SnapDragon
Frog on a mission
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 57: Day 19, Part 7 – The Shepherd
Ganlon Mine: 3rd floor
Fenn still fantasized about the apocalypse.
The topic came to him a lot less these days, particularly after meeting Oswald. Unsurprisingly, this new shining beacon of light in his life staved away the bad thoughts. He had just assumed that the Dewott's presence would stop it entirely.
When the fantasies persisted, Fenn had noticed that they had taken on a different tone. These daydreams became more somber and peaceful with flecks of finality. Less…spiteful. He could safely say that his irreverence for the world had diminished, for the most part. But the apocalypse was incredibly prevalent in his teenage years, and despite his efforts, he hadn't grown up as much as he thought he did.
To this day, Fenn occasionally fantasized about meteors slowly engulfing the world in a fireball of destruction, or a foreign invasion leaving all but few to survive. Even he knew that this was silly and juvenile. Indulgent, especially, when it came to flagrant yearning. Better suited for someone who cried in his sleep over lost love and bad grades.
There was this thought that his pain had an endpoint, though. One day, everyone that hurt him would recognize their faults in the final moments before disaster struck. He would be vindicated for feeling so slighted, and rewarded for his silent sorrow. No more aching hearts, no more judgemental glares. All would be at peace.
He felt bad, too, every time the yearning resurfaced. His face would flush with embarrassment and frustration as he cursed himself for letting his own pity bother him like a persistent itch. What right did he have to center the world around himself anyway? The pain wasn't that bad. Some had it worse…probably.
When Fenn woke up on the next floor of the mine after escaping the earthquake, he was all alone. He had laid curled up in a ball on the ground, cool mildew lining his flame vents uncomfortably. Darkness enshrouded him, blanketing him in cold. A weightless pressure slithered across his back in search of a vulnerable consciousness to snack on.
No one had found him like that, and he doubted anyone was going to.
It was just like how it was a month into his janitorial tenure, when every day was the same and no one spared him a second look. One specific night ended with the younger Quilava sleep-deprived and on the verge of apathy. He decided to rest his eyes in the castle's closet, where the broom and dust pan lived during off-hours. Just for a little bit. Before he knew it, Fenn had slipped into slumber for quite some time, a mophead acting as his pillow.
There were no interruptions; in fact, it was the best bit of sleep he'd had in a long while. He didn't get yelled at by Aster, or anyone, really. No one had sneered and said anything like, "aw, poor kid fell asleep in the broom closet. Boohoo." No one. For all he knew, no one cared.
His mind had drifted back then, leading him to a mountain of questions. What if this was how it always was? What if he could do this often and no one would ever notice? Would it make a difference?
Or had everyone already left, and abandoned Fenn to his lonesome in the world? What if they were all just…gone? What if they never came back?
One catastrophizing thought led to another. Then another. And another.
Apocalypse.
The dungeon was darker than that place, further down and away from anyone who would even think to call for him. Quite a bit of time had passed before Fenn acquired the conviction to move, and even then it was far from pleasant. Every couple of seconds, he focused on the soreness caused from resting on jagged rock, alternating between blissful numbness and blaring agony. He couldn't see the scattered pebbles inches from his eyes in this dark, no matter how much his paws sought to form them physically.
With nothing to stimulate his senses, his imagination played dirty pranks. There was a face directly in front of him. Then there wasn't. Then he saw himself smiling with barbed wire stretched across his teeth. But no, that was actually another face, one he didn't recognize, fluctuating with the pain.
This was how his world would end.
He thought about his mother, as he often did when utter destruction threatened the theater of his mind. Her soft, gentle cadence, her warm hugs that calmed Fenn down no matter how much he cried, how she always knew what to say…Oh, how his heart ached.
His mother never stopped any disasters, but she always muffled the initial explosion.
A chain of events had cycled through the early morning until now in Fenn's head, and it occurred to the Quilava that his mother might not have even heard the news yet. The sun had hardly lowered into the evening the last time he checked. She could still be home, tending to her garden, stray prayers sent en route to her bumbling son like thrown matches.
Through his memory of her, Fenn finally willed his flame vents to sputter to life. From there, the cave blossomed into coherence.
Fenn wandered after that, following the rocky walls in search of his friends and love. Outlines of pebbles cast long shadows against the walls of the mine, pure black and blurry orange, each flickering ember a lie laid to rest in the dirt.
Time collapsed through the cracks of existence for Fenn—his journey never seeming to cease. He trudged down one pathway, only to reach a dead end. Then he went down another and encountered a solid wall of rock just like the last one. Each time he would have to retrace his steps and try a path he avoided before, not stopping even when he presumed that his options were completely diminished.
He just had to keep going, exploring every nook and crannie he could find. Oswald and the others had to be somewhere.
The apocalypse could wait.
Fenn thought about writing his own stories once.
With nothing but the unending corridors of this mine to entertain him, he was reminded of a time when the sun rose for everyone but him. Clemat had disappeared from the Quilava's life just months prior beforehand, leaving a dark shroud to hang over his shoulders. Fenn had little to look forward to, little to care for, and little to enjoy about his life.
So, he daydreamed.
This had only occurred in snippets when he was a child—just simple fantasies meant to brighten playtime with prospects of grand adventures and slaying evil. But as a teenager, it was as though evil had finally won. These daydreams became more vivid and complex. Love and desire became factors, as well as sorrow and pain. But most importantly, Fenn was no longer a part of the fantasy itself. He was just…missing, his role taken up by characters he only recognized in hazy piecemeal.
It certainly helped that Fenn found himself drawn to more fiction stories during that point in his life, but even then, his own daydreams overtook that source of magic to the point that he tended to read less often overall. Instead, he sat and considered phantom scriptures.
He imagined a diminutive Scraggy, shorter than others of his species with little to offer to those around him. This Scraggy would join up with a band of friends well out of his league all excited and hopeful. Over and over again, though, Fenn would play a scene in his head of this Scraggy being abandoned by his new friends, left to fall deep into a chasm under a rickety bridge. Down and down he went, screaming and wailing to be saved. At the very bottom, the Scraggy laid alive, but broken.
The extent of his injuries tended to shift with Fenn's mood, but the result would always be the same: the Scraggy would look up into the forgotten sky above him and would know in no uncertain terms that he was dead to the world. Gone. Left to wander out and accept that no one cared enough to dive in after him.
Fenn attempted to write out this scene during a particularly empty day, only to discover that his pen would not move after just a few sentences. He was stuck, unmotivated. Writing was more difficult than he could have possibly imagined.
He tried again a few times, here and there. More details flowed to him like water down a stream, only for Fenn to remind himself that he wasn't built for this. Not once did he progress past the first page.
Warriors don't write stories. Songs are sung for them, not the other way around. That was how he used to think.
By the time Fenn had exhausted his options in this cave, utterly frustrated and his feet sore, he wondered if he should try again some day. He wasn't a warrior anymore, so what was stopping him?
That Scraggy was still there, waiting to tune into his inner courage. Young and hopeless and lost. Fenn never did decide how exactly he would get out of that chasm. Having any ideas would have been helpful right about now.
With a bitter huff, Fenn dropped to all fours and turned away from yet another dead end. That had to be the last one, unless he somehow missed another path along the way, but he highly doubted that.
Sure, his mind had been wandering, but his ears were constantly upright and his posture was sharp. There was not an inch of this cave untouched by the light of his fire. So Fenn either glazed over something or…no, that wasn't possible. Fenn was taught to navigate dungeon corridors with the deftness of a bloodthirsty Houndoom. How could he ever lose track of where he was in this stupid cave?
That was what he thought, until a sharp scent, reminiscent of charcoal and rotten eggs, assaulted his nostrils on his way out of the previous tunnel. That was new. He followed it in hopes that it would lead him forward, eventually finding an opening in the rocks surrounded by shattered gravel. That was also new.
Fenn observed the mound of pebbles with a scrunched up nose, though that was partly because of the acrid scent in the air. Did he not notice this because it was blocked somehow? That didn't explain the scent. More cynical than perplexed, Fenn stepped around the rubble into the tunnel.
What he found, stacked up in bundles up against a collapsed pile of rocks, was a collection of explosives so large in number that it covered the entire back wall. Tens of what looked like red cylinders in clusters, topped by black stems, lined every inch.
Dynamite.
A stray ember cascaded to the floor from Fenn's flame vents. Eyes wide as saucers, Fenn gasped and jolted back, gripping his arm tightly.
Fenn waited for oblivion…only for nothing to happen. The bundles were inert, for now; his embers were too far away to cause any explosions.
Backing away slowly, Fenn's flames lowered to simple candlelight as hysterical thoughts ran laps within his mind.
Why was there dynamite here all of a sudden? Fenn knew that it was a mineshaft, but a mystery dungeon wouldn't replicate real circumstances like this—not to this degree. And yet he couldn't get it out of his head how…deliberate this all was.
The only reason Fenn even recognized what he was looking at was because his father used to talk about dynamite sometimes when he reminisced about the war. Back then, some troops tapped into old human pyrotechnics when their reserves ran dry, or to catch the enemy off guard.
Fenn's father claimed to have never seen any go off, mostly because they were much too old and full of dust. He just liked to brag about the good old days when pokemon were smart and resourceful. He even kept a stick as a trophy.
That stick went on to blow up the house when Fenn was really young. Thankfully his father was the only one home at the time, but Fenn could still remember the scent of sulfur burning a hole through the air. The very same that stank so vehemently ahead of him.
"W-what the heck?" Fenn muttered, continuing to retreat. The further away he went, the less perceptible the dynamite became in the low light. Only then, when he was far enough away for the stench to diminish as well, did Fenn look down at his paws and notice that he was quivering.
Fenn breathed. Shut his eyes. Dimmed his fire.
Oswald and the others weren't this way. They couldn't be.
The dynamite sat in smug, unlit defiance in front of Fenn. It was taunting him, practically saying, "I don't make sense! But why?" Fenn found himself asking the same question, alongside "how?" If there was no way out of this part of the cave, which he was still not convinced of, how was the dynamite set but not lit?
Silly questions for a silly Quilava, undoubtedly. Mystery dungeons made no sense on the face of it and this was no exception.
The only way forward was to blow it all up. That was how he would get out of this chasm.
The fur on the back of Fenn's neck bristled at the thought. His neck itched under his scarf. No, there had to be another way. Blowing up this dynamite would undoubtedly cause a cave-in of some kind, or get himself or his friends hurt. It could even just block off the path anyway. What was a dynamite explosion even like?
This is unfair, he whined internally.
Fenn reared up onto his hind legs. Turning around and looking for another solution seemed like the smart thing to do, but where else was there to go? Was this really all he had? Did he have to do this?
What if Oswald, Finch, and Cosmo are right on the other side? he thought.
A warrior wouldn't even think about it, he reasoned, scowling in turn. A warrior would do whatever it takes.
Therefore, he knew for a fact that this was stupid. Very stupid.
"O-Oswald!" Fenn squeaked out. Pitiful. His mewling cry may as well have fallen to the dirt with a wet splat.
Fenn's fire flared with the burning in his cheeks.
"S-s-stupid stutter…s-stupid…stupid wimpy voice!"
It was always like this. Ever since Fenn was a kid he just couldn't get his thoughts across properly. Speaking up was downright impossible, so everyone talked over him. Even right then, in a place filled to the brim with silence, his throat was dry.
He squeezed his eyes shut, paws clenched at his sides. Once more—he could do it, this time with bite.
"Os…OS…O-OSWALD!" Fenn shouted, his voice breaking.
It echoed down the tunnel behind him briefly, but not nearly enough to reach anywhere he hadn't already been. The sound died with a whimper.
Fenn's ears drooped. He opened his eyes to the wall of dynamite, waiting for him. No progress.
I hate you, he thought. No use in even speaking it aloud. Not like anyone was listening, or could hear him.
This was ridiculous. Why was he like this? Why did he have to be so quiet all the time? Why did he have this stupid stutter? Was he really doomed to stoking his flames and nothing else for the rest of his life?
He didn't want to blow up this dynamite.
But he had to. His friends could be in trouble.
Fenn huffed. There were a million ways this could go badly. The shrapnel itself could bury him alive. So, above all else, Fenn needed a plan—both of attack and escape.
The Quilava dropped to all-fours and steeled himself. Heat surged through his limbs, his core burning like a furnace.
Yes, he controlled the heat within himself like it was second nature to him. That didn't mean that a live fireball couldn't burn him to a crisp, though. Running fast enough was paramount.
Fenn's eyes trailed up the pile to the ceiling. He searched for a hidden opening or crevice that would accept his ire. But did it really matter where and when he tossed his fire at this thing? What about a big ember or a small ember? Would more fire cause it to explode sooner?
What if he-
What would happen if-
What angle was-
Fenn growled in frustration. "J-just…do it!" he hissed at himself. "D-do it and r-run! Do it! D-do it! Do IT!"
On the last word, a fervent fireball was flung from his mouth and sailed right to its doom. The walls bounced with shadows.
During the half second that a black stem caught a spark and glowed a bright orange, Fenn's eyes narrowed. The world slowed to a catatonic pace, yet Fenn managed to outrun it by a hair. Escaping was crystal clear in his mind's eye.
His dreams had trained him for this moment. Running from the oncoming apocalypse itself was nothing.
The air around him grew weary and gasped. Heat tickled his flank before any sound reached him.
Regret was slower than adrenaline's choking crunch. All Fenn could think about as his paws glided against the stone, launching him in the opposite direction quick enough to just barely catch the shockwave, was how he needed to get away.
That was when the cave suddenly flashed blindingly bright. He could see everything, from the tunnel he emerged from no longer seeming as endless as it was, to the tall figure peering at him right at the end of it.
He neglected to register that last detail as the air screamed right in his ear.
KABOOM!
Washed out with white, soundless but deafening. The ringing was unbearable. It filled his head, pulling at his ears with a million pinches. Constantly, persistent, and agonizing.
Fenn stopped thinking. All he knew was that he got away, considering that he wasn't burning alive, but to what extent was lost on him in the moment. His focus was more on how the ground fell out from underneath him than anything else.
Not only that, but it was sliding. Falling?
There was wind now-
Thud!
"Ah!" Fenn cried silently, no noise being produced whatsoever aside from the crack behind his ear. A sharp pain coursed through his skull, jagged rock stabbing into his fur. The wind suddenly stopped, leaving him, kicked right out of him.
For just a brief moment, Fenn was floating, suffocating in a suspended state.
And then he fell, landing roughly on his right arm with a flaccid thunk. Tiny pebbles pelted his fur from the sky, coating him in dust. Fenn knew by pure instinct that these situations called for him to curl up and cover his head. Even as he did so, he could still feel the room twirling, twirling, twirling around him even as the dust settled.
Ringing, spinning. Spinning, ringing. For several drawn out seconds, that was his existence.
Eventually, gradually, that settled, too. The ringing faded to nothing. The ceiling became the floor again, though Fenn could not determine this exactly with his eyes—the dizziness had only just then subsided. His flame vents itched with cold ash and produced no light.
Blinking away the bleariness was all he could think to do. A churning in his gut directed him to fight back at whatever just assaulted him. Burn them to ash, don't stop until its done-
That was until memories of the past few seconds smacked him across the face. With it, came guilt.
Fenn allowed his body to unfurl. His arm ached, likely bruised in a few places. The chances he had at escaping another explosion were diminished. His head throbbed, and he winced when he reached up to touch it. Fenn couldn't tell if his ears were wet or if that was just the adrenaline. A spot in his fur felt sticky and warm, though. Hopefully the injury was shallow. If not…
No, there was no point in that right now. Either Fenn would be able to stand or he wouldn't. And after a bit of a struggle, groaning and whining, the Quilava was on his feet again. Thank Arceus.
The smell of sulfur lingered in the air. Trying to follow the source was impossible with how the whole cave stank of it now. Fenn had no choice but to light his fire if we wanted to limp out of this room.
Fwoosh!
Fenn gripped his bruised arm, jaw dropped in astonishment. The amount of devastation was…immense. It was as though a giant beast took a bite out of the cave itself and left a pile of waste in its stead. The surrounding walls gaped with chipped rock and black soot, several shards still red hot and glowing. A cloud of dust had yet to settle.
Behind the pile of rubble was a yawning cavern. Despite everything, there was an opening.
It worked.
That was dumb. Really, really dumb. He should have been faster. Or at least gave himself more of a headstart.
"Phew…" Fenn uttered aloud, allowing his fire to dim.
The rubble was rough on his pawpads, digging in and marking the Quilava with little cuts. But he didn't feel them. All Fenn had on his mind was the path ahead of him as he walked.
He whispered, "O-Oswald…" too weak to do much else. "Cosmo…F-F-Finch!"
A few more wary steps and the walls were spinning again. Spinning, spinning…oh no.
Fenn collapsed forward onto his stomach. He coughed. The sound was dry, pained. Flecks of shiny blood painted the pebbles in front of his snout.
It didn't work. Fenn got past the wall, but…
What did it matter if he could barely walk after?
"O-Oswald…" Fenn whimpered. "Cos…C-Cos…"
His head ached, stabbing at him in waves. But it couldn't have been that bad, right? He was okay. He could stand back up and get out of here.
He just had to let it fade a bit first. Yeah, that was it.
That was it…
The cave was so dark. It was hard to tell if it was getting darker because his light was dimming that much, or if he was losing consciousness. Either way, a distant yearning resurfaced. One Fenn hadn't experienced in a long time. A childish, juvenile hope that he would show up again, heal Fenn back to health, and boil some more tea.
He liked that tea.
"Clemat…"
Fenn's eyelids were so heavy. So, so heavy. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn't keep his eyes open.
Wasn't he stronger than this? Why was he falling asleep now when he should have been searching? How could he let them down like this?
He can't…oh, Arceus. It had been such a long day. He couldn't even stoke his fire anymore. All that came out were puny little sparks, leaving him alone in the darkness.
Please, just be okay, he thought helplessly. Just wait…
"W-wait…"
Oo-oO
There were way more than I expected.
I thought that maybe I'd be dealing with something like four or five ferals with how their claws chittered off the cave walls.
But of course—of-fucking-course—there had to have been at least twenty of the damn things.
I shuddered, taking one step back, then another.
Cosmo's teeth chattered behind me. "There's so many!" he cried. "Where did they come from?"
The light of my scalchop illuminated the cavern ahead of Cosmo and I, as well as the tidal wave of black ink seeping in from the ceiling, the walls, and the floors. Each feral had the claws and insectoid carapace of a Paras, but their shells were a rotten, dark green, accentuated by the murky, milky white of their eyes. Moldy mushrooms lined their backs to the point of doubling some in size, slowing them down.
But that didn't matter. I took yet another step back, and with it, the light receded along with me. The Paras weren't growing any smaller in number. If anything they were closing the distance faster than I could blink.
I gripped my scalchop tighter, holding it in front of me, blade pointed outward in defiance. There was no way I could take all of these on—not with how I nearly got eaten by that last feral.
Did…did it even make sense to call these ferals anymore? Seeing the ways their unhinged jaws frothed with white foam and black ooze made my skin crawl. This was not normal. This was not even real. It couldn't be.
I was in a nightmare and was being forced to fight a wall of rabid insects. If I didn't do something, anything, then I was going to be buried and dragged to hell.
Groaning, I said, "Come on…come on! One thing after another with you!"
By this point I had moved back far enough that the Paras were spilling into the chamber we were just in, fanning over the walls in front of me. I had lost my opportunity to funnel them and I didn't even realize it.
"Oswald…" Cosmo whined, reminding me that he was there. And I was glad he did.
It wasn't just me that would get dragged down here. Cosmo didn't deserve that fate. He should be able to live out a full life on the surface, far away from any of this crap.
No, we had no choice. The inevitable dead end behind us dictated that running wasn't an option. We, or just I, had to fight.
Really had to work to get me into this situation, huh?
A sudden burst of determination hit me like a bolt of electricity. No, it was my fault that we ended up in this situation, and now I'd have to get us out of it.
This was it. It was time that I stepped up.
I can do this, I thought. Just need to…shit, what was the code phrase again-
Just then one of the Paras dislodged itself from the hoard and lunged right for me. An otherworldly, warbly noise escaped its frothing mouth, its claws primed to puncture.
Panic took hold.
Muscles gripped to skin, goading my fidgety arm into swatting this pest away.
Get away. Get away! Get. Away!
The scalchop was swung. Golden light cleaved the air, bisecting the Paras in two. Upper half, mushrooms and all, flew left. Lower half, legs and body, flew right.
All of it splattered onto the ground with no ceremony aside from a quickened beating of my heart.
I killed something again.
Something. That was all it was—something. I couldn't let my emotions fool me. These things were just bits and pieces of the dungeon's disdain for me. Within seconds, I lost track of the dismembered remains, as if it either became one with the ground or reintegrated into the collective. The other Paras didn't even react.
Not like it mattered. There was no time to think—I was a far cry from agonizing over burnt Aipom in a forest somewhere. My next move had to have already been decided seconds ago.
"Oswald, they're coming!" Cosmo screamed.
More Paras were clicking their mandibles, about to lunge.
Here we go. Widen my stance, clutch my scalchop tight…
Breathe…
Open and aim:
ACT: Fudge Cakes!
It was like biting an ice cube at first, or eating a snow cone in reverse. The back of my teeth burned, my gums growing numb. Cold prickled from my chest all the way up to my tonsils. I even got an immediate brain freeze that made me wince, all the extra pressure causing me to cough up snowflakes near the end of the stream.
God damn was it effective, though.
The Ice Beam skewered the blob of Paras, freezing several on the spot. That made them react, as they then had to skitter around the ice, splitting their approaching advancement right down the middle.
I couldn't help but smirk, even as I shivered and grimaced from the headache.
"Don't get comfy!" I jeered. "Aren't any blankets that can warm you up now!"
Nailed it.
"Yeah!" Cosmo agreed. "Get ready to get iced by some real heroes!"
In an instant, I was transported to the windswept fields of some place called Japan. Where chimes shimmered as they rang, grass billowed for the setting sun, and water flowed in streams of sparkling gemstones. I stood in that field with both hands on my weapon, fluid yet sharp. There were a lot of them, sure, but I was a samurai. The best samurai stood their ground and deflected every blow that came their way.
Another Paras lunged, and I was ready. I swung and cut it cleanly, deftly. One more down.
A couple more were sneaking up on my right, and I knew exactly what to do. I turned my head and opened my jaw much wider this time.
ACT: Fudge Cakes!
An icy blast erupted from my mouth, and it was done. Two Paras frozen in place.
My throat numbed, and I tasted something akin to iron on my tongue. The cold spread to my neck at the same time, where frost began to accumulate like a rapidly growing rash.
I ignored it. I had bigger problems to deal with first. Like another Paras that I narrowly stabbed right between the eyes.
It became a rhythm. A back and forth between these slimy bugs going in to attack me, only for my scalchop or Ice Beam to leave them as just slime. All the while Cosmo cheered me on.
As he should, really. It was so…easy. So simple. So natural.
This was it. I did it.
I became a samurai.
Oo-oO
The sun shined down with the might of a thousand Wood Hammers. Gentle autumn winds blew past and left blades of grass helplessly wavering, bursting with the sharp scent of pollen . A distant bird pokemon played a mating tune, met in kind by a chirp of lustful endearment.
The culmination of these things caused Fenn to sneeze. He wasn't in the cave anymore, as evidenced by how he had to squint and cover his eyes. He was on his back all of a sudden, his snout pointed upward to the open sky. His other paw reached through the grass, searching for purchase, only to touch something soft.
Cotton?
Fenn jolted up to a sitting position. Yes, that was the case: there was a pawful of cotton clutched in his fingertips.
A dream? That made no sense, though the Quilava was quicker to take in his situation than question it. It could have been a trick, or another psychic barrage like in Kelpsy Fields. Had it not been for the green grass, Fenn would have assumed he had taken a snooze amongst the clouds. On all sides, he was surrounded by an ocean of fluffy wool.
Fenn gawked. Any residual heat building in his lower back was stifled. "W-what…?"
A few of the balls of wool turned, revealing black snouts and petite pink noses, as well as pupils shaped like capsules. The Wooloo were just as shocked as he was, though not for the reason he first assumed. A couple of them started giggling, and another brushed up against Fenn's arm. One even snatched the clump of wool right from his paw, taking what was rightfully theirs. He pulled away with a startled gasp, which earned him more giggling.
Fenn's ears grew warm. How did he get here? Wasn't he just-
All of a sudden, Fenn heard a whistle. He, along with many of the Wooloo, perked up at the sound.
A little ways from the crowd of wool was a Gallade sitting atop a tree stump with one leg crossed over the other. He had some kind of string instrument in his hands, idly plucking a note or two. His eyes radiated latent wisdom—focused entirely on Fenn.
The Gallade beckoned. All of the Wooloo around Fenn turned not to look at the Gallade, but Fenn himself.
There went his ears again.
This Gallade obviously knew something. So, carefully stepping around the Wooloo, Fenn answered the call. Well, he didn't do so right away. He was much too flustered to move at first, gripping his arm tight as he glanced between individual Wooloo and the Gallade. It was only after the Gallade made another, more encouraging gesture that Fenn finally moved.
Before Fenn pushed past all of the wool, the Gallade smiled at him, leaning forward with his arms draped over his instrument.
"G'day, son," he said.
Fenn's ears flicked. What an odd accent.
"H-hi," Fenn replied. "Who are…you….?" The "where am I?" was implied.
It wasn't answered.
"Folks used to call me Green," Gallade drawled. "Some still do. What about you, son? Got a name?"
Fenn almost said no. But he reasoned that doing so would be more complicated than just being honest, and Fenn wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
"F-Fenn."
Green nodded methodically. "You like my flock, Fenn?" he asked.
Fenn blinked. "Your…w-what?"
Again, Green nodded, this time towards the Wooloo behind Fenn. "The babes you were snugglin' with. I can tell they like you, son."
Hearing the word "snuggle" made sparks pop from Fenn's flame vents. He turned his head stiffly, confirming that yes, the "flock" was watching him discretely, giggling and whispering amongst each other. Fenn looked away as quickly as he could. Lingering on the attention filled him with embarrassment.
"See?" Gallade said. "I could offer you a mate or two, if you're lookin'. Gets awfully lonely out here."
Fenn shook his head. "N-no, thank you," he responded swiftly. "I'm uh…a-already taken."
There was never a point in Fenn's life where he could even conceive of speaking those words. Saying it aloud sat weirdly in his mouth, but not in a bad way.
His mind immediately went to Oswald. That Dewott would probably laugh at how flustered Fenn was getting. And then he'd wrap Fenn in his arms and claim him as his own. Of course that would just make Fenn more flustered. Oswald would laugh even louder and….
…Oswald wasn't here. They never left that mine. Oswald wasn't here because he was still there. He was still there.
This field wasn't real. This Gallade wasn't real. The sun was fake, it had to be. Fenn needed to get back to the mine somehow, or Oswald, Cosmo, and Finch would never get out!
Despite how fast his mind was racing. Green's smooth drawl brought the Quilava back down to reality, in a sense.
Green nodded in understanding, saying, "'Spose it makes sense. You're a handsome lad—must got a lot of suitors waitin', eh?"
He sounded like Fenn's grandpa, which only soured the concoction swirling in Fenn's gut further. Weird accent aside, Fenn's grandpa always liked to remind him how lucky his future mate would be. Fenn, being a literal child, never quite grasped what the old Camerupt was saying. He just wanted to play, not think about girls.
Or boys, yet.
Both of them were wrong in the end, but the memories still sat warmly in Fenn's heart nonetheless.
"N-no," Fenn denied flatly. "Just um…j-j-just the one." He looked around himself. "Where…are we?"
To that, Green just shrugged. "Don't quite know, son. Been on the road for days now." He yawned. "God damn. I could use a break."
Fenn could only watch the Gallade stretch out his limbs, a bothersome bout of annoyance eating at his insides. His flame vents burned red.
"H-how did I get here?" Fenn pressed.
Green spat. "Assume you walked."
Fenn stomped his foot in indignance. "S-stop messing around!"
Behind him, several gasps sounded out. Green, in comparison, was undeterred. So much so that a grin spread across his face. "Easy, son," he said with a chuckle. "You'll be back soon. Just thought you needed a break, too."
Fenn's nostrils flared. A break? If hearing that was meant to calm him down, it didn't work. Fenn's flame vents were red hot and steaming now.
Again, the Gallade wasn't bothered. He propped his instrument against the stump and leaned forward.
"Now if you're done complainin', I've got a mighty big favor to ask of you, Fenn."
A favor was the last thing Fenn needed to be burdened with right now.
"N-not right now, sorry," Fenn said. "I have-"
Green put his hands up. "Someone waitin' for ya, I know, I know. Wouldn't have asked if I thought it'd distract."
Fenn frowned. In between the "break" comment and this, he was starting to wonder if Fenn himself was making this up somehow. The Quilava hit his head earlier—was this the result? Dreams of Wooloo and minstrel Gallades?
Worded almost like a warning, Fenn asked, "...What is it?"
"I want you to look after my flock while I'm gone," Green said. "Have some errands to take care of, and you look like you'd be good at that sort of thing."
Fenn balked, his flames finally bursting to life.
"H-huh? But…n-no, no! I-I wouldn't…I can't!"
Green chuckled at that. "What, you callin' me a liar?"
"N…no." Fenn's ears fell against his head. "This is…th-this is too much. I-I just want my Oswald!"
Oh. Oh, that just came out. Oh.
Fenn tried his hardest to ignore the gossip-y chattering behind him, but nothing would stop his entire body from heating up to the point of boiling. He gripped his arm hard.
Graciously, Green didn't tease him for it. Instead, he reached out and rested his hand on Fenn's shoulder.
"I know, bud," Green whispered, his voice tender. "But that's exactly why I know you'll do fine."
Fenn wanted to argue. He wanted to burst into flames and tell Green to find someone else. The words ended up dying in his throat, drowned out by shame. He knew that, even if he tried to argue, his stutter would only make him sound more pathetic.
Arceus, he hated this.
Green stood, much to Fenn's chagrin. He whistled to get the Wooloo's attention and the chatter immediately ceased.
Fenn tried to argue. "I-I really can't-"
"When you wake up," said Green, smiling warmly, "it'll hurt. It'll hurt like hell. But you're a strong guy. You can do it."
Again, Fenn stomped his foot. "S-stop! No, I-"
"Take care of my flock, Fenn. They need someone like you."
His fire reached towering heights. "I-I'm not…I'm not your stupid shepherd!"
Green whistled-
-Fenn's eyes darted open.
Green was right. No longer did Fenn simply ache—the pain in his skull had become a nagging throb that demanded his attention. It pulsed. It leaked. His body wanted to warn him of the danger, but the tiredness pulled him right back down. An entire day's worth of stress caught up to Fenn, and he had no choice but to curl up and groan.
Just like that, he was back in the cave again. With no fire left to light up the rubble around him, darkness sat at his heels, content to wait, and wait, and wait until it was finally over. Eventually, it would eat him alive.
Fenn wanted to go home.
He didn't care if his mother admonished him for running away and causing trouble. He just wanted to see her. It didn't matter to him that his sister was too busy to talk with him anymore, Fenn missed the fun they used to have. Heck, even his father's low temper was preferable to this. There were still good memories mixed in with the bad.
His grandfather would absolutely understand what Fenn had been through. He was old, and a good listener. Fenn could ride on his grandfather's back into the flower fields and-
Oh. Right. Fenn's grandfather had been dead for over ten years. No more mountain rides. No more volcano jumpies either, not with how big Fenn was now.
Those luxuries weren't for Fenn anymore. He lost his privileges when he grew up.
Tears pricked at his eyes. No, no, don't do that, Fenn chastised himself. You can't cry. Not now. You can't show weakness.
But weakness is all I have left, he reminded himself. It's all I've ever had.
Weakness was what Fenn, and by extension his father, had to escape from. It was his life's goal. And yet, here he was. He realized it right then: there never was any strength in him. Only weakness that grew smaller and smaller.
A warrior was capable of escaping that weakness.
Fenn was not.
He whispered out a nearly imperceptible "I-I'm sorry, Green," to the stale air, still stinking of gunpowder. He wouldn't be taking care of an entire flock like this. Maybe if he said it enough, Green would find someone else and forget about the pitiful Quilava. Maybe then the room would stop spinning.
No light and the persistent pin in the back of his neck made it hard to tell how much time was passing. He was adrift, lost in the endless brine of pouncing stars. Constantly fighting the nausea encroaching upon him.
All of that changed when a faint purple glow faded in and out of his vision.
It was so slight, so insignificant. A glow that barely lit up anything. But here, in the dark beyond dark, the glow became his world.
Blinking, Fenn finally urged the blurriness of his vision to subside. The dull throb in his skull, while still there in spirit, lost his attention. He was finally able to ascertain the source of this glow after focusing on it properly: a small collection of embers numbered in six or seven dancing in front of his snout. All purple, all lively like distant Illumise and Volbeat during mating season.
It made about as much sense as suddenly waking up in a field surrounded by Wooloo. Maybe he was still concussed. The dizziness had yet to fade fully and left him drifting in and out of cohesion. Somehow, though, the embers remained, clearer than the feeling in his own limbs.
A voice played in his mind.
"Take care of my flock, Fenn. They need someone like you."
Fenn whimpered.
"I-I'm sorry…I can't…"
The embers reacted to his words, going so far as to drift even closer. Either because his voice attracted them or it was by sheer coincidence, he wasn't sure. All he knew in that moment was how watching these embers slowed his breath.
It wasn't a flock of Wooloo, or anything, really. But…
The world around him could fall to pieces, throwing the room into disarray without his consent, but the embers remained. Skipping, dancing, prancing, chasing. Like children in play, or mock battle.
Fenn surmised that he could have watched them for hours. He wanted to, when all was so uncertain. The pretty embers gave him solace, reminding him of what a simple joy could be like.
Maybe it wasn't a flock of Wooloo. Maybe it wasn't anything at all. And yet it was all he had down in the belly of the earth. If he could keep these embers lit and comforted, at least he could say he tried.
There was nothing he wanted more than to try. After everything he had been through, it just wasn't fair to end it all with nothing to show for it.
So when they suddenly jolted away, scattering off further into the cave, Fenn paled. His flame vents cooled with his heart as he watched them grow distant.
"N-no, wait!" Fenn cried out. And he rose to his feet, stumbling in the process. A sharp pain made him grit his teeth, his whole body shaking. He could barely walk straight even as the dizziness began to subside. Luckily, they had not scattered far.
The purple embers had stopped shortly after the rubble of the explosion tapered off. Each one was far from the others, spaced out erratically and haphazardly, lost and alone. Something was off. They had seemed so carefree before, what had changed?
Fenn held out his paws and gently cradled one of the embers in between them, catching the faint glow it emitted.
"W-what's wrong?" he asked in a soft voice. It worried him to know that these embers paradoxically produced no warmth. They were even less real than he could've imagined. But again, it didn't matter. He wanted to make sure that these embers would not die out, lest they be forgotten.
The ember did not respond to him. It only slowed, and floated calmly between Fenn's paws.
A sudden sadness struck Fenn. It clung to him, dragging him down to his senses. He struggled to fight away his own tears. Arceus, his head hurt so much. Now, more than ever, he wanted to lay down and wail out in pain.
Fenn said regardless, trembling all the while, "I-it's…it's okay. I'm…okay. D-don't be scared…please."
The ember did not respond. It did, however, brighten just a tiny bit, and Fenn's eyes brightened in turn. The other embers were beginning to accumulate around his paws, as if understanding that Fenn could be trusted. They found their way back together, as one.
Fenn blinked compassionately, slow and controlled. Seeing all of these embers together once more filled Fenn with more satisfaction than he knew what to do with. The dizziness was still there, the throbbing causing his legs to wobble beneath him-
Fwoosh!
-but his fire found its light. He had the strength to stand on his own.
From there, it was all a matter of walking it off. Knowing they were all safe, Fenn was more than willing to follow the embers riding a nonexistent wind into the cave ahead of him, his arms loose at his sides. Step-by-step, he grew more confident in where he put his feet.
Fenn walked the stony tunnel of the cave for a short while with the embers in tow. The Quilava kept remembering what Green said, about taking care of the flock. Guiding others was never a possibility when it came to Fenn's future. Even if he became a leader in any way, warriors fought on their own.
Either way he just accepted that he wasn't good at it.
He carried that adage with him all the way to Kebia. It was only now, as he followed these embers, that Fenn realized that he must have left that adage behind. Because a warrior would never take up the mantle of caring for a flock. It made no sense.
Fenn was no warrior—not anymore—and he was pretty sure this wasn't a flock of Wooloo. If anything, Fenn assumed he was just playing pretend now, making up stories to feel better about his life.
Imagine: a shepherd guiding his little flock of embers through a deep, dark cave in search of his friends. That sounded so silly that it made Fenn laugh just a tiny bit.
It was so, so silly. All of this was. From how he got here to how he ended up with that handsome Dewott. Every day was sillier than the last.
In time, the wide walls of the cavern glowed on their own. Lanterns attached by hooks lit up the mine just as it began to change in texture. The walls shifted from jagged to smooth while buckets and minecarts littered the edges, piled up with rocks. Fenn had stumbled back into the mine during his little journey. But…he had never left it, right? It was always like this.
Well in any case, what was more prevalent became apparent almost as soon as the walls changed. First, Fenn's ears perked up at the sound of something in the distance. A consistent, roaring noise…rushing water? Down here?
Second were the spirals.
It hadn't occurred to Fenn how Ganlon Mine lacked the same strange decorations that the other dungeons always seemed to have. Irregular shapes not often seen in nature blossoming like weeds along the floors were completely absent, until now. Some were small, some were larger, and others were so large that they rode along the walls like cave paintings. Squares, diamonds, and even hexagons were present.
He shuddered. The occasional lantern meant that Fenn no longer needed to expend energy on his flames, but he did it anyway. His shoulders were beginning to feel heavy; this was too familiar to him. Figy Forest flashed in his mind, ringing danger, danger, danger—he couldn't let his guard down.
Meanwhile, the embers flickered around his forehead in rampant anticipation over what would come next. Fenn pulled one of them into his paws as he walked as if to carry it, soothe it.
It was not clear where exactly Fenn was going. The sound of rushing water only grew louder, so with no other leads Fenn followed it.
Finding the stream and its white, foamy surface from there proved to be as straightforward as Fenn hoped. It brought him no closer to his teammates as far as he knew, but at least he had a landmark to work with now.
The water itself flowed through a channel lower than the ground level Fenn walked upon, siphoning through brief openings in the rocks as well as hanging stalactites.
For once, Fenn was feeling good about the progress he was making in this cave.
And then he heard a scream.
Fenn's blood chilled to the bone. In an instant he was on all fours, racing towards the sound like blazing Tauros, hoping Arceus, oh please, Arceus don't let it be him. Anything but that.
Thankfully, Fenn found out what made that noise quickly. He skidded to a stop once he was absolutely sure that it wasn't Oswald or Finch, It sounded like a male voice, but it wasn't either of theirs.
No, Fenn still hadn't found them. What he found instead was a dark-winged bird pokemon facing away with his beak pointed down and standing with his back to Fenn. An actual pokemon not native to this environment, alive.
Was it a pokemon from the castle? Or was he with…whoever used to be that Zangoose? Fenn didn't think about that for very long.
A stream of rushing water to his right, the bird clearly didn't hear Fenn arrive. That changed almost as soon as Fenn noticed the bird outlined by the orange glow of a live torch laying on the ground. Fenn's own flames revealed more detail, like the myriad spiral shaped indents littering the ground and the splash of green wrapped around one of the bird's talons.
A guild pokemon. Fenn sighed with relief and approached. The purple embers still orbited his head, almost seeming to nip at his ears frantically. Fenn, for now, ignored them.
"H-hey!" he called out. "I heard a…a-a scream! Was that-"
Fenn stopped dead in his tracks.
The closer he got, the more detail of the scene was revealed.
The bird was a tall Staraptor, with talons like meat hooks digging firmly into groves within the rocks. His feathers were unkempt, dirty, and needed a thorough preening. His beak was gnarled and sharp, curved to be more angular than the common Staraptor.
Closer still, Fenn's eyes were drawn downward.
That torch wasn't a torch—it was a bone lit at its tip. Like a flame baton wielded by those coastal Marowak Fenn read about once.
It was illuminating a pool of blood.
The Staraptor turned to face Fenn, and in doing so shot a jolt of alarm up Fenn's spine, kicking his flames into overdrive. Smoke billowed out of the corners of Fenn's mouth.
The eyes of this Staraptor were unlike any he had ever seen before. Fenn thought he knew what it was like to stare down a threat, but he was proven wrong instantly. Sharp but hollow irises cut through the shadows and locked right on to Quilava, clawing directly to his deepest anxieties. There was no anger there. No discomfort. No annoyance or frustration. Not even fear.
Just apathy.
"Oh," said the Staraptor, "I don't recall a Quilava in our group. You arrived late."
Fenn hated this mon's voice. Not only was he slow and dry in how he spoke, each word dripped its way out of his beak with the exact same intonation. There was not even a hint of an attempt at crafting a character for himself. He just spoke and that was that.
Was he even a pokemon at this point? He didn't sound like one.
Fenn couldn't form a response. His attention was not on the Staraptor or what he said, it was on what was behind the bird.
There was a body, that much was obvious. It was sat up against the back wall, head hanging limply on its shoulders, blood oozing from a puncture wound in its chest. Right above was a familiar splash of green, a scarf just like the one Staraptor wore. The pokemon was a darker skinned Marowak; the murder weapon was a Corsola Twig, still embedded in the Marowak's chest. Blood flowed into a puddle at the body's base.
Fenn's stomach flipped and he nearly vomited on the spot. Breathing hard, his eyes fell back on the Staraptor.
He had not moved an inch.
"W-wha…wha…?" Fenn tried. "W-w-wha…t? What is…w-what is this?" His fire then blazed like an inferno and he shouted. "What the heck is this!?"
The purple embers scattered, darting about in dismay. One, however, broke away from the group. One of the embers sped right for the dead Marowak, slipping under its mask.
If Staraptor noticed this as he clicked his tongue and stared back down at the body, he did not show it.
"I will admit," he said, "it was sloppy. Amateur."
"You're…y-you're from the c-castle," Fenn breathed.
Staraptor then stared at Fenn intently, his expression unreadable. "As are you," he said. His talon clicked against the stone, and he walked closer.
Fenn took a wary step back. He blurted out, "S-stop!"
Surprisingly, Staraptor did so.
"W-why?" Fenn asked as he trembled. The embers were out of view, but the tickle on the back of his neck told him they were hiding. That granted him some modicum of solace, at least.
"Why?" repeated Staraptor in monotone. "What, do you intend to tell?"
Fenn responded immediately without thinking. "Yes! I-I have to! Y-y-you killed them!"
To that, Staraptor closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The following exhale made Fenn flinch with its briskness.
"I had no choice, you see," he said. "If I didn't, my secret would be revealed." He looked back at the body. "It was quite the struggle."
Fenn bit back a puff of smoke, incredulous. "S-so…so you k-killed them, for knowing your s-secret?"
Staraptor turned and stared. "No." One step towards Fenn. "I did not kill them for knowing my secret. I offered that information willingly."
Once again, Fenn stepped back. "W-what did you do?"
"'Do?'" Staraptor scoffed. With no irony or humor to support it, the scoff sounded forced. "It is nothing that I did. It is who I am." He angled his head forward, his brow furrowing to compensate for the lack of emotion in his voice. "Please understand, the judgement became too much to bear."
Judgement? Judgement!?
Fenn fumed. "Y-you can't just…you c-can't just kill someone for judging you! Th-that's…"
"Murder," Staraptor finished for him. "Pre-meditated, planned, and carried out. Here, where the sun never shines and few will ever walk. You are correct."
Fenn could barely keep himself from baring his teeth. What made this all worse was how the scarves both the Staraptor and the Marowak wore were the same color. They were a team, prior friends, brought to…this.
He gripped his own scarf and was overcome with a need to see Oswald, Cosmo, and Finch again, just to know that they were okay. He feared that if he didn't see them soon, he'd burn until only charcoal remained. They were somewhere down here with a murderer, this Staraptor.
Fenn's heart beat against his chest. Find them. No more waiting, he had to find them.
At that moment, he would have run. It would not have been difficult to kite this bird, no matter how agile he was. Fenn was smaller, and had range on his side.
But he didn't.
Because right then, he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye. He looked down to find that the pool of blood had created a trail that drained all the way to him. A spiral at Fenn's foot halted the blood, absorbing it into the grooves in the rocks. Fenn found himself transfixed to how the blood swirled along with the shape.
And then, the swirl pattern began to curl inward, sucking into the stone. It formed a solid circle of blood that lifted up in complete defiance to gravity. The blood formed a sphere, and that sphere spun in place. Splatters of blood flew all around, emptying itself, gradually shaving away at the sphere until something new formed.
Born from the blood was an object out of thin air—a glass orb sitting completely clean amongst the mess of red. At the center of this orb was a spiral pattern consisting of two colors: orange and purple.
Everything, from the killer to the pain in his skull to the embers to his missing friends faded from Fenn's mind, all replaced by this one singular object.
He recognized this. How could he ever forget it?
The memory rushed back to him before he had the chance to stop it.
(...)
(...)(...)
(...)(...)(...)
(...)(...)
(...)(...)(...)
Whywhywhywhy did Fenrir think this was a good idea? This wasn't fun at all!
Fenrir changed his mind, he's a flower boy! He didn't care anymore, Yarrow could call him all the names he wanted so long as they never had to go into this creepy forest ever again!
So what if Fenrir was stronger than the other kids? His father was right. Yarrow's dad was right. Figy Forest wasn't a place for kids no matter how strong they were.
The skies were purple for crying out loud! That's scary! That's really, really scary!
Eugh, Fenrir could still taste the throw-up in his mouth. His leg was really sore, too. He couldn't run without hurting it more.
Luckily, he and Yarrow found a bush to hide in to get away from that big green bug thing. It looked like something right out of Fenrir's nightmares, knives for hands and all. Yarrow called it a Scyther or something? He was too scared to explain what it was, and then he wouldn't talk at all.
Fenrir just didn't know what to do. Yarrow's forehead had a big cut on it and he was shivering. It was bleeding really bad. The leaves Fenrir tried to use on the cut like mama told him once only got all red and sticky. It grossed Fenrir out so much that he couldn't take it! Now there were red leaves all over the ground, right next to a bunch of those weird shapes.
All of this and he couldn't even cry out for his parents. There were still bugs and stuff trying to find them. They had no choice but to stay quiet.
Fenrir didn't think he was cut out to be a warrior anymore.
He knew he wasn't supposed to be afraid, but…he just couldn't help it. How could he not be scared in a place like this? He cried so much that the tears stopped coming.
Fenrir shouldn't have opened his big stupid mouth. Every single time, it only got him into trouble.
Now what? They couldn't even leave! Neither of them knew how!
If only he was stronger, like his dad. If he was a fully grown warrior, this would have been a piece of cake.
"Please…" Fenrir pleaded in a whisper to anyone who would listen. "I wanna be a warrior. Let me be a warrior!"
It was then that something moved out of the corner of Fenrir's eyes. He looked to the leaves, each one jittering like they were being pulled by tiny strings. The blood seeped off of the leaves and onto the ground, leaving them inert. The blood then came together into one big puddle right on top of one of those swirly shapes.
Fenrir watched in awe as the swirl was painted a blood red, only to shift before his very eyes. Yarrow didn't see this; he was too busy cowering. No, this show was for Fenrir and Fenrir only.
The blood formed a sphere, then that sphere melted away, leaving another sphere behind. This one was made of glass, Fenn thought. At its center was this really weird orange and purple pattern. Fenrir had never seen anything like it.
But as soon as it entered his sights, he wanted it more than anything else in the world. Because it was his.
He didn't even know how or why, but this orb made him feel strong. He crawled over to it and gingerly picked it up with his paws, forgetting all about the danger right outside. Immediately, a surge of courage hit him to the point of drying every tear he had ever shed.
Where it came from or how it got there didn't matter to Fenrir. All that mattered now was that he was a warrior with this sphere in his paws. Well and truly so.
It began to glow. A silent question was asked, something that only Fenrir could hear:
"Speak with your actions, little one. Let your flames burn holes into the scriptures you utter. Only then may you scorch the earth with your silhouette. Do you accept?"
And Fenrir said:
"Yes."
(...)(...)(...)
(...)(...)
(...)
(...)(...)
(...)
The mega stone. Fenn had a mega stone at one point- he remembered now. But he left it in the dungeon, his dad showed up before he could even use it. All he was left with was a stutter and some really bad ideas.
It was gone. He lost it, never to be found again no matter how many times he searched for it. After a while he just forgot about it.
Yet this was the very same mega stone. He'd recognize it anywhere. Why was it here? How was it here? Why now of all times?
An old buried fit of resentment bubbled up to the surface. This stone, this hallowed thing was to blame for so much. Back then, after Yarrow left and his grandpa died, Fenn knew that the only way to make up for it was to find this stone. Become the powerful warrior he needed to be. Only then would his life go back on track and everything would be alright again.
Fenn dreamed of it, fantasized what it would be like to find it again. Channeling its power felt like such a distant idea.
And now here it was, right after Fenn decided that it was all just a fantasy.
Just like then, he knew that if he had this stone, he would be stronger. He could find Oswald, Cosmo, and Finch without a problem. His flames would scour the caves, uncover every secret and burn a path forward.
It was what he needed. Yes, it was too late for Fenn to be a warrior, but that didn't mean he couldn't protect the ones he cared about.
Fenn took a step forward to reach for it-
A dark shape lunged for Fenn. Even as it hit him square in the chest and toppled him to the ground, Fenn's thoughts were more focused on how he'd get stone in his paws than fighting back, at least at first.
By the time the Quilava finally regained his composure, heat building in his maw, the smoke was knocked out of him. A heavy claw grasped his neck in a vicegrip, making Fenn gasp in shock.
The Staraptor stood over him, on him, his entire weight keeping Fenn pinned to the ground. His beak was curled into a frightening scowl. In contrast to the emotionless manner in which he regarded Fenn before, the Staraptor exploded into anger.
"Say it!" he growled. "I'm a murderer! A cold, heartless murderer!"
Fenn gagged—the claw was crushing his windpipe, squeezing the air right out of him. He tried to shout and wrench himself out of the Staraptor's grip, but all he ended up doing was flailing with eyes nearly popping out of his sockets.
How could he have let this happen?
Staraptor was shouting now. "I can't let them know! They're all liars and cheaters! They'd throw me away without a second thought!"
His fire—Fenn had to use his fire. That was the only way out of this, or this maniac would kill him.
Fenn pushed from deep within his chest, calling up the last bit of air he had left in his lungs to power a burst of flame accumulating behind his teeth. He opened his mouth aimed right towards the Staraptor's beak.
But before Fenn could unleash it, there was a ripping sound, and a sharp stinging pain across his chest. That alone made the fire die out, but Staraptor made sure that this wouldn't happen again. His second talon fell on Fenn's face, pushing it roughly to the side, out of the way. Fenn wheezed and spittle flew from his mouth.
Now with the full weight of the Staraptor on top of him, Fenn couldn't move a muscle above his shoulders. If he wasn't panicking before, he was now.
"Look at what you made me do," he said. "Is the world so set on torturing me?"
His grip tightened. Fenn couldn't breathe.
As the sides of Fenn's vision began to blur and darken, he heard Staraptor say, "I killed once, because I had to. What's one more?"
Fenn's face was pushed aside at quite possibly the cruelest angle. The mega stone sat mere feet from him, still waiting for him to take it as his own.
If he could only use it. He would save himself, kill this crazy bastard, and finally get out of here.
But no matter how far he stretched his arm to its absolute limit, he just couldn't reach it.
This was it. Fenn had failed. So close…yet so far. He was losing consciousness by the second. His life was slipping away.
Oswald…
However, amidst the sea of growing apathy, six purple lights shone back near the cave wall. The body was still there, now surrounded by the purple embers.
It was standing up.
Oo-oO
With a shout, I plunged the blade down into the Paras, severing it in two. This was the loudest of my screams yet, filled with achy frustration and an urge to get this all over with.
My god, I could barely keep myself standing anymore. In between the exhaustion, the long spent adrenaline, and the ice still—still—clinging to my lungs even after I stopped spewing Ice Beams twenty Paras ago, I was just about ready to give up.
The next Paras that lunged gave me no time to rest or celebrate, and I stumbled back with the scalchop still in my paw. By this point I had seen every approach these ooze-filled creatures could take, outside of climbing out of the earth itself. The only difference was in how I had to swing my weapon.
This next one fell directly from the ceiling, so I arched my swing upward. Both sides of its body fell on either side of me, but not before splattering me with disgusting juices. Not quite blood, but not quite what their shells were encased with either.
Whatever. I threw up my lunch at least thirty Paras ago. Who cares anymore if it smelled like rotten eggs and garbage in here—I had to live. For Cosmo. For Fenn. Hell, even Finch.
I stopped counting after a while. I thought I reached fifty? They were still coming regardless, not even slowing down. Cosmo and I had to back up two chambers behind us just to not get overwhelmed.
I was panting hard. Every bit of my body shook violently, feeling the freezing cold and scorching heat all at once.
"Oswald…" Cosmo whined, and I knew what he wanted to say. The words just never came out. I knew he was scared, but godammit I was trying my best out here. Did he not think I considered running before?
"I can do this," I said. My voice was husky, gravely, tongue like sandpaper in my mouth. "I'll get us out of here. I'm channeling like…ten samurai movies right now, Cosmo. Believe me…I'm not giving up!"
Cosmo didn't respond. That was okay, he didn't need to.
He stopped believing in me well before now.
Again, a Paras lunged. This time, though, it came at a weird diagonal angle. My immediate thought was to swing right, only that I misjudged exactly where it would be. The light phased over the Paras' head, missing it by an inch.
It used its momentum and free reign to cling to my arm and bite down. The agonizing pinch reverberated throughout my entire body.
"AH FUCK!"
With my other arm, which I used purely for balance before, I grabbed my second scalchop and plunged it into the Paras. It fell with a wet splat on the floor, defeated, but the damage had already been done.
Cosmo screamed. "Make it stop! Please please please please!"
Dropping to one knee, I held my paw up to my injured arm. The bite mark was a nasty mix of blood and ooze and soot from earlier. None of it had been washed off. So fucking gross.
My breathing slowed and my stomach threatened to make me vomit again. I was getting lightheaded now that I was off my feet. Just like that, with no energy to work with, I could barely move. Who could have expected that it would all catch up to me the second I lost focus?
And even after that, the corridor ahead of me was filled to the brim with rabid Paras, painting the darkness in an even deeper black and green. I hadn't made a dent.
There was no winning this. Did I ever have a chance? Or have I been going about it all wrong?
Fuck…FUCK! I thought furiously. What do I do?
Cosmo was blabbering incoherently, crying his little eyes out, I could hear it. Even he knew that we were running out of time.
I promised myself that I'd get him out of here. But now what? How could I possibly manage that?
The Paras were getting closer…closer…
What can I do?
Maybe I'd never get out of this alive. But Cosmo, he probably wasn't tired at all. He could escape. Or find help. I just didn't know if he could do it in time, though.
You know what? Who cares? If we're both doomed, then I didn't want him to see me go down. He didn't deserve that.
"Cosmo," I said, fighting to sound calm, "go find uncle Finch. Or Fenn, doesn't matter."
Cosmo stopped crying immediately. That seemed to work. Except his voice was filled with distress. "O- wha, no! No, no, no!"
He was fighting back against it? What…? Okay, didn't matter.
I commanded him, "Cosmo, do it. Listen to me…and do what I say: find. Finch. Do it now."
"No…" Cosmo whimpered.
"Cosmo."
He sniffled. "...Okay…Cosmo will. He will! Cosmo will save you, Oswald!"
When I looked over my shoulder, I caught Cosmo rushing off back the way we came. There were still a few ways we didn't go, a few paths not taken. His luck hadn't run out yet.
Mine, though…
I looked back at the encroaching hoard. The Paras had formed a wall of disgusting black ooze. A sludge with its own consciousness, complete with a giant ghastly face fixed in an expression of abject horror and malice. Its eyeless sockets were angled right for me.
I said, "About time you showed your face." Shakily, I stood back on my two feet.
"Don't mess with me. I may look like hell, but I'm a real samurai!"
It took everything in me to lift that scalchop one more time. This was it. One thought resurfaced in my mind in spite of all of this.
Fenn…
Oo-oO
The Marowak's mask hid his eyes. The bone white of the skull peeked out just barely from the shadows, illuminated only by the dwindling flame of the bone at his feet and the embers dancing around it.
But Fenn knew, even as the life was being choked out of him, that the Marowak was looking right at him. He rose slowly, but not once did the skull change position or direction.
There, he stood, rigid and lifeless. One hand reached for his chest, and pulled the Corsola Twig out without flinching. The other hand reached down and grasped the flaming bone.
Fenn couldn't breathe. Everything was beginning to waver and fade. He couldn't hear the water anymore, nor his own heartbeat.
Silence prevailed. He was dying.
But his gaze never deviated from the Marowak. He watched with his final breaths as the Marowak trudged closer to the water, only to hold the bone club up. The embers followed the fire to an alcove next to the shore.
Fenn didn't notice it before. He was too distracted.
But he saw it now. In that alcove was a bundle of dynamite, now being circled by the purple embers.
His savior.
But what about the mega stone? Fenn thought. Briefly, he peered at it instead. What would happen to it?
The Marowak turned his head robotically, facing Fenn once more. Then, he tossed the Corsola Twig onto the ground. It clattered inaudibly for Fenn.
For Staraptor, it was as loud as the rushing stream. He jolted, and in the process loosened his grip on Fenn just enough for him to build up a Flame Burst.
Even while he was pinned down, aiming for the bundle was second nature to Fenn. He unleashed a spurt of fire barely larger than the purple embers.
The moment before disaster was as long as Fenn's entire existence. He used that time to promise himself to find that mega stone before it would get washed away.
He needed that power.
The dungeon thought otherwise.
Oo-oO
KABOOM!
I flinched, losing my balance instantly. The explosion was distant, happening somewhere far off in the cave. The very foundation of the mine shook in response.
One second I was staring down a wall of Paras, and the next that face they conjured was being washed away by a torrent of water.
"What the-"
It came for me. Throwing me under before I had the chance to gain my bearings.
I tumbled, falling into complete darkness.
Author's Note - 10/24/25
I think I wrote about 8000 words in the span of five days before finishing this one. Once I was in the zone, I was very excited to get to certain bits in this chapter. And even then I had more planned that got pushed up to the chapter after this one.
Chapter art was completed by a good friend and reader of this story Hyden Hyrolur. If you're reading this on FFN still, then you won't see it. AO3, PMDFF, and Thousand Roads are all versions of this story with occasional art pieces.
I actually have a few more pieces of art to show before the end of this arc. Including one that I've been sitting on for over 2 years now. Hopefully I can squeeze in one more chapter before the end of the year.
Thanks, as always, to my betas: Bonehead, Dust_Scout, LukerUpgradez, NikelNani, and Timelocke.
Thank you to you, too, for reading. See you next time.