Ra'ka'Ti

[Satoshi_Red]

Introduction

This is the tale is of a raticate, born wild in a desert, nameless. This is his story, of how he first took his name, and came to seek out the Other Worlds, which know his kind only as the barbarians, the uncivilized ones, the feral.

"It is also the tale of the stupid idiot who did not listen to his baser parts, and instead of chasing ratta ladies, decided to seek a path of 'enlightenment'. Whatever the sun spitting arboks that means!" - A local rattata who kindly offered his wise and regal opinion on the subject


(rating: Mature and violent, pg-15 probably. Truthfully, as this is not the typical kind of 'fluffy' fic, and is very lengthy and very sarcastic at times though it is not humor oriented, there is no guarantee you'll like it. Obviously Pokemon centric. As a side note, I tend not to capitalize species names unless the actual name or believed name of someone.


This does not start off in 'mystery dungeon' or 'trainer' regions, but may travel to them. Also, pokemon make more sounds than their name, but they are non-human-like vocalizations, if you are wondering. In the original games, zapdos would say 'gyaroo!', so this is canon. I believe it was the anime or manga which originally started the whole 'saying their names' thing in the first place anyway. Other important differences is that there is no Las Vegas, American Hollywood, or team rocket dressed up like Vikings.)

----

Ra'ka'Ti


----


1. The humble waif of the sands


-


A pokeball lay untouched on the sands, rusted by time.


Fearless, yet very much entranced, two dark red orbs shined in the edges with pinpricks of light, staring intently at the rusted mechanical ball before thtem. Metallic rusty scents caused long, fine tan whiskers to twitch in anticipation... and anxiety. While the raticate's mind buzzed with questions, the gut nagged from way down below, demanding, of course--

feed me, you stupid bastard!


Glaring, the yellowish head looked down at the belly that was the source of all wisdom-- at least in rattata culture, anyway. In a heavily primitive manner, the scavengers of the desert held no appreciation for the brain except as a good snack. The lower down the body part, in fact, the more valued it was. The tail was discounted, but, as you might conclude... Most of them were concerned with only one thing.


Making offspring, lots and lots. And for that, a fine, long set of fat whiskers were appreciated, being considered heavily attractive. And from the viewpoint of his peers, this raticate should have been doing just that, anything, of course, but this.


The desert rat's body gave a shudder, balanced on all fours but still almost toppling over in the movement, feelings of apprehension growing stronger. The sky above was a deep blue, but for all his beady nose and eyes were focused on a rusted out piece of metal, it might have been emerald.

Sky and river, please let this work!


The kangaroo-like desert rat nudged the device with his snout. Suddenly the raticate was swathed in purple rays of light, before weightlessness overcame all sensation.
Then there was merely the sands, and the pokeball, alone again for who knew how long.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Several weeks before;


A huge, vicious dark snake rose up before him, fangs glistening with venom. Dark, yellow warning bands wrapped around the scales at regular points, serving a stark warning to all, and if that did not waver one's desire to fight, a rattle shook on the end opposite to those teeth.


"Go, ratta!"


"Yeah, go!"


Onlookers cheered, peering with their pink noses and purple furry bodies from the safety of the dry grass. One of them was a fine, pink lady, gorgeous with velvet soft ears and fur, the highest quality of mouse.


Salivating, his whiskers twitched, dancing with the deadly serpent, merely in hopes of impressing her. The purplish black hunter's fangs struck dirt as he narrowly moved beneath the coils, before squirming upward before they might fatally tighten around him. Swerving, it hissed, yellow slitted eyes focusing on the meager, scrappy morsel that was his body.


The lady mouse yawned, showing off her delicate muzzle and sharp, huge front teeth. She was so impressed! Happily, the scrappy male mouse watched for a few seconds too many, until searing pain distracted him.


Eyes widening in fear he thrashed, turning to see the ekans attempting to swallow him whole, pulling him closer as painful venom coursed through and tried to paralyze his body. Squeaks sounded as the purple male scratched pitifully, as the hollowed fangs inched closer and closer to his face, pink inner mouth shoving his tender body down.
He was going to be eaten alive.


Arms trembling uncontrollably, the mouse tried to struggle, movements beginning to cease entirely as he chomped down on the scales and feebly logged there before closing his eyes.


It was all over. Even if pulling him inward would only rip at the skin more, the predator only had to wait until the crushing weight of its own body stopped his heart or the poison did. As a small consolation, it would be quick compared to the time it would take to suffocate to death, though even now the pokemon felt light headed.


The others watched, unwilling to help, not wanting to help. There was nothing immoral here-- it was simply that he was weak, and unworthy of being saved, when the food supply was short and there were so many other contenders who would benefit from his death now. Life was survival of the fittest here-- having multiple partners, killing contenders and their offspring in order to mate with their beloveds, and even abandoning one's own young in favor of having more quicker and sooner was all common. Thus, even though they would probably try to kill the snake while fat and much more defenseless, at that time it would be too late.


It was only now that he found himself pondering, light headed, half delirious, half dead, why. It was a strange thing to question, when there had never been a philosophical question in the worthless orphan pup's head before, when there was something much more important going on, which was being eaten alive. But he had given up.


Everything was numb. The pink girl, she did not care he was there. Why, why did he fight for her? Why did he try to rescue her when she was perfectly capable of getting help from a hundred other strong males or running away herself? One hesitated to say ungrateful, when the concept of graciousness and politeness was something that had never happened before to he himself, when all he had in reason for rescuing her was an ulterior motive...


Surely there was... something. Something else. Nothing came to mind, nothing he knew of in the entire world seemed worth it. The same old, same old seemed quite boring and dreary now, full of ignorance. If only, like the stories--


His eyes sprang open, to the feeling of sliding down something sticky, and fangs releasing him, only to poke him, pull him away from the blurry light. Apparently, the ekans had mistook him for dead after the complete stopping of his struggles and lowering of his heart rate. Ironically, relaxing in the grip of death might have saved him, slowing the rate of toxin coursing through his veins.


Having been swallowed head first after re-arrangement by the snake for more comfortable dining, he forced himself backwards, digging his sharp claws and teeth down numerous times and buckling as he shoved, careful to remain calm lest a sudden shock send him dizzier than ever. The world spun-- as on the outside the predatory pokemon rolled in discomfort, gagging and trying to squish him internally, and bite him as he came up. A strange tingle running through him, a strength he did not knew he possessed, the rattata broke free, uttering a sharp squeak with his own fangs opened wide, long fearsome gashes running down his bloodied sides.


