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Chapter 7—Essaim
(noun)
—French for "swarm"

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VS SANTALUNE GYM: The Gym Trainers

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The lobby of the Santalune Gym was still, borderline dead. Women whom Tyler assumed to be workers, as they all wore the same breast-hugging blouses and tight pencil skirts that seemed intent on sending the wrong message, lined the walls and watched with faces schooled into professional masks. Their eyes betrayed them, though, wide and wary as Celestine strode through the space as though she owned it, with her quartet of companions trailing her reluctantly.

Tyler tried to ignore the pricking of their gazes as his new Trainer stopped before the secretary desk and said something to the woman stationed there. He didn't catch what she said, but her tone was firm and serious, and the gazes of her companions were tinged by concern.

He cast a furtive glance at Celestine through his peripheral, because he knew there would be consequences should he be caught staring. But he couldn't help himself—he'd known her only a few brief weeks, he'd never seen her dress up for anything, yet it seemed to him that now she had chosen her ensemble with a sort of purpose.

She had adorned herself in the sleek black leather of a long-sleeved jacket, the collar flaring and lined by winking rhinestones; a dark crimson halter top smattered with glitter sparkled in the halogen lights and bared her toned, pale midriff. One hand was poised on her hip, and Tyler could see the crown of metal spikes protruding from the knuckles of her black fingerless gloves. A heavy utility belt hung haphazardly from her curved waist, a large belt buckle bejeweled by silver rhinestones twinkled in the light, and beneath that her navy jeans were splattered by paint of various colors, as well as torn around the thigh and knee. The boots she wore were knee-length, the heels so tall and sharp they might be used as impromptu knives. Tyler had never seen her with makeup either, but today her lips were painted with a rosy shade, her lashes darkened by mascara and smoky violet brushed onto her eyelids. Now, being a Psyduck, Tyler was not particularly well-versed in the world of makeup or feminine beauty, but it seemed to him as though she had done up her face and selected her outfit for the sole purpose of looking fearsome and intimidating, and she was indeed succeeding. She looked like an edgy warrior queen of some kind.

The pigtailed girl reached out and touched Celestine on the shoulder. "Hey. We'll be in the bleachers, okay?"

Celestine arched a brow. "As opposed to with me on the field? Yeah. I gathered that."

The pigtailed girl frowned.

Celestine, to her credit, seemed to realize her abrasiveness and the effect of it, because she winced subtly. "I mean—thanks. I appreciate it."

The ginger-haired male turned to the larger male. "Well look at that. She's self-learning."

Celestine tossed him a scathing glare. The blonde girl eyed him in a disapproving manner.

"Let's get to our seat," the larger male said too-loudly, grabbing both the ginger-haired male and the pigtailed girl and dragging them over to another hallway. The blonde girl lingered for a moment, looking as though she wanted to say something, but she suddenly turned and followed briskly after her companions.

With them gone, Tyler turned to his Trainer and arched a brow. "Am I to assume that I will be the main force behind handling the Gym Trainers?"

The teenager flicked her gaze down at him. "You are. Good observation."

It was the most obvious conclusion, actually. He was out, for one thing, which meant she likely need him to be battle-ready at a moment's notice. Not to mention that, unlike the birds and the fox, Tyler did not boast any Type Advantage that would ultimately assist in procuring victory. If he were to deal with the Gym Trainers, beat down the small fry as it were, then the rest of the team would be fully rested by the time it came to face Alexa herself.

Nonetheless, Tyler felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. His old life never involved this sort of thing. The most exciting thing that had happened was when his professor collapsed suddenly from a heart attack and never woke up, and then his granddaughter moved in and kicked him out. For the most part, his life had been a lazy one, and, frankly, he wasn't very well-versed in the art of combat.

But he trusted in the training he'd received over the last three weeks, and he was more excited than he was anxious.

The secretary led them to a large door with several stylized insectile etchings flitting around the wooden surface. To Tyler, it looks as though they're dancing.

