Man-Eater

This is not a place he is meant to be he knows, and yet it is a place that has left its mark irrevocably on his soul. These secrets are for Lorelei. Not for him. Eyes take in the stone, the shadows that seem to twist and flee before light sources that are not there. He sees, he hears, what Andre can not. The hum of the world beneath the rock. The hum left in him that answers.

                                         [He does not wish to know why.]

Unspoken relief floods the air the more of it is given between them, and he is thankful that the path widens out. It is only there, at the well, does he realize his hackles have been stiff this whole time. How embarassing.

Eyes shine in the light of the mirrored surface. Despite himself, he allows a brief moment of wonder, of awe. Some small part of him struggles to life, and he understands, in some small amount, Lorelei’s fascination with these spaces. 

But the silence is broken; the mirror shatters, ripples distorting the world as a hand, three, pierce through. a surprised chirrup slips between fangs.

‘LORELEI.‘ 

He acts without thought. Andre is pulling, and the mirror refuses to yield its prize. Teeth find his nape, digging into fabric and teflon - with a roar the dragon lifts, wings spreading to fill the chamber. He feels the man undone of gravity, past him lorelei, and more weight than their ought be struggle to come through. 

Force, desperation, and the will to live break the grasp of the abyss between worlds.

Lorelei is pulled forward like a link in a chain, and the second she’s free, her powers return. Purple light surrounds the girl holding her hand and pulls her free, and all three are launched back into the cave - Andre hits the ground, but Lorelei slams into Phantom with the grace and elegance of a shot bird. Something lighter hits as well and bounces off, and there’s a light “oof” as it - she - hits the ground.

There’s a gurgle, and a boof, and then, weirdly, a different, smaller boof.

As a soaked Lorelei and bruised Andre try to get up, so does the girl she was holding.

The girl, soaking wet and coughing water out of her lungs, holding a goodra like Benji.

The girl now staring at the cave, and its inhabitants, in utter disbelief.

“We…” she says, and Andre stares as she keeps speaking with Lorelei’s voice, “we made it.”

But he feels familiar hands tugging for purchase in his mane, hears and smells the presence of his friend.

‘Little one,’ he purrs as he gathers all four limbs. She is soaked and pitiful, and the good humor cracks through the panic he did not realize he’d been holding. ‘How glad I am to see you safe.’

So glad, in fact, he hadn’t even bothered to take stock of present company. Much too busy was he in shoving his snout hard against the poor girls’ sternum, when movement caught the corner of his eye.

Two.

No. 

A trick of the cave? His pupils expand, eyes rolling over to the double - her brown hair, her dark eyes, the goodra curled terrified in her arms. It is, but it is not. Something within the dragon churns uneasily.

The world was upended. The transition from island to ultraspace to Well was too much, even as his claws met solid ground(?) once more. He might be intelligent, but he was still a pokemon.

A man, when confronted or cornered, might reason, might plead or debate or run. To fight is inherent in all things, but it is not always the first choice. Phantom, while by no means claustrophobic, did not enjoy this sudden forced change of evirons. He wanted to lash out, to break. To rage. These walls that confined his movements did nothing to comfort him as he stalked behind the others.

He was silent, while Andre spoke.

But yes, he was right. Phantom could smell her, behind it all. There was a weird divide, he noted, tasting the air. This place smelled of nothing at all. It was though the scents and sights given were there as gifts, placating the senses to combat madness. But SHE was there, everywhere, thick like oil atop water.

An impatient growl spurred the man forward; he did not like being stuck behind Andres’ slow pace. 

Andre took the warning as intended, and quickened his pace. it was somewhat easier when so much of him was leg; even as the cave twisted and turned, he still felt he was moving forward, not inward, as if he somehow knew this was all there was.

Finally the path widened, and Andre gave Phantom some mutually-needed berth. As they followed Benji, Andre was the first to speak.

“Ah. I see why she would call it the Well.”

A single pool of water, perfectly still, perhaps as wide as Andre was tall. The water was dark, but mirror-pristine; All three figures were reflected perfectly.

