Chapter 25: Peril in General

Chapter 25: Peril in General

Mathew was drowning.

When he came to, that was the first thing he realized. Panicked, he pulled himself up, making a splash as the front end of his snout surfaced through the knee-deep water. A cold darkness awaited him — the rippling pool of water expanded into the inky black horizon in every direction, unnervingly still save the ripples he made himself.

Half-minded, Mathew brushed his hand against his wounds. A scrape on his back. A scorch mark on his chest. A gash on his muzzle just below his mask. Great… As if the ache of his soles and bags in his eyes needed the company.

He kicked against the water with all of the force he could muster. How else was he supposed to take out his anger? Mark had knocked all of the wind out of him on his own.

Mark…

Mathew kicked again, and again, and again, each more pitiful than the last. David, Emily, Dit, and that mysterious light had promised him the world — but all they’d done was steal it away from him. The things he had tried to do to Meowth before were nothing compared to what he pictured now.

Despair. Anger. Hate. That’s all he felt now. That’s all he wanted to feel.

…

Mathew stopped kicking. Not because he was bored of it, but because the water’s shade had changed. He could see his warbled reflection in front of him muddy until it vanished.

The pool had turned deep red…and he could feel it move.

His eyes widened with panic. An image of Joey pleading to him flashed through his mind, and suddenly guilt overcame him too. No! He didn’t want Joey to see him like this anymore!

But they took my son.

Wind flowed from behind him. That voice — his own voice — that was the direction it came from.

Mathew turned—

---

“Hey!”

Mathew lurched awake, and the real world came back to him. Trickling rain grazed his legs, dribbling down the leaves of the tree above. His goggle straps hung tightly around his mask above his eyes, failing to protect the water seeping into the holes of his mark. A fur-soaked figure hovered above him, panic on his face.

Just the person he wanted to wake up to.

“Get off me,” Mathew ordered, flinging himself to his feet with newfound briskness. Meowth thankfully got out of his way. His bone club was right next to him, so he was quick to arm himself. “Where the hell is he?!” he exclaimed as he looked around.

“Where is who?”

“Jermy dragged me away from that fight! I…” The tension in his voice died off. Tall, dark stalks of bark shot up, breaking out into branches high above their heads. Leaves and sticks filled the ground, layering over the grass. That was all there was to see — not a soul else. “What happened?”

Meowth hugged the side of the tree as if to imitate Minichino’s passion. “Don’t you remember what Politoed said? It’s past midnight. The dungeon shifted.”

What Politoed—? Oh. Now he remembered. They were supposed to rope themselves together, because otherwise, the dungeon would warp them all to random places. But then OCEAN showed up, and…

Oh God. They’d been splintered. OCEAN could be picking all his friends off right now.

He turned from the tree and started running.

“Wait. Hang on!” Meowth called.

“For what?!” Mathew cried behind him. “They could be dead already! I’m not hesitating twice!”

“I want to look for them as much as you do, but—!”

It was a subtle sound, but high above them came a noise that promptly silenced the cat. A distant wingbeat echoed in the distance. Then came another, this time even closer to where they were.

Meowth curled his claws urgently, gesturing for him to come back. “That’s why,” he whispered.

Mathew’s heartbeat quickened. Damnit. Of course they would hunt them from above…

He hopscotched back towards the cat, careful to set each foot down wherever the fallen leaves were light. Meowth guided him towards a bush resting next to the tree. The two stretched and curved and squeezed, narrowly fitting themselves between the bark and the leaves with little more than a rustle.

Flap. Flap. Flap. Each beat was a little closer. He bit down on his teeth as rain pattered against his mask. Was that Dit? David? The prehistoric bird from before?

…Demurke?

He kept his eyes on the ground as the wingbeats passed overhead. He didn’t want to know.

Minutes went by in silence. Mathew’s passion to make himself known fizzled. That bird could return at any moment — or worse, a more silent hunter. He couldn’t fight OCEAN alone.

