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Wild One	By : microconj Category: Pokemon > Het - Male/Female Views: 6118 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, nor its characters and I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Smitten and bitten
- 1
I don't own pokemon, and this isn't based on any real life persons. Any resemblance to any living, dead, or otherwise person is fictional and entirely made up by you, the reader. I don't make any profit from this story.

Warning: This is an adult story, so no cutting in line. Wait your turns! 18 and up... yada, yada...

Chapter warnings: This chapter doesn't have any smut. Sorry, I know, but the next one is when he goes 'Rawr' on Sarah, and totally ravishes her till she wants nothing more than some hot Houndoom dick. You'll just have to wait for it though, like her, and read the story of Blake getting bitten. There is stupid jokes, teenage angst, and that ever popular Gore and Blood!

This was a random idea I had and Blake doesn't turn into a traditional werewolf. No shifting only at the full moon, no silver bullets, and no one will make a crappy blockbuster of this just in time for Halloween. He just turns into a spicy Houndoom at night, and after the first time with Sarah, that's pretty much what they'll do every night.

Second warning: This is strictly 18 and up, even more so than my usual, because it contains violence and death (but no necro). You must be that old to read this story.

Wild one

Chapter 1: Smitten and bitten

            Blake was walking back from school, using the side roads that saw little traffic and wound through the neighborhood. Even though places with duplicate houses built all at once on one block dotted his area and were common because of the general need for homes, this one was an older neighborhood. Each house was unique, with some painted a more neutral color, like a gloomy blue that matched the cloudy days and overcast evenings, and some were more aesthetically pleasing, and almost all of the more mundane ones had special additions, like gardens and patios seen in popular magazines and remodeling shows. The people would have a block party in the summer and some of the husbands would light up the barbeque for a holiday weekend and everybody would come over to grab a Tauros burger and watch the colorful fire works on TV. Everyone seemed to know something about the others, like which kids were going to be trainers, or if the men liked their supercharged toys, or if the women liked their wine.

            The house he was passing had a cool, spiral staircase made out of dark wood with hand rails stripped of their bark, leaving them a smooth tan color. Blake thought it was a hard thing to make, since most curved things in construction were usually done with straight angles made to look like curves, but this one was made in pieces, probably using a sander or grinder to buff the edges out, and glued and nailed together later. It must've cost the owners quite a bit for the special order.

            The house two down and across the street had a large stone fountain in the front lawn, and water sprayed from the edges into the center, where a lighter shaded two foot tall stone Milotic posed, resting on a rock in the center. All over the figurine's length glittered jewels of different colors, each one catching the daylight and filtering it through the mist. Blake and his parents had called it the 'Milotic house', until they met and became friends with the Roberts's, having get-togethers all the time and Blake had become friends with their son.

            The house at the end of the road, where he'd have to walk left to go down another side street to get to his home, was his favorite. He'd always liked to see it when his parents and he were coming home after a night out, or maybe after one of his early soccer games. It always looked so peaceful and pleasant, and Blake usually thought he'd like to live there instead of at his house, where kids were crying, or whining, or screaming, or yelling. His mom ran an in-home daycare until dinner time, and he always made sure he was out of the house until then. It was one of the reasons why he liked walking the mile and a half from school every day.

            The house was only two stories, not unlike some others on the block, but it was how well the owners tended it that caught his attention, and he fell in love with it instantly. Its roof was Espresso brown, and when fog passed low it looked like foam topping the drink, and when the brick chimney had smoke rising during the winters, it looked like a cup of steaming coffee.

            The walls were painted a muted green, like someone threw dirty water into the mix, and the trim was a darker green, accenting the lighter shade. There were green waves, a shade in between the other two, artfully blended in along the walls, and when he stepped back far enough, it looked like a blurry field of clovers. When he was littler and feeling whimsical, he sometimes imagined the chimney was rainbow colored and a leprechaun lived there. Blake came to know this house as the 'Irish Crème house'.

            The front lawn was spacious, because the house was on a corner and had to look good on both sides, and the grass was as vibrant as an evergreen in spring. A long bed of colorful flowers bloomed on the street edge, and whenever he walked by it, Blake always thought it looked like a transparent portal he could walk into. He didn't like to express how poetic his thoughts were, for fear of being called, 'gay', or something similar, but something about this house just felt different and intriguing. He was so sure, with the flat asphalt on one side of him and a string of exotic colors winding beside him on the other side, that if he just hopped up the quarter foot to the yard he'd be in another world.

            There was a large Apricorn tree in the center of the front yard, providing shade during the sunny seasons and during the winters it always looked like it was protecting the house, threatening to use its many leafless limbs to fend off intruders. He was sure the young boy on the tire swing was scared sometimes when he went to bed after a particularly scary movie and found bone thin fingers creeping along his bedroom walls.

            "Hey, Blake! Whatcha doin'?" The boy said as he jumped off the swing and ran to the teenager. Donny was a nice kid, maybe a little self absorbed, and he always wanted to act older than his age. The nine year old was almost always there when Blake walked home, as elementary school released earlier, and every time he was either sitting on the tire swing, or on his bicycle in the middle of the street, or reading in the driveway, which he'd gotten into lately. It was almost like watching his little brother grow up.

            "I'm looking for a needle." The eighteen year old absently replied. He didn't have any younger siblings, but he knew how to prank one, thanks to his mom's daycare service, and luckily for him, Donny was entirely too gullible. It was also his sarcastic nature that made him blurt things out instead of just giving straight answers.

            "You need help?" Donny's his exuberant face only made Blake want to bust out laughing, even as he held a straight face.

            "No, I've got it." His laugh was just about to bubble up, but he tried to hold on.

            "Well, I think my mom has some sewing needles. Maybe she'll let you have one?" He was still trying to be helpful. They were now in the driveway, so they didn't get hit by a car, and Blake almost broke, but finished his joke.

            "Yeah, thanks, but I know where mine is."

            "Where?"

            "In a haystack." He said smiling. It wasn't his fault he couldn't keep his idiotic thoughts to himself, as they sometimes just flowed out and caught him unsuspecting. He didn't want to tell the kid his quips weren't to be taken seriously, because he thought he'd be mad and think Blake was making fun of him.

            He'd once told Donny that if he went to the bathroom all alone at night and whispered 'Bloody Marill', then a ghost would appear in the mirror and demand to be set free. He didn't do it on purpose, but Donny had said something about how the kids at school were teasing him over being immature, so Blake tossed a joke out about setting her on the unsuspecting kids, thinking he knew the myth of the Marill woman and her spiritual plight, but Donny took it to heart and tried it.

            Donny, then seven years old, almost had a heart attack when Sarah, his older sister, had tried to open the locked bathroom door. Donny claimed he locked it in case Bloody Marill hid with the Darkrai under his bed and came to take his soul while he was 'unawares'. Blake had tried not to laugh, and even tried to explain that, in Donny's plan, if Marill had never come into the bathroom, then she'd still be under the bed if he went in there, but Donny had thrown his shoe at him in embarrassment.

            "Hi Blake, I didn't know you used. It's sad to see the smart ones corrupted so young." A feminine voice teased. Okay, Blake didn't really love this house that much because of how it looked, but because of Donny's older sister.

            In the front of the house lay a beautiful garden, full of different types of berries a mother would use in her recipes, instead of the ones trainers used for their pokemon. He could see several of the small bushes lined up along the walkway into the house, and more were in pots on the front steps, and each one had a long metal stick to help the vines and stems fight gravity.

            Tending the garden with a small shovel and a Wailmer pale was a beautiful eighteen year old girl. The accusing scowl on her face didn't subtract from that beauty though, as it only added another thing to love about her. Sarah was a work of living art, and Blake had trouble admitting that he was a little too invested in entertaining daydreams of her. Being friendly, beautiful, and popular in certain crowds made her a common target for every guy in school, and they in turn became a target for her to shoot down. It was a common practice in their grade for guys nervous about dating to ask her out and lose their 'dating' Cheri berry by getting turned down. The belief was if they could take that 'No' and walk around with their heads high, then they'd be better at asking a girl out later.

            Blake had never taken that plunge. He figured it was for the best, because he could play out scenes in his head of how it would've worked out better than in reality, and he'd have those imagined memories, but if he asked her and she said no, he'd have to stop dreaming about her, as he'd only be able to hear the word 'No' come from her luscious lips every time he closed his eyes. And he was sure she'd say no. She was built for a guy, and she knew it, thanks to all the attention. He knew she'd eat him alive, but in his fantasies she was always an innocent little thing.

