SPENCER’S POV

Oddly enough, as the blood rushed to my head even more, I grew ever dizzier. Sooner or later I would pass out if I didn’t right myself soon.

“Spin around, Spencer!” Calvin commanded me. He was situated a little above me, but could clearly witness my predicament.

“Easy for you to say!” I bellowed, even now feeling as though I were about to vomit. Would it end up all over my face? (Or worse, Enfield’s?)

“Shut up and climb!”

“How are we going to bring our tent up?” Enfield asked, sounding more frantic than curious. The tone he used was one nobody ever wants to hear from a child (even if the Emolga was hardly a child anymore).

I realized then that carrying our tent back to the ledge would take a Herculean effort. Really, “carrying” was the wrong word - “dragging” was more like it. And even if it were possible, I wasn’t sure I had that much strength in my body.

Calvin sighed. “Enfield, I’m not sure we can.”

Unfortunately, I knew my fellow Litleo, and I knew he was right. We couldn’t bring the tent up without getting hopelessly entangled in a maze of ropes and carabiners, and then we’d be in real trouble. (Granted, we were already in “real trouble.”)

I thought I heard Enfield pout below me, but he ultimately kicked the tent downward. Soon we were free of the tent, and the tent had been freed from its life.

The device we’d been relying on as shelter from the elements, as a place to sleep amidst a landscape that never slept, was thrown from the cliffside and soared through the air, getting ripped to shreds by the gusts along its path. Seconds later, it was no longer visible.

“Well, that’s 100 P gone to waste” I mouthed.

“Again, Spence, shut up and climb. We’re all attached to different ropes, so I can’t help you with your ascent.”

Right. We all clipped to the safety line on the mountain. Which means that all of us have pretty long leashes - literally.

So we started climbing. And let me tell you: I quickly fell into last place, not that it was a race. My “arms” burned from the effort, both of turning myself rightside up and of actually getting up the rope. (In gym class, I’d never been able to get more than a few feet up the rope; I wasn’t built for that activity.)

But staring down a blizzard and a sheer cliff face is more than enough motivation. After a couple minutes, barely allowing myself any time to rest, I was able to grasp the ledge from which we’d fallen. One more push, and I was back on solid ground.

Enfield and Calvin were already there. My companions were busy hooking themselves back to the safety line on the trail rather than the overnight one. Neither of them acknowledged how long I’d taken to get back up.

My injured rib lashed out at me as I scampered to their side. I half-expected my chest to burst open and paint the snow red with my blood. But I had no time for the pain.

Instead, I tried a joke. “Well, we certainly left no trace, didn’t we?”

Calvin sighed. “The tent will land somewhere -”.

“You mean, what’s left of it.”

“- and then someone will have to clean it up. But who knows where it is now!”

“Exactly” I muttered. “It’s not our problem.”

“But don’t you understand? You can’t just dismiss things as if they don’t affect you. Because they do!”

“Like karma or whatever?” I asked, though like most people I only had a rudimentary understanding of how this concept worked.

“Look, Spencer, just treat the Earth the way you want it to treat you” Enfield advised. “If you do, it will give you more than you think.”

There was a brief silence after that. Then…

“You two go off to the side,” Calvin stated. “I need to say a few prayers.”

Now, I do not know where you came from, but at GPU it was considered rather odd for one to state that they were heading off to pray. The university was a place where religion, if it existed at all, was confined to the background. Few people talked about appealing to Arceus for what they needed or wanted.

Clearly, the custom here was different.

Calvin glanced at the base of the mountain, then upward at the lightening sky. He smiled gravely before beginning his speech.

“Lord Arceus, King of Everything, I am Calvin Litleo of Whitehall Village, Sinnoh. You created me, and I grew in my mother’s womb under Your command. There are many things the Earth has given us, and one of them is life. You put me where I am now, and You can put me back down too.”

What is this? Humblebragging?

I was torn between my utter shock at Calvin’s prayer and my desire to learn what, exactly, he was getting at.

“You know, of course, that each individual Pokémon is just a blip in Your creation. On a cosmic scale, we are insignificant, and my decisions do not have a drastic impact. However, that does not mean I can absolve myself of any responsibility for what just happened.”

He’s talking about losing the tent, I realized. Why?

“This morning, I violated Your law. Whenever we take advantage of our natural heritage, from which we all come and to which we are all destined to return, we are meant to leave no trace. We are meant to treat the Earth with our utmost respect, because it is a reflection of You, and by extension a reflection of ourselves.

“Which is why I made a grave mistake this morning. By allowing our tent to fall off the mountain and become litter on Mount Thunderhead, I have compromised Your creation, an act for which I hope I can be forgiven. Amen.”

What are you going to apologize for next, blowing your nose the wrong way? Or if you just trash something once when you could have recycled it?

