Luca was still awake hours after the sun went down, tossing and turning in her straw bedding. While she did forget to train today, it was for the same reason that she found herself unable to sleep and not the cause itself. No, her restlessness came from a different place entirely: preoccupation and confusion. She had tried to talk through it with Dante, of course, but he wasn't much help. He agreed that it didn't make sense, but he would never be able to truly understand without feeling it himself.

Still, she couldn't blame him. Although she had been turning it over in her mind since the very instant she touched Isle's Aura, Luca still didn't understand either. Isle was an assassin—a cold hearted Pokémon that had taken the lives of many before her, and one that was now after hers. So why was Isle's Aura so… good? Why was her deepest desire a better world, one where cruelty wasn't necessary? Why did her Aura radiate like sunbeams, warmly shining throughout her entire body? Why did the Aura of her assassin make Luca feel so warm and safe? Isle had obscured her true self below layers and layers of learned behavior, lies, and even self-deception—but to Luca, her Aura shined no less bright and inevitably, it governed her actions more than any false shell.

Despite all of that, Luca had felt very real bloodlust during their first meeting in the forest. Furthermore, when Isle claimed that she wasn't the one who wanted Luca dead, she felt relief when it was reported to be the truth—not the relief of getting away with a lie, but the relief of learning a reassuring truth. It was as if she was afraid that she wanted Luca dead as well, but with her moral Aura, Isle had still agreed to kill her while knowing why. They very clearly had the correct Weavile given her answers during the interrogation, so how could all these truths coexist?

In all her time thinking, Luca could only think of explanations in two categories. In category I, Isle was being tricked—convinced that certain Pokémon had to die for the good of all. In category II, those Pokémon actually did have to die for the good of all. In either case, Isle wasn't thrilled to be a part of it (that is, she was afraid that it may irreversibly corrupt her) but still saw it as the correct thing to do. And so, the confusion of how Isle's Aura could be good became the confusion of what Luca should do about it.

She could share her findings with Absol and the others, of course, but what could they really do? They still lacked the critical information, and the only realistic method of obtaining it was more interrogation. Even then, Luca doubted that they would get anything else since they had only learned what they did due to blind luck and a relatively innocuous rephrasing. Besides that, Luca didn't really want to reexperience feeling the Aura of a terrified, tied-down Isle. And what if it was category II? Would they be able to sacrifice Luca? Or worse, would it be altogether far too easy for them? Either way, if Luca had to die, she wanted it to be her choice—no one else's.

That was why, in the darkness of the archives, Luca was silently considering sneaking out to see Isle alone. Without the stronger Pokémon there, Isle would likely be willing to talk more freely. Maybe, if she was being fooled, they could figure it out—and maybe, if it was category II, Isle would do what she had to. It felt like the only way forward, but… Luca didn't need to be a genius to know it was likely the dumbest idea she had ever had—even before her memory was taken. Still—in the pure dark, something inside her spurred her on.

In the end, Luca decided to leave it to chance. She would wait for the next dream Aura she felt. If it was a positive emotion, she would go. If it was negative, she would discard the thought until sharing it with Absol.

Almost immediately upon her decision, the next Aura pulse came as if on cue. It was unmistakably positive—whoever produced it must have been dreaming about relaxing in a warm summer's field or some such. It was a loud and clear message from the universe.

Luca sighed under her breath. She was really doing this. She finally sat up and used the only light available—Dante's tail from the adjacent room—to find the ladder and make her way down to the ground floor. She moved slowly and carefully: she wanted to be quiet, and moving quickly in such low-light conditions was risky. Soon, she safely arrived at the dark floor of the archives. Not much of Dante's light penetrated to where she was between the bookcases, so she blindly felt her way out—her goal, Dante's table near the entrance.

Although he had somehow found a way to complain about a source of ignition in his archives—apparently it was different when he was the source—Dante had eventually relented and gotten her a large candle for when she wanted something at night. She used it occasionally, but if Dante had known what she'd eventually use it for she would have never received it. Regardless, it was there, and Luca could see its silhouette in the dim light, poking up from the corner of Dante's desk.

