The teeth-grinding sound of chewing finally stopped.
The sudden silence was almost worse than the noise had been. At least while Pikachu was eating, Red knew where the monster was and what it was doing. Now, in the quiet, every possibility became a threat.
On the blood-soaked grass, that yellow creature stuck out its tongue—stained dark red from base to tip—and dragged it slowly across its claws. The appendage was rough and barbed, designed to scrape every last scrap of meat from between the creature's fingers. It licked with the thorough attention of something that had been starving and wanted to savor every molecule of its meal.
All that remained of the Pidgey was a scattered pile of cream-colored feathers, now matted with blood and bile, and a few hollow bones that even Pikachu's spiral teeth couldn't grind down. The tubular structures lay in the grass like discarded straws, still glistening with digestive fluids.
Pikachu let out a satisfied burp—a wet, organic sound like gas escaping from a corpse. Its mouth, which had been split open all the way to its ears to accommodate feeding, began to slowly close. The cute disguise reassembled itself piece by piece, skin sliding over exposed muscle, facial features clicking back into their "adorable" configuration like a mask being put back on.
Then it turned its head.
Those void-like eyes—bottomless black pits that swallowed light—locked onto Red's position behind the bushes with perfect precision.
The creature's body language changed. The satisfied lethargy of a fed predator vanished, replaced by something more purposeful. More vengeful.
It had eaten. The immediate hunger was satisfied.
Which meant it was time to settle accounts with the "jailer."
Red's scalp prickled with warning signals. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he could feel it in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, to do anything except stay where he was.
But through the panic, a thread of rational thought emerged.
This was his only chance.
That brief moment of sluggishness after feeding—when a predator's body diverted energy toward digestion instead of hunting—was the only weakness these monsters had. If he waited, if he hesitated even a few more seconds, that window would close and Pikachu would be on him.
Red's hand shot to his waist, fingers wrapping around the blood nest ball. The sphere was still warm from Pikachu's body heat, still pulsing faintly with that horrible rhythm.
He raised it like a gun, thumb finding the button, and pressed down hard.
"RETURN!"
There was no warmth in the command. No affection or partnership. Just a desperate, explosive shout—the sound of someone fighting for their life.
The dark red beam erupted from the sphere like a predator's tongue lashing out to snare prey. It struck Pikachu before the creature had fully reassembled its disguise, catching it mid-adjustment with its facial muscles still exposed and twitching.
The electric rat let out a furious snarl—not a cute sound, but the growl of something being cheated of its revenge. Its claws dug deep into the soil, gouging furrows in the earth as it tried to anchor itself against the suction force. The muscles in its legs bulged as it fought the pull.
But its stomach—distended and heavy with the remains of the Pidgey, weighed down by bones and barbed flesh—made its movements sluggish. Half a beat too slow.
Whoosh.
The yellow figure was dragged backward, limbs flailing, and sucked into the sphere's interior with a wet slurping sound.
Snap.
The blood nest ball's two halves slammed shut. The sphere hit the grass and immediately began to shake violently—thrashing like something alive and furious.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The ball rattled so hard it bounced several inches off the ground with each impact. The surface grew hot—not just warm, but scalding, the kind of heat that suggested something inside was burning. White smoke began to rise from the seams where the two halves joined, curling upward like steam from a pressure cooker about to explode.
It felt like holding a nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown. Like the thing inside wasn't a living creature at all, but raw energy barely contained by a shell that was never designed to hold it.
Then, finally, the shaking stopped.
The ball went still and silent.
Red lunged forward and snatched the sphere from the grass. The metal was so hot it burned his palm—like gripping a branding iron fresh from the forge—but he didn't dare drop it.
This was his weapon. His only protection in this nightmare world.
And also his curse. His burden. The thing that would eventually kill him if he wasn't careful.
"Huff... huff..."
Red's breath came in ragged gasps. His hands shook as he clipped the ball back to his belt, ignoring the way it seared through the fabric of his pants.
He couldn't stay here. The smell of blood was too thick, too fresh. The coppery tang hung in the air like fog, and in a world full of predators, that scent was a dinner bell ringing for miles in every direction.
Red crouched low and moved quickly, pushing deeper into the mist that clung to Route 1's tall grass.