It seemed Calvin was now done with his prayer, which I took as permission to speak again. “Hey, Calvin?” I asked.

“What is it, Spencer? We have no time to waste.”

“Why is it so important to pray for forgiveness? Where I come from, Arceus isn’t going to absolve your sins just because you told him sorry. It’s your own job to make things right.”

My fellow Litleo grunted. “Well, we clearly come from different worlds, don’t we?”

“Yeah, stupid question” I admitted, trying not to let my face blush too much. After that I dropped the subject, figuring that it wasn’t worth risking an argument or, at a minimum, further embarrassment on my part.

“I’m telling you, if you have a better way to cleanse yourself of sin, then be my guest” Calvin muttered. It seemed he was far more eager to continue this topic than me.

“Well, I guess it’s not possible here. We can’t exactly fix the problem without risking our own lives.”

“Exactly!”

Meanwhile, Enfield was bouncing back and forth on his feet as though he desperately needed a bathroom. “We should really get going” the Emolga mumbled, gesturing further up the mountain.

“Right!” Calvin exclaimed, clapping his front two paws together. “Spencer, follow us!”

Now that I was bringing up the rear, I felt far more pressure to keep up the pace. Indeed, in order to keep the others in my line of vision, I had to jog at a minimum. It didn’t help that the air was thinner up here, meaning that each breath did not fill my lungs as much as I would have liked.

All of this meant that my poor rib seemed likely to quit soon, not that I would let the others know that. They’d just dismiss it as a minor complaint, which wouldn’t be far from the truth.

The higher we ascended, the less severe the storm became. “We’re almost above the clouds,” Calvin explained.

Sure enough, before long we made our way through a moist layer of fog, and then the sky was perfectly blue. And I saw what we’d been missing for quite a while - the sun.

“Wow” I mouthed.

From this vantage point, I could see very little save for a sea of clouds below. Of course, most of the ground at the base was the same color - white. Either way, the surroundings reminded me of a glitchy video game whose background had not yet finished rendering. (Not that I’d played a video game in quite some time).

“Don’t rest on your laurels too much,” Enfield muttered. “Statistically speaking, the descent is more dangerous since you’re already exhausted and more likely to fall.”

“Let me…just…appreciate it for a minute” I panted. As you can probably tell, the altitude and exertion were affecting me to no small degree.

In the back of my mind, of course, I hoped that we wouldn’t have to get back the same way we’d come here. Especially with Kaz in tow. I knew that our Escape Orbs would get us out of a dungeon, but would they return us to the guild hall? It was doubtful.

“We’re in the home stretch, Spencer,” Calvin announced. “The manor’s just a few hundred vertical feet above us.”

I glanced upward and saw that he was right. From the circular ledge we stood on (rather similar to the ledge we’d camped on last night), there was a far narrower ledge that climbed Mount Thunderhead steeply. Then, there was a manor roughly the size of a mid-mountain ski lodge.

“It’s a lot bigger on the inside, I’d imagine?”

Calvin narrowed his eyes. “You mean the mansion?”

“Yes.”

“Of course it is, especially if it’s become a mystery dungeon. Those are formed when two ley lines beneath the planet’s surface intersect. Mountains - elevated portions of Earth’s crust - are pretty auspicious places for that to happen.”

I sighed. “So it’ll be a maze, with, like, several stories and many branching paths.”

“Precisely. If Kaz is in there, it would explain how he got stuck. Once a mystery dungeon has you in its clutches, it doesn’t like to let go.”

Enfield sighed, much like a child who just wants to go home. (Not that home was particularly attainable for either Enfield or I).

“And the manor is radioactive” I said, emphasis on that last word. I’d heard stories of nuclear power plants melting down and their disastrous consequences, as well as people getting illnesses years later, and still others of third eyes and additional tails. In other words, “radioactive” was not just a catchy song by Imagine Dragonites, but a word that meant danger. Lots of it.

“Again, it’s just something some Pokémon have said” Calvin promised, though he didn’t sound all that sincere. “Don’t conflate rumors with facts.”

“Well, that’s comforting” I muttered sarcastically.

“Look, Spencer, we’re wasting daylight here. Are you going to come with us or not?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then shut up and climb.”

We did just that for some time. Just because we were above the clouds didn’t mean the danger had passed, and certainly not the wind. The snow crumbled beneath our paws. How long would it be until we encountered another crevasse like yesterday?

Somehow, we got lucky. The trek up this final ledge was uneventful, and we arrived at the front of the manor without any problems.

Now it was time for the problems to begin.

Standing before us was a three-story stone home with a facade that resembled one of the nicer hotels in Pastoria City. There were also two clock towers on either side, making it vaguely resemble a train station. Oh yeah, and the whole complex was surrounded by a seven-foot fence, along with a gate protected by what looked like the most elaborate home security system I’d ever seen.