"The Gym Trainer test is fairly simple," the secretary explained, voice oddly flat. "It's a maze. All you have to do is find and battle all three Gym Trainers, and then make your way to the other end."

Tyler drew a deep breath at the mention of the Gym Trainers.

Celestine eyed the door as though considering its durability, in the event that she decided to break it down. "I don't suppose you're going to give me a thread or something to help."

"No, Mlle."

"Thought not." She glanced briefly at Tyler. "Ready, duck?"

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in an effort to dispel his nerves. His stomach churned with nervous-excitement. "Not fully, but let's not allow that to hold us back."

Her lip twitched and she turned back to the door. "Open it, please."

The receptionist pressed a button, and the door swung open with deliberate slowness. A hush fell over the room, as though everyone simultaneously decided to hold their breaths. All that Tyler could hear was the shrill squeal of hinges in desperate need of oiling and the sound of his heartbeat in his auditory canal. Beyond the door, Tyler could make out darkness, a black light, and nothing else. It seemed, in addition to being a maze, there was to be a distinct lack of light.

"The best of luck, challenger," said the receptionist.

Celestine gave no indication of hearing her as she stepped forward. Her heels made audible clicking noises against the tile as she submerged herself in darkness. Tyler hesitated for only a moment before following her.

The door squealed as it shut and suddenly the light was gone.

Tyler looked around. High, dark walls enclosed them and formed a long narrow corridor, but from there the darkness thickened and not much else could be made out. It was clear immediately that the lighting was not meant to be of much use, for the black light's influence did nothing to assist in the discerning of any notable features on the walls. All it did was highlight the wisps of fake cobweb attached to the walls, fluttering in a nonexistent breeze and turned stark white by the ultraviolet properties. The air had a mustiness to it, a staleness that made it clear the ventilation was poor and fresh air was a luxury that could not be afforded. It was clear this place was meant to inspire some sort of unease in its victims, but Tyler couldn't bring himself to care past the boredom that had already settled in.

A mechanic humming suddenly sounded, and the air suddenly filled with a thin fog. Ah, a fog machine. A mere cheap carnival trick in order to add a sense of ominousness to the atmosphere. Tyler saw through it easily.

Celestine, however, immediately straightened, eyes widening. "What was that?"

"I think it was the fog machine activating." Tyler turned to her in surprise. Her posture was exceptionally rigid, her hands clenched so hard that her knuckles were starting to blanch. Under the black light, her pale face glowed like the moon. He couldn't believe it. This was working on her? These cheap carnival tricks were playing at her nerves? No... that didn't make sense. "Mademoiselle? Are you... scared?"

She crossed her arms over her voluminous chest, but it looked more like she was trying to hug herself. Either way, the way her breasts were squished was quite visible through her tight shirt. "Of course not. Baka."

"You realize that this is simply the imitation of a haunted house." He examined the surroundings again thoughtfully and turned back to her with an arched brow. A veteran Trainer wouldn't be scared by merely this, but, then again, they say world-class minds have their quirks, so why not her? "A rather well-executed one, mind you. Don't you think?"

"Who cares?" She started forward. Her heels made sharp clicks as she stalked forward. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

He followed after her, eyeing her back with some amusement. Quirks indeed. This was highly unusual, but not objectionable. He wondered how far he could push it. "Mademoiselle, you have been in a haunted house before, oui?"

"Of course I have," she snapped.

He stopped. Blinked at her. "You're lying." A cackle broke from his throat as the pieces fit into place. "You've never been in a haunted house before!"

She stopped and whirled around to glare at him, her shoulders hunched and bristling. "They don't have Halloween in the Old Continent, okay? That's a Kalosian thing."

This stunned him. It was one thing to avoid them out of some childish squeamishness, but it had never occurred to Tyler that it might be a cultural thing, though that theory did have some merit in and of itself. "I had no idea! What do they do instead?"

