mirage would shift, and he'd lose it all together to the shadows of the caves as if it had never even existed at all. Again and again. A whiff of scent, a fleeting guess, a snort, a bristling, wolfish mane.

A surge of anger overcame him, for his fire was trapped within him, boiling at the back of his throat, writhing in his stomach, searing at the edges of his white, pearly teeth, and yet he could not release it, could not act on that great, thumping heart and those calm, rancid breaths that signaled an overwhelming urge to stand and fight and win. He sniffed, he strained to see, he growled low, he tried again and again, insane in that he was determined at least one time it would work. And then there was silence as if of a void and a putrid, acidic taste in his mouth as he tasted the rancid air that smelled undeniably of puke, sizzling on the earth. His drunken eyes lolled in their sockets, and the sandstorm of chalky shadows shifted undeniably as a lighter, ghastly hue spread outward into the earth from a great, devilish beast of a shadow. Growlithe, unsure, stepped back, only to find nothing beneath his back feet, for they had forgotten of the chasm behind them. A second of scrambling, the mistake amended as again he found solid earth. The shadows swirled and darkness drew like a cape towards him and the beast laid flat on his stomach, ears back, sensing some attack but not even knowledgeable of its source. Then orange, twisted, sickly orange, exploded into the chalk tornado, and fire roared, unmistakable, within his ears.

He stood, greedy, leaning towards the fox's fireball that had filled the room, for a second, with flames, feeling them lick at his flank and curl into the hairs and wiggle deep beneath his coat, and he breathed deep and felt life and power in his magma veins as the fire's fingers wrapped around his muzzle and glistened against his teeth, sucked within him by his wiggling, greedy tongue, until the surge of vitality was all too much and the beast released his own flames to wash against the floor and spark within the air, powered on by Growlithe's Flash Fire. He realized, for nanoseconds, that he could see, that the light of the attack had shocked the ashy painting of his sight into a billion different hues, so acute that he could make out where everything stood just by the changes in their shadows, and he saw, at once, the shaking cavern and he saw, at once, the Pokemon, and he saw, at once, the enormous thing with massive arms and a hulking, gruesome frame, and the beast sucked this vision in and stood still as the fire passed, realizing again how boulder like his heart beat, how much like fire his muscles felt, how hungrily his chest sucked in the spark laden air, and the beast was filled with courage, and the beast was filled with lust.

He leaped, the cavern mapped in shades of grey within his brain, and he bounded with the fatal courage of a wolf, master of its own domain, for again the caverns had burst into flames and this fire, eating off of his confusion and fear, caused the beast to go mad, addicted to the feeling of raw power that flushed all angst out of his veins and filled him instead with lust and glory, and as he ran it seemed his own fur became ignited and the beast was no longer a dog but a ball of fire, madly rushing to join the fight. No thoughts ran through his brain, for the beast was a creature of feeling, addicted to the rawness of emotion. Other shadows appeared, ones he had not mapped when the fire, for a moment, defined his sight, but the twinge of confusion he felt was repulsed for the power of agonizing courage, for it was a raw and beautiful and wonderful feeling where he could sense every hair alight with flame and feel every muscle constrict with every move he made.

Growlithe rammed against what could only be described as the Thing, a phantom of fire and flames maddened by adrenaline against the looming, ashy shadow alight with another's flame, and he screeched, for the thing of cancer and puss and boils seemed to burst upon his flaming fur, so infected had its skin become that it was as if his attack had set off a landmine of puss and blood and gruel. And for the first time, Growlithe truly knew what this thing was, for he could feel its corruption against his fur and sense the deadness of its nerves so that even his attack had caused no pain and no angst, and adrenaline surged with fear and he wasn't quite sure what courage was anymore.

The protector stood, ragged, firing off Energy Ball after Energy Ball at the creature, unable to come close, too tired to fight off the flames, knowledgeable that, if what these Ninetales spoke of was true, all she had to do was hit it and hit it and The Cause would fall and die and be tormented and she could rip and tear and destroy it until she'd had her revenge. Her throat convulsed until she felt that she was choking, aching as hard as her motherly heart, and a side in her mind begged for Growlithe to leave and hide behind her, begged for everyone to stop fighting because they fought what she fought so they must be more friends than enemies, and friends she would protect- no, must protect from this stupid, evil, death ridden world.

But then her rage flared, corrupted the deer, and her energy balls turned to shadow balls and the deer sneered maleficence and hatred, and she wanted The Cause beneath her sharp edged hooves more than she wanted Growlithe, more than she wanted Que. Fire flickered, hatred grew.

Away from it all, from the screams and the tears, from the hatred and the courage and the fear, were the glasses, mangled and broken upon the stone of the earth, their lenses shattered beneath the shaky steps of the emotional and their frame bent, dully reflecting a dying shine.

Peridot's light slipped away, leaving them alone in the dark.

 

[BurbleBurble]

Curt was drugged?...That explained a lot.

That included allowing Thomas to ride on his back, though that backfired on the admin, considering he whacked his head on several rocks in the process. That man's skull was rather thick, considering he hadn't been knocked out for more than...what, twenty seconds? After getting hit point blank with that brick, now hitting his head on three stalactites without fainting...was his skull made of steel?

If Gerald had felt a little more nicer that day, he may of offered Million up for Thomas to ride on...but he still hated the man and his accomplice (His accomplice more so), and couldn't be bothered to express any feeling of gratitude to either of them. He had been toying with the ball for a minute or two now, but now stocked it away in a chest pocket of the ratty jacket, so it couldn't be swiped under his nose. You could never tell with these criminals...

Anyways, they reached a dining hall area. It looked like whoever last ate this meal left in a hurry, decorating the floors with half eaten loaves of bread, hard as a rock and molding, dinnerware carelessly shattered and clattered about. Bowls of...something, spilled out. Maybe the Scolipede would root through it, if he were out. The giant bug had a habit of that. Dulled silverwares swept aside, as if nothing. Not that they'd be useful, what was left of the plates would make better knifes. And making the center of it, something was covered in something thick and red...a candelabra, much too past it's prime.

He wondered if that thing ate here. Would explain a lot with it's complexion.

If anything, the candelabra would make the best weapon. It might stop a Weavile, if he got close enough. Humans would shatter under it. But if that monster came back, it would be nothing on it's ugly, muscular body. But something was better than nothing, right? As he got closer to the candle holder though, he noticed something. Through the candlewax, he noticed something...'off' with the color. A slight yellow tint, shining through years of misuse. He licked his finger, but quickly spat out what was on it after realizing that it was covered in dirt, dust, and other disgusting things that should never have touched his tongue. But, the finger was wet, and that's what he needed. Wiping away the grime, a certain shine revealed itself.

"HOLY SHIT!" He exclaimed, almost jumping in his excitement. "Curt, Curt, dude!" The young man began tugging on his treasure, comparative to a kitten pawing at a light. "It's gold! GOLD! Hey, hey, Curt, Thomas, Jack...Or is it Justin? Uh, never mind, but whoever helps me move this gets a cut!"

The golden candelabra hadn't actually budged since he began pulling on it. Seemingly cemented in candle wax.
-----
Just when June thought this thing couldn't get any more revolting, any more disgusting...

It had to spew up...something that was sickly green, polishing the stone from finely cut bricks into slates of plain stone, burning over the Sawsbuck's leech seeds. It was similar to vomit, acidic vomit. Or maybe just a powerful acid attack.

But the logistics of this attack would be pointless if she was dissolved.

The Braixen took a sharp turn backwards, towards her rabbit friend. He was thankfully at a range where he could pretty much avoid the acid, unlike most of the other Pokemon. Puff twitched preparing an Ice beam, and June prepared yet another Flamethrower. Just as the two prepared their attacks for the beast, tapping on the ground to utilize echolocation...

Then something came crashing through the wall. The blasts of flames and ice ended up colliding, cloaking the two in a steam cloud. Puff screeched as new fire and smoke smells wafted through the halls, almost drowning out the awful stench. Key word almost. June swept away the steam cloud with several slashes of her still flaming stick. Puff attempted to help by punching away the steam, but for a lack of better words, it didn't seem quite...effective.

It was only when the steam cloud was finally swept away the two realized who their saviors were and that one was telepathically communicating with them.

Whips and Flare, who not only had the monster pinned but burning away as well. Chunks of it's rotting skin were melting under the intense heat, but it didn't look ready to die soon. A barrage of Energy and Shadow balls were speeding up the process, and the Arcanine smashing into the beast bursting open pus filled abrasions and worse stenches, the creature lived on.

Though, if Flare were to be believed, there were still some backup. Who could it...

...

Of course it had to be the literal deadbeats.
-----
After Flare's introduction, the swords came out of the hole rather nonchalantly, Empty still in tow. Taking a gander around, they noticed a annoyed June and spooked Puff. They didn't immediately realize who they were, and even when the swords did, it was more of a "Hey, don't we know these guys?" than a "Glad they're alright!"

They would gladly chop into the monster though...provided that dragon got out of the way! He took up too much space, and blocked their view of the monster. If only...

A Psychic quickly pulled the Switchblades aside, in the process one of them happened to drop Empty.

The Shedinja ungracefully fell to the ground. Limp as ever.

Yet deep inside the paralyzed shell, something angry awoke. Something strange. A mysterious force told the remains to rise up. Strike back. Strike back the one who didn't deserve it's powers. The monster was a simply that: A monster. It didn't deserve the power that it was bestowed.

It did deserved what was coming.

Empty faded into the shadows, silently creeping under the Dragonite and towards the underbelly of the monster. The Shadow Sneak tore into the thin, ready to burst skin, infectious blood and pus coating the beige shell. Thanks to lacking organs and paralyzed already, plus Wonder Guard, it barely fazed him.

He followed up with an anger fueled X-Scissors on the bare flesh. Murderous intent filled the Shedinja, which wasn't quite sure where this boost of anger came from.

Must've been something the ruins emitted.

The Switchblades had been grasped by June, mainly to point out their incompetence of not going around or under the dragon to strike the beast, but then thought of something a bit more...insulting to the two.

What if she and Puff took them up as weapons? Like a pair of knights coming to slay the beast...But that plan was shattered as she remembered her rabbit friend's less than stellar ability: Klutz. Would drop the sword no doubt. The young fox snorted at this, that would've been quite fun.

But the swords were here and someone needed to do something about it. The Braixen used her stick to direct the attention of her familiar comrades to one of the massive arms Whips was fighting against. The giant dragon could end things now with a free hand. The blades began chittering and clamoring, truly prepared for bloodshed now. With all her psychic power, June pulled back one of the massive arms of the abomination. She wasn't even sure how, but it was taking a lot out of her. The swords responded by charging for the psychically held arm, and wrapped their tassels around it, simultaneously holding it back and sapping the surprisingly little life in its limb. Of course, Puff once again tried to help, with some Ice Beams, but proved to be rather ineffective as the twitching muscles in the malformed arm returned to the control of the monster (Plus it was flaming, so that had something to so with it as well) shattering the thin layer effortlessly.

June didn't look like she could hold the Psychic much longer, and the Switchblades were quickly losing their grip as well thanks to the fire, so if Whips was to do something, he'd have to do it fast.

 

[PentheWonderful]

Stumbling in the darkness. Lost, yet hopeful. Cassie listened to her coordinated steps, falling in perfect time to the cadence of a clock hand. It was her anchor. Her steadying, saving grace to keep her vision focused, her mind present, and her feelings away. Disposed of, discarded like the clutter they were. She didn’t need them, she never needed them. They distract, corrupt, destroy, and ravage. They’d consumed her, she realized. Their horrid strings had somehow found their way home. Recovering, wrapping around her being to crush her under the force of their grasp. They were back, and she was a fool. Oh, what a fool was she.

How could she let this happen? Her mind, once beautiful, oh so organized, meticulous, brilliant, had become a trash bin filled to the brim with clutter. Disorganized, clogged, and dysfunctional. Once flowing so beautifully with code, like water, running down a pristine river to occupy her, amuse her, comfort her. Now they shuffled around, stumbling, shoving each other clumsily like a thick goop of chemical waste, not being of use, not a source of comfort, not a source of beauty, but a hindrance.

Their existence in her was a mockery.

Uncoordinated, unnerving, they racked her nerves with their lack of rhythm, cadence, melody, harmony, anything. Much like the footsteps of the boy scrambling behind her. Cassie felt her jaw tighten. Her head locked in place because they simply refused to look back. ‘Look forward.’ She told her. ‘Just keep looking forward. He’s still there. You can hear him, he’s fine. No screaming, no call for help. He’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is fine- fine- fine- fine…’

Corrupted thoughts, eaten away by overflowing emotions. They wrestle each other for dominance, one over the other, swallowed by the tidal wave of clutter in her mind. Cassie kept breathing, she kept moving.

‘There’s a body of water pooling ahead of us.’ Came Peridot’s much welcome voice.

‘Help.’

“Okay.” Her pupils were shifting in and out of focus.

‘Help me.’ Alien thoughts, a different shade from the waves of clutter in her head. They did not belong to her, but they did not belong to Peridot, or Nine, or Ryu, or any one of the telepathic pokemon she knew and it terrified her. Her head throbbed, and her steps wavered. But she pushed on.

‘It’s right there! Just beyond that opening!’ Peridot jumped enthusiastically atop her trainer’s hand, pointing ahead to the black that had faded a murky blue past the tunnel’s end. A chamber of sorts, naturally made, from what she could see of the hanging stalactites above a still body of water. With jagged walls and melting sediments, weeping from the sights it’d witnessed, the memories it stored.

‘Help me please.’

Finally did the girl stop, and she turned back to face the boy following behind her. Stumbling. A fawn barely able to keep itself upright. She could hear herself breathe. Her eyes observed the pale boy in the ghostly pale light and the sight sent goosebumps up her spine. A perfect scene stolen away from a horror flick. A gentle tremble from the Ralts in her hands, and Cassie eased her over to one hand so she could raise the other to grab hold of the boy’s arm.

He was burning.

Too little too late, their forms collided into each other and they tumbled. And fell. Him, forwards, and her, backwards.

Off the drop where the tunnel ended, into the still water below.

With the sensation of falling in her stomach, she watched Que’s feverish face, she listened to Peridot’s terrified chirps. In the nanoseconds that ticked by, her hands flew, and grasped, curling around the Ralt’s small body and the back of the boy’s sweat soaked head, and they pulled them in, tightly, protectively against her small frame,

As they broke the water’s surface.

And the clutter dispersed from her mind to chase after the bubbles.

Light illuminated the inky blackness that enveloped them within its cold embrace. The muffled undertone of air, trapped in the water within spherical membranes, pockets. The way they quickly abandon and escape them, tickling their skin with feather light kisses as dust and dirt and debris wash away from their fatigued forms.

Cassie held the two tightly during their downwards drift, giving no fight or resistance as they sank away from the surface. For in that moment, she truly was in a void. Miles of darkness, without even a ground to anchor yourself upon.

The feeling of nonexistence.

It would’ve been unbearable had it not been from the heat scorching from Que’s body, and the light casted by Peridot. Her eyes stared ahead, into the nothing. Until, as it always were, there came something.

Do you ever get the feeling that you’re being watched?

In a place that is simply not your element, drifting, vulnerable as you could possibly be.

A pair of eyes appears, as if it’d just pulled apart their eyelids to reveal whites of massive, luminescent, glowing orbs that captivated, drifted, so easily maneuvering in the darkness. Those blood colored irises that made you feel small, frail, and insignificant. Focused upon the creatures so heedlessly trespassing its territory.

And then a pair more opened. And another pair. And another, and another until those glowing eyes were able to silhouette a leviathan, its body sleek and streamlined, randomly dotted by infinite eyes, like fungi and growths, and a massive gaping mouth, putting on display a mouthful of swords to be called teeth.

And it was charging right towards them.

Until a blinding ray of light exploded from Peridot’s body in alarm, and blinded all the Leviathan’s eyes simultaneously. The creature emitted a guttorial screech, and in the passing moments, Cassie had taken in its features.

Translucent scales, doing little to hide the flesh beneath it. Sinewy and deformed, veins throbbing, coating the creature’s body from head to tail to ruin the lines of its scales. Two pairs of limbs, webbed, clawed, and frighteningly human-like all at the same time. And it was massive. It rivaled the size of a fully grown Gyarados and then some.

It quickly changed direction, swimming back to the direction from which it came as it ran from the light, and its tail whipped, and it smacked them generously out of the water.

Cassie remembered to breathe, and her head reared back in order to glance upon the sight below. The clutter gone, her mind made use of the space to quickly calculate the trajectory of their flight. The numbers became dots and those dots became a line and that line curved. She drew the graph in that void, and followed the curve where it ended on the edge of an island; one of the few mass of land in the vastness of the underground lake.

Her hold only tightened further on Peridot and Que as she wrapped her legs around Que’s waist and curled around him within their brief moment of flight, to prepare for the moment when they hit the ground.

And she hit it hard.

She always hit hard.

Her back exploded in pain, and a cry left her mangled lips to signal the release of both the boy and the pokemon, who rolled weakly by her head. She listened to Peridot’s quick breaths, and Cassie pushed her pain away in order to scramble onto her hands and knees. Perhaps it was adrenaline, but she’d never felt so painless. “Dot… Dot, are you okay…?”

Her hand gently pressed against the side of the small pokemon’s body, inciting a small whimper from her. The light flickered, and Cassie knew she couldn’t go on like this. “Take a break for a minute, love…” She whispered gently, but her hands work quickly to yank open her bag, thanking its waterproof utility, and pulling out a bottle of super potion from its main pocket and a flashlight.

A tool she’d wanted to preserve until all other means of lighting have failed. Batteries can only last for so long.

She flicked it on just as the light diminished from Peridot’s fatigued form. Placing it between her teeth, one hand to evenly spray the super potion, the other carefully feeding her Sitrus Berries. Its sourness should kick her energy levels back up, as well as recover her stamina.

But then…

Badump, badump.

Her heart pounded in her ear, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Cold sweat ran down, undistinguishable from the lake water.

Badump, badump.

Shivers up her spine. That feeling of… Being watched.

Cassie turns her head, the flashlight in her mouth shining upon which ever direction she’d decided to look.

And there, multitudes of eyes on a mound of flesh that erected from the water.

The Leviathan, watching them from the distance. A silent, eerie being. Counting the moments for the peace to pass.

Before it submerged once again.

And Cassie knew they were trapped.

-

The Beast was far outnumbered.

Far out-brained.

And far out-muscled.

Lit ablaze, pinned under the weight of a Dragonite, assaulted by a merciless barrage of ice beams, massive shadow balls, energy balls, while both its arms were restrained by psychic power, and life-sapping tassels. A fiery charge to tunnel into its side, and a lethal x-scissor to shred into its back.

It was all too much and it knew it was too much because it felt it. It felt it all. The searing pains, aggravating hits and nerve killing brutality. And it screeched. It howled into the ceiling above and thrashed like there was no tomorrow.

It kicked its sorry little legs and jerked its massive, but ultimately disabled arms. It jerked its tiny head back and forth and screeched yet again as the skin melted off its putrid body.

It kept fighting, and fighting, until its muscle and bones could no longer keep up with the fight, and its arms tore free from its torso with sickening pops and rips.

Nine watched the scene in silent horror. How his friends, the several pokemon he knew so well, gradually devolved into killing machines. He felt sick, he wanted to be sick, but he simply couldn’t because his mind kept reasoning that the creature had brought it upon itself. All banter and conversation entered his ear and left through the other without ever being processed, or acknowledged.

Death.

He was witnessing death for the first time.

Such a slow, and horrible way to die. To be burned alive while the blood left you through severed limbs, still convulsing despite being detached from its body. Pus and blood, mixing together and combusting to create the most sickening smells Nine will ever experience.

‘Whips… E- everyone… That’s enough…’ He tentatively stepped forward, and his claws scraped lightly against the paved, stone floor when he did so. His words, he was sure they’d been broadcasted, yet, why did they seem lost? Why had the darkness, this utter madness that overtook them, made it seem so small and irrelevant? The carnage went on without mercy, even long after the body had given all hope and ceased its struggle, and it pushed him passed his limits far enough to be able to jump directly in the line of fire and halt everything with a Flash explosion. ‘Everyone stop, that is enough!’

Before he knew it, his teeth was bared, and he’d barked. A sound that was echoed and preserved within the ruin’s stone. ‘It is dead now, deceased, so will you please just stop this madness?!’ His ears against his head, Nine turned himself in order to face the Beast where it lay. ‘Imagine how long it must have suffered here, in its condition. Without help, without anyone. Not a single soul to console it, or even speak to it. Slowly pushing it to the brink of insanity, transforming it into a true monster. Can we really blame it for the way it behaved?’ His brows knitted together, he proceeded to watch the smoke that danced off of the massive corpse lying before them.

Finally free.

Nine sat down, his tails moving contemplatively, easily catching and cradling Embertail as he slipped down his back while he willed the fires to die away. ‘It was still a living being, so, why had we stopped seeing it as one? Perhaps it deserved what came to it, yet, I still can’t help but feel that… Perhaps we went too far. What if we were the one to be in its condition? We’ve only been away from our trainers for less than a day now, and look how savagely we’ve behaved.’

Standing, positioning the comatose Charmander back on his back, the male Ninetales proceeded to patter back towards the group, where he eyed everyone carefully to assess the damage that had been done. ‘But what I’m saying is… We cannot let whatever had consumed it, consume us as well. Or else, who knows what will happen to us?’

And then, Nine simply started moving again, towards the door that beckoned them on the end of the elevated platform. ‘Come on, then. Our trainers are waiting.’

-

By the time the men had arrived in the dining hall, Thomas was quite sure he’d lost at least two pints of blood already. And possibly some cognitive skills.

One plus one was two. Two plus two was two, no wait- four?

“Smooth, high guy, very smooth.” Thomas mumbled dazedly. “I see what you’re doing here, and I give props to you, sir.”

Placing a hand over Curt’s face, he began yanking whatever skin he could grab while making sure to get as much blood on Curt’s clothes and hair as possible. “Smoooooth! You’re smarter than you look!”

However, not quite satisfied with just soiling the man, especially since his head was gushing like an Arceus damned fountain now, Thomas proceeded to rip the sleeves off of Curt’s shirt to use as extra wraps around his new wounds.

He pretty much resembled an Arabian sultan by then.

"HOLY SHIT!"

“For fuck’s sake, cherry head, not so loud!” Thomas had hissed, though Justin was quite intrigued by whatever it was that had gotten Gerald so worked up.

"It's gold! GOLD! Hey, hey, Curt, Thomas, Jack...Or is it Justin? Uh, never mind, but whoever helps me move this gets a cut!"

“Gold?!” Thomas practically kicked Curt in order to escape his grasp and stumble over to Gerald, joining forces with him in his effort to yank the candelabra free of its waxy prison. “Justin, get your ass over here and help!”

“S- sir, don’t we have more dire things to worry about than gold?” The grunt responded hesitantly, though he’d approached the two men nonetheless.

“Justin, don’t be a retard, this is gold we’re talking about- wait.” The admin released his grip on the candelabra and scanned the room with a new, opportunistic glint in his eyes. “That means there’s gotta be more valuables around here. Fuck, yes!”

With that, he’d gone to the shelves hanging from the walls, hoping to pull up anything, everything worth selling at high price! “Justin, help me look!”

“But sir, what about the candelabra?”

“Justin, shut your sorry mouth and just do what I say! Heck, if you find something nice and bring it back, I’m betting you Giovanni is gonna give you a promotion!” Thomas mumbled in the midst of sticking his head into a holding compartment of sorts.

“Well. If you put it that way…” Justin glanced back to the candelabra on the table, and pulled his gun out of its holster to aim at the stoned wax. “Stand back. If it works, swear you’ll give me fifty percent.”

He waited for a response from Gerald, and then, he fired.

The bullet stayed true to its aim, and it split the wax in half. Victoriously, the grunt yanked the candelabra free of its prison, and grinned upon its grimy surface. “I’m getting me a promotion!”

 

[Curtkid]

The howls and shrieks of the beasts filled Whips head, everything else, even the creatures flaming body, seemed to take a back seat to that, yet still the Dragonite didn't let up. "A cornered rat strikes back", that was one of the sayings Curt dad said on occasions, and never did it seem truer then now as the creatures flailing grew more wild then ever. Even between the additional support of Switches, Empty, and Growlithe, Whips did not let up, it was only when June's Psychic managed to encase one of the monsters arm did Whips allow himself a moment to turn his head to check on his friends. Raviel and Jasper were still beside Nine,for some reason Jasper seemed to be trying to block Raviel from attempting to encroach on the beast, Whips didn't have time to thing why she'd possibly want to do that. Lockjaw was cowering besides Nine, though oddly enough, Nine looked more shell-shocked then Lockjaw for some reason, did the Ninetales detect something about this creature that they didn't. Flare stood beside Nine, a calm, cold look on her face, but still clearly alert and ready to give assistance to any who needed it. Puff was trying to freeze the creature's limbs, with questionable success, while June seemed to be struggling to keep the creatures arm bound in her Psychic grasp. For Whips, seeing June exerting herself like that was all he needed to see, the Braxien have given him an opening and if he didn't take it, if he let this creature past him....

It was almost shocking to Whips, how much easier it was to rip the creatures arm from its socket then he initially was lead to believe.

The monster cried wildly as it thrashed even more, a bad move, June and Switchblades had a tight grip on the monsters last remaining arm, and that too was ripped from him. Without its arms, all the creature had left to count on for defense was its stubby, malnourished legs, not that it seemed to have the will to do so as it collapsed to the ground. Finally it seemed, the creature was feeling something other then rage or pain, fear and exhaustion seemed to have taken their place as the creature let out a pathetic moan from its place on the floor. Jasper looked white as a sheet, even behind her skull helmet one could tell that, Lockjaw had decided to take a peak behind Nines back, only to immediately go back to cowering the moment he saw what the situation had become. Raviel was barking out his desire to keep going, to end the creature so it wouldn't be a threat to them anymore, and Flare, Flare just stood their with that same, cold, observant expression, her thoughts unreadable. It would be easy too, the creature was battered and broken, it would be trivial to tear it to bloody pieces, after all you could never be sure, after Whips saw that alien super weapon regenerate over half its body after he destroyed it, who could say if this creature was truly finished? For the sake of his friends he should....

‘Everyone stop, that is enough!’", a telepathic voice cried through their heads. Nine had finally found his voice again, and it came back with a vengeance. From the looks of him, Whips wasn't sure if Nine was furious, on the verge of tears, or both, but the passion in his voice and the fire in his eyes was enough to bring them back to their senses. Everyone was left in deadlock at Nines out burst, everyone except Flare, who still stood behind Nine with that tranquil expression on her face, as though the blood shed they had inflicted on the creature was just an everyday occurrence to her. Whips, now stopping his assault, finally took a moment to look at the monster, the once snarling, mad beast was now laying before them in a broken mess, both its arms gone, its body twisted even further then it already was, it didn't even have the strength to snarl or roar at them anymore, instead replacing it with a low, weak moan. Though just moments ago it wanted nothing more then to rip them to bloody visceral, Whips actually found himself feeling a sense of pity for the poor creature. Nine was right, enough was enough, it was time to put an end to this. Lifting the creature up, Whips wrapped one of his massive arms around what little neck the creature had(the fire still covered its body, but Whips payed no mind to that), and the other across its jaw and, with one swift motion, broke the poor things neck. The twisted soul let out a few spasms before finally growing still, and Whips released it back to the dirt.

Nine lumbered over the the beast and banished the flames from its charred body, living nothing but a burnt and broken husk, "Imagine how long it must have suffered here, in its condition. Without help, without anyone. Not a single soul to console it, or even speak to it. Slowly pushing it to the brink of insanity, transforming it into a true monster. Can we really blame it for the way it behaved?... It was still a living being, so, why had we stopped seeing it as one? Perhaps it deserved what came to it, yet, I still can’t help but feel that… Perhaps we went too far. What if we were the one to be in its condition? We’ve only been away from our trainers for less than a day now, and look how savagely we’ve behaved.’

