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The Grand Underground was Roark's favorite relaxation spot, naturally, as he was Sinnoh's local paleontologist and it was Sinnoh's fossil Hotspot. However, as relaxing as it was, there still lurked danger in the caverns one often stumbled across. Wild pokemon with an even wilder temper had no qualms about stomping in your entire team; if you were an inexperienced trainer, it was suggested you didn't even go near these areas. If you were, you'd better be alert, because Roark already had to answer seven distress calls from trainers being attacked by wild pokemon.
However, it wasn't just trainers wild pokemon liked to hunt; this place had an ecosystem that existed before it was discovered by people. It wasn't uncommon to stumble across an injured pokemon, or even a dead one. Proper protocol always involved leaving it alone, mainly due to the fact that the thing that killed it was likely still nearby. There were very few instances where it was appropriate to approach an injured pokemon.
Roark found himself in an instance where he wasn't quite sure what the classification would be.
It'd been a rather pleasant outing to the Grand Underground; newbie season had just ended, so he had more free time than usual. He'd had a few encounters with wild pokemon, but it was nothing his team couldn't handle. He was still a gym leader, even if he was 8th on the circuit. The walls were full of very few rewards today, unfortunately, but he didn't mind. He still managed to collect some spheres to trade with the locals down here, even managed to dig up a cracked plate. Unfortunately, he has yet to find any actual plates, but, as a paleontologist, he didn't care about it that much. The plates were more on the archaeological side of the field, seeing they were written by humans.
Then he discovered something. Something new.
He'd been traveling through a tunnel he hadn't visited in a while when he discovered a concave section of the wall. Normally, walls of varying bulk were to be expected; this was a cave that naturally formed (albeit with some Onix influence). However, this was... different. Roark brought his fist to the wall, knocking on it. The sound echoed as his fist struck it; his eyes grew wide with the implications.
The wall was hollow. There was something on the other side of it- possibly a new tunnel? Roark stepped back a few feet, pulling his pickaxe from its holder on his back. The steel dully reflected the lanterns hanging on the ceiling, edges jagged with years of wear and tear. Its wooden handle was beginning to splinter here and there, the handle shedding material. If there was any tool that would get the job done, it would definitely be old reliable.
Roark scoured the walls for cracks, including the ceiling. It was risky to break open a hollow wall; it could cause a cave in depending on the space behind it. Luckily, from this side, it seemed that a cave-in wasn't likely, so it was safe to break it down. His hands gripped his pick tightly, swinging over his shoulder and against the wall. Large cracks immediately appeared on the wall; Roark hummed, surprised at how thin it seemed to be. Another swing at the wall caused it to crumble apart slightly, giving a peak as to what was inside. Roark leaned forward, flicking the dust away from the open hole, peeking into it. It seemed there was a small cavern on the other side of this, a dim one at that, which was surprising. He'd expected it to be pitch black.
Then his eye caught something, something lying on the ground. Its coat was pale blue, mixed with various off-whites. It wasn't moving, not a meter, centimeter, or millimeter. Roark doubted it heard him break through the wall; he doubted it was even alive.
The latter suspicion was proven wrong as, weakly, it turned its head towards him. Its cry was soft, pleading; it made Roark's skin freeze to a degree. This... wasn't like a normal injured pokemon; they didn't cry out for a stranger to help them. Roark felt his heartstrings tug as its gaze lingered on him; he couldn't see its eyes, but could certainly feel them boring holes into his face. Did he help it? There were very few instances where it was advised to help an injured pokemon. He couldn't see any other wild pokemon inside- he was surprised there were any wild pokemon inside. This section of the Grand Underground has been closed off for Arceus knows how long; it didn't take only days for rock walls to form like that. That was, geologically, the most absurd concept ever.
He sat in place for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Roark knew the protocols, he knew the rules, but he still didn't know what to do. There was a deep sigh as he backed away from the wall, throwing his pick back over his shoulder.
He really hoped there weren't any invisible predators in there. If there were, then at least he had his pokemon and an S.O.S device in his pocket.
