DISCLAIMER:
pokemon and all of its trademarked products and characters are owned by
Nintendo, Game Freak and their affiliates, not me. If they were owned by me,
I’d be filthy rich, and certainly wouldn’t have to resort to doing all the
house work for the occasional FullMetal Alchemist
or Kenshin DVD. (I know I really
should save my money, but dammit, anime is so addictive!)
Bleed Like Me.
PART
THREE
“I
will take the gag off, on one condition. Do not scream. The moment you do, the
gag will go back on, and you will travel to Indigo in a suitcase. A rather large suitcase,” he added, taking into
account the fifty-or-so kilos of maddened, bound and gagged red-head stretched
out in front of him.
Misty
said nothing, sending him a look that should’ve left his charred and smoking
shadow on the wall opposite.
“Once
again, do not scream.”
The
Travellers Lodge they were in had only thin walls, and Ash knew that the sound
would carry, bringing with it unnecessary distractions.
True,
they would provide a meal for a hungry, and therefore irritable, Pikachu, but
he would be hard-pressed to maintain the fragile hold he had on his hunger if
he watched the pokemon feed.
Carefully,
and mindfully of the fact that she might try to bite him, he removed the gag.
Misty
took a deep breath, and instantly his hand clapped over her mouth, forcing it
closed.
“Not.
One. Sound. Understood?”
The
girl nodded.
He
removed his hand.
For
a moment, there was silence, before he spoke.
“Good.
It seems that y-”
“You bastard! I hope you burn in- mmph!”
Again,
Ash’s hand clapped over her mouth.
“I
did warn you.” Ash sighed. “Pikachu, get me-”
The
frantic muffled cries from the girl indicated that she had no wish to travel in
a suitcase, no matter how large it was, and was re-considering his offer.
Pikachu
eyed the pair curiously, as Ash removed his hand again.
Misty
was silent, mindful of the fact that Ash –or at least the bastard in front of
her- would probably make good on his threat.
“Good.
I will not, however, untie you. To do so would be idiocy.”
Misty’s
eyes narrowed. This definitely wasn’t Ash. For one thing, the Ketchum boy had a
sense of morality and chivalry. This ass-hole wouldn’t know chivalry if it
pushed him into a puddle. And Ash certainly wasn’t one to think things through,
which is what had led them to the damn tunnel in the first place. This guy, on
the other hand, looked as though thinking was his number-one, all time
favourite hobby.
Aside from killing people of course.
Hesitantly,
the girl spoke, voice low, words quick in case he tried to gag her again.
“If
you’re not Ash, then who-” she cut herself off, expecting the gag, and closing
her eyes tight.
“Am
I? You are not the first to ask that, although I have to say you are the first
in many years who did not die before the end of that sentence.”
Misty
opened her eyes, noting that he had moved and perched on the edge of the only
couch in the room. She remained stretched out on the table, but he had flopped
onto the couch with an easy, muscular grace; the grace one would associate with
a large, feral Persian.
“Well?”
she asked, impatient, her eyes scanning the room for Marill. What had the
bastard done with her-
“Marill
is fine, and currently being entertained by Pikachu.”
She
turned her head –about the only movement she could make- and saw that her
Marill was sleeping peacefully, Pikachu curled up on the floor near her, but a
watchful eye still on her pokemon.
“And
as for your question, I do not have a name as such; no one has called me by
anything other than a description for some years now. You may continue to call
me Ash, if you prefer.” He added, forestalling her next question.
She
turned her head back to him, anger mingled with the terror in her eyes.
“What
do you want with me?”
Ash
smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about it.
“Who
said I wanted you? I was told to... acquire
you, and that is what I have done. My... employer...
will be very pleased.”
“What
does he want with me?” she asked, unable to keep the angry, impatient tone out
of her voice.
“She wants to sacrifice you to her gods,
cutting you open and letting you bleed to death on her altar, and then tossing
your remains to her followers, so that they can gorge themselves on your
entrails.”
Misty
fell silent.
“If
you think this is a sick, twisted joke, manoeuvred by your good friend Brock,
think again. You know what I am. As you have no doubt judged by my actions, I
am intent on taking you to my employer, handing you over to her, and watching
the resulting blood-bath.”
This
was not entirely true; he had no intention whatsoever of letting her die, but
it was better that she fear him.
Misty
was still silent, and although her gaze was bright with anger, her normally
milky complexion had turned ashen-grey.
Finally
she spoke.
“You’re
not Ash Ketchum. He’d never do something like that.”
The
man in front of her smiled lazily.
“Exactly.”
It
was only a while later that she realised he hadn’t specified which statement he
was agreeing with.
Misty
was getting edgy.
They
had spent some time in this Traveller’s Lodge –whether in hours or minutes, she
couldn’t tell- and so far, nothing had happened. No one had come in, and tried
to save her from the fact she was trussed up like a Christmas-Pidgey, but then
no-one had come in and tried to eat her either.
He’d
carried her some distance from the tunnel; she supposed they must be heading
back towards
After
all, the whole forest was dotted with these small houses, all equipped with
furniture, clean water and various other things to ensure trainers had
someplace safe to care for their pokemon, even if the whole forest was overrun
with bandits.
Still,
none of them had bothered to attack her, carried as she was on Ash’s shoulder.
She
supposed that bandits, while blood-thirsty, evil and having the same morals as
a snake-pokemon, knew better than to attack a feeder.
And
now, here they were. She was still on the table, Marill was still unconscious,
and Ash appeared to be... asleep...
Misty
smiled.
If I’m lucky, he’ll stay
like that. Maybe I can try to...
She
began to wriggle, and eventually managed to roll herself to the edge of the
table. She teetered on the edge for a moment before gravity took over and she
fell off the table with a heavy thump.
Ash
opened one eye.
“There
is nothing you can do on the floor that you could not have done on the table. I
am of a mind to leave you there, although I do realise you will probably
continue to stare at me until I lift you back onto the table again.”
He
sat up, bent down to her level and lifted her up.
With
one hand, and no apparent amount of effort either.
Misty
landed back on the table with a thump, wondering how in the name of everything
holy he had been able to lift her so very, very easily.
Misty
knew she was petite; but she was no feather-pillow either.
She
figured she had to way some twenty or so kilos less than he did, and so, there
was no possible way he could have lifted a dead weight that weighed more than
half of his total mass.
Nonetheless,
he had done so.
As
though he was reading her thoughts, Ash spoke.
“I
can lift you so easily because I am not human. Because of what I am, my
physical structure, strength and stamina vary to yours greatly. I can do many
things that you cannot.”