If you asked Whips, he stopped caring about whether or not the creature was a living being the moment he saw it trying to pound Raviel into paste, still, he had to admit that Nine had a point. Whips did just have a nightmare where he was forced to confront his own fears about loosing control of himself and hurting those he cared about or who didn't deserve it. Lockjaw spent most of the fight cowering behind Nine and was just glad that it was over, albeit he was a little ashamed of falling into his cowardly tendencies again. Jasper was relieved that Nine had stepped in and firmly agreed with his words, the Cubone had a strong sense of justice and knew the monster was beat shortly after Empty and Switchblade joined the assault, shortly after that point, she believed it deserved a quick, clean end. She had tried to yell this out to Whips, June, and the others, but then Raviel started throwing his Thundershocks at the thing again, which she got side tracked with by trying to stop, and it sort of got out of her hands from there. Raviel however, seemed to be the only one of Curts party that was, less then warm to Nines words.

"Rehna? Rwark Rwa-!", Raviel barked out, a tone of irritation and even as though attempting to start an argument between the Ninetales before....

"(Raviel, keep quiet, if you still want to have an argument with the person who has saved you twice now, then do it outside when we're safe, for now, lets just keep moving....)", Flare said quickly and firmly to the Jolteon. Raviel let out an audible grumble, of course that old hag would stick up for her boyfriend, it's not like trying to help him find his trainer was what got them into this mess. Yet, he decided to quiet himself down for now, but still, he was visibly not happy about some fancy magical fox who had never truly gotten his hands dirty judging them about defending himself. After all, what did this fancy, unblemished, clean, shiny coat, Ninetales know about the world, or of monsters? How did he know what is was like to scrounge around trash cans, looking for anything, even a rotten piece of fruit, to serve as dinner that night so you didn't starve? What did he know about being forced to take shelter in a wet cardboard box in the middle of a storm, like the filthy rat you'd become, just for the chance to stay a little less wet that night? Did Nine know what it was like to be pinned down to the ground by an over sized, over territorial Persian, unable to do anything by flail in a desperate attempt to free yourself as you felt your own ear being ripped from your head, just because the bastard wanted to teach you a "lesson" about digging through the trash on his turf without his permission? Judging by the foxes intact limbs, Raviel didn't think so, and he was beginning to question their chances of survival with a bleeding heart like him leading them. Nine was powerful, hell, he'd even admit that he was clever, but if he was going to start flipping out over every little drop of blood they spilled....well...He just hoped that Flare would be able to take the reins of their little party when Nine tries to order them to try hugging the next snarling beast that wanted to rip them limb from limb. The female Kitsune, however, hardly took her gaze of Nine, clearly Raviel wasn't the only one who had Nine on their mind...

"(Oh Nine, fifty-years old and still a child...)", Flare thought. She knew that, despite the harsh training Cassie had put him through, the younger Ninetales still held on to piece of purity, of innocence inside him that helped him hold onto his beliefs of the simple good (though perhaps Cassie never wanted to drill that out of him? she couldn't say...). To Nine, this creature wasn't just a savage monster trying to kill them, it was a poor soul that was twisted by the black magic that permeated through these halls. Thinking that perhaps the poor creature once had a family, friends, and maybe even dreams of their own, all forgot in the madness in its own mind had reached Nine before all else. Nine had been traveling with them for long enough to know that Nine had a good sense of modesty, a sense of silliness and optimism that managed to pop up every now and again (even through his missings of Cassie), and very strong moral compass that pushed him to do the right thing no matter how bad things got. Flare loved those things about Nine most of all, and it was a small wonder that he and Embertail became fast friends, the two fire types did have a fair amount in common, and Nine showed it with his dedication towards protecting the unconscious Embertail. The fact that he managed to find some sympathy for his enemies, even ones that were rampaging beasts trying the kill them, was a beacon of light in this dark, evil cavern that they desperately needed...

And it could also be the thing that got someone killed if Nine let it go to far...
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"I'm smooth, uh, thanks I guess...", Curt mumbled out after hearing Thomas' remarks after accidentally bashing him on the head. True, Curt definitely didn't have any malicious intent when Thomas got his skull clonked, Curt could be a little clumsy even when he was sober (though this could be attributed to his spaciness, rather then poor motor-control) so could Thomas really expect anything different? In fact, the Rocket Admin was probably mildly aware of this, but was in just such a foul mood he probably didn't care, as he displayed clearly by smearing Curts cloths, face, and hair with his grim and blood. The trainer didn't really mind much though, between the Rockets chasing them through the woods, the tumble into this cave (or was in a secret, underground mansion now as displayed by this new, fancy room? Curt wasn't sure...), being chased again by the Rockets, and being attacked by the monster, he was already extremely dirt.

"Heheh, trying to feel me up now Thomas? Well sorry to say, I don't swing that way, and even if I did, you're not my type, but if you still want to buy me diner, then I'd be more then happy too-H-hey wait! Awwwww, this is my favorite shirt too....", Curt said with a drop in his voice as Thomas ripped the sleeves of his shirt, "you know, it you needed bandages, I got some in my pack... wait, how'd you rip my sleeves off from your position anyway, it has to be hard to get a good grip from sitting on my back, you got some strong wrists Thomas! Did you play baseball or something, because between this and catching that rock I think tha-"

"HOLY SHIT!" , they heard Gerald yell from across the room.

"Wha..? Gerald, DID YOU FIND EMBERTAIL AND THE REST!?", Curt replied excitedly, not taking into account the size of this room and that a moderately sized group of Pokemon would have literally been the first thing they saw upon entering.

"Curt, Curt, dude, it's gold! GOLD! Hey, hey, Curt, Thomas, Jack...Or is it Justin? Uh, never mind, but whoever helps me move this gets a cut!" The word "gold" turned every head in the room, Hell, Thomas wasted no time in leaping of Curts back and clamoring toward that glittering prize. The Candelabra stuck out in the room like a sore thumb, glittering almost like a miniature sun in this otherwise dreary room, one could wonder how they hadn't noticed it before (well, Curt was on morphine, so he had an excuse). All thoughts of getting out were momentarily pushed aside as Thomas, his "crippled leg" suddenly a lot less severe, began trying to yank the candelabra free, and when that failed due to the objects encasement in wax, he ordered Justin to shoot if lose while he went to search the room for more valuables. Indeed, it seemed like their luck had finally turned around, after chasing and being chased, frequent clashes with each other, going up against their own personal demons in the form of nightmares, and almost being torn to shreds by a monster, it seemed like they had finally gotten a break! Curt...didn't like it.

"Hey, um, guy's, uh, I don't mean to, uh, you know....rain on your parade, but are you sure we should touch that, I mean, some of this stuff mmmiiiggghhhttt be cursed....", Curt slurred out, the morphine was beginning to wear off, but he was still plenty high enough to lack just enough sense to be blissful unaware of the situation around them.

"Besides, I kinda...you know, want to find Embertail and everyone else before we worry about getting rich, and you know...you know, I hate to be "that guy" but, this stuff looks kinda...really heavy, it's gonna slow us down a lot, and again, back to my "dis shit might be cursed" point, you might think I'm being, you know...what was the word, superfluous...no, come on I know thi-SUPERSTITIOUS, THAT'S THE WORD! Anyway, you might be thinking I'm that, but considering that we we're all just mysteriously knocked-out and thrown into a hellish nightmare by some shadow guy and then got attacked by what I'm pretty sure was a one of those Falmer things on Steroids, but that's not possible because the entire Elder Scrolls Universe is just a dream...what was I talking about again...oh yeah...I think this stuff could possibly be cursed because..." And thus began Curts ramblings about curses, hexs, elves, and various other mythological elements. The trainer just stood in the middle of the room, still fairly high, talking his ass of while everyone else did their damnedest to ignore them. But as much as Thomas and Justin were trying to ignore Curt, the trainers droning voice had a way of seeping into their skulls, and it took a shockingly short time for it to really get on the Rockets nerves, plus he was probably going to give them crap about nicking their newly acquired valuables all the way out of the caverns. Thankfully Justin was happy to pitch Thomas an easy and straight forward solution as he walked over to Thomas, telling Gerald that he wanted to ask his boss really quick if there were any other valuables they should prioritize, eager to give his solution.

"Boss, I've been thinking, that Curt guy, you want me to shoot him sir?", Justin whispered to Thomas, just outside of Geralds ear-shot range, all while Curt prattled on about the fundamentals of curses, elves, and other fantasy nonsense,"I'm mean, he's basically dead weight right now, personally I think we'd just be saving ourselves some trouble, besides, I don't want to deal with this guy's high rants for the rest of our time in this place...."

Though Thomas's first impulse was to say "YES!" with as much gusto as he could muster, but the Rocket Admin was a man to think things through, most of the time at least. Yeah, his ramblings were irritating to no end, but that wasn't the only reason, Justin had a point, it was looking more and more like Curt was just going to slow them down, still, just flat out killing him didn't seem like the best solution. Sure, shooting Curt would be a quick solution, but he'd imagine Gerald might take offense to the whole issue of them killing his friend. Sure they could try and shoot Gerald too, but the young trainer had proven he could react quickly in a dangerous situation, and more importantly, he still had that Scolipede, which probably wouldn't exactly be overjoyed if they killed its trainer. Justins gun didn't have much ammo left, and even then, he was pretty sure that 9mm wouldn't be a strong enough caliber to punch through a Scolipede's shell. Barring that, they all made a pact that they wouldn't try to kill each other till they got out. Hell, him and Curt even shook on it, and you just don't go back on a handshake.

"Ehhh, nah, Blaziken pubes is right over there, and he and that Scolipede could give trouble for us", Thomas said as he jerked his head in Gerald direction, "besides, he's right about one thing, this stuff is going to be heavy and, high or not, the more people we have carrying stuff, the better..."

"If you say so sir...", Justin whispered as he walked back over to continue his search for treasures.

"...and I mean yeah, he ended up arguing with his lamp for twenty minutes about the structure of thesis's conclusion, but the point still stand...uh, you guy's listening? Gerald? Thomas? Justin?", Curt said, finally catching on to the fact that everyone was trying to ignore him since e started, "anyways, we'd need a Ghost or Dark-type Pokemon to remove Curses, or at least a Psychic type to identify them, plus if this stuff isn't curse, our buddies can help us carry it..."

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Who are you?"

It's a question we are asked countless times in our lives, though there are variations to the question (who is this, what's your name), it all has the same meaning. To many, it seems like the easiest question to answer, after all, what poor soul doesn't know who they are, and for the longest time, Embertail thought he knew who he was too. The truth is, sometimes we don't know ourselves half as well as we think we do, often we create images of who we'd like to be in our heads and do are best to try to act like that. For some people, they do this intentionally, but many do it without even realizing it, and it isn't until our darkest hour, do we see who we really are, and sometimes we don't like what we see. Yet still, most people have the choice to decide who they want to be and strive to be that person, some make it, some don't, but what can be said that really matters is that we tried. Embertail however, Embertail found out on that day that he never had a choice to be anything but what had already been laid out for him, and no matter how hard he tried, there was nothing he could do to change that.

The Charmander watched the memory unfold, his uncle taking him, Curt, and the rest of his friends through the mountains to meet his long estranged family. Jasper made a comment about how awesome it would be to train in the mountains with a bunch of powerful Charmeleon and Charizard warriors, and Embertail responded with the idea of asking his uncle about it, maybe if they were luck, they'd even let him, in spite of everything, train here for a bit. It was odd, some would think he should be angry at his clan for abandoning him in the forest, but Embertail never got angry, at the time, he just wanted some closure, heck, he was actually even a little bit excited to see his family again, even if all he had from them were a few distant memories, and even then, most of those weren't entirely pleasant. Honestly, he was surprised his uncle still cared about him enough to take outsiders (one who was even a human) into his clans territory, but apparently his uncle still had enough respect here that he was able to make it so without anyone else trying to attack them. Embertail was glad his uncle still had a soft spot for him, but then again, his uncle was the of the few people who seemed to genuinely like him. No else really interacted with him much, and he would be surprised if anyone else even knew who he was. Well, except for maybe his mother, and even then, Embertail wasn't expecting her to have a very powerful reaction, from what he remembered, she never showed any strong emotions towards him except for disinterest, and the occasional times when she thought he was asleep and she just sort of...stared at him, sometimes she knew he wasn't even asleep, they just had to be alone...Embertail tried not to think about that too much. He always got the feeling that his mom never like him very much, even when he tried to do something to impress her she just seemed...uninterested in him. Ah well, at least he still had Curts family, and his friends of course, things turned out alright in the end, so he wouldn't hold all that against her. Really though, he didn't know what kind of reaction him mom would have to seeing him, would she show signs of remorse from abandoning him, or groan upon seeing his return?

What he didn't expect was his mom to lash out at him in rage the moment she saw him walking toward their den by his uncles side. Embertail knew his mom was...less then warm to him during his infancy, in fact, it never seemed like he could do right by her, always treating everything he did and every attempt to try and get her attention with disinterest, he never remembered his mere presence sending her into such a fury like that! His uncle, still trying to be his light in the dark after all these years, tried to calm his mother, even going so far as to block the enraged dragoness path to them to forcibly remove them from the mountains (or worse), but she would have none of it, one way or another, she just wanted Embertail gone. This outburst was unexpected enough, but what really blew Embertail away was when his mom took a moment to stop her rampage against Embertail...and then started going off on her brother, in fact, she seemed just as angry at his uncle as she was with him! She screamed and roared, even attempted to blast him with fire a few times, the focus of her rage seemed to sporadically bounce from him to Embertail and then back and forth again.

His memories with his Uncle and his cousin were some of the few happy memories Embertail had of this place, but his favorites were the times his uncle told them of all the past adventures he had. He told them many wild, amazing stories of him and his allies fighting Gravelers, other Charizard clans, and even a Tyranitar once! But some of the best, and the ones his uncle seemed most proud of, were the stories of him and Embertail mother, the brother and sister fighting duo, the most powerful members of their clan, and a nearly unstoppable force on the battlefield. At the time it made Embertail excited, and just a little bit proud, knowing that his uncle and mom were such awesome Charizard warriors! Even up to till point of their reunion, it made him think that maybe he could a little amazing too one day, maybe...From what Embertail remembered, his mother and her brother didn't just fight well together, they had an exceptionally strong bond that was rarely seen from mighty, Charizard warriors, which is why his moms outburst at his uncle left him at a loss. Curt and the rest of his friends tried to get some sort of idea of what was going on from him, but Embertail was as confused as they were. His uncle had to be the nicest Charizard in their clan, a deceptively fierce warrior who could cut through the skies and his foes like lightning sure, but he always managed to keep a soft spot for those close to him, heck the fact that his clan let outsiders in on his word alone showed how well like he was among his clan. Embertail just couldn't understand why anyone, especially his mom, one of the Pokemon his uncle had the oldest and strongest history with, would be so angry with him. Was Embertail such a sore point for her that he really caused her that much rage, even against her own brother?

And the things she was roaring at him, her raged filled cries broken up by his uncle own voice whose, in-turn, sound uncharacteristically panicked, shocked, and...even desperate. Though Flare was translating for Curt at the time, even she was having a bit of trouble understanding the Charizards cries, they all were. The things his mother was yelling at him, they were only able to make out bits and piece, and for some reason, it seemed important to his uncle that they didn't understand her, like she was saying something he didn't want to be reminded about and didn't want them to hear. His uncle was desperatly trying to get his sister to calm down, stop talking, or at the very least get some help in restaining her and moving her away. But Embertails mom was one of the clans most powerful warriors, next to her brother, and all that were around them were Charmanders and Charmeleons, and even the boldest of them dare not tangle with an enraged Charizard like her. But through her outburst, one this was clear to them, Embertails mother seemed just as enraged at her brother over this matter as she was with Embertail himself.

Whats more, the things she yelled didn't seem to make much sense, in fact, it almost seemed like she was accusing them of something. It didn't fit at first, but as they heard more and more, and oh, did that Charizard make sure they heard more, the pieces began to fit together. The things she yelled, things about acts forbidden by their elders long ago, practices that they should have ignored. Things that she hated her clan, even own brother, for convincing her to go along with, and for going along with it himself. How the clan, for the longest time, shunned her, all for making a weak, misshapen mistake that she didn't even want. And there it was, the answer to all of it. There was no question as to who this "mistake" was, hearing those words hurt Embertail, but he had come to realize the possibility that his mom felt that way about him a long time ago. The moment he pieced together his mothers cries, he realized, he didn't visit his clan to get the answer as to why was abandoned, he came to get the answers to everything else.

But if what he heard that day was true, and everything pointed to it being so, then the answers he got meant it was more then his goofy appearance, or him being unable to breathe fire, or even that he'd never be able to evolve. It wasn't that something that was wrong with him, it was worse, it was just him, he was just...wrong.

No, he didn't want to watch this anymore, he didn't want to see how he broke down under his mothers furious outbursts and his...his...HIS attempts at justification, he didn't want to see how he just sat their, not moving or saying anything as everything crumbled around him, and he didn't want to see how his friends had looked at him in those moments. At the the time, he didn't turn around to look at them, he couldn't bare too, but he could feel their eyes full of shock, pity, and even revulsion upon him. So Embertail turn and ran from his vision, he ran as fast as he could, but it all ended up following him: his mothers rage, his friends gazes of disgust burning into his back, and the reality of who he was and what he would never be. It would always stay with him, even if he woke up, and that was the Nightmares power over him, waking or sleeping, we can never run from what we are. Embertail is Embertail, a fire-less, bizarrely shaped, aberration of a Charmander, that's what he was, is, and will be, and there is nothing he can do to ever change that.

 

[BurbleBurble]

June's hold broke as the arm detached. The blade's cloths unraveled themselves from the muscular, misshapen arm, unable to support such weight. Puff's icy attacks ceased as he refocused on the mentally exhausted Braixen he called a companion, now leaning on him for support. However, Empty never kept down the rage fueled attacks, cutting deeper and deeper into the beast.

Until it was all over with a blast of light.

As Nine scolded them for their savage behaviors, Empty stared at the Ninetales for a moment. The stare transformed into a glare, though it was hard to tell with emotionless eyes.

And if to blatantly go against the his wishes, he slashed once more into the back of the beast, a defeated groan released from it before Whips snapped it's neck, stopping the suffering of the creature.

Why did he end it so quickly? The death should've ended as it lived; every moment suffering.

He was tempted to go off and his own, find his own exit. get back to Gerald his own way. But alas...Paralysis set in.

With a creak of the stiff shell, it was lifted into the tassels of the Switchblades, who...weren't exactly sure how to feel. The deed was done. Gerald's words had been obeyed, and the beast had been struck down. But at what cost? The Ninetales had a point, it was a living, breathing creature. While the swords weren't technically living beings, they did observe them quite a bit. Living beings felt pain, mental, emotional, physical, and everything in between. The swords only registered one of those.

Maybe if they had organs, they'd understand.

Puff was scarred. Terrified. Disgusted.

Unlike Empty, the Switchblades, or June (granted, unconscious), he took in the pain. The horrible smells. The ruthlessness of Empty and the others...He understood what Nine meant tenfold. His blood curdled as the fox's words re-vibrated throughout his mind, jaw quivering. Frosted breath slipped through the gap his mouth occasionally made, oblivious to the other fox who was resting on him for support.

June awoke.

Her head ached. She pushed herself too far, and the results showed.

On the floor, seperated from the main body, which was horribly malformed and broken.

She had missed about half the spiel from Nine, but she got the gist of it. She never...she didn't mean to...she...

She steadied her breathing. The Braixen had to keep her cool. She was the example. A secondary leader for Gerald's Pokemon. At least for Puff. Maybe Empty.

So, with control, pride, and coolness, she solemnly nodded in agreement with Nine. Grabbed Puff's hand. And followed Nine deeper into the catacomb. The Switchblades followed, Empty constrained in their tassels.

Puff's ears twitched, picking up distant splashing. Excited calls. Did they belong to Gerald?

No.

That would be crazy.
-----
Gerald thought the candelabra may have been a lost cause. He pulled and tugged alongside Thomas, who eventually left him to raid the shelves of ancient spices and silverwares. He even took off his shoe and began whacking at it. But just as he was about to give up...

Justin pulled out his gun. At first, Gerald internally panicked and was just about to start yelling again and whip out Million.

But he aimed it at the wax, and the puzzle pieces fell together. All the grunt wanted was fifty percent. "Ah! Sounds good. After we get out, I'll find my Doublade and get them to cut them straight in half. And if it's uneven, you can have the bigger half! Mainly because you have a gun..."

And so, the golden prize was free. In Justin's hands. But Gerald was fine with that. Then if it was cursed or anything, the grunt would take the bullet! "Okay, you can hold on to it for now. But, err, I'll hold it if you want! Just, y'know, ask."

Curt had thought the same thing, but was much more vocal about it. Poor guy thought at first they found Embertail, but seemed disappointed at the fact it was treasure. He began rambling about it being cursed, and something about...Elder Scrolls? What was Elder Scrolls?

Poor dude. Drugs must be ruining him. Gerald thought to himself.

As he took a glance over the shelves though, it seemed Thomas was doing great at emptying out the valuables. Though the dull pieces of silverware on the floor were up for grabs. Gerald noted that two people who had been trying to kill them like...ten minutes ago, about, had not only joined sides but were more than happy to bond in the name of greed.
...
Yeah, it was a bit messed up.

But Curt actually made a good point now.

"anyways, we'd need a Ghost or Dark-type Pokemon to remove Curses, or at least a Psychic type to identify them, plus if this stuff isn't cursed, our buddies can help us carry it..."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that. Switchblades is probably old enough to heal us of any curse, and maybe even Empty. Flare, Nine, and maybe June will identify any curses, which is probably the least of our problems....That being said, you make a fair point about the weight of it."Gerald leaned over to whisper something to Curt. "Let's just have the Rocket's lug it until they get tired. I still have my Scolipede, and I'm sure he's willing to carry some treasure."

He hadn't even noticed the two Rocket's conspiring out of ear-shot. He went back to pick up some bits of silverware on the ground, and got a nice assortment of dull knives and forks that were less than sanitary.

And when he got his fill, he stood up looking rather matter-of-factly. "Okay, you two get enough? Because I'm still shot, Thomas is still bleeding out, and...well, I guess Justin is pretty normal. Basically, we should get a move on."

He glanced over at Curt. Still holding no valuables. It made Gerald feel guilty in a way. Maybe when he came down from his high (Whenever that was) he'd gift him half the silverware. After all, if Gerald had all this money, he'd just squander it. Maybe.

"So, um, shall we go?"

 

[Storybook]

Fire. Ice. Smoke. Heat. Darkness. A dying light- did it still exist? and pain. So much pain. All he could think about was the pain. His skin was infected with peeling rust, his arm was filled with jagged knives, his chest was flat and hollow and dead and his throat felt acrid and sore. He breathed, and all he could do was breath, and all he could do was breath. In- it hurt, his head was a broken machine. Out- air released with a wave of relief, relieving the pressure on his chest. In- his heart throbbed in his skull. Out- his skin was on fire and his shirt clung to his pale frame and the boy was sick and wane. In- he couldn't stand the pain. Out- he wasn't sure he could breath again.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

He was helpless.

Que shook, terror beginning to creep into his brain, his vision malformed, swimming, corrupted, destroyed, broken, and twisted to the point where it couldn't really be called vision anymore, and the girl slipped away from him into the horizon only to appear a foot from him before she disappeared, and he found herself staring at her receding feet with the knowledge that again he had fallen to the stone cold floor and he shivered and was made of ice with a lung full of snow and all he could do was breath.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

And Que was standing and running and falling farther and farther away from reality.

He slipped, he stood, he flew, he fell, staring at the unwavering cadence of her footsteps, watching as the world remained steady and solid while he slipped and stumbled and shook and cried, and through it all his arm burned his throat was acrid and his chest was ice. Dragging himself across the earth in a heaving, stumbling step, Que wished only for time to pass quicker, to free him from the chains of this hideous, stupid, massive, terrible pain and cleanse his mind from the turmoil from which he couldn't seem to escape no matter how far he ran, no matter how much he told himself he could fly, no matter how terribly he tried to find relief. And the world that stood solid while his vision shook seemed to molder and wither and collapse around his eyes until Que was alone and it hurt to move and it hurt to breath and he was overtaken by some great fear that the boy didn't understand, hallucinating voices and shattered hope, and he tried to run but he couldn't move and he tried to sob but he couldn't cry and his chest was ice and he was chained by a bank of obsidian snow, and all the boy could do was breath, but when he breathed in he found himself choking on ice.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

And Que was terrified.

And Que was walking through a hallway chasing after the light, time so slow it seemed never to pass, when the girl turned and walked towards him, leaving the light behind, to walk further and further away from the two and leave them in the dark. She opened her mouth, but her words seemed to travel to him on their own, silver serpents that hissed within his ears and ricochet past his sweating form to slither farther into the dark.

''People like usss...''

And Que turned to eye the path of the words as they slithered farther into the dark, only to find that they had slithered into nothing, for the hallway was degrading in the deep cloak of darkness, its particles slowly slipping out of existence alltogether, falling mutely into an infinite void, a world that was clear forever.

''Don't get what we want.''

And the voice was the voice of the girl and the voice was the voice of a serpent, hollow and sinister, salivating over every sentence it spoke. It hissed and sneered and slithered past his ears and out into the darkness to be swallowed by the void, and the void crept closer, darkness degrading in an infinitely clear reality. Que could only watch, not a single thought of his own clinging to his rusted skull, sweat a paste on pale, ghostly skin and his whole body shivering as heat overwhelmed it. The void crept closer, like an ashen flame, licking at the soles of his feet with mutely crackling teeth.

''You don't want to fight it.''

And everything hurt and the boy shook as his arm writhed and he stared at the mutilated, ghastly pink flesh and beat it with his hand because it burned so, and fatigue was a magma chain as the void crept beneath his feet and he began to fall into its nothing, to be encompassed by the sheen of an infinitely clear reality, where he was a ghost who lived forever alone. But the voice traveled from the gaping mouth of the girl once more in all of its serpentine hiss and wrapped its tendrils around his arm and there was the girl before him again, trying to stop his infinite fall.

''You're ssstrange.''

And then, another voice, his own, perhaps, although he had never spoken.

''Hold your breath.''

And everything was mute.

He was in the void, the world infinitely clear, skin soaked with a dying breath as the boy fell longingly into the grasp of pure relief. His sweat soaked palms were washed of their clammy tang, his skin cooled by a frosty breath, his arm, for once, free from the pain that tore into his skin, and Que didn't have to focus on his breath because he wasn't breathing at all.

And everywhere and everything was pure relief.

For Que was a ghost in a land of never forever.

But he wasn't alone.

The girl was there with him, clenching his hand, eyes staring up into the void of the sky as if they were nothing, hollow and mute, an empty cicada shell. His heart pulsed as he stared into their empty gaze, his throat clenched, his chest was hot and his lungs ached, and as he stared the features on the girl began to slowly change, the eyes shifting color, skin fading into wrinkles and burning a different hue, hair, spread wildly in the air as if there were no gravity in the place of eternal nothing, shifting, the hairs expanding in width, growing longer and lightening in color, until he clenched the hand of a woman with long white hair and soft, pale skin whose face held thousands more wrinkles than seemed possible at such an age, and he stared into her eyes and watched as their pure platinum hue faded into the void of an empty shell before the face shifted and changed again. A man whose beard was always long, with solemn blue eyes and a dragging face. A child with short, ragged hair, high cheekbones, a scarred chin. And from this face morphed a nose into a snout and the hair grew wild over the features until there stood a feline form, and then that of a canine, and that of a deer. And every eye in every face was hollow and dead, and every cheek was sucked in, and every creature a void, skeleton's hollowly wrapped upon his hand. The figure faded from its last form into one last creature, a girl with eyes like the galaxy encased in a black hole, her bright red hair like a bed of snakes, and in her free hand lay a small slice of petrified wood, polished flat on two sides and jagged on a third, as if it had been broken from a larger piece. And the petrified wood slipped out of her skeleton hand to sink into the void.

Que's chest ached, dying for breath, and his tears seeped out of his eyes and dissolved into the void, and the burn upon his arm seethed and writhed and boiled and a tingle swept up through his muscle as it spasmed and it hurt and it hurt and the pain had returned, and a flash of light threw itself into the nothing as Que gasped, only to find liquid spill down his throat and into his lungs and he coughed but there was nothing to cough except water and it spilled down his throat as fear throttled his veins. And Que was blinded by the light so that everything was white, but through the white some sort of beast swam, eerily coaxing a tingle from his sweat soaked skin.