The sudden light from the outside world was stunning, and he stepped backwards and almost collapsed, but he could hear a strange, excited chattering among his fellows, others rushing around to see what was happening.


"--his fur, look at that. Wow did he just come back out--" Babbling went in and out, and for several terrifying moments, the purple male was completely deaf and nearly blind, stumbling around touch and only by luckily toppling over sideways avoided the next blow as scales breezed by his little paws. Hopping back on his feet, he struck blindly, the entire world incredibly white and fuzzy, but a black shape barely coming into focus an inch away.


"Rah, teh, kah teh..." He began to mutter, preparing for the end. But nothing came, except a brush of fur against his own, then many paws and tails pushing and prodding around past him.


'--poor boy, speaking gibberish now.''

Sky and sun, he swore he heard something slithering to strike after he bit down and let go. But at that point, everything was buzzing, most of all, his joy. He had realized that something else, that reason to live that encompassed more than just eating and sleeping and mating. A rare thing among his people.


"Ka. Ra'ka 'Ti."



A name. An identity, a purpose, like those in the stories.


*


(A/N: I am not quite sure how long that was, because my wordpad wouldn't tell me. But I popped the original first chapter on fanfiction net and it was over 10,000 words, so I decided to chop it up into more managable pieces for when on forums. Hopefully I have not done the opposite of before and gone too small. Consider it a prologue, maybe.)

 

[Satoshi_Red]

A/N:

Ah, I was right. I tried pasting the entire thing in and it was much too large to fit into one post. So here's another part of chapter one.


"It's marvelous. This one has been blessed by the sands, to survive such wounds!"

Ugh... Voices. That meant he was alive. Blessed by the sands, wasn't that an oxymoron if he'd ever heard one?

"Oh Elder, isn't his browning fur so much more important? I think it is just so.. handsome."

Elder? One of those outcasted pieces of haggis? Ah, there was no reason to think like that now. That was the old ways speaking. Brown? He must be extremely dirty. No wonder.

"By the rains, if you have nothing constructive to say child, please leave."

Speaking of old ways... Wasn't it time to wake up?

"Piss." The first sight in the world since his near death, and it was of a glorious, immaturely stuck out tongue. The glorious part being sarcastic, of course.

The pink female from before, and a bland old raticate, both glanced at him in surprise to see him awake. Tall grass wove around them in bands to form a roof like a weaver bird's nest, but the place itself smelt rather like dung, to his annoyance. The girl had just left her opinions on the wall and floor, quite literately. The older, white male known as the Elder gave an offended glance with backturned ears, but with a crippled back leg and half bitten tail, could do nothing to stop her. What surprised him, now, though, was the fact he saw her as a mere girl, a child that he saw rushing out of the tunnels in a huff.

Standing up on all fours, he tumbled over in shock at the pain in his front leg-- and realized he felt different from before, as well. Underweight, like he needed to eat, and eat a lot to grow as quickly as possible. But he had stopped growing as a rattata some time ago, at the end of his first brief season of life, and his appetite had shifted. He'd started taking an interest in rattas-- girls-- a mere few weeks afterward. That had been a very groggy and disappointing time, and he had to wait until next dry season. Dry, of course, being relative in the desert.

"Sky, young ratti, watch yourself. Don't you realize what has happened to you?"

It had already come back to him. The fight. The name, that glorious sound that thundered in his head, the only sound in the world he had been able to hear. Ra - ka - Ti. His lips softened happily at the mere thought of it. Legends and stories spoke of names, and he had never really wished for his own before, as the concept had been vague. But, now he felt the urge to... differ himself, like the sky and the moon differed, though they shared the same bed. Rattata might seem all the same, but he, rattata, was Ra'ka 'Ti the rattata, a-- what was that word, that notion symbolled? An individual.

"I know. And I have to go. Now." He didn't know how to describe it yet, but he would. A driving urge told him to see the sun again, to smell the fresh air, to explore the world a-new. Staying, pent up her, made him quiver with barely repressed energy.

"Sun scorched fool, lay down! You have shifted, child, though your body cannot sustain the change yet. That is why you must stay put until you are better." The tall, colorless elder rodent spoke, peering down at him with an imitation of a frown.

Raka'ti blinked, attempting pondering while still nursing a headache. Shifted. He'd seen others undergo the change, saw how raticate outprowessed their littler children, seemed so big, aggressive and powerful and enviable, but, he just didn't feel very powerful at the moment. Nor did he really know what shifting meant. He'd assumed it just, well, happened to great warriors and scavengers. Not like himself. Ti had always been a runt.

"Is that what having a name means?" Raka'ti asked with naive wondering, peering up into the deep eyes of the other, who dribbled a gob of spit over his face in startlement as repayment.

"Sun-scorch, youngster, no! What occured to you to take a name of all things? It can be excused for your lack of years under your belt, but, surely you know that is the way of the Godly things and of the forsaken outsiders, not us dune travelers." Whatever Raka'ti had been expecting, it hadn't been the wince and the disappointed chastisment from the elder, who did not appear angry, only saddened as his grey tail lashed about. "Tell no one of this. From now on you are Raticate. No other."

"Yes." Raka'ti frowned, soft ears' skin folding bitterly. What would have once thrilled him didn't do so at all now. Instead, he felt angry, possessive, determined to hide his new secret. If he could not have it, nobody else would. And perhaps he had not earned his name yet. That made sense,

Laying his head back, Ti stared at the ceiling, feeling ugly and foul in his own body, a strange sort of freak. Staying with his dusty white belly in the air was not natural to him, as it was very vulnerable, but he stayed, with much more patience than he had possessed before the shifting. The other grew silent, talking occasionally of what he would need to do now as the elder cleared away the smelly mess in the room, but Raka'ti found his focus drifting if he was not careful. Once the other stopped talking, the sandy colored rodent stared at the dirt and the hay, pondering at the construction, of how it came to be.

It was against everything his kind believed in, to think about such things. How straw worked was the business of the Straw God, or holy Harvest, which sometimes came incarnate in the form of the saber-toothed beast named Entei. It was funny how the fire beast represented all that could go wrong, rather than all that could go right, for the time of harvest.

But, where did the first straw come from? If the Straw God made it, how did they do it? Burning everything didn't make a whole lot of sense. It puzzled Raka'ti, who began to fall asleep.

"Hehe." The sound of high pitched giggling reached his ears, some minutes later.

Hmm? He blinked, not knowing how much time had passed, but he felt much better, if even hungrier. The elder was gone. Instead, a small pink nose nudged itself into the room, along with three black ones. "Hello?"