“Who even lives here?” I enquired. “And how did they even build something like this on the mountainside?”

“The thing is, Spencer,” Calvin admitted, “I’m not so sure this place was built in the usual sense. Yes, maybe porters carted all this stone up to the summit, but it just sounds impractical, even if the view’s top-notch.”

“Whatever” Enfield stated. “Let’s just get over the fence.”

This was easy for the Emolga to say. All Enfield had to do was spread his wings, kick up off the ground, and land on the other side. Now, it didn’t quite turn out that way - a short, strong gust of wind struck him right in the side, causing him to fall ten feet to the ground.

“Enfield!” I exclaimed.

But he landed on his feet, seemingly unharmed. Enfield turned around and smiled at us.

“Just climb over!” he bellowed.

Together Calvin and I appraised the task at hand. The fence was considerably taller than I was, and there were no obvious footholds. I would have to shimmy up it and then jump down into the courtyard. It was easier said than done.

Contemplating the task ahead wouldn’t make it any easier. All it might accomplish would be to psyche me away from even trying. And that wouldn’t save Kaz, would it?

The instant I grabbed onto the fence, more wind showed up, pushing my lower body to the side. I hung there in much the same shape as a stocking above the fireplace at Christmastime - that’s how strong this wind was.

I gulped. If I didn’t hold on tightly, I was going to be blown away, and there’d be no way to resist it if I wasn’t braced on something.

“Pull yourself up, Spencer!” Calvin ordered me. “You should’ve hit the gym more!”

A fat lot of good that does me now, doesn’t it?

It took most of my strength to rise just a few inches, and I knew without needing to look that the fence was much taller than that. It didn’t help that the wind gusts kept coming, as though they were lashing out at me for being so arrogant to dare imagine I could climb the fence.

Slowly but surely, I was making progress. But one false move would send me careening over the cliff, and I knew it.

I don’t know how I did it, but after what felt like a year, I was on top of the fence. A quick hop off the rail was all it took to end up next to Enfield again.

Somehow, the wind subsided briefly once I had planted my feet on the ground again. That’s just great, I thought bitterly. I mean, it’s great for Calvin. But why couldn’t it have been more convenient for me, huh?

As soon as Calvin grabbed the fence, he was buffeted on both sides by gale-force winds that created ground blizzards. For what it’s worth, I think he took almost as long as I did to summit Mount Saint Fence and leap over the side.

“That wind’s pretty insane, isn’t it?” I remarked, panting from both the exertion and amazement that it had possessed such awful timing for our climb.

“Indeed it is,” Enfield mumbled.

“A pretty big coincidence, isn’t it? That it would pick up right as we’re trying to climb the fence? It’s like it’s mocking us for thinking we can climb a seven-foot metal bar.”

Calvin laughed humorlessly. “The thing is, Spencer,” he said, “I’m not sure it is.”

I lifted my eyes. “Really? Like, an enchantment or something?”

“Radiation does lots of crazy things,” my fellow Litleo explained. “Yes, it can give you cancer, or an extra tail, but that’s not all. It’s a fickle, fickle thing.”

“So this confirms that rumor that there’s radiation around this manor?” I asked, desperately praying that the answer was no. (And for the first time, I wondered if there was some merit to the saying about there being no atheists in foxholes).

“I mean, it could be an enchantment” Enfield stated.

“It could. Maybe it’s enchanted to have radiation. But it’s still highly dangerous - do we have any Geiger counters here?” Calvin asked.

Seconds later, Calvin face-pawed. “Yeah, I guess not. Oh well - it’s not like it matters. We have to go in, especially since it’s probably too risky to get out.”

At this point, I scanned the courtyard we’d landed in. The stone manor was bordered by a small copse of evergreen trees. But then, vines had encircled much of the ground floor, something I hadn’t noticed on the other side of the fence. It was much like stories I’d heard about nuclear wastelands, how they were greener than one could have ever imagined once they’d been abandoned by humans.

But that was then, and this was now.

If there remained any doubt that this estate held a treacherous secret, it vanished with a quick glance at the only door leading inward. You see, this door contained gold leafing along the edges, along with a golden stone gargoyle of a Lucario at the top.

And this gargoyle had three eyes.

That doesn’t mean anything, I rationalized. Maybe they’re just trying to scare people, or maybe they merely think it’s funny. It might not be the sort of joke I’d go for, but not everyone has the same taste in humor. It’s just like my parents told me - if some peoples’ brains didn’t work differently, the world would be a far less interesting place.

But it did not seem that way. There are times when you just know something, and this was one of those times.

“How are we going to get in?” Enfield enquired. “Do you think that thing will shoot lasers from its eyes?”