Roark swung his pickaxe at the wall again, opening the wall up even further. Now it was big enough to crawl through, lucky him. He slid off his backpack, allowing it to fall onto the ground behind him with a small thud. Squeezing through the small crevice he'd just made, Roark found himself on the other side. The air here stunk of rotten eggs; that was a very bad sign. Quick in and out rescue operation, Roark decided, lest he end up like this poor... whatever it was here. He lowered himself to a crouching position as he approached the pokemon, which, he realized, was far larger than he previously thought. It cried out again, sounding like a flock of birds trapped in a glass box. He'd never heard a cry like that before; he never thought he'd hear anything like that before, especially coming from a pokemon.
It reminded him of those- what were they called- Frillish in Unova, but... weirder. It didn't have eyes or a distinct head, making Roark wonder how it saw him in the first place. Underneath the frills attached to what he could only assume to be its brain, he could spot a set of sharp, yet dull teeth, the kind that usually belonged to water types. Its tentacles shifted against the ground as he approached closer; he couldn't spot any injuries on it, but Roark had a feeling its weakness was due to the sulfur in this area. That was a reason to intervene, wasn't it? He was pretty sure it would qualify as an external condition not caused by wild pokemon or natural processes. Well, maybe it might be the latter, but still...
Something about this pokemon drew him closer, made him want to help.
"I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" Roark reassured softly, not wanting to startle the still very much wild pokemon in front of him. It wasn't currently hostile, but he sure as hell didn't want to risk making it so. The smell of the cave was beginning to burn his nose, but he needed to be as careful as possible. Approach quickly, but not too fast to spook the pokemon. That was one of the rules of rescuing injured pokemon; he could recite the rest off of the top of his head, but that wouldn't assist him right now.
His feet dragged against the rock below as he got closer. It gave no indication of agitation or anything in general. Was this pokemon actually... wild? Given the circumstances, Roark was beginning to doubt that assumption; how the hell was a wild pokemon so well-adjusted to a human presence? How did it get stuck in here in the first place? There didn't seem to be any other entrances, judging by a quick glance around the room.
He held his hand out to the pokemon, fingers shaking slightly as he reached for the side of its assumed face. It couldn't bite, seeing it didn't have a lower jaw. The teeth seemed almost pointless if they weren't for sucking out blood, which they... really weren't structurally wise. They certainly didn't give the impression of being hollow. Roark rubbed his thumb against the skin, startled at the gel-like consistency that he could feel through his glove. It... purred at him?
"Good... good pokemon," Roark allowed his worried expression to crack a smile as the pokemon moved closer to him, dragging its tentacles across the floor.
It happened fast.
Too fast.
Within a blink of an eye, that purring, injured pokemon was on top of him. Roark yelped as he kicked at its translucent body, only to find his leg sunk right through. His hands fumbled with his pockets, desperately trying to grab ahold of the S.O.S device he carried everywhere. Its head drew closer as it cried; the cry buried dread in the pit of his gut as it echoed off of the walls. Roark flipped onto his stomach, his other hand covering the nape of his neck to try and prevent it from biting any arteries. In a small bout of good luck, the hand scouring through his pockets managed to grab onto the small, USB-like device, immediately pressing the button in the middle. He didn't know how long he could stall out this pokemon before help came, but he doubted long seeing how its tentacles were already grabbing ahold of his arms. Suddenly, he was lifted upright, legs and feet leaving the ground beneath him. Looking down, he could see that he was now... floating?!
Roark shouted a slew of curses as he felt his arms be constrained by these tentacles, legs already having followed suit. The back of this thing brushed up against his own, sending chills down his spine. What was it... what was it doing?! His head tilted upwards, seeing the head of this pokemon slowly descend upon him, or was it pushing him into it? He tried to pull away his head, only to find the tentacles attached to the creature's jaw had wrapped around his neck, forcing him to stay upright lest it start to choke him.
