Chapter 1 - Shiver
zoru22
Junior Trainer
A certain villainous group has stolen an egg from a Moltres nest.
This is the story of that bird.
This is Xenofiction.
Rated T+
Reviews: just leave me a like/tell me if you enjoyed it or not, leave a kudos. I just want to know you read it or enjoyed it, no need to spend a long time writing one, thank you.
~~~ Chapter 1 - Shiver ~~~
What I remember first is not heat, no. It's cold. In the memory, I shiver, then begin plucking my way out of my egg. I do not see, my vision covered in a white, like a sheet of thin snow over my eyes. The world's vibrating around me, I feel a wave of air blowing on me, drying me. I crawl as far as I can, into the air, step after step, I fall multiple times along the way, but the air moving across me was there at the start, and there I went, for comfort.
Moments later, the next thing I remember feeling, it is hunger. I am cold, with only lukewarm air blowing on me, huddling on the source of vibrations and air flowing, and not knowing what else to do, I cry out, I squawk and screech up for help. For food. A piece of cold meat falls into my beak. I swallow it down. I am not picky. I just want to be warm and not-hungry.
I shiver in the cold, I get hungry, I cry for food, the food comes. Cycles pass. The vague white covering my vision begins to fade, and I am in an enclosed nest, the colors of the ground are of purples and blues, mute gray, dark brown and dark black underneath, some hints of red below. I am sitting, roosting in the corner of my nest, above me is a silver and red. The nest is an alcove, though I can see shimmering figures of silver, purple and blue beyond me, I do not move.
As I've gained my vision, these figures in silver and blue approach the alcove, a hole opens in the roof of my nest, and out falls the cold meat, another blue, metallic silver reaching down. I shiver at the slight burst of the cold air into my nest, but swallow the food anyway. I rest, I sleep. The silvery figures leave, the world grows dark. All colors, save the reds and blues leave. Another cycle passes as I rest.
Many more cycles pass after this fashion, and I am still cold. The world is smaller. My shivers have grown infrequent, and the number of silvery figures do not show one day. The alcove moves, and I am forced to stand, bumping my head against the roof, the world pitches and yaws, my nest is moving, I am scrambling to maintain my balance.
The warmth of the air coming into my nest is gone, and the nest is quickly turning from red to purple to blue. The world outside is purple. I am growing cold again. This place, this nest is no home. The rocks, the silver, it is fake. I know now. I pecked, I cried for food. I have no parents. I have no nest-mates to keep me warm. The silver suits do not match my growing feathers. The world around me stops moving, a loud bang, I am set down.
A wall of my nest-cage, it opens, and the world around me is more than double in size. The world was rocks, the ground was still cold. The air was still cold. But the silvery suits this time, though they tower over me, they maintain their distance. I am looking for warmth, and for a moment, the world is black, brown, blue and cold. A loud hum comes on, and air begins to flow. The air was much warmer. The silvery figures leave the room. They had no wings.
A hole opens in the side of the enclosure. A creature, amorphous, white and red, it is almost as tall as me, it is slid out and dumped. It is warm, I can tell. The hole it came from shuts. It sees me, and it immediately flees. It cries and shivers as I walk toward it. It is a bright red, the first truly warm thing I've seen. It continues to slide, to beg me to give it chase. In circles, it is comfortable. This was home. Home is warm. It continues to run from me, even as I follow it around. I grow bored. I climb up a set of small, black rocks, as the room begins to get comfortable. Heat from the roof of the new nest, it turns off. Still, as my companion continues to squirm and make noises, and slide back and forth on the opposite side of the room, the world is turning red. I am, for the first time, what I might consider to be, happy. Content.
For the first time, I hear vibrations from above. These were not the sounds of the air blowing. These penetrated in the inner being, instead. Blaring rings which made the head ache and the mind reel, I practically scramble, in panic, a hole in the roof opens, and cold, icy dark blue sprays my new companion. They shriek, they scream. The dark blue continues to come down, and it spreads, the water turning into a mix of white and blue, the shrieks stop. I am hit by some of the blue, and it is not pleasant. The blue is rising in the mists of white, and bubbling, my new nest-mate has stopped moving. Their red disappearing, the red of the room fading. The blue is sloshing about the floor, the bubbling ceasing.