            She had a perky pair of breasts, a bit more than a handful each, and round, firm ass that begged to be held. Her waist slimmed and her hips widened, and her legs went on and on. She always wore tight jeans and form fitting pants during fall and winter, and then in spring and summer she'd wear thin skirts and tight shorts that left little to his imagination. Her skin was flawless, like so many teen girls, and tanned, and her hair was a straight blonde, with darker shades that made it look she was a brunette that spent too much time in the sun, and she stood at 5'7'', a good height for Blake's 5'10''.

            He'd always imagine after class let out, they'd meet at the buses in front of the school and, as girlfriend and boyfriend, he'd wrap his arms around her waist and bring her in close, until their lips were almost touching, and he'd just stare into her ocean blue eyes and take her problems away, while the rest of the world looked on and envied. Those were just dreams and fantasies though, and he'd never worked up the courage to ask her out, and he didn't think he ever would.

            "Hi, Sarah, you come here for the company too?" He was trying to make an awkward joke so he could leave, but Donny had another idea.

            "She lives here, Blake."

            "She does?" He noted the look of exasperation on the girl's face since she knew he knew where she lived.

            "Yeah, she's just with her boyfriend usually." What Donny said threw Blake for a moment and his smile faded more than a bit.

            The fourth reason she's the target for guys to hit on is simple: she's single. No one at school had taken her hand for so much as a handshake, let alone a date. If the nine year old was right, then Sarah had a secret boyfriend no one knew about. His quick mind started skipping through reasons for the secrecy. She could be dating an older man? She could be dating an older teacher? Scenarios along that line didn't help, except for the one with the teenage beauty and his just as attractive female history teacher, since it would explain, at least, the reason why she kept turning down boys.

            He didn't know what to think, but at least he knew Sarah wasn't too keen on it being spread around, and he didn't want to do anything to hurt her, even when he had no chance with her. "Don't worry; I won't say anything at school." He said before turning away. He tried to keep his voice steady, and believed he did it justice, but he still didn't want to stand there and talk about the man, or woman, who had taken his literal dream girl away.

            "Wait, what'd I say?" Donny asked, but Blake was already too far away to hear, and he didn't care right then about fixing the kid's ignorance.

            He walked a couple more moments, far enough that he was back on the street and their driveway was out of view thanks to the neighbor's hedge and a large pickup truck. He heard footsteps behind him and didn't turn around as he said, "Donny, not now..." He was still walking a few seconds when he realized he still heard someone behind him. "Donny, what do you...?" He turned around and stopped. Sarah was walking behind him, or standing behind him, as she had paused when he did.

            "I'm sorry for speaking up back there, but he's my brother." One of her hands was behind her back, clasping the other arm's elbow, and he noticed her feet were fidgeting. He glanced a little bit longer at the pink painted toenails poking out of her open toed sandals before he looked up. She looked uncomfortable, her smile seeming a little forced or waning, but also determined about something.

            "It-" He started, but the words choked his throat when he comprehended she wasn't talking about Donny's big reveal. "It's cool. I sometimes need to be told on my stupid jokes, and I don't want Donny telling strangers he needs a needle." He turned away, but she grabbed his forearm.

            "It's not a boyfriend." She said haltingly, a look on her face like she was deciding why she was telling him this, before continuing in a hushed tone. "It's a part-time job." She said it as if it was a dirty secret. Blake thought she was a stripper or something, but that didn't fit with his innocent fantasy and his mind squashed the idea instantly. He understood her reticence though. When Jasper Morgan, the school's quarterback, had gotten a part-time job at the food court in the mall, everyone had to say something deprecating about him, and more often than not, it was to his face while he was wearing the stupid hat with the corndog on it.

            "Oh, food court?" A lot more enthusiasm was in his voice now that he knew she was single and, in his mind, untouched, but he tried to tone it down so she wouldn't notice.

            "No! God, no! But it is a little embarrassing. I'm a waitress at the Noctowl." She was trying to keep her face looking up, but she couldn't work up the courage to say it confidently. "By the airport." She added, mumbling, and he almost didn't hear her.

            The Noctowl was a local diner that offered family dining until 9 P.M. and then turned into an adult bar with special events sometimes, like karaoke or rides on a mechanical Bouffalant. The one in town was nice, with a lax environment designed for people who watched sports. There was always a game on one of the five big screen TVs on the walls, and in one back area, where the walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and sport's memorabilia, there were two big pool tables and a couple arcade racing games. The waitress's were always busy and laughing with each other, so Blake knew it was a friendly place. They also had huge Tauros burgers, but it wasn't because of the meat, as they piled different berries and sauces on them that made the whole thing so much better. Blake's mom, who had always had a thing with watching her weight, had to take half of her burger home, and it was enough for dinner for her the next day. When his family had gone there on the recommendation his dad had gotten at work, they had fun, and his parents had even let him have some alcohol. Since then, they'd gone at least once a month.

            The Noctowl at the airport was different though. When Blake and his parents had gone to pick up his grandma visiting from Hoenn, they'd gone expecting the same atmosphere. This one was a lot different. It being so close to the airport, you'd think a lot of business men missing their local sport's teams would be there, but this one seemed to be either under different management, or it was just overrun by the normal customers, which didn't seem too far of a stretch.

            When Blake and his parents had gone in, promising his grandma it was going to be fun, they were assaulted by the view of a long bar full of burly and tough men, all wearing some kind of leather outerwear. Each one either had a big beard, or a shaved head, or some kind of mean look on their face even when they were happy and drinking, and it was obvious the long line of motorbikes in the parking lot belonged to them. The men had no problem voicing their food and drink orders, as some of them who didn't get a seat at the bar sat by the pool tables and shouted across the room. They were also showing their gratitude for such food by belching long and loud, and Blake's grandma immediately told one to cover his mouth, to which his group replied with hearty laughs and slaps on their table. Despite this, his grandma wanted to eat something after her flight, so they sat down away from the bikers and found a waitress. On the way to the restrooms, Blake's mother was groped a few times by the men at the bar, and when she got back to the table, the waitress gave her a knowing look and a free sampler of their appetizers as an apology.

            With all the yelling and roughhousing the bikers were doing, one of them actually threatening another with a pool stick, Blake's family didn't stay more than ten minutes, just enough time to get the appetizers down and his grandma a lemonade. The place didn't hold any appeal to Blake, or anyone he knew for that matter, so he wondered why Sarah would want to work there when a beautiful girl could probably work at the food court and only deal with leers instead of gropes. Then he remembered she had a reputation and probably didn't want anyone to know she was working at all, even at some place hardened by bikers, and the airport was so far away no one at school would know.

            "Damn, I'm sorry. Why are you working there?" They stepped to the side of the street and into someone's driveway to avoid the car passing them.

            "My dad lost his job and I need to help pay the bills. My parents and I decided to tell my brother I've been dating a guy, just to make him worry less. You know how Donny is, always questioning and freaking out over little things." Blake did know, because too many times he'd said something offhand and Donny bugged him too much about it to be any help, like his fake needle problem.

            "I'm really sorry, Sarah. If there's anything I can do, like watch Donny or something, I'd love to help." He said it happily, but he knew he couldn't do much about their money situation.

            "Thanks, but we've got it steady now. As long as I'm working there, I get enough money to pay for the water and electricity, though I would like to get home sooner than 11 o'clock." She was twirling a strand of golden hair in her fingers as she stared at her sandals, her pink toes waving at her. She looked uncomfortable to be talking about things so grown up before she was out of high school, and he suddenly felt like he should do something, hug or kiss her, but nothing happened and the moment dropped when she straightened up and adopted a determined face.

            "So, you do want me to keep it a secret, right?" He asked, resting his hand on her shoulder, elated to be allowed to touch such a beautiful goddess.

            "Yeah, if you wouldn't mind. I know it would probably ruin my social life, but at this point, it's my family I'm worried about." She had a sad look on her face as she absently reached her hand up and held his on her shoulder. He barely heard any of what she just said, because her thumb was gently brushing over one of his knuckles.

            "Uh, yeah, Donny really gets under the skin, huh?" He joked, but he heard huskiness in his voice that he thought would've given him away instantly.

            "Shut up and be nice about my brother, even though he is a pain." He could tell by the smile in her eyes she was only half serious, and it made him smile back. "Bye, Blake. I'll see you in school tomorrow." She turned around and started walking away. He wanted so bad to stop staring at her round, full ass, but he wasn't that strong.

