Chapter 1: Brave As A Noun

Static.

 

“The readings of energy are positive, and if the calculations are correct—” static, “—break the fabric of—” static, “—probability of failure—” static.

 

Muffled sound drowned on the sea of absolute nothingness that was inside his head.

 

A different voice, “—doesn’t matter—” far, far away. Static, “—only option—”

 

On the infinitum, as if engraved by fire on his cornea, the ruby perimeter of two fire-bright circles appeared out of the darkness.

 

“—then—” static grew loud, yet louder, drowning the sound as the sea waves, “—help, ancient human!”

 

Help? He can help no one, not someone like him. They must be searching for another person, they got the wrong guy.

 

It must be a dream—one where he is needed, a lucid and precious one where the pleas of aid are not acid mocking but sweet honesty. The red lights watched him like the LEDs of a car, he felt as if his heart was pumping out of his ribs. The headlights from the abysmal darkness like tar spoke—

 

A gasp.

 

The sunlight seeped through the pores of his eyelids. The roar of blackness replaced by the soothing chirping of the birds around him, the sound of the wind placidly brushing against his face and the rest of his uncovered body. The skin of his back making contact with the grass, the greenish tip causing such a light tickle that it almost resembled a sweet touch.

 

Even with his eyes glued shut by the eyelashes, the wetness of the grass and the swishing of the leaves in the breeze was not the mechanical roar of the cars, nor was it the muffled hustle and bustle coming from his window—the pleasant dew touching his backside was unfamiliar. Completely abnormal. That was like a gentle tap on the shoulder, a hit from reality itself.

 

Even that was powerless to rip him from his placid dreamless sleep, where only darkness reigned in his gaze but his mind was aware of the environment. The punch of reality was more the sensation of how his heart was accelerating with each new palpitation, for his skin felt… wrong.

 

Not even in his mind was he able to explain it-like an itch under the skin, like being dressed in someone else’s flesh. The sensation at the base of his spine was also unbelievable—as if he had grown another arm, short and fingerless, pressing against his back.

 

…

That slap of reality wasn’t going to tear him out of the oneiric world either. Instead, he rolled over on himself, placing the full weight of his body on his right arm.

 

Something stuck in the ground. He heard the earth pushing and struggling not to be punctured, but the unmistakable sound was of the particles being stirred up—for the faintness of the sound, it was as if something smaller than a nail had been driven in, just the tip. The base of the something pressed against his shoulder, causing an uncomfortable pressure.

 

A groan left his lips, closing his eyes tighter in an effort to prevent the pressure and the bright sunlight from bringing him back to consciousness. But in vain; it was impossible to escape the phosphorescent lights and the concrete walls that enclosed his poor ego, it was impossible to escape the roar of the gear; he had to go back, he had to go down.

 

But when he opened his eyes…

 

He was greeted by the green of the thicket. The grass glistening with dew, the edge of a pond just a few steps away; and also, his yellowish-colored arm.

 

He blinked. Again and again, waiting for reality to return to his gaze, to his mind still trapped by slumber overcoming existence. He wiggled the fingers of his right arm, watching as the three yellow-clawed digits with almost skeletal shape moved, as if they were his own.

 

He tried to wake up.

 

Nothing happened.

 

That couldn’t be real—that was apparent. It was impossible. His dream was merging with existence, that was the sole explanation. He remembered, in his lethargic state, how it sometimes happened when he woke up.

 

He didn’t recall any dreams.

 

It was probably a nightmare—one he didn’t wish to remember. Again, he had to look for logical explanations, not to be shipwrecked in the absurd.

 

Rummaging through ideas in his hollow mind, he finally came to the conclusion that he should wash his face. The chlorine water from the faucet could refresh his brain, his ideas, and also his conscience. He would wake up from the dream at once.

 

He took a deep breath; there was nothing to worry about, so his heart should stop beating as if it would escape from his chest. Putting strength into his elbow —ignoring how it was barely visible and how his forearm was thinner than the rest of his arm— he pushed forward, at the same time pressing his left palm into the grass —ignoring how real the turf felt between his fingers— on his left side. Sitting up, he glanced slowly around him.

 

…

 

It smelled like humidity. Like nature.

 

Four of his senses indicated he was in a lush forest, and now sitting up, it was impossible to deny that he was. How he had ended there was a question that accelerated his heart rate, so it was something to ignore until he finally awakened.  

 

Because he was still dreaming—in reality. The yellow arm was a lie, and with a quick glance to his left, he realized the same had happened to his other limb. His mouth feeling dry, he tilted his head down to see…

 

Not the white shirt stained with maroon and worn; with the threads unraveled with dirt, but… something brown, covering from the collar to the chest of his body, even forming shoulder pads —they ended in pointed tips; so that had punctured the earth— of the same color. From the stomach down, it was yellow like the skin of his arms, with no pants or underwear; though luckily there was nothing there to hide.

 

The legs had a similar composition to the upper extremities.

 

He blinked slowly.

 

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

 

He rested his palms against the —unequivocally real— grass and drew his knees up to his chest, soon to strain to lift his lower body; the legs did their job of slowly raising him up, causing the all-too-familiar twinge in his bones. Unquestionable proof that this was all just a hallucination, for getting up was as painstaking as usual.

 

He was in a forest opening, as far as he could intuit after looking around for a couple of seconds. Although he heard birds singing, they chirped in the distance and he saw none perched in the soothing branches of the trees swaying in the breeze. The sun streamed through the leafy canopy, creating beams of light across the peaceful space. 

 

Like a thunderbolt, he was struck by the image of the edge of a pond. He turned his head to see from afar the crystalline sparkle—fresh water to awaken only a couple of meters away. The light reflected in liquid.

 

With hesitant steps; dragging his feet across the grass, he walked over to the pond to—

 

Like a punch in the belly. His guts churned inside him, as red alarms within his mind burst into incessant noises that bellowed at him only one thing: that he should not look at his own reflection.

 

Soon came the rational doubt: why not? Was there something on his face?

 

…Probably. He winced at the thought, and brought a hand to his face to palpate it gently. The first was to check his nose.

 

There was nothing there.

 

The swollen ball of red where his nose ought to have been was conspicuous by its absence—the touch was soft as skin, hollow like a cheek but also not bulging like his own. At that thought, he patted his cheekbones, only to find they weren’t quite where he remembered, as well as being much skinnier.

 

It wasn’t real.

 

He tried to feel his ears, only to catch the air. He moved his hands up, almost to the top of his skull, before feeling the cartilage. It wasn’t normal, it was triangular—it vaguely reminded him of the shape of a ca…

 

He wasn’t going to finish that thought. Now this was driving him insane. It wasn’t real.

 

He cracked his mouth open and probed inside with one of his fingers. The tongue was still a slug in his grip, but not swollen and blistered on top. The problem was that he couldn’t feel his lips—his mouth felt more like the muzzle of a hairless dog.

 

…Wrong. Incorrect. It couldn’t be real.