It was long and thin and snake-like, with pale, ghostly, translucent scales and a thousand pairs of eyes blinking in the blinding light, and the creature swirled around Que as he choked and he was flushed with heat, and the creature spoke, and its voice whistled and hissed and slithered around his form, as shrill as a train whistle.

''Gone.''

Que kicked.

''All gone.''

Que shook.

''Dissssapeared.''

Que shuddered, and his skin grew so pale it appeared translucent.

''Every sssingle one.''

Que spasmed in a wave of heat as the voice surrounded him, viscous and heavy, a long, slow drop of poisonous goo.

''All gone.''

''All gone.''

A wave of force against his stomach, agony inching back over his skin from the flare of the burn as the void degraded into substance and cool air lacerated his skin.

''Goodbye.''

And, desperate, the boy shook and closed his eyes and tried to cough and found he could, and he rolled onto his side and coughed and coughed until he found he could breath and his chest was made of ice and his throat was acrid and his skin was rusting and his flesh was made of knives and all he could do was breath.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

He couldn't do anything else.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

In.


Out.



In.

Exhaustion swelled to encompass the boy, and he found his eyelids falling without his order as he rolled from his side unto his back, selfish in that he thought nothing of the girl or the Ralts as he slipped away into sleep. But it wasn't really sleep, not sleep at all. An exhausted wink, a feverish delusion, a delirious fall for a minute or five as the mind of the watcher, marked by charcoal tears, heaved with a deadly stubbornness and appeared as if he was beginning to sink into the boy, for the boy was a war between fact and emotion, between numbness and pain, between the puzzle piece heart and the steel plated void of a soul. A war between the blue eyed watcher, ghostly and marked with tears, and the steely eyed cicada shell of Que, because he hated life and he hated death and his heart was marked by the fear of being left alone, in a land of nothing, a ghost in a land of never forever.

So the watcher, trembling, as hurt as the form, pulled himself close and seemed to melt like the ghost he was while Que, eyes closed, emitted a sound that wasn't a whine nor a groan nor a word in the slightest, but simply, it seemed, a ghastly squeeze of voice from his throat, and his left arm trembled uncontrollably, for it seemed it had been determined that the body was the battleground of the heart and the soul, that the physical should suffer as the mental rolled in a constant turmoil of fear and denial.

After all, the watcher was no ghost nor vision but an exile, come to return home, desperate to recreate a link long severed.



Growlithe trembled in the manner of a school boy, meek and passive in the face of things he couldn't understand. Stench overwhelmed the near sighted creature, a corrupted odor, rotting and foul, oozing into his fur from the drips of blood and puss and writhing in the air as the fire crackled and popped and snarled and breathed its hideous breath, a plague like ash rolling from its rotting incisors as it gnawed upon the writhing form and ripped and tore and hated. Shocked from the cancerous skin that wrought his coat with its foul ooze, deadened by the nerves that lay flat and senseless, overwhelmed by a mass of foul information and the realization of just what this thing beside him was, the beast simply stood and cowered as it all went down, for he was a simple addict of emotion, unable to take over the nauseating anxiety that stilled his heart and deadened his paws. Even ribbons of fire that leaped like parasites upon his coat could do nothing, could coax no swell of courage nor tide of foolhardy power. And so he cowered.

A snap of the flames, a cry, a howl, labored breaths and frenzied calls as death consumed the cavern like a black hole and darkness swelled into the earth. A voice, raucous, pained, one different from his own yet seemed to echo in his head all the same. A speech of justice and beasts and torture and the right thing to do. Of monsters, and whether or not he wanted to become one.

Monsters.

Monsters, monsters, monsters.

Darkness or a beast or a word or a frame of mind. He wanted to cry with what did it matter? but the creature considered himself in low self esteem and knew that his words were wrong no matter what they happened to be.

He just hated all this talk of rights and wrongs, of monsters, of power. It was overwhelming. Nauseating. A churn in his chest, a wish to be safe and home and innocent, to simply be himself and never have to worry about the world with all its power and its daunting heart and its monsters and beasts and responsibility.

He hated worry. He hated its nagging prick, so that his ears flicked and his paws quivered and he doubted every step until he couldn't move. He was addicted to emotion, that was true, but the beast had long learned that it was simply overpowering, secretive, strong. His addiction, he hated to admit, might have come simply because he couldn't rid himself of it, couldn't understand it, couldn't overcome it, and so he simply embraced it because at heart the beast was endlessly troubled and what he didn't embrace came to tear and hate and destroy him. In the end, worry was the most powerful thing that swelled through his chest. The most terrifying. It was a tyrant, it loomed with an indisputable force, it nagged at his heart and tore at his throat and the beast hated all of this talk of monsters and justice and responsibility and he shook his head and whined and whimpered like a toddler so that it would give its leave and move on.

And such it appeared to do. The beast, blinded by the stench of the dead, swiveled his ears ceaselessly and shook his head and bristled his mane, unable to recognize whether or not the creatures with him had decided that yes, the creature with the voice that entered their heads was correct, and they should leave the beast to find the trainers they so sought. A powerful surge of anxiety swelled in his heart and he stood, afraid to move, afraid to fall again or topple beneath some monster or some new threat, afraid, even, that he wouldn't be able to sense the wall when it appeared, such was the frailty of his confidence. Were they leaving? Oh, they were leaving him, weren't they?

He began to cry in the manner of a wounded cat with long, thin whines that seemed to wheeze and sob, begging as a child does for the parent not to leave the room. His cries grew as the beast stood, feet trapped beside the corpse of the monster, and he whined and he wheezed and he whimpered and he cried, notes of lonesomeness swelling into his tone.

The protector huffed, maddened into a fury that seemed to blur her vision and fog her mind, and she didn't care that she deserted her trainer's rules and she didn't care that she was a corruption of hatred because the cause had fallen and the damn fox had the stupid nerve to call them monsters and beasts and to call everyone off with a flash of blinding light. To the distortion world with that Ninetales, the deer had thought as she fired off an attack anyways- one that landed who knew where, she didn't care, she didn't care about anything. She just hated the monster and she hated them all because they had betrayed the deer, played with her, and she was positive they were all trying to destroy her, as everything in the world seemed to want to do.

Even Growlithe.

He'd just stood there.

He'd just stood there.

And she hated him, too, because all irrationality had become parasitic and the Ninetales had almost suggested that the cause hadn't actually been the cause and if it wasn't than nothing ever would be, and it all would have just been fate and chance and misfortune, as if bad things happened at random no matter what the creature, no matter what life they had lived, no matter what longing they had held in their heart. Pain always had a reason. Pain always had a cause.

Furious and smoldering, the deer followed the trail of creatures, nipping at whoever came within her reach to drive them away despite the wobble to her step and the stagger in her gait, baring her teeth in a manner that almost appeared bloodthirsty, following them simply because she had to find Que, some thought ragged in her mind that if she could see the boy and protect the boy and never fail the boy than he would make everything right again. Once, she looked back towards the cave that they left towards the Arcanine that stood whining, doubting himself too much to make a single step, but her gaze held no love and her heart remained silent, raucous only in the act of her anger.

And the beast stood, too afraid to move, overpowered by the tyrannical hold of anxiety and terror, heart broken as he caught a whiff of the deer's receding scent, begging for a hand to guide him and a voice to tell him it would all be okay.

Like trainer, like Pokemon.

An Arcanine who couldn't see, and a deer who refused to.

And darkness swelled to encompass them all, the last spark fizzling out and leaving the world black as a nightmare.

 

[PentheWonderful]

“We shall go, yes, let’s.”

An array of silver cooking utensils, carved and infused with age, scrolls of recipes, written in Unown upon crumbling, yellowing paper, and an assortments of wooden spice holders all wrapped together within ancient cloths woven with a pattern long forgotten. Thomas carefully fits this in his knapsack, among all the variety of assault weapons he had for back up.

‘Blasphemy.’ Senior admins would scoff at him, eying the assortment of handheld weapons he would carry with him. ‘Those puny objects don’t do squat in the face of an opposing Pokemon.’ And he would keep silent because it was true. The use of such weapons in a world of monsters were for naught. That was why so little companies manufactured them anymore, and why he found them all the more precious. But that was him, and he was probably the only person alive who would request them in place of pokemon. Thomas was never a pokemon person. Never was, never will be, and those metal slinging contraptions and explosives were his only means of self-defense. It was a handicap in such a world, perhaps, but no, that wasn’t true. He recalled his experience in the field and the life he had led and learned one important thing that he lived by; it’s not pokemon one should be afraid of. No, it is, and always will be the humans behind the monsters that one should keep an eye out for. Because they were the real monsters. They were the only true threat towards the existence and balance of life itself. And guns and bullets took care of them just fine.

Thomas felt himself dying.

There was simply not enough of everything to go around; strength, energy, hope, blood, if the beast they’d encountered before was anything to gauge off of. This was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission. They were supposed to corner the trainers against a wall and bring them all in. But no, things seldom work out as hoped and now he was in a position no better than the trainers and he cursed them. He wished them all to perish, but realized he would then be a mouse wandering a maze all on his own with an even slimmer chance of survival, and that was not ideal. He wanted to live, and to survive, one must make compromise. So, the admin sucked it up, stretched a grin across his dried lips, and forced himself up to a stand.

His shins ached.

He cursed Curt twice more than Gerald.

The extra weight now being carried was nothing more than featherweight to the two men, (Justin snagged the candelabra, the golden knobs from all of the cabinets, and all the gold plating from the banquet table) whose bodies had been drilled through much worse. In Justin’s case; his military occupation, and in Thomas’; his decade as a top hire mercenary. They’d carry on. They always did. With his Ali Baba wrap, Thomas took one final glance through the room, ignoring the indiscreetly discreet conversation Gerald attempted to have with Curt, and picked out strange details previously unnoticed by his rush of greed;

All items not imbedded directly into the stone walls and floors were focused to one side of the room. Those stale, hardened foods all lined up strangely against the wall. Some piled, some scattered, those unfortunate organic matter that were not even given a chance to decompose. Not a single insect in sight, not even flies or roaches. There was only dust and grime, and moss and fungi and Thomas found it all a little strange that they seemed to all be pointing towards the aged food mass. Thus, the direction he decided to go to was the pile, the musky assortment of once edible goods, but the closer he got, the more he began to wonder if they had somehow decomposed. The stench was something nasty, almost unthinkable for the pile to emit, but it was different from the stench the Beast reeked of.

Decay, rot, moisture, acid, decomposition, blood,

And one, unmistakable scent Thomas found himself furrowing his brow over upon identification as he stood over the pile, slowly moving his gaze beyond it, to the narrow void it hid behind it, only three feet in diamter. “Saliva…?” A gust of air laced with warmth and moisture blew from the void to enhance those smells tenfold, and Thomas had doubled over to keep the contents of his stomach down.

And then, the void became a vacuum and pulled in every single item in the room with the force of a black hole.

The last of the pile came in first, and the wooden furniture scraped against to stone floors toward its pull. Thomas dropped himself to the floor and dug his nails into the ground, but only succeeded in leaving claw marks along it as he was dragged. “FUCK!”

“Boss!” Came Justin’s panicked exclaim. The man clung desperately to a cabinet, with its hinges coming loose. The table rotated to a horizontal position and loomed behind the two trainers as the suction pulled it in. Everything coming within its radius of potency, the cabinets wearing away from their places on the walls and the seconds dragged on.

And when it ended, everything flew.

The table, hurled right off the floor to smack both trainers over their backs. The cabinets, coming free and knocking Justin off his feet. The urns, the pots, the jars and plates a storm of blunt force zipping straight into the void that consumed them all. Human and object, and the lighter items flew in first to be followed by the humans knocked away by their momentum, and sealed away by the cabinets and table that were simply too wide to fit.

The men were falling, and it was honestly a short way down. Expelled into a second room, perhaps only several feet lower than the first, yet, miles different. Somehow darker, and upon impact, wetter, softer, and vastly more slick. It was warm and humid and the stench loomed with an intensity that would have beaten the Beast by a longshot and the Rockets were once again re-equipping their oxygen masks.

They could be glad for their gear, at least.

With a flick of a button, Justin had lit a flashlight from his belt, but the moment he had, he immediately wished he hadn’t. For this room they had fallen into was a landscape of raw, squirming red. Its walls lined with veins that Justin followed with his light, spotted by ulcers and infections and its ceilings decorated by stakes of teeth to make a Sharpedo green with envy and surrounded them like a white picket fence. Beneath them was a tongue, red and gelatinous, the size of a Wailord. Frozen. Not a breath taken, not even by the Chamber. Its tongue trembled beneath them, recognizing flavor for the first time in many centuries.

A gingerbread man in a gingerbread house. Is he made of house, or is the house made of flesh?

The ceiling came crashing down and gnashed its teeth together. Perfectly interlocked, not a gap to be seen, and all the pots and urns trapped in between were pulverized into dust. The tongue lifted and pressed them against its sinewy, bleeding ceiling. Suction came and a wave of saliva washed over their helpless bodies to sample their flavors, and the tongue rolled them, eagerly feeding its bulging taste buds. The cushiness of the tongue swallowed them whole, pinning Justin’s arms thoroughly and preventing him from grabbing his gun out of his holster. The man was much more accepting of the situation than Thomas, who had landed face down and was screaming his head off into the pulpous flesh. There was a deep ‘gulp’ resounding from the back of the Chamber’s throat, and its tongue soon slackened and sank into the bottom of the mouth. Thomas pried his head free and turned over on his back to prepare for a second round.

But instead, the Chamber parted its teeth, and the tongue rolled, ever so pliantly sliding them across on a one way ticket to razor sharp teeth.

-

Monsters.

Cassie stood before monsters.

Even on her feet, standing tall as she possibly could and brave as a wounded prey, she was still miniscule. But a speck of dust in this mad, unforgiving world of monsters, beasts, and giants. An ant, a runt, irrelevant, so easily forgotten. But then, she always had been, hadn’t she? Always needing to run that extra mile, jump that extra feet, reach farther, stand taller, act faster, think sharper, just to be on equal footing, equal relevance against large, intimidating, opportunistic, merciless, manipulative, calculative, savage creatures who would readily stab you in the back, overtake you and devour you whole the moment you let your guard down. She has faced worse monsters before. She’s faced humans.

This monster, this Leviathan, it was less than human. It was no match for-

Screeeeeeeee!

“Ah-“ Pain, shooting through her ears like a careful needle piercing both eardrums at the same time. White flashed across her vision, and her legs respond by keeling and removing all support from beneath her, and the flashlight slips, and she goes down. She goes down and is faced with the vision of a convulsing boy. Que, his name was Que, she remembered. Her mind remembered. It was the displaced, misplaced, out of place memory. What was it? Where had it come from? Why was it there? Cassie breathed out a breath and took in some more and she found herself matching his feverish pace and it sent her head spinning. Glitches, like electronic static, her vision escaped and it chose to see somewhere else. A different room, a different situation, a different time. It glitched with hazy, shifting, unsteady images, and she could see so many statues lined from one end to the other, and a light, so close in the horizon she could feel its warmth.

‘Cassie!’

Click.

All she saw was the side of Que’s pale head, his hair clinging to his face while water ran down his face like waterfalls and his arm trembled but she couldn’t tell if it was because he was cold or in pain. Cold… Cassie remembered she was cold. Her arms forced her body back to sit and Peridot was soon by her side, holding on tightly to one of her trembling arms. Her eyes looked past Que’s catatonic form, watching the ink called water that the demure, insignificant beam of light had treaded across. She watched the gentle ripples, the only indication that they weren’t alone, and the light which the Leviathan watched, proving to it that it was not alone. Not anymore, but it rather liked its loneliness and was looking forward to having it again, and having new additions to its collection of eyes and bones on the lake floor.

The back of the Leviathan breached the water’s surface, and those sporadic lines and layers of eyes glimmered in the flashlight’s beam. Some small, some large, some blue, some brown, some red, but all were bloodshot and wide, staring, blinking on their own accord. Those endless lines of eyes, staring, never moving their focus, and she could feel them all around her as the Leviathan circled around their little island of safety. They never stop.

Watching, she felt its dirty eyes on her and it sent goosebumps crawling beneath her skin. Her fingers dug into the ground, but her eyes were glued to the shifting eyes illuminated by the flashlight’s beam. She could feel the thoughts running through those irises, vengeful, sorrowful, numb, enraged, dark emotions swirling within each individual eye, moving independently, yet always returning their sights to her, and Que and Peridot.

The tension was building, she could feel it pressing down on her, and it was difficult for her to remain upright. The Leviathan spun and spun, and the girls witness firsthand how four more eyes sprouted from its body, pushing past its scales and blinking for the very first time. Disoriented, confused, and then wide with realization, and something Cassie could only describe as screams.

The two new pairs were screaming and glued themselves onto her and they pleaded, so desperately, so sincerely, to her. To her, but she could only watched them disappear beneath the inky surface. And it sent strange shivers down her spine, a weight in her chest, and a churn in her stomach. But it wasn’t really strange, she knew it was guilt; one of the emotions that had been haunting for the past several months.

And that was before two bodies were flung from the water to land right before her eyes.

Soaked to the bones, human silhouettes coated in white, porridge-like goo that could only be reminiscent to vomit, and the swirls of crimson that could only be blood. Motionless, putrid, slick, they basked in the spotlight of the flashlight’s beam. Cassie clasped Peridot to her chest, but her eyes were glued to the sight while her blood drained from her face. She watched the slime lazily creep down their bodies to pool on the ground beneath. Her eyes took in their black garments, the unfashionable bold red R sewn onto their torsos, and their lack of eyes.

Mere empty sockets and hollow souls.

If Cassie had anything in her stomach at the time, it would’ve undoubtedly been all over the floor.

And that was when the water rippled and splashed behind her and she had been so glad to turn away from the sight, only to dearly regret her decision. All she could see were eyes, and those eyes were gazing back at her, the hundreds of them, unblinking, set straight ahead leading up to a gaping mouth reminiscent to a black hole lined with needle-like teeth that could only puncture and gouge with no hope of ripping apart flesh for quick endings. And it was moving toward them, picking up speed, ready to clear the island and snatch its prizes;

A pair of silver and a pair of blue.

Cassie lunged forward, not back, and she threw herself on top of the catatonic, feverish boy, one arm protecting Peridot from being crushed, while she shrieked, “Protect!” and with an anguished cry, the little Ralts threw a tight, pale blue barrier that could barely encase the soles of Que’s shoes. Yet, Cassie found the time of day to notice it was almost ten times as large as any protect she had ever seen the Ralts do. Yet moments after its completion, the Leviathan had slammed mouth first into the hemisphere and snapped ten needles free from its gums, and within those nanoseconds, Cassie could see into its mouth. And it was a void. It was the void. It was death.

Its sheer force was transferred into the barrier and knocked the three of them back to the opposite edge of the island where it shattered and flung the corpses of the Rocket grunt back to the water. Peridot lay limp in Cassie’s arm, trembling from such exertion, but she was safe. She was safe as long as she was with her, Cassie told her mentally, and she held her close and pressed her lips against the Ralt’s horn. And she grew warmer.

Silver eyes dead set on the Leviathan writhing in the flashlight’s beam, once again, she had scrambled her way over Que’s comatose body in a hurry. She would protect him too, because this boy was as broken as she, and he held her father’s looks, and she was not losing herself, and her father- her family, again, and he could keep her alive. She knew he could, because he was a trainer and trainers were protected by their monsters and she needed his monsters. Leaning across his head, she watched the monster’s gills flare within the moments it had been on shore, squirming about in likeness to a serpent as it retreated to the water.

Water droplets trickled from her hair down onto Que’s face, where she soon moved her gaze. “Que…” Her free hand meekly clasped the side of his face, where her cold hand greeted the warmth and greedily absorbed it. It was almost agonizing to remove herself from it for the split second to carefully and consecutively slap him. “Que, wake up…” Her hand moved to his shoulder, urgent in its grasp when she shook him. “Que, come back… Come back, please.”

Her heart pounded in her ear and she could not hear how her voice had cracked at her plea. Her nerves were shot, very much so, she found her eyes darting up and around every two seconds to scan for the Leviathan. “Que, I need your help, please-“ She choked on her own adrenaline and she body trembled with its harsh coursing in her veins. “We can’t do it alone, we can’t, not now, not- not here- I don’t have a choice, I’ve let you in, I’ve let you in!” Her voice rang within the chamber, and she found herself strangely out of breath. Heaving, in and out, her heart aching a dull ache that she relished.

“So let me in. Please. I don’t want to go yet. I want-... I still want to start living.”

“Please.”

-

The lonely cries of a mourning soul.

Nine stopped in his tracks. He knew howls such as those far too well. The brightness in his eyes faded away, replaced by a forlorn sheen that so easily showed the world his thoughts, and feelings. That’s how Cassie knew him so well. Just one look in his eyes, and she could see everything. What would she think if she saw him now, he wondered? Still so lost without her by his side. Funnily enough, it was more painful now than it had been before, when the world was large and there were so many places to search and it just seemed impossible to see her again. But now? What of now? When he knew she was there, so close within reach compared to the range he’d searched mere days- hours ago, and yet he still couldn’t find her, he couldn’t protect her, and he didn’t know if she was going to be okay.

Was it too much to ask to just… Stay together?

That was how all of them felt, he supposed. That’s what all of them feared, what pains them and haunts their thoughts. He wasn’t alone in his suffering, at least. He never had been, and he knew he had to be thankful. But it was so, so difficult in this ruin. There was a darkness that engulfs them, not just from what you could see, but what you feel. A terrible vibe that tirelessly, persistently attempts to enter your mind, your heart, and soul. To crawl under your skin and… And… It just gets to you. He could feel it, he could see it. Dark clumps of energy clinging to the forms of his friends, petrifying him to see such multitudes moving freely in and out of Empty’s shell, clinging to Shank’s being as its tentacles dug their way into her skin.

Nine could feel his fur puff out, and his tails cease their motion. And he threw a quick look at Flare to question if she was seeing what he was seeing. Only to widen his eyes at the sight of a similar clump looming above her head.

The howl again, so pathetic and helpless it was almost painful. Who was that? What was that? Nine shook himself free of his own lament and cast his glance behind him, and he counted. One, two three, four, five… But the numbers always fell short. He counted again and again and still the numbers did not reach that correct quantity of twelve. A pokemon missing. The Arcanine.

‘F- Flare, hang on to Embertail for a moment, there is someone behind. Keep the group moving, I will catch up.’ He communicated quickly, easing Embertail onto the female’s back before turning, and then darting down the path again. He was careful to avoid the others on his way, focusing his vision ahead, and not to the cloud of darkness that loomed over the forms of his friends, he narrowly avoided the Sawsbuck’s vicious snap. The clouds, just- what were they? He feared the answer, so he told himself he would figure it out later, when his main priority was complete. He would gather the Arcanine and catch up to the others. Then he could lament.

A cry for help, traced back to its source. The very source that had started it all. The Beast. Or at least, what remained of it. A charred corpse, empty, void of life and pain and suffering. But the creature still trapped by it was not. It was not empty, nor void of life, which meant it experienced pain and suffering. Simple logic on irrational subjects not meant to be irrationalized. He would never fully understand, not unless he were they.

His claws scraped against the corroded stone floor. He took comfort in their even cadence, the steady clicks and clacks that verified his motion, his smooth, gliding light in the surrounding darkness. ‘Do not worry. You are not forgotten. You will be alright.’ He told the trapped canine. Ruby orbs carefully assessing his predicament, following his paws where it had been pinned by the charred flesh, disappearing from sight. ‘Please keep calm. I will get you out in a moment.’

Move the beast. That was to be his next course of action.

The Ninetales lowered himself to the ground where he planned on nudging the corpse, lift it, and free the trapped Arcanine from its weight. Yet, before he could make physical contact, her could already hear the shifting, the odd sound of movement. His ears swiveled and they twitched, and soon his eyes had moved to join it. He moved his head forward, and the corpse shifted in response. The beast couldn’t possibly be alive thus… Was it him? Was he doing that? He’d seen Flare’s telekinetic feats countless times before, but he hadn’t be able to do so much as move a pencil. ‘Of course…’

It was the ruins.

And so he willed the corpse to move, and it surrendered to his will, lifting just enough for Growlithe to slip his foot free. ‘Are you injured? I am going to escort you back to the others. Please put your faith in me.’

Ahead, where the group pushed on, they would find more remains of the temple; tall pillars and carved walls, where running water rumbled in the near distance. To go ahead would mean to discover the wide staircase carved from the natural stone, where a manmade pond lay to collect water from underground rivers that descend the walls like waterfalls.

There, the darkness could not follow them. There, the clouds lifted and dispersed.

There, they would have peace. If only temporarily.

 

[BurbleBurble]

"Hey, hey, WHAT THE FU-"

As the vacuum began it's sweep across the room, Gerald hadn't fully grasped what had begun to happen before the table wiped him and Curt out.

As the befuddled man flew through the air, drawing a blank, he had to recall whether this was actually happening or not. Had he really saw the pointless slaughter of his Pokemon, the separation of June and Puff and later on Switchblades and Empty, the horrifying monster, nearly hacking up a lung in tear gas along with getting shot, Curt being high as a kite, the treasures which had enticed the group to stop in the first place, and now this...He prayed it was all just a sick dream...

As he came to an abrupt stop on something warm and sticky, yes, yes it was all happening.

The previously held grudge against the Rockets was temporarily shifted into a fear. Of the unknown soft thing they all had the displeasure of landing on, which on smelled absolutely terrible. Almost making Gerald want to vomit. No, actually did make him want to vomit. "W-What...Where...Are we?"

And as the Chamber was bathed in light with Justin's flashlight, the fear had pure and utter disgust mixed into it, like some foul cocktail of emotion.

This wasn't just a chamber, it was an enormous mouth.

And they were standing on one gigantic tongue.

Gerald twitched, slowly moving his hand towards the pocket containing Million.

But as if the monstrous mouth predicted his move, the entrance sealed and the men found themselves being pressed upon a infectious, cyst covered ceiling of flesh. Saliva washed over his body , soaking into every pore and orifice. That was when he felt it. In the recedes of his own mind, everything just began collapsing down. The pressure of everything that had happened, just all backed up, and burst like a pipe.

Now one message began looping itself in his brain:

Get Million out. Toxic. Venom Drench.

It became drilled into his sub conscious. The young trainer shuddered as the Chamber's tongue began it's descent. Grasping for anything to hold himself steady, Gerald dug his fingernails into the plump, fleshy growth that had oppressed his figure not more than ten seconds prior, now attempting to push himself up.

But of course it wanted to chew them into a pulp as the tongue turned into a demented slippy slide, and now they were all likely sliding to their own demise. But, luckily, this also released them all from it's thick grasp. Gerald dug his fingers deeper into it, grasping it for his life.

The Pokeball was coated in a thin layer of spit, not unlike the very hand that grabbed it; One wrong move and the containment unit would come tumbling to it's demise, along with the beast inside it.

Luckily, Gerald didn't slip up. His grip was tried and true, despite it's coated state. What now had dawned on him, though, was the fact he had grabbed the tongue with the wrong arm, his shot and weakened one.

Worse panic pushed him on.

Almost smashing the button to release the Megapede inside, a red silhouette appeared atop the arch of the Chamber's tongue.

-----

The antenna of the Scolipede twitched as it collided with the Chamber's top.

It was soft, squishy, fleshy...What was this?

It was arched, causing the insect to stumble, though Million made sure he didn’t come down into what appeared to

The golden eyes of the Megapede darted about, filled with confusion and fear.

A wail resounded to him. Not a call, a wail. Desperate. Rasped. Choked.

"Million!" The voice said. "Toxic! V-venom drench!"

Was...that Gerald? The meek voice was his trainer's? Never had it been so...low before. But why? The voice were ecstatic for a moment, why did they...

As the slimy slab moved though, Million finally took notice of the true elephant in the room. The pointed teeth that lined the entire 'Cave', the pulsating tumors and veins...This was a mouth.

Now agitated with terror, the giant bug began thrashing, stomping wildly on the tongue, his sharp horns scraping against the Chamber's walls. Gerald's quiet attempts to quell the Megapede did little to help.

"Million, stop! Just...Venom Drench, Toxic! Or was it Toxic and..."