She didn't pick it up immediately, however. First, she ran her paw over the surface of the desk by the candle's base: she always kept the flint and steel just adjacent. Once she found them, she carefully and nearly-blindly held them between the fingers of her respective paws just aside the candle's wick. This was the only time Luca had to make sound, and therefore the only time her mission held risk of failure. If Dante heard her lighting the candle, he might come out to talk to her—and Luca felt sure she'd be unable to hide what she was planning on doing.

She stopped stalling and, in a single decisive motion, brought the piece of steel down. With a sharp chak, sparks dominated Luca's vision for a split second. Then, to her surprise, the fire caught on her first try. As it slowly grew larger, the darkness surrounding her lost purchase against the soft glow of the candle.

Luca kept herself still and silent, still holding the flint and steel next to the wick. She listened carefully, but Dante's room was as quiet as the surrounding camp. He was still asleep. She was free to… well, free to throw her life away, probably. Luca placed the flint and steel down approximately where she found them and, as she cupped the candle's base with her paws in preparation to pick it up, she took a moment to stare into the candle's flame. Do I really want to do this? she asked the gently wavering flame. It wasn't too late for her to return to her loft as if nothing happened. Really, it was the intelligent choice: if Isle really was being duped, Luca was far from the most equipped to help. Still—she couldn't place why, but something about what she was planning to do felt very right. Besides, even if Isle killed her, the Explorer Coalition would get to the bottom of the whole mystery. She wouldn't be screwing them over.

Luca blinked, her motivation restored. She firmed her grip on the candle's base and wasted no more time in the archives.

Upon pushing her way out into the camp, Luca found that it was bathed in bright moonlight. She really should have checked first—the candle was worthless and she risked waking Dante for no reason—but she might as well bring it, now. She walked through the dead camp, clutching her candle close. She detested being outside at night in the camp—the fact that it was physically silent and spooky but lively in Aura (with warped emotions no less) made it uncomfortable to say the least. Regardless, Luca persevered and was soon outside of Isle's purple tent. She took a deep breath before she entered. She would do her best to live, of course, but she was prepared to face death if it came to her.

Luca pushed the tent flap aside with her shoulder. The inside of the tent was pitch-black: the moonlight only managed to light about a foot inside the narrow entrance. Maybe Luca would get some use out of the candle after all.

"Riolu," Isle's voice came from the shadows. "Come to torment me a bit more?" Her voice was even more hoarse than it had been for the interrogation, and exhaustion seeped from every syllable.

"It's Luca, actually," Luca offered as she sat just inside the entrance, doing her best to keep an even and casual tone. "And no. I just want to talk."

Isle was silent for a moment before her voice came from the darkness once more. "You didn't come across as an idiot during our previous meetings. But here you are, apparently unaware that you're at my mercy when you're alone in this tent."

Luca placed the candle on the ground just in front of her. The dim light only afforded her a faint silhouette of the chained Weavile, so Luca was unable to discern any expression that Isle may have had. "I'm aware," Luca said. "But I'm hoping that you won't kill me."

Isle laughed in response—a dry, scathing laugh that nearly caused Riolu to physically recoil. "An idiot after all, I see. I'll bite, though: what has possessed you to believe that your own assassin wouldn't kill you?"

"I saw your Aura. I know you're good, deep down."

"Oh, you know I'm good," Isle echoed incredulously. "Flattering. Now tell me—have you ever considered why a good Pokémon may have to kill you?"

"I, uh," Luca stuttered. She had—of course she had. She had spent the entire day thinking about it. So, what was making her falter now?

"Just to be clear, you made a mistake coming here alone," Isle continued, her voice deadly serious. "You aren't leaving this tent alive. If you try to run, it'll just be over sooner." She let her words hang in the air for a moment before changing her demeanor in an instant—her voice and the posture of her silhouette perfectly relaxed as she continued. "I don't mind some conversation first, though, if you need to know why it has to be this way."

Despite herself, Luca shivered as fear prickled down her spine. She had resigned herself to the possibility of death before coming in, but the raw conviction in Isle's voice had rattled her regardless. Luca found herself reminded that dying wasn't as quick or easy as hitting a light switch—in this circumstance, she would be stabbed by a half-dozen spikes made of ice. Then, she would have to deal with the pain and fear as her body slowly shut down around her—and who knows how long that would take. Luca could feel herself already beginning to panic.