He
laid himself back down again, adjusting his black clothing around him, and
flipping the collar of his coat upwards so that his face was partially obscured
and shaded.
In
spite of the situation she was in, Misty felt curiosity.
When
she next spoke, she knew her voice held the curious inflection of a child, but
didn’t care.
“What
do you mean? How can you do things I can’t? Sure, you’re stronger but...” she
let her voice trail off hopefully, hoping he’d give her some clue as to his
strengths and –if she was lucky- his weaknesses.
Who knows? Maybe there’s
something he can’t do that I can! And if I know what it is, I might be able to
use it against him, or any of the other ones I come across...
She
was unable to keep the momentary flash of anger off her face, and Pikachu –who
had been watching her, amused, for quite some time now- hissed a warning in
Pikanese.
Ash
sighed.
“Give
me some credit, Misty. I am not a fool. I dare say that Ash Ketchum would have
easily fallen for such a trick –obvious as it was- but I will not. Now be
quiet, I am tired. We have a long trip ahead of us, and since we will be
travelling at nightfall, I suggest you get some rest. I do not wish to hand a
tired hors d’ouvers to my mistress now, do I?”
Misty
scowled.
“What
if I keep talking? If I start screaming again, someone might hear me and then-”
“I
will let them come here, and Pikachu will have them for dinner.”
Pikachu
grinned, white teeth flashing in dirty fur.
He
lowered the collar, and rolled his head towards her.
“Do
not think to bother me with your incessant chatter. If you continue to bother
me, I will gag you again. I removed the gag so that you could breathe easier,
not talk. Pikachu,” he added, his last comment not directed at her, “wake me in
four hours. The sun will have set by then.”
Misty
shivered.
It
was a three-day walk to Viridian from Viridian forest, and from there an even
longer trip to Indigo. At least, it was for a travelling human. She had no
doubt that he would travel faster.
She
swallowed, the sudden anger which had taken hold of her so recently washing
out, leaving her empty.
Her
remaining life-span could be counted in terms of days.
She
hovered for a moment on the edge of despair before something nudged her back to
sanity.
That
hard, steel core of her –the part of her that wished for nothing more than his
head on a platter of some kind- wouldn’t let her give up.
He’ll have weaknesses. Find
them, exploit them, and escape. You’re not done yet.
Her
reassuring internal voice still whispering in her ears, Misty drifted off into
an uneasy, jumpy sleep.
Pikachu
continued to watch her, aware for tricks of any kind, but it soon appeared that
she, like his trainer, was merely sleeping.
The
forest was ominous and gloomy during the day, but in the twilight hours, it was
something out of a horror film.
Imaginary
spectres flitted from violet shadow to violet shadow.
The
wind whispered through leaves, singing funeral dirges in shrieks and moans.
The
background chatter of wild pokemon cut off also, leaving any wary travellers
alone in a world of haunting silence, broken only by the soft footfall of other
travellers, and the unrelenting wind.
It
was so eerie it set Misty’s teeth on edge.
Positioned
where she was –once again, slung over Ash’s shoulder- she could only see behind
them, and watch the approaching darkness as the sun sank even further into the
ground.
Ash
seemed unperturbed by her weight, his footsteps faster and of greater range
than any human could hope to achieve.
Abruptly,
he stopped, head snapping to his left. Misty was still, wondering what the hell
was going on, but Ash didn’t seem ready to enlighten her.
“What’s-”
He
ignored her, silencing her with a look. Stealthily, he bent down and laid her
on the ground.
“Hush,”
he whispered, still bent over her, but eyes searching, searching. “Do not make
a sound.”
He
stood again, and the small bundle of Marill –who was still, worryingly,
unconscious- was laid at Misty’s feet by an alert Pikachu.
Ash
stood, eyes closed, and for a moment, was stiller than a statue.
“Pikachu,”
he murmured, eyes still closed, and lips barely moving, “Can you feel that?”
The
small pokemon nodded, dark eyes gleaming with some internal light as his head
swivelled unerringly to a small patch of forest, which to Misty, looked no
different to the rest.
“Pika...”
he whispered, and slinking close to the ground, edged slowly towards the
shrubs, obscured by the short grass –which was still long enough to cover the
small electric pokemon- and moving so slowly not a ripple passed through the
sinuous strands waving above him.
Ash
continued to stand still, eyes still closed, and to Misty’s surprise and faint
horror, she realised he was not breathing.
Ash,
who’d slowed his heart to the point where the feeder
that had followed them could not sense his heart beat, held his breath as
Pikachu approached him. The feeder’s attention was focused on Misty, who was a
living, breathing, and most importantly captive
piece of meat.
Ash,
who was no longer breathing, and barely alive even if he was standing, had
faded from the feeders attention, as had Pikachu.
This
was important.
Only
when Pikachu attacked did he open his eyes and spring into movement.
Misty,
once again, found herself up and over his shoulders before she even knew what
had happened, the air around her crackling with static electricity as Pikachu
launched a silent attack.
Misty
was stunned.
Where
a patch of grass, plants, vines and assorted trees had been mere seconds before
was now a charred patch of vegetation, and an unconscious feeder –this one
male, and similar enough in appearance to the one she had killed in Vermillion
to be related- smoking and blackened on the ground.
Ash
sighed, and let Misty slump to the ground again.
Pikachu
sat on the feeder’s chest, eyeing him with greed.
“Feed,
Pikachu. But make it quick.”
Pikachu
nodded, and a sudden golden blur caught Misty’s eye as the small pokemon
slashed the throat of the feeder, and supped greedily from the fountain of dark
blood that spayed forth.
A
few droplets were propelled far enough from the high-pressure stream to
splatter Misty’s face, and she barely suppressed a scream.
Marill,
to both Misty and Ash’s surprise awoke, the syrupy
scent of fresh blood thick in her nostrils. The small pokemon struggled against
her ropes for a moment, then snapped them, trotting over to the body.
Pikachu,
annoyed at having his feed disturbed, snarled at the aqua-mouse pokemon with a
bloody muzzle, before being swiped across the face by Marill, who nudged him
out of the way and began to lap at the pooling blood, the fountain from the
neck spurting irregularly and gradually jerking to a halt.
Pikachu,
annoyed, growled, and started chewing at the man’s wrist; creating another,
smaller, fount to drink from.
Misty
swallowed, and felt a wave of nausea sweep over her as both pokemon, once done
drinking, began to feed on the flesh, tearing open the stomach to get at the
rapidly-cooling entrails.
Both
pokemon seemed to have reached an agreement, and shared the liver quite happily,
unaware of their captive audience.
“I
think I’m gonna be sick,” murmured Misty through green-tinged lips.