The boy's rambles were lost to the rampaging creature, who was actually beginning to slide down the back of the slippery slope, which would send Million into the windpipe. Perhaps choking the chamber. An eight foot poisonous creature was not easy to swallow. Of course, Million, in his panicked state, raised one of his antennae, now glowing green.

And without thinking twice, buried it right into the tongue.

-----

Good.

Empty felt good.

Reinvigorated, yes. As if the paralysis was slipping away...Yes. He felt grand. Perhaps he wouldn't need the Switchblades to lug him around anymore...

The Shedinja observed the others solemnly, almost condescendingly so. The male Ninetales seemed much too alert. Why wouldn't he relax? There was nothing to fear. The killing of the last monster had that to prove; a force of this many Pokemon would crush the next one like powder. And if Nine were to become an obstacle? Who was to say that he wouldn't be swept aside easily either?

The Sawsbuck. It thought like him, with pure hatred. Though the shell could not discern what the deer had despised so about the monster...

Though, if he must side with any creature in the future, he would choose the protective. Curt's Pokemon were unreliable at best. Too unpredictable. Gerald's were too innocent. Switchblades made a decent host, but was as smart as one would expect metal to be. June and Puff were simply too pure to follow his acts, Puff more so than June. He had been vocal enough about Nine. And the Arcanine...

Wasn't here. Hmm.

The Switchblades were blissfully unaware of the situation at hand, however. Or perhaps they could, yet were too stupid to actually comprehend it. Or perhaps they were neither, but simply embraced it as was their nature. The theories could go on. The blades, after all, only wanted to get back to Gerald. Get new commands. See their master once again.

June and Puff never left each others side. For they felt the evil attempting to weigh down the souls in the room. No, the fox and rabbit couldn't see it, but could sense it. Tugging them away from the right choices.

But they stood strong. No omnipotent force would rip them away from finding Gerald! Once they got out of the drop, everything would be fine.

At least, they tried fooling themselves.

An abrupt stop to the group suddenly occurred. It must've been for the distant howls behind them. Puff had just drowned them out prior to this, but for a moment recollected how similar it sounded.

The male Ninetales left. A resentful gaze Empty shot at the fox as he made his way back for the dog.

A new fox had taken the head. Flare.

The new fox lead them to a new cavern, the ruins of the temple once again.

Empty was reclaimed and felt his natural acedia set in. The Switchblades stopped, waiting for a leader to take up the hold yet again. June scanned the walls for more stories, and for a potential map. They had to have some way of getting around other than memory, right?

Puff however, seemed troubled. While the evil had faded, the sounds had not. Distant messages played out in his mind. Whimpers and whines from the Arcanine. Muffled screaming. Otherworldly screeches, agitated swimming. Why couldn't he ever have his own peace? Why was he cursed with these gifts?!

He just wanted to get away from it all.

So he stormed off in his own direction, towards and up the stairs. Maybe the sounds that plagued him so could not reach him there.

 

[Curtkid]

The group continued their trek through the caverns in silence, though the beast had been slayed, emotions still ran high and were only just barely kept quelled. Raviel kept his head low and still looked fairly agitated, Lockjaw was still clearly on edge and was trying to keep himself under control. Jasper seemed to be the only one of relative sound mind, volunteering taking the lead of the part besides Nine, her ability to see in the dark would prove an excellent asset just in case anything else was lurking in there (plus, it allowed her to keep her distance from Empty and Switchblades, who took the rear in the group). Whips and Flare, meanwhile, looked as unreadable as always, really, everyone was just trying to say away from that Sawbuck to avoid getting nipped at. The quiet of the cave, the darkness that permeated through it, it almost seemed to put them into a trance so much so that Flare didn't even registrar the low howl till Nine remarked on it, and then pointed out specifically that the Arcanine was missing. This got Jasper's attention as she ran to Nine and Flare, the Cubone was not about to leave anyone behind, not if she could help it, and she would do everything in her power to help locate any stragglers.

It was bizarre, for some reason she just assumed the howl to be part of the caverns ambiance not paying it any mind, and it appeared pretty much everyone else, except Nine for some reason, also just shoved it to the back of their minds. This...unnerved Flare greatly, at first she wanted to just chalk it up to her old age catching up to her, but then why did everyone else, aside from Nine (Jasper too seemed to be of a bit more clearer mind then the rest of them), not take notice of it? Maybe it was their extended period in the dark, coupled with the nightmares and multiple battles taking a bigger toll on them then she thought? That made a little sense, comparatively Jasper and Nine had probably done a bit less fighting then the rest of them, but a creeping feeling down Flares back told her that wasn't entirely the case.

‘F- Flare, hang on to Embertail for a moment, there is someone behind. Keep the group moving, I will catch up", Nine said as he placed Embertail gently on Flares back and running off to help the massive dog Pokemon before Flare, or anyone for that matter, could object or talk it over. Flare opened her mouth to try and call after Nine, but let out a sigh, as he was quickly out of sight. Of course Nine would run off without a second thought, not even bothering to talk it over with the group. Flare should have expected this, in Nines mind, he saw himself, well, perhaps not their leader per say, but more akin to a sort of guardian of sorts. One who would try to carry as much of a burden as he could so their path would be a bit easier or be a shield to the group and take pain so they wouldn't have to. Nine would put this all on himself in addition to being their light in the darkness, it was noble, brave, and selfless.

He was going to get himself killed at this rate.

"Peeka rekata"?, Jasper growled to Flare, her voice echoing off the dusty cavern walls.

"(Yes, please, follow him and back him up, just incase there is anything else roaming these halls, or at the very least your night-vision can help them locate us again, I'll make sure the rest of us slow down a bit so you can catch up, and I'll of course look after Embertail, don't worry...also, do make sure to alert him about the dangers of running off alone, and to not do it again, if you'd please Jasper)", Flare told the Cubone, who ran after Nine the moment Flare was finished with a hasty nod. Nine had a good heart and meant well, but he was still a bit...unworldly if he though running off alone was a good idea, Hell, Flare didn't even bother to scold Raviel when he made a snide remark about Nine's "breaking-off from the group" act, and how it was a sure fire way to get him killed. Nine was trying to look after everyone else, Flare knew that, but he needed to realize that he didn't, that he couldn't, do this alone, they were a team, and they needed to work together, like they did when they fought the monster. Or was it their fight with the monster that caused Nine to lose some of their trust in them? It was odd, though she thought they were of being at sound mind at the time, but now that she reflected on it, it seemed as though something was...influencing all of them, bringing out their more savage instincts, well, except for Jasper. She wasn't too sure about Geralds party members or whether they had held themselves together during the fight or not. Though they had gotten a bit acquainted back during the Kalos Festival, she wouldn't exactly say they were exceptionally close friends, though after the events of today she had a feeling that would change, if they lived thr-

"No, don't think like that, we're going to make it though this!", she thought fervently. Though she wasn't completely sure she believed that, with despair greeting them everywhere the turned, they couldn't afford to beat themselves down, not here. Flare lead the group forwards, and soon afterwards, the made their way through a broken temple into an open area that almost seemed to resemble a sanctuary that offered them some respite. There they decided, they would take a short break and wait for Nine and Jasper, and just hope nothing had met the two along their way back to them.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The pitter-patter of Jaspers feet could be heard resonating off the rocky walls as she ran down the caves, trying to catch up to the speedy Ninetales. Granted, Jasper wasn't exactly a speedster like Embertail, Raviel, or Flare, but damn, she figured she should have caught up to Nine by now! The kitsune was bolting down these caverns in an attempt to assist the Arcanine as quickly as possible, and though Jasper found Nines desire to assist a Pokemon in need very commendable, she did wish the fox slowed himself down just a bit. Thanks to her excellent night-eye's Jasper was always able to just catch Nine right before he turned a corner, but she was almost sprinting to keep up with him. She did make an attempt or two to call out to the fox, but apparently her voice was drowned out by the Arcanines cries, or maybe it was the caves quelling her voice with its dark magic, she wouldn't put it past this place, the cave was evil. Even from within her Pokeball back when everyone got knocked out the earth and stone in this place just felt, wrong, like it was a host to some vile parasite, kinda like a Parasect, only where as a Parasect could atleast maintain some level of control over its body, this cave felt like it was a slave to the dark forces that had attached itself to it. Now that the Cubone thought about it, she really hoped the brief glimpses she caught of Nine weren't some ghostly specter leading her down the wrong path, that sent an involuntary chill through her spi-wait, what was she thinking!? Any monster that she came across she would kick the crap out of or give the slip easily! No question!

Still, by ones lonesome, the cavern gave off a foreboding sense of constantly being watch, as though the shadows themselves were about to come to life an drag you into the abyss. Though Jasper wasn't exceptionally terrified of monsters (no more then she would be of a Tyrantrum, Gyarados, or similarly powerful Pokemon, which is to say, she'd be scared, but she wouldn't panic), the caves were giving her a sense of them being haunted, which she did not like at all. Jasper really hated ghosts, and it wasn't just because of the way they could just phase through solid matter (including your attacks), how they could be there one second and then gone the next, and how they could just...screw with reality, though all that certainly didn't help at all. No, if she had to pin it one thing, it was that they were the spirits of things that persisted through death, that they became things that were like who they were when they were living, but at the same time different. Things that were just familiar enough, yet different enough, to cause torment to the living, especially those that knew them in life. Ghosts were shades of the creatures they once were, her kind especially had bad history with ghosts, with some of her species coming back to haunt or manipulate their former clans, as though their previous allegiances, their previous bonds, all wiped away or corrupted with death, turned upside down or to spite....She just didn't like ghosts.

To the Cubones relief, she found Nine and the Arcanine fairly quickly, Nine had already managed to free The Legendary Pokemon from the collapsed monster and was already offering it some assistance. Jasper cried out to the two to let them know she was coming to them, she didn't want to accidentally startle them and have them attack her by mistake of course. Jasper ran up to them and offered a warm greeting towards Nine and the Arcanine (she didn't recall his name, though she wasn't completely sure he mentioned it) to ensure that she was real and no threat. She also readily offered her assistance to the Arcanine, but before that, she had one last thing to take care of first. Grasping her bond club tight in her grasp, walked up to Nine and gave him a light CLONK on the head.

She didn't hit him hard at all, in fact, she didn't even hit him hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to give him the slightest surge of pain to let him know he did something foolish. Well, there was that, and to make sure he wasn't actually a ghost or some monster disguised as Nine waiting for her to drop her guard so it could eat her soul....or something. When she felt her bone club make a small clonk against a skull and that Nine or the Arcanine didn't attack her once she did, she figured the must be real, which gave her a lot of relief (definitely for Nine and the Arcanies condition, not hers). That out of the way, she quickly berated him for running of alone without discussing it with everyone else or bringing some help along, that they had to trust, communicate, and work with each other if they were to have any chance to survive! Nine may have his moral compass in order, she'd definitely give him that, but he was going to get himself killed if he kept trying to take everyone else's burden for himself. Still, she felt like she couldn't be too hard on Nines for his rashness, she was known to be a bit impulsive herself at times. Then, despite being half the massive legendary dogs size, went to the opposite side of him and placed one of the massive dogs paws on her back. He was heavy for her, sure, but Jasper was not going to let Nine do all the heavy lifting back to the group! With that, they trio headed down the cavern to catch up to the rest of the team.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Well, if you say they're good to cure curses Gerald, then yeah, I think I can help you guys carry th-oh wait, hold on a sec, what's this....?", Curt droned on, his attention momentarily stolen away by Thomas, who had slumped over his back and was sifting through what appeared to be several shiny looking objects. Though, this lack of attention might have been less of the morphine fault and more due to Curts own spaciness. Curious, Curt decided to take a quick peak and meander over to the senior Rocket member to see what he was fiddling around with, never mind that everyone was on edge and that he probably wasn't the admins favorite person at the moment.

"Hheeeey, Thomas, what are you doing here all by your lone-...oh my Arceus, where were you hiding all these weapons? And why didn't you use these against the monster earlier...or use for that matter, these would have been a massi-....is that an FN P90...", Curt exclaimed, eye's growing wide as he bent down and grabbed the PDW from Thomas' pack, not even bothering to wait for a response from the criminal.

"H-HEY, DON'T TOUCH THAT!", Thomas cried, but it was to little to late as Curt already had the weapon in his hands and was looking it over with fervent interest.

"OhOhOh! Thomas man, this is like, my fourth favorite fire-arm, behind an SKS rifle and a .357 magnum revolver, ahhhh, a fine piece of Belgium craftsmanship this is! How'd you get it, I mean, I'm no expert, but aren't these, you know, really hard to get...oh man, Thomas, you even put a laser sight on it, cool!", Curt cried as he clicked the laser sight into activation, "veeeerrry nice, you know, part of the reason I like these things is the silly firing mechanism it uses to shoot bullets, not gonna lie though, I never fired a weapon like this one, do you think after we escape you'd let me give it a test fire, I'll comp' you for the ammo?"

"GIMME THAT! YOU'RE LUCKY I DON'T BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF!...Taken' a mans firearms like that....", Thomas yelled as he snatched the weapon away from Curt and immediately looking it over to make sure he hadn't scratched it. The safety was still on and apparently the boy was no longer high enough as to be so stupid as to turn it off, or maybe he just didn't notice it. Either way, Thomas had to admit he was...slightly surprised with the trainers knowledge of firearms, most Pokemon trainers never even bothered to learn more then which end the bullet came out of a firearm, often relying on Pokemon for defense (which, in most cases, was the better option). Still, it wasn't that impressive, so the boy read a few articles about guns, big whoop, that was just a slight bit more then the average trainer did. Yet, he briefly considered giving the kid a magazine for the weapon, but he quickly shock his head to dispel the thought from his head. Aside from the fact that he was giving someone who he didn't trust as far as he could throw a weapon, and that he was still fairly high, Curt was right, this P90 was hard to get and expensive too, he wasn't going t give it up easily, monsters be damned. Besides, there was a good deal of differance between firing a BeeBee gun and a automatic weapon. Granted there was the possibility that the trainer could distract any other monster they ran into with bullet fire while he and Justin made a run for it, and while the idea of Curt getting eat was appealing to Thomas, he'd be sad to lose his P90. No, he was going to hold onto his weapons for now.

"Awww that's a shame, I've always had an interest in weapons, from knives to swords to shotguns...and no, before you ask, Pokemon don't fall under that category, but as I was saying, part of that could also stem from my parents, my dad was an MP in the army along with second da-, I mean my dad's Wartortle partner Rodney, anyways, MP's often dealt with arrests and what not, so he was issued a firearm to-"

Curts rant was cut off when the room they were in began to give off a mighty rumble, liquid dropped from the ceiling as all of a sudden as a sickening wind blew through the room, no it was closer to a massive vacuum, forcibly dragging them, as though the caverns had a will of their own. Their attempts to hold on proved useless, as they were all throw into the darkness of the other room, sending them falling into the unseeable abyss below. The landing was much softer then Curt expected. The ground seemed to make almost a "squish" like sound as they tumbled onto the floor, not only that, it seemed to be...oddly moist? Curt shook his head as tried to collect himself, placing one of his hands on his head as though that would still his spinning mind, it was at this point that he felt what seemed like water. No, it was sticker then water, it seemed more like...

"Oh....oh sh-...", Curt had bit of trouble getting the words out. If there was anything that would help sober him up, this was it. It all happened so fast after that, the room seemed to come alive, the very floor beneath them seemed to come alive and began thrashing around. It took Curt a second to realize that it wasn't a floor, saliva dripped from the roof of the mouth, the beasts tongue threatened to throw them off their feet with every second that passed, trying to maneuver them into its massive jaw so it could shread them to bits and consume them for its next meal. Curt, despite his racing mind, pulled out his knife and dug it deep into this...things tongue, it wasn't going to slow the best down, but it bought him a few precious moments to think of something to do, the only problem being was that Curt had nothing. He was a trainer, his Pokemon were his means of defense as well as partners, without them, what did he have? His BeeBee gun? Yeah, that was going to be a big help against this thing....

Gerald, on the other hand, was proving himself as resourceful and quick thinking as ever, he immediately called out Million and began trying to poison the massive organism. Unfortunately, Million seemed to be on the verge of panicking as it seemed to ignore Geralds orders and began to just try and desperately keep itself from falling into the monsters stomach by impaling its horns into the creatures tongue in a similar manner to what Curt did with his knife.

The trainers mind was racing, but it come to a halt quick as he felt a spasm run through his body, though the poison had worked its way through Curts system, and now that the morphine had just about ran trough his system, he was starting to feel its after-effects, and hard. Curt grunted as he tried desperately to hold onto his knife, which he was being to doubt he could do much longer, his body ached, he was tired and he wanted to let go. The only thing that was pushing him to hold on was the though of how painful it would be to be chewed up or digested, sure it seemed like being chomped on would be a realitivly quick way to go, but if he got caught at a bad angle if and when the creature decided to chomp down. If Curts blood could run colder, it would at that thought as he tried to grasp his knife tighter, which sent another spasm of pain through his body.

Was this is, was this how he was going to die? Food for some sick, twisted aberration of dark magic? His family would never find what became of him, his team might, but then again, they might not want to. Would they be fine in this cavern, Curt wanted to believe they would be but, with things like this around ever corner, hell, what if they too walked into something this, stacked on top off everything else they had gone through, and the countless other monsters that could roam these halls? Curt found himself reflecting on all the promises he made to his friends; he wanted to show Flare the world she left behind long ago and how it changed. The promises to find Raviels family, so he could finally get closure. The swore to Jasper to avenge her mothers death and restore her fathers ruined pride, and Lockjaw, oh Lockjaw, he just wanted to be brave. Whips wanted to become stronger to protect his clan and Embertail...Embertail. No, as hard as it was, Curt knew he had to at least try to hold on as long as possible, and made even then some, for their sake as well as his. But that still left the problem of escaping, and right now their best hope, Million, seemed to be freaking out too much to do anything but hold on for dear life.

A grunt came from across the..."room", if one could even call it that, stole Curts attention momentarily from his own aching body, it came from Thomas, where he and Justin were also doing their best to not be consumed by the monster. It was odd, the sight of those two men (particularly), seemingly out of nowhere, even amongest all that was happening filled Curt, with rage just as much, if not more, then the massive creature that was trying to eat them. It was odd, Curt didn't exactly feel much anger at Thomas or the Rockets before (O.K, mostly because of the drugs), but even when they just woke from the nightmare, Curts focus was just on their escape and the protection of his friends. Now that everything had gone to help, some of those repressed emotions were flowing out, and Curt wasn't going to try and bottle them up, or worry about why they were there, he needed to feel that! Determination would give him mind a level of clarity, but anger would give him strength to push forward, and right now he desperately needed both. They needed a plan, something, anything, Gerald had the right idea with Toxic, but even if the monster could be poisoned by injecting the toxins, it would take a while for the monster to feel any effect, it wasn't like Curt with his morphine after all where he just injected it straight into his system, if that were the case the monster would be feeling its effects in seconds.

And that's when an idea hit Curt, in spite of the possibility of imminent death around him, and despite the fact that the plan had a pretty long shot of working, he had something. Curts brief stint of cooking had taught him several thing, one of those being that ingesting bad food would take a while to effect someone depending on how big they were, and considering the size of the monster, well, that spoke for itself. But if they could get Million to inject a Toxic's poison directly into this things blood stream, they might have a chance! Though Million had shoved its feelers into the tongue, this thing tongue, like the rest of it, was massive, and it didn't go deep enough to hit a vein, but they could fix that! all they had to do was create an open wound big enough that was also very close to Million so he could shove on of his feelers into it and inject the monster with toxins without running to risk of losing his grip and letting go....yeah, that's all! No, Curt wasn't going to stop this train of thought yet, he knew he was on to something, he just had to keep it going! His eyes darted around the flailing mouth, from Gerald, to Million, to the two asshole who got them into-

"That's it! HEY, DUMB AND DUMBER, YOU GUY'S ARE SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD SHOTS, RIGHT?", Curt yelled to the Rocket and his Administrator, "BECAUSE IF YOU ARE, NOW'S YOUR TIME TO PROVE IT, I HAVE AN IDEA THAT, BUT I NEED YOU TO-GAK-TO SHOOT OPEN A LARGE WOUND NEAR THAT SCOLIOPEDE WITH YOUR FIRE-ARMS, GET-IT-AS-CLOSE-AS POSSIBLE, AND F-FOR THE LOVE OF ARCUES, DON''T SHOOT MILLION!" Curt shouts, broken up occasionally by the thrashing of the beasts, were full of both desperation and resolve, and maybe just a hint of frustration. The wound needed to be close enough to Million so that it could administer its poison without out losing its grip, Curt felt useless in this situation, but right now it seemed this crazy idea of his might just be a saving grace. The orders given to the two Rockets, Curt turned his attention to Gerald.

"G-GERALD, ONCE THOSE TWO ARE DONE, I NEED TO YOU TO HAVE MILLION INJECT THE WOUND WITH TOXIC, IF THE WOUND THEY MAKE IS DEEP ENOUGH, IT SHOULD SPREAD THROUGH-OUT THIS THINGS BLOOD STREAM AND START EFFECTING IT IN SECONDS...I think, URRRGAHH!!!!!!", Curt cried as the creatures slimy, tounge-like appendage gave another thrash, holding on for dear life, worrying for just a moment if his knife would give out before he did,"ERRRGGAH, LISTEN, ALL I KNOW FOR SURE IS THAT WE GOTTA DO SOMETHING FAST OR ELSE WE'RE ALL THIS THINGS NEXT MEAL!!!"

 

[Storybook]

There was a great beating heart.

Black as a nightmare, corrupted and foul, cells a paste of inky debris slapped upon a wall of tissue woven by thousands of bony, skeletal hands, ones with strange appendages and long, witch like fingernails on seven fingered extremities lacking the ambidexterity of thumbs. It beat with the power of a hundred horses, each spasm a thunder of thousands of hailstones, a noise that resonated throughout the chasm and yet seemed mute and hollow, never reaching his ears but shaking the stagnant air until it visibly shivered. Arteries, long and hollow, showed through see through walls of cells a long, pumping river of blood, a deep crimson, jewel like substance tumbling from this evil heart, while other veins, more chalky and shallow, oozed within a viscous blue, its river stagnant and foul with waste, chunky and vile. And while the crystal pool of gems flowed from this blackened organ, veins, charcoal black, pushed into this mass of tissue a vile ooze of corrupted fiber and sickle cells to be cleansed into the finest of jewels within the bowels of this tremendous beating heart. The rivers of blood flowed with a shushing churn, crystals tumbling over each other, muck pushed by a limitless supply of foul ooze hungrily rushing towards the beating heart from the walls and ceiling of the cavern in which he stood, for arteries hung like stalactites from the ceiling and suspended the heart in the middle of this dripping cavern that seemed to have no limits as the heart pulsed and beat a march with such a horrid aftertaste that it caused goosebumps to rise from Que's skin.

Despite the sheer power of this horrid heart, and the strength in which it pulsed, and the noise of its beat that shook the walls and wind itself, it appeared there was a fragility to this structure. From arteries that drizzled with the sound of white noise there dripped blood, seeping out from cracks in the weave of cells, translucent skin, and splashing to the cavern floor with a viscous sloshing sound. And from these cracks there grew pools, and in these pools Que saw people.

People of every kind, infinite people, more than he could ever imagine, standing statuesque in their little pools of gem-like ruby blood, staring straight towards the grand beating heart, whether that meant their necks craned upwards or they'd turned to face the boy, or they faced away, so that when the boy looked around he found that there was a billion statues of every age and every race circling the grandness of this massive blackened heart, stretching for infinity in a cavern with a finite end, staring, soulless, upon the organ of their creation. Que looked closer at their faces, and found they had none, no lips to express a smile or frown, no eyebrows to stand befuddled nor cheeks to heat in massive angst, each one only in possession of eyes- blue, green, platinum, a pair of white, two like the galaxy circled by a black hole. But the eyes were enough- windows, doors, portals, entrances to the person who stood within the pool of blood.

And Que looked down to their feet, and found the pools not all pure, none in singular possession of just the ruby gems. Darkness like serpents wreathed within them, a deep, blue, viscous taint of corruption, and he looked to find that some pools had no gems at all, made purely of a putrid, viscous blue, and those that stood in these pools hadn't eyes, only empty sockets on a blank face staring forever at the grand, beating heart that shook the walls and air itself.

Anxiety tackled his heart for a reason the boy could not define, for as he stared at those creatures he found them still alive- yes, alive, every person in the room was alive, every beat of their hearts matching with the great one at which they stared, even eyeless, hollow shells transfixed upon its oil stained skin, and every being was alive and- yes! If you stared into their eyes and opened their gates there were a billion different conflicts and a million different struggles and a thousand pools of tears. Noise fell hollow into his ears, constant noise, white noise, the noise of atoms constantly writhing, the noise of blood in arteries churning, shushing, a darkly babbling brook, the noise of the world, and the heart beat and the walls shook and the air thrashed with it as every human stared upon its mesmerizing march and every heart beat along with the corrupted organ and the heart was the heart of the world.

Que looked down to find his ruby pool corrupted with a dank, putrid blue, so massive in its corruption that the gems of blood fast began to wink out of existence like a last breath, and he fell, sheet-white faint, recalling the heat radiating from his skin, feeling all at once heavy and clammy and unpure, mouth agape in a horrid gasp as in the muck stood his own eyeless face, gateways to a hollow world forsaken.

Terror overwhelmed him. A terror with no cause, no creation but his own twisted will of fear and hate and angst and the question why. He sucked in great, heaving breaths, he stood statuesque, unable to move, unable to see, blind, deaf, scentless. A voice soft against his side, a weight removed from one paw, relief.

No, no relief, he couldn't move, he couldn't see, there was a voice in his head of which he could discern no source. Growlithe froze as the white noise of the universe seemed to pulse within the veins of his ears like a great, churning, darkly babbling river that whispered 'shush' in the voice of a snake, replaying all doubts and fear with a paralyzing sussuration like the song of a siren, telling of all death, and pain, and terror, of the vastly sinister realm of the unknown, of the cliff beneath his paws, of the monster festering upon his skin, of failure and hate and consequences gone unforeseen. Everything was dark, no matter the light within it.

A ripple of sound in the white noise of the universe, a creature beneath his paw. The beast's heart convulsed, trains of thought running in never ending sequences, telling him how stupid it was that he hadn't moved, how frightening the consequences could be if he did, images of minuscule mistakes disproportionate in his brain, mauling all thought and rationale, from the one time he tripped and fell years ago to the sucking sensation of nothing beneath his feet and the sweat driving angst as he realized the falsity of his own courage, convinced that every action he'd done of which he was proud was the acts of an impostor, and every failure was a slip in his own self control. He felt his heart beat fast against his chest, so great was its frightened power that it seemed to beat so strongly that it shook the very walls of the cavern in which he stood and caused the air to shiver and shake. And, oh, it would be so easy to stand still forever. Never move. Never change. Never face a decision, never do good nor wrong and just be.

White noise beat a march to death, the great heart of the earth drumming, drumming ever forwards, and the beast felt a mocking note in its tone and that he simply could not stand, because the beast was a creature of acceptance and the beast had a duty to love. As creaky as an old door he forced a step, and another, and then the beast was a whirlwind because the farther he left the charred corpse the more he could almost... scent something.

Growlithe threw himself against a wall, rubbing his side on the dirt with great, arching strokes, and the rubble coated the monster's remnants in a long sheet of a cool, musty sort of scent and his sense became clearer and clearer until he could- yes, he could taste the trail of the travelers, of his rescuers, and, oh- oh- could he almost...?

Disappointment grew raw in the bosom of the beast's emotions, coating his throat and clenching his hanging jaw, painting the edges of his eyes with a sort of wrinkled sheen as he appeared to choke on his own tongue, fangs dulled to a dusty and mangled hue. He emitted a sound that wasn't a whimper nor howl but simply Was, a sort of shriveled, hushed sigh, and the beast's arrow of a nose trailed along the smooth floor as he half walked and half ran after the scent, as if it would disappear, tongue constantly searching the air for that one trace of metallic sweat and a sort of arid, loping aroma that he swore he could have just detected.

The scent of Que.