 

Because it wasn’t. It didn’t matter anymore, no matter that his chest, his stomach, and his own mind were screaming at the top of their lungs not to stare into the water, it couldn’t get any worse—

 

He let out a shriek. He nearly lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.

 

Cat-like ears adorning his yellow-skinned head, the two small holes in one snout from which air rushed in and out, the flattened muzzle that stood out from the rest by being a cream color, the odd head shape, and… the closed eyes that didn’t return his gaze.

 

…How?! His eyes were open! How was it even possible that his reflection—?!

 

No, no! It didn’t matter! All this would vanish, this nightmare would come to an end once he sunk his head into the water—which he did immediately when he knelt down at the edge of the pond.

 

His eyeballs burned as he felt the fluid touch his wide-open eyes—his gaping mouth caused bubbles to rise to the surface. But he couldn’t care less, for it was like a slap in the face.

 

He pulled his head out. Water splashed over the edge due to the movement, and the drops trickled down his neck and even his chest, sliding off his face. He breathed through his mouth, heavily, and looked at his reflection…

 

…the same thing did not return his gaze.

 

He immediately dipped his head into the water once more.

 

He pulled it out.

 

Nothing happened.

 

He did it again.

 

Nothing.

 

One more time.

 

…Nothing.

 

Meanwhile, his heavy breathing was turning into hyperventilation. A pressure in his chest as if an anvil was stuck in his gullet. There were no thoughts to process because there were none in his blank mind… there was nothing. 

 

His knees were shaking, he could barely stand up to take slow steps away from the pond—his own unrecognizable reflection. Not even the rippling of the foliage was able to distract him from the throbbing that hammered in his chest, from the shallow air rushing in and out of his barely expanding lungs. He couldn’t think, couldn’t keep track of how long he stood there in silence—

 

Footsteps.

 

Heavy as metal boots. Near. He felt his ears flicker, his breath caught —was it a wild animal? Is this how his life would finish?— and out of pure instinct, he turned toward the source of the sound.

 

In the distance, concealed like a shadow in the trees, was… a man. Even from afar the man was colossally tall —over six feet tall at least— and corpulent. But the moment he squinted… he shrieked in terror.

 

That was no man—that was a monster. Four-armed and with a flattened bird’s beak instead of lips, with three yellowish crests growing from its forehead. It appeared naked except for a black belt around its wide waist.

 

The creature turned its head sharply; red eyes that, for a moment, felt as if they were piercing his soul. He turned his whole body to face the direction of the behemoth, and one hand instinctively went to cover his own mouth —muzzle— from which that stupid shriek had escaped.

 

His foolishness would kill him.

 

He was such an idiot, and now he would die for it. It was almost amusing if he didn’t know he was about to die for an unknown monster in a godforsaken forest.

 

The creature walked through the foliage, making its way into the opening and escaping the natural maze of the forest formed by the thick trees. The human —he was no longer sure if he could be called that, even if these were his final moments— felt his legs as rocks, unable to move under their own weight.

 

The beast approached, not even caring. One step, then another. Its slightly blue-toned gray skin made it more painfully obvious how it was not human, yet not animal either.

 

Exhaling and inhaling as swiftly as his heart, his legs faltered and he dropped to the floor as if his knees had been struck with an iron rod. Falling on the limb he felt earlier at the base of his spine only caused him to emit another yelp, with the ache in his posterior.

 

He felt a prick behind his eyeballs, and when he opened them after the pain, there it was. Standing in front of him, a spawn as large as a colossus —at least in his perspective— was glaring down at him from above. He had never felt so small, even so many other situations as to make the feeling so sickeningly familiar. He felt smaller than an ant in front of a building, even more than a molecule. This was how his life was going to come to an end.

 

But then, the monster’s squashed, almost plain beak distorted slightly… to form a smile? “Hey, hey, calm down, boy!” boomed the monster’s voice, which brought two of its— his hands to his hips. “I’m not a feral ‘mon! You didn’t come down some stairs, did ya? So this isn’t a dungeon—breathe with me, alrighty?” The voice was jovial but deep, like the voice of a grown man with the energy of a child.

 

Feral.

 

The voice echoed inside his blank mind.

 

Feral. Feral. A tribe of ferals, of, of man-eating, human-devouring monster-people. The creature in front of him had to be one of them. He was going to die in those woods.

 

Oh God, he was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to die, in a godforsaken place, in a horrible location, and all alone. It didn’t even surprised him, only he could have such a pathetic death as this—

 

His throat tightened, and the stinging in his corneas was beyond description. In just a couple of seconds, his breathing became ragged, hot tears streaming down his non-human cheeks.

 

“Ah!” The monster jolted, reaching for the human but his fingers twitched before making contact. He looked to the sides, eyes wide and red pupils growing smaller. After searching for something with his gaze —and failing— he drew in a breath through his teeth, and knelt down in front of the human. “Hey, hey, buddy, listen to me,” he spoke firmly, placing two of his hands on the shoulders of the one who was weeping. “Breathe with me. Follow my breath, alright?” and with his other two hands, he made the gesture that accompanied his chest that heaved with each inhalation.

 

The contact of warm palms grounded him back to reality. With all the effort of his poor brain, he made the endeavor to concentrate on the voice of the monster —who was going to kill him— instead of his thundering heartbeat. He took deep breaths, again and again—with each inhalation, with each exhalation, he felt the itch in his eyes fade. The muscles in his body unclenching.

 

Muzzle quivering, he breathed out a question, “W-where am I? W-what are you?” He couldn’t help but stutter —old habits never die— and the voice came out raspy, to be blamed was his tightly closed throat.

 

With a blink, the monster stood with his mouth slightly hanging open and a confused stare on his face for seconds, only glancing in his direction—even his smile faltered, “huh.” He soon shook his head gently and formed a warm grin again, “what am I? Well, the same as ya, boy, a pokémon! What kind of question is that?” he cocked his head to the side.

 

Another word he’d never heard of—but worse, that didn’t address the most troubling matter.

 

Same as you.

 

Another echoing phrase, which pushed him to the depths of his own self. Causing the new quickening of his blood pumping. “W-What’s a pokémon—? W-What do you— mean?” being quite honest, even he knew what he was referring to, even in this condition. But that was madness, and his mind refused to accept it. His voice quickened with each question, the words finally stumbling in his throat.

 

The monster frowned, his smile wavering again. “Well… ya and I! Y’know?” he spoke in that voice that almost resembled a roar of energy, but in the end, the words slipped out hesitantly. “It couldn’t be that…” his voice dropped to a whisper, and his eyes widened— “it couldn’t be that you’re playing a prank on me!”

 

…What?

 

He snapped his fingers, “of course, of course! What a good actor you are, bwahahahaha!” he clutched his stomach with both hands and stood up, leaning back to let out that booming laugh that reverberated through the opening.