She huffed, arms crossing over her chest and eye narrows. "There's an autumn festival or two, but that's more for the equinox and the transitioning of fall into winter—"

Something made her stop and blink, and she suddenly turned back to the path with the urgency of someone that had just remembered something. It was only then that Tyler noticed how the darkness had given way, how he could finally make out a distinct fork in the road—a division of three paths.

"...son of a bitch," Celestine grumbled, which summed up the situation perfectly.

Tyler analyzed the situation. Logically, this was to be predicted. The test was a maze, after all. Trainers were meant to stumble around for the first little while in order to test their nerves, then find a Gym Trainer, get directions, stumble around some more, rinse and repeat. It made perfect sense for there to be no visible difference between the three pathways, and even if there was, the black light and the fog made it undiscernible.

Luckily, there was a reason Celestine had specifically chosen Tyler and not the birds for this task. She turned to him dully. "Okay, Psyduck. Do your thing."

By "thing" she meant using his latent psychic powers to navigate the maze with his mind, sense the right path and track down the nearest Gym Trainer. For the average Psyduck, it might be a challenge, as most of the species were unable to utilize this ability due to the obstruction of a headache. But Tyler recalled the spongey texture and sweet-smoke taste of the Cianwood remedy his old master had given him, so that was not an issue.

He nodded once and placed his hands on either side of his head.

"Wait."

Startled, Tyler peered up at her. A furrow of reluctance had wrinkled her brow. "Yes, ma louve? What is it?"

"Are you..." She started, then stopped, lips pursing. "Are you sure? That you'll be okay? I mean, you said yourself that you're not exactly practiced, so..."

What? That—what? Since when was this a problem? Yes, Tyler was not particularly adept in psychic ability, true. But she had trained him herself, and he had practiced a bit the last couple weeks, had learned the move Confusion through this method. He was more than confident with his abilities in this matter. He had thought she was, too.

So where was this coming from? She had not been so uncertain a moment ago. "Mlle, I am more the capable. Have a little faith."

She did not seem convinced. The furrow in her brow could hold a coin. "Won't you get a headache, though? Just by using it? You did in the past—"

"I am Psyduck," he said flatly, and a little annoyed by her sudden lack of confidence. The remembrance of the Cianwood remedy stung the back of his throat with its distinctive texture. It was the oddest thing he'd ever ingested, but it was not for nothing. "I am born to endure headaches."

It was clear that she was still not convinced, and seemed to have only grown more reluctant, but then her gaze slid over to the three paths. A calculating expression entered her gaze, then her shoulders slumped in a manner that suggested resignation.

"Okay. Go for it."

With her permission confirmed, Tyler allowed his eyes to flutter closed. The darkness was a grounding force, his breath a slow rhythm as it filled his hearing and gradually mingled with the sound of his heartbeat. A moment passed. Another moment. His consciousness rippled like water, like a great, glittering pool of ink that someone had disturbed unintentionally, and then it began to take shape.

He took hold of that shape, imagined the feeling of it in his hands. It was a sticky, gooey, not-quite solid thing, something that was limp and weak by disuse, but had gotten stronger through the practiced repetition of the last three weeks. The power was still untrained and unwieldy, awkward but manageable. He cast it out like a net, let it unfurl and ensnare.

Because he did not know his own range (most of the training had involved telekinetic application, not telepathic), he allowed it to stretch until it felt as though it were straining within itself, ready to rip and tear at a too-sharp movement. It sent a thrum of pain through him, a sharp stretching sensation that had him biting back a shout of pain, a fierce aching like overextending your arm or pulling on a tendon that throbbed through his skull. It was fine, everything was fine. He just retracted his reach a little so that he wasn't straining so much and—

There! Another mind, one that brushed up against Tyler's, wriggling in surprise at the Psyduck's mental presence like a fly that had been unwittingly caught in a spider's web. He quickly retracted, just enough so that his presence was not touching the other mind, and slowly withdrew, tracing the path with his mind until his consciousness had returned to the confines of his skull.

When he opened his eyes, a throbbing pain emerged in his skull. He groaned, clutching his head in his paws. Clearly he'd strained himself.