No, Luca thought pointedly. She's willing to talk, so hope isn't gone. It could still be category I, and if it is, I can still convince her to spare me.

"Oh, impressive," Isle said flatly as Luca drew a deep breath. "Calming yourself down in the face of death isn't easy."

"Yeah, well… tell me why. If you can convince me that it has to happen, I might even take your restraint off."

"…Hm? Is that right?"

Luca shrugged. "If you can make it painless." What'll it matter to me, anyways—I'll already be gone.

Again, Isle was quiet for a long moment before responding. "…You already knew I was going to kill you anyways, didn't you? You're not an idiot, you're just suicidal."

Luca shrugged again. Despite thinking about it for hours and hours, she clearly hadn't thought it through sufficiently—and now, she wasn't quite sure how she came to the conclusion that brought her there. Maybe she was an idiot after all.

"Whatever," Isle continued. "It's all the same to me, I suppose. You're from another dimension, am I right?"

"…Yes."

"Well, here's the problem: you don't belong here," Isle began, conviction once again entering her voice. "Your very presence in this dimension is unnatural, and as long you remain, the border between dimensions will continue to break apart. The 'dungeons' as you call them are nothing more than the early symptoms of a sick and dying world. Hundreds of Pokémon have died to these first symptoms alone, and I'll be damned if I let this whole world be swallowed. So before you bring it up, no, it doesn't matter if you are here by accident. The fact is your death will spare our entire world."

Is that why I'm in the Pokémon dimension? To act as a sort of dimension-destroying virus? It's conceivable, but it doesn't really matter right now—there's a flaw in her logic. "That doesn't necessarily mean I have to die here and now," Luca said, straining to force her voice as calm as her body would let it. "I was brought here, so shouldn't we find whoever did that? If I'm really threatening your world we should find the source, not the victim. Maybe we could even make them send me back."

"…What do you mean, you were brought here?" Isle asked carefully, suspicion dripping from her voice.

"They had that Meowstic read my mind. All my personal memories have been removed, but the general memories of my world were left intact. They said that can basically only be done manually. Plus, I was turned into a Riolu when I wasn't one before. They're pretty convinced that I was brought here purposefully."

Isle's silhouette was still and silent. Luca waited, but she didn't speak: for what felt like minutes on end, all she could do was sit and stare at her dark shape, unresponsive as it was. She briefly had hope that Isle wouldn't kill her, but as the silence became more and more drawn out, she was beginning to worry. Expecting shards of ice to tear into her any moment was beginning to become unbearable: she had to keep trying. "Hey, d—"

"Shut up," Isle interrupted harshly. A few moments later, Luca felt the most peculiar emotion from the Weavile—the very first one she had since she entered. It felt as if Isle was standing on the edge of a cliff above the ocean. There was no way she could know if there were rocks below or if there was open water, but she had to jump. She simply had to. Still—the fear was making her hesitate. She didn't want to leave behind the safety of the clifftop.

"Be honest with me," Isle finally said. She spoke slowly and deliberately. "Do you think you can find whoever brought you here?"

Luca could lie, but she had just admitted to having no personal memories—and Isle was not stupid. Still, even if she had to be honest, she could do it while bargaining for her life. "I don't have any memories to help, but I'm certainly going to try to find them… especially if I'm killing the world just by being here."

Luca heard a deep breath from the silhouette—a rare moment of vulnerability from Isle. "Come here," she ordered.

Luca hesitated.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I just need you to pull my cloak down for me. And I need you to hurry."

The seriousness in Isle's voice spurring her on, Luca grabbed her candle before approaching the Weavile. The candle's light revealed Isle's intense red eyes, watching Luca intently as she slowly breached her personal space. Her mask still sported holes from the ice shards, revealing sharp teeth in the corner of her mouth.

"Just… pull it down?" Luca asked as she placed the candle back on the ground nearby.

"Yes. Looser around my neck."