 

He felt like he was in school all over again—in a bad way, as his eyes itched from the rear once more. Even if this thing wanted to slay him, he was the only living, talking creature he’d ever seen. He didn’t want the only being that could give him any answers to take him for a mere joke. He clenched his fists, “N-No!” he blurted out, hyperventilating once more. “N-No— it’s not— I mean, I— it’s—” the words were getting stuck in his gullet, trying to escape faster than bullets but slow as snails. “I-It’s not a prank!”

 

“‘Course, of course, you obviously don’t know ye’re a ‘mon! Bwahahahaha!” that thing giggled even louder, eyes narrowed, lit up with the inner glow of mirth. “Please, you’re an excellent actor but I already fell for the prank!” he closed his eyes as he talked, catching his breath with a sharp inhale.

 

He clenched his fists tighter—again, he’d gotten something crucial wrong. “N— I-I’m not that… t-thing! I-Im a— I’m a human!” he exclaimed, the high-pitched shrill voice of panic twisting in his gut.

 

And with those words, the monster’s laughter stopped dead in its tracks.

 

The smile flickered from his face, replaced by a neutral expression—cold as the look in his eyes lowered to stare directly at him.

 

He couldn’t keep himself from gulping and taking a step back.

 

The creature raised an eyebrow —that thing didn’t have brows but he could see the motion in the facial muscles— and the coldness of barely a second was once again replaced by puzzlement shining in his gaze. “Are you… human?” he asked, almost hesitantly, as if the very question confused him. “But if you’re a… perfectly normal abra…”

 

“A-A what?”

 

The monster straightened up, standing upright and his gaze losing itself in the forest—on the horizon. Just like that for a few seconds. Then his gaze went to the abra, then a couple of slow blinks, until— “Bwahahahahaha!” another roaring laugh, “of course!”

 

He felt his heart sink in his chest.

 

“Sure, aye human and I’m a cop! Hahahahaha!” the inner glow of mirth lit up his gaze. He spoke between guffaws, barely able to breathe, “you’re the— best joker I’ve ever seen— ever, haaaah!” he inhaled deeply, more laughs leaving his mouth, “no, take that away! Aye the best actor I’ve ever seen in my life!” taking more deep breaths, he regained his composure.

 

No, please. Please, not again. “I-I’m not kidding, please— believe me—!”

 

“Yeah, I need ya in my crew!” the monster clapped, as if he had come to the conclusion of a train of thought.

 

…What?—he cocked his head to the side instinctively.

 

The monster flexed his kneecaps to be at the human’s level, or at least at a more comparable height, and rested his lower hands on his knees. “How about joining my crew, eh? Doesn’t sound so bad, eh? We give ya a job, a roof, and all the food ya wanna! Is that a good deal, eh?”

 

His mind was blank. A crew? Like a sailor’s crew? That was— he wasn’t even sure of what to say, or of what to think. His mind up until now had been a whirlpool of ideas and, more than anything else, fears; but in that instant, his brain had finally reached the nirvana of stillness.

 

The conclusion he reached was that this was a dream. A strange, psychedelic sleep that he was obtaining by not taking the pills he should have.

 

He blinked-probably to the monster, he seemed the same-and gaped, struggling to find the words. “I-I— ah, uh, uhm. Well, I mean—” and his response was to stutter and mumble like an idiot. If he could, he’d give himself a thousand sarcastic claps right then and there.

 

The monster brought a hand to his chin, “Is that a yes?” he asked, a genuine emotion of confusion—but that was soon wiped away with a bright smile as well as his gaze, “I’ll take that as a yes!”

 

He couldn’t even register the instant in which he was grabbed by the chest by four beefy arms and the monster threw him over his shoulder, carrying him like a sack of potatoes. As quickly the grass returned his gaze. He squirmed and swung his legs in the air, “w-wait— no! No, no, no, n-no!” he yelled, feeling his heart pounding in his throat.

 

The harm from the blows to the monster’s back were completely pointless—to him, they only felt like light pinpricks from an insect instead of real punches. “Hey, take it easy, man, nothing’s going to happen to ya! With good ol’ Zelodec here, nothing bad can happen!” he reassured, as he turned around and walked once more into the woods.

 

He raised his head, watching as they moved farther and farther away from the opening where he had awakened. He attempted, in vain, to extend his arm in an effort to reach out but only became more conscious of the distance. Arms and legs trembling, a deep exhalation was enough to make his limbs stop moving, limp as a puppet without strings.

 

This was the end. The end. Wherever this monster wanted to take him, it was clear that he was utterly powerless to stop him—he was left only to accept the end, or worse.

 

“Y’know, I didn’t expect to find anyone able to talk on this island,” the monster commented, his footsteps pushing aside the leafy foliage on the ground. “Hah, but if I ask how on earth ya got here ye’ll play a prank on me!” he could almost hear his grin, “and that’s what I expect from ya. Since Strivete arrived, things have been tense… so I’m trusting you with the crew’s morale, new recruit!”

 

That sounded like a name. Now the concepts swirled in his mind, still without a fixed explanation or definition beyond what he could imagine—which wasn’t pretty. For now, the most coherent idea seemed to be that the crew were pirates who were going to gut him alive.

 

He tilted his head upward, contemplated the treetops and the lush leaves that blocked the sun’s rays from hitting him full on. Even in such a situation he couldn’t help but get lost in the swaying movement of the greenery, with its musty smell and dew-covered earth… a perfect sight ruined by the presence of strange insects and birds. Abnormals he had never seen before.

 

Many were making sounds that neither birds nor bugs should make. Insects shouldn’t be that unnaturally large, nor that yellow and blue fur with sparks running down their bodies, spiders should be—

 

They should be…

 

Should be…

 

That was the second reality check of the day.

 

He couldn’t remember anything.

 

Nothing about spiders—was what he realized first. Then that he could not remember any piece of information regarding insects, nor animals, nor fields, nor cities, and then, neither his own name or appearance.

 

He shut his eyes, and only envisioned the primordial black that had reigned in his dreams. Only the fact that he had been human remained as an abstract recollection that had not been reduced to ash.

 

He was short of breath. He felt beads of sweat trickle down and drip down his chin. The sound was overwhelming, existing was overwhelming—the beating, beating of his heart was too much. It was all too much to that point—not being human, waking up in a bizarre forest, kidnapped by a people-eating monster, and now amnesia? It was all too overwhelming, his poor heart couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“-The others are going to like ya swell, assured, I tell ya!” the monster was rambling—but in the human’s state; of feeling the world crashing down on him and running out of oxygen, he hadn’t taken any notice of it until now. The voice grounded him in reality. Faintly. “See how it didn’t take us a moment? We’re already at the ship!”

 

And that awoke him from suffocating in his pessimistic thoughts. His gaze saw out of the corner of his eye the ground where the monster was standing—the particles of the sand yellow to almost pale instead of grassy land, being soaked by the gentle waves coming from… the sea. He could smell its scent, the fragrance of salt, and listen to the waves crashing against the shore.

