She was stressed. This was a common enough situation, of course, but this time she felt as if her blood was a ticking time bomb, ready to burst through her skin and char the surroundings. 

    it was already close to doing that, the only thing holding it off being the large wounds on her sides, those black and glowing as caused by a haunter she had gotten too close to. She hurt so badly, she wanted to curl up and die. But she couldn’t, she had a kit at home. A baby cyndaquil only a few hours old, she had left to gather food in preparation of the kit’s growth, but she wandered across the territory of a haunter. 

     Haunters did not enjoy intruders in their territory. 

     And so she ran. She ran as fast as she could, straining her muscles with uses of quick attack and flame wheel. She ran, and ran, until her legs threatened to snap under the pressure of her body. 

     She had stopped for a rest, only a few seconds- but that was enough for the wicked laughter to catch up to her. A purple body vaguely resembling that of a skull, with two graspers lined with sharp claws. Claws that were glowing with shadowy intent.

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     It lifted its horrible paws, the claws glistening as the light refracted through them.

     It brought them down with speed rivaling that of a manectric.

     As soon as she felt the claws entering her skull, her rage spiked. 

     She released the full might of her flames, her brilliant orange changing to a ghostly purple, and the heat changing from one threatening to melt the skin off of the bones of her enemies… to one threatening to vaporize her enemies, leaving not even ash. 

     She roared in fury, her bones cracking and sliding around to increase her size tenfold, and freeing her upper claws from the duty of keeping her body up. Her face extended, and her fangs grew…

     She opened her eyes, looking at the haunter. It looked to be panicking, glancing at her flames as they surrounded it.

     Her neck screamed with heat, that of which burned the soul. She lowered to all fours, and rose her hackles, feeling the tips light on fire. She opened her mouth, her eyes white, and beckoned a familiar move to her.

     Brilliant purple and red flames screeched through her open maw, liquifying that of the haunter into mercury, before that fell to the ashen ground and evaporated from the heat alone. 

     The Typhlosion panted with exhaustion, but her job was not done. Her kit was not fed. She figured it could eat meat, just as she had when her mother still owned the den. 

     She licked her chops, raised her nose to the air, tasting the wind for meat.

     She found a strange smell, one of a primeape without the aggression, or perhaps a chimchar without the flames? 

     Either way, her kit will eat well.