White noise coated his ears with a thick tongue, and his heart beat faster and faster, anxiety swelling and threatening to drown him as it had trapped the boy before, with every mocking train whistle that whittled into the dull house and sucked his mouth dry of saliva. He swayed in his pool of blood, staring at his eyeless reflection, listening to the pump of the arteries, the noise of the world, and everything fell silent with a beat of the world's massive heart, so terrible that it shook the air itself. Like a snare drum it snapped the universe with a thick, heavy badum badum like coiled jaws, growing faster and faster, grabbing hold of the boy upon his left arm, just above the wrist, shaking it to and fro in an unmistakable terror. And the snare drum snapped and pounded and reverberated space and time, great silences swelling between its beats despite the speed they began to pick up. Growing as an echo from the great snare beat, Que cowered beneath the swell of sharp, fast heartbeats that grew emboldened by the great snare drum, taking on tones of their own in the thousand different hues of wind instruments, from the sweetness of a flute to the sharp bite of a piccolo to the great, booming brass, and all of the sounds were incredibly different and yet fundamentally the same, for they were the heartbeats of the people all around him, staring statuesque at the great beating heart, and every heart's screech told of a billion stories as their beats sounded an unmistakable, rusting, sweating sort of delirious whine, and Que knew what these stories were for the stories were all around him and the stories were his, and everywhere grew visions of the very things of fear itself, of an unknown death and a wavering life and a world rising on him where he would forever be alone, forever corrupted, forever nothing that was a something that no one could ever dare to be. And then, tailing these heartbeats that in turn echoed the great snare drum, Que grew panicked beneath a chorus of plucking, dripping blood, with one or two sporadic beats and then a billion, rising greater and greater, chaotic and numerous and everywhere at once, scaling the scales in a great crescendo that threatened to drown the heartbeats themselves, and yet this great plucking was, in turn, threatened by a massive wave of tremolo rising slowly from nonexistence in such a tense manner that the bows on their strings grew taut and weary in their constant, smoldering shiver, and the sound, this rushing of tremolo, this rise of the blood's pulsing flow, rose and rose in such a horrific crescendo and with such chaos and doubt and fear that Que choked on the pure anxiety and tension before the great snare drum pounded them into a silence with a single, resonating badum, and Que swooned in his pool of corrupted blood for he felt dark and heavy, as if a great terror had been put to rest and he was left with simple exhaustion.

Platinum eyes slowly filling their sockets, waving in and out of existence, a crash of confusion, but one not quite as great as before, when puzzle piece emotions ransacked his skin and fought with the rational, and a half baked realization of the pool around him slowly turning a ruby like sheen.

And then, corruption, a heaving breath, an eyeless glare.

Hatred grew, pure and simple. Hatred for everything, hatred for emotion, hatred for life, hatred for death, hatred for the nature of the irrational and the confusion and the question why. She clopped her hooves upon the ground and hated it and its misfortune, and she racked her horns against the wall and hated it and all it stood for, and she nipped her teeth and snapped her lips at all who passed and hated them all, so envious was she of their stability and their fortune and their contentment, and she hated most the ones she thought she'd loved, but for this there was no reason.

White noise began to drum in her ears with all the conniving secrecy of a siren's song or a lotus petal, beating all sound into a coagulated pulp, a rushing river of blood. Enveloped in loathing, the deer was struck mad as the beast returned, slipping with a tenseness to his gait into the room the party had entered minutes before, and there grew a cavernous, ravenous growl in her throat as she threw herself upon him in a mad rush of tainted blood and struck his side with a massive swing of her muscled neck. There came upon her a maddened nefariousness and she screeched oaths and curses and a torrent of blame because there was no one else who could take it.

It may seem that Growlithe was tempted to freeze, but this certainly was not so. Here, he had overcome what had been the greatest terror of his life- twice, as well, for he'd failed once in the game of love and he'd failed again with the leavance of the deer and yet he was still there, still alive, still feeling the snare drum of a heart. And here, he had found strength in the madness of fire, and here, he had found strength in the face of terror and torment alike. And here, he was still alive, with the knowledge of a benevolence in this land of darkness and monsters. And then, there was this spirit, as well, this spirit of fire, and biting flames, until he swore he simply could not stand still, he had to move, he had to fight, he had to win.

And so the beast reared and leaned into the deer, and the deer did the same, pushing her horns against the taut skin of his gaudy neck, and there proceeded a scuffle in the ravenous darkness of pure and simple brawn, for not a single move was used but the flash of teeth and resounding crash of muscle against bone. For minutes on end it seemed the battle flared, hatred on one set of eyes, confusion in the other, for the beast held a great virtue to love in his heart and this was a situation beyond the blade of his moral compass, for he was a primeval creature at his core, and it seemed, when attacked, no matter the enemy it must be your duty to fight back, burdened by the same mentality that seemed to reign beneath the power of corrosive flames. But the deer was weakened from a life of strain, and a great tension crackled in a cavern meant for peace as the deer found herself trapped beneath the beasts massive paws.

There came a great terror in her eyes, not for the beast who held her to the floor, but for the fact that she had realized her own instability of mind. Quelled by a lack of conflict, the beast stood aside and licked her face, a gesture of which the deer shrugged off with smoldering eyes as she staggered to stand statue like against the walls of this cave, feeling moisture breath against her face, taken from the water by the damp cavern air to paste her fur to her flank. A sickly sweet aroma fiddled with the moist air and traveled to garnish the scents of the cavern as her horns glowed a severe emerald, as sharp as an uncut stone.

Aromatherapy.

Sweat dripped from her flank to sizzle on the stone cold floor, froth receding from her fur. It only now became apparent that she had been poisoned- and this, it seemed, it would be hard not to be, given the Muk entangling her windpipes and the Zubat swarming and spitting their spite upon her in a time that seemed so long ago.

And yet there was a warning to her gaze, a white noise entangling her ears, a great snare drum heart beating with hers, and the deer's breath began to pick up pace.

It was unending.

The questions, the bewilderment, the chaos of emotion. He didn't understand it. He didn't understand any of it. He was staring into his pool of blood, staring at those eyeless sockets, he was heavy, irrational, burdened by things of which he hadn't the slightest understanding. And there grew within the boy a dumbfounded rage, for his rationality had been turned against him in the face of the wholly irrational.

The pool of blood stank with corruption, a dark blue, oily and turpitude, weaving serpentine into the ruby gems, spearing their perfection with fangs made from mush, and this corruption grew as his anger rose and his anger rose as the corruption grew until there was a single gem left floundering at its edge, and all traces of platinum eyes vanished from his sockets. And Que screamed a rage that wasn't really a rage but a demand for an answer, a stupid answer, just an answer, before all senses grew blank as a palimpsest erased.

A drop of blood, squirming from the arteries above, fell trapped upon the skin of the ghastly boy's cheek, and the coolness brought visions of himself; chin upon his knees in a pool of blood completely blue, staring at the heart of the world, eyeless, and yet the face had expression, and this expression was a bloodthirsty rage, thin lips curled, grin malicious, cheeks so hollow he seemed a skeleton with maddened skin, teeth that gleamed so eerily that the boy was terrified to look away for the fear that the form would destroy him and everyone else who dared to come near, and the eyeless sockets stared in such a hollowly entranced manner that they seemed as if to worship the nothing within them.

The snare drum heart beat once.

A resounding

Badum

that seemed to shatter all white noise.

And Que awoke.

His hand rose quickly- left hand, always left, to grasp that of the girl, but it never made it. For a moment, the boy appeared to concentrate, before he stared at it with a pure horror, jaw ajar, thin lips ever so white, and his skin grew so pale he appeared translucent. The expression was so pure that it translated, too, his thrashing heart, sweat like frost permeating his skin, burning it a terrible red hue.

It wouldn't stop moving.

All the boy could think, staring at his shaking hand, was that it wouldn't stop moving. Every ounce of concentration, every bit of strength couldn't stop the constant, terrified shake. The pain, though prevalent, had become minute. The fever, so deliriously strong, died low. And his hand wouldn't stop moving. He stood as if to go somewhere, but found himself, in a dreamlike observation, heavy and deaden, and fell upon the girl, his hand trapped upon his cheek. It shivered and shook and couldn't stop moving and seemed as if it never would, and the shock of this observation was enough to make the world disappear one last time, for every ounce of heat and breath and life vanished in a never ending clearness, but instead of just a ghost he found himself in a land of statues staring at a giant beating heart, eyeless, expressionless, sitting in pools of blackened blood, and then, the boy realized, he hadn't ever really been alone before, because to simply be alone, to question whether you were dead or alive, to fear a void and yet beg for its existence, to fear life and death alike wasn't actually to be alone.

To be alone was to be in a land of statues.

With a great beating heart.

With a thousand eyeless ghosts.

Entranced by a never ending march.

To be alone was to stand in a pool of corrupted blood.

Overcome by fear and bloodthirsty with hatred.

Overtaken by emotion and yet refusing its existence.

To be alone was to be inhuman.

Unwanted.

Overthrown.

Trapped.

Eyeless, featureless, entranced,
an empty cicada shell.

Frozen beneath the constant motion of the world;

Entranced by the snare drum heart.

To truly be alone
was to want never to love again,
never to see a face,
to drive the world away and desert all forms of emotion,
to live where no one had an expression and the only entrance to their hearts where their nonexistent eyes,

and to truly be alone
was to want to stand within them,
to willingly beg to wander forever between their entranced forms because you feared too much the power of those who could walk away,

And to truly be alone
Was to want to be alone forever

Because forever was never and promises are always broken.

Que stood and ran with a delirious gait to nowhere, finding water splashing at his heels, and he fell to his knees and forced his left hand to his chest in a failed attempt to stop its constant motion and cried in the hysterical way of crying that expressed no sorrow but simply an undeniable defeat, and he hiccuped and sobbed and breathed in jagged formations with great heaves of his chest until his head was dizzy and still he cried with wailing breaths and charcoal tears that marked his cheeks as they fell into a lake so black the water seemed made of ink, echoing each tear fall with a shattered plink that sent ripples like shadows to destroy a reflection he was glad he couldn't see. And then, as one does, he imagined the breath of the girl at his shoulder and choked out an explanation just for her.

''It won't stop moving.''

Voice aluminum foil, ripped and torn and choked as he stared at an arm he couldn't control.

''It won't stop moving!''

A scream, a yell, he wasn't sure, the world kept turning so fast, so fast, everyone kept disappearing, his heart would beat like a great snare drum, so fast he begged for an eyeless nonexistence.

''It won't... stop... moving...?''

Contemplative, eyes staring at a ferocious ripple that tore at his pants with horrid understanding as he strove to stop his heaving breaths and sobs and cries, scrambling back to solid ground just as a translucently scaled tail slapped against the water where he had kneeled with a sickening, oozing sort of gasping noise. Wiping eyes and running nose with his sleeve, glancing towards the girl as he sniffled like a five year old in silent understanding of a situation he couldn't grasp before, tears dripping to the earth despite his constant efforts to soothe their flow. His mind ticked, clearer now. There was a queerness to his gaze. A fixation on the Leviathon as it slipped back into the lake's inky depths.

A puzzle.

He could do puzzles.

The boy rose his left hand to fiddle with his lip, but it wouldn't move, deaden, as if there were a person hanging off of it, and he struggled and struggled and managed to lift it only up to his chest with the effort it took to lift a boulder, and his crying began anew, little sound arising from the boy but a steady stream of tears and a struggle for breath in his acrid throat. But there was an allure to the situation, the riddle, the search for a solution, because it was all he'd done his whole life, so he let his left arm hang, deaden, beside his waist and lifted his right, trying to wipe his face clean of snot and tears alike. Instinctively, his mind worked, as it always had, every night of dread and doubt and fear always quelled by the allure of some mystery or another, and in a sort of foggy way he devised his own solutions.

Que took his bag off, unzipping it to find a relatively dry interior, to the surprise of the boy. But this surprise went by unnoticed, and he searched the jumbled interior with his right hand, pausing to wipe his face before finding what he was a searching for- a bleary eyed rodent in the smallest corner she could find. His finger poked the sleeping form, then scratched behind her ear, pausing with a sort of horrific tension at the bare patches of skin that had multiplied across the rodent's form. The rodent blinked, bleary eyed, upon him. He wiped his face. She twitched her ear five times.

The boy whispered commands in a voice so strained it was hard for even the rodent to hear it, and, simple like, the Dedenne scrambled out of the confines of the bag, twitched her tail five times, and rubbed her cheeks to stimulate electricity's flow. More evidence now than ever before was almost a machine like companionship between the two- solve the puzzle, tell orders, do orders, rinse and repeat. Feel the beat of each other's hearts.

A sniffle, wraith like, silent voice.
''Close your eyes.''

A charge beam across the lake, glimmering, tendrils seeping through water's veins. A vision of the Leviathon, a Flash attack in overdrive by the remaining electricity stored from the beam, so pure and white it evaporated all sight and froze those who demanded its use, a Thunderbolt diving deep into the lake where she had seen all those frightful eyes, all in quick succession. Then, curling upon the boy's shoulder, feeling the race of his heart, surprised to find it damp with tears despite such a despairing calmness in his platinum eyes even as they were blinded, as the nature of the boy seemed to always be.

He didn't care about their execution, and determined the moves deserved little detail no matter what beauty or terror they could have become. He didn't care about the answer at all, about the question of whether or not his solution was correct.

He didn't care.

He didn't care.

Oh Arceus, it wouldn't stop moving.

And the boy looked down to find a pool of blue blood at his feet, but kicked his foot to find it was only water.

 

[PentheWonderful]

Pain. Alarm, fear, distress, anger and pure rage.

First there was the new dish that appeared from thin air. Hefty, The Chamber noted right away. Plenty of meat to be had. But it proved to be a difficult food when it thrashed and fought, and stabbed and poked and hurt.

It hurt, everything hurt!

The pain, overwhelming like hot iron against raw flesh, doubling the agony it had to endure already as a disembodied mouth without eyes or ears or limbs or even a nose. It was only teeth and rot. Hunger and decay. It was Chamber, with an identity long forgotten, wasting away from hunger it, it would devour everything and anything that would fall into its pit. But its first true meal in centuries might possibly be its last. It tasted blood, but the blood it tasted did not belong to its food. No, it recognized the hot, thick liquid spilling from the wounds torn apart by the hefty entrée’s claws, legs, whatever they may be! Stabbing, holding on to dear life but injecting something, something absolutely heinous that numbed its flesh and disintegrated its taste buds. But that had not been the end of it. There was an additional pain, running down its very organ, its one and only very vital organ and that was where the blood gushed like fountains, waterfalls, rivers, whatever one may prefer. They mixed together with the saliva being secreted by the gallons in a sickening cocktail of slick, concentrated, pungent goop and the centuries it had endured devouring nothing but splinters and shards and inedible debris, it had not, should not, be anything new, but the gashes and tears and enzymes contained within stung like nothing has ever stung before.

And so the massive mound of flesh shrunk and shriveled into a hard, condensed pile in the base of its own throat, megalith teeth prying open, and for that brief moment, light came through, blinding compared to the darkness befalling them inside the chamber, and in that moment, there was hope; in the shape of a war torn hall carved from stone and subterranean walls. And within the hairsbreadth of its ending, The Chamber let loose a hellish, shriek of guttural, throat-ripping, ear busting agony that shook even its very being, and ripped through the hallway with a vengeance upon the stone, dust, and dirt that did nothing but witness its misery. Walls crack and crumble in the wake of its cry and dust escape in waves to get as far as they possibly could from the monstrosity that was The Chamber. Get away, all food ever wanted was to get away.

The cry lasted a mere thirty seconds before its teeth slam shut yet again, blocking all light from entry and leaving them, once again, in pitch black darkness. It was still going to eat, despite the pain it had to endure, it wanted to eat, needed to eat. Everyone needed to eat, what was wrong with a little decadent indulgence? Hasn’t anyone heard of the food chain?

In that thirty second frame, Thomas and Justin collapsed into the gelatinous bottom of the mouth where its veins pulsated with a fury from its building adrenaline and they were both deaf, and blind, and sloshing about in an ocean of flesh and blood mixed with saliva and pus. The liquids coated them in thick layers and Thomas found he could not so much as pry his own eyes open. Had he not worn his oxygen mask, he would not have been able to breath. All he could liken his situation to was drowning. Tossed about by rapids and not being able to do a damn thing about it. His head wrap soaked to the very fiber, and quickly slipping down his face. He knew Curt said something prior to the shriek. Something about good shots? Shooting?

Like hell if he could even grab his bag zipper. But perhaps, yes perhaps, he could snatch a grenade from his belt, hurl it and blast a gaping hole in that accursed tongue. His hands quickly shot to his belt, but grabbing the melee weapon coated in layers and layers of thick saliva was reminiscent to grabbing wet bar soap. He could barely undo its latch, scratching, grunting, and screaming.

And when it finally came loose and rested upon his palm, he realized the tongue was going absolutely berserk.

It slammed the Scolipede violently into the ceiling of its mouth, grinding and bashing the giant into its ancient teeth, trying desperately to scrape the insect and humans holding on off of its tongue, stabbing its tip into the bottom of its mouth and utterly crushing Thomas and Justin beneath it. The pliant flesh curled and arched, slamming the trainers and Pokemon into its rough, unforgiving teeth, and grinded them onto its sandpaper surface.

Pinned beneath a force of metric tons, Thomas thrashed his arms wildly, clawing, kicking, but never succeeding in doing any real damage due to the excessive saliva now pooling at the bottom of the mouth, completely submerging the Rocket admin and grunt. Their oxygen masks began to crack from the force, and the men could barely draw breath. Thomas screamed yet again and forced his thumb through the grenade’s ring. He waited, ever so patiently, until the effect of Million’s toxic injection began to take effect and the tongue lost strength and reduced density concentration, and he gulped deep breaths from an oxygen mask splintering over his own mouth and nose, leaking and filling with horrid cocktail, and he forced his arm out from beneath the tongue, grenade clutched tightly in hand, and with his thumb he yanked the ring free and hurled the sphere as best as he could with only the flick of a wrist.

Submerged in spit and unholy matter, the grenade drifted where its momentum lead, over the pulsating veins and slowly making its descent without a rush or care in the godforsaken situation. Until it bumped the base of the tongue,

And blasted right through the tissue connecting it to the bottom of the mouth.

Pressed into the cushy floors, the two Rockets were well protected by the blast, and the horrid shriek that came after, once again parting its teeth and rattling the ruin to its very core as it thrashed about in agony. The trainers were expelled along with the wave of deep scarlet liquid that painted the stone floor a lovely shade of ebony, and the tongue grew limp and rolled right onto the stone. Pinned between a wall of flesh and a megalithic tooth were the Rockets; Thomas screaming and cussing, as if trying to outdo the mournful cries of the Chamber, while Justin made a hasty escape, pushing against the membrane of flesh to work around the abrasive tooth, and out through the gaps in between each bone protruding through swollen gums. Out and around, to yank out his hysterical superior, but unintentionally, and perhaps there was some vendetta behind it as well, grinding him against the abrasive surface of the tooth before he finally came free.

Slipping and sliding, the two men hobbled out from between the gaps of the teeth, protected by the tongue lolled motionless across the stone hall and Thomas ripped his oxygen mask free and wretched half a moment later to regret his decision. They emerged from behind the tongue propped up by the Chamber’s massive lines of shark-like teeth, but the sorrowful, deafening, agonized, bloodcurdling cries persisted even as the team regrouped.

And Justin gazed sharply into Gerald’s brown eyes, and he pointed to the mouth now agape and crying out for dear life, for help, but there was no one to save it, and he ran his index finger across his throat. With his unwavering, coldblooded, ruthless gaze, the message was clear.

‘End it.’

-

This boy, the boy she held in her arms did not concur to basic logic. Pale from fear and yet, shaking from utter rage, she could feel him pulsing in waves across her very skin, his energy like barbed wire, scathing, looking but not seeing, silver to paling blue and dying blue to silver but it was dead. There was no soul within those irises nor was there life within his paling skin, where blood ran to hide but never able to escape, and Cassie found herself observing the hand held to his cheek, how it shook as if possessed, because his eyes- oh Arceus, eyes, she found she could not see eyes anymore, not when they were dead, yet still alive, empowered by a pulse yet deadened by the mind, not when she could still feel the hundreds submerged in the ink, trapping them, isolating them. There was nowhere to go, no one to call for help but this boy she held in her arms. This boy was her only chance, Peridot’s only chance, Lady’s only chance and he was running. He stood and ran and her hand shot out to grasp him but he was too quick, or perhaps she was too slow.

Standing onto legs of rubber and knees of cotton, she stumbled and tripped yet her arms remained true in their hold of Peridot, cradling her as if she were a newborn infant. Because she was, she still is, and always will be for the time they needed to spend in this cave, this hole, this sad excuse of a hell on earth, and Cassie found it wasn’t fair. It was far from fair and never fair for she had only infants to protect herself- no, no, no she needed to protect them from goliaths and the only goliath she had was somewhere lost and wandering without her. Cassie recalled she didn’t used to be like this, she didn’t used to feel fear or injustice, she remembered when she could face the world with her head up high because she had so many barriers and goliaths by her side to protect her from its horrors. But now the day has come when her barriers were broken and her goliaths gone, she was on her own, pathetic and low as low can be in the worst situation she could possibly be that she would not survive even with her goliaths. And she had infants.

Infant Pokemon, and an infant human.

Wailing and crying was he, by the island’s edge, and she could not count the times her delirious eyes saw him being eaten, over and over, again and again by a phantom rising from the depths with jaws agape and needle-like teeth bared, snatching him away by his legs, torso, arms, or head, coming from the left, right, or front. Everything moved too slowly, her jelly legs, her breaths, her heartbeat. Peridot was overwhelmingly heavy in her arms and she was colder than cold, dropping faster than she could handle, freezing, becoming stone, and her hand was frantic in their search for the pokeball so clearly clipped to her belt. Fingers losing heat in soaked glove press on the sphere’s button as hard as it could for that rewarding ‘click’, and celebratory flare which consumed the infant in her arms. She was so close to death, Cassie was killing her- no, this ruin was killing her. How was she to know? How could she have known everything would become hell and crush all the pure souls she held with her?

With how often it’d happened, she should have known by now.

But Cassie has always been selfish, and deep in her selfish heart, she simply did not want to suffer alone when there were others who could suffer with her. She was selfish, and cruel, and evil, and malicious. She was a monster. Did that mean she was where she belonged after all? Had the ruin trapped her, or had she simply come home?

“It won't stop moving.”

A snap, like thin steel rods breaking apart in her head. Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack like bearings that could no longer bare, crumbling, snapping under the weight of a disastrous infrastructure on the verge or crumbling. Her eyes regain focus, and she was still there, in the ruin, in this hole. Still trapped, still home, oh she was always running from home. Her eyes glue to Que, who had kneeled in the water as if offering himself, resigning himself to the inevitable. To Death. To the Leviathan.

“It won't stop moving!”

His voice tore through the emptiness, the void, like a crack of thunder and her body collapsed to her knees and her arms flew around his thin frame, fingers grabbing onto the dripping fabric of his shirt and trembling with the violent arm that spasmed and jerked at an attempt to break free. But she wouldn’t let it go, she wouldn’t let him go and she buried her face against his back as they fought, struggled, torn apart by their own demons and monsters, but she would keep him together, she would keep her together so he would stay together. Letting him go meant death, and she would not let her vessel die. Not yet, not yet, when there were still so many things to live for. “Not yet… Please, not yet…”

“It won't... stop... moving...?”

His body came to a halt, gaining a hold of his tethers as he once again descended into himself. Water lapped at their thighs, and Cassie’s arms broke free, jumping back to shore followed by the boy mere seconds later. But her footing was not true nor firm and she ended up back on her bed, watching Que from a worm’s eye view. He was tall, and imposing, and it was a physique one might find comforting had it not been for the steady stream of tears rolling down his cheeks, the mucus flowing down his nose and his utterly childish attempts at wiping them away with a sleeve. Sniffling, the infant human, glancing at her with a plea she did not understand.

Cassie simply watched him, that was all she could do. She watched his bag slide off his shoulders, watched him rummage through its contents, wiping his face once, whisper, and she watched a bright, yellow blob skitter to the lip of the bag, twitching a long, limber tail and rubbing its cheeks in a manner that could only be identified as rodent-like. It was the Dedenne. He had a Dedenne. Nine liked to hunt Dedenne, and she recalled vividly how they would give him a nasty shock just before delivering that final, fatal bite. A shock that left the milk whites of his muzzle a nasty shade of ebony. Not that he ever cared. He never cared about such things, but Ace did- oh, Ace. Her poor Ace, how miserable he must be without his daily feather pruning, his weekly beak scrubbing, and monthly feet exfoliation, oh, all the dirt that must be stuck to his pristine feathers, how his cobalt crest feathers must have dulled. The horror, oh, the horror sent her clutching for her hair, yet again pulling and tugging as she sat hunched on the cold island floor.

“Close your eyes.”

With nails dragging along her scalp, over her forehead and down her eyes, she forced them shut, squeezing tighter and tighter until she could expel the images of her Swanna from the forefront of her mind, and she missed the stream of electricity, like a bristled air, snapping, cackling. The flash, that would have undoubtedly left her blind from the time she spent in the darkness, the smell of ozone and roar of thunder that shattered the deafening silence and evoked a series of violent disturbances to the water’s surface.

All she wanted was for it to be over.

And so, her hands finally pull apart to reveal, once again, a stifling darkness. But it was one she was accustomed to. There, in the epicenter of the lake were no longer islands and stone deposits anymore. No, there lay the Leviathan, belly up and motionless, breaching the surface like a wintery island of its own. The eyes, Cassie found she could not look away, have gone silent. Their irises a uniform shade of white, losing all pigment, and they stare into nothing, twisted with horror, some with anger, others pain, and few, so very few, yet there all the same, in peace. Relief that it was finally over. Steam rose from the waters warmed by the energy of thunder and electricity, and Cassie took deep breaths and relished their gentle caress. Her arms dangled and they reached in order to grasp the flashlight growing warm from its energy exertion. She switched it off. For she found the darkness was not so bad anymore.

Her tired eyes grew ever weary, yet they refused rest and settled upon Que’s back, as he kicked a puddle beneath his feet. Childlike, oh so childlike. Yet she found her feet approaching him, her hand outstretching to grasp his, the one that trembled, possessed still by his demons and she ran her thumb gently across his knuckles. Tugging him, assertive and firm, just enough to sink him lower into his hunch and she leaned up to press her lips against his forehead, his feverish skin, to thank his mind for its thoughts and executions and she kept her grip, even as she stepped back and around him, spinning him, urging him to follow while her eyes searched through the steam and mist for an exit, and caught sight of a tunnel where a bashful stream trickled, rising the water level ever so slowly and she knew that was where they needed to go. She knew their entrance had been much higher than the water surface, so they couldn’t be heading in the same direction from which they came.

So she pulled him along, turning to face him and beckoning him while she walked in reverse to feel the water climb up her feet, and knees, and savored its warmth against her freezing skin. And once the water reached her waist, she lay back, and kicked off the island’s ground, and finally did her hand slip free.

Swimming in a pool of warm ink and corpses.

-

Clonk!

‘Ouch.’ Nine’s questioning gaze befell Jasper with a slight bare of his teeth, white and pearly and shimmering in the light he emanated from his very being. ‘How very rude of you.’

But his statement was lost on the Cubone who proceeded to berate him for running off all on his lonesome without so much as a discussion nor help. He sat and patiently listened through her lecture of needing to trust, communicate, and work with each other if they were to have any chance to survive, and Nine found himself tilting his head, not because of her fast pace no, but because how utterly familiar those words of berate sounded. Oh, that’s right. Because that was exactly what everyone, every single person he encountered, always told Cassie. From when he was a mere Vulpix, until she trusted him enough to wield the power Ninetales, it was those same words. Trust, communicate, and cooperate. And he was always baffled because that was something they already did.

But nobody ever understood their way.

A way without words. Of mere glances and gestures and understanding body language and situations, acting accordingly, adjusting to each other’s reactions, and synchronizing to it. That was how he communicated with Cassie and the rest of her team, his friends, and anything and everything beyond it was unnatural and strange and absolutely inefficient and it was the one thing he could not integrate to during his stay with Curt’s team. Or perhaps in hindsight, they had been the strange ones. The ones that baffled. So he threw the fight and provided a curt apology to Jasper, shrugging his shoulders and telling her, 'Like trainer like Pokemon.' with the best smile he could manage reflected in his eyes. He would respect her ways, and respect that she did not understand his. Because in the end, it was not her fault, nor did it matter. It was simply a very unusual, unusual way of living he led with his trainer.