            "Hey, I meant it, what I said about needing anything. Just give me a call." She didn't say anything, but he saw her raise her hand and wave it backwards at him. He didn't know how she'd call if he didn't give her his number, but that wasn't the important part. He'd just almost held hands with the lover in his dreams, and he'd never have to imagine again what her hair smelled like; Rawst berry smoothie with a hint of Oran berry.

            As he got into the front door, his keys jingling in the knob woke up the tenacious spirit of the Delcatty in the house. Pastel was Mom's, but the prim pokemon acted like she commanded everyone in the house, and Blake and his dad didn't have the heart to tell her she didn't. They'd always have to wait to feed themselves if they walked into the kitchen and she was there. For whatever reason, she demanded to have a full bowl of poke bits, and wouldn't settle until there was a short mountain all to her, even though she only nibbled a few before sauntering off.

            He heard her in the living room first, the jeweled collar around her neck chiming, and when she came around the corner of the short hallway, she asked him about his day by meowing once and purring against his leg. "Hey, Pastel. How've you been today? Catch any good shows?" He walked passed her into the living room and threw his bag on the couch before leaving to the kitchen.

            He immediately tried to avoid the inevitable by getting himself food first, but she wouldn't quit pushing her head against the back of his leg, and when he tried to walk around her she stepped in the way and tried to trip him. He relented, on the basis that she'd been known to bite him when her food bowl wasn't filled, and grabbed the food bag from the cupboard and poured a small helping into the silver bowl. She didn't let him put it up though, until he poured twice as much and a few pieces spilled over.

            He put the bag back up and turned to the refrigerator, ignoring Pastel's almost nonexistent, subtle 'thank you'. He wasn't surprised to see the refrigerator had an assortment of berries in there, as his mom and dad had been trying to eat healthier. He respected eating for health, but he wanted a sweet from time to time, and his mother wouldn't budge. The only thing he could settle for was Swedish Goldeens from the school vending machine during lunch. He grabbed a plate of cut up Pinaps and took them to the living room, expecting the Delcatty to join him in there once she was done having two bites of her feast.

            He sat down and grabbed the remote to turn the TV on. Pastel came prancing in and jumped on his lap, like she was the queen of her castle and needed a throne. She looked up at him as his hand gestured for her to get up, and her face said, "This is a treat for you, and you know it." She turned back to licking her forepaw as he gave up and surfed channels. He skipped past a cooking show that was teaching how to poach an Exxecute, past a Lifetime movie about a Kangaskhan raising her babies on her own, and finally settled on the comedy channel. It was a movie about a Hitmonchan and Hitmonlee's wild night as they tried to get to White Forest. Even though he'd seen it before, it was a much needed break from the stress that was school.

            He grinned as Neil Patrick Heracross took Chan and Lee's car while they were in the store. "Delcatty!" Pastel leapt out of his lap, pricking his leg with her claws, and ran to the kitchen. He turned back as the characters were stealing their apartment neighbor's truck, but then he heard the Delcatty's anxious yowl, like she was desperate for someone to let go of her tail. He stood up, letting the TV play, and went to see what she was up to.

            Pastel was an indoor cat, but that didn't mean she didn't know her way around. About six months ago, Blake and his dad were trying to bring in a heavy couch and had a difficult time aiming it into the front door. After arguing for more time than it took to decide what to do, they carried the seemingly increasing weight to the backyard and took it to the deck. Blake's mom opened the sliding glass doors and while they struggled with aiming the piece of furniture correctly, Pastel had run out, knowing freedom was only two clumsy humans and a couch away.

            She didn't come back for a week, and his mom had nearly cried the whole time. His dad had heard the tiny scratches on the glass doors and opened it to see what it was, but Pastel had just went to her food bowl and emptied it in one sitting, actually giving a little burp afterward. They then watched her almost limped to her usual napping place at the living room bay window, jumping up to the little built-in seat, and got comfortable in a particular beam of sunlight. They all were happy she was back, but after 16 cycles of walking, she'd laid a Skitty egg. They didn't want two needy and demanding pokemon, and instead gave it to his aunt to have one of her own. Ever since then, when Pastel acts like a starving whore, the family knows it's because of the male Persian who knocked her up.

            And there was Max, the Persian, at the window, waiting for the girl like he had tamed her. Blake had a horrible dream one night after he'd had spicy food after midnight, and it turned him off of the food for months. He dreamt that Pastel was an anthropomorphic Delcatty whore and Max was her equally anthropomorphic Persian pimp, and the douche needed his weekly money, smacking her around and degrading her for the cash. After that night, Blake could never look at the Persian the same way again, not that he looked at him with a special fondness before, but he felt like the Persian was saying exactly what his dream had implied.

            The classy cat pokemon waited patiently for his woman, and Blake couldn't fight a grudging sigh as he opened the sliding door. He bent down to the Delcatty first, holding his hand before her so she couldn't leave. "You need to be back sooner than last time. Mom got worried sick. Got it?" She stubbornly nodded her head, as if she was placating him, which he thought she was. He let her go though, and closed the door before going back to the living room to find out how those two stoners got to White Forest. He decided he'd do his homework later, and lounged back into the comfortable couch.

            It was several days later when Blake's mom was asking where Pastel was. He thought about it as he ate his meatloaf, Cornn berries, and mashed Topo berries. 'She's probably in a seedy alley lining up with the Persian's other whores to receive her cut of the profits.' Blake was exceptionally upset, not about the Persian, but because he'd been made the literal butt of a joke. He wasn't a particularly popular kid, mainly because he didn't do anything to promote his popularity, but some people in school made days worse for him.

            That day, Thursday, he'd been sitting in history class, taught by the same beautiful teacher he'd imagined was dating Sarah a few days ago, trying to read the dates on the blackboard. Every time he leaned forward, he heard quiet giggling, like when a boy sees a penis drawn in his textbook and can't help but share it to the world, and it really bothered him. He kept looking around, but whoever had done it was either out of sight or hiding their smirk. When he had to lean forward one more time, he heard more giggling and sat back abruptly to look around for the idiot who found out his mouth makes noise, and he suddenly sat Thunderbolt straight as he felt a sharp pain in his butt cheek.

            He stood up, thinking a Beedrill stung him, and he pulled a thumbtack out of his ass cheek. "Blake, is something wrong?" Ms. Miller asked in a voice as soft as sunlight. It was hard to not think of some boys thinking about the woman in less academic ways. She was hot, and not just 'teacher' hot, but 'Hot!' hot, and Blake often felt like she was seducing him in order to answer a question he would happily answer on his own. Maybe it was the hypnotic sway of her wide, womanly hip? Or maybe the two pendulous, perfectly formed breasts that usually peeked out the top of her V-neck shirts and sweaters?

            He glanced back at the kid trying to stop his snickering with a straight face, but it turned out he couldn't giggle and keep a really serious face at the same time. "This idiot is putting thumbtacks on my seat and giggling like a bitch when I sit down." He said bitterly, but immediately reddened in embarrassment when Ms. Miller turned her glare to him. "Sorry about the language."

            "Derek, is this true?" She turned to the idiot and he reddened as well, but shook his head.

            "Yeah right, I bet you're just too afraid to say anything because your girlfriend over there will say it feels the same when you two fuck." Everybody laughed at Blake's remark, and he could see Ms. Miller trying to suppress a smile, but her angry glare told him he'd crossed the line. Blake couldn't keep his cool, because he knew when people who could did, like Derek, then he usually got in trouble. Again, he turned to Ms. Miller and apologized, but the damage was done.

            "Blake, you need to go to the principal's office, now. Grab your things and just... leave!" She didn't usually order, even when one kid had punched another one, so this shocked him and he went to his stuff and packed it into his backpack. He was so surprised he started walking out without his backpack. After grabbing it and leaving, he heard Ms. Miller chewing out Derek herself, and he smiled at the thought that she accepted his claim without question. He'd spent the rest of that period in the principal's office, and then another hour after school in detention. The only good thing about staying so late was getting to skip hearing all the whining kids wanting to stay at daycare with his mom when their own parents came to pick them up.

            He stewed another minute at the dinner table, rolling his Cornn berries around with his fork, prompting his mother to ask him again if he'd seen Pastel. He said he hadn't, but then remembered the Persian. "I, uh... I kind of let her out when Max came calling the other night." He tried to keep his eyes on his food so his mom's burning gaze wouldn't set him on fire as she glared at him.