Fear plagued his mind he closed his eyes, yelling as he felt thick sludge brush against his face and knock off his glasses. A sharp jolt of pain coursed through his body, a blinding white burning the nerves of his eyes. Darkness engulfed him soon afterwards, his emotions beginning to heighten. Oh Gods, was he being digested alive? He fought against it, swinging his limbs in a pitiful attempt to escape. It felt like he was fighting against water, the way his limbs sluggishly flung about. It didn't seem like he was constrained by the creature anymore, but by the sludge in its head. He took heavy gasps of air as if he were being suffocated; his breathing turned to hyperventilating as he kicked and struggled and punched and bit and kicked and struggled and punched and bit and kicked and struggled and punched and bit andkickedandstruggledandpunchedandbitandkickedandstruggledandpunchedandbitandkickedandstruggledandpunchedandbitaNDKICKEDANDSTRUGGLEDANDPUNCHEDAND
He wanted out.
He wanted.
away?
Get hi
m o
u
t o
f he
r e.
He could feel his eyes sting as if he'd been holding them open for eons.
He couldn't breathe. He could breathe fine. He'd never been so afraid in his life. He was as okay as ever. He needed out right now. He was fine right where he was.
His thoughts were racing a million miles a minute with adrenaline coursing through his veins. He didn't have a mouth. He needed to scream.
A trillion contradictions were flowing through his mind, there were wants he didn't know he wanted, wants he didn't want, wants he didn't know, feelings he couldn't feel but still did.
His heart was racing against his chest, his body burning with something. Maybe digestive acid, maybe hormones. He didn't know. He couldn't know. All he knew was there was something in the darkness he couldn't see and it was going to hurt him.
His mind began to fizzle out, sense started losing its sense. How long had he been in here anyway? He should be dead, but he wasn't. How was he still alive? He was a... floating contradiction? How did he know he was floating?
It still smelt of sulfur. Sulfur?
What was sulfur?
He could feel his appearance distort, or maybe it had changed long ago and he'd only noticed it now. His eyes could see through the darkness, but were still blinded by it. Shadows moved along the walls like they were alive, but he couldn't quite make out the walls themselves. His limbs stretched, but they were as long as they'd always been.
He was in control, but not at all whatsoever. He tried ripping his head off, but his arms refused to push hard enough. Wait- why did he try ripping his head off?!
Was he still inside of that thing, whatever it was? Or was he it now? He didn't know. He didn't want to know.
He wanted out. That's all he knew and would ever know. He wanted out.
Suddenly, a light within the nothing. The darkness hadn't changed, but there was a sound other than his own overwhelming thoughts. There was somebody's voice; he couldn't remember who's, the voice was... it was unfamiliar yet he knew it. He didn't know. But he knew. They were a shadow in his head; he could see them as clear as day, but they were nothing. There was a pokemon, another pokemon other than the one he was trapped in. There were people talking. Multiple.
Multiple.
Multiple.
mul·ti·ple.
/ˈməltəp(ə)l/.
adjective
having or involving several parts, elements, or members.
"Multiple people were in the room with him right now. He couldn't see their faces or their bodies. They were here for him; they were here to kill him. That is what his thoughts they said. They had pokemon with them, familiar ones. He knew those pokemon, but they looked at him like he was different. Like he had changed. Like he wasn't the man they knew anymore. He hated being looked at like that; all he wanted was help, but they attacked him with reckless abandon. He screamed for them to leave him alone; they did not listen. They kicked and struggled and punched and bit and kicked and struggled and punched and bit and"
He saw someone.
Someone, not just any shadow.
He remembered the day he came home from school. He was 11. They were teaching him about decimals, but he couldn't get it. The teachers tried and tried and tried to explain it to him, but their words went in through one ear and out through the other. They had started shouting at him after he asked them to explain it again because he didn't get it. They kicked and struggled and punched and bit and asked why he hadn't been paying attention. He had. When he came home, he saw a shadow on the table, sipping his coffee like always. Mom said he needed to get a job other than mining; they were always living on something called a budget. The shadow said they didn't need another job, they were happy enough as is. Roark approached the shadow, his tiny, grubby hands clutching his math homework.
The shadow turned to him, mouth torn agape like he was both horrified and in awe.