"Tyler?" Celestine's voice echoed. She was knelt down before him, fringe dripping into her glittering sapphire eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, ma louve. All exercise has its strains." He massaged his temples to ease the throbbing. "Take the middle path. You'll find a Trainer at the end."

She was going to develop wrinkles if she continued to furrow her brows like that. Her lips were pursed together like clamps. "Are you sure?"

He was almost offended, but his head still ached. "Mlle, s'il vous plaît. Have some faith in me, won't you?"

She hesitated for a long time, deliberating, then stood up to her full, imposing height of five-foot-eleven. "Alright. Middle path it is."

The Ledyba's blow knocked the wind out of Tyler and sent him tumbling across the hard, plastic ground.

Wheezing, his attempt for fresh air was rewarded only with a lungful of that misty fog the fog machines were belching out. It sent him into a hacking fit, made it impossible for him to rise to his feet—which the Lebyda took full advantage of.

It slammed into him again, the bulkiness more than effective in pinning him. It didn't help that his skull was still throbbing from his earlier psychic burst, so when he tried to reach into his wellspring of psionic power in order to propel it off, the only result was another thud of pain.

Just as the Ledyba raised a fist, Tyler managed to compose himself long enough to realize that he wasn't a Psychic-Type in the first place and could just as easily utilize Water Gun—which he did. The blast hit the Bug in the face and sent it flying, the shell hitting the nearby wall with a sickening crack. It didn't move, and for a fleeting moment, Tyler wondered if he'd killed it.

There was a flash of red and the Ledyba was returned to a Ball in the Gym Trainer's hand. A young girl—one with blonde hair and a pleated skirt, something that might, for example, be worn by a school girl of a certain religion. She eyed the Ball in dissatisfaction, then clipped it to her belt. "Good job, Trainer."

Celestine nodded stiffly, but immediately knelt down to check on Tyler. "Oi. You okay, duck?"

Tyler forced himself to get up, wheezing for breath. Ohhhhh, he was dizzy. So, so dizzy. From now on, he was relying on Water Gun to defeat these Bugs. His poor head couldn't take it. "Yes. I'm fine. Just—caught me off guard."

A single nod of acknowledgement, then Celestine rose to her feet again.

The Gym Trainer eyed her with a steely sort of gaze that was far too old for her. She couldn't be older than fifteen. "You know," the girl said quietly, "the new Gym Leader—she's incredibly powerful. And she... if you fight her, you might get hurt—"

"I'm well aware of the danger," Celestine interrupted curtly. Her gaze was a brand of steel all of its own. "Thank you for the warning."

The Gym Trainer snorted. "Says every person that's come through so far..." She looked away, her lip curled into an ugly sneer. "Anyway, I suppose you want me to help you navigate the maze?"

"If you can." Celestine's tone was forcefully neutral. A bladed politeness flashed in her eyes. It was impatience, Tyler supposed, that sharpened that blade. Or anxiety. Either one. Maybe both, now that Tyler thought about it.

The Gym lass pointed sharply and curtly directed them down the middle path. "Keep going straight," was her advice, "the other paths are meant to distract you, but it's really just a straight path."

Celestine thanked her without meaning it and headed on her way. Tyler followed after her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked him once they had left the girl behind them. The silence was thick with the hum of the fog machines and the clack of her heels against the hard, plastic floor. His own webbed feet made a wet smacking sort of sound.

He side-eyed her, massaging his left arm. He'd likely landed on it when he fell. It throbbed dully, a bruise no-doubt forming beneath his layer of waterproof feathers, and the dizzy clung wispily to the edges of his consciousness. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

She stopped and blinked at him. "Because you got knocked against a wall."

He slowed to a stop beside her and sighed. He thought that might come up. "I was merely taken by surprised."

Celestine scrutinized him, her lips pursed tightly and curved faintly downward. "Is this going to happen again? Should I be worried about your ability to perform?"