            "What!? How could you do that? You know we haven't taken her to the veterinarian yet. Oh, when she comes back and is bursting with eggs, you're finding places for them." She declared, although he was sure pokemon didn't have 'bursts' of eggs. In fact, every pokemon could only carry one egg at a time, since they had to grow in the pokemon before being laid to grow outside the body so they could hatch properly. He was sure his mom was overreacting, but he decided he'd missed the prim pokemon long enough go look for her, instead of starting an argument that would eventually lead to her telling him to go look for her.

            "Okay, I'll go look for her in the woods. Maybe she doesn't go far when she's with him?" He was planning to go later, but his mom was staring at him like she'd just been told he could make money fly out of his ears and was waiting for that to be true. "Um, after dinner and homework?"

            "Fine, but don't think I'm going to help clean your mess." She said stubbornly, but then blanched when she realized what she was talking about and looked behind her at the sliding glass door to see if Pastel was there. "I mean, I just don't have the time to look for my precious Pastel." The Delcatty wasn't sitting there, so his mom was just trying to make herself feel better. She was still glaring at Blake the whole time though, and he imagined his glass of water was now frosted. How his mother's gaze could feel burning and icy at the same was unknown, but he knew it was possible.

            After dinner had finished, they all separated, his dad into the living room to watch the game and his mom in the kitchen, presoaking the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. Blake never understood if they make dishwashers that can handle all the food and grime in one run, then why did people still insist on presoaking something that only had a little gravy or sauce. Why didn't they make the washer stronger or something?

            He went to his room and worked on homework, finishing the essay on an early century writer they hadn't covered in class. They'd had a sub that day who normally doesn't teach high school, and one of the meaner kids in class hid the assignment binder the teacher left for him, so he just handed out this, thinking they'd heard about the guy. Blake didn't know the guy, so he just made up some things and passed it off like it was true. He figured that if anyone could summon mythical dragon types for a world consuming battle, then the early century writer could. He also did most of the history studying he needed to do. They had a test on Tuesday and he always needed a little extra to make it stick. Technically, he didn't even need to do it until the weekend, because they were having a big assembly tomorrow, and it was going to be during his gym and history classes, but he liked knowing he didn't have school over the weekend.

            They were on something new in math to get them ready for their next year, and he'd yet to understand it like he usually did with the other math. He chalked it up to it being more advanced than what they were learning before, and settled into the long session of floating numbers and triangles taunting him. He pulled out his textbook and the papers his teacher had given them and went to it with remarkable failure. He'd manage to do one right, and then move on to the next one, only to realize halfway through that he'd done the first one wrong. By the time he was done having to erase, and sometimes use tape because he rubbed so hard the paper ripped, his homework looked like it was chewed by a Poochyena.

            It was long past sundown, and Blake had forgotten all about looking for the Delcatty, but his mom unfortunately came knocking. He was sitting at his desk with his face in his math book, still skimming the lines to see anything else that would help him not appear stupid in class next time, and she rapped her knuckles on his open door. He looked up and was shocked to realize it was later than just sundown, only about fifteen minutes until his usual bedtime, and she already had her pajamas on and a sleeping mask above her eyes.

            "Hey buddy, I thought you were joking at first, back at dinner, but you've been working at that all night." She was frowning. Blake thought it was either because she'd wanted to chew him out, but his hated homework wouldn't let her, or because she was feeling sorry for him and how much homework he had.

            "Yeah, I finished history and English already, but math is kicking my butt." He closed the book after seeing how late it was and shoved it to the corner of his desk, as if that were the only safe place to keep textbooks. He yawned and saw she did the same as soon as he started to. They really are contagious! He got up and went to his bed to put his backpack on the floor as she started talking again.

            "Um, about looking for Pastel, I don't want you to forget her, and it is Friday tomorrow. Didn't you say you guys were having a big assembly and you'd miss, like, half the day?" Blake could see where she was headed, but didn't want to provide an easy out for himself.

            As he popped his sheet and blanket into the air and watched them float down, making his bed comfy and inviting, he replied. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean we aren't doing anything important in the first two classes. You don't want me to miss those, do you?" He felt he'd overestimated when he heard the door creak, which usually told him it was closing on its own after someone walked away.

            It's not that he didn't want to miss class, but the last time his mom had let him skip, he'd convinced her he needed to finish a paper for a class the next day, so she let him stay and he ended up relaxing the whole day and she found out, grounding him for two weeks. He wanted to appear like he was actually worried about missing the two classes in case she ever let him stay home again, though one was a drawing class and the teacher would be pretty lax because of the assembly, and the other was English with the sub again, and Blake didn't want to get homework that wouldn't even be graded when the real teacher came back.

            It wasn't until his mom's hands were on his arms that he realized he still had a chance to skip. "Blake, I'll call you in sick and you can pick the movie for us to watch tomorrow night. I just want my Pastel back." She had turned him around during the conversation and she pecked him on the forehead, as if willing her plan to happen.

            He finally had permission to skip school again. His dad worked the whole day, but while his mom did too, it was at home, watching children, and after that they had family movie night and he'd be able to pick a hilarious comedy. As his mind played out the very real possibility that he'd be sitting on his bed, headphones on to drown out the sounds of kids roughhousing, and playing his latest videogame to earn trophies, his mother gripped his shoulder hard and pointed her index finger in his face. "But you need to go out now and find Pastel. I'm worried about her."

            "Okay, you go sleep or something, and I'll get my boots on." He pushed her out the door and went to his closet. He had a pair of rugged, worn boots that worked for him in winter. He slipped them on and tied them, and when he stood up he had to fight for balance again. He was always surprised when he walked in them, because they were heavier than his feet and felt like his legs had gone numb.

            "Honey, don't forget to take the flashlight" His mom said, handing it to him. It was spring and a warm night, so he didn't need a coat, and he went outside, leaving the sliding glass door unlocked. While the moon was near full, It was almost 10 o'clock and incredibly dark out. He switched on the flashlight and went across the deck, almost tripping off the side, but kept his balance as he took the step. He continued, holding the light about ten feet in front of him, and went to the fence at the end of their property.

            The woods separated the business side of town from the more residential, making it impossible to just walk to the local store since it was a ten mile walk roundtrip. The city had been talking about removing the forest to pave it and build a shopping center, but nobody wanted a large shopping area when they could have the green trees and fresh water streams from the mountains.

            In winter, the trees were thin and frail, and you could see between the naked limbs to the cloudy sky. It was a treacherous place with slippery, ice covered patches on frozen ground, and the leaves littering the forest floor hid holes threatening to break one's foot if stepped in. When the snow was just right though, there were always snowball fights with the other kids in the neighborhood, and plenty of quiet spots to make a snowman. When summer came around, people had more fun, camping out when they couldn't afford to take a few days off work to drive where they could camp, and sometimes Blake could see a bonfire party being had out there in the middle of the night. When he was too young to try pokemon training for real, he used to run through the forest with his friends and play 'Trainer', pretending they were trainers with their family pets. Pastel never listened to him though, and often he ended up carrying her so she didn't touch even one, royal paw to the dirty ground.

            It was the best place for a family, and kids, and even for teenagers. Blake knew sometimes, from gossip at school, that the older teens held parties out there away from adults, and there were rumors that at one of these parties Dawn Berlitz had gotten pregnant and had to go to a special school for pregnant teens afterward. Blake knew that there had to be sex, drugs, alcohol, and nameless other things at these parties that would've more than likely ruined his life, so he never went, but he did like the forest all the same.

            He went in, usually after he did homework, and just hiked around, enjoying the fresh air and sunlight. It was how he stayed in shape, especially his legs, and he liked feeling like he was doing something, even when it was pointless walking. It freed his mind and let his passions run away with him. When he wasn't in school, he practiced writing and pretended his stuff was good enough to sell, but after particularly freeing walks, he'd come home and write up something that made him feel like that goal wasn't so far off.

            He came to their fence and opened the wooden door, slipping the clasp closed before going into the woods. He didn't have a problem with the dark, so he just played the beam of light over the ground to see anything he'd trip on, or if anything would tell him where the Delcatty was. He hoped he'd find something soon, because he didn't want to wake up later than he usually did for school and find out he missed any time for playing videogames. Since they didn't hear feline pokemon yowling in heat all the time, he knew Pastel would have to be farther in, if she was in the woods at all, and walked faster into the dark.