The route wasn't long—in the games, you could cross it in a couple of minutes of walking. But here, in this twisted version of reality, every meter felt like walking a tightrope over an abyss. One wrong step. One moment of inattention. And something would drag him down.
The sky grew darker as Red pushed forward, the gray clouds overhead thickening until they pressed down on the landscape like a lid on a coffin. The air felt heavy, oppressive, hard to breathe.
Then he heard it.
Screeeeeee—
A sound like metal scraping against metal. Like two rusty saw blades being dragged across each other. It came from above, cutting through the mist with a pitch that made Red's molars ache.
He looked up sharply, eyes scanning the skeletal trees that dotted the route.
There.
Perched atop a withered tree, its bark stripped bare and branches reaching toward the sky like accusing fingers, was a massive bird.
But calling it a bird felt wrong. Birds had feathers. Birds had the soft, organic look of living things.
This creature had no feathers at all. Its body was covered in grayish-brown keratin plates—thick, overlapping scales that looked like armor plating. The edges of its wings were lined with barbs, each one curved like a fish hook and wickedly sharp. Its head was dominated by a long, curved beak that resembled nothing so much as a bonesaw—the kind surgeons used for amputations—and several strips of rotting meat still hung from the serrated edges.
Mimic Spearow.
This thing didn't bother with Pidgey's patient stalking and disguise. It was a pure killing machine, built for nothing except violence.
Those cloudy, cataract-covered eyes rolled in their sockets and locked onto Red running below.
"GAH—!!!"
The shriek that erupted from its throat was so shrill, so piercing, that Red felt his eardrums flex painfully. His hands flew up to cover his ears automatically, but it was too late—the sound had already driven spikes of pain deep into his skull.
The Spearow launched itself from the tree.
Not a careful dive. Not a measured approach. Just pure, brutal speed—wings tucked, body streamlined, moving more than twice as fast as the Pidgey had moved.
Red's body reacted before his brain finished processing the threat. He threw himself sideways, diving toward a pile of rocks jutting from the earth to his right.
BOOM!
The mud where he'd been standing half a second ago erupted like a bomb had gone off. Three massive gouges appeared in the soil—deep enough to expose the bedrock underneath, wide enough that Red could have fit his entire arm in each furrow.
If those talons had connected with his body, they would have sheared him in half at the waist. Clean through. His top half would have separated from his bottom half and he'd have had maybe three seconds of consciousness left to experience it.
Red scrambled to his feet, mud coating his clothes, his hands scraped raw from the rocks. He didn't look back. Couldn't look back. The blood nest ball at his waist was still radiating heat through his pants—Pikachu was probably conscious again inside that torture chamber, and releasing it now would be suicide. That psychotic mouse would kill him just for the fun of it before bothering with any other threats.
So Red ran.
The Spearow, having missed its initial strike, let out a frustrated screech and flapped its wings. The movement created a foul-smelling whirlwind—hot air that reeked of decay and stomach acid—as the creature pulled up to reposition for another dive.
Red's eyes frantically scanned the terrain as he fled. There had to be somewhere to hide, something he could use, anything that would—
There.
Between two massive boulders—each one easily twice Red's height—was a narrow crack in the rock face. The opening was partially hidden by dead vines that hung like curtains, their dried leaves rustling faintly in the wind.
It was barely wide enough for a person. Maybe too narrow. But it was his only shot.
Red gritted his teeth and poured the last reserves of his strength into a desperate sprint. His legs burned. His lungs screamed for air. He felt like his heart was going to explode.
He dove into the crack like a startled Diglett disappearing into its burrow.
Riiip.
His jacket caught on the thorns that covered the dead vines. The fabric tore with a sound like ripping paper, and a line of fire erupted across Red's shoulder as the thorns dragged across his skin. Blood welled up hot and immediate.
But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Red squeezed deeper into the crack, using his hands and feet to claw his way forward, ignoring the way the rough stone scraped more skin from his palms.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The Spearow's bonesaw beak slammed into the rocks at the entrance like a jackhammer. Each impact sent chips of stone flying inward, peppering Red's back with debris. The sound was deafening in the confined space—sharp cracks that echoed and multiplied until it felt like his head was inside a bell being struck by a hammer.