Just as she had earlier that day, Luca brought her right paw to Isle—this time to pull the cloak down. As she did, Isle's red collar came into view. It was normal for Weaviles, Luca could recall, but something just below the collar caught her eye.

Etched into Isle's dark skin, just below her neck, was a sort of emblem. It was round, symmetric, and uniform like a brand, but it was obviously formed by quite a lot of missing flesh. The bright color of blood contrasted its surroundings. It looked perfectly fresh—like it could have been inflicted moments ago—but it had been days since Lann captured her. The design itself involved a lot of sharp angles, and somehow it reminded Luca of a pair of eyes.

"You see it?" Isle asked, her gaze having never left Luca's face. "The mark?"

"I—yes, but—"

"Good," Isle said, again interrupting Luca. "I suspect we don't have a lot of time. I'm going to give you a lot of information and you need to listen carefully to all of it. Can you shut up and listen until I'm done?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"What you see here is the mark of Giratina. It gives him a limited connection to our dimension through me, meaning he can see and hear in a wide radius around me as well as speak within my mind. Believe it or not, he's vehemently threatening to kill me right now for sharing this, but I'm about to make him a whole lot angrier. Now, I'm part of an organization. Information is compartmentalized so I have no idea what the rest of the organization is up to at any given time, but my job is dedicated to finding and killing Pokémon at the direct instruction of Giratina. But I think he's been lying to me: it's completely impossible that he wouldn't know precisely how you came to this dimension, and he told me that it was an unfortunate accident. So, I think you need to live, and I think we need to figure out just how much of what Giratina has told me has been lies."

"For now, though, we need to run," Isle continued, speaking quicker with each passing moment. "Giratina knows what I've told you, and he's going to order an attack on the camp as soon as he can. Even if he doesn't, we have spies everywhere—multiple in this camp at the very least—and they are good at what they do. You can't trust anyone, you understand? We have to get away, just you and me."

"Wh—I don't," Luca stuttered. She couldn't even begin to process the insane things she was being told.

"Listen to me," Isle hissed. "We need to get away. We need to outrun the White Spine."

The instant Isle uttered the name of her organization, the air surrounding Luca grew impossibly hot. It felt like she had just walked into a giant oven, and when she reflexively gasped, her lungs exploded with pain as the super-heated air filled them. Within an instant, she felt herself beginning to pass out—from the pain, lack of oxygen, and shock alike. The very last sensation she felt before she succumbed was an uncountable amount of Aura pulses surrounding her; pulses of fear, pain, confusion, and rage from what must have been every Pokémon in the camp battered her skull as everything went dark.


Before he even knew he was conscious, Dante found himself doubled over on the floor of his room in the archives, panting desperately. He was overheating, and his body was beginning to hurt itself—even worse, the heat surrounding him only intensified. Fear and confusion overwhelmed as Dante struggled with his breathing. He was dead for sure if the heat never stopped, and only a few seconds was already unbearable. Thankfully, it seemed a few seconds was all he needed to withstand: the heat soon dissipated, leaving Dante a shuddering mess. He had very narrowly managed to avoid being knocked out.

What was that? Dante thought once he was able to calm himself. It felt like an impossibly strong fire attack—even with Dante's significant resistance to fire, he was on his last legs. His blaze had even activated, ironically making his weak body feel charged with potential. Still, it was only when the significance of what had happened dawned on him, and adrenaline filled Dante's system, that he lifted himself up. The fear had clouded his judgement—distracted him from what should be glaringly obvious: he was just attacked in the center of the base camp.

Dante leapt to his feet and searched his surroundings for the first time. He was perfectly alone in his room—no angry fire-type to be seen. However, he could hear a familiar crackling sound from the main room of the archives, the implication of which made his blood run cold.

As he rushed into the archives proper, Dante's worst fears were confirmed. Fire had caught in various places around the shelves, and the dry paper was allowing it to spread with shocking speed. Dante instinctively ran to exit the tent: he had to find a water-type—if not in time to save as much of the precious information as possible, then in time to stop the flames from spreading to the platform on which Luca still slept.