It was hard to reach him, it was like pushing through loose dirt without a shovel. His eyes strained to open as if they had been closed for a long time, but they stung as if they'd held a corpse-like stare for even longer.
"H-Help... me," his voice strained as if there had been hands wringing his all too fragile neck.
Something hit him and he was sent back into the void. His fear returned; the shadows came back. He whimpered as something screamed at him from within the abyss like a banshee. He couldn't tell if he wanted to get out anymore; he thinks he wants to die more than that. Here was safe, but he would die, so was it really safe? He didn't know; he was afraid. He wanted to get out of here; he wanted to go home, wherever that was.
Something hurt him really bad. He couldn't tell what it was, but it struck him in the head and knocked him out of his thoughts. His vision flickered from the darkness to complete, blinding whiteness. Suddenly, it changed to colors he hadn't seen in forever; there were yellows, browns, reds, blues- it was overstimulating.
The sludge that had held him captive for the longest time had disappeared and, suddenly, he felt air whip around his limp limbs. He didn't have the energy to fight anymore; he couldn't fight anymore. His eyelids eased closer to each other as something grabbed ahold of him; it had paws, so it couldn't have been the ground. Whatever it was, it made sure he had a safe descent to the ground, no matter what. It clung onto him tightly as the wind stilled, only reluctantly setting him onto the ground as somebody's voice called out for it to do so. There were sensations across his body that he hadn't felt in ages as he felt rock brush up against his back.
How many years had it been? Was... years the right word?
His eyes strained to remain a sliver open, taking in all of the colors as if he were seeing them for the first time in his life. His breathing was shallow as if his windpipe was too crushed to breathe anymore deeply. There were people calling his name- his name was Roark, right? His head was all fuzzy... he couldn't... he couldn't... he couldn't what?
All of his limbs felt drained of life; he was inexplicably cold as well. It was as if he'd been stuck in snow for a long time, which might explain why he was having trouble breathing. Things stuck in the snow didn't breathe if they were stuck for too long. His eyes began to wander, searching for the snow. His eyes caught a glimpse of...
Of a lump of pearly white snow.
He dragged his eyes away. He didn't need to look at that thing. He memorized every crook and nanny of that gods-forsakened pokemon a long time ago. He didn't want to know what it looked like anymore; he already knew too much just knowing what it felt like. However, if he looked a little bit lower from where it laid- a little bit closer to him, he could see a small puddle of water. It was still, impressively so, for what all just happened. He could see a little bit of his reflection in it.
It... didn't seem right. His hair wasn't the right color, was it? He remembered it being red, not a purple that was only a few shades away from being completely black. Despite his vision being blurred, he could still see the distinct yellows of his eyes. That didn't seem right either. Or... was it? What... What had he looked like?
Someone stepped to his side, taking a hold of his face. Their hands were warm, almost too hot for the cheeks they clung onto and gripped as if they'd lose him the moment they let go. Their face was smudged, but he could identify the colors well enough. They were remarkably green except for the head; their head was coated in browns, blacks, and a pleasant tan. Their voice was calling to him; it was soft, although it seemed like they were yelling, "Roark, can ... hear ... ?"
He wondered if he had the strength to respond to that. His throat was remarkably sore, probably from the screaming.
He'd been screaming?
Her face impatiently awaited an answer, scrunching up more as further time passed. Two other figures approached his side, one seeming like they towered to the heavens with their height. The other drew close- close like the green one was to him. They were wide, noticeably so, with hair so messy even he could see it. Roark faintly remembered the shadow at the table; he squinted at the individual, wondering if he could remember anything else by looking at him. He could feel their hand reach for one of his hands, taking it into their own when they saw his movement. Were they hoping for something- waiting for something to happen?
How long had they been waiting for this moment? For him? His ears rang as he pulled his mouth open, feeling like something had coated his lips in super glue. His voice was hoarse, more than it had been earlier, "you're..."
He searched their faces for an answer- an indication. He found nothing.
Roark forced himself to speak, although it was a mere hair above a whisper.
"Who... are you?"
Their expressions, at least what he could see of them, dropped.
He immediately knew he said something they didn't like.