"Gah!" Four girl mice fell over on one another into the room, from where they had been spying on him. They peered up at him nervously and excitedly, most of them varying shades of purple and gray, but one was the pink female he had eyed before. Rata'ki supposed he had always kind of liked anything different, but he had always wanted to fit in and be admired as well. Chasing her had been an acceptable way of doing so.

"Do you want something?" The rodent sat up, peering at them with dark, nearly blood red eyes unaffected by the change on the rest of his body. His voice was much deeper than he remembered, but kind of scratchy, and his tone was very mild and unassuming.

The girls gave a look between each other, uncertain if to be disappointed or not, having expected the 'victor' who had actually failed to kill the snake to be bragging and playing up his accomplishments. It was like, unthinkably, he was not trying to impress them. But that was impossible. The concept of the younger rattata form being hands off for the more developed raticate form simply wasn't there, and they were desirable enough, weren't they?

Immediately, they scuffled, nipping each other to decide who would get the privelege to go first. A darker, greyer female managed to roll on top, and happily turned to him. "Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you had a moment."

"Not really." A ratty smirk appeared as he laid back down, feeling quite peaceful. "It is not like I am, say, doing nothing of importance, cooped up and feeling bored or anything."

That was something more like they were used to, and immediately they brightened. "Of course; healing is very important, otherwise you would not be able to fight your next battle. So...?" The grey female spoke, tail swishing in an attempt to look cute. The largest, a bright purple, glared at the grey before shooting a sweet look at him as well. And the small delicate pink battered her bright red eyes at him. And beneath all their paws lay a bitten up dull grayish purple who was a complete underdog of the situation, but still looking hopeful.

When Raka'ti simply stared at them in response, uncertain of what to say, the gray huffed off, frustrated, and left the room. The other three glanced at each other, wondering if there was something seriously wrong with him to let a strong attractive female go like that. It was not like they were monogomous, either. Ratta and Ratti were not a very talkative sort. Generally, simply speaking in admiration was considered to always have another purpose, and one usually wasted little time flirting. Although, by any other species standards, their courtship was insanely brief.

"So, he who used to be rattata, but now Raticate, I've decided that since you fought for me in such an exciting and new way-- never seen that before, even if it did not slay-- you have permission to be around me now. We could get... closer, if you like." The pink spoke, and with a sharp clawed nudge from her companions, added in, "My friends included."

Raka'ti considered this. He knew what they were really implying, but, he would like to get to know them. It could be nice to have some friends and allies. Many stronger males managed to win alliances, but as the runt of his litter he never had that kind of social clout. Perhaps the shifting, even if he was not equal to other raticate, would finally mean others would not leave him in the dust all the time. One was not supposed to make friends with girls, but, he had never known why there was such dividing lines between genders, though he knew rank was generally inherited or fought for. Now it fascinated him, and he wanted to explore it as more than 'just because'.

"Well, when I'm stronger, maybe you would enjoy hunting crickets in the dunes. We could look for eggs and play games." His unshifted self had liked games. They would too, right? It would be nice to make them happy.

The girl's faces, once so excited, now fell, ears flattening, eyes widening and mouth gaping at each other at the sheer obliviousness to their advances. "I'm out of here!" One shouted, and raced out of the room. The other two soon followed, sniffling and crying.

"...that would be a no." Ti muttered to himself as he went back to sleep, uncertain if he was cursed by sun or gifted by the sky. He felt like he just didn't understand his fellows any more. The urges were still there, but perhaps it was the pain muting them, giving him a greater clarity than ever before.

Except, with that clarity, only came more questions.

*

The desert he lived in was not merely infested with creatures that had adapted to the harsh conditions of life, like ekans that had evolved sharper poisons than their counterparts elsewhere, and lighter colored rattata and raticate that had evolved to thrive on little water. It was totally free of the things the other worlds knew-- the other lands, of course, being places only dreamt of by most mice, strange places where spheres carried by upright creatures captured life and light, a seeming contridiction to anyone raised in the desert. Places where other pokemon had names, and mixed with one another unnaturally, even natural enemy to enemy, something doomed to trouble in times of scarcity.

But the wastelands he inhabited had something the inhabitants of the Other Lands would find much more disturbing than he would theirs'. Savage, elemental storms, pokemon that fought to kill more often than incapacitate, and massacres of entire families in the blink of an eye. A land that refused colonization by all except the hardiest and luckiest. One rarely lived long enough to raise children-- so it was best to have as many as possible, then abandon them as soon as possible to let the fittest survive.

Had Raka'ti been fully aware of the nature of his own lands, he would have definitely been much more daunted. It would be difficult to earn a name here. But Raka was very young, only just stepping out of adolesence and into true adult hood, even if young ratti were quite capable of adult acts, they were not mentally so.

After Raka'ti woke, he spent several days doing nothing much more than eating and drinking, winding in and out of numerous tunnels when he felt good enough, most dirt, some containing straw or root, which he would nibble on before continuing looking for a lucky puddle. Many bumped into him underground, but it was no problem-- a growl and the smaller went scurrying away, and for once, he was sometimes the bigger. Rapidly, his voice thickened out smoothly, his body widened and thickened with muscle, and his back legs became very strong and large footed compared to his front, in a rather gerbil or kangaroo like way. His tail thickened out and gained a tuff of fur, a unique feature to some of the raticate that lived around here, and his whiskers fattened. Though he could still scurry along the ground with ease, walking on twos became a real option as well for the first time in his life.

As he strengthened, his feelings of aggression increased, and it was a struggle to keep a calm and thoughtful mind, especially as pretty females passed by, once more. But it was not impossible, and Raka forced himself to try to treat others better, to seek common interests and, in short, become allies or friends.

But nobody was interested. In fact, the entirely wrong sort of fellow took notice of his attempts. One of the top, most fittest males, a harem leader, took him aside one day and stated in no uncertain terms that if he was planning to establish a take over, he would be slaughtered, along with all who carried his scent.

The novelty of his survival was wearing off. His strangeness would not be tolerated any longer. He would adapt, or else. And it did not help that some of his wounds refused to heal properly, leaving small scars, one in particular a small near circular reddish pinprick at the center of his forehead, like a persian. His fur would soon grow over it, but it did attract odd looks.

"Ratti, want to tussle with me?" Growled a male raticate, on the day that the elder had finally declared him free and without any remaining injuries. Ratti recognized the dusky brown desert rat by scent as being a hunter cousin of his own, and paused.

"No thank you. I am looking for a way to earn a name, cousin Ratti. I don't suppose you know how I could find the godly Rains and Storms and ask them for a quest?" Since it was a cousin, it couldn't hurt to ask. He hadn't even known he had a cousin!