The cave also opened upward, into some sort of abyss that showed no roof nor sky; and from it, a single drop of water, splashing and breaking the surface. Another did not fall until the water settled; Benji whined again, and reached out to paw at it.

The water started bubbling. A hand, then two, then a goodra’s paw break the surface. Only the first hand stays up.

                                         [He does not wish to know why.]

Unspoken relief floods the air the more of it is given between them, and he is thankful that the path widens out. It is only there, at the well, does he realize his hackles have been stiff this whole time. How embarassing.

Eyes shine in the light of the mirrored surface. Despite himself, he allows a brief moment of wonder, of awe. Some small part of him struggles to life, and he understands, in some small amount, Lorelei’s fascination with these spaces. 

But the silence is broken; the mirror shatters, ripples distorting the world as a hand, three, pierce through. a surprised chirrup slips between fangs.

‘LORELEI.‘ 

It felt…electric. Like swimming through static. It tugged at his mane and burned at his scales.

The Noivern struggled against a rising tide, both within and without that had been triggered by sensation and sound. This world-between-worlds was to be nowhere and everywhere. He did not like it.

Their flight had been silent, but Phantom’s mind swam with unwanted memories, records from a younger self. They had arrived at the sun shrine, true to form, before the dawn; to fly with the earths’ rotation delayed the impending day. The portal smelled of sorcery and Unown.

By Zygarde, he hated Unown.

Even in this half-place, he could still smell, still track, still see. Benji’s trail was obvious as the sun in this place. The roar came unbidden, half-anger and half-fear, as he tore himself through, following the smaller goodra. 

Emerging through the portal was like breaking through the surface after diving; everything that was tense and heavy gave way to clarity, even too much, and both man and dragon wobbled a bit as they landed. Benji had an easier time shaking it off, and pawed at the ground, looking forward.

The cave was… claustrophobic when there was more than one inhabitant. To a person, it was a cozy stone hallway; to Andre, it was constricting as he felt the Phantom’s hot breath against the back of his neck.

They’re not actually vampires, he thought to himself, they’re not actually vampires.

Still, Benji gave another throaty sound and plodded forward, further into the tunnel.

“…Do you see that?” Andre finally asked, gesturing to the wall. There was a twinkle, not that of moisture or stone. It was too fine, too granular.

Too purple.

He rubbed his hand against it, and came away with glittering flakes. He gave it a sniff and winced.

“Yep - this is that hand sanitizer she brought into the lab. Looks like he knew what he was looking for.”

A man, when confronted or cornered, might reason, might plead or debate or run. To fight is inherent in all things, but it is not always the first choice. Phantom, while by no means claustrophobic, did not enjoy this sudden forced change of evirons. He wanted to lash out, to break. To rage. These walls that confined his movements did nothing to comfort him as he stalked behind the others.

He was silent, while Andre spoke.

But yes, he was right. Phantom could smell her, behind it all. There was a weird divide, he noted, tasting the air. This place smelled of nothing at all, despite the stone and dust. It was though the scents and sights given were there as gifts, placating the senses to combat madness. But SHE was there, everywhere, thick like oil atop water.

Benji was, in fact, the one who steered them through the portal.

He treated it like swimming more than falling, dodging gaping vortexes with ease and ducking this way and that. Andre was still holding onto Phantom, though he now wore the protective gear necessary to endure the trip.

The Noivern struggled against a rising tide, both within and without that had been triggered by sensation and sound. This world-between-worlds was to be nowhere and everywhere. He did not like it.

Their flight had been silent, but Phantom’s mind swam with unwanted memories, records from a younger self. Suffocation, salt, a mind that fled before a yawning abyss. The Noivern pushed it down. The last thing she needed now was his fear.

They had arrived at the sun shrine, true to form, before the dawn; to fly with the earths’ rotation delayed the impending day. The portal smelled of sorcery and Unown.

By Zygarde, he hated Unown.

He snorts his acknowledgement, and suppresses another bout of worry. He always cautioned here against these things. If she was alive, he settled on chastising her loudly and for many days, and perhaps ruining her clothes. If not…

he did not finish the thought.