            After a few moments, the trees started getting closer together and it was harder to walk in a straight line with the many clinging branches he had to walk around, or most of the time through, snapping off littler ones and pushing bigger ones out of his way. He remembered an internet game that had come out a few years ago, about a myth that people claimed was real, Slendermon. The game was based on walking through a forest in pitch black, with only a flashlight for company, and trying to find pages left by someone. The blank faced pokemon stalking the player was what the pages were warning about. Blake had tried to play it a few times, never getting more than five pages before the telepathic pokemon's brain waves played and he lost, but he was more into talking with people back then about how the mythological pokemon got around and hid from sight, than with actually playing the game. He was slightly uncomfortable remembering the only sound in the game was the constant crunching of twigs and grass underfoot, just like now, and he tried to think of less heart attack inducing things.

            He did succeed a little. He thought about what he'd do to anybody at the Noctowl if they tried to grab at Sarah if he were there and what she'd do to reward him. He knew it was her job, that she had to accept getting groped, but pretending he was her jealous boyfriend who got to be with her at the end of the night was just too addicting. It was why he originally had daydreams about her when he first met her four years ago.

            He'd been walking back home from a friend's house, taking the same route he does now for school. He walked passed her house, which he had then known as the 'Barn', because whoever painted it decided the color of red he called, 'rooster red', should go on a house. It had looked tacky and horrible every time he saw it, but that day had been different, and not because someone was actually painting it over with primary white. Sarah had been in the yard keeping Donny busy, kicking a soccer ball back and forth, and she had waved at him. He thought he waved back, but he couldn't remember if he waved back, or called out a greeting, or if he broke into interpretive dance and spelled his love out for her right then and there. He only remembered the evening sunlight streaming in her hair. It was at that time of day when the sun is just going down and casting different colors through the clouds you don't think a ball of blinding yellow light should make, but as it brushed her cheeks and bathed her in radiance, he knew he was never going to stop thinking about her.

            Since then, he'd constantly fought the war in his head, with one side saying to ask her out and the other saying not to risk being rejected. He knew, in theory, that by not asking for the date he was guaranteeing rejection, but when it came down to asking her, either when he saw her with a group of friends at the mall or just in passing in the school halls, he always felt he was going to combust if he was rejected, and he'd end up walking passed her without a glance.

            Blake stopped as something on a tree made him more alert. It was a deep, bark flaying gouge, three clawed and lethal looking. It was carved in the thick trunk of a tree, and if he hadn't tripped, causing the light beam to rise for a second before dipping back down, he wouldn't have seen it.

            He inspected it, thinking it was like he first thought that someone had carved it with a pocket knife or something, but the edges would've been clean and probably a little amateurish. This was literally ripped into the bark, like the pokemon had a vendetta against it, and the edges of each were ragged, a rough feel to them, and ribbons of bark hung off the ends. The cut was also too deep to be from a person's knife. He remembered when he was nine and his dad and he were pretending to camp out here one weekend. He'd wanted to learn how to throw a knife like those ninjas did on TV, though those were shuriken, so his dad had taken out his hunting knife and tried it himself, aiming for a solid tree trunk, but the blade, sharpened enough to cut into a Stantler during hunting season, had bounced off the thick bark.

            Blake instantly became wary of something following him, tracking him, and he looked over his shoulder after every anxious step. After a moment of this, he realized with growing horror that he hadn't left any way for him to know how to get back home. It dawned as a simple thought that he could find a way around by taking his time. However, as the thought grew, he realized he couldn't just find another way home.

            He began making stories in his head about his gruesome death, caused by a deadly new pokemon. He imagined some boy would find his body during the coming weekend and officials would come to find his remains. He'd be slain during the beast's ruthless bloodlust, left as a gory mess all over the leaf covered forest floor. His left arm and half his left leg, still connected to a mangled and bloody torso, would be over there by that rotted log, and the bottom half of his left leg would be at the base of that tree, with his right leg lying ten feet away, like the beast ripped him in half and left the pieces where they dropped. His head would be gone, taken by the bloodthirsty pokemon, and the only way for people to know who the corpse used to be was the student ID in his pocket.

            He shivered as he reached one hand down to his knee, savoring the feeling of having a full limb. He laughed then, a quiet, scary chuckle that could've been made by a Sentret on the brink of insanity. He blinked and took a deep breath, tasting the moss and earth of the forest in the crisp night air. He didn't need to panic. Maybe that pokemon wasn't even in the forest anymore? Maybe it was, but was long gone now? He entertained these harmless thoughts like a kid building a sandcastle too close to the water doesn't know the waves are coming closer. He froze when he heard a snap, like a dry stick on the ground being stepped on, and a threatening growl, as if whatever made the noise was pissed and not up to talking it out.

            "Is someone there?" He turned around, thinking that's where the noise came from, but couldn't see anything in the deep dark. He thought he heard it circling him and exhaling, but he also thought he heard the soundtrack of a horror film and this was the part where the suspenseful music played louder till the hour of his demise, and then severely cut off, along with his head. "I'm armed and dangerous." He lied, bravery masking his fear. He didn't know how to fight, but he held his fists in front of him, one still holding the flashlight so he could see the enemy.

            When nothing happened for several long minutes, he puzzled, keeping his hands up to ward off invisible predators. He didn't think he'd made up the thick, wet sounding breaths and definitely not the snap of brittle wood. He started to think it was a person, and he was waiting for some mean teenagers to pop out any moment and scream, 'Gotcha!', holding flashlights under their chins and making ghost type noises. Just as he was about to call out again, two things twenty feet in front of him lit up. They looked like two tiny, floating circles, the orbs only inches apart and six feet off the ground, and he realized they were eyes, and the light was flames licking at the surrounding skin of whatever it was. Before he had time to question what kind of pokemon spits fire from its eyes, he turned and ran, hoping it wasn't in the mood to chase him. He didn't hear anything, but that didn't mean much, since it was only twenty feet from him when he noticed it.

            He felt the stones and twigs under his boots with each step, and he thought about picking some rocks up to throw at the thing, but didn't want to risk it attacking while he bent down. He ran harder, his own mind joining the pokemon into scaring him hopeless with unpleasant images of a Flamethrower attack burning him to blackened bones, or of the pokemon disemboweling him with sharp claws. He kept following the beam of his flashlight, even as it nodded in front of him like it was enthusiastically answering a question. He knew he was dead soon, but when the light spied a hollow in the base of a tree, he dove into it, instantly pressing himself back into it so he didn't provide such a big target. He clicked the light off and panted as quietly as he could, taking shuddering breaths and trying to slow his heart at the same time.

            He waited and waited, probably only taking minutes while it felt like hours. He felt a crawling sensation on his face and swiped at whatever it was, and his hand came back covered in webbing, with a small Spinarak clinging to the silk, and he threw it out to the forest. He heard a loud thundering at first, and almost laughed when he realized it was blood pumping in his ears, and he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. As the thumping slowly died away and he opened his eyes, he stared at the darkness right outside the tree, trying to hear any sound. He would've expected a nocturnal pokemon's cry, maybe a Hoothoot or a Murkrow, but their absence told him that something was still near, lurking and waiting.

            When he stepped out of the tree, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but once they did, he was able to make out things. He was surrounded by trees, and he thought they would at least slow it down long enough for him to run... somewhere. His mind was busy coming up with a plan and trying to figure out where he was, but the only helpful thing he knew was the brightest star was the North Star, and that it would lead him north. He knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west, and that his bedroom window was on the east, since he could watch the sunrise if he wanted, but didn't think that would help him as he didn't know the exact spot where his house was. He realized a moment later that he had a good idea of where he was.

            Five years ago, a few older kids, not quite teenagers and not quite kids, had gotten a bunch of wood and nails and made the floor of a tree house. They made it about a mile into the forest and every kid in the neighborhood knew about it, and most were allowed to play on it, except for some whose parents had ruled it too unsafe to play on. Over the years, other kids have added to it, making it a full tree house, with walls and a thin roof. It was a common place for kids to hang out after school and during summer. Blake had mixed feelings about it, since he'd fallen and sprained his ankle when it was still just a floor. He thought he could shelve his reservations for one night though, because it was close enough to run to and hide from whatever was chasing him.

            The path to the tree house everyone knew about was barely traceable during the day, in broad daylight, as it was a thin rut in the forest ground, but at night it would be impossible. He thought he saw the strip of heavily traveled ground to his left, but then again when he looked to his right. He knew the pokemon was probably watching him now and determining exactly how it was going to kill him, but he had to risk exposing himself. He stepped further out of the tree, barely breathing, and crept around it, his hands clutching the thick, scratchy bark as he felt for footing so he didn't step on a root or a twig. As he circled the trunk, he got his first glimpse at the thing hunting him.