But the opening was too small. The Spearow's body was too large. No matter how hard it attacked, it couldn't widen the gap enough to squeeze through.
Red crawled until he couldn't go any further, pressing himself against the cold rock wall at the deepest point of the cave. He was gasping for air, each breath a labored wheeze. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His throat tasted like rust—probably blood from breathing so hard.
For now, he was safe.
The cave was dark. Almost pitch black. Only a faint sliver of light filtered through from the entrance, creating a narrow band of illumination that didn't penetrate more than a few feet. The air was damp and cold, so different from the oppressive heat outside that Red actually shivered. Somewhere deeper in the darkness, water dripped with a steady plink... plink... plink that echoed through the space.
Red closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. Tried to convince his heart to stop trying to escape his ribcage. Tried to—
Wait.
He froze.
There was another sound beneath the dripping water.
Shasha. Shasha.
Soft. Almost inaudible. The kind of sound a slug makes when it moves across pavement. The sound of something soft and wet sliding across stone.
Red's entire body locked up, muscles going rigid with fresh terror.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Escaped one monster only to crawl into another's den.
With trembling hands that felt like they belonged to someone else, Red pulled the Pokédex from inside his jacket. His fingers fumbled with the device before finally finding the power button. The screen lit up with that ghostly blue glow, casting harsh shadows across the cave walls.
Red held his breath and slowly—so slowly—angled the light toward the corner where he'd heard the sound.
Then he stopped breathing entirely.
It was an insect.
A caterpillar, to be specific. Small—maybe the size of his palm, definitely no bigger. Its body was a bright, clean emerald green, almost glowing in the Pokédex's blue light. Yellow ring-shaped markings ran down its back in a perfect pattern. It had large, dark eyes that caught the light and reflected it back—actual eyes with depth and life in them, not the hollow voids he'd grown used to seeing. Its antennae were red and Y-shaped, twitching nervously.
The creature was curled up tight in a crevice between rocks, its body trembling so violently that Red could see the vibrations even from several feet away.
And it looked... normal.
Clean.
It didn't have that nauseating stitched-together quality that everything else in this world seemed to possess. No fluids leaking from poorly sealed seams. No exposed internal organs pulsing beneath translucent skin. No malicious intelligence lurking behind its gaze.
It was just a bug. A small, frightened bug that looked exactly like caterpillars were supposed to look.
So clean and normal that it felt like a glitch in this filthy, corrupted world.
Buzz—
The Pokédex in Red's hand vibrated.
Red instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the blood-red warning text. For the description of how this innocent-looking creature was actually a flesh-eating horror in disguise. For the tactical recommendation on where to strike to kill it quickly.
But it didn't come.
When he opened his eyes, the screen was displaying a soft, pale green cursor—not the violent red he'd grown used to.
[TRUE POKÉDEX: Target Identification Complete]
[Subject: Caterpie (Primal Species)]
[Type: Bug]
[Threat Level: Extremely Low]
[Current Status: Extremely Terrified]
[Description: A miracle. This specimen is a Primal Species—one of the original Pokémon from the old era, before the corruption spread. It remains untainted by the aura of the "God of Gluttony." Its genetic code is pure. Its behavioral patterns are unchanged. It does not employ mimicry to lure prey. It does not evolve for the purpose of killing. It is weak by design, but that weakness comes with purity of purpose. It eats leaves. It spins silk. It will eventually evolve into Metapod, then Butterfree, following the natural cycle that existed before everything went wrong.]
[Conclusion: This creature is a trustworthy "partner."]
Red stared at the text on the screen until the words blurred. His eyes burned—from exhaustion, from stress, from something else he couldn't quite name.
Since the moment he'd opened his eyes in this world, everything had been teaching him the same lesson over and over. The Pikachu that wanted to eat him. Professor Oak with his stitched-together hands and his torture devices disguised as Poké Balls. The hollow-eyed residents of Pallet Town who looked at him like he was meat on a shelf. The Pidgey with the bone beak. The Spearow currently trying to jackhammer its way into his hiding spot.
Everything had been screaming one simple truth: This place is hell. There is no hope. You are going to die here.