As the cubone held still, holding his breath, the weather surrounding them began to change. The rain over their heads started to fade away. Pouring became streaming, streaming became drizzling, and drizzling became nothing more than the occasional droplet sliding off a leaf above.

It felt like a sign. The storm was passing.

Mathew stumbled out of the bush, taking a seat against the tree. “Jesus.”

Meowth stood over him, studying his body. “It’s a good thing you didn’t leave.” He got down on one knee, staring at the scorching on his stomach. “That wound is serious. Were you fighting the person who burned Breloom?”

He put his arms over his chest, leaning away from him. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” What gave Meowth the right to know?

The cat stood there, silent for a moment. Then, he leaned, grabbed something from the bush, and dropped it next to him. “I managed to keep this in the scuffle. There should be oran and rawst berries in there to treat your injuries with.”

Mathew sighed in relief. “The Dwelling Bag…” They were extremely lucky they hadn’t lost it in the fight — all of their belongings resided in this one bag now. He reached in and pulled out a few of both kinds of berries. He hadn’t realized just how parched he was until the juices of those berries touched his throat.

The berries healed him, but they did not rejuvenate. He was still so tired. Why couldn’t they have taken even a ten-minute break on the way here?

As Mathew wiped off the juice left on his muzzle, he noticed that Meowth had walked even farther away from him. It occurred to him that usually Meowth was the one handing out berries to feed the injured, rather than tossing him the bag to make him do it himself.

“Hey, you’re the medic here, right? I thought you’d want to do the honors and feed me these.”

Meowth gave him a simple side-eye. “You said it yourself when I woke you up. It’s better if I don’t touch you.”

Mathew sat there in silence, waiting for the berries to kick in. Half of him wanted to say it was okay for him to do his job. Half of him wanted to snark that he was right. Neither side won today.

It’d be a few minutes more before Mathew would stand up and walk. There was no sense of urgency when they lacked a direction to go. The occasional echo rang through the trees, never tangible enough to identify the source. They marched in an arbitrary direction, hoping it brought them closer to their scattered friends.

The thunderstorm had begun rolling away with hardly a final crash — the only light to guide them now was the pale moonlight puncturing the bed of clouds. Tall conifer trees with sharp branches cast deep shadows over the two. The only one equipped to stare into the shade was Meowth. The cat was strikingly silent, doing little more than cradle the bag and make sure Mathew was alive behind him. If Mathew didn’t keep his eyes on him, his gray colors would bleed into the night.

“We’re getting nowhere fast.” It was the obvious, but Mathew preferred saying it over nothing at all.

Meowth peered behind him as he moved. “I noticed. If you have any better ideas, I’m listening.”

Bylaide Forest seemed like a strikingly uninteresting mystery dungeon — all Mathew could see was grass, brush, dead leaves, and bark. What could they do with so little? “If Joey was here, he could climb one of these and get us some information from above.” Unfortunately, he wasn’t a crocodile, so he couldn’t climb. Cats, though… “Can you?”

Meowth walked toward one of the trees. He rested a paw on it, staring upward at the needle bearing cones on its branches. “Even if I did go up there, we’d just draw attention from any of their fliers.”

“…But you can.”

Meowth shut his eyes. “My father taught me. It was a long time ago — I was five, maybe.” He turned away. “Whenever I got brave enough to go higher than before, we’d celebrating by eating a meal at Silvalla’s.”

So that’s where the hesitancy came from. Mathew sighed. They didn’t really have time for this. “Listen, I get having some nostalgia, but maybe you should save it to share with your dad after—”

“I might not have him anymore!” In a burst of frustration, he whirled back towards Mathew, claws chipping off wood. “He held off Emily to protect Minichino and…me.” He tried to look the cubone in the eyes.

Mathew turned his head down, refusing to look back. He recognized that Meowth was seeking sympathy in a desperate situation. God, what he wouldn’t give for some too. But in the midst of this living nightmare, his well of compassion was dry. How could Mathew muster anything after what had happened before? How could either of them?

In those seconds of silence, Meowth lowered his arm. “Never mind,” he said softly.