            The night's moon was near full, but as Blake looked up to it, most of it was blocked by the tall, muscular figure atop a giant rock formation. Standing at what must've been 7 feet tall was a dark figure, black as death, and it was watching for him, searching for its next meal. It swung its head in lazy half circles and its ears swiveled, facing towards the smallest noises. Blake had to hold his breath so he wouldn't be heard. The pokemon's eyes were still that fiery red color, but he realized it was because of its species, and not actual fire.

            It was a Houndoom, a fire/dark type, but not like one he'd ever seen. It was standing on two legs, tail whipping behind it, the arrowhead tip slicing menacingly through the air. Its limbs were longer and thicker, and while its legs were still that of any other Houndoom, its arms resembled a human's, with three fingers and a thumb, although the black fur and gray claws proved they weren't. Around its ankles and wrists were what looked like shackles, but Blake knew they were really gray, furry bands. The last things he noticed were the giant, curved horns protruding from its skull, gleaming in the moonlight, gray with a silver shine to them.

            As Blake watched, the pokemon sniffed the air, and he was sure it was catching the scent of 'scared teenage boy'. Its eyes widened and its jaw snapped once, and Blake watched it build a fire attack. The open mouth revealed the glowing furnace of its throat, where the light was getting brighter as the flames grew. The Houndoom reared back on its legs, arms spreading for stability, and let the flames nearly overflow. When it looked like it was choking on them, it lunged forward and unleashed the Flamethrower. The startling bright red and orange flames flashed through the night air, sizzling, and heat waves rose from them. The fire column shot to the left of Blake, about 20 feet, as if the pokemon did smell him somewhere near, but couldn't get a strong scent. The eighteen year old was tempted to move then, to leap to the side, but he waited. If he had jumped, then the next Flamethrower would've killed him, instead of cooking the trees to his right, leaving them burnt trunks of blackened wood with smoke curling into the air. When the pokemon turned its head towards him, its open mouth glowing again with that fierce flame, he knew it was going to kill him.

            His feet started tapping as he waited for it to build up. He felt the adrenaline pumping into his blood, making him shake, and his limbs felt jittery, like he'd drunk three cups of coffee in five minutes. His eyes widened in surprise when the dark muzzle of the Houndoom snapped shut, cutting off its fire attack prematurely, and he thought he'd done something else to alert the pokemon to his position. He stared as a feral grin, full of sharp, white teeth, split the Houndoom's lips. It was taunting him, tempting him to run, but the fear weighed his legs down with lead and he waited.

            The pokemon's maw opened wide and the fire leapt out, spiraling in a hot stream right for him. All he saw for a second was the blinding blaze, but his legs worked finally, sending him running straight under, narrowly avoiding the flames before they scorched the tree and earth where he was a second ago. He knew it had been close because he could feel the simmering heat from the attack against his back, but he didn't look back. His feet paid no attention to the ground though, as he scrabbled forward, and he nearly tripped as he fled to the rock formation and in an alcove under the wall.

            The stream of fire continued for another moment, and from Blake's position it almost looked like it was fired from the heavens, but when it stopped, his heart stopped too. He didn't know what to do, and he knew the Houndoom was coming for him now, having seen where he was. As he tried to breathe again, he looked down and turned on the flashlight, searching for any weapon to use, like a rock or a stick, but all there was were piles of dirt from a family of Diglett, who were safe underground now. It was a good weapon since fire types are weak against ground types, and he reached down and cupped a handful. He would've begged a Diglett to help him out, but he didn't think they were up to the task.

            Looking one last second for a different way out of fighting a wild anthropomorphic Houndoom with a fist of dirt, he noticed a scratched in drawing on the wall and he could've cheered if he wasn't being hunted. It showed a large tree, with a triangular roof over it, to the left of a large tower, and to the right were three wavy lines. It meant that from the large rock landmark he was under, he'd have to run left to the tree house or right to the creek nearby. He smiled, knowing some kid's poor memory just saved his ass, and turned to face the forest.

            The trees him hadn't caught on fire, but some of the lower branches had burned so bad they fell off. Some grassy spots on the ground were smoking and glowing, like when a campfire is put out and the glowing cinders stay behind for a second before completely fizzling out. It didn't look like the forest was going to burn down. He started and almost uttered a cry of surprise when he saw the silhouette of the 7 foot tall Houndoom, it's shadow seemingly shifting, like it was a gaseous form, because of the smoky trails rising from the ground. It looked like it had jumped down and already gotten to the singed field of trees in front of him, but the illusion was caused by its position atop the rock formation.

            It was known as "The Everstone" by the kids, because it had been in the forest as long as they could remember. It was maybe only forty feet high and there was absolutely no way to hike up it. The whole thing was one giant moss covered boulder, with a low overhang around three sides of it and the fourth side was a smooth wall. As it was so tall, no one really knew what was on the flattish top. Blake would be the first to know a plastic disc, a football, and a pair of shoes were thrown up there at some point, but only because the burnt and melting remains came tumbling down in front of his alcove, the fumes of melting plastic and rubber wafting to his nose.

            The Houndoom followed, a flicker of flame puffing from its lips as it landed. It turned to Blake, its claws twitching, as if aching to squeeze his throat, but Blake was ready, and shone the flashlight in its face and threw the dirt over its snout and into its eyes. He yelled in triumph as it bayed and reached a hand up to wipe it away. It brought the other hand up in a furious swing sideways, trying to maim Blake, but he ducked and slipped to the side. He wasn't lucky with the next swing though, and ended up getting knocked aside twenty feet, rolling on his sides to a stop. He waited for the forest to stop moving and breathed a sigh of relief, but cringed from a pain in his side. He felt wetness under his arm and reached up to feel the slice from the Houndoom's claws. It was a long, shallow cut, right over his ribs, pumping blood out, and he knew it was going to scar. He wiped the blood off on his jeans, knowing he was already going to throw the clothes away, and stood up. He'd lost the flashlight and tried to find it, but the noise of shuffling claws on dirt and stone caught his attention.

            The Houndoom was walking around slowly, testing its steps. Blake realized it was still blinded and almost laughed, but knew it'd kill him if he made a noise. He saw something he didn't notice before. On most Houndoom there's a silver band of fur around their neck, almost like a necklace, with a little boney skull set in the throat. This Houndoom wore an actual chain and it hung off its neck and swayed with the weighted skull in the middle. The skull was a dark gray metal, and its eyes were shining a silvery white color that attracted Blake's attention. Recognizing it was hypnotizing him, he tore his gaze away and to the ground. He picked up a decent sized rock, slowly, to ease the pain on his ribs, and stood back up, ready to throw it at the pokemon. When he realized it was following his movements with sound, its ears flicking in his direction as it stilled, he threw it as far away as he could in the direction they came from. He almost cheered as it snarled, dropping to all fours and charging into the forest, but he stayed quiet as he watched the pokemon pass the burned wreckage of trees it had left behind.

            'It was able to run on all fours, like a pokemon, and stand up on two legs, like a human.' Blake wondered what could do this to a pokemon, and then he realized it could've been a person at some point. He didn't know if it was a side effect of a new move or something else that made the anthropomorphic pokemon, but he had a suspicion it had to do with the chain around its neck, with the hypnotizing silver eyes.

            He couldn't think about that though, and tried to run to the tree house he knew was somewhere close, but the slice in his side kept him to a jog, each step hurting his ribs and every breath stretching the aching bones. He went as fast as he could, not knowing if the pokemon would ever know he went in the opposite direction if it never found him, and not wanting to test the theory.

            After only a few moments, his side was starting to hurt more, but he pressed his hand over the cut, applying pressure to stem the bleeding and most likely bruising it more, and kept pushing on, hoping the tree house was near. He heard a low growl and almost thought it was another dangerous pokemon after him, but looking over his shoulder revealed it was the same Houndoom, on two legs again. It was staring at him from fifty feet away, its face shining in the moonlight, and he realized it had tricked him and gone to the creek to wash the dirt from its eyes. He spun forward again when the pokemon lunged towards him, its muscular, tall shape driving for him.

            He wanted to move faster, to actually run, but the pain in his side flared and he was stuck doing a kind of trot, like an old Ponyta, and he knew he'd be done soon. His fingers gripped his blood soaked shirt and his palm rubbed against the cut, causing more blood to pump out than before. He felt something in his leg twitch, near his hip, and knew the pokemon was starting to rip him apart, just like in his fantasy. His pace quickened with that burst of fear, but he knew from the wet, thick grunts and the heavy gusts of breath right behind him that his imaginary death was about to be too real. He tripped then, over a broken branch, a misplaced stone, or a scared teenage boy's own foot, and fell face first into the grass and dirt.