Calvin snorted. “Enfield, with all due respect, you worry too much. Lasers are better than bullets, too, at least in terms of if you get hit by them.”

The Emolga flinched at the mention of bullets. Not for the first time, I wondered if this meant something he hadn’t yet told us.

(Insert a horizontal line here)

KAZ’S POV

He had never been hungrier.

At first, Kaz had commanded himself not to think about food. You could survive without food for a good few weeks, provided you had enough water. And indeed, there was water from the sink. (What a miracle it was that the sink was like an infinite bank account - you could “withdraw” as much water as you wanted, when you wanted it, for whatever purpose you needed it. Almost everyone, even most Pokémon, took this for granted, but Kaz was an exception.)

But he still wanted food. That’s what his stomach demanded, rumbling as though he had bad gas for minutes at a time. Yet Kaz knew that it was upset for a different reason.

There was a bowl of fruit, a bowl of chickpea pasta with pesto sauce, and a plate of shortbread cookies next to one another on the counter. “All” Kaz needed to do to satisfy his need was to pick up an apple and bite into it, and these honey crisps looked as though they’d just been plucked from the finest orchard in all of Sinnoh. (The selection of food on the counter changed each day, not that he could remember how many days he’d been stuck in this kitchen).

Of course, that was only half the battle. On some level, Kaz knew about the rumors surrounding this place, that it was as radioactive as a nuclear blast zone. But they were just rumors, and when you’re as hungry as he was, you’re not going to let speculation get in the way of a meal.

Stolen novel; please report.

Kaz sighed; it was time to bite the bullet. Maybe this time would be different.

The Lucario stood up. His aura organs no longer stood on edge, even if there were beasts just outside the kitchen. Kaz surmised that this was a function of his lack of energy - with limited energy reserves, his body needed to prioritize some things over others. But he could still walk over to the counter, so that’s what he did.

His painfully thin arm reached out for an apple. He could already sense the texture of the skin and flesh against his fangs, the sweet yet tart taste of the perfect honey crisp, and the juice splashing his tongue.

The digits on Kaz’s paw were just millimeters away from the apple when the fruit vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Fuck” Kaz muttered weakly. He no longer had the strength to exclaim these curse words, but he still hoped the universe got the message.

The Lucario’s mouth watered. His fangs dripped with saliva as he envisioned once more what it would be like to sink them into that fresh, delicious apple. But there was other food on the table, he told himself.

Of course, we all tell ourselves stories to convince ourselves that we’re going to benefit from a risky course of action. The social media model tells herself that she’s one post away from going viral, the gambler tells himself that he is one game of roulette or blackjack away from winning the jackpot, the prospector tells himself that he’s on the verge of striking gold, and so on. It’s what they have to do to keep hope alive.

And it’s exactly what Kaz was doing, glancing longingly at that pasta with pesto. The vegetables would be exactly the nourishment his deprived body needed. Lucario were carnivores by nature, but this pasta would hit the spot right about now.

Kaz picked up a fork from the nearby cabinet. The utensil did not resist his grasp, “fortunately.” He then staggered back to the counter and jabbed the fork toward the pasta, while holding the bowl in place with his other paw.

Right before his fork made contact with the pasta, the bowl moved out of Kaz’s reach. All he accomplished was stabbing a part of his other paw equidistant between the spike and the tip of one of his digits.

The Lucario grimaced from the pain. It should have been a superficial wound, and it was - not much worse than a paper cut. But in the absence of any nutrition to keep his body running, it wouldn’t heal. Especially if he didn’t cover it with a bandage…of which there were none here.

Kaz went over to the sink, trying not to feel dizzy. It was just a bit of blood, nothing that he couldn’t handle. He was an adventurer, after all, not one to shy away from a challenge like climbing Mount Thunderhead.

But why did they take me instead of the others? This is torture!

Kaz chanced another glance at the fruit bowl. The luscious apple was once more present, giving no indication that it had ever vanished. So close, yet so far.

He washed his cut. It wouldn’t do to get an infection as a result of what amounted to little more than a paper cut. What a wuss he was if he let this get to him!

He then looked at the cookies. They would likely run right through him if he were able to take a bite, and the energy they provided would be fleeting at best. But in the absence of anything more nutritious, it was better than nothing.

The cookies were on a plate near the edge of the counter, placed so precariously that a feather might have been enough to knock them over, let alone a paw. Of course, this assumed that they weren’t cursed to pop out of existence as soon as he came within striking distance.

He was 0 for 2 with this current rotation of food. Was he about to be 0 for 3?

Probably. Realistically, they’re not going to let me eat now unless I’m literally on the brink of death. And maybe not even then. Still, it’s worth a shot.

Kaz tiptoed toward the cookies, grabbing the counter not to steady the plate, but rather to steady himself. Even if he wasn’t “on the brink of death”, he certainly felt like it.