The ringing in the air ceases. I open my wings, I climb down my rock, I step into the misty water. I poke my unmoving mate. They are dead. I poke them with my beak. They are dead. I raise my head up, and the remains of the oil slides onto my tongue. They taste good. I wrap their body with my tongue, slurping their oils, squeezing the oil from them with my food, as I march back onto the pile of black rocks. The world around me is cold, but I have stopped shivering. I peel back my head. I swallow the remains. I am full.
The liquid, the water, slowly drains from the new nest enclosure. The ceiling of the nest begins to hum, slowly shifting red again, the air flows, but I am warm on the inside. Occasionally, I hear nearby cooing sounds. I try to find them, but all I find is rock and metal. The cycle ends, the world turns dark, though the hum of the air is not providing the warmth it once did. The next cycle, another slug enters my chamber. This time, I open my wings, fluttering and climbing down.
The same thing happens as in the last cycle- the red slug, with white-hot highlights in its center. It screams as I approach. It bathes me in its own warmth. Unfortunately, as comfortable as it is compared, I already knew what would happen if I let it stay too long. I didn't like the screeching from the world around me. I chased it around the room, eventually putting my talon on it, holding it in place as it squirms. I reach my tongue out, tasting its delicious oils, wrapping my tongue around it, squeezing it down. I am warm inside. I lift the prey into my beak, pinning it there, it cries, it has already tried letting out its warmth to placate me. I toss my head back, and swallow the slug, squirming into my belly.
Another cycle passes, and I do not shiver. There are no more screams from the walls, there are no blasts of cold. There is no water. I am content, if bored. I roll over some rocks. I peck at the ground. I peck at the wall where the food comes from. It is hollow. It doesn't open. I am not hungry, but I am curious. A cycle passes. I eat again.
The creatures in silver enter my nest again. I watch them from atop my rocks, curious, suspicious. They vocalize amongst themselves, their vocalizations are curious. I do not know what they say. But I vocalize, myself, it is not a perfect recreation of their vocalization. They turn to me and pause their shuffling of sticks and moving rocks about. I repeat it again. I have not spoken much to them, I do not know their words. They return to their tasks, exiting the way they came.
Another cycle passes, and I sleep. The screams blare again, the pipes of cold and water appear out of the ceiling, and I am pelted. I am being attacked by the ceiling. I cry in pain, I try to fight, but I am not strong. I shiver at the ice-cold running over me. The door opens, even as I am being murdered by the god in the ceiling, and I meet the first non-silvery figure I have. They have two eyes, like me. They have no beak, not like me. They run in, picking me up, leaving the nest, taking the attack of water for me.
Why would the god attack me? What did I do to deserve it? I do not know.
The human is dripping in the water, and I can hear it sloshing as they carry me out. I am cold, I am shivering again. The world around me is cold, much colder than my nest. They carry me through area after area, the screaming silenced, though there is shouting, and there are booms, while the humans are running around, I am brought to another room. The human is holding my wings tight, their arms wrapped around my body as they run.
The world explodes in white, and we are faced with a giant orange creature, just taller than the human carrying me. The human runs past, and the dragon dives deeper, a different human following them in. There were no silvery figures here. We have fully left the nest. I am cold. The human drops me onto silvery rock, they look at their hands, waving in them, blowing them off with their mouth. I mimic the vocalizations I had heard the other day. The human pauses their dance as I shiver and shake off the water, my internal warmth beginning to grow again.
They pull out a red and white orb. A red flash. A slug is next to me. I eat it. They put their hands to their head and shout. Water is coming from their eyes. I run before they spray me too. As I do, sparks, true flames of my own erupt from my wings. Before I can truly run, I am hit in the head, and the world is dark.
For the first time in my short life, I know what it means to be warm.
This is the story of that bird.