Dante was already panicked. He had been woken by still-unidentified extreme heat and was watching his one critical responsibility burn away in front of him. However, when he pushed his way out into the greater base camp, the burning knowledge in the archives immediately felt like an afterthought. Before him, the base camp was ravaged. A thick smoke hung in the air, making visibility low. It was thick enough that if Dante wasn't a fire-type, he might find difficulty breathing—and given that it was still dark outside, Dante could essentially only see the light of scattered fires raging, each burning down its attached tent. The ground beneath his feet, normally consisting of lush grass with soft dirt paths, was now desolate, dry, and cracked—any plant life now no more than ashes. What woke Dante was a camp-wide attack. There had to be dozens and dozens of critically injured and unconscious Pokémon in danger throughout… perhaps some of them were already dead.

Dante shook his head free from the panic and fear clouding his mind. He had to do what he could. Going back inside, he walked directly through the ever-intensifying fire to reach Luca's ladder. Although the bottom of the ladder was singed, it had thus far resisted catching fire so Dante wasted no time in climbing to the top. As his head crested the platform, however, Dante stopped. All that waited for him on the top platform was Luca's bedding—Luca herself was nowhere to be seen.

Dante stayed stationary on the ladder, staring at the empty bedding for a long few moments. It was as if he was trapped in a nightmare where everything possible was going wrong—and the complete lack of other Pokémon wasn't helping. A large part of him just wanted to curl up and cry. Regardless, Dante couldn't stay there at the top of the ladder: he had to remember that even as a fire-type, the fire in the confined space of the tent could cause him to overheat. In blaze, he would pass out without even feeling it coming. He slid down the ladder, forced his way through the flames once more, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and exited the archives.

As he reentered the camp, motion in his peripherals caught Dante's eye. He was initially thankful to see another Pokémon, but upon closer inspection he instinctively hid just behind the archives' tent flaps: the movement he saw was an Eelektross—a species he knew was absent from the ranks of the Explorer Coalition.

The Eelektross slowly and smoothly swam through the air as if it was water. Sparks of electricity in the darkness surrounding it reminded Dante that they stayed suspended in the air through some strange interaction with static electricity. As they swam through the camp, their bulging eyes inspected their surroundings carefully. The Eelektross was searching for something, and Dante was relieved that he had managed to hide in time.

The Eeletross's methodical searching was interrupted by the approach of a Mightyena. "Heyy!" the Mightyena chirped with a bright, female voice. "What are you assigned to?"

"You should be more cautious," the Eelektross warned, his voice dull. "What if I was an Explorer?"

"Oh, come on," the Mighthyena teased with a toothy grin. "You're walking through camp scowling every which way. You might as well be shouting 'I am a hostile stranger!'"

Despite a particularly murderous glare from the Eelektross, her smile never faltered. "I'm on cleanup," the Eelektross said, finally relenting. "Seen any conscious Explorers?"

"Nope! We just started, though. I'm sure the night will get more and more chaotic as time goes on," the Mighthyena said with a devilish grin. "I'm on rescue, by the way. I dunno why, but we had a bunch of spies still in the camp for the attack. I've got a list of 'mons I need to save."

Her sentence was punctuated with the impact of a massive, blinding lightning strike hitting somewhere in the base camp. It demanded attention from all three Pokémon—even Dante in his hiding place felt the impact throughout his entire body. The clearing remained silent as the sky opened up, seemingly in response to the lightning strike; within seconds, the base camp was being doused by dense, heavy rain.

The Eelektross was the first to break the silence: "Looks like somebody found some Explorers, at least."

"Lucky them. Do you want to move together? We can help each other with our respective jobs."

"Fine. This way."

Dante didn't move, even as the pair left the clearing and disappeared into the maze of ruined tents. His heart was pounding out of his chest—the lightning strike had shaken him to his core. Besides that, what had he just overheard? The implications of it were making his head spin, but all he really needed to focus on was that there was apparently an entire hostile force in the base camp. He was alone, and the only lead he had was the fact that some Pokémon was likely still conscious and fighting—at least right up until the lightning strike.