Mathew snapped back to attention. As much as he hated it, he should at least keep him focused on the task at hand. “Hang on, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“Don’t you hear that?” This time he was whispering again. Only now could Mathew see Meowth’s ear twitch.

Begrudgingly, Mathew closed his lips tightly, leaving them in silence. Wind rushed through the trees, kicking up leaves that dotted the ground below. There were more of those echoes — screaming voices he couldn’t recognize.

But underneath all that, was that…whispering he heard?

He closed his eyes to focus. It was hard to make anything out when it felt like the sounds kept changing directions, whirling around him. But he could hear it now.

A lone, feminine voice, whispering unintelligible words.

He had heard it before. The voice from the dark was here.

Without saying a word, Mathew broke out into a sprint. He weaved between trees, stumbled over branches, and leapt down hills at breakneck pace. Between heavy panting, conflicted thoughts pulsed through his mind. This was the second time this voice had emerged in the face of a crisis. What did she want with him?! Why did she only speak after the damage was done? Last time, her voice had come from everywhere at once. How could he make out a direction now?

Mathew wanted answers. At the same time, he remembered telling her to stay out of his head. So, he kept running in the direction of her whispers. He’d get both, if he could help it.

His heart pumped. His feet pounded. His head throbbed. The whispers got louder. Mathew swallowed the pain until he couldn’t, collapsing into the dirt and leaves. Only then, could he finally make out words.

“…come here.”

Just like that, the voice vanished. She’d beckoned him, only to leave him here with nothing. He wanted to yell in anger and have a fit on the ground.

Resisting the urge, Mathew pulled himself back up. He swiped at his skull mask. The side that slammed into the dirt was wet with a new layer of mud. Some droplets fell in front of his eye.

Could this get any worse?

That was when he heard something else.

“Hup! Two, three, four… Hup! Two, three, four…”

It was a chorus of young voices, punctuated by the sound of crushed leaves. Meowth was already crouched behind a bush, studying them as they passed by. Mathew silently joined him.

A trio of chipmunk-like pokémon marched together in a line, stomping forward with each word. Their tails swished in alternation, too, to sync them even more closely. Left, right. Left, right.

They were carrying a splayed-out figure over their heads. The front one held the back of his head, eyes shut, ears dangling. The middle one gripped his stomach, around the top brown stripe. The back one held his rear, keeping the bolt-shaped tail from smacking his face.

“She led us straight to Jermy…” Mathew muttered.

“She?” Meowth peered at him for a second, but seemed to think better of asking. “Are those patrats OCEAN soldiers?”

Mathew pondered this as he watched them get farther away. They were acting in a militaristic way, but OCEAN never seemed like the type to make their members march like this. Plus, these three sounded even younger than the soldiers they had fought a few minutes ago. They seemed more like children playing pretend than anything. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

“Neither am I,” Meowth said. “Maybe they’re dungeon pokémon.”

It hadn’t even been a possibility in his mind until he said it — but now it was such an obvious answer that even another dungeon pokémon could figure it out. “Yeah, that’s probably it.” The line was now much farther ahead of them. Mathew took the opportunity to give chase, shimmying from one bush to the next. The ache in his soles was even worse now — sprinting towards the voice had done him no favors. “Normally I’d say we fight them off, but we’re outnumbered and probably outmatched in this state,” he whispered to Meowth as he followed behind him. “Maybe they’ll give us a better opportunity…”

The hesitancy may have been a mistake.

Mathew could only describe what they were approaching as a hastily-assembled fort. Mounds of dirt formed the walls to a shabby perimeter only a few feet taller than them. The walls seemed flattened and a little melted from all the rain. Through the entrance, he could make out more walls outlining rooms and hallways. The trio of patrats marched in, Jermy in tow.

This must be their base, assembled together with all the dirt they could find. None of the other dungeon pokémon were nearly this organized. It was both impressive and concerning. What did this say about their chances against them?

“Damn, we need to see what’s going on in there.” It’d probably be unwise to simply go inside. Mathew had no idea if there were any other dungeon pokémon in there that could potentially spot them. “Any ideas?”