This is Xenofiction.
Rated T+
- Pokemon Abuse
- Pokemon eating other pokemon
- May get descriptive with gore
- Pokemon eating other pokemon
- May get descriptive with gore
Reviews: just leave me a like/tell me if you enjoyed it or not, leave a kudos. I just want to know you read it or enjoyed it, no need to spend a long time writing one, thank you.
~~~ Chapter 1 - Shiver ~~~
What I remember first is not heat, no. It's cold. In the memory, I shiver, then begin plucking my way out of my egg. I do not see, my vision covered in a white, like a sheet of thin snow over my eyes. The world's vibrating around me, I feel a wave of air blowing on me, drying me. I crawl as far as I can, into the air, step after step, I fall multiple times along the way, but the air moving across me was there at the start, and there I went, for comfort.
Moments later, the next thing I remember feeling, it is hunger. I am cold, with only lukewarm air blowing on me, huddling on the source of vibrations and air flowing, and not knowing what else to do, I cry out, I squawk and screech up for help. For food. A piece of cold meat falls into my beak. I swallow it down. I am not picky. I just want to be warm and not-hungry.
I shiver in the cold, I get hungry, I cry for food, the food comes. Cycles pass. The vague white covering my vision begins to fade, and I am in an enclosed nest, the colors of the ground are of purples and blues, mute gray, dark brown and dark black underneath, some hints of red below. I am sitting, roosting in the corner of my nest, above me is a silver and red. The nest is an alcove, though I can see shimmering figures of silver, purple and blue beyond me, I do not move.
As I've gained my vision, these figures in silver and blue approach the alcove, a hole opens in the roof of my nest, and out falls the cold meat, another blue, metallic silver reaching down. I shiver at the slight burst of the cold air into my nest, but swallow the food anyway. I rest, I sleep. The silvery figures leave, the world grows dark. All colors, save the reds and blues leave. Another cycle passes as I rest.
Many more cycles pass after this fashion, and I am still cold. The world is smaller. My shivers have grown infrequent, and the number of silvery figures do not show one day. The alcove moves, and I am forced to stand, bumping my head against the roof, the world pitches and yaws, my nest is moving, I am scrambling to maintain my balance.
The warmth of the air coming into my nest is gone, and the nest is quickly turning from red to purple to blue. The world outside is purple. I am growing cold again. This place, this nest is no home. The rocks, the silver, it is fake. I know now. I pecked, I cried for food. I have no parents. I have no nest-mates to keep me warm. The silver suits do not match my growing feathers. The world around me stops moving, a loud bang, I am set down.
A wall of my nest-cage, it opens, and the world around me is more than double in size. The world was rocks, the ground was still cold. The air was still cold. But the silvery suits this time, though they tower over me, they maintain their distance. I am looking for warmth, and for a moment, the world is black, brown, blue and cold. A loud hum comes on, and air begins to flow. The air was much warmer. The silvery figures leave the room. They had no wings.
A hole opens in the side of the enclosure. A creature, amorphous, white and red, it is almost as tall as me, it is slid out and dumped. It is warm, I can tell. The hole it came from shuts. It sees me, and it immediately flees. It cries and shivers as I walk toward it. It is a bright red, the first truly warm thing I've seen. It continues to slide, to beg me to give it chase. In circles, it is comfortable. This was home. Home is warm. It continues to run from me, even as I follow it around. I grow bored. I climb up a set of small, black rocks, as the room begins to get comfortable. Heat from the roof of the new nest, it turns off. Still, as my companion continues to squirm and make noises, and slide back and forth on the opposite side of the room, the world is turning red. I am, for the first time, what I might consider to be, happy. Content.
For the first time, I hear vibrations from above. These were not the sounds of the air blowing. These penetrated in the inner being, instead. Blaring rings which made the head ache and the mind reel, I practically scramble, in panic, a hole in the roof opens, and cold, icy dark blue sprays my new companion. They shriek, they scream. The dark blue continues to come down, and it spreads, the water turning into a mix of white and blue, the shrieks stop. I am hit by some of the blue, and it is not pleasant. The blue is rising in the mists of white, and bubbling, my new nest-mate has stopped moving. Their red disappearing, the red of the room fading. The blue is sloshing about the floor, the bubbling ceasing.