 

Looking back was difficult in his position—he squirmed in the tight grip of the arm that held him at the spawn’s shoulder, but he could glance sideways toward his posterior…

 

The beams of light were reflected on the crystal clear water, lighter than any pool —which he cannot remember— or any sea, transparent and with the gentle waves washing the whitish shore with their salty freshness. For a single moment, his mind lost its senses. No bad thoughts, just the breeze hitting the side of his face—

 

“A w-whale!” it was quite impossible to miss the colossal creature resting on the surface of the sea. Its body was deep azure as a tropical ocean, with the underside barely visible due to the deep water, yet it appeared to be creamy white. While gigantic, its shape was elongated; similar to a dirigible. The tiny black dots on the indigo were eyes that stared out at the gray-skinned monster.

 

“A whale?” the monster glared at him, and snorted, a laugh escaping his mouth. “I love yer jokes, boy,” he looked straight ahead, and stretched out two of his arms to the sides. “She’s Beatrix, the crew ship! Not a whale, or whatever that is.”

 

There was no conceivable way a cetacean could be a boat. 

 

It struck him like thunder the notion that the boat had a name, as if it were a person—

 

“Who is the young one you bring, Zelodec?” The rumbling faintly feminine voice that made the sand of the shore shudder came from the whale herself. Her mouth parted between the blue and white, revealing her colossal teeth, but above all, the inside of her maw—dark as a cave, fleshy as a wolf’s mouth, deep as a pit.

 

The monster —apparently named Zelodec— drew closer to the sea, his footsteps marking on the sand. “Hello, Beatrix!” he greeted, waving his hand, “he’s a new recruit!”

 

“And you found him on the island?”

 

“Yeah, he’s a first-rate actor! The boys are going to love him! By the way, how are they?”

 

The human felt his own bones rattle every time a single word left the whale’s monumental maw —it was a monster cetacean, also a human-eater, surely— and the echo tickled his skin. Again, this couldn’t be possible, not in reality.

 

“How do you think they are? I feel them fighting in the ring,” from inside the cetacean’s throat, a quiet laugh emerged. “Surely you’re eager to join them.”

 

Zelodec gave her a thumbs-up, flashing a wide grin. “You know me so well, Beatrix!” he replied with a guffaw, and took a few more steps—only about thirty meters ahead of the whale —the human was too, he could feel his heart about to burst— and her giant snout. “Can I enter now?”

 

“Sure,” she replied. Her mouth opened even further —something he should never have seen, he’s certain— and with a movement such as a colossus, slow but magnanimous, she extended her tongue outward. That slug of flesh attached to her body landed on the sand, revealing how it was covered in drool; reflecting the sun’s rays. With that single motion, the sand splattered Zelodec’s legs and the tail of the… human.

 

He couldn’t deny it any longer—he was no human anymore. He was an abra, whatever that was.

 

The rumbling of the earth at the whale’s tongue did not make Zelodec flinch —though it made the abra shudder— and he only gave another thumbs-up, “Thank ya!” he exclaimed, before… striding forward, placing his feet on the pulpy tongue.

 

He advanced as if it were nothing more than mere floor, as if it were street pavement—walking consciously to the gates of hell, the stomach of a titanic creature. The corridor to purgatory. “W-What are you doing?!” at any minute he was about to spit his heart out, and if the monsters didn’t murder him, cardiac failure would.

 

Zelodec continued to march onward into the maw of the beast. This couldn’t be real—was this how his life would come to an end, with being consumed by a blabbering cetacean? “Well, we’re going into the ship! What else—?” he responded, climbing the elevation that was crossing through her teeth, “oh, it’s another prank, of course! Bwahaha!”

 

The white resided over their heads. They were dead. They were going to be crushed in just a few short seconds, and it would be painful, horrible, and their blood would be squeezed out like apple juice. He squeezed his eyes shut, accepting the grim end.

 

And a sound as heavy as a gate slamming shut confirmed it. He screamed at the top of his lungs, with all the strength he had left in his body.

 

And he kept screaming.

 

He kept screaming.

 

…

 

He was still alive.

 

Fearfully he snapped his eyes open, every limb of his flesh shaking like a noodle.

 

Even in the darkness of the whale’s maw, he could hear the spittle splashing down, or how the meat was slightly deformed by Zelodec’s feet. 

 

Also, due to his proximity, he could see his frown and puzzled look in the dimness. “Hey, are you alrighty?” He maintained eye contact —as much as he could— and grabbed him from under his armpits, pulling him off his shoulder. “Why are ya screaming?”

 

The abra couldn’t hold eye contact, fleeing with his gaze and shrinking into himself. “I, uh— well…” he stammered. “I-I thought— I… w-well, I thought that— I thought—” he gulped, “S-She was gonna to— to… e-eat us.” He looked so foolish right now, he could bury himself in the ground and never emerge.

 

“Beatrix? Her, eat us?” he quirked an eyebrow, silent for a few moments… before raising both eyebrows and cracking a grin. “Bwahaha! She’d never do that, boy!” his tone was mirthful, full of energy—as if the mere possibility was impossible, “She’s a ship, I told ye!” he explained. 

 

“B-But—”

 

“And speaking of which,” the louder voice was able to drown out the abra’s protests, “we’re here so, c’mon, get off,” he said, releasing the abra—

 

—which immediately fell on his rear to the bottom, crushing his own tail —it was so weird to think he had one, of all things— and yelping. Even if the ground was softer than dirt, it was even more revolting due to the drool that adhered to his skin. He barely stayed on the floor for a few moments before he startled, “ew!” he exclaimed, trying to shake the saliva off the slimy ground beneath his feet.

 

Zelodec brought two of his hands to his hips, looking down to address the abra. “Well, welcome to the crew, fine actor!” he exclaimed in that vivacious voice of his, with that friendly smile that was incapable of reassuring whoever was in front of him. “It’s just the entrance, though.”

 

“B-But we’re inside o-of… a whale…” he muttered under his own breath, letting out a sigh that so far was unconsciously held in his lungs. But that didn’t matter—the workings of this weren’t important, there was a more pressing issue currently: “B-But whatever! I-I’m not a, uh, umh, r-recruit— I haven’t a-accepted anything—”

 

Another cackle from Zelodec disrupted his argument, “Don’t worry about it, man, ye’re on the ship, so ye’re already one of us!” 

 

“I-I didn’t m-mean that—”

 

“C’mon, don’t be shy!” the booming voice interrupted once more, and he reached out a hand toward the abra—a kind offer to the one on the ground. “C’mon, c’mon, I know after all that Beatrix’s tongue isn’t the most comfortable seat,” he chuckled.

