Samayouru
Rabid Dusclops Fan
This is pretty much gonna be a psychological/survival horror story so of course there's gonna be some violence, death, dark/disturbing imagery and of course swearing. If you're not up for that then yeah this story isn't going to be for you. Sorry.
It's been a while. Sorry I sort of just disappeared for a bit - I had to go away and think about life for a while. Decided to reboot one of the older fanfics I wrote (but never got past the first chapter) because the idea was solid but my writing at the time wasn't, it should be somewhere in the forum's archive if you want to go and compare the original to this one. Enjoy (or not, I don't mind either way).
TABLE OF CONTENTS
01: COGNISANCE (Right here!)
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The Impassive God
01
COGNISANCE
Phillip Heath was late.
Or at least he assumed that he was late. It was hard to tell when the smartphone that he’d sworn he’d placed on the rickety bedside table last night had apparently vanished into thin air. The same could be said for his briefcase which, unlike the phone, Phil knew one-hundred percent that he’d placed it against the only chair in his cramped hotel room with the sole purpose of being in his line of sight when he had to get up. Then to add insult to injury, the map of Hearthome he’d purchased from the tourist bureau had been put in that same briefcase, just so he wouldn’t lose it.
His eyes darted frantically around as he pulled his socks up then proceeded to turn the room upside-down for the fourth time that morning, muttering and cussing all the way. Had the briefcase fallen off the chair? Nope. Had he put it under the bed? Nope. Had he even been stupid enough to put it in the drawers or the wardrobe? Nope and nope. Phil pinched the bridge of his nose and slid his scuffed shoes on. ‘Damn it,’ he said under his breath. He was going to have to go to this meeting without his notes – and there was a good chance that if he fucked up this meeting then VeilTech would have his ass out on the streets faster than a rapidash that had been doped up on caffeine.
He barged through the door to his hotel room and the musty air in the corridor hit him like a tidal wave, making him grit his teeth and press his lips together. VeilTech wasn’t exactly the best when it came to the treatment of their staff (despite what their ads on TV told everyone), but Phil didn’t think they’d pick out a crappy hotel like this for an employee to stay in. He scowled. If it wasn’t for the fact that he could possibly lose his job after today he would’ve made a complaint to the management about how shoddy the Moonstone Inn turned out to be.
He finally reached the elevator and jammed his thumb against the button to call it up, then folded his arms. He didn’t even try to stop his right leg from twitching impatiently as he waited, but as his emotions began to subside Phil’s attention was drawn to something he hadn’t really noticed before. When he had finally gotten off the coach that had taken him to the east side of Hearthome the streets had been buzzing with activity, which had seeped into the corridors when Phil had been given the key to his room on the third floor. But now? It was quiet – too quiet, in fact. He knitted his eyebrows together. Hell, the walls had been thin enough for him to just make out the muffled voices of other people in their rooms, or the creaking of floorboards pressed against feet.
Phil swallowed, his lips becoming dry.
The elevator was taking too long.
He looked at the dented elevator doors, then to the stairs and huffed – running his hands through his thinning hair. He probably needed to get some exercise anyway.
The thumps of his shoes felt a lot louder than they did last night, partially thanks to the aforementioned silence and partially because Phil was powerwalking his way to the ground floor now. His brow still felt tight and he could just begin to feel the faint trickle of sweat dampen his neck. He tugged at the collar of his office shirt as he passed the first floor corridor, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the chill of worry pricking at the base of his spine.
He had to focus. He had a meeting to get to.
Finally the double doors leading to the reception room met his line of sight. Phil drew a long breath as he completed the last flight of stairs. The corridor felt like it was closing in on him and the stillness wasn’t helping a single bit. He took no time pushing the doors and they flung open with a sharp creak, suggesting that they were in dire need of oiling. But what met Phil was the same as it had been on the floors above. Devoid of people and pokemon, the lobby looked as welcome as a graveyard with patchy, leather chairs serving as the tombstones. Phil cast his line of sight around the room and licked his parched lips. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Is anybody here?’
His voice was swallowed up by the silence and was given nothing in return.
The front door beckoned to him urgently but by now unease had turned to concern. Phil approached the front desk, fidgeting with his fingers. He was acting paranoid – it was probably just a slow day for the hotel, that was all. But he still wanted to just confirm that he wasn’t the only one there before he left. Besides, the hotel staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave their lobby unattended, right?