“This from the woman who killed a feeder with her
bare hands? I am surprised at you. I thought you would have been able to
stomach such a small thing.”
Ash
cast her a curious look, insofar as one was possible
for those dark, mad eyes to convey.
“Marill
was not a feeder the last I saw you. Has she drunk feeder blood?” he asked,
knowing the answer before she spoke.
“I...I
guess. She must’ve got a mouthful when she bit that feeder-woman.”
Ash
nodded, turning back to the grim spectacle in front of him. The feeder had been
stripped of all nutrients relatively quickly, exposing bones where Pikachu had
cracked the rib-cage to allow both himself and Marill
access to the heart. Both pokemon had now finished their visceral feast, and
were grooming one another, licking congealed blood from each other’s fur.
“I
will not re-tie your pokemon. She and Pikachu seem to have reached an impasse.
She will not attack either him or me while we are travelling and your safety
depends on my intervention. Once I have delivered you, I assume she will
attack.”
The
blue pokemon eyed him warily, evidently agreeing with him.
“Rill.”
“Very well. Pikachu, you are finished?”
Pikachu
nodded, licking his chops to gather the last droplets of his feast.
“Then
we shall move on.”
Ash
lifted Misty up again, Marill and Pikachu trotting after him as he continued
down the path.
Misty
thought back to Ash’s words. They were almost half-way through the forest
already, and that was their first attack, an attack which had been dispatched
immediately and effectively.
If
Misty were on her own, she would be dead by now.
She
had long ceased to struggle, realising that to do so would only bring pain, and
resulting in her being gagged again.
As
long as she was captive, she was safe –admittedly, only until she was delivered
like some sort of meals-on-wheels service- as Ash was reluctant to hand over
damaged produce.
Perhaps
for now it was better to lie acquiescent, and attempt an escape when they had
reached their destination.
Resolved,
Misty slipped back into a doze, lulled by the rhythm of Ash’s movements. Soon,
she slept, lost in a dream where angels dipped their hands in gore and stained
their feathers red.
The
Lady was growing impatient. All of her spies had failed to return to her and
report. From what she knew of the shadow –and she knew quite a lot, having been
the one responsible for his turning-
they were all dead.
This
did not faze her.
She
knew he would complete his given task. He could not disobey her.
This
was not wishful thinking. He literally
could not disobey her, bound to her by the virtue of it being her blood that turned him, changed him into a feeder.
Her blood had given him the virus, which was purely scientific. The
mythological aspect was that he was bound to her, her orders bypassing his will
and rendering his own thoughts on the matter completely useless.
If
she commanded him to disembowel himself, he would have no option but to do so.
If he consciously refused, his body would fulfil the orders without the
consultation of his brain.
What
was it like, she often wondered, to watch your own body disobey you?
This
bond would have affected her and the feeder who turned her, had she not been turned in a different method.
She
sighed wistfully then, thinking back to her long-dead mate.
Long-dead,
and killed by her hands. She had been amazed that he had not expected it, even
if they were bound in the feeder equivalent of marriage. Murders most commonly
killed those who were close to them, spouses being highest on the list of
potential murder victims.
He
had died at her hands, and she cherished the look in his eye then, the fleeting
confusion giving way to anger and then defeat.
She
had not loved him; but she had allowed him to bind them together for her own
reasons, reasons that she did not totally understand, in the mad, sparking,
fire-work factory that was her mind.
She
blinked, recalling herself to the present and her throne upon which she sat.
His
death had been over a hundred years ago, and two hundred years after they were
bound.
Such a long time
ago. But then, this whole sorry
escapade will be over soon with the completion of the rite.
This
brought a smile to her face, even as she sat in the gloom of her squalid
night-club, and surveyed the cruel orgy that was her court.
Just beautiful, she thought,
and beckoned for a new pet –a beautiful, dark-haired boy- to be brought forth.
As
he was tortured and abused in front of her, she thought back to the shadow,
reflecting on how magnificent he had been, and how that this boy –whilst
beautiful- could no more match the shadow’s exquisite display than he could
hope to escape the slow, painful, degrading death being forced upon him.
She
savoured the defeat in his eyes –the right nothing but a reddened socket oozing
blood and pus, and the left streaked with Spinarak-web scars- like a human
would fine wine.
Ash
stopped at sunrise on the second day of their travelling; concealing himself, Misty and the two pokemon in a dense, green alcove,
thickly overhung by vines.
Misty
had woken again, and watched him as he made what appeared to be a nest out of
leaves and vines. Once his structure –vaguely oval in shape, and held by vines
and sticks, padded with green leaves and stolen Pidgey-plumage- was completed,
he curled himself into it, both pokemon nuzzling into the hollow of his
stomach. Within minutes, he was asleep.
He
seemed to have forgotten Misty, who lay where she was, trussed up and in the
hollow of a tree’s roots.
She
watched him for a while –at least an hour- until she was certain he was asleep.
Then, when she was sure he wouldn’t wake, she began her search for some sort of
object that could help her escape.
If
Misty had had a weapon of some kind, she could’ve escaped, using something
–anything- sharp to wear away at her bonds, but unfortunately, she was unarmed.
And
the small matter of her hands being tied behind her back was a hindrance to any
escape plan she might have made.
Nearby,
she could hear rushing water.
We must be near a river. If
I can get to it, I can get in and follow the current. But then, I won’t be able
to swim. Curse that damn stupid bastard! Why’d he have to be so damn effective
at this?
Her
hands, tied behind her back, moved over the lush, grassed ground, hoping
against hope that she would find something, anything
to use as some sort of cutting instrument.
Rocks,
sticks, shard of a broken bottle, leaf mould...
Wait a second... go back to
the third one.
Misty’s
hands found the thin shard –it was more of a sliver really- of glass by
pricking her fingertips. Ignoring the thin trickle of sticky blood that coated
her finger tips, she twisted her hands, hoping to slash the rope that bound her
wrists without slashing the soft skin underneath it.
Keeping
an eye on the sleeping feeder, she wriggled blood-slicked fingers, and managed
to saw away at the rope. Even as she felt it fraying, Ash twitched in his
sleep.
She
felt her blood dribble down her fingertips and patter onto the leaf-litter.
Pikachu’s
ears pricked, and his nose twitched.
Ash
rolled over, and though his face was calm, locked in the repose of sleep, she
knew he was waking.
Her
sawing became more frantic, and even as the rope was held on the thin, frayed
point of snapping, he woke.
Misty,
startled by his sudden, lurching, upright jolt, dropped her impromptu knife,
and cursed inwardly.
Even
so, the rope was worn enough to be snapped with a single motion of her hands.
Ash
blinked, and to her surprise, sniffed the air. Then he sighed.