 

…

 

He stared at the outstretched hand offering assistance for a heartbeat. Though it was only a few mere seconds, it felt like centuries in that instant—the ideas disjointed, the mind bewildered and in chaos. But at last, he let out a sigh, and grasped the hand that pulled him forward, “th-thank you…” His own hand was so strange. Only three fingers, but they felt as natural as five—the thumbs were not missed in his consciousness, so familiar that it frightened his feeble mind. The momentum that drew him upward propelled him almost like a jump, as if his body were unaffected by gravity. He let out a gasp, but managed to get to his feet and staggered, struggling to keep his balance.

 

Standing, another breath was released from his lungs, which were exhausted as he was at this point. In his heart, he understood that resisting was useless, and he could only let the flow of the whole crew issue not lead him to his death. Besides, it wasn’t such a bad idea; they were offering a roof over his head, and in the situation he was in, the worst that could happen to him —apart from being gutted alive— was to end up wandering around a forest, hungry and helpless.

 

Reluctantly, it only remained for him to join this… peculiar crew.

 

“C’mon, let’s introduce ya to the others—” Zelodec voiced, but soon his words dropped into silence; just as if a bolt had struck his skull with a fleeting idea, “wait— yer name!” he balled his fist and slammed it sidelong against his open palm, “I forgot to ask ya that, alas, what a head of mine!” he laughed heartily and put a hand to the back of his neck, scratching idly. “How good my manners, aren’t they? Hahah. But hey, what’s your name, recruit?” he asked, and snorted, holding back a snicker; “And yer real name! Don’t tell me you’re Human Incognito III or something like that,” the chuckle slipped out.

 

Once again, his head went blank. He lowered his head, gaze now fixed on the pink tongue, meaty floor where the pads of his feet now rested. Just the thought alone sent his heart fluttering, “m-my name?” he murmured, barely audible. The question shattered the walls his own psyche had built to protect his ego, and made him aware of the ugly reality.

 

That he was unable to remember his name.

 

In his cranium, there was only the deep black that drowned and crushed everything like the waves of the sea, covered by the tar. It was impossible for him to even recall his own name—it was like losing his identity, and that was stupid, that was pathetic. He forced his eyes shut with all the strength he could muster, staring straight ahead into the darkness of his own recollection; he tried to find something, anything, his name amidst the sea of oblivion.

 

…And he found something, buried within the darkness of amnesia.

 

“…Felix?” he blurted out—the name on the tip of his tongue, so familiar yet strange at the same time. For it was as if it didn’t fit, like wearing shoes bigger than his own feet.

 

“Felix? Is your name… Felix?” the hushed tone, lacking the sprightly vibrancy but slow words —as if processing the name— caused him to open his eyes sharply, catching sight of Zelodec’s frown. It was a long second until that expression was once again replaced by the jovial smile, coupled with a loud clap. “Hahaha, of course, of course, that’s your name, sure!”

 

“W-Wait, i-it’s really my—!” he tried to protest, but he wasn’t even certain if that was true. Then again, it couldn’t be anything other than his name; there was no reason to believe that the unknown name belonged to anyone other than himself, his most important memory being his own identity.

 

His thoughts were halted by a hand resting on his right shoulder, pressing gently in a comforting way. Zelodec drew in a deep breath, catching his air, and shook his head softly, “you’re going to keep not takin’ anything seriously, aren’t ya?” he exhaled, and patted him on the shoulder, “and I like that, keep up that pace, boy!”

 

Felix shrank in on himself, hunching over. His gaze fell to the floor, and he tightened his fists, which trembled. There was nothing he could utter without this monster taking it as no more than an absurd jest. It was the feeling of being treated as a child, and that was…

 

“Don’t be bitter, boy,” Zelodec patted him on the back —causing him to nearly fall face-first to the ground— and his palm left his shoulder. “C’mon, follow me, the guys are further down,” he pointed his thumb forward; into the deep pitch blackness of the whale’s insides, and began to walk.

 

There was nothing left for him to do but follow, so soon his small legs were on the move. As soon as he tried to take a step, he felt the slipperiness of the floor —similar to winter ice— and almost skidded face-first onto the spot. He maneuvered to barely keep his equilibrium, listening to Zelodec’s chuckles as he did so.

 

More than frustration, he now sensed the heat on his face from shame.

 

He huffed and cringed, now moving slowly to avoid sliding—at least the spawn that had brought him here accommodated to his pace.

 

The sensation on the soles of his feet was disgusting—the sliminess of the drool gluing to his skin, the fleshy grip, the feel of the soft throbbing of the veins on the tongue, the light relieves of the nerves. Yet, to his surprise, the inside of the cetacean’s maw did not stink—at least not to the point of wrinkling his nose.

 

Darkness shrouded them, unable to see beyond his own snout and the back of the behemoth that strode ahead of him, leading the way. Only his other senses could respond to his surroundings, like his ears twitching at the sound of droplets of saliva impacting the ground.

 

Eventually, the floor became less soft and viscous, the drool diminishing. Instead, the soft throbbing beneath his feet became more noticeable, as did the faint motion of contracting muscles. Much firmer, he was able to increase the rhythm of his legs.

 

The thought came to his mind of its own volition-—perhaps they were in the whale’s esophagus. He was uncertain whether that notion was true or false, but for now, it sounded reasonable.

 

“I-it’s…” his slightly quivering muzzle cracked open as he saw what was in the far distance; dim to the extent that he had trouble discerning if it was real or just his imagination, “i-is that… light?” he asked tentatively. His ears flicked once again as he heard the sounds of thumping and shouting; coming from the light, with the figures blurred in the distance.

 

He struggled to spot it, but noticed Zelodec’s nod and thumbs up in the gloom, “that’s right! That’s where we live, a tad before the entrance to the stomach,” he replied, continuing his pacing.

 

That answer caused his gut to do a flip—that couldn’t be safe. But still, with each step they took, they escaped further from the shadows into the warm light of what, closer now, he could distinguish as lamps perched on thick wooden poles. They did not appear to be nailed to the ground, bouncing and swaying gently from the movement of the whale.

 

His memories were shrouded in oblivion, but still he was able to glimpse how those lamps were ancient—made of glass, tacky and of iron, with soft light like fire emanating from them. On the tip of his tongue, the thought of oil lamps came to mind even though he was unable to recall the shape of them.

 

It seemed as if they had reached an opening between the esophagus—a broader section on the sides, with a high pulpy roof, and the place occupied by a not insignificant quantity of stone buildings. They weren’t nailed to the floor, nor were they bolted down; once again, a word stuck in his throat: bouncy castles. But he wasn’t able to recall what they were either.

 

The constructions were huts—of wooden doors, wobbling faintly from side to side just as the lamps.

 

Yet at the center of the opening, a stone quadrangle with four pillars on its edges connected by red ropes stood out like a sore thumb due to the two presences above it. Two monsters with trickles of blood streaming down from their noses—the first a chestnut-colored human with a pink clown nose like sunburned white skin on a summer’s day, with two massive cylindrical chunks of stone reaching down to the ground in his grasp. The rosy-colored veins bulged so prominently on him as to be considered protuberances, lacking the throbbing of arteries. And the opponent he faced was a masculine feline humanoid, with a black chest and fur as red as the flames of a bonfire, with jet-colored stripes —on his face they formed the pattern as if it were a wrestling mask— with a belt of fire around his waist.