A shot of indignance went through him. He released his left arm and turned to he with the intent to scold—but stopped.

Her hands were clenched rather tightly. Tight enough that there was a faint tremor of strained tendons.

He hadn't noticed before.

"Are you..." Goddess above, how did he phrase this so that she wouldn't explode? "Are you alright, mlle?"

She faltered, blinking at him, as though he had just denounced the laws of physics or something of that sort. "Come again?"

He hesitated, collecting his thoughts. Delicately. He needed to be delicate. The bruise on his arm protested weakly. "I understand that they say it gets easier, the longer you do something, but... I suppose that is not the case with this, is it?"

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Okay. Delicate wasn't working... How about bluntness? "It is clear that you are anxious and your anxiety is making you second-guess everything you were previously confidence about. I'm wondering if you're alright."

She bristled instantly, so, Tyler noted, it was probably best to avoid being blunt in the future. "Of course I'm alright! And I'm not anxious. The fuck gave you that idea?"

"The fact that you are questioning my abilities now, despite being completely confident about them when you first came in," he retorted bluntly. Because that was exactly what happened, and there was no point in hiding or sugar-coating it.

Her jaw slackened, but only for a split second. She clenched her teeth so fast and hard there was an audible snap, her eyes flashing with a hint of supernatural light. "That's—"

"Don't try and deny it." A sort of weariness had bled into him, colored his tone, as he observed her—her long legs and stilt-like heels that added to her lanky stature, her tall, lithe torso and narrow shoulders, how she stood so tall and proud. You'd almost have never guess, until you noticed the way she squared her shoulders as if bracing for impact, how her legs were pressing together, how she kept clenching and unclenching her hands. Nervous ticks, anxiety working her nerves one by one. "That Ledyba? It caught me by surprise, admittedly. But that was because of the migraine. It distracted me. It won't happen again. You don't need to question my abilities—as my Trainer, you should be well aware of how far I can push myself. What it seems like to me is that your anxiety is starting to mess with your judgement, which is rather disconcerting for me."

Celestine's jaw worked, her expression flashing between incredulous and indignant. Gradually, though, it faded, leaving a sort of resignation behind that made her face look like a marble mask. A sigh came out. "You know what? Fuck it. Fuck you. Let's just go through this godforsaken hell-tunnel and fight that bitch. Deal?"

"But—"

"Let's go." Her hair lashed out like the swing of a blade as she turned away sharply. She stalked away with long, measured strides punctuated by the clack of heels.

Should I worry about your judgement being compromised?

But he was not bold enough to dare voice the thought aloud, so Tyler heaved a colossal sigh and trailed after her. The bruise on his arm had ceased to throb.

The Gym lass's information turned out to be accurate, so they ended up not having to utilize Tyler's innate telepathy for navigation again. As a result, he was able to think much more clearly, and he defeated the other Trainers with ease—two boys with steely eyes that make them look far too old and wielding Bugs that move with a sort of resignation that seeped deep into their souls. Like the lass, the boys each attempted to dissuade Celestine from proceeding with her challenge, but she icily informed them that she was proceeding regardless of their opinions. The point was, Tyler didn't end up smacked against the wall again.

He let out a sigh as she turned away and started down the leftmost path of another fork. In all honesty, this was a rather tiresome endeavor, and he'd expected a bit more excitement from the battles. Instead, the remaining Bug Pokémon simply rolled over, let defeat take them. It was most troubling.

"AIYEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Tyler snapped his gaze upward—and almost laughed.

His Trainer was fighting against a very large, very fake cobweb that had caught her in its wispy net. The white of it glowed against the erratic thrashing of her arms and the angry flush of her face. Her frustration was growing to mask her initial fright, and a few Kantonese curses spilled from her lips.

He stifled a snicker.

She finally succeeded in throwing the fake cobweb off. It fluttered to the ground with a lazy elegance, only to be trampled upon as Celestine practically stabbed her heels into. "Stupid—fucking—the hell are these things even here for?!"

