Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Hands of Creation

Chapter 77 - Under the Red Sky

This had to be a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

Owen, back to being a Charmander, with weak muscles and an even weaker flame, panted as he ran by the red river. He didn't know how long he had been running, or why—he just wanted to find... No, he didn't even know what he was trying to find. Was he trying to run? To what? From what? He was just running on instinct—something that seemed a lot stronger, now.

At least it provided him with a sense of guidance. Usually he'd be aimless and sitting around until he was given some sort of direction—at least now, he knew to go someplace instead of stay put. He didn't know which one was the better option, though.

To his left were the strange plateaus, carved, potentially, by eons of wind. To his right was a large river, the depth of which was impossible to discern. Thick and red like blood, but it smelled like... Owen wasn't sure. Maybe it did smell like blood. Ever since he had gotten here, his sense of smell had been failing him. Perhaps everything was so strong that it had made him scent-blind.

His legs burned. He had to slow down. But once he slowed down, would he be able to start running again? His chest felt simultaneously cold and hot and tight. "Ngh, nngh, hnngh..."

He had to keep going. Someone had to be out there that had come here, too, wherever here was. And even if he chose to go in a random direction, it felt like the way he was going was now the right way. Forward. Wherever forward was.

And then he tripped over his own clumsy steps, slamming into the strangely hard, yet dusty ground. After a sharp inhale, dust coated his tongue and throat, leading to rough coughing and wheezing. He rolled over and, not thinking, scrambled to the lake and took a drink.

Foul.

He heaved the water back out, at least losing some of the dust, but it had been replaced by what Owen would have imagined Rhys' trash pile would taste like. The thought earned another gag, then a cough, until his chest hurt more.

With a cough that was slightly too hard—nearly all of the air in his lungs seemingly gone, a splitting headache crackled across his skull, blurring his vision. He breathed through his nose next, careful that he wasn't face-first in dust this time, but the air was dry. It only made his lungs hurt more.

His arms trembled, finally gathering enough strength to push Owen onto his back.

The Charmander's head lay in the very edge of the shallows, tail dry. The sky was still red as ever, but he spotted a few clouds this time—gray things that gave him something to concentrate on.

The painful feeling in his lungs was starting to subside, though the dull throbbing of his legs hadn't gone away. The same went for his sore throat and dry mouth. The thought of getting more water from the red pond made his whole body seize at the thought. But was there water anywhere else?

Owen turned his head to the left, seeing plateaus and the lakeside. He turned his head to the right, seeing plateaus and the lakeside. He didn't have to, nor wanted to, lift his head up to know that the same scenery—aside from the lakeside—could be seen ahead.

A little time would be nice, just to relax and let all those pained feelings fade.

Owen wasn't sure when, but at some point, he had drifted off into a nap.

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Charmander hid behind Charizard's tail, poking his head out now and then to watch the fights. Bigtail and Redscale were fighting. The Charmander with a big tail and the Charmeleon with crimson scales were always training, even if it wasn't as good as it could be. But it helped to pass the time.