Meowth seemed somewhat confused. “I’m surprised you’re asking me for any.”

Mathew shook his head in annoyance, turning away from him. Mathew didn’t like him on an average day, but tonight, Meowth was acting particularly unhelpful. Was there any benefit to even having a second body around?

Well, now that he thought about it, those walls were taller than each of them. Was it taller than both of them?

It didn’t take long to get in position. Meowth leaned over in front of the wall, letting Mathew climb on his back and shoulders. He made for a good step-stool. The cubone clawed against the top of the wall, prying off dirt that flaked over his already dirtied mask. Eventually, he got his grip, and managed to pull himself up on top of the wall.

The interior of the fort was a maze. More walls lined the interior, forming slim hallways that sometimes opened up into larger rooms. Every wall was straight and every corner was sharp, making everything look blocky. There were two trees inside the maze — one of them stood beside a corner, shading the fort, while another entirely blocked off a hallway, sealing off half the maze.

What parts of this were caused by the dungeon shift? Mathew wondered. It seemed like a fully intact, contiguous structure, but there was no way they intended for that tree to block a path. If they stored any food in here, would it come with the fort when the shift happens? This seemed like such a strange system of rules. He’d have to ask Politoed about it later.

For the moment, he was focused on duckwalking his way along the wall, drawing as little attention to himself as he could. His tan body resembled soil enough on its own, but the fact that he was covered in mud and dirt helped his camouflage. It was just a matter of never giving the patrats a reason to look up.

They marched down hallways, constantly keeping up that militaristic chant. “Hup! Two, three, four…”

Even now, Jermy didn’t open his eyes. Mathew recalled how tired he was even before they set out from the beach. Just how sleep-deprived was he?

Their destination was the tree in the corner. On closer inspection, it was much younger than the other tree, only a few feet tall and barely featuring enough branches to shade the one standing beneath it from the dim moonlight. Another dungeon pokémon?

The three patrats threw Jermy’s body on the ground and faced the figure. “General Watchog, sir!” they shouted in unison, standing at attention.

“Grrgh, you maggots…!” The figure turned away from the tree and towards the trio with an angry expression. He was a tall, reddish-brown chipmunk with a deeper voice. Yellow strips ran along his belly and tail, reminding Mathew of a human’s safety vest. “You’re late. I expected your post-shift relocation of the base to be two minutes faster!” He pointed at their short arms. “And you didn’t even find any food!”

“Sorry for the delay, sir!” One of the squeaky-voiced partrats said.

“We found each other after the shift on-pace, but were delayed when we found this unfamiliar face!” another explained, gesturing to Jermy.

“We thought he would be of use, General Watchog, sir!” the third said.

Mathew grimaced. These dungeon pokémon really were playing pretend-soldier. After everything he’d been through so far, it was hard to watch. They could really stand to be quieter, too — those OCEAN scouts were probably still out there. Who had even taught these four all this?

It didn’t matter, he concluded. All that Mathew cared about was how much these four were irritating him.

‘General’ Watchog crossed his arms, eyeing the pikachu. “That’s a poor excuse and you lot know it! Which one of you was responsible for letting this jagged-tail figure delay you?”

Without skipping a beat, the middle one stepped forward. “That would be me, sir!”

“Patrat!” Mathew chose not to question how Watchog distinguished between three nameless patrats. “Your principles are in the right place, but the slowness is unacceptable! Will the enemy give you maggots time to slow down on the battlefield?!”

“No, sir! But I—”

“Don’t ‘I’ me, soldier! You know that the punishment for backtalk is to look me in the ‘I’s!”

The patrat retreated a little. “I’m sorry, sir. I will be faster next time.”

Why did Mathew feel his puncles tingling? There was some kind of threat hidden in that line that was enough to make the patrat shrink. What had he just threatened him with…?

Watchog focused his attention on the other two. “Patrat! Bring the jagged-tail one here and wake him up!”

“Yes, sir!” they both answered. One of them grabbed the pikachu by the arms, propping them up into a standing position. Then, the other bit down on his shoulder.