A short laugh escaped Tyler and he clamped his bill shut immediately. Too late—Celestine whirled around to pin him with a glare.

"You think this is funny?" she snapped.

The Psyduck cleared his throat. "Considering the fact that you are overreacting to a simple fake cobweb—yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

Her eyes narrowed menacingly. "Fuck you. Imagine if these things had been real, okay? How'd you like to walk into a fucking cobweb?"

Tyler eyed the discarded cobweb. It had half-tangled itself around the girl's left boot heel, and there were massive tears in it now. It looked like one of those cheep Halloween decorations you bought at a discount store—he had fond memories of assisting his previous owner in spreading them over the bushes and around the railing. They got few trick-or-treaters so far away from the city, but his owner loved decorating. "Do you have a fear of spiders, ma cherie?"

She scowled, her teeth bared. "I have a wariness of spiders—like most normal people."

He hummed thoughtfully. His old owner had not been afraid of spiders. In fact, the old man had not even been wary—he had no fear of the nonvenomous species that lived in Kalos (the only venomous species this far north could be found in Leagueless), and instead liked to catch the spiders to escort them out.

"Oh, shit." The cobweb was thoroughly tangled around Celestine's heel. She was trying desperately to kick it off, but it clung stubbornly like a stray trail of toiler paper. "Dammit! Tyler, help me get this thing off."

Tyler allowed himself an amused chuckle as he took hold of the train. She continued her violent kicking, eventually losing her balance and falling back against the wall. Her skull made a sharp thunking noise as it hit the plastic, and colorful curses fell from her lips like confetti. Some of them were quite interesting. He had never heard "son of a clusterfuck" before, for example.

"Seems you're enjoying the cobwebs," came a voice, wispy with a hint of a laugh.

Celestine paused, and Tyler glanced up. A woman had her back leaning against the side of the wall, at the very edge of where the path turned the corner. Tyler had never seen her before, but she was quite a beauty—with a golden bob and catlike emerald eyes and a pair of plump pink lips that were curled into a wan smile. There was no light in her gaze, no playful flicker or hint of laughter, only too-rigid shoulders and arms crossed over her chest like she was trying to comfort herself but also trying not to be too obvious about it. The fog swirled around the soles of her scuffed hiking boots.

"Viola," Celestine said, her voice colored by surprise. She straightened, which resulted in the web-rope being yanked from Tyler's hand. He looked between his Trainer and new woman, Viola. Like Viola Dupuis? The younger sister of—oh, ohhhhh, that made sense.

Viola peeled herself from the wall and made her way over to Celestine. Tyler's Trainer dwarfed her easily, by at least half a foot. The heels didn't help—but neither of them seemed to notice. Their gazes warred with each other for a moment before Celestine's eyes flickered over to the wall.

"Why are you here?" Celestine demanded, but her voice was soft and lacked force.

Viola bowed her head, as though paying her respects to some holy idol. "I came to wish you luck. Despite your protests, I think you'll need it."

Tyler watched Celestine's lips purse and her eyes become half-lidded. There was a long pause.

"I don't think I will." Celestine spoke in a slow, measured fashion, flat and lifeless—like it was scripted, rehearsed. "But thank you, for your concern."

The Psyduck frowned and studied his Trainer. Something was off here. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was some intuitive aspect to his latent psychic abilities or something else of that nature, but he got the distinct impression that something had been pushed to the forefront of Celestine's mind that she had pushed aside earlier, buried in some dark corner to be forgotten. Now it had bubbled back up to the surface, had stiffened her shoulders and tightened her face.

Viola's brows furrowed, more in confusion than offense. "That's an odd thing to say."

Celestine shook her head stiffly. "Look, I'm almost at the end of the maze. Your sister's nearby. And you remember how last time went."

"How did last time go?" Tyler asked, a little fed up with being a bystander. Plus, Celestine had only mentioned Viola's injury in passing, and not in particular as to how it had occurred.

Celestine spared him a glance, but otherwise ignored him. "You really shouldn't let her see you..."

