Chapter 141: The Cellar

Chapter 4: The Cellar

The dim light of dusk spilled over the streets of Whiteleaf Town, bathing the mottled, pale gray stones in a faint yellow glow.

At the end of the street, where the gazes of the townsfolk converged, a small, dark figure appeared, stumbling unsteadily into view. Seeing this, Al's father let out a sigh of relief, his furrowed brow relaxing. He raised his left hand and waved toward the figure at the end of the street.

There was no response.

Like a walking corpse, the figure remained silent, slowly shuffling toward the crowd.

Something was wrong.

An eerie atmosphere permeated the group on the street, and a sense of extreme tension filled their hearts. Al's father swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing as he gently raised the cold muzzle of his gun, aiming it at the end of the street.

"Drip. Drip."

The sound of liquid hitting the ground echoed in the silent air. The dark silhouette drew closer to the townsfolk. As the orange-red sunset sank below the horizon, the harsh light faded away, and the figure became clearer on the dimly lit stone path.

Blood.

Crimson blood covered his sturdy frame, and horrific, gaping wounds revealed the raw, pink flesh beneath. His eyes were downcast, with strands of blood-matted hair hanging over his eyelids. The lips, obscured by a thick beard, appeared deathly pale and were twitching slightly.

"Mr... Mr. Cocke!?"

Al's mother let out a cry of surprise. Clearly, she had recognized the blood-stained figure before them—it was Cocke, the special envoy stationed in Whiteleaf Town by the Alliance.

The crowd, which had been standing quietly on both sides of the street, suddenly erupted like a disturbed hornet's nest, swarming toward Cocke. With such severe injuries, if he wasn't treated immediately...

As if sensing the commotion in the air, Cocke struggled to open his eyes, revealing clouded, unfocused pupils. With the very last of his strength, he trembling raised his blood-soaked, muscular right hand, his wrist bent with difficulty as thick blood dripped from his fingertips. A raspy, weak voice, as if squeezed from his throat, reached the crowd.

"Run... run away!"

Bang—

In the next second, his heavily wounded body collapsed to the ground.

Cocke had used his final moments to bring life-saving information to the townsfolk he lived among. Unfortunately, it was already too late.

The footsteps of the people rushing toward Cocke halted as his words echoed in the air. Hope... had just risen, only to fall again.

At the entrance to the town in the distance, several dark, profound shadows emerged, carrying a thick, metallic scent of blood. They were vicious Pokémon resembling hounds; their dense, glossy black manes billowed in the wind like dark flames on their backs. Mottled blood had congealed at the corners of their mouths, and shreds of red flesh were caught between their jagged, bared teeth. Their scarlet pupils flickered with a demonic, crimson light, greedily scanning every living creature before them.

The Mightyena—once the loyal hunting partners of humans before the Great Cataclysm—had now become cruel monsters that hunted humans.

Their reddish noses twitched, as if they had caught the scent of the tempting flesh within the town. With a few bounds, they transformed into terrifying shadows of death, sprinting toward the people in the street.

...

...

"Drip."

A cold drop of water landed on Al's face, causing him to shiver. In the cold, dark cellar, Al huddled in a corner, looking panicked. His emerald eyes trembled as he wondered what was happening. Although he didn't know the specifics, the unusual tension on his parents' faces suggested it was nothing good.

He was a child of less than twelve years; he couldn't help, and even if he ventured out, he would only be a burden to his parents. For now, staying quietly in the cellar was the best choice.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Suddenly, a series of intense gunshots rang out from above. Al was so frightened he nearly screamed, but he pressed his right hand firmly over his mouth, forcing himself to stay silent. His small body, curled in the corner, trembled slightly.

The gunfire above was as violent as a rainstorm, accompanied by the roars and screams of men and women echoing in the air. But it came and went quickly; before long, the fierce gunfire grew sparse and finally vanished entirely.

Young Al held his breath, huddled in the corner of the cellar, not daring to make a sound. The activity above ceased, and the air became stiflingly quiet.

In the silence, Al could faintly hear the chilling, blood-curdling sounds of flesh being torn apart coming from above. His heart shook, and tears rolled from the corners of his eyes, sliding over his fingers which were pressed tightly against his mouth, before splashing onto the damp, cold floor. Al, like a helpless little beast, wept silently in the cellar.

He did not know how much time had passed when he awoke from a groggy sleep. His pale lips were cracked and dry, and a fierce hunger gnawed at his stomach.

The activity above had vanished without a trace, replaced by a deathly silence. Al's eyelids lifted slightly, his emerald eyes appearing dim in the darkness. The familiar voice of his mother, which he had been desperately waiting for, never came. An ominous premonition echoed in his heart.

Finally unable to bear the maddening hunger and the intense worry for his parents, Al stood up, trembling. His weak, unsteady legs caused him to stumble, nearly falling again. He raised his thin arms and, gritting his teeth, pushed hard against the cellar lid.

A blinding light flooded in, forcing Al to squint. The dazzling sun slanted through the window onto the floor of the storage room, where tiny dust motes danced in the air. Al crawled laboriously out of the cellar and collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.

After resting for a moment, he climbed to his feet and approached the door to the storage room, turning the handle.

"Click."

The door was locked.

"Ugh!"

A pungent, foul odor that Al had never smelled before drifted through the cracks in the door, making him retch. The sense of dread in his heart grew heavier. He picked up the room key he had spotted on the floor, slowly inserted it into the lock, and turned it.

"Clack."

The crisp sound of the mechanism clicked from his fingertips. Al took a deep breath and, with extreme caution, turned the doorknob bit by bit.

The wooden door of the storage room was gently pushed open from the inside.