Dante risked fully poking his head out of the archive's entrance. Despite the heavy rain, most of the fires were managing to stay lit. Furthermore, as far as he could tell, Dante was the only Pokémon around. He might as well head towards the Admin tent—if there were truly Pokémon of the Explorer Coalition still kicking, it was likely Absol, Lann, and Mini.

Briefly pausing to steel his nerves, Dante rushed out into the rain. Thankfully, his blaze nullified the pain of the rain on his tail. While it would be ideal to go undetected by the Pokémon roaming the camp, speed was of the essence and he couldn't really do anything about the light from his tail-flame. Beyond that, it seemed as though many of the invaders didn't know precisely who was and wasn't on their side. If he was caught, Dante could pretend to be a spy as a last-ditch effort.

Dante. Can you hear me?

Mini's voice abruptly echoing in his head made the already on-edge Dante nearly jump out of his skin. Yes! He thought to himself, hoping Mini would get the message. What's going on? Are you three alright?

Yes, we— Mini's voice abruptly went silent. An instant later, a second lightning strike hit, again thoroughly rattling Dante.

Before Dante could even fully recover, Mini's voice returned: Apologies. Telepathy while fighting is difficult. We are fine for now, but we have met a threatening opponent and are held up. Absol has an order for you if you are well enough to follow it.

What's the order?

Luca is currently in Isle's tent. Furthermore, both Luca and Isle appear to have been knocked unconscious by the heat wave. You must go to Luca and keep her safe, ideally escaping the camp with her.

She's with… Ugh, OK. I'm on it.

Yet another lightning strike punctuated his sentence, delaying Mini's response—though when his voice came, his tone was indifferent as always. Good. We will likely not contact you again, but securing Luca is the priority here. Good luck.

The conversation concluded, Dante took a moment to collect himself. Now his goal was to save Luca, and this time he actually knew where he was going. Still, the fact that Luca was in Isle's tent worried him: she had shared that Isle's Aura was strangely good, but there's no way she was dumb enough to meet with her alone based on that. Regardless, Dante could think of no other explanation offhand.

Once again, Dante hurried through the ruined camp. Beneath the overpowering sound of the rainstorm, muffled shouting and the sound of combat were beginning to populate it. It seemed that the chaos that Mightyena had mentioned was finally beginning. Despite the apparent combat surrounding him, in a miraculous stroke of luck, Dante was able to make it to Isle's tent without seeing another Pokémon—hostile or not. It seemed the terrible conditions were providing sufficient cover, but still—when Dante pushed his way into Isle's tent, he made sure to seal the flaps behind him as much as he could. If a passing Pokémon saw the light of his tail-flame from outside, they may decide to investigate.

On the inside, Isle and Luca were indeed unconscious, both slumped over awkwardly as if they hadn't even had time to realize what was happening. Dante was relieved to see that Luca appeared physically uninjured despite the fact that she was nearly on top of Isle. He noticed that her candle was next to them, still lit. That essentially confirmed that she was here of her own free will. Despite being alone in the tent, Dante shrugged: he could think later, when his blaze wasn't active.

Dante picked up Luca, cradling her in his arms. Then, he set out—leaving Isle still restrained in her tent. As he walked through the camp, there was another lightning strike—not just one, but three. They were tightly packed, one after another and apparently all striking the same place. It was definitely an electric-type creating them, and Dante could virtually feel the anger in them. Regardless, he continued as fast as he could without risking dropping Luca.

Once again, despite the sounds of combat surrounding him and the fact that he had passed through the center of camp, Dante made it through without seeing a soul. He didn't really understand how, even as he exited the camp proper and entered the surrounding forest. Only when he had achieved some distance from camp, and a voice pierced through the thick rain and darkness, did he understand.

"Halt," the voice came. It was masculine and came across as assertive and serious. "Did you truly think you could escape by blindly running into the forest?"

The sudden voice made Dante stop in his tracks. Of course they weren't thorough inside the camp itself: having a reliable watch surrounding the camp meant those inside could take all the time they wanted while the weakened Explorers were caught trying to escape. It was much safer that way. Still, he had a last-ditch effort prepared.

"No, I-I'm a spy," Dante said, acting a bit more terrified than he was as he turned in the direction he thought the voice came from. "Please, where do I go to be safe? She needs healing," he added, glancing to Luca as he held her.