Jermy’s eyes shot open. “Woah, woah, hey!” A tiny bolt shot from his red cheek at the biting patrat, making him lurch back and release his shoulder. “What the heck is going…on…?” Despite an initial fierceness, the pikachu slouched in the patrat’s grip, eyes half-lidded.

He had looked into Watchog’s eyes.

His eyes…his gross, red and yellow eyes…

They glowed.

“My men found you trespassing in our dungeon. What kind of maggot are you?!” he asked angrily.

“Uhhh, a…preeeetty big one…” Jermy slurred through the words, half-present.

Mathew watched them, wide-eyed. He uncurled himself, standing tall atop the wall.

Watchog seemed amused by the answer, his stern expression breaking into a tiny grin. “Hah! Well you’ve come to the right place. I’m training this lot of maggots to be bigger and stronger than any bug. You wanna be a big and strong soldier?”

Jermy shakily nodded, his ears wobbling with each movement of the head. “Ssssure! It’d be a baaall to…get as stroooong as her…”

Mathew pulled the goggles over his eyes.

“Good! Welcome to the crew then! First order of business: you four maggots get out there and find some f—!”

Watchog couldn’t even finish the words before the bone club met his face. He stumbled away from Jermy, yelping in pain.

Mathew grit his teeth as he caught the whirling club. “Put spirals in my friend’s eyes and I’ll put X’s in yours!” he snapped.

The patrats turned to him in panic. “Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” they called, clamoring towards the wall he stood atop.

“Don’t alert me, you maggots!” Watchog cried as he straightened himself up for a dramatic point. “Just get him!”

The three started clawing away at the dirt wall, digging out the sides. Dirt peeled off as the wall slid slightly beneath Mathew’s feet. He tried prodding them away, but it was hard to aim between the night and the dark goggles.

That was fine. He had a goal in mind, anyway.

Mathew leapt over the patrats’ heads and landed past them, gunning for the dazed pikachu. “Jermy!” He ran up and grabbed his shoulders. “It’s me! Snap out of this!”

Jermy looked back at him, unspeaking. The haze in his eyes didn’t fade.

“What the…?” Mathew shook his body, then bopped his head with a hand.

He just weakly giggled. “Thaaaat tickles…!”

Why was he still hypnotized? Breaking out of Meowth’s trance after he had clapped his paws and broken the connection was easy enough. What was so different about Jermy and Watchog?

His train of thought crashed when a hand gripped his club-bearing arm and pulled him up into the air. Mathew was face-to-face with the false general.

“So what do we have here? Another maggot eager to join our ranks?”

Watchog’s eyes glowed.

“NonononononononoNO!” Mathew used his free arm to grip his goggles tightly, refusing to even give him the chance to take them off. He squirmed and swung and shook wildly in Watchog’s grasp.

Watchog seemed baffled by the failure of his hypnosis, only for his expression to quickly turn dismissive. He threw Mathew away, letting him drop. “Here’s your first order, jagged-tail!” he graveled. “Attack!”

Mathew was hardly on his feet when said jagged tail, hardened into a metallic form, came swinging down on him. He barely blocked in time, steel clashing with ivory instead of his scales. He kept taking steps back, keeping Jermy from invading his space. His swings were a little slow, but so were Mathew’s guarding motions. Both of them were hardly in any state to fight.

Still, the cubone was backed up towards a wall. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?!” Mathew spat, trying to make him see reason. “Neither of us want this!”

“Soooorry, can’t heeeear you over the…sound ‘a my new buuuddies chittering…” Jermy reared back, tail sharpening even further — only to be interrupted by an energy coin hitting his side.

“It’s no good!” Meowth stepped out of one of the hallways, claws drawn, Dwelling Bag over his shoulder. “That watchog is a better hypnotist than me. Jermy’s gonna be stuck under his paw for a few minutes.”

Mathew marveled at the explanation. This was what a hypnotist who really tried could do? He didn’t have time to think about it. Mathew leapt away from Jermy and towards Meowth. They were just gonna have to fight to get him back.

