The doors closed behind him with a quiet sound that belied their size.
The Typhlosion breathed out a relieved sigh. Shelter. After weeks of being trapped out in the harsh winds and snow, he finally found someplace to recuperate.
There were stories, rumors of a place filled with endless blizzards,with treasure guarded by neverending hail. And what sort of explorer would he be if he didn't immediately head straight for it?
He’d packed up tons of food and water, orans, orbs, anything that a typical explorer would have. But even with all of his preparations, the rumors did not do the blizzard any justice.
Nothing but darkness loomed over the sky, a repetitive gradient of white and grey. He trudged through, day in, day out. He was lucky his Fire-typing let him last longer without needing a break but even still, he had more than a few cases when the chill got too much for him to handle.
He idly took count of his resources. Arceus, how long did he spend in that blizzard? He barely had anything left. He hoped his friends and family were doing fine, he left a note detailing his leave but he hoped they weren't worrying about him too much.
He took in a breath, the air in the building was chilly but less so when compared to the outside. Glancing around, he took note of the place. Tall walls that stretched high and above, looming over him, this place must've had a couple of Onix guests before. The place he’d stumbled into was massive and originally, he thought he was hallucinating the whole thing when he spotted the building from outside.
The thing was a palace, sticking out even in the harsh weather. The walls and floors, even the doors seemed to be made from the same things, a strange teal, almost transparent material. It was also pretty tough as evident when he chipped a claw when he accidentally grazed a paw too quickly.
Was the whole thing made with some kind of crystal? It looked similar to a bunch of jewelry he saw from the occasional travelling merchant that came to his village. But what kind of person could make a building entirely out of crystals? He couldn't imagine the cost of constructing and maintaining the thing.
A shudder ran down his spine. Well, whatever the price was, crystals were apparently not a great heat insulators.
Hopefully he could find the owner of the place before frostbite kicked in, he could really use some warmth to replenish his flames. Maybe if he offered to do some odd jobs for the owner, they’d lend a nice warm meal and bed too.
He marched onward through a door, a lot smaller than the entrance but still big enough to fit a particularly round Snorlax and then some.
The first thing he noticed about the hallway he found himself in, was how empty it was. He’d always imagined a rich person to have tons of random expensive knick-knacks and paintings scattered throughout the building. But so far, he’d found absolutely nothing.
It was just an empty, dim hallway, it was sorta eerie. No sound, no furniture to keep his mind’s focus, he found himself thinking just how odd the whole thing was. The floor was smooth, almost slippery like it was recently waxed. And the strange noise it produced whenever he took a step, a clicking sound that latched itself firmly on his brain.
*Click*
*Click*
*Click…*
It was like the floor wasn't made to hold someone’s weight and his mind feared for an inevitable fall that never came.
Teal walls lead to more teal walls, the dry colour was getting repetitive, everywhere he looked, he saw the colour teal. How long had he been walking?
Back and forward. The Typhlosion turned his head, feeling his stomach churned in dread. He couldn't see the door he came from.
Darkness covered the hallway behind and in front of him, he couldn't see anything further than twenty meters ahead of him.
Sh-should he turn back?
To where? The outside? He wouldn't last more than a few days if he stepped out.
This was his only option.
If he could find the owner, he’d be fine.
If he could even get out of this place, that was.
Swallowing his nerves, he moved on, slowly. The clicking sound followed.
His movements froze.
There was something in the hallway.
Tall, silent, observing.
It stood just beyond what his eyes could make out. What–who is that? The owner? Why are they just standing there?
It-it probably didn't hurt to greet them.
“H-hello there?” His voice came out in stutters but when the looming figure didn't reply, he continued, “I'm sorry if I'm intruding on your property, sir but I'm a bit lost…”
Still nothing.
This is getting a little creepy.
“Hi, um can you hear me?” He crept forward as he spoke, maybe he was a little too far to hear properly. “My name is…” His voice trailed off as his eyes took in the figure.
That wasn't a Pokémon… or rather, it wasn't a living Pokémon.
Teal, nearly transparent, yet somehow with more colour hidden beneath the material, the crystals. It looked like an Aggron. Its arms were spread wide, its body locked in some kind of battle… no not a battle, a pursuit. He couldn't make out its expression from this angle but he assumed it was likely acting as some kind of predator or victor.
He let out a breath of relief, the momentary terror sliding by. “Scared me a bit there, big guy.” Maybe the owner really was an eccentric rich guy.
Really, what sort of person would even put a statue in the middle of a hallway? Especially something this well made and… realistic…
Huh, were those dents in this Aggron’s armour? Not to mention the little crease in the joints and the barely noticeable details, how did they even make something like this? It almost felt like it was alive in a way.