So he reached out for one of the cookies, careful not to push the plate over the counter’s edge. He was convinced he’d scraped one of them with his nail when the plate shifted a few inches, enough to fall over the side. This rendered that effort futile.

In seemingly slow motion, the plate fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces on impact. Kaz gasped at the sound, stepping back so that he wasn’t hit by any glass shards (or whatever the plate was made of).

The cookies remained intact, sitting atop the broken plate. Most of the time, Kaz wasn’t keen to eat something off the floor. But he was more than happy to violate the five-second rule just this once.

Well, as soon as Kaz touched one of the cookies, all of them vanished. Two seconds later, they respawned atop the counter, along with the plate, looking as though it had never shattered to begin with.

“Is this some kind of joke?” the Lucario bellowed with as much venom as he could muster.

No answer was forthcoming, not that he’d expected one to come. But it didn’t matter, because Kaz knew what the real answer was: Yes. It was a cruel joke.

Hestia Pachirisu’s cooking was a different story. She could make just about anything, even the healthiest vegetables, taste scrumptious. Tending to the fireplace at home, she would cook beef, pork, or chicken (all lab-grown of course) to the perfect temperature. Hestia had a sixth sense for how well-done the meat had to be in order to be safe to eat, down to the second.

What was more, she knew how to find the finest ingredients. She didn’t even need to go to the village’s grocery store, pointing out that those pyramids of fresh produce had to come from somewhere. Hestia would often say If someone has to gather all these ingredients, why not me?

Even on the relatively rare occasions when she happened to find a rotten apple or a berry that was mushier than was ideal, she’d shrug it off. It only happens about one percent of the time. Not even.

The one percent? Kaz would joke, referencing the wealthiest hundredth of the population. (Admittedly, that “one percent” could probably afford to buy their fruit from a store that guaranteed no defects. Or more likely, they hired others to shop for them).

Hestia would roll her eyes. There’s a giant grocery store in the wilderness with vast quantities of everything you could imagine. One percent of a million is still ten thousand.

In other words, she took it all in stride like the strong woman he was proud to be marrying this coming spring. Life was a game of change, and sometimes you just got the short end of the stick.

If Hestia were here, she’d find a way to eat. She’d know how to work the fireplace and cook something up. I - we - wouldn’t be as screwed as I am now.

Kaz realized that he was in the third stage of grief. When he’d first been shot with that dart and woken up here, he’d wanted to pretend he was somewhere else. In other words, he’d denied his current predicament. Thus, it stood to reason that when he understood how real it truly was, he’d be angry. And he was still angry - it seemed like wanton (or “wonton”, for a food analogy) cruelty to put him through this tantalizing treatment, when they could have just starved him normally and called it a day.

Now, he was willing to make a bargain. If he could get Hestia here somehow, she’d be able to cook enough food to last them a week. In that regard, she was practically a superwoman. It didn’t matter that there might be an enchantment on the fireplace to starve it of oxygen. It didn’t matter that it’d be cruel to drag his fianceé down with him. If Hestia were here, everything would be okay.

After he came to his senses and understood that pleading would get him nowhere, depression would follow. But as despondent as he might get, Kaz knew he would never accept such a fate.

Then again, at a certain point, I may not have a choice.

(Insert a horizontal line here)

SPENCER’S POV

At first, things seemed to be going swimmingly. At least, as swimmingly as they typically can go in a potentially radioactive manor that’s been converted into a mystery dungeon.

“How many floors does this place have?” Enfield remarked after a few minutes.

“The fuck should I know?” Calvin blasted. “It has as many floors as it has.”

“That’s pretty helpful.”

“Well, if you want out, there’s an Escape Orb in the satchel with your name on it. And there’s enough for the rest of us too, but we’d have a hard time in here with just two. And you could be waiting a while.”

“Right,” Enfield muttered.

“And if you’d like to risk flying through the high-altitude blizzards, then be my guest. I just think it’d be a bad idea that might get you killed. That probably would get you killed.”

“Okay, I’m staying,” the Emolga accepted tearfully.

“That’s the spirit. Again, when you’re on an adventure, you just have to embrace the spirit of, well, adventure. You never know what the hell will happen.”

I suppose the interior of the mansion was nice enough. It consisted of ebony-colored wood that melded together well, along with a crimson-and-gold carpet. The manor was beautiful in a haunting sort of way.

After a few forks in the path (taking a left turn at each one), we came across a Flaaffy. The sheeplike Pokémon paced aimlessly along the hall, occasionally bouncing a bit like it were dancing to a mellow piece of music.

“I don’t want to hurt that Flaaffy” Enfield murmured.

“Well, we might have to,” I pointed out. “We can say it’s self-defense, and it would probably hold up in court.” At least, the court of public opinion would acquit us.