He tapped the desk bell which produced an invasive tinging noise and clenched his hands into fists. Ten seconds of waiting became twenty, then thirty, then forty and Phil still found himself standing alone, waiting for someone to come and assure him that his common sense had been correct.
And then something caught Phil’s attention – something that made him take several slow steps until he was staring at Hearthome’s roads and buildings, his palms pressing against the icy glass windows. The streets were just as empty as the hotel appeared to be, even to the point where there wasn’t a single parked car to be seen. But that wasn’t what made Phil blink and rub his eyes. No, what drew his attention was something far more concerning.
There, running across the sky like veins in a body, were thick, black lines – thousands of them. Every so often a vein would swell as if it had become clogged and was about to burst, then shrink back down to the size it had been before. Surges of white electricity danced across the lines, relaying out of his view as quickly as they had entered, and the colour of the sky itself made Phil’s heart drop down into his stomach. It was if someone had taken someone’s muscle tissue and had stretched it out as far as it could go without being torn apart in a gory display of pinks and reds.
At this point Phil’s mind had gone completely blank. In fact he was so stunned that he had to force himself to close his mouth before his tongue started to dry out. He felt a fat bead of sweat trail down from his brow, moistening his skin. He was dreaming – he had to be dreaming – either that or he was ill and this was all some terrible illusion conjured up by his subconscious, having been cramped full of medicine or something like that. These were the only thoughts he could use to justify whatever was going on. But he knew what being in a dream was like – it was like walking through melted caramel – and if he had been dreaming then looking up and seeing whatever the hell was going on up in the sky would be more than enough to wake him.
And so, with common sense finally ebbing away, the only words Phil could think of to sum up his feelings about the predicament he now found himself in slipped past his lips, simple and to the point: ‘What the fuck?’
WHANG!
Phil yelped and jumped, his blood thundering thanks to the sudden burst of adrenaline caused by the sudden noise behind him. He felt the floor shudder underneath his feet and instinctively dug his heels into the carpet to steady himself. To him it had sounded like someone had just dropped a large crate down the stairs which had slammed into the corridor to the lobby at full force.
Attention torn away from the sky, he turned to face the double doors just as something passed by – silhouetted by the thicker, hazier glass. His heart shot out from his stomach for a brief, fleeting moment and he took a couple of steps towards them. Maybe he wasn’t alone in this hotel after all – maybe someone else or their pokemon had woken up like he had and was searching for any form of life like him.
But just like the air, the silhouette felt… wrong. It was in the movements – twitchy and jerky – and the lumpy shape of the body pretty much ruled out the thought that it was another human being. And if it was a pokemon, then it was probably a pokemon that Phil had never heard of before – there wasn’t a single pokemon he was aware of that spasmed like that.
He barely got any time to react to what happened next. There was gut-wrenching crack and before he knew what was happening one of the foggy windows exploded into a thousand gleaming pieces. Something lunged through the opening and yanked Phil off his feet, cutting his scream off before it even had the chance to escape his windpipe. Pain shot through the back of his head as he hit the carpet and his chest tightened, his vision blurring ever so slightly. He wheezed and forced his arms to shift, propping his chest and shoulders up. What the hell had attacked him?!?
The answer was as clear as day. There, wrapped around his right ankle like a pale worm, was what Phil could only describe as a tentacle. Even with his blurred vision he could make out how smooth the skin of this thing was and how the light reflected off of it made it appear as if it were glistening. Not only that but this tentacle had to be long – very long, in fact – for it had managed to reach him even though the door had to be twenty feet away from him at most. There was a splintering creak as the door buckled inwards, sending chunks of wood flying across the room. One of them was flung so hard that it ended up lodged in the body of the front door just two feet from where Phil now lay.
Phil grunted and attempted to turn, but the tentacle around his leg only tightened until it felt like his foot was going to explode from the pressure. There was a crunch as the hinges finally gave in and the door broke in two, giving him the chance to finally get a good look at his attacker. What little colour remaining in his face finally drained away as he looked up at the monster squeezing through the ruined doorway. The only way he could think of describing it would be that it was essentially a writing ball of what he assumed to be tentacles, and from where it was standing it had to be at least six feet tall. There was also a slit going vertically across where Phil assumed its abdomen would be, and this slit kind of looked like lips – the kind of lips that had been so crammed full of Botox that it was almost comical.