‘Then we all shall go. This is a matter of time; we will not bother with your mopeds and ferries. It shall take me half that time by wing, if the winds favor, I stake my titles on it.’

He lowers himself ever so slightly to allow the two to clamber aboard, but pauses. ‘You will tell none of this. I am no tame pet, to joyride their masters about - this is of necessity only.’

“Of course not. Nobody would believe me if I tried to speak of such thing anyway.” Andre took his hat off and stuck it into his coat, just to be safe. As he pulls himself onto the beast’s back, he pauses.

“…Although, Benji clearly knows you, and you clearly know Lorelei… but I have no idea who you are. What title do you mean?”

'Oh but of course you do,' purred the Noivern, rolling one shoulder then the other to ensure full mobility. 'All kalosian children know me by rumor and candlelight. Or has my home forgotten the Phantom of Kalos?'

He listens to both, light rumblings the only recognition of words as the two talk in tandem. At mention of ferry, he stifles a cough, eyes widening by the barest margin. Ferry. Lorelei clearly has never talked to Andre of him.

‘Alola. Ula’ula,’ he parroted back in confirmation, feeling joints pop as tendons stretch and he prepares himself for flight, claws leaving furrows deep in the earth. ‘I know these. You were right to seek me out. The little salamander tells me she has been lost to a portal…alike to her, whatever this means. She has not come out in days.’

‘I do not know of these matters,’ he continues, ‘but I presume you do, friend of Lorelei?’

“Yes. She was looking into something called the Well,” Andre says, “which by her description, was a pool of water in a cave accessible only by Ultra Wormhole. She said its energy seemed similar to her own powers, and she wanted to figure out why. I assume she intended to take her phone, but was pulled in before she could get it.”

Benji boofs in agreement.

he did not finish the thought.

‘Then we all shall go. This is a matter of time; we will not bother with your mopeds and ferries. It shall take me half that time by wing, if the winds favor, I stake my titles on it.’

‘What a ridiculous question.’ The reply is short, curt. He would be offended if the matters weren’t pressing; there is more here than his pride at stake. He does not trust the man on Lorelei’s name alone, but he trusts the Goodra. ‘As surely as you speak Kalosian. Come then. I will have questions, but they can wait.’

To alola. You can take me to her scent? Or the portal directly?

He brushes past Andre, casting his question to Benji. The evening sun spills over his dark hide, eyes constricting to predatory slits. Nose tests the wind, feeling direction, speed. He knows by memory the layout of the land, internal compass in tune to the earth. 

‘Alola is far, even as the Murkrowe flies. By how did you come here?’ He turns to the red haired man. 

“Moped,” Andre says, feeling a little awed and a little irritated all at once. He was trying to help a mutual friend, and this monster was criticizing his attempts to understand why he’d been brought here. “The nearest ferry is about an hour away by Flight, but it will still take a day to get to Alola even if we make the next one.”

“I know where the portal is,” Benji says, bounding back and forth with anxious whines, and normally she comes out on her own just fine. It’s the same type as her, I don’t know why she’s having trouble coming out.”

‘Alola. Ula’ula,’ he parroted back in confirmation, feeling joints pop as tendons stretch and he prepares himself for flight, claws leaving furrows deep in the earth. ‘I know these. You were right to seek me out. The little salamander tells me she has been lost to a portal...alike to her, whatever this means. She has not come out in days.’

A snort was his reply, teeth bared in aggravation. He always despised those wormholes. Ultraspace, other dimensions, pokemon made greater beyond their inborn abilities. It was all unnatural, he thought, tail slapping the stone to accentuate his thoughts. Of course that dreaded island would have dreadful things.

Yes, I know of them. It explains the odd scent about you. Worry not, little salamander. We will find her.

Anger achieves nothing if not channeled, and the dragon-type is well acquainted with the achievements of guided rage. He blinks, snorting smoke with his next words. 