The dark brown male stared at him quite simply, then barked a short, squeak like laugh. "Ha, if I knew how to find the rains, I'd never go hungry and sire a thousand pups! But what do you want with a name, anyway? It is quite unnatural and brings nothing good. Even the gods only truly name their worse halves."

"Well, what about the grass and fruits? They have names." Raka blinked, once again feeling down and confused.

"Not individually. You should restle-- it makes you look like a coward if others are getting their whiskers bitten off and you are keeping yours nice and fine. Makes you seem deceitful to have such long whiskers without earning them!" And with that, his cousin bore his long, sharp teeth, lashed an untuffed tail and pounced toward him.

Bowled over, Raka immediately squirmed to get out of the compromising position of letting his belly be exposed to air, and thrashed his strong tail to smack the other male off. Rolling on to all fours, he noted he was out of practice, for the other went on to two, and easily smacked him with a deft punch.

Raising his tail and bristling his fur to look bigger, he hissed, giving a hop and boxing at his cousin. They locked claws and rolled, biting at one another but not too hard, only occasionally letting the other bleed, but they happily tried to concuss one another by slamming each other into the walls. Ti wheezed, but grinned. "I give. You can nip my whiskers if you think that'll put me in my place."

"Nah." His brown cousin grinned, getting off him and giving a shake. "That was just a practice session. Besides, I didn't know any of your tawny yellow-furred line of the family was still around. Do you have any siblings?"

Getting up, and feeling quite happy to have a comrade, if only for the moment, to talk to, he replied. "A few, I think, but they left to join the dens across the lesser sands, to seek the oasis. I don't know if they're still alive, or if they perished trying to earn entry there, since I was too weak to go with them. I have never known the scent of my father, and my mother died early, so I was very surprised to see anyone with some of my scent."

"A shame." The slightly bigger raticate male made a version of a frown, and seemed to geniunely mean it. He was very friendly and chatty, for all he had wanted to beat up Raka'ti before for looking too pretty. "My side of the family isn't very talkative and is all borishly brown, but I heard she was a nice ratta with strong lines, a half sister to my own mother. The hope was that someone in the family would have good colors on both shifts, rattata and raticate. I'm a bit too dark for most fella's tastes, but I think I am scrappy enough to earn some interest, don't you think?"

Raka bobbed his head in agreement, his entire body following the motion a little. "Oh, yes, you are a very good fighter, cousin. Not like me. And I looked horrible as a pup, one of the brightest purple around, so I quite envy you for being darker!"

An uncomfortable thought squirmed through his head, a connection he didn't want to speak aloud, for how the other had reacted earlier to his wanting a name. It seemed the looks of the earlier form influenced the older-- brighter fur often meant brighter fur in the second form, too, so one had to have duller color if they wanted to look okay against the sands in both shifts. If he spoke it, his cousin would ask where he got that idea--; and if he said his head, the other would take it as a dangerous thing. For the belly was the source of wisdom, not one's mind. One was allowed to hope, to hunger, to lust, but to really think? That was heresy.

Although it had been harmless enough so far... the others would surely worry he would eventually go against the holy ways. There was no room for originality, because the ways of old were best and there was no way to improve upon them.

Sneezing, his cousin laughed, and turned to climb out of the hole of the underground burrows. "Ah, well, you just get your fur ruffled now and then, and the ladies will adore you. Then we'll have loads of family in no time!"

Internally sighing at that thought, Raka'ti clambered up after him, and froze. Everything overloaded his senses. The sun, the sky, the air seemed to brim with much sharper information than before, and in much more volume than inside the dank dark little tunnels. It was slightly painful, and he shut his eyes and pinned his ears against his head until it adjusted.

"You okay?" His musky older cousin's dark eyes peered into his own as they opened, before looking away. "Well, come on. We can hang out together from now on, but my group doesn't like strangers much, so you got to keep up."

A group! He was being invited to a group! His status suddenly just rose, from this fortunate roll of fate. A group offered at least some meager protection, and increased foraging ability. He wondered how large the group was his cousin belonged to. Padding after his newfound friend, Raka looked up in wonder at the sky, seeing a single cloud. What a day this was going to be!

They were sure to know things. And if he phrased things carefully, perhaps he could seek out to do some great deed, and rightfully earn his name, Raka'ti. Or would life give him a different name? But he liked being Ra - ka - Ti. It sounded good, like three pitterpatter beats upon the sand.

Dust rose as they walked briskly to meet the group, which turned out to be five raticate, all much bigger and tanner than himself, except one which was a reddish russet color, who seemed to be around his age. Everyone was bigger than him, though, and that was no surprise. It would take time to grow enough to match them in size.

"Eh, ratti, what snack did you bring this time?" Called what appeared to be the leader, a tall, muscled male with a blackish splatter down his throat that contrasted oddly with the white fur of the belly and the tan of his back.

"No snack!" His cousin confidently answered, bouncing forward and grabbing Raka's paw, pulling him along. "My half-cousin! He's joining us for today's forage."

"Tha' a fact?" The black splattered tan male rose a brow. "Well, he looks like two halves to me. But the twit 'kin come. He'll play snake bait."

Raka'ti immediately winced. The most risky job, playing scout on the edge of the group. If one lived and anyone else died, it was custom to thrash the spotter who failed to spot. But that was if they lived, which didn't happen often when persian or absol decided to ambush any stragglers. "Al-alright."

"Good. I would a'h ate ya if ya disagreed. Both of ya." The leader smiled, to reveal crooked, yellowed sharp and dagged looking teeth that were broken in various places. It didn't seem like he was joking, which had optimistically occured to Raka's mind.

Gulping silently, Raka moved on, watching as the group moved through dry grass and hopped across dry bakingly hot sand. The first spot they reached to pause to was a small watering hole, where a deer pokemon, a Stantler, peacefully glanced at them while sipping. A couple trees around the place meant ample threat, for felines loved those places. The tall grass was also a good place for an ambusher to hide, such as a snake.

Perching on a rock, he took a quick sip, giving quick darting looks all around, standing up on tip toe to gain a better vantage point before bowing back down to drink again. To his startlement, it was the last place he decided to look that showed something suspicious, a strange dark shape moving beneath the murky pool. "Wha--"

The water exploded, and a hissing crocodile lurched outward, jaws snapping and closing over a fold of fur and skin, and tugged him underward. Gurgling, the world in a split second become wet and murky, and he could not breath. Above he could see the reflected shapes of the other desert mice, and before him a huge, blue monster was holding down on him, crunching repeatedly to get a better grip around his side. Scratching, he boxed out with his back legs, kicking at the face and eyes.