Viola nodded and touched Celestine lightly on the shoulder as she brushed past. Tyler watched in a mix of amusement and alarm as his Trainer's shoulders tensed up at the contact.

"Please be careful," Viola said softly, and removed her hand. "And—bring my big sister back."

Tyler watched her turn the corner, watched the smoke and the darkness swallow her up. Then he turned back to Celestine, and found her already starting forward, her heels clacking dully against the molded plastic ground.

"C'mon," she snapped. Her voice was oddly sharp. "We're wasting time."

Tyler eyed her back. Oh, yes, something was definitely, distinctly wrong here. She walked as though burdened, her shoulder blades flaring and her hands curled into fists so tight the knuckles were beginning to lose what little color they had. Her dark hair swung with each step like a pendulum. The fake cobweb had not been untangled, and it glowed as it trailed after her.

He plodded after her before she could disappear into the darkness.

The light at the end of the tunnel was bloody red.

Cobwebs lined the walls in gauzy layers, like giant bandages over gaping wounds, and fluttered ethereally in a nonexistent breeze. Smoke poured out of the corners of the chamber in cascades, which only added to the Halloween aesthetic—but unlike the maze, this was not tacky, and it inspired a genuine trickle of fear down Tyler's spine.

A woman lounged upon a throne that was placed against the back wall. It was probably lovely once, the throne. Tyler could make out places where it looked like the wood had been broken off, where stencils of insectile figures had been clawed at and where the name "Dupuis", carved proudly on the headboard", had been striked through. Hints of gilded designs shone sickly golden in the bloody light, but most of it had been scraped away, leaving nothing but deep scour marks in the wood. The whole thing was scratched up and battered, torn into and shredded like it had played scratching post to some beast. Tyler didn't know of anything that could make scour marks like that. An Absol, for instance, might have big enough claws, but those claws were mostly for grip and they grew blunt from climbing the mountains, so they would not have left such deep marks. Whatever the case, all traces of its former resplendence was long-gone.

The same could be said for the woman who lounged upon it with her feet on the armrest and the back of her hand supporting her jaw. Her skin was pale, bloodless white, like bone dust had been mixed with water and painted over her, or like she was made out of eggshell that might crumble if she was hit too hard. Though short, her brown hair was matted, and an errant lock stuck out to fall over her wild, malachite eyes. The angles of her face were too-sharp, skin clinging desperately to her skeleton and cheekbones jutting, arms thin as sticks and fingers like twigs. She wore a smile that was fierce, almost feral in naturel, her teeth yellow as she leered down at them, the way a predator does when they size up their prey. Her clothing was tattered, crimson and black, something that might have been stylish once but was now a ragged disgrace for an ensemble. The nails at the ends of her fingers were sharpened into points, and the black choker around her neck sported a crimson-black pearl that looked almost like it was throbbing.

"So you've come at last," purred the woman, who could not be anyone other than the infamous Alexa Dupuis. Her smile was chilling, and Tyler found himself taking a step back. There was something feral in her eyes, something that unnerved him on a deep, fundamental level. Instinct screamed at him to keep away. This was a goddess in the late stage of decay. "I was starting to think you wouldn't arrive, Celestine Lavieaux. My web has been quivering in anticipation all day."

"Fuck you and your web." Celestine took a single step forward, shoulders squared and head held high. She looked like a woman charging into war, fearless and unafraid—a sharp contrast to the jittery young woman, frantic and prone to violent outbursts, that Tyler had seen in the maze. "I'm not a coward. I don't run from a fight."

Alexa's lips were grey and cracked and bleeding as she smiled. Crimson welled up and was swiped away by her quick pink tongue. She sat up, resting each arm on the armrests, and crossed her legs in a manner that would have made her look regal were she not so emancipated. "Yes, you are the worst sort of fly. The stubborn kind. But I like that kind—their death throes are always the best to watch as they writhe against my web."

She certainly likes her metaphors, Tyler noted. Then he glanced at the wall—and froze.