And it was all the more reason he needed to reunite with her, for it was the only place he made sense.

The pitter of their steps were a jumbled mess of noise and uncoordinated echoes, signaling their return for where the group had once been, and further in still, where they had ascended the steps to the sanctuary of watery bliss. And Nine was uncomfortable, to say the least.

And that was before the Sawsbuck charged and knocked right into the Arcanine. With a surprised yelp, the Ninetales backed away, unable to comprehend the sight before him; two Pokemon of the same team and trainer, wrestling each other for no apparent reason. He could only sense confusion, anger, love, hatred, playfulness, and malicious intent, and it left the fox baffled with his head held high and ears standing erect and alert. What was one to do? What was one even witnessing? A simple wrestling match? A dangerous battle? A ceremony, ritual, way of some sort? Nine chose the final option, decided to, when he watched the Arcanine pin the Sawsbuck beneath him and give her a mighty lick, and he circled around the duo to shift his attention to counting the Pokemon now gathered by the ponds and fountains and falls. One, two… Six… Twelve. With him, that made thirteen. A heinous number, known for misfortune. How befitting, he thought. They were complete with such an unlucky number.

He sat himself yet again, quite some ways away from the group for he found he needed space. He needed time to cope and recover and tame the emotions churning inside of him. He needed to retain his facade, this strength and leadership the others needed despite finding it did not suit him at all, and he had to wonder if this was what it was like for human elites. Parading with fake faces and words. What an awful life they must lead. Facing the water that remained ever moving, dynamic, and alive, he focused his attention to his own reflection, ever scattered, unclear, nothing but a swirl of color and he found that that was who he was, what he felt comfortable being, and not the together, collected front he had to be. Yet, brushing those thoughts away, he proceeded to sniff while one of his tails began to glow, and so did his eyes. He tilted his head, left and right, until the minute passed and he was back to his default state once more. ‘This water is safe to drink, if anyone needs refreshment. I cannot sense any malicious particles or curses within it.’ He announced, and then privately added to his female counterpart,

‘How is Embertail doing, Flare?’

 

[BurbleBurble]

What was this?

No, seriously, what was this?

Perhaps...perhaps this was madness. Insanity given a form, a sloppy bloody form. Or perhaps the stone walls of ruins were the form of utter delusion. Nevermind, he wasn’t the psychological type; Gerald should’ve been more concerned for his Pokemon, the panicking Megapede who couldn’t get a grip, fully understand the situation, or maybe the saliva and blood tar that threatened to fill his lungs and drown him in sick, and what about Curt? He was poisoned, weakened, potentially still high. How long could the man hold on?

And everything ached! His ears were still ringing from the deafening screech, and now the rest of his body was being whipped around, smashing into the gnashers of the Chamber. It felt like his eyes might’ve burst out of his skull at any moment. He could hear his Scolipede roaring in pain as well. While not exactly frail or mushy, Million wasn’t built for this type of abuse! Nothing was!

But...it all stopped. Yet another deafening blow stopped it all just as fast as it began, awakening a wild surf of red, sweeping out the trainers with ease. The Rockets, who Gerald legitimately forgot about, seemed to be responsible for the blast. The men were clawing their way out of the mouth themselves. Was it screaming again? He honestly couldn’t tell; perhaps his eardrums had burst from all the noise. Or maybe clogged? He could care less. The group was free, battered, but free.

Gerald scrambled up to his legs, eyes darted about for his Pokemon and friend. Million was sprawled out on his side, continually twitching, eyes wide. Curt was recovering just fine though, but there was still the off chance he was about succumb to another coughing fit...Yes, maybe he’d help out Curt first…

But then, Justin approached the boy, a look of grit and just being done in his eyes. The grunt pointed to the maw, and pulled a finger across his throat.

Under most circumstance, Gerald would likely act tough, defy Justin and go help out Curt instead. Buuut...Justin scared him. Everything was cruel and direct with this man. At least Thomas had some affable traits...or at least, pretended to have affable traits...But this man? The message was very clear.

Not to mess with him.

This changed Gerald’s mind quickly, and he went to assist the Megapede. Of course, Million was several hundred pounds, so picking him up was a no go. He’d just have to encourage him up, and then direct him. As white noise in his ears began to fade, replaced by the scream of the Chamber.
-----
Million could feel two things: Pain, fear, and whatever was sloughing off his casing. Wait...was that three things? Nevermind. Numbers didn’t matter.

The shell which usually contained himself was cracked, and was missing a segment. Nothing grave, but it hurt. Very much so. The shell was never meant to be pierced, and had never been beforehand. It made the Scolipede scared.

Million wished to run away, but was immobilized, left twitching at nothing. The Megapede’s eyes found nothing to gaze upon, except inky darkness in one and a sickening black in the other. Perhaps he’d rest here for the remainder of his life, and starve to the death.

Of course, such melodramatic dreams would never occur, as a hand came to his rescue; Gerald’s. Well, rescue was a light term, as it was more of a nudge. A nudge for what, Million's admittedly small mind pondered. To get up? Ah yes, so they could run away! It was a very clever idea. All he had to do was get up...
...
It was more difficult than it seemed, okay?? There must be a trick to getting himself up. Maybe he could use his claws...yeah, that could work! The insect's body found itself twisting, attempting to pick up it's oversized abdomen by skittering and scraping the tiny leg like growths into the ground. Eventually, with a little push from Gerald as well, he found himself on four legs yet again.

Great! Time to run-Wait, what was Gerald pointing to?

Oh no, he didn't mean...Yes, he did mean that, even that got through Million's small mindset.

He knew what to do.

A slow gait towards the screamer began, and Million knew Gerald wished for it's demise. And he had the fatal attack in mind. If the insect's memory served right, he may have-may have! Poisoned it. That made this attack fatal, indeed. Though, even an unboosted one would probably kill it by this point...

The tongue was inactive, but probably still hooked up to a few blood vessels. So it would probably work. Probably.

Million crouched over, dug his claws into the the Chamber's organ sprawled out on the floor, and used a Venoshock attack.
It took a second or two, the pained call skyrocketed in volume for a moment, but ceased not a moment later, and the beartrap like jaws of the beast collapsed.
It was dead.
-----
Nothing.

There was nothing! Great, this was just perfect. Lost in a complicated cave system, with Pokemon she barely knew, and giant monsters roaming around. Not to mention being seperated from Gerald or anyone else she knew! Any information from the Switchblades and Empty were nondescript or cryptic ("There were other men." "They made fog from cans!" "He'll be fine."), some help they were. The Braixen huffed at her rotten luck.

Where was Puff? He was a good hearer. Maybe the rabbit could give her an update or something.

Lopunny, for better or worse, had great hearing. While likely as a defense mechanism for the wilds, hearing for the domestics, at least this one, was nothing less than a curse. And nothing exemplified it more than now; screaming, shouts, wild splashing, and it all plagued him, weighing down his mind like a pile of bricks.

His new position didn't help but muffle it lightly. Not a help at all. And then it peaked: a roar of lightning, a terribly loud yell, one final splash...then nothing. It was replaced by quieted murmurs.

Puff wasn't sure if this was better or worse. The murmurs were not discernible, but obviously there. It was a small enough victory, that was for sure. Another noise was introduced: a bark.

It was June.

She wanted to know what he heard. The Lopunny told her what he could recall...
'Nothing important. Splashing. Yelling. That's it.'

A dejected huff came from his fox friend, followed by a gritting of her teeth. Then another yip, telling Puff to follow. He made no objections.

The Mr. Ninetales had come back, bringing Curt's Cubone and the Arcanine. While the Switchblades were just being listless ghouls as usual, Empty was much more focused. On closer examination, thanks to the lack of pupils, it seemed as if he was once again staring the male fox down. A call for the Switchblades came. They scooped up Empty, and went to see what June had to say.

She said for them to keep their heads low. Not to get seperated. They'd follow the Ninetales. There was no other choice. June also said that Empty would be a "tank" in the case of another monster. With Wonder Guard and protect, he was essentially immune to most anything that could be thrown at them. Unless it was another Pokemon, or some immaculate flaming monster, the only worry would be getting caught in the crossfire (No pun intended of course) of the fire wielders of the group.

Empty would've detested, but...the Braixen he had known for a long time had a point. He'd listen...for now.

So Gerald's Pokemon waited to move out, in their small little group. Because taking commands was their specialty.

 

[Trucro]

Snap! The brush beneath his feet snapped as Jacob made his way through the forest. It was quite dense, but Jacob had little trouble finding his way. Despite this, he was sweating. It wasn’t his actions that were creating the beads that was falling down his brow. He had seen something, a sign, or a signal. His time spent with the rockets had left him rather paranoid. After all, they had been following him for more than a year now, and he had developed a strong sense of impending danger. While a normal person might have stuck with the group of trainers, thinking of safety in numbers, Jacob had purposely avoided this scenario. He was aware Team Rocket had taken Cassie before, and he wasn’t going to let them do it again. He had decided he would handle the problem himself this time.


His move wasn’t exactly going according to plan, however. He had spent a long time making his way through the woods, trying to track his enemy with little success. It had been a few minutes since he had any indication he was heading in the right direction; luckily, Shakespeare wasn’t far away. Jacob’s Togekiss, Shakespeare, had been providing him with reconnaissance. Without his help, Jacob would have been even further in the dark. Luckily, Shakespeare returned, once again pointing him in the right direction.


After another few minutes of trekking through the brush, Shakespeare dropped beneath the trees, hovering just above Jacob’s shoulder. Jacob nodded to the trailing Togekiss; they were nearly there. Jacob slowed himself to a jog, and then a walk, as he tried to minimize the noise he was making. He continued as quietly as he could, until he could see the figures. Three of them, in dark black clothes, the staple of Team Rocket’s ugly costume designer. A group of three was not particularly uncommon; the team often trained groups of three for specific missions. In fact, back when he was a member of Team Rocket, he had been assigned to a group of three for several of his own missions.


Jacob hid behind a tree, Shakespeare in toe, as he thought of how to make his first move. With his Togekiss at his side, he could easily launch an attack that would throw the group back, but he wasn’t certain of his ability to incapacitate all of them at once. As was often the case, while Jacob was working on a plan, he lost his chance. One of the Rocket grunts must have heard him readjusting or perhaps had caught a glimpse of his shoe. In any case, Jacob heard the expansion of pokeballs.


“Hey you! Behind the tree! Come on out!” Jacob sighed. Releasing his tension in his shoulders, he stepped out, slowly turning to see the three men facing him just several meters away. He looked over at Shakespeare who was still hiding behind the tree and nodded. The pokemon looked down before slowly rising back into the air, hovering just inches in front of Jacob, facing their opponents. The three men looked quite different; one was tall and pale, another, short and dark-skinned. The third was just a bit taller than the second, and had a deep smile, more authentic than the others. Jacob didn’t actually recognize any of the men, which suggested they were low level trainers, as Jacob didn’t mingle with many of them. The fact that they were likely grunts was a relieving thought, but still, facing down three enemies was a bit unnerving.


In front of each of the men were their pokemon. In front of the tall man, a Golbat flew, flapping its wings oddly furiously just to remain in place. Jacob figured that meant the pokemon was easily tired, probably resulting from poor training or nutrition. In front of the short grunt, a Koffing hovered, bouncing up and down. It was a bit paler than other Koffing he had seen, making the pokemon look sicklier than Koffing normally did. Just inches away from the third grunt stood a Raticate. Jacob had actually not seen many Raticate, and so he couldn’t tell much about this particular one. Nonetheless, it appeared as most of these pokemon had received subpar training, giving Jacob an advantage.


Jacob immediately turned to thinking of a strategy. He had no doubt the grunts would engage him, and they’d probably use on of the more basic maneuvers Team Rocket often used to use their numbers as a strength. Jacob racked his brain for plan that would fit this groups capabilities, quickly remembering the most likely scenario. The grunts would begin with their Koffing, providing a smokescreen. Then, the Raticate, would dig beneath the ground most likely, hiding its disappearance by using the smokescreen as cover. Then, at the same time, one of the remaining pokemon, either Koffing or Golbat, would emerge from the smoke, rushing towards Jacob in an attack, as the other rises directly up. The idea was to provide the team with the capability to attack from every direction, and it would be extremely effective in taking down tougher opponents. But Jacob had his own advantage; he knew their plans. That would allow him to create a trap of his own.


Just as he finished planning out his move, the rockets began. He was right; it was Koffing’s move first, creating a thick smokescreen that extended to cover the entire group, inching ever closer. Jacob himself leaned over, placing his hand on the ground. He could feel it shake as the Raticate ducked beneath the ground. Still kneeling on the ground, he looked up at Shakespeare, who was in the air just a foot or so in front of him. He just had to wait for Team Rocket to start step three. He rose to his feet as he counted his breaths.


“One… two…” Jacob took one final deep breath. “Now, Sky Attack!” Jacob spoke forcefully, but in a hushed tone. Shakespeare immediately took off without a sound, glowing silver. He had timed the attack correctly, as the Koffing was just coming forwards out of the smoke when Shakespeare slammed into him. The small purple pokemon was sent tumbling backwards into the smoke.


Noticing the Golbat had left the smoke, flying high in the air, Jacob began the next part of his attack. He bent down to the ground again, feeling the earth beneath him for the sign of the Raticate, but having received none, he focused almost entirely on the Golbat. “Again!” he shouted. The Togekiss shot upwards, remaining coated in silver energy. He crashed into the Golbat, who was caught by surprise at Shakespeare’s placement upon his exit of the smokescreen. The hit was a hard one, and the Golbat dropped to the ground like a rock.


With Shakespeare so high, he was immune to any potential Raticate attack. But Jacob wasn’t. He was still surveying the ground when he felt it begin to shake. Immediately, he lifted his hand from the ground, turning out of the way as the Raticate emerged. He slid across the ground, stopping himself just a few feet away. Shakespeare rushed to his side, blocking another potential attack from the Raticate. The two pokemon stared at each other for just a moment, as Jacob stood. Before he could give the next order, a voice from the smoke shouted “Mushu! C’mon!” The Raticate looked to the side before suddenly bounding off, running back into the smoke.


“Hmph,” Jacob said as he turned to face the now fading smokescreen. “No you don’t! Air slash!” Shakspeare once again nodded in silence. He stuck out both wings, in between which formed a small sphere of air. In one swift motion, Shakespeare sent the orb flying forwards. It smacked into the ground, dissipating the smokescreen and sending the Team Rocket grunts and their pokemon falling to the ground.


Jacob wasted no time. He ran over to one of the grunts with Shakespeare close behind him. He pulled the short man from the ground by his lapel. The man had gone limp for the moment, clearly trying to regain consciousness after a short and quick serious of confusing, and physically intense actions. Before Jacob could begin to question the man, however, the Raticate came rushing towards Jacob, presumably to stop him. Jacob used his free hand to point towards the pokemon, and Shakespeare got the message.


“Toh, toh,” the pokemon said in quick succession before zooming off towards the Raticate. He smacked into the rat pokemon, sending it flying backwards into a nearby bush. With the threat removed, Jacob turned back to the prisoner. He knew that these three grunts couldn’t be the only ones around; no one was dumb enough to send these guys alone if they wanted something done. It was quite clear they were working beneath a higher ranked officer, although Jacob wasn’t certain why these three were wandering about.


“Which officer are you working for?” he asked forcefully. The Rocket Grunt appeared confused; perhaps he was still dazed from the attack, or perhaps he was flabbergasted that some random boy knew about the structure of Team Rocket. Anyhow, it took the grunt a few seconds to collect himself, and Jacob glared angrily at the man in the meantime. He could see the grunt processing whether or not it was okay to disclose the information, but apparently he decided it was fine; many Rocket officers actually wanted their names to spread and create fear.


“We’re part of Thomas’s group,” the grunt said, seemingly expecting Jacob to know what that meant. Unfortunately, he did.


Thomas was a particularly nasty officer Jacob had known while he was part of Team Rocket some two years ago. He wasn’t terribly high ranked at the time, but Jacob had seen that the man had talent, not to mention he was quite the trainer. If it was Thomas who was after them, he had to stop him before he could reach Cassie and Curt.


“Where’s Thomas now!” Jacob said, almost shouting. The grunt’s eyes darted back and forth, he took a few seconds before beginning to speak.


“Uh… Uh…” the Rocket Grunt stuttered, leading Jacob to believe he might not be certain to release the information. Jacob simply turned to his Togekiss, and gave a command.


“Shakespeare, use aura sphere” The pokemon smiled and began charging up the attack, forming a blue orb of energy between his wings. The grunt clearly understood the situation, and immediately divulged the rest of the information.


“Okay, okay! There’s a cave entrance not far from here… that way!” he said, pointing to his right. “All the officers went in there! Now just let me go!” Jacob dropped the man rather quickly, and he fell to the ground. He nodded to Shakespeare before the two of them took off.


Once again, Jacob was rushing through the forest, Shakespeare following in the air close behind. This time, however, he was moving even faster. It was worse than he had thought; Thomas was a serious threat, and he had to be dealt with. Even though he was worried, Jacob was becoming a bit excited. He didn’t notice it, but a smirk had incrementally taken over his face. Only moments later he had arrived; the entrance to a deep, dark cave. It was his excitement that blocked out his fear of caves. Prepared, but out of breath, he slowed down as he crossed the threshold. Shakespeare followed his trained, being sure to remain even closer than before.

 

[Curtkid]

The pitter patter of feet from the cavernous rooms entrance caused Flare to jolt her head towards it, though the foot steps sounded light and as though coming from multiple creatures instead of one, she knew it better to err on the side of caution. Thankfully, her fears were unfounded for once since the entered this hell-hole, as Jasper, Nine, and the Arcanine appeared from the shadows of the caves. She allowed relief to wash over her, seeing the Pokemon come back to them unharmed, or at least, not sustaining any more damage since she last saw them. Jasper wasted no time in making her way back to check up with her, giving the Sawbuck and Arcanine a decent enough berth for their little quarrel (though the Cubone kept her eyes on as long as she felt she could, she always did love watching a good scrap), to let her know if anything happened and to check on Embertails condition. However, as Jasper approached her, Flare noticed something, peculiar about her, or at least, her posture and the way she was approaching her. She was slumped over, but not in exhaustion, no the way she was stomping her feet was a clear indication that something had upset Jasper.

"(Oh please, don't tell me Nine did this...)", Flare pleaded with, herself? Arceus? The spirits within the cave? She wasn't sure. She remained still until Jasper walked up to her, asked how Embertail was, and then took a long drink of water. Flare inquired about what happened with Nine, a first Jasper responded with little more then "fine" and "nothing much happened" nothing much happened, but Flare knew there was more to it then that.

"(Well, Jasper, Embertail is stable, I've been trying to make him comfortable, but I can't tell if it's helping him at all)", Flare said, taking a quick look at Embertail, "(by the way...did something happen between you and Nine?)", Flare said, and once again, Jasper held fast. It took a bit of prodding on Flare's part, Jasper didn't exactly like sharing her feelings. It always struck Flare as funny, she knew Jasper was a tomboy, but sometimes Jasper's attitude could almost make even Flare forget that she was a girl. But after a bit of persistence, Flare finally got Jasper to open up a bit.


"(Please Jasper, we both know you often feel better when we talk about these things, so please, talk to me)", Flare said, a certain softness in her voice, which finally motivated the Cubone to start talking, and boy did she have somethings to say. She went on about how Nine seemed more upset that she gave him a (very light, she swore) whack on the head, then her scolding him. No, he got worse then upset, he got that same, glazed look Curt and Embertail (and her too, admittedly) got on his face when someone droned on and on about something that didn't interest them at all or seemed beneath them, like it was something he brushed off a thousand times and would brush off a thousand times again. Jasper grunted and made a slightly bitter remark about how that maybe they should have saved the message for Flare to deliver, after all, it seemed like Flare was the only one that Nine bothered talking to, probably thought the rest of them were too stupid to be bothered to converse with.


"(I'll...talk to him, and don't worry, I know Nine can seem a little...uppity at times, he is one of Cassie's Pokemon after all, but trust me, he see's you as just as capable and intelligent as himself, he just holds me to a bit of a high standard due to my...("geroug?"), yes...age, thank-you Jasper....but the point is, he isn't exactly the most social Pokemon and can be a little with out take, certainly you can forgive him for that, I mean, after all, if we are talking about lack of tact...", Flare said raising an eye, trying to soothe the aggravated Cubones nerves, to some level of help. Jasper still looked a bit annoyed at the way Nine brushed her off, but admitted he probably didn't mean to offend or demean her, to Flares relief. Good thing she didn't send Raviel, Jasper didn't exactly have the greatest temper in the world, but that Raviel would have probably ended up attacking Nine if he gave him attitude, the Jolteon made no attempts at hiding how upset he was with the way Nine talked down to them for trying to defend themselves against the monster and as far as he was concerned thought Nine to be too soft and full of himself to lead. Still, whatever annoyance Jasper held towards the fox seemed to be forgot for the moment at the sight of Embertail, curled up besides her. Flare did all she could for the poor fire lizard, making him comfortable, even trying to do something to alleviate his nightmares, but the magic that gripped him was strong, and she had no idea if the spell-work she did was any help to her poor friend or not. Everyone else of her party had already checked up on Embertail, and Flare told them the same thing, and eventually they realized they had little else to do but the rest up and prepare to move again. Whips was just doing his best to comfort Lockjaw, trying to hear the blue alligator Pokemons story about where Curt was and how they got separated, from what Flare heared, it involved an encounter with the Rockets, but she knew she'd get the full story from Lockjaw later. Meanwhile Raviel was just curled up in a ball by himself a small distance away from Lockjaw and Whips, take a nap, but not looking all that peaceful while doing so.

"(I'm sorry Jasper, I did what I could, but there isn't much to do to help Embertail until we get to Cassie and Lady aside from keep him safe, or hope he comes out of this himself)", Flare said, which caused the Cubone to give a quick outburst as to why they weren't heading out to find Curt, Cassie, and everyone else right now, which Flare was quick to answer.

"(Please, Jasper, keep your calm, I know you want to help Embertail, beleive me, we all do, Whips, Lockjaw, even Raviel all came over to ask me if there is anything they could do, but that fact of the matter is we need a little rest, if we don't bother to catch our breath we might not have the strength to face whatever other horrors might lie within these halls, and without us Embertail is defenseless)", Flare replied, it wasn't enough to appease the hot tempered Cubone, but it was enough to quiet her down (albeit with a bit of an impatient pout). Then Nine walked over to the two girls, which elicited Jasper to emit a grunt at the Ninetales before picked herself up, letting Flare know she was going to properly thank June for saving her from being trampled by the monster before walking off. Though she wasn't as mad at Nine anymore, clearly the male Ninetales wasn't exactly her favorite Pokemon at the moment, but Nine didn't seem to notice the Cubone as he immediately went over to check the pond for any impurities.

"(Don't worry, we already checked the water for any disease or corruption in the time you were gone, you know, we don't just sit around and wait for you to get back while you're gone Nine)", Flare said in response to Nines comment about the water with a small chuckle, to show her words were all in good humor, "(as for Embertail, he's stable, not much change, hopefully we'll find the others soon, anyways, I wanted to talk to you about what happened between you and Jasper, now, I'm aware Jasper striking you on the head might have been a little, excessive, but please, next time, if she does something like that, yell all her a little, even if you aren't that upset, it would show her you respect her enough to not be afraid to get angry at her, I believe Jasper has earned a little respect from you at least, after all, she was the one of the few Pokemon trying to take your side in showing the monster a little mercy, and I think that might be what upset her most, she viewed you as a sort of "partner" after that incident, so for you to brush her off like that...)". Flare finished with a stern look at Nine, not one that a mother would give to a child, but a looked that simply seemed to be from one concerned friend to another. Nine made a fairly straight forward, if not sincere, remark, about being sorry that he offended Jasper and hurt the group dynamic and would be sure to not to make such a mistake in the future, an admiral response, but Flare felt that Nine didn't really grasp the full picture she was trying to make.

"(Well, Jasper was never one to hold a grudge, so if you apologize she should be fairly quick to forgive you, she does want to work with you, we all do, but please, remember that the Pokemon in your company are not part of Cassie's team, they are not going to think like you do, nor do they work on the same wave length, I believe you know that, but you don't think that is something that might be an issue later on)", Flare said, taking a break to emit a small sigh, "(if I might be honest with you Nine, Cassie is an excellent trainer, a great strategist, and I don't doubt her skill with words in a formal setting, she can take command of and lead people that know her well enough to see her as trust worthy, but such a type of leadership style can be difficult to pull off...just be-careful you don't come across as thinking yourself better then everyone else, Jasper already has that idea in her head, and honestly, as ridiculous as this sounds, I can see why she'd think that, you know, even during your time with us, I'm the only one that you had one on ones with, you pretty much ignored everyone else...)". Flare was trying her best to get her message out without upsetting or offending Nine, in her opinion, the poor fox had been through a heavy ordeal already, they all had. But the fact was Nine hadn't done the best job of leaving a positive impression on the Pokemon around him, Gerald's Pokemon seemed to have their own agenda following him only out of convenience, Que's team seemed to be following whoever seemed to be in charge until they found their trainer. As for Curt's team, Flare was hoping that their time together would motivate a little trust in Nine, but as she thought about it, the only ones he really spent time with was her and maybe Embertail, and that was only because the Charmander glued himself to the Ninetales whenever he came by and made it his mission to cheer him up. In truth, Nine was almost as much a stranger to them as much as Geralds and Que's Pokemon, even she didn't know as much about the Nine as everyone else believed her too, a fact that perturbed her just a bit.


"(Now, I'm not blaming you, but please, put a bit more consideration into your words and actions Nine, remember, all that these Pokemon know about you is that you're lost just like them, we are staying together because it's safer, and the last thing I want to happen is for this party to break apart because some Pokemon start to feel like they'd be better off on their own, Raviel and Jasper are already a bit aggravated with the group structure...as well as a few...others, I don't want to say that would happen down in a dangerous place like this, but I know other Pokemon too well to rule out that possibility,)", Flare said, keeping herself from looking at Empty, call it a gut feeling, but she felt that the Shedinja didn't exactly hold Nine in the highest regard. Still, though it was only, at most, a third of their party, Flare had been the protector for many Pokemon in her forest for hundreds of years, and she had seen how Pokemon could react when in a dire situation while having no faith in their leaders, and how quickly mistrust could spread if even the smallest thing went wrong.


"(Just, promise you'll be a bit more careful from now on, O.K Nine...but perhaps you shouldn't worry about it too much, maybe these are all just the ramblings of an old women driven fear of the condition of the twelve Pokemon around her)", Flare said with a small smile, "(hmmm, there are thirteen of us...say Nine that, oddly enough, reminds me, did you know Embertail was born on a Friday the thirteenth, or at least, he claims to have been born on a Friday the thirteenth, I've asked him how he could possibly known that when he was born in a cave, but he's insisted he's kept tract...honestly, I always thought it was just one of those silly-little things Embertail does for his little jokes, though maybe he is telling the truth and he has an unlucky aura around him, and that's why all this is happening, if that's the case it'd be safer for all of us if we left him behind, but then again, we do seem to be gluttons for punishment, I imagine more then a few of us would be disappointed if we didn't get to fight at least one more monster...oh don't look at me like that, I'm kidding of course!)". Flare finished her sentence with a chuckle, to show that she was obviously joking. She took a quick glance to see do another quick head count, and it seemed everyone was doing fine and pretty much the same thing as before. Though Jasper had made her way over to June to give her a hearty slap on the back and a cheery thanks for pulling her out of the monsters path back in the caverns and how she admired both her and Puffs combat skills, but making sure to stay a good distance away from Empty and Switchblades! Jasper then threw out a few more friendly conversations topics, other moves they might now, what kind of training they head, whether or not June and Puff were a couple, what their favorite foods were, you know, those sort of things.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The world spun as Curt was thrown out of the massive maw in a spray of spit and blood, apparently Thomas had another Grenade strapped to his belt and wasted no time in using it to blow a hole for their escape. Curt saw the man pull the pin from the Grenade, but fall into the mass of slim at the bottom of the monsters throat, meaning Thomas had about five or six seconds to throw the grenade before it blew up in his face, those few seconds felt like it took an eternity to pass. Perhaps the monstrosity somehow new what the Grenade was, at it ended up tossing them around inside its mouth, slamming them against its teeth and scraping there flesh against it's coarse tongue as they were smashed against it, littering their bodies with scraps, cuts and bruises. However, luck was with them as Thomas manage to pull threw at literally the best possible moment, chucking the grenade right towards the connecting part of the massive tongue, expelling them all out just at the moment Curt felt like his arm was about to fall off if he held on for another second. He let go off his knife and let the mass of spit and blood take him out to what he hoped was safety, or at least safer then inside this creatures mouth. It was almost odd, as Curt was trying to pull himself together, the first thing to hit him mind wasn't "Oh thank Arceus I'm safe", or "Is it over, or is there another monster out here waiting for us?", but instead something along the lines of "You know, this thing would have made a really fun bounce house if it wasn't trying to eat us". Maybe the morphine was still messing with his head a little.

