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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?
✘ IN PROGRESS