The webs on the walls were not empty. Trapped in the cocoon were heads—severed heads, all dried out and leathery, the mouths hanging open as if mid-scream, rotted teeth lined leathery lips. Matted hair tangled with the webbing, the empty eye sockets gaping like giant black voids. The noses and cheek sacs were flayed, shredded layers of skin hanging loosely. There was a faint stench of rot, sickly sweet, permeated the air, along with the vapor of faux smoke. A wave of nausea washed over Tyler, and he fought the nearly overwhelming urge to retch.

"Didn't I tell you to stop with the fucking web shit?" Celestine growled. She had not noticed the collection of severed heads. Her back was dark and imposing, her skin glowed an unearthly white.

Alexa tilted her head to the side, eyes glittering with a sick bastardization of amusement. "You say that, with a trail of web on your foot?"

Celestine blinked, her steadfast presence faltering. Then looked down, noting the long trail of faux web that was still tangled around her left heel. Tyler watched as her cheeks colored and she shot him a glare.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me about this?" she hissed, half-angry and half-embarrassed. "I look like I've got a toilet paper tail!"

"You never asked," was the answer he gave. It was meant to be witty and nonchalant, but it came out mumbled, softened by the horror still throbbing in his veins. Because those heads had once been living things. They had been humans and Pokémon that this woman—that wretched brunette on the throne—had beheaded, bodies that had been desecrated.

Her brows furrowed and her gaze flickered over to the walls—scanning, analyzing, processing—then turned back to Alexa. Though the expression in her eyes had gotten flintier and her fists tightened subtly, there was no indication of shock or horror of some kind, no reaction beyond a grim sort of acknowledgement. "Well, again, fuck you and your web. I'm the blade that's going to tear it to shreds."

Tyler winced as Alexa rose to her feet in a fashion so deliberately slow it was almost as though she were arthritic. A sharp, broken-sounding laugh bubbled from her throat, pitchy and off-kilter. "We'll see about that, Lavieaux! Come! To the battlefield!"

Two sections of the wall, one on either side of the throne, slid upwards with the creak of chains, revealing twin corridors. Tyler could make out only a yawning blackness, and he had to legitimately wonder what it was with this Gym and poor lighting. Budget cuts, maybe? Aesthetic? Whatever the case, Alexa sauntered over to the left one and disappeared into it, and with a groan, the door fell back down like the blade of a guillotine.

"Well then." She turned to him and enlarged his Ball. There was a grimness in her face that made her presence seem to fill up the whole room. "Thanks for your help, Tyler. Me and rest of the team have it from here."

He nodded, but didn't take his eyes off the heads. "Good luck, mlle."

Then his vision became stained with carmine light, and he slept.

Current Team:

Delphi, Male Braixen (Lv 16)
Docile, Takes plenty of siestas
Ability: Blaze
Moves: Scratch, Howl, Ember, Flame Charge
Met: Vaniville (Aquacorde) Town

Max, Male Pidgey (Lv 15)
Naive, Very finicky
Ability: Tangled Feet
Moves: Tackle, Sand Attack, Gust, Quick Attack
Met: Route Two

Tanner, Male Pidgey (Lv 15)
Hasty, Scatters things often
Ability: Tangled Feet
Moves: Tackle, Sand Attack, Gust, Quick Attack
Met: Route (Three) Two

Tyler, Male Psyduck (Lv 15)
Naughty, Proud of his power
Ability: Damp
Moves: Disable, Confusion, Tail Whip, Water Gun
Met: (Route Twenty-Two) Santalune City

Author's Notes:

HAPPY NEW YEAR! This is just an introduction, but the Gym battle is being written and should be up by next Saturday.

(Honestly Kinda thought I'd at least be in Lumiose by now but... life. I'm gonna use this week to labor on my run I promise.)

But hey! Tyler's perspective! I had fun with the telepathy scene. And Alexa is seriously fucked-up in the head!

Lots of Halloween vibes, eh?

Please enjoy,
Luna