There was nothing funny about this thing, however. It took a lumbering step with its obese, stretchmark-ridden legs and in doing so caused the floor to shudder again. Phil’s heart hitched, his fingers clinging to the carpet, and a sliding sensation rubbed at his neck. He looked up again to his captor. The slit on the monster’s stomach began to quiver, accompanied by a guttural gargling sound, and the tentacle began to shift, dragging Phil across the floor like something tied to a piece of rope. He pawed at the carpet with trembling hands, mind racing. He was going to die – this thing was going to eat him alive if he didn’t do something.
The creature tugged once more, dragging Phil closer and closer. The lips were starting to splutter with a thick, greenish liquid.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers fell onto something that didn’t feel like carpet. He grabbed at it hungrily and found himself clutching a reasonably long and jagged bit of wood – one of the many pieces of the now ruined door. He clenched his teeth and without hesitating reached up and plunged the splinter into the tentacle with a grunt. A high-pitched screech erupted from the creature and its lips opened, spewing a torrent of the green, viscous liquid onto the floor. Steam arose from the spot and Phil gagged, his nose assaulted by the acrid stench coming from the ruined carpet. His stomach heaved and he covered his mouth and nose, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from tugging his leg with all of his might.
His right foot slipped out from the tentacle’s slackened grip much easier than he thought it would, and with his leg free Phil scrambled to his feet and bolted towards the front door as fast as he could. He had to get away – get as far as fucking possible from whatever the hell this thing was.
He didn’t get very far. The wounded tentacle shrank back into the writhing nest that made up the monster’s body and it almost immediately lashed out with another. The new tentacle struck Phil’s wrist, sending a jolt of stinging pain up his arm and making him scream. The shard of wood he’d been gripping dropped to the floor and before he had any time to pick it up yet another tentacle lunged forth, this one wrapping around his torso. Phil gagged and coughed – it felt like his abdomen was being crushed underneath the foot of a rhydon – and he found himself on the floor once again. He wheezed and grabbed at the carpet again, but with most of his strength spent wrenching himself free the first time, all he could really do was paw at the ground as helpless as a baby.
The monster’s mouth began to splutter, the green liquid it had spewed onto the floor dribbling from its lips. Phil’s heart throbbed in his ears as the tentacle tugged and tugged.
The monster gargled, its mouth starting to bulge.
It wasn’t going to miss again.
At that moment the door to the hotel flung open, bouncing against the wall of the lobby, and the scent of sulphur filled the air. Phil looked up to find that a hulking dog now loomed over him, its black pelt completely covered in scars – a houndoom – the ram horns growing from the back of its head gave it away. Phil had seen them in Veilstone before – they were a popular choice for trainers taking the league circuit. It glanced at him briefly with its piercing eyes, dipped its head and roared at the monster, a jet of licking, orange flames erupting from its maw. Phil yelped and covered his head in an attempt to protect his neck from getting singed, cringing as the uncomfortable warmth from the fire passed over his body. An unholy screech erupted from behind him and out of the corner of his eye Phil could just make out the struggling, slithering body of the monster – having been turned into a living torch by the hissing flames.
He cringed and shut his eyes. God, he hoped the hotel had been made flameproof (and if not then the owner was extremely lucky that it hadn’t been burnt down by some kid’s charizard or a magmortar yet).
There was the soft thud of footsteps as the heat above Phil’s head simmered down and he felt the tight grasp of a hand clamp his shoulder, shaking it. ‘Come on,’ a gruff voice barked, not unlike that of a policeman or a soldier. ‘Get up.’
Phil didn’t have to be told twice. He struggled his knees, then to his trembling feet and found that standing next to the houndoom was a man dressed head to toe in camo gear. The man had to be in his late sixties at the very most, yet dwarfed him with his broad, well-built figure. He stared at Phil with eyes so dark that they could’ve been made of stone and tightened his brow, beckoning to the door. ‘Move.’
Another shot of adrenaline ran through Phil’s legs and he finally began to run, the houndoom flanking his side. He passed a glance over his shoulder to look at the monster one last time as it staggered back into the corridor, now a blackened mass of charred flesh, and followed his rescuer out into the streets of Hearthome, a thousand questions buzzing around his head.
It looked like he wasn’t going to be able to make the meeting after all.
I'm liking this opening you got here, though I wonder if this guy will continue to be the MC or if we'll have a switch in perspective of some kind.