Bubbles rose upward all around, as he bite down on one eye and the predator finally released, trying to get him loose. Letting go and kicking upward, he tried to surface, but felt the overgrown lizard grab his tail and tug.

"--help!" His head surfaced and he gasped for air, and felt his cousins claws grab around his arms to try and pull him loose. Thrashing, he pulled free, but lost the tussle of fur on his tail as he surged outward and was pulled on to shore.

Laying down and gulping down air, Raka'ti couldn't but exasperatedly think, "Doesn't anything in this world not involve fighting every five moments?"

His cousin gave a relieved sigh, but the russet male chuckled. "Welcome to tha real world, twip."

"This guy is all righ'. He can stay around, it's fine by me." Grinned a fat but short raticate, nudging another tanned but lankier fellow.

"Me too, boys. Let's bring him on a weedle hunt." said the blotched black leader, crookedly smirking again. "I'm 'ungry."

He was now part of the gang, for better or for worse.

*

The weedle hunt turned out to be nothing spectacular. In the desert, most weedle had abandoned evolving until the rains came. They were small, shrimpy, almost defenseless, and quite numerous. That made them perfect to fill or supplement protein loving bellies.

It was a refreshing breather compared to the incident before, to which Raka'ti mourned the loss of his tail tuft. It would grow back, but he had gotten fond of the thing.

"Alright, I think it is time to try grabbing some pretty shelias. Guys, ya with me?" The tall leader spoke before them all, looking quite fetching against the pale moonlighted night sky. "We've gone without girls for too long, too long I say!"

"Yeah!" They chorused agreement, even his cousin. Raka's lips lowered slightly at the edges, as his eyes furrowed. Just what was this going to entail now?

"Then let's raid us a harem!" The leader turned, and ran, followed by his cronies, tails whippeting behind them.

Oh, dungbeetles. Not the same harem as the one I was warned to stay away from or else? Just lovely. Why couldn't they have picked some females not in a harem?

"I, er, vote no."

They stopped.

"What?" His cousin turned to look at him, utterly bamboozled. "What are you stopping the fun for? Come on!"

"I've seen the top males. They'll smash you to snippets!" The golden yellow rat pleaded, merely wanting them to see common sense. Raka just wanted to live in peace. Alive. Although, in retrospect, maybe trying to gain a name wasn't such a smart goal for that.

"Haha, very funny. Ya know what? I thought ya was tough, facing a croconaw like that, and having such long whiskers. But jer just a coward!" The crooked-tooth rodent spat violently at Raka, and gobs of slime landed in his face. What was with people spitting on him? Seriously?

"Half cousin, I hate to say this, but... We can't be seen together anymore." His brown friend looked at him with dark, discomforted eyes. Raka understood that his cousin's reputation was at stake here, but it did not make it sting less or make the world seem less dizzying, like it had just been thrown about and then put upside down until blood rushed into one's eartips.

The golden rat looked sadly at them, crouching and making himself look small as they sent him withering looks before setting off. Very soon, he was all alone, with only the million sands beneath his feet, and for all the world he looked like an overgrown speck on them, being the exact same color and light tone.

The ground was warm, but the air at night was surprisingly chilly against his short fuzzy fur, and Raka'ti wrapped his tail around his sixteen claws. His front paws had four fingers, and his back, three, but his back feet had tiny dewclaws.

It was not long before he heard the racket, the yells and battle cries, even from his distant dune. The mouse curled deeper around himself into a tiny ball, shutting his red eyes. The smell of blood that soon leaked on to the air was not his fault, but a part of him felt guilty for not helping. Was he truly just a coward?

Springing back on to his feet, he scowled. No, he couldn't just let his cousin die, no matter how foolhardy or distantly related (by rattata standards) he was. Creeping down the dunes, and careful not to be engulfed in the rolling sands, Raka raced to follow their tracks, with a new determination to fight.

Leaping over a small rise and entering an area of more level ground, he gaped at the destruction. Bodies were strewn about, crimson leaking and smearing across the dusty baked earth, gaping wounds decorated multiple bodies. Worst of all, the near silence. The only sound was a hoothoot in the distance.

Did they do this? Was his cousin among them? Anyone he recognized? Glancing about, he was too amazed at the violence, the entrails entwining across the dirt, the jaws smashed or ripped off, the chunks of heads lying here or there. There was more here than should have gone to battle. Females and children! The black splotched leader lay down as one of the number, and Raka shivered, partly from the cold, but more from the fear.

"C-cousin?" He stuttered, ears swerving nervously all about, padding very quietly and ready to jump up at any moment, freezing perodically and jerking like a leaf.

"R-r-ratti?" Raka tried again, peering down at a small, pinkish pup's face for signs of life, feeling his last meal in the pits of his stomach rising. Turning his face away, he puked, gagging at the green and frothy brown remains of grass and larvae. He knew some ratta who claimed they could eat whatever came back up again but he was not one of them. ...hopefully there's some left in me.

Curling his tail between his legs, he cautiously rose on to two feet to gaze around. "Anyone?" Raka cried.

His cousin was not among the numbers. He was missing. Still alive, he hoped. Or perhaps in some creature's belly, the newfound pessimist in him pointed out. Sniffing, he tried to follow the scent amongst the muddle of gore and fear filled scents. Raka clamored for a sweet, safe den, right about now, and his old self would have just turned straight around most likely, but now he found himself musing on the irony. Before he had been upset about dying and getting nothing out of it, but now he was going out of his way when he definitely knew he was getting nothing out of it.

Perhaps Raka'ti had gone nuts. That would certainly make sense-- ah, there. He found the odor of his half-cousin! Gaining a little confidence, he sped up, zigging and zagging and replaying the scene that might have occured. Cousin had lept here, and there, and then disappeared-- on something's back perhaps? Then reappeared right about... here.

Blinking, he peered up at the strange rocky rise that came out from the ground. That was where the outer lands began. This was the start of the mountains! The outer worlders came from beyond there. Maybe they had kidnapped his cousin!

Scrambling up the rock, he frowned at an odd sound, ears swiveling backwards. An eerie whistling. What did that remind him of? It was possible the wind was making it against some reeds, but he didn't know there were any around. Raka's paws hit level ground, and the rat turned around to look.

Eyes widening, he ran.

He ran as fast as he could fly his little body out of there, to some safe crack in the wall, to a tunnel, anything. Because behind him, there was the wind. And it was mad.