“Come on!” Mathew ran down the hall Meowth had came from, beckoning him to follow. With an annoyed cry, the crowd gave chase, Jermy in the lead, the patrats in the middle, and Watchog in the back. Mathew and Meowth couldn’t handle a five-on-two, but maybe these narrow halls could make it a little harder on the pretend soldiers?

It’d might work, if not for Jermy. Mathew remembered how even his tackle was enough to shatter a barbaracle’s rock. Mathew wasn’t even sure if he could last long against Jermy if he was at full strength, much less now.

They turned through sharp bends, nearly slipping from the wet dirt that was everywhere they went. Through his pounding head, Mathew tried to think through a plan. “We need to…separate Jermy from them…! He’s their powerhouse!” he exclaimed between pants. He recalled that Breloom had stocked the Dwelling Bag with more items from the Service Guild before they left Kalmwa’er. “Is there…anything in that…bag we can use?”

Meowth rummaged through the Dwelling Bag as he moved, faltering a little from splitting his attention. He pried out a wand Mathew hadn’t seen before. It was a cyan shade, like the whirlwind wand, but the end was curved into a hook, and there were dark blue strips that reminded him of a candy cane. “This is a warp wand. It’s basically a mini-dungeon shift for whoever you use it on. It only works once.” Without even asking, he put it into Mathew’s free hand. “It might send one of them away. Don’t—”

Mathew didn’t need to hear another word. He immediately stopped, pivoted, and swung it straight at Jermy. A glowing ball of energy formed in the hook of the wand and shot forward straight toward the pikachu. He skidded to a stop, his woozy expression breaking with a bit of panic—

“Get down, jagged-tail!” One of the patrats shoved in front of Jermy, lunging at the energy ball. When it collided with him, his body flashed white and dissolved, leaving no trace of him behind.

“…waste it.” Meowth sighed.

Mathew grit his teeth as the wand began to crumble in his arms. Cyan and blue gave way to a host of colors as the wand flaked off into strange dust. Even with his shaded goggles on, Mathew could see the whole color spectrum in each bright speck that fell to the ground or coated his dirty hand. “Damnit!”

“Patrat!” Watchog cried. His head towered over the three remaining pokémon, completely exposed.

Sparks flew from Jermy, surging down the hallway. Mathew rushed to block them with his body — he could take them with hardly a scratch, thanks to his body’s typing, but Meowth couldn’t. He looked pleadingly back at Meowth. What else did they have?

As Jermy and the dungeon pokémon encroached, Meowth looked intently at Watchog. “A suggestion from one person’s hypnosis could get overwritten by a better hypnotist. Maybe…” For just a moment, there was a touch of radiance in his eyes — but then he slammed them shut, gritting his teeth. “I can’t.”

Nothing. They had nothing, then.

All Mathew had left in his arsenal was the aim to kill. He flipped his club around, trying to jab at the dungeon pokémon with the sharp end. Jermy took a few of the pokes, seeming unbothered, before answering with another swing of his iron-clad tail.

Mathew didn’t even have the stamina to block. He was knocked away, back scraping the sodden dirt. Seconds later, he heard Meowth’s claws slash through air, only to be quickly followed by the cat joining him in the ground.

They were too exhausted. They were too weak. They were too dependent. They were too fractured. This fight was Watchog’s, and it wasn’t even close.

Watchog guffawed, seeing his clear advantage. Mathew weakly dragged his head forward to see him rear back. “Hah! Look at you, crushing these less-than-maggots!” He thrusted a hand forward. “Now! New guy! Put your full power into ending these fools! Make yourself into a real soldier and…”

Watchog’s gross eyes shrunk in panic, along with the eyes of the other two patrats. Before he had even finished his command, Jermy started surging with energy. The air tensed and pulsed in tandem with the green glow in his arms.

Mathew was stunned. A grass type—?

The pikachu, still half-grinning, thrust one arm towards Mathew and Meowth…and another at Watchog and the patrats. “Okay.”

Green shockwaves were the last thing that filled Mathew’s vision.