“Either
you have managed to cut the ropes, and cut yourself in the process, or you have
decided to try self-harm. You are bleeding. I
can smell it.” The last words came out as a hiss through gritted teeth.
Misty
shuddered.
The
barely-repressed hunger in his eyes was frightening.
Pikachu
whined softly, and took a tentative step towards her, before being batted away
by a snarling Marill.
Ash
snarled at the pokemon also, white teeth bared like
toothsome daggers.
Pikachu,
chastened, stayed inside the nest.
Marill,
triumphant, batted the larger mouse-pokemon once, and laid
down beside him.
Misty
held her breath, watching him even as she worked frantically at her bonds.
Ash
seemed to be too busy trying to control himself. His
eyes changed even as she watched them, pupils retracting, changing, making his eyes merely dark rather than the pools of luminous
darkness they had been mere moments before.
Misty
shuddered again, and strained at the ropes.
If I can get my hands free,
maybe I can get out of here before he snaps...
Ash
shook himself, sat upright, and ran a hand over his face.
The
ropes on Misty’s hands split and parted with barely a sound, but he jerked his
head upwards.
“You
have cut your ropes. I am sure I checked you for weapons...”
Misty
said nothing, trying and failing to avoid that inscrutable gaze. It seemed to
her that the three or so metres that separated them was
not enough.
“No matter. Cutting your ropes has been
for naught. You will not escape, because I will not let you escape. All the same, it is a long trip to Indigo, and
being bound and tied must become quite tedious.”
He
thought for a moment, regarding her with eyes black as ink.
“Yes,
I think I will let you walk. Do not attempt to escape me.”
As
he stood and walked over to her, removing a pocket knife from the folds of his
clothing and flicking it open, she eyed him warily.
He didn’t say what would
happen if I tried to escape. Does he think he’s that good that I won’t be able
to? He may be stronger, faster and more powerful than me, but I bet my
pokéballs I’m smarter. Maybe I can’t just sneak off, but I’ll think of
something.
Ash
sawed at the ropes binding her feet and legs, seemingly not noticing the hot
blood that coated her hands.
“You
said I shouldn’t try to escape you. Why not? What are you gonna do, kill me?”
the acid in her voice had no affect on him, and his face was as calm as ever
when he looked up.
“No.
I am telling you not to attempt escape because you will not succeed, especially
in your current state. Your hands are coated with your own blood. I can smell
blood over four kilometres away. As can every feeder in this gods-forsaken
forest. Do you want to end your life now, and as someone’s snack, or do you
want to continue to live until an escape opportunity presents itself?”
If
Misty didn’t know better, she would have thought he was suggesting she try to escape...
“If
you’re so certain I won’t escape, why suggest I do so?”
The
look he gave her was carefully blank.
“I
suggested nothing of the sort. There is no possible way you could escape me
now. Later is a different matter.” He added, almost as an afterthought.
Misty’s
eyes narrowed.
Finished
ridding her of her ropes, he stood and walked back to his nest, not seeming to
pay her any mind. Misty continued to watch him for a while, certain there was more
to her sudden freedom and his words than he had expressed.
“Pikachu,
watch her.”
Silently,
the dirty-furred pokemon slid out of the nest, and sat watching her.
He can’t be Ash. Ash Ketchum
couldn’t plot his way out of a paper bag. It can’t be him. It can’t be.
Whether
he was Ash Ketchum or not, the man previously but no longer holding her captive
slipped easily into slumber, leaving only his Pikachu to guard her.
Later,
when Misty took a tentative step towards the forest path, the dozing pokemon
snarled so violently and viciously that she realised that the Pikachu was
certainly much more threatening than the sleeping man, even if he was a feeder.
Sighing,
she sat down on a log, realising that if she were to escape, it wouldn’t be
now. Marill was curled in the warm hollow of the feeder’s body, and although
the feeder slept, the Pikachu’s beady eyes watched every move she made, full of
the promise of violence if she dared take one step away from the grove.
“-tal murder of a young woman in
“Wasn’t
Misty going to Vermillion?” asked May worriedly. “What if she-”
Brock
sighed.
“May,
Misty’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. She’ll be fine. And that
won’t have been her. Misty’s not stupid enough to let herself get into a
position like that.” Brock smiled down at the worried young woman. “Look, if it
makes you feel better, you can call her. Knowing Misty, she’ll be in the middle
of something, but I’m sure she’ll take time to reassure you.”
May
shook her head.
“Nah. You’re right. Misty’s a
tough girl. Whatever she comes across, she’ll make it through.”
Brock
smiled.
“Exactly.”
Misty
was finding that this escape thing was a lot harder than it seemed. So far, the
Pikachu wasn’t keen on letting her out of its sight, and when Ash –or whoever
the hell he was- had woken up, he’d made sure she hadn’t ventured out of the
small grove.
In
fact, since he had opened his eyes that afternoon, all he had done was watch her.
She
was sure he was planning something, even if she didn’t know what it was.
And
that it had something to do with her.
In
a way, she was right.
As
Ash watched the young woman organise herself something to eat out of her
backpack, he mused on how to make it easy for her to escape the certain death
that awaited her.
His
leader certainly would kill her, although she would most likely make her suffer
prettily while her doom approached. Perhaps he could use the time this would
gain him to some advantage...
Lazily
he watched her as she lit a small fire, using the driest possible sticks to
avoid smoke.
Her
ginger hair slid to cover her face as she bent down, and she hastily brushed it
behind one ear. Her tongue protruded slightly, resting on one lip as she
concentrated on lighting the fire within the small circle of stones.
As
though she felt his gaze she looked up, sent him a gaze that should’ve been
lethal, and turned back to her makeshift oven.
She
really was rather beautiful, although he had no designs on her.
All
desire had died that night when he had discovered the darker side of the nature
of man.
As
far as he was concerned, her body held no attraction for him, nor did her
beautiful face.
Misty
didn’t know this, and the fearful glances she sent him –even as she managed to
cook a small packet of some sort of pasta- were evidence of this.
“I
do not intend to harm you in any way more than is necessary.”
She
flinched at the sound of his voice. If he had been someone else, he would have
found it amusing.
Using
a fork to scrape her meagre meal into a bowl of some kind, she refused to meet
his gaze.
“I
don’t know that. For all I know, you could be planning to use me as some kind
of snack.”
Ash
rolled his eyes.
“My
leader would kill me. I am not exaggerating. She really would. You are her
sacrifice, and therefore of more worth than I am, or a thousand others like
me.”
Ash
looked down at his hands, inspecting the blood clotted beneath his fingernails,
ignoring the fear in her blue gaze.