Zipping down into some dark crevice, splattering some wet thing he did not know the origin of, and hiding in a strange cave he did not know, he held his breath. Raka'ti had never experienced this specific type before, but he knew this could only be a rage storm, crackling with elemental energies of the land. Lightning, yes, oh that was most common, but this was a dark storm, rippling like a black shroud, possessing the energies of the night blessed pokemon but in much greater quantities. A powerful surge that would strengthen the lucky, and kill the rest unable to redirect the power somewhere else.

It was this phenomena of rage storms that kept, had kept, the outsiders away, from roaming here in these lands. And now he was going to be leaving them.

Raka braced himself as the gales passed over, sapping all light and leaving him in complete darkness until it passed. Warmth and liveliness was sapped from the air, replaced by bitter stale frigidness. The worst of it was outside, but he could still feel the horrible feeling of being prodded at, tested at, tasting to see if he could be stolen away by the rages forever.

Then the stars, the light and the moon returned, and the sound on the air returned to normal, the chirping of crickets in the distance like nothing happened. Giving a sigh of relief, the rat slid out from his hole, but froze as he realized all the scent had been leeched from the air.

He could no longer smell his cousin here, or the trail. Frustrated, the male rat banged his head against the rock, and wept, though his body could produce no tears.

(the rest of it in next post)

 

[Satoshi_Red]

*

When dawn broke, Raka was already awake, groggy, horribly dirty, and feeling like he'd been hit by a rampaging dinophan. The storm had reoccured in waves all through out the night, and had only sprinkled at the very last part. The water, however, was generally not safe to drink for any but those of the type of the elemental winds that passed. The damp water in the cave around him and that covered him was pure black, but shined purple in direct sunlight as it hissingly evaporated. Exposure to high levels of light dried the pools faster than anything, being the antithesis and also the reason that dark type storms never happened during the day.

Hopping outside and shaking his wet fur, he gazed drearily around. This mess was all his fault. He should have held the same fate as his half cousin.

Narrowing his eyes, he pondered if he still could. Gazing out towards the horizon, one was blocked by a towering wall of sheer rock and dirt, the rest of the mountain that began the range that led to the Outer Worlds, or one of them anyway. There was yet another at the other edge of the desert, but that was not visible from here. He was not sure which of the worlds he was about to try to enter... Only that, for Raka'ti, there was a strange sense of elation at the idea of undertaking a fantastical adventure.

Perhaps this could let him earn his self given nym, and the respect of his people. Baring his teeth, he latched his claws against the tiny holds and pockets on the rock, and began to climb. Coming to a leveled out area, he laid down on it and looked down. Geeze, what if whatever hunted them had wings? Or perhaps there was another path through the mountains, an easier one. In any case, he had to keep going. He would not get help from other rattata and raticate down in the hill lands or the dunes; small massacres happened frequently enough that they were not a concern as long as the rattata kept breeding like the mice they were.

He stopped briefly to steal some bird's eggs, leaving a few behind but eating enough to sate his hunger. Raka'ti didn't like killing things very much, but the unborn were pretty tasty. The rat badly wanted a real drink, but the slimy yolk would have to do until he could find an untainted mountain spring or river.

Various pokemon stared at him on the way, spearows and murkrows among them, like vultures. Some even had featherless heads, as adaptations. Raka would have liked to talk to them, but they would not hover by close enough. As he wound around towering rock, the desert view disappeared from him completely.

The golden yellow raticate was now officially further from home than he had ever been. He was in one of the Other Worlds. Oddly enough, it didn't particularly feel like another world. The sky was still blue, although very cloudy. The ground was hard, like sandstone, but differently colored, darker than the desert floor had ever been. Things smelled a little different too, but he could not put his nose on what.

Several days went without much comment. Raka'ti began to feel very lonely as he trekked through the mountains, but on the other hand, things were amazing. Strange pokemon he had never seen before looked at him, and no snakes lived in the cold. Snow, real snow, something he had never seen before but heard of, touched him once, and he was extremely thankful when his fur began to grow out a little more, especially the new tuft on his tail, since he could then wrap it around his feet at night. He kept his ears pinned to his head all the time, because they were so large and vulnerable to nature's sweet breath.

Jynx hummed, swinub hustled, sneasels glared, and snorunts shoved snow into their faces as he passed by. His stomach began to rumble at him, much to his annoyance.

...you know, this is pretty stupid. you sticking up for that loos-zore that abandoned you, when you could be eating people's faces. Yum. Cannibalism is totally in nowadays. Why can't you be cool, man? Be cool.

"Shut up," he snarled, attracting odd looks from passerbys. Then, feeling impolite, he added. "Please shut up."

Nu.

"I mean it."

Feed meeee!

"Fine." Sighing, he sniffed the air. To his surprise, there was a slight burnt scent upon the air. Something was cooking? Hey, that meant a fire pokemon had to be around. Maybe they'd be nice and share. It was said a long time ago that raticate welded fire themselves, but also ice, darkness, and electricity. It was a little hard to believe-- but maybe they would be friendly?

Creeping upward over a rise, he peered downward. Raka was not quite sure what to make of what he saw. Strange meatless furs layed around, and a circular arrangement of stones went around a fire containing pit. Above it boiled a watery substance that smelt like chicken and wheat, and gave off a steady steam. It was rimmed with black, and was attached to three sticks, seeming to almost float into the air almost. It also seemed the food was burning, becoming overcooked.

But the fiery horse that stood next to it didn't seem to care. Well, the raticate didn't either. Food was food, even if it looked weird. Falling down gracefully on all fours, the ponyta gave a surprised snort to see Raka land.

"What are you doing here?" the horse pokemon asked with a feminine voice, fire wishing back in forth unable to decide to be irritated or amused by this turn of events. Finally, she settled on irritated. "My master will be back any moment now."

"Master?" He gave a confused look. "Is that a type of food? I'm quite hungry. Are you willing to share that strange concotion there? I will happily do you a favor in return."

"Trainer, human, whatever you like to call it; it is their broth. And if you want to do me a favor, get lost." The lady seemed quite in a foul mood for someone who had a nice place to stay and some food.

Raka'ti was quite baffled by this, but tried not to show it. "A-alright. Would it be better if I got the broth down before I went? It is going to go inedible at this rate."

You are too nice. His tummy rumbled. A part of him wanted to agree with it, but felt that it was rather rude of him to simply demand a meal like that. It wasn't demanding, you asked. Well, barging in without invitation, at least.

"Hmpf. It is your skin, vermin." The mouse resented that last comment, but he'd been called worse by his own kind before, so simply sighed.