 

Surrounding the ring, other behemoths cheered and swarmed around, cheering with each blow and chatting among themselves. He could count three distinct creatures.

 

And as the last edification, a bar built of stone and stools of the same material stood nearby. A green and white owl with brown forming the pattern of a sleeveless vest sat on one of the seats, grasping with its wing a glass which it brought close to its short white and orange beak. It took a swig, with a condescending look at the combat between the two anthropomorphic monsters. Attending the bar and wiping down some stone cups, was the hideous spawn with color like flames and thick lips as pink as raw chicken, fire emanating from its shoulders, yellow cannons for hands that struggled to grip the white handkerchief.

 

“When are you gonna fall for once, bastard?!” the brown monster exclaimed, slurring his words as he talked and his eyes bloodshot. As if they weighed as much as feathers, he swung the giant cylindrical piece in his hand towards the anthropomorphic feline’s right temple—the heavy noise echoing in the room; muffled by the thick fur.

 

The kitten staggered to the left, a low growl and a sharp exhalation escaping from his yellowish fangs. He shrank into himself from the impact, but instead of tumbling to the ground, he spun on his heel and swung to the right like a punching bag being hit—recomposed, he closed his fist, coated in flames that lit up the opening, that connected with a jab to the brown monster’s right cheek. A roar escaped his throat at the same time, “when you learn to punch hard, jerk!”

 

The small crowd gathered around the ring raised their arms and cheered boisterously, observing the combat; listening to the blood splatter on the rock.

 

Zelodec laid a hand on Felix’s shoulder, and smiled, “behold, my crew!” he held out his hand to point towards them, taking a few steps forward, still facing the abra.

 

The thick-lipped creature glanced up at the sound of its captain’s animated voice; the movement of its cannons that were used as hands halted, losing interest in the cups it was wiping. Its small black eyes first fixed on the four-armed monster, then on Felix.

 

The ceaseless cheering came to a screeching halt—all heads in the audience turned, looking in their direction. Even the owl, still sipping its drink, set the glass down on the counter and rotated its body toward Zelodec. However, the two battling behemoths did not even bother to acknowledge his presence, still exchanging ferocious blows.

 

From among the spectators, one of them grinned broadly; the small, blue-colored, big-headed creature with two teeth protruding upward from its lower jaw —gray protuberances on its head resembling a helmet— stopped leaning towards the ring ropes and rushed out towards Zelodec.

 

The latter turned on his heels to face it, returning the grin and crouched down to be similarly even with the monster.

 

Which rammed him, shouting, “dad!” before wrapping its— his short, fingerless arms around the four-limbed monster.

 

…The more he knew about monsters, the more perplexed he became. Those two didn’t bear even a hint of resemblance—how was it even possible for them to be father and son?

 

With one arm he returned the embrace, and with another hand, he patted the blue spawn’s head. “Hahah! Did you miss me, boy? How’s my brave little warrior been?” he greeted with that lively tone of his, warm smile plastered on his expression.

 

“Yes!” the tiny creature nodded quickly and with all the energy in the world, “I was watching the uncles fight! Uncle Arinton is fighting better than ever! I wanted to fight too but Uncle Doshe said I can’t fight!” he whined, grimacing.

 

“You returned faster than I expected,” another monster from the audience approached Zelodec. He was an anthropomorphic armadillo, white fur on his face —resembling a beard— and chest, with a large beige plate protecting his upper body, with a few green parts on his arms from which spikes sprouted. He was as tall as Zelodec, but unlike him, his face was graced by a smaller smile. “Did you find the berry?” he asked, his voice smooth and gentle, but profound.

 

With a final pat on the bluish monster’s head, Zelodec rose, matching the other monster’s height. “No, didn’t find it!” he shook his head, but as he spoke, one of his arms moved to catch the tip of Felix’s left shoulder, pulling him —once again, about to cause him to wobble and lose his equilibrium— towards himself, “but I found a new recruit!” he exclaimed, then grabbed him by the scruff —it didn’t hurt, at least— as if he were a feline. “Say hello to Felix, boys!”

 

They all blinked and stared at him, but only one was able to say anything—the monster tending the bar, “a new recruit? On an inhospitable island with no civilization?” it— he asked, raising an eyebrow; even if he didn’t possess one.

 

Zelodec nodded, “yeah! And no idea why the boy was there,” he retorted, giving a glance towards Felix and cracking up with a laugh, “it’s not like he’s going to tell me either! He’s quite the prankster! And an excellent actor, as well!”

 

In midair, he shrank in on himself. He didn’t know what to say, or what to do—he felt his muscles freeze, his breath stagnate, his heart pounding in his closed throat. Gross as it was, the soles of his feet missed the feel of the floor beneath them.

 

The last creature of the audience took a step forward. Also humanoid in shape, difficult to distinguish between its skin and the metal on its figure—but the most remarkable thing; as well as absolutely dreadful, were the blades which it wielded instead of hands with fingers and thumbs. Gleaming steel, with something resembling thumbs also sharpened like blades at the tips. Its feet were razor sharp, and rib-like protrusions —also cutting like alloy — bulged from the lower part of its abdomen. A shimmering red helmet-like armor formed the upper region of its skull, with a golden crest akin to an axe blade ornamenting the top. That thing was the one who spoke, with such a polite and gentle tone but shrouded entirely in an aura so malignant that it sucked in the air around it; an aura equal to tar. “A pleasure to meet you, then, Felix.”

 

A shiver ran down his spine, and his throat closed even tighter than he thought possible. He opened his mouth but only expelled stagnant air.

 

At least the long instant that felt like centuries ended sooner rather than later when he noticed how the world grew larger—once again, his feet felt the pulpy touch of the throbbing flesh floor. A sigh emerged from deep within his soul, “th-thank you…” was the only bit he had enough strength to mumble.

 

“Same here, Felix,” spoke the armadillo monster a few mere moments after the red-helmeted one—he didn’t have that creepy aura surrounding him, instead, his soft smile was even comforting, “nice to meet you. I’m—”

 

A loud noise muffled his voice.

 

That of a wooden plank suddenly crashing to the ground. Something even heavier, impacting the hard rock floor—when three pokémon turned to look, Felix had already seen it just by directing his gaze that way: in the ring, the brown monster had fallen to the ground, and the bruised cat towered victorious.

 

The anthropomorphic feline had his back to them, hunched over and breathing heavily. His chest inflating and deflating with each inhalation, with each exhalation. He turned half of his body—his green eyes focused solely on Felix, with that gaze that bore into his soul.

 

It was a gaze full of fire.

 

Turning completely towards them, the cat bent his knees, and propelled by his own strength, he leaped. Not just any jump, for the trajectory was arched towards them, in the midair it was no problem for him to somersault forward, landing with both feet on the ground right in front of Zelodec.