You used to have more spine
than this. You used to be fearless. Did my death affect you so badly? Are you
such a coward that you are frightened of me? I cannot harm you, no matter what
my threats claim otherwise. The sooner we get to Indigo, the better. You will
escape and can return to whatever shell of a life you occupied before I pulled
you into that alley.
Even
as he thought the words, he knew they were lies.
The
feeders were massing. Whatever rite the Lady and all of the other court-leaders
had planned, it would not end in a sing-song and a communal hug.
The
humans would never be safe again, as long as his kind existed.
My kind. No matter what, I am still one of them. I am still
a feeder, no matter how I wish otherwise.
As
though sensing his melancholy thoughts, Pikachu turned to him, dark eyes sad.
The
small pokémon’s life had been changed that night, not just his own. Pikachu had
soon found that no matter how much he had struggled against the change, he was
still a feeder.
And
it was his fault.
If
he hadn’t been so hell-bent on taking that short-cut, perhaps he would still be
human, and Pikachu still the same pokemon he once was, and Misty would still be
the same, quick-tempered, courageous girl she had always been...
Ash
gave himself a small shake, ignoring her speculative glances.
Now
was no time for dwelling on the past.
There
was nothing that could be done about the feeders.
There
were far too many of them. Only a suicidal fool would attempt to kill them
all...
“As
soon as I get away, I’m going to kill you. I’m going to hunt you down, and I
will kill you, slowly and painfully.”
Her
voice was thick with malice when she spoke, and fury chased away the fear in
her eyes.
“And
then I’m going to hunt down every single one of your little friends, and then
they will die too. I won’t stop till there’s none of you left.”
Ash
took in the hatred in her voice, the anger in her eyes, and the determination
in the set of her mouth.
“You
will be Kanto’s first feeder-slayer, is that it?” The amusement in his voice
was an affectation to enrage her, make her more determined to do what she had
pledged. “I wish you luck. I truly do. Hopefully you will not be devoured by
the first feeder you stumble across.”
Misty
said nothing, still glaring at him, even as she finished her paltry dinner.
I hope she succeeds. I hope
she does. I hope I am the first to die.
For
some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to an end.
It
was not that he lacked the courage; he feared nothing.
It
was not that he had no method of suicide; there were more ways to die than
could possibly be counted, and every second he existed brought about many, many
more.
It
was not that he did not wish to leave his pokemon alone; he knew that Pikachu
would follow him every where, even into death.
It
was that whenever he tried, his body refused to die.
If
he placed the gun in his mouth, his finger refused to pull the trigger. His
lips refused to allow poison entry, and no matter how hard he tried, his body
would not lie acquiescent on the rail-road.
It
was almost as though his body wouldn’t let him try to end his pain.
Whether
it was due to the bonds placed upon him by his Lady, or from some other,
unknown condition, the only death that would befall upon him would be at
someone else’s hands.
Ignorant
of his inner musings, Misty finished her meal and spoke.
Her
gaze caught his, and her blue eyes were harder than diamond as her words rang
across the clearing, quiet as they were.
“You
will die at my hand, and no one else’s. My hand alone.
I promise you that.”
If
it hadn’t been entirely out of character, Ash would’ve smiled.
Good.
Pikachu
scratched lazily at an itch in his fur. He had been given the task of watching
over the ginger-haired woman that his trainer had captured as she bathed.
Pikachu
had little to no interest in the appearance of human beings, which was why he
had been given the task.
She
could hardly complain about him watching her, as she would be likely to do if
Ash had been the one to do so, in order to prevent an escape attempt.
Even
as he sat on the river bank, a whisp of apple-fragranced soap scent tickled his
sensitive nose and made him sneeze.
The
woman’s Marill glared at him, then laid back down amongst her trainers things,
head resting on Misty’s back-pack.
Ash
had removed any and all things that she might use as a weapon of some kind.
The
soft patter of lather falling onto rock, and gentle hum of the water were the
only sounds audible to human ears, but Pikachu could hear many more.
The scrape of cloth over skin as she washed herself.
The sigh of her breathing –steady and slow- and the
whisper of eyelashes brushing against cheeks.
He
could even hear the blood rushing through her, gurgling through the kilometres
of veins and arteries and capillaries inside of her body.
Humans are so very, very
fragile. Paper-thin skin, bones that break in a single bite and soft, wet
organs that puncture and tear so easily. They call themselves the lords of
creation. What advantage do they have over us that gives
them such confidence?
The
final splatter of water as she rinsed, and the scrape of towel over flesh told
Pikachu she was finished bathing, if not dressed.
He
closed his eyes.
The
afternoon sun, although fading fast, was quite warm...
Misty
scowled at the sleeping pokemon.
Even
if he was only a pokemon, and did not care in the least about her current state
of undress, she certainly did. Best to dress quick, then.
Even
as the small pokemon shut his eyes, dozing in the warm sun that glinted off his
clotted fur, she clothed herself, and reflected upon the fact that here was an
escape opportunity that she might use...
A
small snore from the electric-mouse told her he was asleep, and she was
unguarded.
Marill,
sensing a change in her trainer’s demeanour, trotted over to the sleeping
Pikachu.
Misty
–caught half-way into placing her back pack on her shoulders- froze.
Her
pokemon was now something else, something that Misty wasn’t entirely sure of.
What if Marill wakes him up?
She could as easily be a traitor as my friend... after all, she is a feeder
now.
The
small blue pokemon watched the sleeping one, before blurring into a sudden,
violent bolt.
The
sickening crack as Pikachu’s head collided with the rock underneath him rang
out across the glade. A pool of dark blood spread out from shadows of the
unconscious pokémon’s floppy ears, dribbling down grooves in the rock, and
staining the clear water of the river an obscene red.
“Rill,”
murmured her pokemon quietly.
Run.
Misty
didn’t need to be told twice.
The
sound of Pikachu’s skull colliding with stone had not finished echoing through
the forest before Ash was on the move.
He
knew that Misty –fool that she was- would attempt escape, although he didn’t
think that Pikachu had been hurt due to her instructions.
The
smell of feeder blood –thick, cloying, bitter yet with the sickly scent of
rotting sugar- rolled across the air, staining the breaths he drew in.
He
could taste the blood in the air.
Hunger
pangs –not as vicious as those that had caused his collapse a few days ago, but
vicious none the less- clawed in his stomach, but he ignored them.
He
could smell her too; smell her soap, sweat and anxiety.
He
could her hear, crashing through the plant life around them, making no attempt
to disguise herself, but running in a mad dash for freedom.
He
had better catch her before she made her way to a less-crowded path through the
undergrowth.