Standing up on his hind legs, he grabbed one of the sticks in his teeth and the others with his claws, and pulled it down from the fire, a little too quickly. It splattered and sizzled, rocking as he dropped it on the ground, but not too much of the broth was lost.

"Sorry about that." Raka'ti swiveled his ears and flattened them to the sides of his head. Bowing, he turned. "I will, um, leave now."

The ponyta made no answer to him, but instead held her ears up, looking behind him. As he turned, he found himself staring at a most peculiar wrinkly dark green skin and black shiny feet. Raka'ti slowly looked upward, to stare straight into the angry blue eyes of a great pink face.

"Prith-eeeee! You let a rodent into my SOUP, you good for nothing mule!" The master shouted, pointing with the most peculiar dull claws he'd ever seen. There was nothing really intimidating about him, the teeth were small, the nails short, but the man was incredibly tall and had such an angry booming voice that Raka immediately felt he needed to apologize.

"Oh, I'm very sorry sir. I didn't mean to spill it, and I didn't eat any, honest." Raka bowed his head. "Please, could you maybe spare a little? It was about to be completely inedible, and I'll work it off, get you some new food, even--"

But the 'trainer' did not seem to hear him, and did not even bother to look at him, instead seeming intent to raising up a strange little round red thing with a white belly made of shiny rock. With a gasp, the golden desert mouse watched as Prith-eeeee disappeared in a beam of white light.

"You killed her!" Raka cried, eyes widening as he stepped backwards, feeling terrified and anticipating certain doom as a second ball pointed towards him. Instinct spurred him to leap, but he felt he could not move. How could anyone murder so easily? Both anger and fear pinned him in one spot.

But the ball spun outwards and opened wide, not touching him, but unleashing something else entirely. A dark form slipped out, and slitted yellow orbs blinked, giving a hiss as they rose. A sneasel had somehow been birthed from the device, and it smirked at him.

"Hello pretty pretty." Whispered the black weasel, claws spreading in anticipation, a dreamily content and creepy look upon its face. Moving forward in an eyeblink, it pressed against him, caressing him with two sharp claws.

Raka gave a glance of utter confusion. This one smelled like a male but was acting practically flirtatious and getting much too physical for comfort. What kind of weird mother was that red and white ball? It didn't even teach the sneasel any manners. Like not playing with one's food.

"Percy, slash." With that, the sneasel violently dug inward into his leg, and purred at his hiss of pain. "Rip this one apart."

"What the sands is wrong with you?" Raka yelled, leaping backwards as the sneasel tried to push him over. "I'm too big to eat!" The rat turned and began to run.

"Not about eating. Not about playing. Not about siiinging." Trilled the black hunter, as it sped after him, skipping up and down as it did so.

"Then why?" Raka'ti ducked around a corner, and the other lazily followed.

"Master say so, pray so," ryhmed the sneasel, eyes blinking in mild surprise and then enjoyment at the last moment as a large rock came smacking towards the weasel's face.

"Your 'master' tell you to be a sadist?" The mouse glared as he hopped on by, leaving the strange smiling Percy trapped beneath the rock as he went to face the man.

Did I just kill that pokemon when I dropped the rock on him? A tinge of guilt filtered through him, as he looked once more at the tall trainer male known as Master. Maybe that was the species name of the one that wanted to kill him, but kept sending others to do his dirty work.

"Percy, where the hell did you go?" Snarled the man, grabbing another ball. Raka braced, but all that came outwards was a strange bright yellow mouse that was even more vibrantly colored than he was. There was black markings here and there, and a strange red cheek pouch on both sides of the mouse's face. The face itself reminded him of a big, fat, overgrown baby rattata that had an underdeveloped snout, and almost no whiskers, and a very strangely bent up tail. All in all, pathetically ugly. Poor fellow, this rattata was born so deformed.

"Sweet! Another mouse! Really faaat though. Are we adding him to the team?" Squeaked the newcomer, looking upward at the bristling man, and then immediately wincing. "Guess not."

I am not fat. Raka's ears pinned back, feeling quite insulted. But he kept his feelings down. "You are a mouse like me. We have a comrade-ship to one another, don't we? Join me against him."

"Pikachu, thunderbolt attack." The man commanded.

'Pikachu' sat, and looked thoughtful, to the trainer's growing impatience. "Well, he is kind of stinky. And boring. And crass. And rude. And stupid." Then he perked up and giggled. "But that's what makes him fun! You can insult him and he'll never understand."

"Never understand?" echoed Raka'ti in confusion, the whole story not yet quite clicking together. But the other mouse paid no attention, and began to charge his cheeks. Electricity flared about, to Raka's surprise, having never known rattata could do such a thing. Then, confusion turned to agony, as it struck his body. "RAAAATI-CATE!" he screamed.

Power flowed through his body, agonizing and horrible, twitching limbs against his will, sending him crashing to the dirt and facing the unmerciful sky, thrashing uncontrollably. If he can do it, so can I. He determined, forcing stillness and trying to channel, like one was taught to do if caught in a rage storm.

The flow of sparks altered, and seemed to course through, and then by him off into another direction quite uselessly, as try as he might he could simply not control all that energy effectively. But it seemed to startle Pikachu well enough, for he stopped to peer at the other male rodent.

That was a mistake.

Punching upward, Raka boxed outward with his back feet and smashed the other's face bloodily, breaking the nose as he returned to an upward position. Exhausted, yet quite used to the notion of having to die as a result of failure, it was force of will that kept him standing, moving, not affording the other the chance to move or react as he began to pummel and bite him. In the one on one physical realm, with his larger size and greater teeth and muscles, he was dominant over this diminutive electrical demon.

At least, until the other had enough of it. Glaring with a bruised black eye, Pikachu began to spark once more, sending him surging backward, though more weakly than before. Circling one another, they locked eyes, before exchanging blows-- faintly he registered the man saying "quick attack", but all he really knew was that their moves were near identical.

Chomping down at the scruff of the other, he yanked the freaky little rat down to the ground, shocks channeling through his body all the while, and went straight for the throat of the smaller mouse.

Silence. Then a faint gurgle. The frantic beedy black eyes that pleaded with him seemed completely shocked that he had done such a manuvuere. So too did the human seem properly snapped out from his mood before, only leaving his mouth hanging.

A little hesitation. This was no predator, but his own. Did he really want... to kill him, to murder another of his own kind, a child? Over lunch?

Raka's jaws smoothly let go, with his paws still on top of the obnoxious furball. He stared the man directly in the eyes, his red and the other's blue. "Please. Just let me go."