“We’d better be really sure it’s self-defense,” Calvin said. “And the response has to be proportional to the reasonable fear. We can’t kill it just because we think it might give us a bruise.”

“But -” I began.

“Spencer, should I bring a lawbook with me next time?”

I sighed. “Fair enough. But I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

No sooner had I finished that sentence than the Flaaffy, having been alerted to our presence, leaped upward and did a pirouette in midair. As it faced us, I saw that it had three eyes.

“Holy fuck!” I yelled, loudly enough to wake the dead.

Calvin aimed a blast of fire at the Flaaffy, which the sheeplike creature was able to dodge effortlessly. For such a bulky ‘mon, that thing could move when it needed to.

The Flaaffy bared its fangs at us, sticking out its tongue. It was much longer than usual; if not for the relatively small size of its mouth, I would’ve been convinced it could eat us in one gulp.

“Can you Thundershock it, Enfield?” I bellowed, but I had to do a somersault in order to avoid the Flaaffy’s next attack. (I could never do this maneuver as a human - it required a more limber body than I’d possessed in that form).

“No, you idiot, it’s an Electric-type!” Enfield shrieked.

“But I can’t breathe enough fire!” I complained, leaping upward to avoid an attack from the enemy’s tongue.

“Are you a Litleo or not?” Calvin exclaimed.

I spat out a few flames, but I wasn’t getting much further than that. What tiny embers did make contact with our enemy’s fur only seemed to make the Flaaffy more furious at us. And it launched a lightning-like attack, small bursts of electricity bouncing along the carpet and creating burn spots along it.

Why did it attack us? Well, because that’s what the maddest do.

“Fuck off!” I yelled, stepping out of the way of one of the Electric attacks. Unfortunately, I stepped a little too far.

I can’t even describe the pain that radiated throughout my body as my rib (you know which one, right?) was hit by a pinprick of electricity. I gasped, falling to the floor in slow motion.

Calvin roared, releasing a stream of fire so powerful that I felt it against my back. This was not the fire of a relaxing winter evening, but rather fire combined with fury, fire and fury like the world has never seen before.

“Huh” I mouthed, blacking out a moment later as my vision went red.

According to my companions, I was only out for a few seconds here, but it felt like much longer before I opened my eyes to find Enfield staring at me wide-eyed.

“Be careful next time!” the Emolga shouted.

“Oh, so you’re blaming the victim?” I groaned.

“We can’t argue right now!” Calvin exclaimed. “That Flaaffy might be dead, but I’m sure that reinforcements will come through this hallway momentarily. We have to run!”

Enfield sniffed. “We have to run, but I’m not sure Spencer can.”

“A huge load of Tauros feces!” Calvin screamed. “You don’t know what you can do when you set your mind to it. When you have no other choice! Run!”

I climbed to my feet, my rib yelling at me like a mother when she sees her young child playing with matches. But in this case, I wanted to cause a fire.

So we ran. We ran so far away, without a particular destination in mind; just away from the dead Flaaffy and its coming reinforcements. I didn’t even look back, not that I could have done so without my rib hurting even more.

Despite the pain, I pushed myself to jog at least. If I didn’t, I’d soon lose the other two members of Team Earthlink, and then I’d be alone and injured in this radioactive manor, a sitting Golduck if there ever was one.

After a long time, we found the stairs to 2F. I let out a sigh of relief, but Calvin didn’t.

“The first floor had a deranged Flaaffy and who knows what other monsters” my fellow Litleo stated breathlessly. “Who knows what higher floors will have.”

“Do we even want to know?” Enfield asked.

“We’re going to find out either way. And I’d rather not get eaten by a three-eyed Flaaffy if we can avoid it.”

“Yeah, good point,” the Emolga admitted.

We climbed the stairs to the second floor, upon which we found ourselves in a corridor nearly identical to the one we’d just gone through. The only difference was that there were shelves against the wall containing miniature sculptures.

I felt tempted to pick one up, but Calvin snapped “Don’t touch them. They’re probably very radioactive.”

“But we don’t - “ I began, before realizing just how dumb this take was. Of course we knew that the manor was chock-full of radiation; the Flaaffy had made that clear for us. “Yeah, good point” I finished, blushing at the thought that I’d goofed up that much.

After a short hike down the hallway, we entered an atrium much like a hotel lobby. This room in particular had six floors, including the one we were standing on. Which meant…

“This dungeon must have several floors,” I remarked.

Calvin glared at me. “That’s so dank it’s not even funny.”

“But the dankness makes it funny. Anyway, should we take a quick break for some food?”

Surprisingly, Calvin did not object to this, and neither did Enfield. We sat down and opened the satchel, each selecting a salted oatmeal raisin cookie. (Seriously, they’re good.)

