Card, in the midst of his raving and panicking, managed to lift his little body off of the ground. With his wings beating ardently, his piercing cries died away into pants and then into , seemingly, nothing. Only those whose ears were sensitive to an incredible degree could detect the high whistle leaking from the creature—to those Pokemon, coincidentally, it would also be incredibly grating. The whistle darted from Card's mouth, collided with a distance surface, and trickled off like rippling water.
A similar strategy occurred several times over, the Zubat growing gradually desperate with each, as the cries would crash against various angles, swerving and jolting in multitudinous directions. Card couldn't make any sense of it and, before the Zubat knew it, the voices of the Pokemon evading his earlier plight were far behind him.
He was lost in the depths of the maze.
It was the only discernible aspect he had about where he was, that this was a maze. Not literally, of course, but he had no other words to describe this coiling, tangled mess in which he'd been dumped without any relevant memory. He was lost, frightened beyond belief, and indignant, too. What had he done to deserve this? Had his rejection of Moltres caught up to him? Was this a god's doing?
Most notably, Card was blind, a very obvious attribute but never a debilitating one. It was, at this moment of frustration and utter fear, that the Zubat recognized having no eyes in which to see was damnable. He was at the utter mercy of his enigmatic environment.
With his panic at its peak, now, the Zubat invested all his faith into the only organ he could trust—his wings—and surged upwards, escalating higher and higher, panting harder with every beat, praying to collide with the craggy ceiling of his beloved cave and plummet back down into his only home.