Misty
was a fast runner when she had to be, and he doubted that even at his physical
prime he would be able to best her. Meet her speed certainly, but if she had a
good enough head start...
The
faint sound of her Marill chasing after her –paws scraping softly against the
leaves and twigs that crowded the ground- and the rough, ragged sound of her
breathing told him where they were, even as they disappeared amongst the violet
shadows in the depths of the forest.
He
could smell the blood on Marill’s paws.
Feeder-pokemon
had no sense of loyalty to either their own kind or pokemon themselves.
Ordinary
pokemon were meals, and feeder-pokemon were
delicacies.
It
was not unknown for a newly turned
trainer to watch all six of his or her pokemon attack themselves and feast on
their fellow team-mates, and the strongest, most powerful pokemon would emerge
victorious, gorging itself on the remains of its fellows.
Feeder-pokemon
rarely attacked their trainers, unless their trainers were human.
He
still remembered watching Rattata feast on the brains and face of a young
trainer foolish enough to allow his pokémon to be infected by the feeder virus.
The
rat-pokemon had picked his skull clean, leaving nothing but red-tinged bone,
polished by their lapping tongues as they sought a final droplet of blood or
brain fluid.
He’d
buried the body, out of pity for a young trainer that had died so violently.
All
six of his Rattata had fled, making their way into
Another home of the feeders.
The
jerking crack of a tree-branch broken, and the whistle it made as it flew
towards him parted him from his morbid thoughts, and brought him sharply back
to earth.
He
collided roughly with the ground as the thrown tree branch –at least as thick
as his arm- clipped his chin and sent him flying backwards.
Misty,
panting, watched him fall, and continued running.
Marill
screeched triumphantly, and ice daggers peppered the tree he had been standing
in front of moments before her attack.
Ash
followed the fleeing Misty into a clearing that loomed out of the thick woods,
littered with half-buried boulders.
His
hand went to one of the many knives he had secreted on his person, and the
whine it made as it flew stung Misty’s ears.
The
knife blade itself stung her skin thudding into a tree she ran past, snagging
her shirt and pulling her up short.
Misty
screamed, but it wasn’t from the hurt of the shallow cut, which flashed with
pain as she jerked the knife out of her clothing.
Ash
knew that scream; he’d heard it often enough in the alleys of the Indigo
Wharfs.
It
was a wordless scream, a cry that went back to man’s earliest ancestors, who
communicated not with words, but bloody, violent, messages.
As
men progress to greater things, they forget that in their long distant past,
they killed creatures weaker and stronger than them with bare, bloody hands and
ate their flesh raw.
Another
knife thrown in Marill’s direction –whipping into the small pokémon’s midriff
and pinning it to a tree- was the only action he managed to make before she
launched herself at him, still shrieking that wordless cry, aiming his knife at
his throat.
He
caught her arms, and she kicked him, lashing out with dainty feet and landing
damn powerful blows in his stomach.
His
breath exploded from him, but he didn’t stop, throwing her to the ground.
She
practically bounced; leaping at him, knife aiming for the most vulnerable
target she could see: his eyes.
Ash
managed to jerk his head out of the way, but the tip gouged his forehead, hot
blood spilling down his brows, pattering onto his cheek.
She
screamed again; but it wasn’t an intelligible sound.
If
it was anything, it was a lament that she couldn’t cause more pain.
Again,
she leapt at him, taking him by surprise with a kick to the groin even as he
caught her hands.
He
had no breath left to groan, and ignored the pain as he knocked her down again,
pinning her to the ground.
Even
pinned as she was -his knees on her legs and his arms holding hers- she still
struggled, thrashing beneath him like an Ekans on speed.
Her
hair fanned out behind her head, and her torn shirt slid down over a milk-white
shoulder, exposing new bruises and scratches. An old graze, almost healed but
still flushed pink, huddled in the hollow where her neck joined her shoulder.
Behind
them, Marill groaned and wriggled against the blade that had nailed here to the
tree.
Misty
writhed and arched her body, trying to free herself to attend to her injured
pokemon.
Marill
screeched, and clawed at the thing in her stomach, wrenching the blade out with
blood-soaked paws, and fell to the ground.
Misty’s
screams turned to sobs, even as she fought him.
“Stop
it,” he hissed, transferring his grip and holding both arms with one hand.
Sitting on her legs, he raised himself up, drawing her up with him.
“You’ve
killed her!” she screeched, tears pouring down her cheeks even as her eyes
glittered with rage.
“Be
quiet. I have not. Marill would not die from such a cheap shot. Feeders are a
lot tougher than you think.”
This
was true.
Marill
was unconscious; grievously hurt by the injury she had been dealt, but not
dead. To truly kill a feeder –whether man or beast- the skull
has to be cracked or the head torn off. Feeders can survive almost
anything, but not decapitation.
Misty
rolled her head to the bleeding pokemon, still sobbing, but her sobs died on
her lips as the torn flesh knitted together, and protruding ribs retreated back
into the body.
“You
see? Now, stop this foolishness. You cannot escape me. You will have to accept
that. You cannot escape me.”
The
strange emphasis on the last word made her turn back to him, her eyes searching
for some sign in his mad, dark ones.
She
saw nothing but darkness.
“Pika.”
whispered a voice, and Pikachu blurred into the shadows around them, seemingly
none the worse for wear after Marill’s attack.
His
ears were clotted with blood though, but that was all.
The
small pokémon’s beady eyes fixed themselves on her as Ash eased his weight off
her legs.
“I
am going to stand up. You are not going to scream, attempt to kill me, or make
an escape, because you will fail in all three attempts. Understand?”
He
eased himself off her, and she continued to lie there, out of breath, and
horrified at the bloody gouge on his forehead that knit together even as he
spoke.
“Stand
up.”
She
did, brushing away tears.
Ash
sighed.
“I
understand your wish to escape. After all, no human wants to die. But, the
simple fact of the manner is you cannot escape me. I will track you down to the
ends of the earth. I will follow you through forest, desert and sea. I will not
stop. I cannot stop.” The last three words slipped out before he could clamp
his lips down on them, and he kicked himself inwardly.
She
did not need to know that he was doing this only because he was ordered to.
If
he had his own choice, she would be far, far away from him, and he would be in
a grave of some kind, buried beneath cross-roads, with a stake planted in his
heart.
“You
cannot? What do you mean by that?”
He
ignored her question as though it had never been asked, and continued.
“I
will deliver you to my leader. You can accompany me, perhaps not of your own
free will, but at least unbound and on your own two feet. It is always better
to walk to the gallows with your head held high, rather than to be dragged
kicking and screaming.”
She
said nothing, considering his last words.