Our only company in this atrium so far was a statue raised on a dais in the center of the atrium. This statue depicted an Incineroar and was roughly thirty feet tall, enough to serve as a climbing wall if it were plucked from here and placed in the GPU fitness center. Its ab muscles would have been great ledges to test would-be climbers, its eyes effective footholds near the top.

“You know, they don’t have a lot of statues like that in Pastoria City” I mouthed.

“You’re from Pastoria?” Enfield piped up, sounding almost accusatory. I didn’t understand this.

I nodded. “It’s okay there. Actually, it’s great. Beautiful architecture and lots of parks.”

“You know, that city is going to be underwater before long, all thanks to how greedy humans are.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I am a human, though. Or at least I used to be. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I do. But humanity is overrated, disgustingly so in fact. Just think about the average human and realize that half of the human race is more selfish than that.”

Calvin picked at his cookie - it seemed almost an afterthought for him. My fellow Litleo was probably enjoying this argument. Even if it presented a threat to our team’s cohesion.

“Well, Pastoria City is different. We hold a climate conference there every year, you know, in that hotel by the waterfront.”

Enfield laughed. I’m not kidding, he truly was seized by a fit of giggles that escalated into guffaws. During this time, I thought I saw the Incineroar statue raise its arm a few inches. (I thought this was my imagination at the time. Knowing what I know now, it wasn’t.)

“Oh, please” the Emolga muttered as soon as the laughter subsided and he could breathe normally again. “That’s worse than nothing - an insult to our intelligence. Give us more respect, Spencer.”

“Respect? As in, more representation of Pokémon at these conferences? I’m pretty sure there’s already quite a bit.”

“It isn’t enough” Enfield snapped. “Plus, in order to get to the conference, all the diplomats and barons from all over the world fly on their gas-guzzling private jets! The idea that they want to do something about the climate is laughable, except it’s not funny at all! It’s all smoke and mirrors. That’s all it is!”

“I don’t think that’s fair to say at all” I said. “The last conference reached a pretty comprehensive deal to limit warming to…”.

“Well, when the deal’s non-binding, there’s only so much good it does” Enfield continued. “None of that can change the fact that so much of the land they inhabit is stolen.”

“Stolen? From whom?”

“Us!” Enfield shouted. “Yes, you have some land acknowledgments every Pokémon Peoples Day, but that’s not enough. It will never be enough. Until you all put your literal money where your mouths are, your words mean little more than those of con men.”

It was then that I saw a small glint in the Incineroar statue’s eyes.

For a few seconds, I wanted to rationalize this as just me seeing things. Maybe the radiation was making it behave oddly; but then, there’s a fine line between “behaving oddly” and “behaving in a way that might get us all killed”.

“We need to get out of this room,” Calvin muttered. “Now.”

“Why?” I asked. “Is it because that statue’s looking at us? Will it…move?” What I really meant by this question was Will it spring to life and attack us?

“That’s exactly it,” Calvin told us. “I mean, we might as well keep the satchel here - we’ll have to run fast.”

“But it might be hard to go back for it” I pointed out. “Plus it has the Escape Orbs.”

“Yeah, true. But let’s split!”

We were a second too late.

As soon as we’d reached the doorway to the next corridor, a metallic barrier that hadn’t been there seconds before suddenly came into place. One look at the metal told me that it didn’t matter how hard you banged it - injuring yourself was the only thing force would accomplish.

No sooner did I realize this than I heard an impact with the ground. I turned around and, sure enough…

“It’s attacking us!” Enfield yelped.

I started running around the room in a zigzag motion, figuring that this was the best way to avoid getting hit. But that didn’t change the fact that eventually, we’d need to attack.

“Stun it, Enfield!” Calvin commanded.

Enfield spread his wings and took off. He was braver than me - if I’d possessed the power of flight, I would have been worried I’d get knocked out of the sky by the Incineroar statue’s long arms.

From about two stories above us, I heard Enfield “sneeze” out a few sparks of electricity. It didn’t sound like much, but it was just enough to paralyze the statue.

Of course, even if the statue didn’t move, we were still trapped. The metal doors were as solid as they’d been before.

“Do you think you can climb it, Spencer?” Calvin asked.

“Climb…the statue?” I replied, not certain I’d heard him correctly.

“Yes. You’ve gotta be quick, though - the paralysis won’t last very long. And hit it right between the eyes with your fire breath.”

I took a deep breath and steeled myself (no pun intended) for the climb ahead.

Now, I’m not normally very afraid of heights, but I had never experienced heights like this. Those few times when I’d been rock climbing at camp, I’d always been protected from a fall by a belayer on the ground. Here, that was not the case, and the wall I climbed might move at any moment. So that was nice (not!)

I shimmied up the creature’s leg and sprang upward with all my might. Somehow, I was able to seize the Incineroar statue’s arm, but I slipped a bit while trying to maintain my grip.