But now, huddled in this dark, damp cave with blood drying on his shoulder and his lungs still burning from running, Red was looking at something different.
A glimmer of light in the darkness.
A real Pokémon. The kind that was supposed to exist. The kind from his old world's games and shows.
Proof that not everything here was corrupted beyond recognition.
"GAO—!"
An enraged shriek from the cave entrance shattered the moment. The Spearow hadn't given up. Red could hear it now—not just attacking the rocks, but scraping at them with its talons, trying to widen the opening enough to squeeze through.
The Caterpie in the corner let out a tiny, frightened sound—"Woo-woo"—and tried to make itself even smaller. It tucked its head under its body segments, curling into the tightest ball it could manage, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
It was terrified.
It was helpless.
It needed protection.
Red took a deep breath—the first one in what felt like hours that didn't taste like blood or fear—and wiped at the corners of his eyes. His fingers came away wet.
In this world, kindness was a luxury. Compassion was a liability. Every survival instinct he'd developed over the past few hours screamed at him that caring about anything except himself was a death sentence.
But he didn't want to lose the last shred of his humanity to this place. Didn't want to become just another monster pretending to be human.
"Hey," Red said softly. His voice came out rougher than he intended, scraped raw from screaming and breathing hard. "Don't be afraid."
The Caterpie's antennae twitched, but it didn't uncurl.
Red raised the Pokédex and pointed it back toward the entrance, where the Spearow's ugly head was beginning to force its way through the widening gap.
[Analyzing target weakness...]
[Target: Mimic Spearow (Bonesaw Variant)]
[Weakness Analysis: Subject has reinforced its beak structure with calcified keratin deposits to increase cutting power. However, this modification required diverting resources from other sensory organs. The auditory nerves are exposed externally along the ear canal with no protective covering. Subject is hypersensitive to high-frequency acoustic stimulation. Exposure to sharp sounds will cause immediate disorientation and loss of balance as the exposed nerves are overloaded.]
[Tactical Recommendation: Create noise. Loud, sharp, sudden. Aim for the ear canal.]
Red's gaze sharpened, survival instincts taking over.
High-frequency noise. He could work with that.
His eyes scanned the cave floor. It was littered with stone fragments—pieces that had broken off from the walls over years of erosion, ranging from pebbles to fist-sized chunks. Red grabbed two pieces of quartzite, testing their weight. Hard. Dense. Perfect for what he needed.
The Spearow's head had squeezed halfway through the entrance now. One of its milky eyes fixed on Red with predatory focus, tracking his movement. It opened its mouth—revealing that nightmare interior full of barbs and half-digested meat—and its throat began to contract. Preparing to spit acid.
That was it. That was his window.
Red suddenly lunged to the side of the entrance, pressing himself flat against the wall to avoid the direction of the creature's mouth. He gripped the quartzite chunks tight enough that his knuckles went white.
Then he slammed them together right next to the Spearow's exposed ear canal.
CLANG—!!!
The sound was sharp, piercing, unbearable even to Red's protected ears. In the confined space of the cave entrance, the noise amplified and echoed, bouncing off rock walls and creating a feedback loop of acoustic torture.
To a human, it was painful. Grating. The kind of sound that made your teeth ache.
To a Spearow with exposed auditory nerves, it was the equivalent of a flashbang grenade detonating inside its brain.
The creature's shriek was immediate and agonized—a sound of pure, overwhelming pain that had nothing to do with physical injury and everything to do with sensory overload. Its entire body convulsed violently. Both eyes rolled back in its skull, showing only white. Its wings spasmed and flailed, completely uncoordinated.
It forgot how to fly. Just... forgot. The instinct that should have been hardwired into its brain was temporarily wiped by the acoustic assault.
The Spearow tumbled backward from the cave entrance like a kite with its string cut. It hit the ground outside with a heavy thud, then thrashed and rolled in the dirt, its movements jerky and uncontrolled as its brain tried desperately to reboot.
After several seconds of painful writhing, the creature finally managed to get its legs under it. It staggered away from the cave—moving in a crooked, drunken line like it couldn't quite remember which direction was forward—and disappeared into the mist-shrouded woods.
Silence fell over the cave.