“You
will come with me. There is no way around it. However, you can choose whether
you do so with dignity, or as my prisoner.”
Misty
nodded.
“Fine. It’s not like I have a
choice. I promise you though, I will escape you, and your leader, whoever the
hell she is, and I will kill you both.”
The
dying light caught her eyes oddly, and for a moment, he thought he saw the
sheen of a feeder’s madness in them.
But
then, the sun sank into the trees, and darkness fell, collapsing upon them like
a thick, warm blanket.
Somewhere,
a Hoot-Hoot greeted the rising moon.
Pikachu
trotted over to the unconscious Marill, and flipped her onto his back. He felt
no anger at her attempt to kill him; he would have done the same in her
position after all.
“Very well.”
The
walk back to the grove passed in silence, each lost in their
own thoughts.
Misty
considered the words he had said and not said, and knew that he was implying
something.
It’s as though he’s telling
me I can’t escape now, because he’s my captor, but when I’m held by someone
else...
Her
mind made, she decided to follow him for now –if only because she would be
dragged if she did not- and determine her course of action later.
Ash
considered her anger, and the madness he saw in her eyes.
The first signs
of the feeder madness. She is infected,
and she does not know it. That graze on her neck was old, older than the ones
on her shoulders. At least a week old. When I spilt my
blood in Indigo, she had that graze, I am sure of it. My blood has made her
mad.
She
would not turn, not yet and not
unless certain conditions were met, but she would be changed.
Not
a feeder, but perhaps not entirely human either.
Pikachu
considered the violence he had been met with recently, and the strange scents
that flooded the air.
Rich earth and congealing blood.
Those fool man-feeders. They
will trigger things they cannot control. The world is dissolving into a feeding
frenzy.
It
was pure luck –whether good or bad- that had seen him become a predator rather
than prey.
Marill
considered nothing at all, being unconscious; her body still healing from her
brush with death, but twitched and whined in her sleep, nightmares crowding her
dreams.
Ash
broke the reflective silence with words that filled Misty with a sense of quiet
dread.
“
Misty
shivered.
Whether
or not he was the Ash Ketchum she once knew, he still intended to let her be
sacrificed and eaten. And she still intended to kill him.
The
madness that had clouded her mind since her infection –something she was still
unaware of- sank its smoky tendrils further into her mind, changing her
personality irrevocably.
The
sickness itself would not last very much longer; only a few more days at the
most. Even so, such a brief illness was enough to corrupt her senses with
insanity and irrational anger.
The
long-term changes had not yet begun to affect her, but Ash knew she was
altering in ways yet to be seen.
Whether
this would be positive or negative depended on her strength of will.
I was the first to die. Now
it is her turn. Misty Waterflower, I knew you well. You will be sorely missed.
“Well,
the sooner we get to there, the sooner I can kick your sorry ass and leave.
Move it.”
She
glared at him, and he sighed.
“This way.”
The
path over
Misty
wrinkled her nose at the smell of artificial coconut. It only served to remind
her of her ditzy sisters, and was not the most pleasant of smells.
Slathered
in sunblock, Ash ignored the crumble of the rocks beneath his feet as he
managed to reach the top of the huge tunnel. Behind him, Pikachu sniffed.
“I
know I smell. You do not need to remind me. I also know that every feeder
within ten kilometres can scent me. But, I would rather be scented than burnt.
No one will attack us.”
Partially because they
realise to do so would be suicide, but mainly because no feeder is fool enough
to venture out in such a dead wasteland.
The
roof of the tunnel was empty and deserted.
No
plant-life grew, no pokemon aside from the occasional sleeping rock-pokemon
were to be found.
He
reached behind him, caught Misty’s hand as she scrabbled for a hold. She said
nothing as he pulled her up, her Marill leaping up after her.
“We
have to go north. If we do not stop, we will be there by nightfall.”
Misty
nodded, not meeting his gaze, but taking in her barren surrounds.
Even
the gods of earth and stone and hot desert sun wouldn’t venture here.
“Follow
me.”
Misty
ignored the suggestion. It was what she had been doing for the past few days
anyway.
The
sun overhead sizzled against Ash’s skin as they walked, but he ignored it. His
black clothing was soon saturated in his sweat, but he ignored that also.
The first thing I shall do
once I am in Indigo is have a shower. A cold one.
Pikachu
stretched limbs stiff from walking, and leapt over a narrow sky-light that sent
raw sunlight spiralling through the hole, and into the dark tunnel below them.
Marill
frowned.
She
did not begrudge either the Pikachu or the feeder their tasks; they were merely
doing what they had to, but the sooner they were delivered to this
feeder-woman, the sooner Marill could crack her bones and lap at the marrow.
A
hot silence settled over the group, stifling and uncomfortable, rather like a
blanket worn in summer.
The
Lady smiled.
Such
a smile –much more reminiscent of a slit throat than any expression of
pleasure- told her pets that something was going to happen.
Crowded
in front of her, clad in lace, velvet, blood and chains, they cowered away from
the gaze she settled upon them as though it were a whip.
She
laughed.
“Do
not fear. Your suffering –amusing, and pretty though it is- will soon draw to
an end. You are the first to die on the altar. You should feel honoured.”
The
youngest of them, but the oldest in terms of cruelty seen and endured, licked
bloody and split lips before speaking in a voice harsh as raw sunlight.
“Your
gods may devour our flesh, but they will never have our souls.”
The
others crowded around the girl, younger than them by many years, but older in
terms of faith and courage, giving and receiving support.
The
Lady snarled, baring wickedly sharp teeth.
“You
dare talk to me? Oh, you will be the
first- no, the last. I will bathe you
in your compatriot’s blood.”
The
little girl –brown eyes defiant- ignored her threat.
“Your
soul will burn in the lowest of hells.”
The
Lady scoffed.
Feeders
didn’t believe in souls.
“Take
them to the cavern. Chain them to the altar. They will die later.”
Dark
figures emerged from the cloying shadows, and the pets –man, woman and child-
where dragged away.
The
Lady frowned. The defiance in that girl’s eyes had been none to her liking. It
seemed to her that meat held much too much defiance these days. It was as
though their spirits were no longer broken...
She
shrugged.
They
were only small offerings; nothing
more than an appetizer, really.
The
woman the shadow was bringing would be a different matter...
The
Lady smiled.
A
sacrifice of mortal blood and passion, when willingly given, was much, much
more potent.
And
she had no doubt that this woman, once in her clutches, would die for her.
The
dark buildings of the Insula loomed in Misty’s vision, even as the sky was
dotted with dim stars. She could hear the faint roar of the traffic even at
this distance.
