Search results

Well, someone was certainly confident. "I suppose time will tell." He set Cuicatl back down on the ground. "I'm sure, regardless the outcome, it will be... interesting. The girl who would be a dragon. 'Be careful what you wish for,' they say."

"Fascinating." A chuckle escaped his beak. "But I wonder if you'll still feel that way when you sprout an extra head. I can feel everyone growing stronger in their time here. Perhaps evolution will be upon you all. Will you embrace that call or turn your back on it?"

“Necrozma, yes.” He picked her up and placed her on his top chest spike. “You’re the only one of the humans I’ve seen enthralled with their new form. Why is that?”

He could make a joke about how seeing was believing, but it wouldn't fly to a blind dragon. Instead he coiled around Cuicatl, his mismatched eyes looking down at her. "Are you sure about that, child? You might want to revise that guess."

"If you're looking for the lugia, you're a few hours too late, child." It didn't matter how bright Bahamut was, because a deino wouldn't be able to tell. Except the radiance he exuded was warm, but dragons hated ice, not warmth. So, it was perfectly fine. He wove through the air about a foot...

"Very well, then." Bahamut turned and glided out of the infirmary.

Bahamut glanced at Cabot. Such childlike optimism when the two battles fought thus far had been far from a walk in the park. The kind of optimism that set up lofty expectations and bred false hope that could give way to crushing despair if the team's efforts were unsuccessful. He was ready to...

“I am more than capable of handling the depths as well.” Bahamut pointed to his ethereal neck. “No lungs. No need to breathe.”

“I see. Unfortunate, but it can’t be helped.” Bahamut pet Potluck’s back, using circular motions with his wing. “So, what now? Your team will investigate the area? As the—” He cut himself off. “Well, as the lone flier on Diyem’s team that isn’t a goofball, I can offer my assistance.” He didn’t...

“Question. If the puppy can change types at will... could he replicate the energy infected folks give off?” Bahamut moved to rubbing Potluck’s cheek-bolt. “Perhaps that would allow you to sense the energy for yourselves.”

“Fascinating.” Bahamut leaned over and scratched Potluck’s neck. “Seems you’re a talented puppy.”

"Your subordinate's aura..." The different colors swirled around Bahamut's eyes. "It's like each of the types slumber inside of him... and he can pull one out to spread across his being if he so chooses. I've never seen such a thing. Much less a pokémon like him."

Bahamut remained transfixed on Potluck. "If we are to expect the worst, then Lugia is corrupted, yes."

"Perhaps they were teleported?" Bahamut's mismatched eyes looked Maple over. "You can open wormholes so effortlessly. I'm surprised it wasn't the first thing that popped into your mind." He still didn't know what to make of Potluck. Just what was this strange creature with an aura as varied as...

"So, you were attacked mid-flight?" Bahamut tucked his head into his chest. "But you didn't see the assailant. Fascinating. Concerning, too." He looked at Maple. "Could it have a connection to the parasites that have been plaguing this continent? As I recall, you all cannot see them with your...

"Then lead the way." Bahamut gestured behind him with a wing.

"Why don't you ask Miss Maple? She seems quite... well-informed of things." He tapped his beak with a claw. "Before I came to this world, I thought I was a lone creature. But she has informed me that's not the case." Bahamut coiled around the little lugia. "In any case, you're the one who was...

Fascinating. He would've expected a family connection. Or, perhaps, the little one couldn't state as such. Or had a mortal been turned into a lugia? Wouldn't that be the strangest deja vu? "Well then... it would seem we ought to take the chick to the guild, no?"

"Master?" Bahamut floated up. "Such charged language. Explain, please."

"Your conscience. We should really talk more often, dear Cynthian." Again, his sense of humor left much to be desired.