‘So you are Andre, little Benji tells me.’ He leans closer, a single step closing the distance. The man is large, especially for humans, but he is larger. An ally, perhaps, but it is important that Phantom let’s him know where he stands. ‘He would not bring you unless you were trusted by Lorelei.’

Andre looks from Benji to the beast - a Noivern, he now sees, but an impossibly sized one with eyes boring into him like fire. Andre swallows and steadies himself.

To alola. You can take me to her scent? Or the portal directly?

He brushes past Andre, casting his question to Benji. The evening sun spills over his dark hide, eyes constricting to predatory slits. Nose tests the wind, feeling direction, speed. He knows by memory the layout of the land, internal compass in tune to the earth. 

“What the hell-” 

The ground nearly rumbles from the sound of this beast, its growling speak unheard but felt by Andre. Even at 6′5″, he feels dwarfed by the dragon in front of him, and he can’t do anything but freeze.

“This is Andre,” Benji trills back, “He’s one of Lo’s friends from the science lab. He asked me to take him to where Lo went, but I got here by wormhole and I don’t know how to get back home. We were looking at the puddle in one of the pocket worlds and she fell in!”

Andre can only look between the small dragon and the big one, frozen to the spot.

Yes, I know of them. It explains the odd scent about you. Worry not, little salamander. We will find her.

Anger achieves nothing if not channeled, and the dragon-type is well acquainted with the achievements of guided rage. He blinks, snorting smoke with his next words. 

He has no claims to being an expert in the human condition. These small, resilient, confusing apes run circles around every sensibility He has. But he knows sorrow when he sees it.

'You are hurting.'

'It is a simple, humble truth. I am lonely. We noiverns do not live more than a handful of decades, at most. We are not blessed with the longevity of the greater dragon breeds. That I am as I am is an exception to a rule.'

His world becomes dark as he closes his eyes, letting his other senses drift. 'I cannot remember any of their names, for I fled before I could learn. My mother is but the ghost of a memory. If ever I had siblings, they are gone to me. All of mine I have ever known. I cannot know what it is you feel in its truest form, and I do not envy that you do. But loss is no stranger to me. My kind were not meant to be alone.'

'To be this old.'

(Is that...wetness, or moonlight reflecting off his eyelids?)

'Forgive me, but there is a secret more I must give you. A gift long overdue.' He twists, dislodging the girl so as to twist and face her fully. There is a word, like a breath into a hissing wind, said as much from his mind as it rumbles over his tongue.

He has no claims to being an expert in the human condition. These small, resilient, confusing apes run circles around every sensibility He has. But he knows sorrow when he sees it.

'You are hurting.'

He parrots these one after another, tasting the names, committing them to memory. To have a name is to have power, he has told Lorelei more than once. It is a magic, of sorts. It is an identity, a person, a life.

'These are good names,' he concludes. 'To know them is an honor. It is recognition. A declaration. A flag on the moon, so to speak. A name, long after death, is proof that you were here, when said by another. In its way, the only true immortality there is.'

He has no claims to being an expert in the human condition. These small, resilient, confusing apes run circles around every sensibility He has. But he knows sorrow when he sees it.

'You are hurting.'

'It is a shame what plagues you is not something tangible,' he jokes, 'for I could burn it then to ash and remove it from your sight as the wind scatters it away.'

The noivern adjusts, bringing one foreclaw forward to tent her against a sudden breeze.

'This is the burden of a heart, little one. I wish I could take it from you, but all I can do is offer my sympathy, for what there is of it. To be haunted by funerals that never were, farewells that never had chance to be uttered...'

Phantom grows quiet, contemplative.

He has no claims to being an expert in the human condition. These small, resilient, confusing apes run circles around every sensibility He has. But he knows sorrow when he sees it.

'You are hurting.'

But Phantom isn’t just anyone, and she’s pretty sure he could smell her dishonesty anyway. So she sinks into the white fluff of his neck and closes her eyes.

Once more, not a question. He feels fingers tangle themselves in his mane, searching for the warmth close to his skin. A purr rises in lullaby. One slit pupil rolls back to regard the girl. He considers his words carefully, offering them to her slowly.