“Hold on, Spencer!” Calvin bellowed.

This was easier said than done - my forelegs were fading fast, and my bad rib was further inflamed by the task. I didn’t dare look down.

“Can you stun it more, Enfield?” I pleaded. All I needed was ten more seconds. Ten more seconds to pull myself into a more secure position on the arm.

“I can’t!”

“Why not? I need more time!”

“I don’t want to electrocute you!” the Emolga cried.

Actually, he has a point there.

I’d only just ascended up the arm when the statue emerged from its paralysis. The Incineroar’s arm swung upward by a few feet, then downward, and I hung on for dear life. For all the world, it reminded me of one of those Rapidash Rodeo events held in some Sinnoh cities, except I’d never wanted to take part in that. (Truth be told, I wasn’t enjoying this either).

So I hung onto that arm like a broken seesaw until it made up its mind, slamming into the ground with me hanging on!

A jolt ran through my body from the impact, and I grimaced as my rib protested. But I wasn’t done yet, and neither was the statue.

Calvin leaped onto the arm, having seized his chance. “Hold on!” he shouted.

Yeah, as if I haven’t been doing that already.

The arm jolted upward, jostling us two lion cubs around. I fell forward onto the statue’s chest.

“Its eyes, Spencer!” Enfield shouted. “Get its eyes!”

I saw now that I clung to the Incineroar’s six-pack of abs. Clearly, it had been spending its days at the gym; and clearly, I had not. My grip was fading little by little; if nothing changed, I would fall twenty feet to the ground and be a sitting Psyduck for the statue to stomp on.

So something had to change.

With a Hail Mary move, I leaped upward, using an insane amount of strength for my small four-legged frame. I half expected to hear one of my teammates shouting at me for being an idiot.

That didn’t happen, though, because I was able to grab the creature’s nose. And I seized my chance, considering that I might not get another one.

I kicked back my head as though trying to stay afloat in rough waters and let out the mother of all fiery jinxes. (Okay, it was just a medium-sized stream of flame from my mouth. Still, it felt like magic).

Well, that set off the statue. “Fuck!” I shouted, as it became clear that I’d only managed to anger the Incineroar further.

The statue was wagging its arms as widely as someone playing a motion-controlled video game would. Even if I hadn’t let go right there, it was only a matter of time before I fell.

So I tumbled to the ground, doing my best to land on my feet. The sensation of falling seemed to last longer than it should have, but as soon as I hit the ground, I fell over on my right side. (I don’t think I need to tell you how much that hurt).

“Duck, fool!” Calvin shouted. “It’s going to swing again!”

Hopelessness flooded my lungs, making it difficult to draw breath. Even firing it (literally) right between its eyes had only served to make the statue more dangerous.

In this state of pain, it was all I could do to duck as I heard another zapping sound. I braced for impact - I was about to be crushed by the statue’s fist, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

But the fist didn’t come. And it still didn’t.

It was then that I realized that Enfield had bailed me out. The statue had been zapped again by our Emolga comrade, and it was still. This gave me more than enough time to slip its clutches yet again.

“Thanks” I mouthed, slowly making my way back to my feet.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Enfield stated. “It’s going to wake up soon, and we’re still trapped here.”

“Well, that’s great,” I muttered. “How are we going to open the doors if not by killing this guy?”

“Who knows?” Calvin suggested.

I glared at my fellow Litleo. “You’re supposed to have the answers, Cal!”

“Stop asking me such hard questions, Spence!” Calvin retorted.

“Whatever. So we’ll have a minute or two at best to look for a button or something. And then it’ll get us out of here. Maybe.”

“Don’t just stand there. You’re wasting time, which is not something we want to kill.”

Just then, the room was lit by a red glare, and within seconds sirens began to blare. My ears had been sensitive as a kid, but now they were even more so as a Pokémon. It was as though the sounds were carnivorous insects boring holes into both of my ears.

I screamed almost as loudly as the noise that was bothering me, but it didn’t do anything to drown out the sound. I closed my eyes, crumpling to the ground yet again as I tried in vain to block out this sensory overload.

“Don’t lie there!” I thought I heard Calvin yell, but he could barely be heard over the fire alarm.

Just then, the doors leading out of the atrium (four in total) opened. The Incineroar statue remained still; at least, I thought it did, since I didn’t hear it swinging its claws anymore.

“Spencer, we have a golden ticket to safety!” Enfield shouted. “If you don’t take it, you are blind!”

Except I was blind, the blaring sirens making it impossible for me to process anything else. I was even becoming numb to the noise, and I was barely able to understand that my ears might have been damaged severely by it.

As it turned out, Enfield’s exclamation there aged like milk, because monsters came flooding into the atrium from all directions.