The ringing in the air ceases. I open my wings, I climb down my rock, I step into the misty water. I poke my unmoving mate. They are dead. I poke them with my beak. They are dead. I raise my head up, and the remains of the oil slides onto my tongue. They taste good. I wrap their body with my tongue, slurping their oils, squeezing the oil from them with my food, as I march back onto the pile of black rocks. The world around me is cold, but I have stopped shivering. I peel back my head. I swallow the remains. I am full.
The liquid, the water, slowly drains from the new nest enclosure. The ceiling of the nest begins to hum, slowly shifting red again, the air flows, but I am warm on the inside. Occasionally, I hear nearby cooing sounds. I try to find them, but all I find is rock and metal. The cycle ends, the world turns dark, though the hum of the air is not providing the warmth it once did. The next cycle, another slug enters my chamber. This time, I open my wings, fluttering and climbing down.
The same thing happens as in the last cycle- the red slug, with white-hot highlights in its center. It screams as I approach. It bathes me in its own warmth. Unfortunately, as comfortable as it is compared, I already knew what would happen if I let it stay too long. I didn't like the screeching from the world around me. I chased it around the room, eventually putting my talon on it, holding it in place as it squirms. I reach my tongue out, tasting its delicious oils, wrapping my tongue around it, squeezing it down. I am warm inside. I lift the prey into my beak, pinning it there, it cries, it has already tried letting out its warmth to placate me. I toss my head back, and swallow the slug, squirming into my belly.
Another cycle passes, and I do not shiver. There are no more screams from the walls, there are no blasts of cold. There is no water. I am content, if bored. I roll over some rocks. I peck at the ground. I peck at the wall where the food comes from. It is hollow. It doesn't open. I am not hungry, but I am curious. A cycle passes. I eat again.
The creatures in silver enter my nest again. I watch them from atop my rocks, curious, suspicious. They vocalize amongst themselves, their vocalizations are curious. I do not know what they say. But I vocalize, myself, it is not a perfect recreation of their vocalization. They turn to me and pause their shuffling of sticks and moving rocks about. I repeat it again. I have not spoken much to them, I do not know their words. They return to their tasks, exiting the way they came.
Another cycle passes, and I sleep. The screams blare again, the pipes of cold and water appear out of the ceiling, and I am pelted. I am being attacked by the ceiling. I cry in pain, I try to fight, but I am not strong. I shiver at the ice-cold running over me. The door opens, even as I am being murdered by the god in the ceiling, and I meet the first non-silvery figure I have. They have two eyes, like me. They have no beak, not like me. They run in, picking me up, leaving the nest, taking the attack of water for me.
Why would the god attack me? What did I do to deserve it? I do not know.
The human is dripping in the water, and I can hear it sloshing as they carry me out. I am cold, I am shivering again. The world around me is cold, much colder than my nest. They carry me through area after area, the screaming silenced, though there is shouting, and there are booms, while the humans are running around, I am brought to another room. The human is holding my wings tight, their arms wrapped around my body as they run.
The world explodes in white, and we are faced with a giant orange creature, just taller than the human carrying me. The human runs past, and the dragon dives deeper, a different human following them in. There were no silvery figures here. We have fully left the nest. I am cold. The human drops me onto silvery rock, they look at their hands, waving in them, blowing them off with their mouth. I mimic the vocalizations I had heard the other day. The human pauses their dance as I shiver and shake off the water, my internal warmth beginning to grow again.
They pull out a red and white orb. A red flash. A slug is next to me. I eat it. They put their hands to their head and shout. Water is coming from their eyes. I run before they spray me too. As I do, sparks, true flames of my own erupt from my wings. Before I can truly run, I am hit in the head, and the world is dark.
For the first time in my short life, I know what it means to be warm.
Last edited:
