It feels like motion is tugging at the edge of his vision. Something- something happened. Disorientation is in firm command of his skull, and a dull ache of his veins suggests… illness? Poison? Exhaustion? The shallow burn he feels could be any of the above, or some particularly cruel combination of several. The whole world's wrapped in a bristly sort of cotton, vision a blur beneath the pinpricks of random visual noise in the darkness.

He's lying on his belly, left cheek set down against a smooth stone floor. His rucksack is… nowhere? He's lost his rucksack somehow. He remembers having it. He's somewhere in Corral Isle? He remembers going there, even if it seems impossibly distant all of a sudden.

And then, lucidity takes full hold of him, fueled by an instinctive rush of adrenalin, as his psyche makes sense of the shadows before him. 'Sense' is relative: It's alive. It's alive, it's looming over him, and he's sure it's staring at him. There are spines all across it. The hint of a colour his mind corrects to subjective white in the darkness comes in the shapes of rows of teeth. And it has more claws than it should, visceral panic talking or not. It's definitely alive - aside from the subtle but rhythmic motion of what must be its chest, he can hear it breathing amongst this alien, absolute silence.

Don't Panic.

Those words were good advice when Douglas Adams wrote them, and they're still good advice now. Unfortunately, his rucksack is missing, and so he has no idea where his towel is.

Okay. Okay. This is really terrifying, but it's nothing he's never dealt with before. It's… it's got to be a wild pokémon. A really big, menacing wild pokémon. He can handle himself. Just don't panic, and don't make any sudden movements, and slooooowly reach down towards his belt. Primeape. Primeape could deal with this. A good LOW KICK or something, anything, he's not sure. Just anything that'll put some distance between him and this whatever-it-is. Almost… almost… his hand brushes against his belt, feeling for his pokéballs, and…

And they're not there. Shit. Okay, now would be an adequate time to panic.

The creature gives a snort. ~It's a shame they can't see you now.~ The voice is in his head. In his head. It's full of a derisive venom, but easily understood, much as if a human being were hovering immediately above him and speaking in a way partly touching and travelling through his very bones. ~They'd lose the superstition that they need to obey you quickly,~ the creature sneers, bringing the tip of its muzzle down to grin with a toothy open maw at his face. ~But you're lucky, I'm feeling generous today. If you can find your way back out of here before I find you, you can crawl back home. How does a five minute head start sound?~

Throughout the speech, the shape begins to make more sense - it's near-avian, with a rigid plumage as if someone had gelled it into a very specific, wavy form, and the attention caused the feathers to morph to metal rods. The base colour of it appears chiefly crimson, though that could be a trick of the mind in this dim circumstance. Its eye colour is not discernable. What is it? If it can speak to him like this, then it must be a Legendary, but the shape is familiar. …a raptorian? The pronounced, raised claws on the creature's hindpaws cement the impression. Some kind of psychic-capable raptorian, as tall as a human at the shoulders. Fuck.

What. Wait, what. Now he's hearing voices in his head, and it's distinctly not his. It. It's speaking to him. Eyes go wide in terror. He's stumbled across something with not only psychic abilities, but the ability to speak into his mind. A Legendary. A Legendary and it's huge. And it's very clearly threatening to kill him.

Two diametrically opposed thoughts occur roughly in tandem in his brain. One is that this is the most amazing find he's ever seen. The other is that he's going to die if he doesn't start running right now. After a second of internal conflict, that latter thought wins out, and he starts scrambling to his feet and running as fast as he can.

Something in the creature's posture for a moment appears like a hunting instinct spurned, a tension, a coiling and predatory alertness - then it shrinks back subtly, reining itself in, left forepaw curling itself into the tight semblance of a fist. A thin hiss escapes it, though it neither bothers to speak to him again nor stop him, instead simply following him with a hawkish gaze. A smirk is neither discernable in the dim lighting nor does it seem likely that one would be visible even in broad daylight - reptilian faces don't cater to mammalian expression, after all - but it's easily imagined, a light tinker of metal against metal suggesting the Legendary's shift to accommodate for his leer from a distance as his eyes narrow.

Five minutes. Five minutes are a long time, aren't they? Why would a pokémon know what five minutes are, especially without a watch to stare at, though? Humans didn't have that finely grained an inner clock and they handled the artificial timespans all the time. What did this creature mean with 'five minutes' and how far could he get in that time?

The darkness proves hazardous even just ten metres into his run, as the hard edge of a flake of rock cuts itself against his left shin, trousers catching against it and nearly tearing him into a fall. Again: Where is he? A frantic, disoriented analysis merely confirms that he must still be somewhere within Corral Isle - the way the landscape appears, those horizontal shapes, the broad but not very high curving corridor of rock around him, they're all very clear signs of the vertically compacted designs inherent to the island.

Once the creature is out of sight behind him, the passage splits without much further ado, left arm dipping down in a subtle curvature visible chiefly in contrast to the upward one of the right. It could be his mind playing tricks on him, but the right one seems like it's leading up to something lighter. Outside? No, outside won't be this close if the creature was making 'get outside' part of the game's parameters and gave him this much time.

A hiss escapes him as a shard of rock scratches at his leg, almost causing him to trip mid-stride before he catches himself, right hand hitting the rock hard enough to sting. Shit. He can't see where he's going, at all, and his flashlight… isn't here. Maybe it's with his rucksack, and his pokémon, wherever those are. Did that Legendary take them? Where are they? Where is he? Still somewhere in the Corral Isle cave system, he's pretty sure… but with no light source and no way of finding out where he is more specifically than that, this 'game' is already looking terribly unwinnable.

And then, there's a branch. Shit. As if trying to run in the dark weren't hard enough, he's also got to navigate branching tunnels. Wait. Is that… - is that light? He's pretty sure there's light in that direction. And it looks like it's going up? Oh please let that be a way out please let it be a way out. Or at least let his mind not be playing tricks on him. If it's a psychic Legendary, that could very well be the case. It might even be that this is all in his head, but his survival instinct shoves that possibility away to the corners of his mind. There's light, that's enough reason to go that way. Maybe then he won't run into as many sharp rocks.

Maybe it's because the creature being out of sight allows the animal parts of his brain to reassign its priorities, but he's quite suddenly aware that it's cold down here. The corridor's ground is uneven in step-like spurts, moreso the further he goes, slowing his progress and eventually forcing him to stop running.

There's definitely light touching this branch of the labyrinth, though its source isn't anywhere near apparent yet. The rocks are adopting the hint of a cream-like colour in his subjective experience - their true colour, finally registering through the visual static of dim light as that in turn fades a little.

And then, abruptly, the ground ends. One foot finds itself striking water and lurching forward and downward. An instant later, cold water embraces him, however briefly - it looks like he has to swim to freedom. For a brief moment, the notion of having to dive for a stretch longer than he can bear surfaces in the fatalistic part of his mind - but rational inspection shows only a stretch of water. The hint of light is still ahead, not beneath him. It's a little more substantial now, no longer appearing like a potential hallucination, the rocks curving off further to the right, the edges of rocks revealing themselves as vague silhouettes against the better illuminated stone beyond.

…yes. Yes, this is definitely real light. Totally real light that will ultimately lead him to one-hundred-percent real safety. He's not running any more, but still moving with as much haste as the treacherous terrain will allow him, until suddenly his foot finds itself missing the ground and lurching into cold water. He inhales sharply, pulling his leg back out as quickly as he can. Cold cold cold. Okay, time to take a moment to look around. The light's up ahead, and he has to swim to get there. Shit, what if he can't make it? What if he has to dive too far down?

That's not an option. He has to make it. There's a Legendary pokémon with razor-sharp claws that will kill him if he doesn't. No time to worry about getting his clothes drenched. Taking a deep breath, he bites his lip, and drops into the water. Gaaaah so cold. So very, very cold. Start swimming. Start swimming for dear life, towards the light, and hope for the best.

The cold bites at his skin, seeping in through his flesh to nip uncomfortably at his bones, quick to barb quite a strong discomfort through his fingers and hands, delicate as they are compared to the rest of his submerged body. His clothes drag as he swims, shoes becoming what feels like infinitely heavier. It can't really be this difficult to stay afloat, can it? He's managing, but he feels like he's suddenly put on more weight than is fair.

He knocks against rocks, legs kicking harmlessly against them. Shallows. Less swimming, more wading. The ground's at an inconvenient height - just barely longer than his arms, not quite low enough to easily pull his legs up onto it. It takes him a little longer to find proper purchase with his limbs, then he's walking through the water, toward a clear shore. Judging by the band of lighter rock ahead, he's rather close to whatever source of light he's arduously working towards. So far, nothing else has tried to eat him. He's not even run into Zubats. If the threat from the Legendary weren't breathing down his neck, he'd probably feel lucky given the circumstance of 'lost somewhere in Corral Isle without my gear'.

Cold. Why does the water have to be so cold. Why do his clothes have to feel so heavy. Why is this even happening to him? He was just exploring the tunnels of the island, he was adequately prepared for natural dangers, he knew the risks of coming here - or thought he did, at least. …and then a sudden, panicked thought strikes him: How many of the disappearances in these caves had something to do with that pokémon? If it lives here, and it's a Legendary… they might have not made it out because they ran into it.

Before that thought has the chance to progress further, he finds himself in shallows, and he can see the opposite shore ahead. With difficulty, he manages to clamber along, eventually pulling himself upright and wading towards the rocky shore, clothes dripping with cold water, clinging to his skin, shoes squelching under his feet as he climbs onto dry ground once more. Just a little farther now. Just a little farther.

Dry land. Or reasonably dry land - first attempts to step on it result in the sole of the shoe losing its hold and slipping back, nearly resulting in something dangerous, like a sprained ankle, but he catches it in time. Then he's up in the passage again, ducking slightly, the low ceiling now no longer accommodating for his height. The light he can see a corner of ahead provides an uncomfortable sting to his eyes, accustomed to the darkness as they now are, but promises sunlight. As such, keeping his gaze a little lower for the moment, perhaps watching his step, he can press on, heading toward the sliver of hope like to a homing beacon.

Abruptly, there's a commotion behind him - a flutter of wings around and behind his back, a creature or two impacting lightly with his shoulders, flowing past him - and he's taken a fumbled step forward, sole of his foot setting down on a slope. For an instant, there's simply the horror of knowing he's losing his balance, then gravity plucks at his gut, lacing a tinge of nausea into him, and he's fallen, right hip impacting with the smooth stone, left leg angling awkwardly, clothes half catching on the rocks, half simply sounding against it as he ends up sliding down the slope, the light incline abruptly twisting itself around and down, morphing into something just shy of a cliff.

At least his ass stays firmly connected to the ground on his way down, and the slope slows his descent as it morphs into something shallower once more. The light's blinding now, filling his vision. The stone feels smooth beneath him and through the spots of his eyes he can see he's still inside the cave system somehow, but there's also definitely sunlight. Above him? It's like a spotlight. There's a shallow puddle beneath him, feeling like more than his soggy clothes would account for - a hole in the ceiling, then? Does it rain into here?

Sunlight! There's sunlight up ahead! Please let it be safety please let it be safety…

He proceeds as quickly as he can safely muster, eyes sticking to the ground. He's almost out. He hopes he's almost out. And then something's happening behind him, and a huge cloud of Zubats rushes past him, a few impacting with him… his footing slips, he loses his balance… - there's a sharp cry of pain from him as his hip slams into the stone. For a moment, there's flailing, then an almost vertical plunge.

It takes him a few long moments to get his bearings once more. It's painfully bright, and… wet? There's some water pooling around his ankles. His eyes slowly adjust to the brightness. …he's still in the cave system? The sunlight is coming from a wide hole in the ceiling, so high above him. …rainwater. It's rainwater pooled at his feet.

Sudden panic grips him, and his head pivots around, trying to find some way out. Some tunnel or something, anything, even just a place to hide. With a grunt of pain, he pushes himself into a stand, limping around the central pool, scanning the walls for any sign of a way out. If there are any, they're all ludicrously high up, and he's in no shape to be climbing.

Trapped. He's trapped, in the middle of a well-lit chamber, and there's a legendary pokémon who's about to start searching for him with intention of killing him, if he hasn't already. In a panicked scramble, he starts trying to climb one of the walls towards something that looks like it might be a way out - but the walls of this chamber are too smooth for him to get a good grip on, he has no climbing equipment, and his leg is injured. He's got no chance.

Whatever time has passed, the answer seems to be 'not very much' - nothing's immediately leering down at him, no teeth, no claws, he's on his own in relative silence once the flutter of Zubats temporarily escaping up toward the daylight dies down. His eyes adjust to the brightness slowly, revealing his hunch correct - he's in a bowl of stone, not perfectly smooth, potentially allowing him to climb, but the flakes of rock that appear the stretch of half of his height above him make it unclear where the exits are, apart from the obvious one that he'd come from.

…maybe… the Legendary doesn't like light? Maybe he's safe here? It's a ludicrous, childish notion to have, but it's a sliver of hope granting him an inkling of sanity. He's alone with his thoughts, if he can't figure out a way out of here, the supernatural will have to do to soothe him.

He's going to die here. That's thought keeps coming back to him. He's going to die here, like probably most of the people before him. People out there will assume he just fell prey to an unfortunate climbing accident, as he had assumed so many others had. He's doomed. Though now that he thinks about it, he was probably doomed from the start - he'd never heard tales of a creature like that living in these caves, and if anyone had ever managed to escape, surely there would be some superstition about the caverns of Corral Isle.

Exhaustion catches up to him. He lies on his back, staring upward at the circle of sky above. Tempting him with thoughts of freedom. So close, and yet so impossibly far. Maybe the creature doesn't like light. It's an absurd notion, the rational part of him realizes. It's absurd, but it's the only thing he can possibly hope for.

How long can five minutes possibly be? Surely the distance will be no problem for that monster and it should - stupidly - be entirely plainly apparent where he went. He had to take the most obvious path. In hindsight, it seems foolish, like a trap deliberately laid out for him to stumble into. Was that the case, though? Could that creature be so cunning?

The light click of something against stone in the silence of the cavern brings an association of terror with it. No doubt that's it approaching. The notion makes the light tremble of cold that his body's adopted a little more apparent. There's very little time to consider his alternatives - a crimson muzzle appears, along with a literal metal plumage, glancing down from where he fell, inclined in curiosity, anchoring a silent stare on him.

The soft clacking sound of claws on stone only makes his terror more tangible. It's here. It's here, and it's going to kill him. Maybe he can play dead? Does he honestly have any hope of fooling it, if it can speak into his mind? He shuts his eyes, desperately trying to slow his rapid breathing down, desperately hoping to look as lifeless as he can. Please let it lose interest in him.

Crinyx regards the human for a moment, wondering if, against all odds, he's fallen asleep when he really ought to be terrified - he's clearly not dead, he's still breathing, after all. Knocked out? That would be a shame. Still content being silent, Crinyx steps to the side, following a ledge around the treacherous bowl, then finding the least steep part to slither down along, careful and deliberate in his descent, not in the least wanting to give his victim the joy of seeing him faceplant or similarly make a fool of himself.

Cautious in his approach - not alien to traps, after all, and thus curious if he might be missing something dangerous - he brings his muzzle into a close hover to see how the hapless bag of flesh is going to react to his presence, to the sound of his breathing, to the slight warmth of the air escaping him, to the click of claws much closer than before. Panic was a double-edged sword - a delicious sight on the one hand, but potentially difficult to deal with on the other.

It's coming closer. It's coming closer, it's going to kill him. Don't open your eyes. Don't move, don't even think about moving. Just try to keep your breathing as slow and steady as you possibly can, and don't… move… at all. It's looming over him, the shadow of its muzzle partially blocking out the warm sunlight filtering through his eyelids, warm, humid breathing. Don't panic. For the love of god, don't panic.

No reaction. Did the human take a tumble down here and hit his head somewhere? He better not be out cold, that would ruin all the fun. Crinyx lets his breath ghost against his victim's forehead's hairline, tangling a few strands of hair in the process. There's no way in hell this human is out cold - he's nowhere limp enough, all wrapped up in palpable tension. But he's evidently not about to stop lying here all still and tense without some prompt, so…

Crinyx closes his eyes, raising his muzzle lightly, for a moment simply savouring the proverbial scent of fear - then he dips his gaze down to inspect the human. It's lying on its back, giving it a lot of leeway to move its arms. They'd not be a problem, but they could easily be a nuisance.

…after some contemplation, he decides that there really is no smooth way to flip the human over and get a first hit in at the same time… and curls his left forepaw to a fist, only to stab the single spike protruding from the back of his palm with a sudden punch down into the human's body, sliding in just under his collar bone beneath his right shoulder.

Well, that's certainly one way of prompting a reaction. A scream of pain spills from the human as fire tears at his muscles. Terrified eyes shoot open, staring upwards at the monster, seeing it properly for the first time. He instinctively twists under the claw, hands prying at it, trying desperately to get away, though in all likelihood his writhing is only going to cause even more damage.

And then the kicking. And shrieking. And the frantic fumbling at his arm, uncomfortable at worst. He sneers, simply keeping the spike embedded in the human's shoulder, some of his weight rested against it. For a moment, he considers informing the human of what's about to happen, but all ways he can think of of sharing the giddy delight are far too verbose. Instead, he uses his free forepaw to grab at the arm of the unharmed shoulder's wrist, tugging the human effortlessly off the ground, twisting his other forepaw to lift him by his collarbone and those tortured fibres of flesh.

A moment later, the human finds himself lifted like a ragdoll from that wound and the hold on his wrist. Blood creeps from the wound down the forepaw pressed as a fist against it, snaking in rivulets along the dark crimson scales with their black patterns. And then, the creature smiles - or makes an expression that looks like a smile, muzzle opening lightly and a certain brightness entering his eyes, and if his victim is paying any attention at all, he'd see the tiny rivers of blood begin to fade, absorbed into the scales as if there were another dimension to the Legendary's skin not apparent to sight that gravity was pulling them into.

~I like this part,~ Crinyx finally shares, leering up at the human, proving that his earlier speech was not some hallucinated fluke.

There's another howl of pain from the human as he's lifted off the ground like a ragdoll, twisting and tugging at the embedded claw, kicking futilely in some vain attempt at causing even minimal damage to his captor. “Let me go!” he shouts, voice a mix of pain, rage, fear and desperation. His eyes are screwed shut, breath hissing as he tries to deal with the burning pain in his shoulder.

It's enjoying this. This isn't some wild animal protecting itself or its territory. It's actually taking pleasure in watching him suffer. Why? What did he ever do to this creature to deserve this fate?

If he's conscious of the complaint, he's not reacting to it in any visible way. Instead, a moment later sees Crinyx closing his eyes lazily, twisting his head off to the side, maw still lightly ajar, steel plume twitching - and in combination seems as if there's some sort of euphoric trance taking its toll on him. That can't be good. Given the circumstance, that can't possibly be good.

Then, abruptly, his held wrist is pushed against his chest, used as leverage to pluck that spike from his torso. Gravity abruptly feels much more apparent… and without that Crinyx bothers to let go of the hapless human's wrist, he's falling back to the stone floor, held arm twisting at the shoulder joint and dislocating in a vicious wrench - along with the pain of impact rattling through his bones, right cheekbone and shoulder most affected by the resulting dull ache, latter knitting into the existing pain from the stab wound and turning into a near-overwhelming agony. He's on his belly now, at least in approximation - and a foot sets down against his spine near the small of his back.

The human's eyes open, twisting to gaze at the forepaw clutching at his shoulder. Maybe if he bites at it it'll go away? But before there's much of a chance to act on that instinct, his wrist is being pushed against his chest, and the claw is tugged out of his shoulder. An instant later, he's crashed into the stone floor, howling as his shoulder feels like it's torn from its socket, muscles burning in strain, bones aching from impact with the stone. His shoulders are burning, fingers of his left hand twitching involuntarily, breathing ragged.

The grip on his arm relents as if in afterthought, arm falling limply and pathetically to his side as it's discarded, and a sound akin to a purr escapes the creature looming over him, eyeing him now that he's pinned as intended. Crinyx's perception's shifted, the Legendary notices - this is no longer a human being to be loathed, this is a limp sack of delicious blood to be treasured, imbued with an equally delicious life force and it's going to take some effort not to simply scissor it open and have his fill.

Such. Effort. Crinyx's muzzle clacks shut, though the hint of a grin remains, carried mostly by those bright eyes. He steels himself against the bloodlust by pausing to focus on his breath, then flexes his left forepaw, only to dip down to grab at the human's arm once more, this time at the elbow end of his upper arm, pressing it almost gently against the ground. The claws of the foot holding his victim down curve to prick at the skin as the weight against it increases and the hint of a grip enters its hold.

The next moment, his free paw moves across, tip of that spike pushing itself past the fabric of the human's shirt and that soft skin, sinking in less than inch, before the forepaw travels slowly but deliberately along the length of the trapped upper arm, cutting a long, even gash into it, owner of the blade relishing every inch drawn.

The Legendary's muzzle, of course, is practically invisible from his victim's perspective, but that purr is hard to interpret in any other way. Yep. He's definitely enjoying this. Any hopes, however subconscious, he might have had about a swift and painless death are completely out the window. He shouldn't have come here. He shouldn't have begun an expedition through Corral Isle's cave systems. He should have taken the unlit path, then at least maybe he'd have bought himself more time, a chance to find the real exit. Whatever had led up to him being found by this creature - his memory's still a little foggy about exactly when he lost consciousness - he wishes it hadn't happened. A forepaw presses against his elbow, and he braces himself for pain to come… and sure enough, moments later, a claw is dragging itself along his upper arm, and he's gritting his teeth, free arm flailing, hand clenched into a fist, feet trying to seek some purchase in the smooth stone, out of some instinct he can't quite place.

The spike plucks itself from the slitted skin again, freeing the forepaw for other duties. For a moment, he pauses - and then he's felled a decision, pressing the palm of it down against the back of the human's neck, making his pin significantly more firm. Then his eyes close and he dips his muzzle down to the fresh wound, coming to rest the tip of his muzzle against his, a light purr vibrating along it, before his tongue escapes his maw and dares lap at the slash, tension in the rest of his form. It's such a bad idea. A different part of him objects to that assessment - it's such a good idea, such a fantastic idea.

Either way, the attention is just as likely to help the wound knit itself together on a basic level, saliva aiding in the leaking blood's coagulation, and with how smooth the wound is, it's likely he can't exactly drink the human dry through it - not even close. As such, there's bound to be a wholly natural stop to this. There'll be sadness when it does, and an urge to poke the source back open, but it should be enough to shift his attention to the rest of the body, and enjoy some good old fashioned broken bones instead.

With the pressure from Crinyx's right forepaw, the human's head rolls slightly to the side, coming to rest on his right cheek, eyes staring transfixed at the thin wound. And then, moments later, the Legendary's muzzle dips and… he's licking at the blood. He's drinking his blood. Suddenly, something clicks in his mind, and his stomach sinks in terror. This is a Blood pokémon. This is an extraordinarily strong Blood pokémon, that has him completely at its mercy, and now it's started drinking his blood. And he knows full well what can happen to some Blood pokémon once they get a taste of the stuff.

Panic grips him, and he starts writhing under the Legendary's pin, legs dragging along the ground, arm trying to push him up or away or something. “No… - no, please don't,” he pleads, tone begging and pitiful. All the worst superstitions and nightmares about blood pokémon start coming to life in his mind. “I don't want to die, not like this, please!”

~Shut up,~ growls into his psyche, although lazily, dismissively delivered, like a phrase barely given any thought. The grip on the human's arm tightens and the claws of the forepaw at the back of his neck begin to sink against the skin in some absent-minded search for more purchase. A twitch through the Legendary morphs into a brief quiver - then his muzzle abruptly jerks back, a brief spark of lucidity taking hold. For a moment, he stares forlornly at the wound, fighting with himself - then twists his attention to the rest of the human, gaze anchoring on the whereabouts of his spine.

Rather than devote attention to his back, however, he's driven back to the arm on subconscious instinct, and the forepaw of his pushing his victim's neck down relents, instead grasping for the wrist of that same arm, battered as it is, twisting the human's lower arm and hand up off the ground, mercifully without tightening the grip on his upper arm and dislocating another joint. A moment later, he's closed his teeth around the edge of the unfortunate sod's hand, pinky finger inside his maw, rest of the fingers outside, and bites down against it lightly, with just enough force to break skin, but not nearly enough for a crushing effect.

The thrashing dies down momentarily as the grip on his neck tightens, briefly cowed into submission. As it relents, though, his flight instincts kick in in an attempt that might have been effective if he weren't still pinned at the small of his back, right arm and legs pushing and dragging him forward half an inch before the pressure on his tailbone increases, rendering useful motion even more impossible. There's a wince as teeth sink into his hand, fingers instinctively curl up, his arm pulling weakly against Crinyx's grip, hoping to drag his hand out of the beast's maw.

The creature's strength is overwhelming, grip on his arm almost mechanically unbudgable, like a machine locked up in mid-motion, gears caught. And of course, the nibble doesn't remain as benign as it began - that would be asking for too much. Instead, the teeth sink down further quite abruptly, as if in punishment for the trapped finger's attempt to curl, and part flesh between the knuckles of his pinky and ring finger, brutally separating the digit from its snug fit in the human's hand - but not wholly severing it, or even granting it the benefit of fully parted nerves. Teeth scrape against the bone in the palm of the hand, jaws not finding the force to break it, or not trying to, instead relenting almost immediately and almost simply leaving the victim with his mangled hand. Then the muzzle snaps back down to catch a different curled digit at the first joint with the foremost teeth, only to suddenly twist as if either hoping to tear it from its knuckle or snap the delicate bones within it.

A scream of pain surfaces as the teeth dig deeper into his hand's flesh, legs kicking against the hard stone, right arm and torso twisting under the Legendary's pin. He has to escape. He has to get away somehow. He finds himself wishing for the demon to just tear his arm off here and now. Maybe then the pain would be too overwhelming for him to maintain his lucidity, rather than this continuous torment.

For a moment, the jaws relent, and for an instant, there's hope that it's over - which is almost immediately squashed as unrealistic. No, that would be too kind. It's not going to end until he's dead. There's a brief, terrified whimper of anticipation and uncertainty, which quickly transforms into another scream as his ring finger is twisted unnaturally, followed by a snap as the bone is twisted past its limits. The human drags his face along the stone, cheeks stained with tears that he's not entirely sure when they appeared. Please let it be over soon.

The freshly broken finger laps an intense flame of pain up his arm roughly in time with every second beat of his frantic heart, a sensation as if the muscle fibres of his hand sought to recede from the wound and pulled back from it, only to get caught up with each other in their futile tug. It feels alien at the best of moments and distressing and agonising at the worst.

The jaws relent a moment later, disconnected from his body for an instant - only to snap down against it again, clearly not caring how those teeth come to catch against it, precisely, but biting back down and twisting once more, this time attached to the base of the human's thumb.

The Legendary's victim howls in pain as teeth close around his thumb and twist, wrist straining to turn with it in involuntary motion. The fingers of his right hand contort into a claw, fingernails dragging against the stone as he writhes uselessly. “STOP! PLEASE!” he cries out between ragged breaths, teeth grinding together and his face scrunching up.

Teeth still caught against his victim's hand, Crinyx growls gutturally, tempted to rub it into the human's face that he certainly hadn't bothered to consult whether his pokémon wanted to be stored in little stasis machines and made to do his bidding, so he wasn't going to be granted the courtesy of having his feelings considered, either, but all wordings that came to mind on short notice were far too verbose for the mental snap he'd have wanted to deliver it in. Instead, frustrated that his victim wasn't shutting up as instructed, Crinyx shifts his weight to pin the man's belly to the ground more firmly, only to seize the arm with both his forepaws in a firm grip and closing teeth freshly around thumb, index and middle finger of that tortured hand, before pulling his head back in repeated powerful jerks to rend the digits from the pitiful creature's flesh in what he deems adequate punishment.

Each jerk of Crinyx's head prompts another scream of pain from the trapped human, fingers of his right hand clenched into a fist, spine writhing ineffectually under the Legendary's weight, legs thrashing wildly and randomly against the ground. First flesh and muscles are torn loose, pain screaming through his nerves. Tendons stretch to their breaking point. Bones crack under the strain. After perhaps four or five tugs, the connective tissue is worn enough that the tortured digits can finally come off, prompting a gurgling scream from their owner. He's uttering something in panicked tones between breaths, but it's too slurred and disjointed to make out precisely. “Make it stop”? “I give up,” maybe?

The near bone-breaking grip on his arm relents to manageable proportions even as the Legendary's muzzle snaps to the side and opens, discarding the broken flesh carelessly, and proving without a doubt that it's doing this for sadistic enjoyment rather than out of even a remotely natural desire for sustenance. Heat runs down his arm in rivulets, blood flowing freely from the open wound. Then the grip on his arm disappears entirely - and, unwilling to follow any instruction from his motor control, falls to the ground, impact jolting through the mangled hand. The most disconcerting effect of the knock against it, however, is just how little it changes the perceptive status quo - there's so much fiery pain coming from his hand that a jolt of the wound isn't adding much to it.

The Legendary's right forepaw slides through the human's hair an instant later, fisting about the strands in a fresh grip, only to tug his head back and off the ground. ~If you have something to say, speak more clearly,~ sneers into his psyche, tone hateful, the Legendary's muzzle hovering beside that lifted head.

For a moment of unparalleled horror, the human's gaze falls on his mangled hand - raw, bloody stumps where three of his fingers should be, a fourth twisted cruelly in a direction it shouldn't point, last only marginally attached to the rest of the hand, bones separated from each other. Hot blood flowing freely from the wounds. Even if he somehow miraculously escaped this with his life, that hand would never be the same again. Though given the fates of so many people before him, that's probably hilariously unlikely.

He shuts his eyes, trying to will away the image of his mangled hand, trying to push away the burning pain running through it. The beast tugs his head off the ground by his hair, and he has no strength to fight back. Slowly, the words filter through the haze of pain and blood and come to a meaning. Soft whimpers escape his throat in uneven intervals. With effort, a single syllable manages to find its way pitifully sobbed into something like coherence: “Whyyy?”

~Because your species is what's wrong with the world,~ Crinyx responds, quite without pause. ~Because your sense of superiority and entitlement is a cancer upon it. Because none of you pathetic creatures have ever been entitled to laying claim to pokémon, much less abuse them as the slaves you collectively do. Because you sicken me - and given all your failings and atrocities the only purpose you possibly possess within the confines of my territory is as a bag of flesh with a regrettably delicious filling.~ He pauses, simply holding his victim still, glaring down at him. Finally, snapped: ~Does that answer your question?~

As the Legendary's words filter through to lucidly-understood thoughts, he begins to realize that he really didn't want to ask that question - the answer couldn't possibly be anything good, and indeed it isn't. …so this is all because of this monster's hatred of humanity, and because he was unlucky enough to stumble into its lair without realizing it? “Pleasedon' killme,” he whimpers, terrified and in pain, some cynical part of him knowing that begging for mercy wasn't going to help. Nothing short of a miracle would. “Pleasegod, don'wannadie.”

The Legendary's weight shifts off of the human's spine, then, though it's really quite too late for that to be a useful freedom - between the bloodloss from his hand and the mind-numbing, crippling agony of it, there's very little strength to truly fight his way free, even if adrenalin is thickly laced through his system. A grunt escapes Crinyx as he heaves the hapless creature from his uncomfortable, pained rest on his belly, forcing his spine to curve back.

For a moment, there's nothing else, just that suspension in de-facto mid-air - and then he snorts into the human's mind: ~You're bleeding all over the place.~ It's the only warning he gets. Abruptly, something travels through him like a shockwave, rippling along his skin in his perception, feeling like both the world around him and whatever processes drive his body's existence onward have slowed to a glacial pace. His heartbeat seems to struggle with the change, stabbing a light but deeply disconcerting pain up his senses at each pulse - but he's not passing out. The world is swimming around him and breathing seems oddly ineffective, gaze losing focus, dull headache spawning in the back of his skull, throbbing lazily as his pulse slows by some metaphysical necessity. The blood welling from his hand seems to slow in dangerously paced increments, only to break into a spattered trickle… and then simply stop, without explanation. Numbly, some part of him observes the miracle as a sign of his own death - he must be dead, he just hasn't noticed it yet.

✘ IN PROGRESS