Either way, Curt had made it out, he was banged up, cut up, covered in saliva, and everything was spinning, but he was alive, and for the moment that was enough for him. He looked around, and from the looks of things, everyone got out relatively safe, banged up certainty, but considering how they could have ended up, this was practically a best-case scenario. Well, except of losing his knife, he loved that sizable Bowie Blade, his parents had given that to him for his eighteenth birthday, so it was fairly special to him. Still, if the worst that came to him was a lost knife, then he guess he still got off fairly (O.K, in retrospect) really lucky, especially considering the kind of day they were having. Hell, he was lucky the knife stuck as well in the monsters mouth as it did, now that he thought about it, he was really lucky that the knife didn't come loose from the monsters tongue, he must have really jammed in in their hard for it to have not come unstuck.

Moans and cries from the beastly mouth cut Curt out of his inner monologues, it was a bit shocking really, now that they were safely out of the creature, the monster's roar's sounded less threatening and more like it was in pain. Honestly, despite all that it had just tried to eat them, Curt felt...a little bad for it. Maybe it was due in part to a brief high caused by cheating death for about the fourth time today, but now that the maw was no longer any real danger, Curt just wanted to leave it alone so he could tend to his wounds. That was another thing that bothered him, he had a few open cuts on his body, they weren't bleeding bad at all, but considering that the thing was basically one giant mouth, a known part of the body where a massive amount of germs reside, and Arceus knew what kind of disease it had, he was afraid of a possible delayed revenge from the creature a few days down the road. But apparently Justin had different plans, as the Rocket made it clear to Gerald that he wanted it dead, and Gerald and Million appeared willing to oblige as the trainer requested the Pokemon to inject as much toxins into the monstrosity. The creature was dead within moments, giving out one finally, shuttering cry, and for a moment, everything was silent.

"...Well...I guess that's...OH SWEET MEW!!!", Curt cried as a loud whizzing was heard coming above him followed instantly by a loud "SHINK"! Apparently the monster was kind enough to give Curt his knife back with that final cry (or attempt one last kill from the grave), spitting it out and sending it rocketing into the air, landing right next to him, literally inches away. If he had been sitting just a little bit more to his left...no, best not think about that, if nothing else, at least he still got to keep his treasured knife. Though Curt hesitated a moment to let the shock pass, he eventually gathered himself to pick up and clean his knife. Curt knew that he should probably be a bit more concerned or shaken-up that a giant mouth just tried to eat him, Gerald, and the Rockets, but this was far from the first time Curt was almost killed by an other worldly monstrosity (hell, that space alien back in meteor falls still held the crown for scariest thing he'd ever scene, though the monsters and horror's in this cave were definitely more numerous then in the falls). By this point he had come full-circle and was just shoving everything into the back of his mind till him and his friends were safe, once that was done then he'd have a break down in a hotel room.

"So, yeah, I was gonna suggest we leave it be, now that I think about it, maybe it's a good thing we killed it, at least it won't be able to hurt anyone else now...", Curt said, trying to look on the brighter side of things as he dug through his bags, "but anyways, I'm sure I'm not the only one that got scraped up in that thing as well as covered in its saliva, and I'm willing to bet that its spit isn't exactly disinfectant, and I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to survive this place only to end up dying to some eldritch, unknown, disease three weeks later, sooo...". Curt allowed what he pulled from his pack to speak for him, thankfully his fall that broke his antidotes spared his rages and bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide (no one could say plastic couldn't take a beating). Curt first used one of his many raged to clean his knife, which he then put away, before tossing a few to Gerald, Thomas, and Justin to clean themselves of the monster spit as well. He wasn't sure how Gerald was on medical supplies, but considering that he didn't do much for his gun shot wound, he probably wasn't exactly weighed down with medicine. As for the Rockets, while Curt knew they were very well organized and well equipped "fire-power" wise, they were still, at their heart, a gang, and Curt doubted that each individual member would be decked out in medical equipment. At most they would have maybe one guy assigned to fill the role of medic and, call Curt stereotyping, but he didn't think Justin was the medic. But if one wanted hard evidence, the fact that Thomas was still walking around with a hobble and had to use Curts dirty shirt to dress his wounds was enough proof for him that the Rockets weren't over following with medicine.

"Uhhh, hey Million, your hide was think enough to resist being scratched by that thing right? It's just that, you're a big guy and I'm not sure if I got enough rages or Peroixde for ya", Curt said to the Scolioped with a shrug, "I mean, if you're wounded, I'll do what I can, just don't expect for me to be able to give you a full body treatment with what I got...sorry". Thankfully, that didn't look like it'd be the case, out of all of them Million seemed to be the least wounded, a few scratched, but nothing that seemed to come close to breaking the skin....er, shell. Once everyone was set with a rag Curt began drying off the area's around his wounds (he'd run out of rags quick if he tried to clean off his entire body) and then rubbing them down with another rag whetted with a little Hydrogen Peroxide (the stinging made him bite his lip, but he suffered far worse just with in the hour) before covering his wound with a relatively clean bandage. Without his Pokemon by his side, there wasn't much he could do to help outside of offer medical supplies, that was one thing that could be said about him, listening to his team's various idea's and concerns about what they might encounter always kept him well equipped.

"Alright, I have two bottles of this stuff, so I think I got enough for everyone, but try to use it as sparingly as possible, we don't know what else is roaming around this...this cave", Curt said, his focus wavering of a bit towards the end. The terror of the moment that had energized him had passed, and now that the morphine was out of his system, there was little to keep him mind from registering how beat up his body was. Sure, he had gotten the poison out of his system, but he was still reeling from its after affects, even standing up was proving to be a bit taxing in its own right, all things considered, he was surprised he held on as well as he did inside that all consuming room. Curt condition compelled him to sat back down and rest for a moment while his companions made use of his offered medical supplies. While no one would think twice about him offering Gerald and Million these things, one might be a bit hesitant to give this stuff to the Rockets, aside from them being criminals, there was also the fact that everything bad that had happened to them so far was literally all their fault. But their numbers were few and they needed every man to be in the best condition they possibly could if they wanted to make it out of this place, which didn't forebode very well with Curts current condition. Still, the trainer decided to try to make some small talk to lighten up the mood.

"S-sorry guy's, h-head's still spinning...I guess...so, anyone want to make a guess at to what that was? That thing looked a bit like that Lovecraftian monster, Yog-Sothoth, you know the beast of a thousand maws...well, this one was just one...big one...unless there's a bunch more under it and this is just, like, it's hair or something...oh man, if that's the case I can't think of much else to do outside of...die, I guess, but that thing looks pretty dead, so I don't... don't think that's the case", Curt said between breaths, somehow talking about this creature was helping him keep his mind of his physical condition, "Hey, you know, isn't there a rumor that there's supposed to be some sort of Death God living under Kalos, you guys think this thing was it?...On second thought, nah, I don't think we could kill a Death God with just poison and a grenade, besides, the Death God is supposed to be a bird of some kind....You know, I just realized, we haven't seen Jacob, Nero, or any of those guys since we got down here...I hope they're alright, wherever they are..."

 

[Storybook]

Systematic clicks befuddled the shivering darkness, hooves on stone, keratin knocking sharply with a steely reverberation as if casting reign over the pebbles and dust they knocked from their lairs, and the Sawsbuck paced. The air shivered, darkness' lair anointed with drops of light from the various fire types, each unsure of the others existence, and the Sawsbuck paced. Pokemon of various teams muddled the silence with heartbeats and breaths, each of their steps and each of their words prodding her heartbeat until it raced, and the Sawsbuck paced, and the Sawsbuck paced.

Traces of her aromatherapy hung in the air, dispersing her anger until there was nothing left but fear. She paced, paranoid, spooked by the slightest noise, shying away even from the comatose Charmander's flame when she'd stepped too close, as if it alone could spring upon her and chase her away, away, away into the darkness, and she feared the darkness, and she feared the light, and the deer paced.

Growlithe huffed sadly, lying his head on his paws. Fear had deserted him, courage, too, anger, banished, despair, sizzling softly in his heart, and he was filled only with love, and this love was a simple longing, for while his fur was drifting from emotion to emotion, his skin was a quilt of desires that silence had arisen from their bed.

He whined softly, desiring for Que, and Dedenne, and peace with the deer, and love through all. But most of all, he desired for the world to be still, for the land to be soft and dampened as if by a cloak of snow, for him to always know where his boy was, and his food was, and his bed was, and in this cavern of rest and retaliation, the regal beast yearned simply for the desires of home, for a place that was his and the boys and that would never cease to exist, and he realized he loathed most of all not the challenges left to face nor the monsters that would emerge nor the learning of the boy's health, but the knowledge that their journeys would continue forever, wandering, lonely, after the whims of a boy who would never dream of settling for fear that he would lost what he settled for.

And Growlithe whined, closing his eyes and imagining a place of love and love alone. His fangs grew dull, and his heart beat as if on after thought, tugged by a silent, sleeping yearning for a place that had never existed at all.

He wanted to go home.

Ink dragged at the boy's feet, staining his clothes with a dark shadow, seeping through the soaking cloth to touch again his frozen toes, than ankles, than knees. He shivered, bones of ice, skin of fire, cloth hanging limply, pulled as if towards the depths of the earth, water logged and loosely fit. His hand shook, shook as if crazed, and the boy noted, or perhaps was forced to consider, that if she did not hold it up it would have fallen to the earth, leaden, old, dead as a black sea. And yet it shook, and it shook, and this crazed the boy until his fingers pinched the girl's tightly, struck mad in a muscle spasm willed by pain and anger alike. Oh, it wouldn't stop moving. His hand wouldn't stop moving. The world wouldn't stop moving. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, to whom was the point of saying hello? Goodbye, goodbye, empty eyes, listen to your heart, how far will it lead you astray?

Knee deep, icy bones, dark lake, mist and corpses. Beckoned by a girl, a siren, a monster, who was she, to coax him, to comfort him, to hurt him- oh, who was she to exist? Wouldn't it be easier to lie alone? To settle, finally, to settle into a world, a lonely world where he was alone? Why couldn't she leave him, why'd she drag him along, was she his siren, his heartbeat, his light, his cloak to lead him away? Hello, hello, goodbye, girl, I don't suppose I'll ever see you again.

Ink at his thighs, the muscles were cold, tight, burning with each step. His feet tingled, and were numb. She led him on, his siren, his savior, his girl, his ghost. Hello, hello, goodbye, girl.

Up to his waist, she let go.

Hello, hello, goodbye, girl.

I don't suppose I'll ever see you again.

And Que drifted after her as a kitten mimics his mother, delicate as an ice statue, coaxed on by the water's lapping sussurations, and the water was blood and the blood was poisoned blue, and Que closed his eyes, his eyeless eyes, his closed doors to a torment left abandoned.

Darkness, light, heat, cold, silence, noise, siren, savior.

Hello, goodbye.

How about nothing.

How about the world is clear.

And the boy, drifting, began to sing, eyes closed, lying in a pool of blue blood, and in his voice there came no hesitation, only wavering, rusted, tired notes sleeping on the air.

''See the moon slink down in the sky, darling
Let your fantasies fly, darling
Life is cold, and the game is old
Just see how virtue repays you
You turn and someone betrays you...

For we all are caught in the middle
Of one long treacherous riddle
Can I trust you? Should you trust me too?
Through the mist your lover is beckoning
Comes that moment of reckoning
Faces change, even smiles grow strange
And we all have so many faces
The real self often erases
Enticing lies flicker through our eyes

Feel the terror draw ever nearer
The more you stare in the mirror'' --The Riddle, from The Scarlet Pimpernel--

And there came no hesitation, but a rusted voice sleeping on the air.

''But hold your own
Face the wind alone..''

Que's voice grew faint, and his words fell into the silent lapping of the black lake.

A spark of light speared the shadows, sharp and reflective, morphed together into a set of four paws leaping upon the water, led by a mane streaked with stars. Claws curved deep into the water, seeking the threadbare quilt of his flesh as if desiring some revenge, making ill a grand injustice, and yet the water stood solid, as hard as ice, unmarked by the score of those spearing claws. The boy fell from his float, itching with uncertainty, so infectious in the darkness in which he waded, and he became infinitely conscious of the delicate nature of his neck, and how his blood used to glow as if rubies seeping light. The light, polished spears, dashed through the shadows towards him and he could not help but to stare at its paws, for the ink upon which they drifted stood so still that the boy could just glimpse each paws reflection as they seeped into its deaths.

The Light Creature swerved towards him, claws digging into the black ice lake, and the water cried out in terror as Que's hand shattered the black lake's surface in fright, dashing noise and silence alike so that all that remained in the air was the cries of water droplets as they were scattered back into the pool, as frightened a sound as that of broken glass. Que pushed violently out into the depths of the lake, finding he swam with only one arm, for the other lay, shaking, sending cascades of ripples out into the dark.

Ripples glittered across the water's surface, returning once again to their shadows.

 

[PentheWonderful]

"...Well...I guess that's...OH SWEET MEW!!!" A brilliant flash of metal had been the only given warning before the knife sank its blade into the ground by Curt, and the trainer’s petrified face brought great amusement to Thomas, whose face was glued to his oxygen mask by the monster’s saliva.

“Heh… Eheheheheh… Heehehe!” Came his psychotic cackle, saturated eerily by the muffle of his mask. And his giggles and snickers continued even after he and Justin had been given some of Curt’s medical supplies to share, preserving still as he cleaned his wounds and disinfected them with the hydrogen peroxide. He once thought himself a broken man. Someone who could not possibly break further as he was broken as one possibly could be. Having already seen the worst a human being could possibly see and experience the very worst that living beings could possibly endure. Oh, how wrong he had been, it seemed.

But Justin was on a completely different spectrum than his higher up. His self-cleaning was done in a vengeance, fueled by anger and hate with each scrub at the layer of saliva on his person, cussing loudly at the sting of hydrogen peroxide on his fresh wounds, and grumbling curses to curse an already cursed location. There was the feeling of strong dishonor, from being subdued by something that did not even possess proper limbs, or even a body of any kind, made helpless as a newborn baby and conquered within mere moments. It was a large, horrendous blow to his ego to imagine needing to ever confess he was almost killed by a ‘giant, infected mouth’.

Lest to say, neither of the men seemed very eager to listen, nor contribute to Curt’s long ramble.

And while the group busied themselves with their first aid care, they would have easily failed to notice the slight shudders and twitches of the Chamber’s fallen tongue. The way the walls encroached by its flesh pushed outwards, bloating akin almost to puffed cheeks, and slowly, ever so steadily, a small stream of yellow, thick liquid began to trickle from the gaps of the interlocked teeth, and upon contact with the ground, they emitted a sharp hiss of acidity followed by a puff of vapor that quickly caught Thomas and Justin’s attentions.

“What the…? Is that…?”

The liquid sizzled and popped behind the megalith teeth of the Chamber until they gradually melted away to form holes, and the holes grew larger in diameter as the liquid continued to stream in waterfalls, and the two Rockets jumped to the feet to avoid the acid’s reach as it drew near, and when the teeth were no more, a tidal wave was unleashed.

“RUN!” Was the echo of Thomas’ voice, as his person had long ran ahead with Justin closely behind. The hall swerved into a corner and beyond it lay more halls to tread.

Until there wasn’t.

At the very end of their path was a sheer drop into the darkness, and the only thing between them and the other side, was a rickety, rotted through, wooden bridge.

-

It’d been right there.

Their task so simple, but a child’s task for the most simple minded, yet why had it grown so difficult? To reach an exit. To simply escape, to abandon. It was something she particularly excelled in. Forming ties, and relationships, happiness and trust, but the moment it became too much, too heavy or difficult, she ran, the first chance she received. All in part so they could not abandon her first. Because she was so easily forgotten, it seemed. That meant 18, 19 years of life, on the run. She never looked back, because then the monsters of ‘what ifs’ and ‘if I had only’s or ‘if only I hadn’t’s devour her whole. Leaving her nothing but a child, a sapling green, feeding off a soul that felt a thousand years old. And weary. Change was a scary thing, she realized. It was always safest to remain with what you know, what you’ve always known, but the irony of it dictated you may never know any better. Ignorant bliss, they called it. It was always better not knowing, or not caring.

‘Don’t… Look… Back…’ Into the darkness ahead, away from the light behind.

''See the moon slink down in the sky, darling
Let your fantasies fly, darling
Life is cold, and the game is old
Just see how virtue repays you
You turn and someone betrays you...”

Drifting.

Cassie did not have the strength to run anymore.

The water was warm. Beckoning, perhaps slightly too welcoming. They lapped at her face, her ears and the back of her neck. They cleaned her, refreshed her, comfort her. The corridor was so close, but much too far for limbs falling into the embrace of slumber. She can hear their whispers, stealing away the strength in her limbs. Voices in the water, subtle in their echoes, the breaths they take, as they slosh up the walls and giggle through playful trickle of teardrops and ripple. And the boy’s tired, unwilling voice.

And they tell her, ‘Close your eyes and stay a while.’

And they became her.

“For we all are caught in the middle
Of one long treacherous riddle
Can I trust you? Should you trust me too?
Through the mist your lover is beckoning
Comes that moment of reckoning.”

Her eyes were heavy, Cassie found, unaware of the current predicament. It was a haze, a fatigue pushing one out of step, ever slow, leaving one dumbfounded, confused, at just the shift of an eye. You forget where you are. A drug, so sweet, and deadly all the same. ‘What’s the hurry? Where’s the fire?’ Cassie found the water all the way up her nose.

‘There’s nothing left for you up there. It’s safer here.’ And Cassie found she was not in a very large hurry to return to dry land anymore. This place was a fantasy. It was a dream, it was a slumber’s bliss. There, the world could not find her, debt couldn’t find her, nor can lies or deceit. There, she was safe from the false reality she had been forced to live in. There, she had an excuse not to worry, nor plan, nor think. She could simply drift, forever and ever.

“Faces change, even smiles grow strange
And we all have so many faces
The real self often erases
Enticing lies flicker through our eyes.”

Drowning,

Was she… Drowning?

Her arms- no, she was armless. Her legs- legless. Without a heart, without a face, without a name. Her eyes, she had them still, glimpsing but a vast darkness, a true void in its entirety, where she floated without rhyme or reason, purposeless. There were not currents to carry her, or keep her afloat, no. She sank. Oh, how she would beg for a chance to start over. And found she could. She could escape one last time and abandon it all. Her mistakes, the paths she’d taken, the decisions she made and the consequences she must face. There, the void offered her a reboot. A chance to wipe the entire slate clean and end it all. There, she found a darker darkness that began as a vignette around the edges of her vision, slowly crawling to the center with their claws long and thin, needles adjoined in an attempt to create a human hand.

She sank, further and further she gave into her fate, stopped running and allowed the monsters to catch up and take her.

Take her and end her, for surely she would not survive, no, she was not getting out of this one.

The monsters, merging, mutating with those of the ruin’s depths, growing darker and stronger as they accumulated, boiled, and rose.

Que knew this too, she realized. Any effort was futile, and all roads ended in darkness. He dove to meet his fate, and his fate an inky future, surged up to meet him. They collided, the monsters and the ink to the boy and the girl, and swallowed them whole, and forced their way into each pore,

And they became one.

And Cassandra closed her eyes.

…

…

…

A soft hum filled her head, almost as if she were listening to the rotating blades of an electric fan. Soft and faint, escalating into a steady tune. But it was interrupted by a static, so sudden and corrupt, like a broadcast interrupted, and everything became white, and with the white, came vision, and with vision, came darkness. In the darkness, she could find shapes, and the shapes had blurry outline from the product of her bleary eyes. And as her senses returned, she became keenly aware of the ground beneath her, the gravity pressing on her, the stillness of the air, the water, evaporating from her skin with haste, and the foreign presence, an old new inhabitant hiding in the shreds of her tattered thoughts.

A breath released, finding her limbs heavy and content where they lay on a bed of loose dirt. Decomposed human flesh, she remembered, but found the thought did not scare her much anymore. Cassie pulled her head to the side, rotating her vision to the side where she noticed Que’s unconscious heap but several feet away. And above her was a ceiling, and around her, a long, narrow hall with no forks, and no branches.

All there is, was stone walls and ceilings, and a long trail of dirt running far into the distance. And also the dull sound of footsteps, drawing nearer and nearer. Was it an enemy? Was it a friend? Did it matter anymore? Cassie lay motionless and watched, as the darkness gave form to a human silhouette tall and proud with locks of striking orange hair.

And the lake but a distant, fresh memory.

-

‘Don't worry, we already checked the water for any disease or corruption in the time you were gone, you know, we don't just sit around and wait for you to get back while you're gone Nine.’

‘Mmh, good, because I was planning on having a drink myself. I’m parched.’ Mumbled the male absently as he leaned down and proceeded to take a few licks from the fountain’s clear, soothing waters. He did not normally enjoy being so close to a body of water, as he generally did not have a clue on how to swim nor did he enjoy getting his fur wet, but when his thirst overcomes that discomfort, it was a necessary evil he needed to endure.

‘As for Embertail, he's stable, not much change, hopefully we'll find the others soon, anyways, I wanted to talk to you about what happened between you and Jasper, now, I'm aware Jasper striking you on the head might have been a little, excessive, but please, next time, if she does something like that, yell all her a little, even if you aren't that upset, it would show her you respect her enough to not be afraid to get angry at her, I believe Jasper has earned a little respect from you at least, after all, she was the one of the few Pokemon trying to take your side in showing the monster a little mercy, and I think that might be what upset her most, she viewed you as a sort of "partner" after that incident, so for you to brush her off like that...’

Nine was left a bit slow at Flare’s long lecture, processing it as he straightened himself and made eye contact with the female, and baffled more still by the stern looks she gave him, but the more he listened, the more he found he didn’t like what she was saying at all. He felt the lecture going out of focus and touching on more personal things to him, things that he would not voluntarily speak of, let alone have it be used for an argument that clearly came from a misunderstanding. He felt… Wronged. As if he was someone being convicted of a crime without being given the right to tell his side of things. This left the Ninetales looking slightly more upset than he was before, shown by the lowering of his ears against his head, the agitated flicks of his tails, and the hardening of his own gaze. Her joke was completely lost on him. ‘How can you say I just brushed her off? You weren’t even there. Was that what she told you? I certainly did not brush her off, I very clearly expressed my discomfort and opinion and distaste of her hitting me over the head with a bloody club!’ His fur bristled like a flickering fire and he was up on his feet. ‘But as you’ve said yourself, I’m not like you, and that is evident enough if Jasper could not understand I was angry at her. I do not need to yell my anger, for it is very uncouth, and she was in the right and I did not have the right nor time to argue something that is correct, nor argue with her in general at our previous given condition because that would have been foolish. I didn’t want to get her killed over something foolish, Flare.’

And once again, he bared his teeth once more, this time to the female counterpart he thought had his back. But the truth was, he could feel his blood boiling inside of him, his heart heated by a source so dark and powerful that it urged him on, and he didn’t want to stop. The ruins certainly had a malicious hold on everything in it. ‘I went to retrieve the Arcanine myself because I wanted it done as soon as possible, so we could all be complete. And hey, I thought if something did go wrong, at least then there would be only two casualties at most. My life, in exchange for the rest of yours. That, is my reason for splitting up, not because I thought I would have been better off alone, because I know I would not have been alone in doing so as I would have returned with the Arcanine. Oh, yes, just bring the whole entourage back and forth in circles and waste energy! I asked you to go on ahead so we could cover more ground, because, as you said yourself, you don’t just sit around waiting for me to return, is that right? You think you know everything. Flare. You think you know what I’m thinking, the purposes of my actions, you assume so much because you’re so much older than me and apparently so much wiser. Oh, you’re just so aggravating sometimes! Especially when you take me for a young fool.’

Nine gave a heated snort, and he proceeded to turn away from her in order to tread lightly down the path of the pond’s carved stones. He looked over to the Pokemon from Gerald’s team, and checked on the Arcanine and Sawsbuck, who have luckily ended their skirmish, and finally made eye contact with the members of Curt’s team. The only Pokemon he knew in these ruins, but at the same time, didn’t. He felt the fire dying down in his heart, leaving him with the hollowness he’s always had before. ‘I’m worried about all of us. But I’m also worried about myself. But you don’t know that. I’m trying to do what’s best until we can find our trainers but the fact is, I’m not keeping anyone here by force, nor am I trying to be a leader, because I’m not. As you said, Flare. I’m lost too.’ He turned his head slightly to look at her with a hard gaze. ‘I just found Cassie after months of being apart from her, not knowing if she's dead or alive, if she's still in one piece, and I'm not going to lose her again. Do you know the hell that is like? So don’t you dare imply I feel high and mighty and somehow superior to everyone else. Everyone is free to go should they choose, but the fact is, you’ll probably die, or be trapped here forever. And I am no different. But I’ve been trapped in hundreds of ruins before with my trainer, and I know exactly what to do when we’re separated, and that, in itself, is an advantage in sticking with me. So I hope that would give a new perspective to the individuals in question. I do not intend on being a leader, but I can guide us through. Anyone is free to assume that role, since our group structure apparently does not hold up. My interest is to simply... Find… A way out.’

He paused, and his eyes seemed as if they were miles away as he proceeded to sit at the edge of the thin walkway he had been treading into the pond’s waters, where he smacked his lips contemplatively. ‘…Strange. I’m still thirsty.’

Nine’s gaze wandered to the pond’s waters once more, as apparently no one but he had taken a drink of the water, yet it did nothing to soothe his parched throat. And so, he did the last thing anyone would think him to do at the time.

He dunked his head in.

All at once he saw blue skies and colorful autumn leaves upon dying trees, and the unmistakable roar of a waterfall. One he knew existed on Route 15. Out of the ruins.

He shot up from his sitting position and his tails wagged in excitement at this discovery, from which he reared his head back and said simply,

‘Found it.’

 

[Curtkid]

‘How can you say I just brushed her off? You weren’t even there. Was that what she told you? I certainly did not brush her off, I very clearly expressed my discomfort and opinion and distaste of her hitting me over the head with a bloody club!’, Nine roared, an almost uncharacteristic fire in his eye's that actually caught Flare off guard, ‘But as you’ve said yourself, I’m not like you, and that is evident enough if Jasper could not understand I was angry at her. I do not need to yell my anger, for it is very uncouth, and she was in the right and I did not have the right nor time to argue something that is correct, nor argue with her in general at our previous given condition because that would have been foolish. I didn’t want to get her killed over something foolish, Flare.’

And there it was, the exact piece of Nine she couldn't understand opened up and made clear for her, really she was surprised and a tad ashamed she didn't see it sooner. This went beyond simple pleasantries, respect, and responding to one in a way to not offend them, it went right down to the way they functioned as a team. She should have know that this would be a part of this conflict, but Curt and Cassie both employed very different methods of training and battling. Cassie's was more straight forward and harsh: if you were strong, you would hold your place in the team, if you were weak, you better get stronger quick or fall behind. She saw this, even way back when they battled outside the Glimmering Caves, how Fang would constantly employ powerful moves like Earthquake while it was up to Ryu to defend himself. Both Pokemon became power-houses of destruction, and if their attacks got in each others way, then it was up to them to defend themselves and keep pushing forward with the assault. For them, it was almost the opposite, Curt liked to emphasis the idea that they were far more effective working as a team then fighting individually, a sort of "the whole is greater then the sum of their parts" sort of mentality, that faith in each other was just as important as faith in themselves. Each method of battling had it's ups and downs, but only now did it hit Flare how such clashing ideals would create such conflict.