Hm… something wasn't feeling right about this.
He glanced behind the Aggron, straining his eyes, he could see a door. Finally, progress! Sparing one last look at the statue, he made his way over and into the room.
And immediately, he noticed something was wrong.
There were statues.
More statues.
They were so many of them, a dozen, no fifteen of them scattered about haphazardly, on chairs, near tables, some even leaning against walls. It was like whoever was placing them was trying to imitate a party despite having never experienced one before.
A Weavile, an Arcanine, an Arbok. The statues came in varying shapes and sizes. And the more he looked, the more he noticed a pattern. Arms stretched, heads reared back, legs spread apart as if they were running from something and failed…
And all of them held a common expression.
Fear.
“Wh-what is this?” His voice wavered as he walked, eyes darting from statue to statue.
Each of them held an eternal expression of horror, some unseen terror chasing them, freezing them in place, they were forever trapped in their last moments.
His heart pounded in his ears and his steps marred with anxiety. Teal, clear yet opaque, the same material, the floor, the walls, the furniture, the statues…
His breath misted in front of him and drew his eyes. With a shudder, he moved an arm, reaching for a nearby statue and it felt chilly.
He recoiled back, retracting his arm as he stared with horror.
Ice.
This was ice.
These weren't statues.
These were Pokémon!
Frozen and killed…
Was he next? Oh gods, did he somehow stumble into a serial killer’s den? How did no one know of this? Why didn't anyone mention this? What should he do? What could he do? The killer froze an Aggron! He couldn't–he didn't–
Fear overwhelmed him, any ounce of rational thoughts disappearing as he ran and ran and ran. Back through the hallway, past the corpse of the Aggron and back through the door to the entrance, back out–
This wasn't the exit.
The room wasn't empty.
Instead, it was decorated.
There was a cabinet, a dresser, even a nice cosy bed. Everything looked normal, an average bedroom if it wasn't for the fact that they were all made of ice.
And he wasn't alone. On the bed lay a lone figure, miming a sleeping body, a corpse resting in a tomb. Another statue, another body.
Yet this time, it was different.
This time, it was a human/
Out of all the previous bodies, this one felt the most alive, the most well cared for, the most loved. The ice was transparent, it was hard to tell if the man behind the ice was even frozen. His expression was solemn, quiet, peaceful even, and it was hard for the Typhlosion to turn his head away. The man looked calm, accepting even, like his death was all but inevitable.
His ears twitched.
And he heard a sound.
And it was chilling.
Hollow, dreadful, crawling, like a whistle of chimes in a dark storm, beating like a heart, roaring like a feral beast, screeching like the dead.
Dear Arceus. What is that?
Something phased through the wall.
White.
The first thing he noticed was the white, it was ethereal, pure and brilliant. The being glowed with an aura of youthful innocence, a beauty that made his heart clench. An, obi, crimson, a warm and deadly shade of red, as draining and horrid as the colour of blood, tied around its waist flickering and lashing wildly against an invisible foe. Its body resembled that of a kimono and it moved with a weightless grace, reminiscent of the dances of a festival performer.
The creature was unnatural, a sense of wrongness crawled across his intestines. It was beauty incarnate. It was a horrific monster. It was young. It was ancient. It was innocent and it was vile.
But through it all, it felt wrong. Like whatever he was seeing shouldn't exist in this world, it shouldn't be possible and yet… and yet…
This was wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong!
Fire erupted from his mouth, scorching, burning, killing the being. It melted but it didn't scream, it didn't react, it couldn't even acknowledge anything before he burst out of the room, running faster than he ever thought himself capable of.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Where's the fucking exit?
The hallway stretched into a maze, he went down twists and turns, rounding corners and corners but he couldn't leave. Too many dead ends. There were doors that lead to empty rooms, doors that lead to more frozen corpses, doors that had false rooms.
No no no no no no…
There was nothing left. No rooms. No exits. Just dead ends! He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide and he was going to die. He was going to–
He spat flames at the walls, fire hotter than even his body could handle but nothing. He clawed, he scratched, he rammed his body against the ice, desperation and fear fuelled his attempts and he was crying, screaming his throat hoarse but he barely made dents in the ice.
Then he heard it.
The whistling of chimes. The warped cries of a little girl. The hollow screams of grief.
And he saw it.
It was alive.
Clean, pristine without an ounce of damage from the flames. It had a mournful expression, yet it was flying around playfully like a little child. Slowly, quickly, it moved.
And he attacked.
Then it was over.
There was no way out.