"…Oh?" the voice came from the darkness. "And is she a spy as well?"

Dante purposefully hesitated for a moment. He could claim that she was, but he had no idea if these "spies" knew each other. It was safer to tell the story of a spy who, despite betraying her, wanted to save a Riolu that he had met while undercover. It was romantic, really. Plus, adding a detail that hurt your case actually tended to create stronger lies.

"…No," he said, trying to sound uncertain. "She's not. Look, I'll take responsibility, just please—where can she get healed?"

"I see. Tell me: this organization for which you spy—what is the name of it?"

The voice was testing him, and this was where Dante couldn't answer slowly. Answering slowly would be seen as panic, so he blurted out the first excuse he could think of. "What? Other spies get to know that? When I was hired they only told me about 'an organization'. Look, you can check if I'm actually a spy afterwards. It's not like I'm in the shape to be running away."

"…Fine. Follow my voice. I'll lead you to the temporary camp."

Dante nearly sighed with relief—he was actually buying it. Now the only question was if he wanted to push his luck. He didn't see a way to escape otherwise, so even if he wanted there to be, there wasn't exactly a choice. "Wait," he called into the darkness. "I don't know if you're big enough to help, but can you please carry her? Or at least help me carry her? I don't know when my blaze will end, but I will pass out when it does. It might kill her if I drop her."

The darkness was silent. Dante hoped his mysterious friend in the darkness was at least considering his request, and that he actually had the means to help. Staying in the shadows and leading the beacon of light that was Dante with only sound was a very safe strategy, though. Perhaps he wasn't dumb enough to give him the chance, or perhaps he had noticed that Luca wasn't nearly as hurt as Dante was putting on.

The answer came not as a voice, but as a shape taking form in the shadows ahead. A tall Scizor entered the radius of light surrounding him, and Dante simply could not believe his luck. Not only was he caught by a Pokémon gullible enough to fall for his lies, but that gullible Pokémon was a steel/bug type—making him extremely weak to fire. Even more than that, while evolving made Scizors significantly more powerful, they were weighed down by their thick, sturdy carapace. So, as a Charmeleon, Dante was naturally faster—plus it was to be a surprise attack, giving him a further advantage.

All of this combined meant that when Dante's response to the Scizor's offer of a claw with which to carry Luca was to drop her and dart towards his abdomen with flame-cloaked fangs, all he could do was scream in pain as the fangs sunk into him like butter. Dante put every bit of strength he could into not his jaw, but the fire to mercilessly melt as much as he could. Dante's senses were entirely overpowered by the disgusting smell of burnt bug. Thankfully, the Scizor was too preoccupied with the pain to retaliate and it was only a few moments before he finally lost consciousness, suddenly becoming not much more than a tall red tree crashing to the ground.

Dante pulled out his teeth and pushed the Scizor's body away from Luca as soon as he felt him go limp. He stood over his unconscious adversary, his breathing heavy: holding his breath and producing such strong fire was difficult, even with the numbing effect of his blaze.

Dante leaned down and inspected the Scizor. He was in fact unconscious—not dead. Thankfully, the rain was drowning out the worst of the horrifying scent. The Scizor's abdomen was terribly warped where Dante had bit down—carapace and the flesh below alike. He had scarred him: even if he received serious healing, the red armor coating his body would always have the deep holes to remind him of Dante's teeth.

Suddenly, a terrifying thought occurred to Dante as he stood there in the dark forest. This Scizor had seen them, and he had seen which direction Dante was trying to go. It would be significantly easier for them to get away—and stay away—if he hadn't. Dante could remedy that right now by killing the Scizor. It would be easy: he had hunted and killed Pokémon before, but… he was now in civil society. Now, killing an unconscious Pokémon—even one that would have killed him given a chance—seemed like a terrible thing to do.

Dante sighed. He couldn't waste too much time, mulling it over—not after the Scizor had screamed so loudly. Dante left him alone, turning and bending down to pick up Luca once again. Then, he continued on his way through the forest in a light jog, continuing on in the same direction. He only hoped that his mercy wouldn't be the end of them.