 

He placed his hands on his hips, and smiled —unlike the others, not warmly or kindly, but cockily— before turning his gaze towards the abra. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he snorted; sparks of fire flew from his nose. “So we have a new skitty in the barque, eh, Captain?” he said, giving a quick glance towards Zelodec —who responded with a nod— and took a side step to stand in front of Felix. “Then, welcome, Felix!” rather than exclaiming, his voice was so bombastic and the volume of his voice so exaggerated that it was more akin to a shout from deep in his lungs. All his words carried a vigor incapable of being contained and on the verge of exploding. A soul too big to be contained by subtlety or silence.

 

With his arms quivering, he raised one of his hand to wave. He tried to muster the energy to flash a sheepish smile but was completely unable, opening his mouth to—

 

The feline leaned to his right, glaring at Zelodec. “Hey, Captain, the new one’s going to follow the norm, right?” he asked, a hint of excitement hanging in his words just like his infinite stamina.

 

…Excuse me? The norm?

 

He sensed his mouth dry. A horrible feeling was building in his chest and his heart disagreed with what he was hearing. His imagination once more began to run fast and wild, rampant in all sorts of terrible thoughts about what the infamous norm might be.

 

Zelodec was able to notice Felix’s frown once Felix turned his head towards him, and he responded by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be bitter, boy, it’s nothing bad!” he assured, but his cheerful tone didn’t comfort Felix. He soon turned to face the cat and nodded, “but of course he’s gonna! Every respectable sailor goes through the rule, and our new recruit is no exception.”

 

The heaviness in his chest only grew worse, but he had to know. “Wh— what’s the n-norm?” he felt his mouth sour and his body cold as he asked.

 

“It’s a simple rule, don’t worry!” Zelodec patted him on the shoulder, “ya just have to pick one of yer new comrades…” he replied, and pumped one of his fists upward, “and fight ’em!” the glint in his gaze was chilling.

 

Unlike the burly monster, the moment his mind processed those words, his muscles tightened—stiff as a boulder. His heart skipped a beat, almost leaping out of his throat with its unrestrained pounding. He was aware; perhaps too aware, of his own nature. And in his soul, he knew he was a wimp incapable of connecting a mere punch. His thin arms trembled, also realizing the truth of his situation.

 

“T-There’s no other option?” he tried to bargain—but deep in his heart, he knew it was in vain. His bones ached just at the thought. But unable to accept it, his mind remained in disbelief.

 

He took a quick glance around him: of colossal, intimidating behemoths. He couldn’t possibly fight them as a human, much less as… whatever he was at the moment. The only exceptions were the blue monster and the owl; but one of them was a child. Even in his predicament, that would be stooping low.

 

Zelodec shook his head, “no, there’s no other choice! Ya gotta fight!” Even in this position, he still had that vivacious tone, and pointed one of his hands towards the ring —where the brown monster barely woke up and crawled out— with a grin. “So, who are you gonna go against?” he asked, glaring at Felix.

 

He gulped -his throat almost choked on his spit, stuck in his esophagus- and shot another glance around him. But there was only one option, and with a trembling hand, he pointed toward the owl.

 

“Ah, Strivete!” the four-armed monster whistled in surprise, pleased, and turned to face the owl that was still sitting —rather, standing on top— on the stool. “You heard him, Strivete! Come here!” he commanded, waving his hand to beckon him closer.

 

The bird stood motionless, however, just frowning and its eyes -apparently closed, like his own- barely cracking open to reveal its pupils, which glared disdainfully at him from its perch. “I beg your pardon, Captain?” the owl spoke, a solemn air in its— his tone and around him, grooming his own feathers as he hopped off the stool. “I am not beholden to such ludicrous entreaties, Captain,” he shot a glance towards Zelodec. “I was previously admitted. Ergo, I decline to associate myself with such a barbaric practice a second time,” he uttered, curt and direct. With a snort from his beak twisted in disgust as his eyes fell upon Felix, he strode toward one of the stone hut doors. With a leap, he spread his wings, and with the claws of his foot, turned the knob.

 

“So, you’re not gonna fight.”

 

The brown monster that had stepped out of the ring finally intervened in the conversation, leaning his battered body against the pillars from where he had fought earlier. “Boss, you know that sucker lacks guts,” he spat, turning his gaze towards Zelodec.

 

The owl scowled in response, turning to the clown-nosed behemoth, “Disdainful provocations cannot annoy me, Sancyel. But if I were in your skin, I would elect to control my foul vocabulary,” he replied in a monotone but mannered tone, haughty flair dripping from every word that came out of his beak. “And correct, captain; I decline to engage in unpayable aggression,” he replied, turning his back to all present, opening the door, “so, may I, with your permission, withdraw,” he stepped inside the hut, and before Felix knew it, it was closed. 

 

After the door slammed, a short silence reigned. It was interrupted by a sigh, “I respect the mentality, but…” the armadillo said, eyes narrowed and somewhat downcast, with a frown.

 

“He’s just a spineless coward, like Sancyel said! No motivation to improve, not like me!” the feline held his hand to his chest, letting out a grin as arrogant as the owl’s words.

 

Sancyel barked a spiteful chuckle, “that impotent little wimp couldn’t even fight the scrawny kid you brought along, boss,” he said, turning his eyes to Felix.

 

He couldn’t even blame him for calling him that—he was right.

 

Though Zelodec frowned at the comment, “Don’t get already like that on the new recruit, Sancyel,” he said, his voice firmer but not entering into seriousness. He turned to Felix, “well, since Strivete left, now who are ya gonna pick?”

 

His options were only monsters that could crush him with their pure bare hands, or a child. He gulped down his terrified whine that threatened to claw out of his throat, and took a sharp breath, looking at the alternatives.

 

The brown monster and the feline he’d already seen them fight, and he’d never want to have to receive one of those punches- “Choose ME!” the cat interjected, his body seeming to almost vibrate, from what he could tell in his voice was the fault of enthusiasm. “I want to show you first hand who the best fighter in the boat is, little skitty!” He pointed his thumb at himself and pounded his chest sideways with his fist.

 

Not an option.

 

The armadillo was too large—bulky. He could easily squash Felix one-handed, too, or knock him off his feet with one punch. He felt a shudder from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine, his tail standing straight up, taut.

 

Finally, his eyes settled on the red-helmeted monster. 

 

As incredibly heinous an idea as it might be, the fact that it was not a hulking creature was less intimidating than any other option—though that tar-heavy aura and the glittering blades that were his limbs caused Felix’s legs to tremble uncomfortably. But he was aware that there was no alternative if he didn’t want to die in one blow.

 

Arm shaking and wavering, he slowly lifted his arm to point at his choice.

 

—Causing everyone present to gasp. Zelodec’s eyes widened, and Sancyel; still leaning on the pillar, whistled before bursting into laughter. Even the crimson-armored beast himself had his eyes widen like saucers—though soon, that aura grew even heavier around him the moment he cracked a smile.