Ash
didn’t seem too pleased that the city was so close, but then it was hard to
tell what expression had briefly flashed across that blank face.
Pikachu
reared up on his hind legs and sniffed the air excitedly.
Even
since he had turned, the cities had
replaced the fields and plains of the world around him as his favourite places.
The
cities held much more prey, for a start.
Ash,
who was feeling more than a little ill, ignored the excitement of his partner.
It
had been days since his collapse, and he still hadn’t fed. He knew Pikachu
thought he was a fool, and he knew it would eventually kill him, but he cared
about neither of those points.
If
his death was hastened by his self-neglect, than so be it.
Hunger
clawed in his stomach, and sent waves of pain through him, making his knees
buckle. He swayed momentarily, then straightened
himself.
Misty
didn’t seem to notice; her gaze was to intent on the view of the city which
grew ever nearer with every step she took.
Her
supposed ‘impending death’ approached also, but she knew that she’d come out of
that city alive.
She
wasn’t going to let herself die at the hands of the creatures she had sworn to
exterminate.
For
the past few days of their journey, she had not attempted to escape, knowing
the pointlessness of such an attempt, but she by no means felt any sense of
camaderie for her unwanted companion.
As
far as she was concerned, he would die at her hands.
She
had heard of the condition ‘Stockholm Syndrome’, where prisoners grew attached
to their captors and vice versa, but she had no such compulsions.
As
far as she was concerned, Marill could feast on his corpse.
The
only thing that worried her was the slight headache she had experienced for a
little while now. It wasn’t truly painful; more slightly irritating, but it had
not stopped, even if it hadn’t grown worse.
She
wondered what it was from.
The
rocky earth beneath them gradually sloped downwards and was replaced with
gravel, and then eventually grass.
The
gates of
Still
impressive, even if the paint was peeling.
Misty
laughed at the sign welcoming visitors.
More like the home of
monsters.
It
was bitter laughter, and she knew it.
Ash
ignored her, leading her along the crowded twisting paths.
Whether
it was the madness in his eyes, the gleam of Pikachu’s fangs, or the thick
cloying scent of artificial coconut, the crowds parted for them, and no one
attempted to steal any of their belongings.
Misty,
much more aware of the feeders in the crowd now, spotted hundreds, thousands of
them among the swarming masses, as opposed to the dozen or so she had seen in
Vermillion.
Marill
growled softly, and Misty’s hands twitched.
What
she wouldn’t give for a weapon...
“Stop
that. You will not attack any of them. To do so would draw attention to us, and
alert the Lady of my presence and yours earlier than I wish to.”
Misty
rolled her eyes.
“Fine.”
Ash
shook his head, and continued to lead her away from the centre of the city and
into the shadowy streets that lead to the wharfs and the centre of feeder
occupation.
Indigo
Wharfs were not mentioned at all in any tourist guides of any kind, on the
basis that any tourist who wishes to visit them is assumed to be insane, or
suicidal, or both.
The
masses of crooked alleyways and winding streets are the remnants of a time
where cities were dark, crowded, packed with nooks and crannies and danger of
all kinds, as opposed to now where cities are neon-lit, crowded, and full of
shops and danger of all kinds.
The
wharfs are split into segments: Near-shore, which is still used for commercial
purposes, even if those commercial purposes are somewhat shady and not to be
looked at closely under a bright light; South-shore, which is the exclusive
property of Indigo’s ‘people of the night’, i.e. corrupt policemen, prostitutes
and their pimps, drug dealers, murderers and so forth; and finally Northwards,
which once was a small, pleasant suburb. It’s only flaw was that an underground
fault connected to the labyrinthine tunnels infected with diseased Zubat opened and flooded the area with infection.
The
first feeders had fed here.
Now,
it belonged to them, and feeders crowded here during the daylight hours, hiding
in subterranean night-clubs, abandoned warehouses and even the deserted suburb
itself.
This
was the place where mothers forbid their children to enter, where strange fires
burnt at night and even the monsters travelled in pairs for safety.
It
wasn’t hell on earth; but if you didn’t look too closely, you couldn’t tell the
difference.
The
street Ash had led her down was almost deserted; only a few adventurous youths
–no doubt drunk- had filtered through the buildings.
Misty
looked around, taking in the crumbling buildings and the distant screams.
Either
the teens in front of them didn’t notice, or they didn’t care.
Ahead,
a distant thrumming noise became music as they drew closer.
It
wasn’t particularly good music, but the beat was strong and repetitive, and
seemed to get under your skin and into your blood.
Beside
her, Ash gritted his teeth.
“She
is luring them in. She needs more sacrifices.”
Misty
didn’t understand what Ash was talking about until they reached their
destination; the only spot of light in the cloying darkness of the decrepit
buildings around them.
It
was night-club, old and shabby, black paint cracked and peeling, and the neon
sign flickering and sparking dangerously. The door was open, attended by a
black-suited mountain of a man –no doubt a feeder from the gleam of tooth in
the darkness- and obstructed by a thick, corded velvet rope.
The
youths in front of them giggled as they approached, and due to some internal
signal, the bouncer unhooked the rope and ushered them inside.
The
red light that spilled from the door seemed to swallow them up, and Misty
shivered.
“Welcome
to ‘The Circus’,” hissed Ash in her ear, quoting the name of the night-club as
he held them back from the entrance, hiding them in the shadows. “Welcome to
the feeder court. Once I present you to the Lady, my task is completed. If you
are still able to, I suggest you run.”
He
drew her to the entrance, and the guard didn’t even look at Ash as he unhooked
the rope.
Ash,
Pikachu and Marill stepped through but Misty hesitated.
The
doorway, lit as it was by that bloody light, brought to mind an entrance to hell
on earth as opposed to a night-club.
But
then, she could hesitate no longer, as Ash pulled her through the doorway, and
into the belly of the beast.
END
PART THREE
AUTHOR’S
NOTES: I already tried updating this before, and for some reason, it didn’t
work.
Before
I go on, I’d like to thank the twenty-or-so people who voted for me in the BIC awards! Thankyou very muchly! :)
As
for this section of the fic... well, I know there was a lot of travelling. Sorry
(*insert sheepish face*) but I had to get it out of the way. Misty fighting Ash
was my favourite part.
Aside
from that, they’ve arrived in Indigo, and the Lady’s nightclub, which sets the
scene for more mischief and mayhem.
As
my exams are fast approaching, I won’t be able to update for a while, but until
I do, I hope this is enough to whet any of my reader’s appetites.
Oh
yes, for you Americans, happy Halloween.
May
your nights be filled with spooks, and your goodie-bags full of candy!
Cheers,
Clover
2005