            He almost wept with relief when he realized the fall saved him another moment of life, as the Houndoom barreled over him. He groaned when the pokemon stopped, dropping to all fours and using both hands and feet to slide, digging lines in the earth, and turned to him. The grin on its muzzle wasn't from joy, but from madness and fury, and Blake almost thought it was promising him punishment for not dying right away. He got up on shaky legs as it started slowly for him, probably toying with him since he was soon dead anyway, and it rose up on two legs again.

            He went to walk, but the same something in his leg that twitched finally snapped and a sharp, soul withering pain lanced through his leg, stabbing upwards, like it was trying to reach his brain, and he cried out. He almost fell again, but braced himself and limped away. It must've been a broken leg, but he tried to move further, with every agonizing breath stretching his lungs and pushing his bruised ribs hard, and he fought back the urge, the need, to scream at the torment of moving. He heard steady footsteps behind him and he groaned, struggling forward, and tears of pain blurred his vision. A bark boomed right behind his head and he fought to stay standing again as he clapped his hands to his ears. He looked back and roiled with anger at the pokemon standing ten feet behind him. It was playing with him, watching with murderous, gleeful eyes, as each second literally took something vital from him.

            "What do you want?" The whisper wasn't to be secretive, but because he'd been trying to be unheard and his throat was dry. "What do you want from me?" His voice quavered and the Houndoom's upper lips curled in a smirk, its eyes widening at its new entertainment. "I'm glad you're having fun with my pain. It's really nice to know I can still be of service to my killer." He realized he was dead already, with no way of knowing how to get home, and he just didn't have the strength anymore to fight it. "Okay, kill me, now." He bared his throat and stared the pokemon down.

            He heard the frightened and pleading moan, and at first thought it was him, the scared core of his heart begging mercy. When he heard it again, only this time with a desperate, familiar word attached, he turned around. He stared in awe at Pastel, their Delcatty, looking at him from the tree house ten feet away, and thought he was lucky she meowed, as he must've passed right by it in his fear. The Persian was up there too, standing next to his mate, and they were staring at him with anguish, urging him to move his feet.

            His body started turning before he knew what was happening, and his leg almost gave out as he stepped towards the tree. He heard a snarl and looked back, but the Houndoom wasn't there. He heard a growl and turned to it. The pokemon was standing next to him, fire burning in its eyes and in its throat, and then the Houndoom disappeared. It was using Faintattack on him, shrouding itself in shadows and seemingly teleporting itself to other spots, as a way to confuse him. It appeared behind him again, but he paid it no mind and limped forward. Suddenly, the Houndoom lunged, its claws tipped with the swirling purplish/blackish energy of its type. The razor sharp claws slashed into his back, the energy flooding into him and leaving him weak.

            The force of the blow sent him flying straight to the base of the tree house, and his front crashed into the ground, his ribs renewing their cries of agony. He barely had enough strength to grab onto the wooden boards nailed to the trunk and pull himself to a standing position. He looked up for the next board of the makeshift ladder and stared into the worried, horrified faces of the two feline pokemon. Pastel was showing more compassion for him than ever before, and he was slightly irked that it was right before he died, but he tried to return the love. Max was staring at him with a mix of appreciation and surprise, as if he didn't know the human had been capable of surviving more and was now worried what he'd to the Persian in the future. Their heads snapped up at the same time when the Houndoom Howled behind Blake. The attack sapped his courage and strength, and he grasped the boards limply just to stay upright. He knew it might be having a similar effect on the two pokemon in the tree, but he couldn't do anything about it, and felt himself falling backwards, his sight going someplace else.

            He was going to accept his fate, but something caught him; something big, furry, and very mad. The claws around his arms, keeping them pinned to his sides, were gripping hard enough to leave bruises, and he felt the points press in. The warmth from a fire type is a strong, embracing comfort, but this Houndoom's was a vicious, blistering heat that dared to call itself the same and he knew it was because of its twisted, ruthless mind. He gasped breathlessly and, with the little energy left in him, tried to get loose. He couldn't move though, and started thinking about his final moments before he felt the Bite in his shoulder. Screaming in pain, he turned his head and saw the dark type clamping its jaws onto his shoulder, the teeth puncturing his flesh, and he watched the darkness pumping from its mouth into his skin and bones. He screamed and thrashed even more, not caring that his violent convulsing caused the teeth to cut at his shoulder, but just trying to end the agony.

            "Persian!" A bright pink light bursting to life in front of him forced eyes shut. Blake felt the Houndoom leave him completely, the painful Bite mark throbbing and pulsing, blood streaming down his arm and back, and he nearly fell, but the Delcatty behind him helped him stop and he only stumbled backwards. Max fired another Power Gem from the red gem on his forehead, and the pink beam drove into the fire/dark type's chest, propelling it backwards till it skidded to a stop, its claws digging grooves in the grass. Blake turned and leaned against the tree, feeling the scratches from the Faintattack scrape against the rough bark and wooden boards. Max fired another Power Gem right into the Houndoom's belly, and the pokemon bellowed a depressing sound.

            Blake remembered Power Gem was a rock type move, and rock type is super effective against fire types. The Houndoom was proving that now as it doubled over, clutching its claws over its belly and whining deep in its throat. His spirits grew as he watched the most fearsome thing he ever faced hunch over in agony. He frowned when he realized the Persian wouldn't be able to keep this up for long. He turned to the Delcatty as he recalled the gym badges resting on the mantle in the living room. Pastel hadn't always been a house pokemon, but his mom's trusted companion in battle eight years ago, and as a Skitty, she'd learned some valuable moves. One was Wake-up Slap, a fighting type move, which would also be strong against the Houndoom. "Pastel, use Wake-up Slap." He called out weakly, not knowing if she heard him or not.

            She did apparently, because she ran to the Houndoom, waiting out of its reach, and he saw the tuft of purple fur at the end of her tail glow white as she lowered down to her belly to build a jump. When the pink beam withered one more time and stopped, she yelled her name and leaped fifteen feet into the air, spinning into a twirling dive to bring the luminous tail down on the Houndoom's head. She looked beautiful in the moonlight, the shining white tail a beacon and a promise to all who saw it. The dark pokemon roared in pain then, and aimed a burst of fire at her. She was thrown back, but landed on her feet near Blake and Max, only a little singed, with a few wisps of smoke rising from her fur. The Houndoom looked weak and beaten, probably as broken as Blake looked, but it still smirked as it rose unsteadily, as if to boast that it wasn't done. "What the hell? Just die, already!" He screamed at it, and when the Houndoom barked a laugh, Blake noticed it was building up a Flamethrower attack, the back of its throat glowing.

            "Max, use Powergem one more time, at full power." As he said it to the Persian, he saw the red gem already glowing brighter for the attack. He turned to the Delcatty and tried to remember what she could use. His mom's talks about the old days of battling played in his head and he decided. Pastel had been taught to use Hyper Beam so she could have a special move when her opponent was too tough physically. He turned to her and grinned, "Pastel, use Hyper Beam." The prim pokemon's mouth quirked in a similar grin and she bared her teeth at the Houndoom.

            As she charged the beam in her mouth, the orange ball of energy brightening and growing, forcing her mouth open, Blake realized she was more worthy of her title as 'Queen of the house' than anyone else. Her sleek form was literally vibrating with the flood of power and her muscles twitched beneath her fur, but she held strong, even when tears came to her eyes, and Blake felt only love for the Delcatty. Max's gem was shining almost white now, with faint gleams of red and pink swimming in it, and he was hurting from holding back the power, his lips twisted in a grimace and his ears laid flat. His eyes were closed almost all the way, but Blake could see twin slivers of silver reflected in them from the moon.

            He couldn't bear to look anymore, and turned to the pokemon responsible for the terrible displays of power. The Houndoom's maw was now a raging inferno, completely engulfed in hellfire, and it looked close to overflowing. Its eyes were bathed in darkness, even the moon's rays not penetrating the obsidian pools, and Blake felt a rising desire to get up and flee from those black orbs and never stop. Its claws were snapping and clenching, dripping the same purplish/blackish energy, and Blake glared at the pokemon, remembering just what it felt like to have those things inside of him. "You're going to die, and I'm going to enjoy it." He promised it to himself, but the twitching of the Houndoom's ears showed it'd heard him. Then, everything turned to chaos.