 

“You wanna fight Huirai?” Zelodec asked, dumbfounded, before giving four thumbs up. “I dig the idea, boy! Go all out!”

 

The feline reached over to pat the abra on the back, “that’s the spirit! You might not be going against the best but at least you’re going against him!”

 

Sancyel continued to cackle, slapping his knee. “The kid sure has ba—!”

 

“Guts. He’s got guts,” interrupted the armadillo, who from confused expression soon shifted to a frown, his gaze softening. “Hey, Felix, are you sure about this?”

 

With each passing second, the more certain he became that his heart was sinking in his chest—and that at any moment it was going to stop beating.

 

The blue creature, who had rushed over to the armadillo, chimed in, giving a little jump of excitement. “The new friend is gonna fight Uncle Huirai!” he blurted out, gleefully. Though he soon frowned and looked back at the armadillo, “dad, is the new friend going to be alrighty?”

 

The armadillo sighed, “I hope so.”

 

He could still change his decision, couldn’t he?

 

Huirai strode silently towards Felix, gently pushing the cat aside to stand in front of the abra. He knelt, matching his height-he had a gentle grin on his face, but the glint in his gaze made Felix’s mouth go acid instantly; a wicked air embracing him with bitterness, trying to consume him before he even heard a word. A glance that watched his soul. “Thank you so much for considering me,” he crinkled his eyes, his voice a tar pit camouflaged with warm lamps. “Do you really want to fight me?”

 

He felt sweat bead on his forehead. He was falling into the abyss, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it—his mouth opened but only a high-pitched whimper escaped from it, choked by his own closed throat.

 

The grin the monster wore broadened—this was the definition of uncanny valley. “Good luck, then. Let’s do our best,” he replied in a sing-songy tone that matched with a hum—it was unmistakably pure joy, with his eyes lit up by the inner glow accompanied by an invisible but inimitable aura. With those light-hearted words, Huirai got up, turning on his heels —sharp as swords— to leap into the ring. Without the slightest complication.

 

He couldn’t help but notice the gleam of his glistening steel limbs.

 

“Alrighty,” Zelodec took a step back—a single hard pat to the abra’s back was the only help he was going to provide, “time to fight, Felix!” and then, that great hand began to push him forward.

 

Onward into the rectangle of hell.

 

Even with stiff legs and frozen muscles, the kinetic force and the universe itself were not in his favor, slowly but steadily being pushed forward towards the immutable destination. “N-No!” he shrieked, a cry that came from the back of his throat as he saw the ropes approaching, and the crowd swarming around the ring. “P-Ple— please, w-wait! P— Please, wa— wait! No!” he pleaded, his heart in his throat.

 

The begs fell in vain, the cheering before the slaughter filling his eardrums. In a second, his feet no longer touched the ground, “H-HOLD ON, PUT ME DOWN! N-NO—!” 

 

“Good luck, Felix!” and he was launched, straight into the infernal ring.

 

He crashed face first, like a meteor hitting the earth. Blood still left over from the previous fight splashed onto his cheek, and just the stench of metal rushing into his nostrils made his stomach churn. His ears were ringing, his vision blurring for a few long seconds, his skull throbbing inside his head.

 

He blinked forcefully multiple times, as if his vision was gaining definition with each new passing instant. The vague crimson transformed into red alloy, into the steel legs of a creature that had crouched in front of him.

 

He lifted his head from the maroon puddle, the ringing in his eardrums drowning out the sound of cheering coming from all directions. The monstrous figures watching the two of them —and Felix’s soon-to-be massacre— as no more than a crude spectacle.

 

Huirai held out his hand, still grinning widely. “Hey, it’s alright,” he comforted, melodious and gentle tone still fully seizing his voice.

 

He couldn’t contain the shivering in his bones, and that of his hand as he hesitantly accepted the help; being careful not to cut himself on the edge of his fingers. A gentle force —a gentle push that an adult would give to a child on a swing— pushed him upward.

 

Even with the red-helmeted monster crouched down, Felix was still smaller than he was. That, of course, couldn’t mean anything positive. If at this point anyone hadn’t noticed the tremor in his limbs, they were either blind or deliberately ignorant of it. He felt the appendage sprouting from the base of his spine wiggle instinctively, tail between his legs.

 

“Give the first strike yourself, I insist.” That gentle tone couldn’t fit—it was totally abnormal, totally unsettling because of the monster’s wide, too-wide grin.

 

But his kindness was nothing more than patronizing, Felix knew. He underestimated him, and not without reason—if he were in his shoes, so would he. But perhaps, even if he was going to take a beating anyway, he could take that opportunity to deliver a blow that at the very least wouldn’t render him the most useless living thing to ever walk the earth.

 

He gave a weak nod, and took a deep breath. His lungs swelled with oxygen mixed with the scent of whale maw, and he took a step back. He glanced down at his own body, checking that he was in proper posture and distance.

 

Another sharp inhalation, his hands clenching into fists. He raised his arm, all his will fighting to stop the shaking… and swung a jab straight at Huirai’s face, right at the area of yellow skin, uncovered from the metal.

 

A thud.

 

The monster’s head barely shifted to the left. His expression did not change—instead, the gleam in his eye brightened more sharply, crinkling his eyes.

 

The cheering died down, and Felix took a step back, his palms all sweaty.

 

Not a scratch, not a mere reaction.

 

Oh, he was so dead.

 

He began to back away, watching as without a word Huirai rose, brandishing his blade to the side—Felix could see his reflection in the metal.

 

The evil aura stagnated the air; that alone could explain why he felt like he was lacking oxygen.

 

Then, as if somebody had flipped a switch, Huirai’s body language changed drastically—he hunched like an animal, dropping his arms —one glowing blue— down as well as his head, and when he lifted it… the glow in his eyes was primal, untamed. “METAL BURST!” he roared at the top of his lungs, all rationality or gentleness in his voice gone, with a raspy tone mimicking his body language. He rushed towards Felix, leaning his whole body forward to increase his momentum, like a beast.

 

He didn’t have a split second to respond until he felt the stabbing sensation run through him from his collarbone to the beginning of his lower abdomen. First was the heat bubbling in the flesh of his own body, the lacerating feel traveling along his nerves like the roots of a tree. Second was the blood flying in front of his face, crimson liquid gushing from the cut, with Huirai himself and his cutting metal right in front of him, grinning madly.

 

The next thing he processed was how the kinetic force sent him flying backwards, the ring ropes straining under his weight, and replying by sending him face first to the ground. His skull throbbed once more, the ringing in his ears drowning out any other sound in the world. He was unable to hear his own screams; resting in the pool of his own red, he could not discern colors beyond gray and scarlet. 

 

The warmth in his abdomen grew cold. Cold, yet colder like frost. With the frigidness, his eyelids grew heavy; too heavy that he was unable to keep his eyes open.

 

And so he fell into the world of dreams.