‘I went to retrieve the Arcanine myself because I wanted it done as soon as possible, so we could all be complete. And hey, I thought if something did go wrong, at least then there would be only two casualties at most. My life, in exchange for the rest of yours. That, is my reason for splitting up, not because I thought I would have been better off alone, because I know I would not have been alone in doing so as I would have returned with the Arcanine. Oh, yes, just bring the whole entourage back and forth in circles and waste energy! I asked you to go on ahead so we could cover more ground, because, as you said yourself, you don’t just sit around waiting for me to return, is that right? You think you know everything. Flare. You think you know what I’m thinking, the purposes of my actions, you assume so much because you’re so much older than me and apparently so much wiser. Oh, you’re just so aggravating sometimes! Especially when you take me for a young fool.’

Nine's further words only confirmed Flares suspicions, he didn't see the concept of back-up bringing the possibility that three Pokemon might make it back safely instead of two ending up dead, to him, an extra Pokemon backing him up just meant three would wined up dead instead of two. In truth, without any monster's attacking them it would be hard to tell who's idea of thinking would be right, perhaps Jasper would have ended up being slaughtered with Nine and the Arcanine, but it could be just as likely that Jasper could have been the difference in a fight that allowed them to all made it back alive. Now did Flare realize it wasn't the way Nine presented himself that upset Jasper, it was his lack of willingness to communicate that got her off, and in truth, Jasper was right about that. Nine was calling her out for claiming to know everything, and, truth be told, there were more then a few times where she thought she knew best, but at the sometime she had been living on this world for so long, was it wrong to for her to think she had learned a few things? Perhaps...Maybe the truth was that Nine was a young fool and she was an old fool, but it still stood that Nine, much like Cassie, viewed himself a "lone wolf", constantly fluctuating in his belief of being both invaluable to the team, and easily disposed.

‘I’m worried about all of us. But I’m also worried about myself. But you don’t know that. I’m trying to do what’s best until we can find our trainers but the fact is, I’m not keeping anyone here by force, nor am I trying to be a leader, because I’m not. As you said, Flare. I’m lost too.’ He turned his head slightly to look at her with a hard gaze. ‘I just found Cassie after months of being apart from her, not knowing if she's dead or alive, if she's still in one piece, and I'm not going to lose her again. Do you know the hell that is like? So don’t you dare imply I feel high and mighty and somehow superior to everyone else. Everyone is free to go should they choose, but the fact is, you’ll probably die, or be trapped here forever. And I am no different. But I’ve been trapped in hundreds of ruins before with my trainer, and I know exactly what to do when we’re separated, and that, in itself, is an advantage in sticking with me. So I hope that would give a new perspective to the individuals in question. I do not intend on being a leader, but I can guide us through. Anyone is free to assume that role, since our group structure apparently does not hold up. My interest is to simply... Find… A way out.’

It was funny, she had assumed Nine was trying to take the mantel of a leader judging by the way he was giving out orders and evaluating people on their actions. Maybe that was a bit presumptuous on her part,, but it did not change the fact that many of the Pokemon here saw Nine taking up a leadership role. And then there was the part about Nine accusing her of not knowing what it was like to know whether or not your closest friends were dead. Well, he had her there, ever since she took up residence in the forest that separated Lavender Town and Saffron City, she at least had the knowledge that her friends were dead, slaughtered at the hands of bandits. Though she didn't have the answer as to whether knowing that was better then not knowing at all. Of course, she didn't tell Nine this, it was obvious that the younger Ninetales was in no mood to talk as evident by the way he his tone of voice, so she let him plunge his head into the water without so much a word. In the meantime, Flare let herself debate if it was better to keep her mouth shut for now or not, however, precious little could prepare herself for what Nine had to say when he pulled his head back out from the pool of water.

‘Found it.’, Nine said, his tails practically wagging in excitement.

"(W-What, what do you mean you "found it)?", Flare said incredulously as she walked over to inspect the pool of water. Dipping her head deep into the pool, she discovered herself seemingly being transported to a small pond, accompanied by a waterfall and surrounded by the outside pleasantries of autumn! Orange, brown, and yellow leaves hanging from trees, being thrown back and forth in the wisps of the wind, the brown grass rustling in compliment to the blue--gray skies above, Nine had found what could only be a portal leading to the outside. Flare pulled her head out, more then a little surprised at this discovery by Nine, and more over, why she hadn't detected any magical properties coming from the pond. But then again, these caverns had been messing with her psychic abilities, amplifying them in some ways, and negating them in others. Perhaps it wasn't such a massive surprise that she wasn't able to sense the magical capabilities the ponds possessed. Still, that created a brand new issue all on its own.

"(Well, that is...impressive Nine, but pray tell, what do you say we should do with this, should we just take our escape and leave our human and other Pokemon friends to fend for themselves, hoping they can navigate their way out of these caverns without out assistance? Or perhaps should we send one or two of us to the outside for help, hoping that the help we get can make their way through the dangers of these caverns?"), Flare said, cocking her head, as though asking Nine for an answer, "(As a matter of fact, how are we sure that this isn't another possible trap created by this place?)"

"(Nine, I will confess that I was a bit...presumptuous in what I thought your intentions were, you are right in saying that we are all different from each other, that's why I sent Jasper to you, not just to back you up, but with that message, a message that she whole-heatedly agree's with I might add, that emphasized the danger of not just running of alone, but running of alone without even talking it over with the rest of the group, poor communication kills, we are a team, and when you just decided something for yourself and run off, it damages the group dynamic)", Flare said, giving the younger Ninetales a knowing look, "(at the end of it all, we are a team Nine, and we need to work together, and that included communicating with each other, communication is vital to make sure the group works smoothly together, and more importantly, so we all can make it out of here alive, I suggest giving that a try right now, I'll call everyone over so we can decide how to approach this newly discovered "exit" you found....)". One could call Flare suspicious, but she wanted to be absolutely sure that they were in agreement on the path they wanted to take. She knew for a fact that the rest of Curts team wouldn't want to leave this place without him, but she wanted to check in with Gerald's and Que's team as well.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

This place hated them, Curt wasn't sure what they did, but these caves hated them with as much passion as a haunted location could possibly posses. The Rockets didn't even have time to return Curt's Hydrogen Peroxide before the cavern floors began to creak and crumble around them. The recently slain massive maw, bleeding out this sick, yellowish goo, must have somehow weakened the structure of the floor, causing it to start to crumble around the massive beast. They all stared at the weakening floors, as though dumb founded that their luck was so bad that their lives were being put in jeopardy once again, and so soon after they had just managed to escape the grasp of death,

"Uh, g-guy's, m-maybe we should....."

"RUN!", Thomas screamed, bolting in the opposite direction of the falling floor.

"U-Uh, yeah, that!", Curt exclaimed, hot on Thomas and Justin's heels. They ran. Even as tired as they already were, they ran to escape the collapsing floors. Once again, Curt found himself calling upon strength his body did not have, the poison had taken its toll on his muscles, and the brief rest he had was far too inefficient to restore him to being anywhere near capable for a sizable sprint, but it was either run or die, and so long as his body could hold out, he would chose the former. However, how long he would be able to hold out for was the question, he was not even ten seconds into his sprint when he started to feel his body begging him to stop. Curt already wasn't the greatest runner, true the occasional run with Embertail had shaped him up a bit, but he was still far from a cross-country man, and with all the punishment his body had taken already, each steps seemed to send spasms through out his body, threatening to drop him to the floor.

"Just a few...Just a few more seconds more of this and then we'll be safe", Curt told himself for the tenth time. He needed to believe that, needed to believe he just needed to keep running for just a little bit longer to escape the collapsing room, that way he could ensure he could hold out for at least just that long. Curt knew he should have ditched his backpack the moment he started running, but at this point he felt that any physical deviation from running would threaten to drop him, he didn't even dare wipe the sweat from his brow. It didn't look good for him. Gerald, Million, and the Rockets were already beginning to over take him, and he didn't have the energy to do a push to catch up to them. However, just when he thought he was going to lose them and fall the abyss encroaching behind him, they stopped. Curt wasn't sure why they stopped, but if any reason for them to stop was good enough for Curt, and the trainer practically collapsed on the floor right next to Million, coughing and hacking, on his hands and knees trying to catch his breathe.

"*BLURAHG* *HECKAK*, O-Oh man, didn't t-think I-Id *Eurk*, that I'd make....it....oh..", Curt said, voice dropping as he saw the gorge in front of them, it's bottom completely lost in the darkness of its depth. Their only path across seemed to be rickety old bridge, and you know, Curt was almost tempted to say "To hell with it" and try to maneuver across, till the spasms from the collapsing stone behind them caused one of the bridges wooden floor planks to crack and fall into the nothingness below. There was no way they were going to cross that bridge safely, Curt already knew how this was going to turn out: they would start moving forward as cautiously and carefully as possible, but eventually between the spasms coming from the collapsing floor behind them and their own weight, the bridge would start collapsing and they'd have to make a last ditch sprint to get across. Maybe the Rockets had grappling hooks to help them, but right now Curt didn't think he could even stand up, much less make a sprint for your life across this over glorified piece of driftwood. Curt grabbed onto Millions side to help pull himself up, maybe the Solipede would be willing to give him a ride across?

"Wait a...Gerald, *huff puff* how good is Million at...a-at scaling walls?", Curt said. Curt didn't know too much about Unova or Kalos Pokemon, but Scolipede appeared to be some sort of giant Centipede-Millipede cross breed Pokemon, that had to mean that they were able to latch onto walls, right? Million were fairly agile Pokemon, and the other side of that cliff didn't look to far, with a bit of luck, they might be able to make it. Curts legs were weak, but his arms...his arms felt like they could hold up for just long enough for Million to make it to the other side.

"Guys, this is gonna sound crazy, but...but I think out best chance it to take a leap of faith, holding onto Million and trusting him to leap to the other edge and use Rock Climb to carry us to the top of the other side...a-and if you two Rockets have anything like Grappling Hooks, I think they could help us here", Curt said as fast as his empty lungs would let him, "P-please, Gerald, Million, I need you two to make this jump!? Because I don't think we're going to make it across that rickety bridge!"

 

[Storybook]

The world was made of snow.

Black snow, frozen snow, snow as packed as obsidian stone. Crystal flakes as black as tar, shutting out all vision, individually, free as the wind, together, chains of frozen water ensnared by each other into a tomb of ice. Metallic reverberations were shuttered within the snow's bank as the boy's teeth clattered, for the snow was stiff and as cold as a Froslass' breath. He lay spread-eagle within it, as if frozen in the process of creating a snow angel, layers of time adding layers of snow until the boy lay fossilized within time's stratified banks of ice, trapped, somehow, at the very beginning, never advancing nor receding in time's infinite flow.

The snowbank groaned as the boy, void of breath, pulled himself together within it, curling into a tight ball as an infant might when provoked by fear. What should have taken seconds to accomplish seemed to take minutes, hours, eons, so stiff was the bank of snow and so frightfully did it groan and shift that time grew to lose all meaning, and the world grew infinitely slow. And yet, the ideal of time still haunted this bank of tar-like snow, of cause and effect and worry and death, for with every heave and every move the boy made, particles melted into the area he'd abandoned, and the whole bank in which he was buried seemed to gasp as if in shock, begging him to move no further, lest he collapse its crystalline infrastructure into shadow.

Pinched by fear and frozen in ice, Que relinquished his struggle against the infinite slowness of time, curled into a ball and resistant to all further movement. Yet, it was as if, by making the conscious choice to abide by the frozen ideal of time, he had been tricked into defying it, for the cold, where he had been able to resist before, now provoked a constant shake within his fetal form, and his breath, where it had left him an artifact of the past, had returned in hot resistance to his own decision against life, filling the tar of the world with a hot steam that caused the bank to shudder and cry.

The ghostly boy pinched his arm in resistance, telling himself to stop, stop, stop, stop moving, lest the world start, start, start, start moving, for he hadn't realized the purity in a fossilized existence, where he existed as an angel in the snow, innocent and frozen. Oh, what a sin it had been to move, to fight, to live, a what a falsity it had proved-! Where was his warmth, his power, his love, his life, where was his horizon that he'd yearned so much about, where was his mix of soft pastels, of light, of love, of truth? Why was the world so cold, so cold? Why was the world so cold?

Hadn't his life been lukewarm before?

Why was the world so cold?

Just stop, stop, stop moving, leave it all as it was before.

The deer shivered in her pace, afraid of darkness, afraid of light. Spooked by a simple, flaming tail, she felt anxiety build within her chest until her heart beat so fast that it ceased to exist, and she watched the gathering of foxes and grasped fretfully at the idea of escape.

Escape, escape, escape.

The beast wanted nothing else but to escape; to find the boy again. He rose from his murmurous yearnings to investigate the foxes so enthralled with their stone like pool, sniffing fervently them and the water as if it held some sort of clue. He'd moved on again, moved on again, and, infused with urgency, the beast lowered his arrow like snout so low that it met with the water and he snorted in its frozen force and sneezed fretfully to clear his nose. But he had scented something- scented something peculiar in the dark, something clear and beautiful and.... and... something akin to leaves and water.

Ruffling his mane with excitement, the beast paced beside the pool, sniffling at its surface but finding nothing until he dipped too low and sneezed out water once more.

Escape, escape, escape, escape.

Find the boy, find the boy.

She was too afraid the find the boy, too terrified search for her own protector, but the beast seemed glad, jubilantly dashing towards her and dipping to nuzzle the deer's chest as if forgetting their conflict before, but his warmth feared her, and she slid away into the shadows of the walls, soaking up their frozen touch.

Choked by his own thawing heart, the boy found himself terrified as the bank shuddered and shifted with a chilling crack in its bank of ice, and he found something else began to move within it. As if from his hot, steaming breath there leapt a beast, and this beast grew exponentially, infinitely, and the more it grew the greater the snow cracked and thawed and the more terrified the boy became, for if such little movement on his part threatened the bank's existence, thawed out his own heart, then this- this! had the power to abolish the bank with just one twitch and return him to the winds of time above- those, he now recalled, that had buried him long ago, a snow angel fossilized in snow.

There grew a warmth in his body, one that he'd never felt before, and it was so hot it burned like fire on his raw, pale, snow skin and burned his brittle, icicle bones, and, most of all, he felt it spring upon his thawing heart until it beat as if its own whim with a great purity the boy had never felt before, with a re emerging puzzle of hate and love and pain. And the boy had never been more terrified to realize that his own, puzzled, thawing heart leapt from his chest to join the beast, and the icy shell of a cicada boy turned and ran forcefully into the bank of snow. The farther he ran, the darker it grew, and the boy found that it had never been so dark and never been so cold, and in this he began to relish.

His teeth chattered with the sound of pain, and a smile grew on an eyeless face- an angry smile, an evil smile, a dark smile, a toothless smile, a smile of a monster, for warmth had frightened him so that the cold didn't seem so bad anymore.

Light burst forth in the forms of the claws of a beast, soft pastels swirling about his stolen heart that beat within its massive chest, beat with the power of the heart of the world, hungry for justice and hungry for life.

The eyeless boy, terrified, cast his arms in the form of a snow angel, and the bank shuddered and gasped and cried as they broke its foundations and snow began to crumble, crumble all around, crumble about him, collapse about him, until his massive bank of frozen time was abolished with just one terrified wish to return once and for all to the past, to relinquish his mind of the mistakes of his love, of his lust for warmth and soft pastels, and the more the snow crumbled the faster the winds of time roared beneath its eaves and swept it into nowhere, until the world was flat and lost of all barriers, with just a monster and a beast with a heart of soft pastels.

A roar of time's wind, so full of wrath that it abolished all hearing, signaled the vanish of the beast, and light collapsed into darkness as darkness collapsed into light.

Born out of a frozen dream, Que awoke.

He was cold, so cold, shivering, goosebumps riddling his skin, teeth clattering with a towering force.

Hadn't he loved the cold?

He was cold, so cold.

Hadn't he feared warmth?

He was cold, so cold.

He was cold, so cold.

He was cold, so cold.

So cold.

So cold.

A man appeared out of the dark, or the light, black or grey or white or shadow, his eyes were playing tricks on him and, at once, they all seemed one. Fire leapt atop his head- no, hair, bright orange hair, warm hair.

He was cold, so cold.

The world spun as the boy stood- stood for just long enough that he could toddle forwards and collapse upon the man's chest, suckling his warmth. Somehow, he had become so small in the face of this man, for his hunch had deepened so and his knees were bent and weak and his arms lay useless by his side, one of them shivering with such force that it seemed to shake the room itself.

Hadn't he hated warmth?

Hadn't he loved the cold?

And the thawing cicada collapsed upon the man for his warmth, realizing that, by some trick of mind, he couldn't feel the beat of his own heart, no matter how still he strived to become.

Que hated standing still.

He hated feeling leaden, dead of energy, void of movement, because movement reminded the boy he was alive. When you are still, there is a magic pulsing through your veins- a magic of observation. When you are still, all that lives is the churning of your mind, and the chug of your heart as it drones its march, stopping for nothing, a train from your birth to your death and nothing more. When you are still, your body evaporates into stone, and you are left with the world.

It was an act of ritual. Que's body would be still, and his eyes would rove, and his mind would evaluate, and he would know, without any walls, without any silly little white lies, without any trickery before his face but the terrifying, sickening, infinite truth of those he observed.

And Que would remind himself that he was alone. And Que would remind himself that he was mortal. And with every heartbeat that clattered in his chest, Que would remind himself of the infinity of futility, the answer just out his grasp that drove him madder than anything else in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, he would find it.

Senses would become acute. He could hear everything, he could feel everything, he could see every little detail of the world, and his body would evaporate into stone, and he would be left with the world.

The cicada shell shivered, eyeless, earless, skin of ice, void of answers, so terrified he couldn't stand still.

All alone.

 

[BurbleBurble]

The Scolipede solemnly strolled back towards Gerald, his job done. Million had no true ethics, one may say. But, in another way, he did. While the hearing of the Megapede could've been better, he did hear the ear splitting screams of the Chamber, how pained they were. Something that any living being could relate to. But the memory of a Scolipede is fickle thing, and ethics were, as some say, not there. Gerald was his priority right now.

And Gerald's priority was Million. As the bug staggered next to his owner, Gerald showered him with vague praise. "Great job boy..." and "You did good out there...", ending with him patting Million on the back listlessly. And for a moment, Gerald felt mildly disconnected from it all. He just stared...at what, he wasn't even sure. That's when he embarrassingly realized that he was staring at Curt, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was despite nearly being turned into a bloody pulp, he still managed to keep his head on, metaphorically...

And in a literal sense as well, when Curt's knife ejected itself from the Chamber, almost splitting the poor guy's head. Luckily for him, the Chamber's remains were a few inches off. And yet, Curt shook it off quickly and wiped the blade off, while talking about how the Chamber roughed all them up pretty badly, making a little quip about the saliva they were coated in was probably not sanitary, and then brought out some rags and a bottle of peroxide.

Gerald gratefully swiped up the ones Curt gave him, and wiped down his face and hands, before moving on to his gunshot wound. He honestly didn't mind about the rest of his body, in fact Gerald was bit more upset that majority of his clothes were stained horribly with blood. He wasn't going to be wearing that white shirt again, that was for sure. The Jacket could probably be salvaged, even if there was a sizable hole from the bullet and being generally roughed up over the last...twenty or so minutes? He really had just lost track of time. At least his hat was probably still okay on the surface, perhaps it'd be a bit damp. It did get frozen, after all.

But what concerned him more than his clothes was the bullet wound. Well, if you could classify it as one. It more or less "grazed" him, but it still took quite a bit of meat with it. In any case, it was a injury that came from a bullet, so it counted, right? Nevermind, it was a bad time to identify wounds rather than fix them up. Gerald just waited for the peroxide to make it to him, then used the rag that wasn't completely soaked in spit to soak up a bit of peroxide, and used the rag as a makeshift bandage. Did it sting? Sure! But did he care? No, he was just grateful to have some medicine!

Million curiously investigated Gerald's bandage, antennae twitching in response. "Oh, you need some some wiping off too, huh..." He remembered that Curt had earlier said how Million was a little too big to clean off and treat entirely, but he was pretty unhurt. And besides, Million could go to a Pokemon Center once they got out. Humans weren't as lucky...

As he began wiping off Million's antennae, Gerald overheard Curt talking about about what it possibly was...something about a Yog-Slakoth or whatever. Didn't seem like Thomas or Justin wanted to talk much to him, as Thomas broke down into laughter (Or did he do that earlier?) and Justin quietly treated his wounds. So he decided to throw Curt a bone, and respond. "Well, I really hope that there is absolutely nothing else under that mouth, it's dead now, and it can't hurt us anymore, right? And even if it was just a part of some bigger thing, it wouldn't of died without the rest of it dying...I think we are in the clear."

As if fate wanted to prove Gerald wrong, it decided that this dead mouth should start spewing up what it had in it's stomach. It started "innocently" enough, with only a slight trickle of some acid. Which he only realized once both of the Rocket employee's backed away from the liquid. As it started coming out in larger amounts though, Gerald began to scowl. "Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me! You have to just take away all the peace, huh?!" In a attempt to express his anger, he idly chucked a stone at the Chamber's teeth. However, when it effortlessly bore through it, the scowl transformed into terror. And as more and more acid continued to pour out of the monstrous mouth, there was less and less space left in the remains of the dining hall...and as what was left of the teeth melted away, a wave of the acid washed over it, melting anything in it's path.

"Uh, g-guy's, m-maybe we should....."
"RUN!"

That sounded like an incredible idea to Gerald and Million, who dashed off without a second thought through the corridors. They probably were full of treasures just like the dining hall, but that didn't matter right now! Besides, he still had a few pieces of silverware left in his jacket pocket...Which wouldn't mean anything if he was melted to death.

But like anything in the world, the corridors eventually ended. A deep pit hampered their progress; the only way across was an rickety rotten bridge, held together by ancient black ropes. He peered over the edge, and blackness stared back.
As Curt pulled up on Million, who's only response was to lightly grunt, the man asked "How good is Million at...a-at scaling walls?"

"Uh, well, alright I suppose..." Million wasn't really a wall climber. Then again, Gerald never told him to do such things.

"Guys, this is gonna sound crazy, but...but I think out best chance it to take a leap of faith, holding onto Million and trusting him to leap to the other edge and use Rock Climb to carry us to the top of the other side...a-and if you two Rockets have anything like Grappling Hooks, I think they could help us here...P-please, Gerald, Million, I need you two to make this jump!? Because I don't think we're going to make it across that rickety bridge!"

While Gerald wasn't too sure if Million knew Rock Climb, but he knew Dig, right? Same difference!

"Alright, alright, I'd say risking falling to our deaths is a better alternative to waiting for death to come for us. You two!" He pointed towards Thomas and Justin. "If you got something to cross on your own, do it. Otherwise, get on Million's back. Or go across the bridge, I honestly can't care."

Gerald helped Curt the rest of the way up on Million, before mounting Million himself. He waited for the Rockets to get settled for a moment, then gave out the commands.

"Alright, you all hold on tight! Million, get running! Your going to jump that pit, or die trying! CHARGE!"

In response, Million roared (Well, more of a glorified grunt), and began a wild dash towards the ravine, and leaped as far as he could!

One half landed, the other didn't. The Megapede was left dangling off the edge. Now was the time to use Rock Climb. "Great job, boy! Now get us up with a Rock Climb!" Million looked confused. "Oh. I guess you don't know that...Use dig or something instead!" Million's confused look became ever more so confused. "Oh, I taught that to Empty instead, right..." With both of those plans out the window, Gerald had to bunker down and think for a moment. The only other move that could possibly work would be Steamroller, but that probably wouldn't work right now...Megahorn wouldn't work, it could possibly buy some time though...If it could pierce stone. No...no...That was it then. They were going to fall to their deaths and...

Wait. Deaths. His nightmare...surprisingly, the horrible demented dream from earlier was giving him a plan...

"AUUUUUUGH!" He screamed to get Million's attention. "FIRE MILLION, FIRE! WE'RE GOING TO BURN TO DEATH MILLION! AUUUUGH!!"

Once Million heard that, his eyes widened in pure terror, and he started rampaging upwards. Nothing was going to make him die horribly in a flame ridden pit, no sirree! The giant bug practically had a heart attack in the process, but all of him and his passengers ended up on solid ground.

"Ha ha ha! Yes! You did it Million! We're alive!" Gerald gave the still panicked insect a hearty pat, but then remembered the others..."Oh yeah, are the rest of you okay? How's are you holding up Curt?"
-----
The little meeting June organized broke off back into two pieces yet again. The Switchblades and Empty seemed to be peering under stones and in every crack and crevice as if they were looking for something. Well, more so the Switchblades were looking for whatever they were looking for and were dragging along Empty. As for June and Puff, they stood in silence. Awkward, awkward silence. Neither wanted to speak about whatever happened to Gerald. Neither wanted to speak about the thing. Luckily for them, someone else had other plans.

When June was given a slap on the back, she originally assumed it was the Switchblades. Just as she was about to snap at what she assumed to be the swords at how this was not the time or the place to do such things, the fox was pleasantly surprised to see that it was rather the Cubone she had rescued earlier, who proceeded to not only thank June for rescuing her but also applauded both the fox and Puff for their battle prowess. Puff almost immediately perked up with the praise, thanking Jasper for such kind words. June was a tad more humble about it, thanking the Cubone as well, before commenting on how Jasper fought, particularly her usage of Special Attacks. How they were very well placed, and quite powerful despite such moves were not always the strong spot of the Marowak line. Then, Jasper decided to delve into some juicier conversational topics...

While a few were more on the mundane side, like the favorite food one (Which was any type of meat on June's side, she apparently wasn't picky, and Puff's was unsurprisingly Carrots), and the one about the rest of their moves (Even if it took a minute to for them both to remember what moves they had access to), a couple were on the more personal side, most particularly the one if they were a couple or not. While they both paused for a moment, taken back by the suddenness of the question, June broke the once again awkward silence with a chuckle, and telling Jasper that there was nothing going on between them other than friendship. Though it was a possibility, but slipped in a comment to Puff not to get his hopes up. Puff never spoke a word, only shaking his head as a way to say no.

The other personal question that was asked before the whole couple thing was how they trained, which took awhile. The way Gerald trained his Pokemon was very erratic, and usually took place not too far from Lumiose. She noted how today, Gerald was specifically searching for a new Pokemon to add to his team, but then decided to follow some girl who ran into bushes, and that they all saw how that turned out. Basically, Gerald wasn't too serious of a trainer, but whether or not that was circumstance of him being on the occasionally short on money was up to debate.

Meanwhile, the Switchblades' hunt for whatever they were searching for seemed to turn up with absolutely nothing. And while June and Puff may of been distracted talking with Jasper, and thus able to ignore what Nine was talking about (It didn't concern them anyways), the Switchblades could not, prompting a small telepathic conversation between the two.

How Loud. One mentioned.

How obnoxious. The other said. Can't a pair of possessed Blades search for their Dark Lord in peace?

Their accomplice, Empty, was quiet as ever. Staring, as always. He was observing, absorbing information, making decisions on these unfamiliar Pokemon. Who he could potentially break off with, if such an extreme was necessary.

Of course, everyone's thoughts were interrupted when Flare called them over to the water. June and Puff complied with curiosity. The Switchblades planned on ignoring her, but when Empty requested that he'd like to be put by the water as well, they put him there without thinking twice.

Nothing was clear at first when Gerald's team gazed into the water. Not until Puff reached out to touch it's glassy surface and water beneath it, and felt nothing. The Lopunny pulled it back in surprise at first, before dunking his head just as Nine and Flare had done before him. He pulled his head out for another moment, before dunking it back into the crisp daylight yet again. When the rabbit re-emerged into the cave again, he tried to get June to do the same, but she seemed a little more suspicious about dunking her head into a potential deathtrap. But who wasn't suspicious was Empty, who's interest was piqued. When the shell asked, he was plunged into Route 15 by Puff's hands.

The Ghost-Type scanned the area of the pond. It was eerily...devoid. Other than natural noise, there was nothing. Not even fish, it seemed. Perhaps the ruins had something to do with it. After all, the ruins gave off the same vibe...devoid of life...nigh devoid of sound...
It was empty, just like him. Maybe that's why he liked it, and why it returned the favor.