"I knew it. When I heard there were no regulations, I knew there had to be a catch. Ferck it. Abnormally vicious, ha!" Once more, Raka was ignored, and the words of the deformed rattata came back to him. Now he understood. The other being was completely deaf. He disliked being called vicious, and couldn't even tell him so.

He felt nothingness suddenly beneath his feet, as Pikachu slid out from there and back into the ball, and the ponyta reappeared beside him. The man reached up, and sat upon her, cursing as touching his last ball led to no result, and threw it to the ground in anger.

"Ekking cursed land. My prized sneasel is dead." Riding upon the lady Prith, he trotted her forward. "If I ever see you again, I'll kill you, rat, and eat you for supper. Yah!" He smacked the ponyta on the rump, and they galloped off, out of sight.

All that... for lunch? He thought to himself, glancing at the abandoned soup.

Yippie! We should kill people more often. His stomach howled.

"Shut up!" Raka glared at his incessant belly, alone with his quirks and a soup bowl. And, apparently, a small, demonic little ball, the raticate realized. Staring down at it, he was quite uncertain what to do with it. Could he wield the magical powers of it as well?

It seemed like, in the battle, there had been a one ball per one creature rule. Still, that it had an unearthly ability to vanish and summon creatures, that was certainly a power his elders and peers would have considered forbidden. This was definitely an outsider thing, like how all the others had names. If he took it, like he took his name, if he trekked into this land, did that mean he was now an Other Worlder as well?

Tucking it into his paws, he thought, so be it.

*

First thing to do was to test his theory. And for that, he would go back to the desert, to track down one of the most dangerous beasts he knew, but also one of the most greatest allies he could think of. The great and terrible rock wyrm, Typhisarius.

It had been the wyrm that most often massacred entire clans and families of rattata and raticate to soothe the giant's apetite, and the first thing that had flit across his mind when he saw the devastation. But Typhisarius always devoured prey whole, in a single gulp. It was said the beast had originally come from across the mountains, and was a deep source of wisdom, to any who could sate the creature's fickle temper and amuse it long enough to live.

It was irritating to take a few days trekking to find the ancient cave where the monsterous desert worm dwelt, but, Raka felt it was worth it to, if nothing else, find more out about the masters. And soup. He wanted to know where to find more soup. It had tasted delicious, with more flavours than any meal he'd had before, and with strange foreign spices.

The sun beat down outside like a thousand fire spitting snakes as he crept into the cool, refreshing shades of the caverns. Giving a shake of relief, he took a sip of puddle water, crystal clear and infinitely precious in this land. Others would visit here often enough despite the risk simply to get hydrated. But he didn't dare linger too long. Still hiding the flaking red ball in his fuzzy golden fur with one paw, he hopped with three limbs over to the dark entrance to a tunnel that led deep down into the earth. How far, he did not know, how down it steeped, only Typhisarius knew.

Best to introduce himself. Whiskers twiching with apprehension, he opened his mouth a tiny bit and softly called. "Hello?" Raka hadn't meant for it to come out as a question. "It is, ah, I, the tiny, um, insignificant...." His voice became smaller and meeker as a tremendous, huge rumbling sounded down the tunnel.

"Who dares disturb my slumbbeerrr?" Bellowed and echoed a deep voice from all around, coming from the tunnel and then seemingly everywhere, disturbing a sleeping zubat from up high and sending it flying. Gray shined from the dark, and Raka'ti could barely make out two eyes bigger than himself, each at least twice as massive. He gulped.

"It is I, Ra-ka-Ti, the seeker of the great Typhisarius. To beg of a-ad-advice." The tiny mouse squeaked, as the huge eyes seemed to narrow calculatingly and grow closer, until he could feel the hot heavy breath of the unseen mouth of the beast.

"Yoouu do not amuuse meee. Why shooouuld I helllppp yoouuu?"

"Oh, great and powerful, I found this from another land, from a 'master' who came into our lands." Voice steadying a bit, he lifted the device above his head, for the two great eyes to see. Immediately, the hot and heavy breath stopped, like the sudden absence of a great draft in the room, before resuming at a slower and more thoughtful pace.

"I have not seen that in a looong time. Moosstt troubling. Very well liittle meeese. Ask away."

"Great Typhisarius, I fought against others trapped inside these metal balls. What are they, and why did the outsiders seek to kidnap my cousin? Where might I find him now?"

Without warning, a dark gray mass shot outward from the tunnel, knocking him over to the side as a huge steel snake seemingly made from numerous boulders slide out, the head and sinister mouth itself being easily five times bigger than Raka'ti. Coils swirled all around him, and the sunlight barely got through over the tops to make anything visible. The rodent almost dropped his ball as he fumbled to try to wield it in self defense, but simply aiming it and holding toward the steelix did no good.

"HA HA HA HA." The stone floor shook with bellowing laughs, and Raka'ti was knocked over by the force. "That pokeball is quite harmless to me, for I am quite strong. But your cousin was likely taken by some humans, the maker of those balls, to become their slave or lab rat. If they have dared come here, it troubles usss all. I, Typhis, did not as you know come from this land, but from those beyond it. I was a mere onix, then. It is there you will find man's home, and because this is so amusing, I shall let you live." The steelix gave a great pause, and seemed to have stopped most of his dramatic hissing for the sake of monologuing at him. "But you must agree to go on this quest of yours, despite the danger, and return when you do. I wish to know how much stronger the world of man has gotten, and if they pose any threat to me."

"Thank you, oh thank you wise one." Raka'ti bowed his head, then looked up at the titan again. "But how will I get across, and know what to do?"

"Easssy. There is a path through the mountains, between the two twins of stars in the sky, that form the shape of a triangle with a third, low near the horizon. Go to the city of the waters, for it is nearest, infiltrate and learn man'sss waysss. As a final word of advice, pokeballs can be resisted even after one is captured, but it is better to avoid being man's pet in the firrsst place."

Feeling a little bolder and more curious, he raised his puzzled eyes to meet the milky slitted white of the wyrm's. "You speak from personal experience?"

Spitting, and looking quite outraged, the titan bashed his tail against the cave walls in anger, sending everything wobbling. "Yesss, you little cretin, but it is none of your businesss. Go, before I change my mind and eat youuu!" Typhisarius roared, and sent the little rat scattering out.

Large oversized paws hitting the searingly hot sands, he had never felt so relieved to be outside. He now had a plan, but also the problem of how he was going to escape the midday sun. Glancing at the pokeball, he had a plan.

One ball per living being, huh? He just hoped he wouldn't be stuck forever.