Red dropped the stones. His hands were completely numb from the vibration, fingers tingling with pins and needles. He leaned against the rock wall and let out a breath that felt like it came from somewhere deep in his soul.
His entire body felt like it was made of lead. Every muscle ached. His shoulder throbbed where the thorns had torn it. His palms were raw and bleeding from crawling over rocks.
He was exhausted. Completely, utterly drained.
Red slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cave floor, head tilted back against the stone. He closed his eyes.
After a moment, he felt something tug gently at his pant leg.
Red opened his eyes and looked down.
The Caterpie had crawled out of its hiding spot. It sat at his feet now, looking up at him with those large, expressive eyes. Its antennae twitched nervously—testing, probing, trying to figure out if this human was safe.
Confirming whether the person who'd just driven off a predator was a protector or just another threat.
Red smiled.
It was the first genuine smile he'd managed since waking up in this nightmare world. Not the forced grimace he'd given Professor Oak. Not the brittle grin of someone on the edge of hysteria. Just... a real smile. Small and tired, but honest.
He reached into his pockets, fumbling around past the horrible pulsing bento box from his "mother" (he was never opening that thing, never, not even if he was starving). His fingers found a different compartment in his backpack—the one he'd packed before... before whatever had brought him here.
A pack of compressed biscuits. The emergency rations he'd thrown in without thinking. They were probably stale by now, but they were human food. Normal food. Not flesh, not organs, not whatever nightmares passed for cuisine in this place.
Red broke off a small corner of one biscuit and placed it in his palm. He extended his hand slowly, keeping his movements gentle and non-threatening.
"Here," he said quietly. "Eat."
The Caterpie leaned forward cautiously. Its antennae brushed against the biscuit piece, analyzing it. Then, seeming to decide it was safe, the creature lowered its head and began to nibble.
Small bites. Careful and delicate. The mandibles worked precisely, taking tiny chunks and chewing them thoroughly before swallowing.
When it finished the piece, the Caterpie looked up at Red again. Then, making what seemed like a decision, it began to crawl up his arm.
Red held perfectly still, barely breathing, as the small creature made its way up to his shoulder. It settled there with its body curved to fit the space, then rubbed its face gently against the side of Red's neck.
The touch was slightly cool—the temperature of something that didn't generate much body heat of its own. And soft. And carrying that ineffable quality that only living things possessed. The warmth of being alive and trusting and vulnerable.
Red reached up slowly and stroked the Caterpie's back with one finger. The emerald green surface was smooth and slightly damp, like a leaf after morning dew.
[Due to your protective actions and provision of food, Caterpie's trust level has significantly increased.]
[This creature recognizes you as a source of safety and sustenance.]
[Though it possesses minimal combat capability, it is willing to use String Shot to assist you.]
The Pokédex text scrolling through Red's mind didn't feel cold and mechanical anymore. It felt... almost warm. Like information being shared by a friend rather than warnings being issued by a survival manual.
Red looked toward the cave entrance, where a thin ray of light filtered through the gap between the boulders. The mist outside was still thick. The sky was still gray and oppressive. The monsters were still out there, hunting and killing and feeding.
But sitting here with this small, pure creature on his shoulder, Red felt something he hadn't felt since arriving in this world.
Hope.
If normal things—real Pokémon from before the corruption—still existed in this nightmare, then maybe everything wasn't lost. Maybe there was still something worth fighting for. Something worth protecting.
Maybe there was still a chance to survive this with his humanity intact.
"Let's go, little guy," Red said softly. He pushed himself to his feet, legs protesting the movement. His body hurt everywhere, but pain meant he was still alive.
The Caterpie shifted on his shoulder to maintain its balance, antennae twitching.
"We've still got a long way to go," Red continued, more to himself than to the bug. "And it's going to be dangerous. Really dangerous."
He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders despite the exhaustion, and looked toward the light filtering through the entrance.
"But we're going to make it. Both of us."
Red walked toward the cave entrance, one hand resting protectively near the Caterpie on his shoulder, the other gripping a blood nest ball at his waist.
Somewhere out there, beyond the mist and the horror and the endless hunting grounds, there had to be an answer. A way forward. Something that explained why this world existed and what he was supposed to do about it.
And for the first time since arriving here, Red felt like he might actually live long enough to find it.
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