Chapter 2 - Crimson Flame

"*Crash*" The Pyroar barreled into a tree, sending shrapnel flying everywhere. It growled deeply as it shook its head, shaking the pain off, then allowed flames to gather within its maws. In a split second, another burst of flame shook the forest, obliterating any other trees unfortunate enough to be in its way.

Arbol darted through the crumbling forest, struggling to maintain his vision as the torrential rains battered his body. He realized the flame wasn't fading; instead, it seemed to thrive under the rain, growing into an even fiercer force of nature He shoved his body aside as a whip of flame lashed out towards him like a ravenous beast.

He tumbled a few times on the soggy grass that carefully cushioned his fall. Suddenly, a jagged feeling pierced his ribs and he yelped in distress. It was one of the many stones that lay undetected within the forest. A guttural roar boomed somewhere behind him. It was getting closer. Forcing his trembling legs to stand, Arbol ran. Heart thumping and mind blank.

For a few minutes, only the rain, his ragged breathing, and the thump of his footsteps on the wet grass filled the air. Arbol dared to hope he had escaped the beast. But no, as though fate had foreseen his blasted thought, he froze as a speeding blur of brown shot past him.

His heart stopped, shock etched over his face. How... when did it catch up with him? The Pyroar growled, shaking its head violently. Then, abruptly, its eyes locked onto Arbol. Fangs bared and teeth clenched. It reminded Arbol of the expressions that starving Mightyena would give. And starving Mightyena would do anything for food. 

Arbol turned tails and ran as fast as his meager legs could allow. He hadn't made it past a few meters when a deathly red glow began emitting from behind him. He leaped behind a rotting log, barely managing to huddle himself behind it before a blast of pure heat lodged itself deep within the hollow trunk. 

An explosion resounded, obliterating the log and hurling Arbol into a nearby tree. An airless wheeze was all he could manage as the force of the impact displaced the air within his lungs. 

As he lay on the ground, back throbbing and airless, Arbol had almost given up hope. Inhaling deeply, Arbol tried desperately to replace the lost air but only managed to lodge rainwater deep within his windpipe. The devilish beast walked briskly towards him, convinced of its victory. After all, its prey was lying on the ground, spasming in an uncontrollable coughing fit. Its sneer was like a devil's smile.

Despite the looming threat, a strange calm washed over Arbol. His breaths slowed, his muscles relaxed, and he watched the approaching beast with a detached serenity. It was the feeling of death that his father had once warned him about, he was sure of it. But somehow, despite his acknowledgment of its danger, he just couldn't shake it off. Memories flickered past—his family's laughter, the warmth of home. Then, darker images: war, invasion, the loss of his parents, the chains of slavery. His sister. For a moment, strength shot into his limbs, giving him a push to shove himself aside as a flaming claw drove into the ground where he once was. 

The beast looked almost shocked to see his prey retaliate, even at its deathbed.

Black spots dotted Arbol's vision; breathing ragged and heavy. He had to find time for respite, and fast. Grabbing one of the sharp pieces of wood that had been blown from the log, he turned to strike back. Aiming for its deathly blue eyes, Arbol ripped out a wheezy scream from his battered lungs. But his weakened body would not heed its commands. Arms faltered, legs too weak to manage a swivel. 

"*Crash*" With a swipe of its paw, Arbol was sent crashing into another tree. The beast was playing with him, and Arbol was sure of it. Blood trickled down the side of his forehead, but quickly lost to the torrential rain. His vision was fading, eyelids growing heavy. Deathly red once again began illuminating the area as the Pyroar began charging another blast of flame.

Arbol's eyes darted around as he vied for any opportunity at escape. But it seemed futile... against a foe that deadly there was nothing a weak boy could do. But he could not die. He refused. He would not let his hard-won freedom be crushed moments after his escape. HE WOULD NOT. There must be a way, there must. Vision obscured; ground slippery; stones sharp. 

But...but... as his mind worked on overdrive, a portion of it couldn't ignore the encroaching feeling of hopelessness that was invading his soul. He bit down on his tongue hard, trying his best to keep those feelings at bay.

But slumped against a tree trunk, limbs splayed randomly, he could only watch as the ominous red glow illuminated the area, painting the previously white sheets of rain red. Like a bloody sun had descended to consume the world.

But right at the peak of its preparations, something happened. A beast of black and white entered the fray, sending an instantaneous punch into the Pyroar's maw. The glow dissipated, and vision was once again obscured. 

The two rolled and rolled on the ground as they tussled for control, sending devastating punches and crunches at one another. The black and white beast seemed to be leading the golden beast away, and for a brief moment, Arbol was sure he saw it nod at him.

This was a stroke of good luck, Arbol's was the perfect chance to slip away. He entertained the thought that the black and white beast was there to save him for a moment, but he doubted it. Kalos was anything but safe. 

Raising his foot, Arbol tried to stand but somehow ended up on his knees. Blood dribbled down from his nose, dyeing the flooding forest floor a tinge of crimson. The rumbles of battle resounded from somewhere ahead of him, seemingly inching closer to him. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hand around a clump of soggy grass, then pulled himself forward with all that he could muster.

One at a time, clump by clump, he blindly clawed his way through the forest, wincing every time he had the misfortune of stumbling upon a jagged stone, easily tearing through his macerated skin. 

*boom* *boom* *boom*

He froze as blasts of red illuminated the forest and explosions rocked the forest behind him but was quickly devoured by the relentless crash of rain against water. Arbol bit his lip, desperately suppressing the shiver in his bones as he clenched another tuff of grass. Fear was loss, to fear was to illicit weakness. He understood that all too well.

As seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to what felt like hours, Arbol soon lost track of time. Despite his battered body and diminished strength, his aching body refused to fall. He had fallen into a hypnotic sort of routine: Raise arm; grab grass; pull. 

The echoes of battle had fallen silent some time ago, yet that sense of dread still clung to him... he had to keep going. Further. Even if only a meter more. He pushed and pulled and tugged and thrust, inching closer to the forest border. Safe. He concluded, letting a ragged sigh escape his lungs, as though it held all the pent-up stress from the night.

However, his body was riddled with tiny injuries, stemming from the many sharp objects that dotted the forest floor and reopened scars wrought upon him by the bastard slavers. But despite all the pain that racked his body, Arbol would not stop. He had to survive; he must; he shall. His hands latched onto a floating stick and rammed it into the soggy ground. Gritting, trembling, his heart beating at over two hundred per minute, he thrust himself forward. He craved revenge against his captors, but the rational side of his mind vied for control: The whereabouts of his sister who he was separated from upon their enslavement, was still unknown. 

Arbol winced as he cut his hand on something sharp. Her sister was frail; barely able to lift a stack of flour even before their slavery. Arbol's eyes narrowed at the mere thought of her experience as a slave at the hands of cruel Kalosians. He immediately shut those thoughts out. She would live. She had to, and he was going to find her.

As the first glimmers of sunlight peeked their way into the world, the rain too began to dissipate. Slowly, torrents became a light drizzle of rain that pitter-pattered onto the flooded ground. Arbol almost cried tears of joy. He had survived. His death had all been guaranteed, but no. He had lived. Lived!

As if right on cue, a weary sense of exhaustion began to encapsulate him. He collapsed inside a crumbling berry bush, allowing the fragrant aroma of food to lull him into sleep.

Pangoro - Bulletpunch - Quash