            The dark pokemon lunged forward, landing on all fours, and opened its jaws wide, unleashing the Flamethrower. It roared out of its mouth, as if it was a fiery demon that had possessed the pokemon and was finally exorcised, and Blake brought his arms up to cover his face, wincing from the pain in his shoulder, back, and ribs. The fire didn't reach him though, and he squinted through the gap between his forearms at the bright scene before him. Pastel had let loose with the Hyper Beam and the orange energy had pierced the center of the Flamethrower, barreling into the Houndoom's muscular frame. The flames evaporated, heat waves still shimmering in front of Blake, and the pokemon doubled over as the onslaught of orange energy continued. The Delcatty had been building it so long and now it couldn't be stopped until it ran dry, but Blake was fine with whatever would happen to the monstrosity before him, howling its torment.

            A moment later, another Flamethrower spiraled out of the intense, orange impact, and leapt straight for Pastel. Her attack ended too late though, and she needed to recharge before she could move. Blake was too weak to try and move to her, but Max was a Persian defending his mate, and he raced and tackled her, bringing her to the ground with him. The red and orange flames grazed his cream colored fur, but he shook it off as he rolled with the fall and got to his feet. Blake barely had time to register the curls of smoke rising from his fur when his gem stone unleashed the fierce Power Gem. The pink beam with white energy swirling at the edges blasted straight at the Houndoom's chest. The dark pokemon bellowed in agony and took the hit, its body shaking with pain and anguish, and then it fell to its knees, and then its hands, howling at the two pokemon and teenager who dared defy it, and it collapsed. The beam withered away and the gem blinked once more before staying dark.

            The moon was near full, shining silver and gray on the forest, and the two feline pokemon and Blake stared at the wasted, broken form of the anthropomorphic Houndoom lying in the grass. Its arms were spread out, the muscles twitching a few times as life finished pumping through the veins, and the pokemon's face looked up at them, anguish painted in its sad stare. Blake could see its once decent heart in its baleful eyes, and he felt a moment of regret at what they'd just done. The familiar darkness flooded its eyes though, and the Houndoom raised its head and snarled, its final warning to any foe, living or dead, and dropped again, finally done. Blake couldn't help feeling sorry for it, since it probably didn't know why or how it was changed, but he knew it wasn't its fault; nothing would want this fate.

            They watched then, transfixed and paralyzed with fear, as the pokemon's body slowly shriveled, losing height and mass, and the limbs grew smaller. Even though the pokemon was thirty feet away, they still heard the cracking of the bones, almost too loud in the silence. They were audience to the shifting that must've taken place before, only in reverse, and Blake noticed the two pokemon next to him were shivering, shudders running through their bodies, as they imagined what it would feel like for their bones to change, even break and reform, into another shape. The horns grew shorter and Blake felt his own sympathetic pangs of discomfort as he imagined something shoving back into his head. The Houndoom finally looked like the rest of its species, but nothing changed after that. Blake thought maybe it was like a fairytale, where things go back to normal after the hero vanquished the dragon type, but this was real life, and a tremor shook his soul as he realized he just watched something die. He didn't like the feeling.

            The last thing he noticed was the necklace around the Houndoom's throat. It was still a loose, metal chain with a weighted skull resting in the middle, instead of reverting back to a normal Houndoom's coloration. The skull had landed upright when the pokemon fell and it was facing Blake and the two feline pokemon. The eyes were slowly growing brighter as he watched, and it was like it was reveling in his enraptured gaze. It was hard to look away, to not stare, fascinated and horrified, at the silver dots, slowly growing in intensity until nothing else mattered, but those two points of existence. Then they were gone, leaving blank, empty holes behind, the spell holding him was gone as well.

            The only things left to remind them of what happened were the scorch marks in the dirt, small patches of burning grass, where embers guttered in a low blaze, and the limp, lifeless Houndoom lying on the ground. Blake tried reaching his hands to the boards on the tree to pull himself up, but using his bitten shoulder was too painful, and he groaned and laid back, positioning himself so the bark and wood wouldn't effect his claws marks on his back. The Persian came over then, and rested his head in the teenager's lap. He looked up to Blake and grimaced, trying for a happy smile. Blake thought his own face reflected the same relief at surviving, but he couldn't stop the regret from slipping in. He turned to the Delcatty and noticed she was still breathing heavily from the Hyper Beam. "Pastel, are you okay? Do you need help walking?" She smiled and shook her head, her pride too much to accept handouts she didn't ask for. He chuckled and closed his eyes, waiting for the forest to stop throbbing.

            When he opened them again, he was already up somehow, and he looked around in confusion. Pastel was trotting slowly ahead of him, leading the way back home, and Blake smiled, knowing he was going home again. The Persian was behind them, keeping an eye on the forest, almost as if he were Blake's personal guard. He realized he wasn't feeling as much pain as before, and already the break in his leg was a minor discomfort compared to the blinding pain of before. He was wondering if the loss of pain was because his body knew he was dying already and didn't want him to feel the agony when something bright caught his attention. The flashlight was lying on the ground by 'The Everstone' and the pokemon stopped as he bent down, using the rough stone wall as a crutch, and picked it up. It was still shining, so he clicked it off, but then everything went dark again.

            When the world was again visible, the two feline pokemon were waiting for him to open a wooden gate. He looked around, feeling a sense of fear rise up beside the confusion as he saw it was night, but realized he was behind his fence. He flipped the latch and they went into the backyard. They helped him stumble up the deck, stopping him from knocking over his dad's grill and the patio furniture, and he struggled to open the backdoor, feeling a mild irritation that his shoulder wasn't cooperating like it should. The Persian slid the glass door open and they went in. He heard the door sliding shut, but couldn't be bothered to see which pokemon did it. Every thing was dark inside the house and by the time the pokemon helped him to his bedroom, he figured out it was because his parents were both sleeping and it was the middle of the night. He chuckled as he crawled into bed, not even remembering to remove his ruined, bloodstained clothes. He didn't bother with the blanket and sheet either, and just rolled over to his good side and closed his weak eyes.

            He was going to rest his eyes for one moment and switch on his alarm clock so he could wake up for something, but between the blood loss, the emotional ups and downs, and the excitement, all throughout the night, he slipped into deep slumber within seconds and didn't wake up until the sun was bright and it was noon the next day. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he heard a male's voice speaking. "Do you think he'll wake up anytime soon?" There was a firm, strong tone in his voice, like he knew how to do what needed done.

            "I don't know darling, but he did help us out last night." A female answered. She sounded like she was beautiful and belonged in some grand castle or mansion.

            "I know baby, but I don't want to be here when your humans come to check on him."

            Something in the male's words sent a chill down Blake's spine and he opened his eyes. "Hello? Is anyone there?" He was having a weird sense of déjà vu, but he couldn't explain why, and he slowly rolled over to see who was in the room with him. All he saw were dirty footprints on his carpet, bloodstains on his blanket, a Persian laying on the floor, and one Delcatty lying on his desk, basking in the midday sunlight.

            "See, you woke him." The Delcatty said as she turned to the Persian. It disconcerted the teenager a little, not only because it was a pokemon talking, but because her mouth didn't connect with the words like when a human talks; her jaws just opened and closed and words came out.

            "Pastel, did you just talk?" Both pokemon turned to him with looks of shock on their faces, and the Delcatty uttered a sound of surprise and jumped off the desk and flew under Blake's bed.

            Max quickly wiped the surprise off his face and smirked. "Don't take it personally. She never says, 'Good morning'." He said in a cool, dry voice, and laughed, and after a moment, Blake did too. It ended when he fainted though, falling back on his bed.

Author Notes: What's going to happen next? Will Blake fight his father in 'Staryu Wars'? Will he join Sam Litwicky and fight alongside giant robot aliens in 'Castformers'? Will he film an adorable video of Max playing with a ball of yarn? No, he won't... ever.

It's not really a cliff hanger, as you probably know why he can hear them talk (because he's a werehound now), and the rest of the day and night is in the next chapter. Also, we get to hear how Sarah loves him, and then how he fucks her. It's all very rough right now (ruff), so I don't know when the next chapter will be out. Chapter 6 of 'Yellow' is coming out soon, so look for that or something.

I know this is a long first chapter, but it couldn't be helped. As it is, I already edited out 2,000 words. The next one won't be as long though, but if it is, it'll be the lemony fresh portion of our feature presentation.

Special thanks to pcano94, for letting me unintentionally bounce some ideas off him. You rock! AFF Note: He's on fanfiction.net.

silverlining990, bye bye...
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