Earthquake in an unstable tunnel, bunch of low life, conniving–
“Please! Please Emmet!”
Excadrill clawed at the veritable mountain of rubble between them and please, Arceus above, an open space on the other side containing his younger brother and enough oxygen–
“No!” Ingo wiped the sweat pouring into his eyes with the back of a dirty and torn glove, blinking when it came away damp with bright crimson. This was getting them nowhere. They couldn’t risk another collapse and that’s exactly what they were doing, digging haphazardly like this. In his head, Ingo followed the tracks, in service, out of service, closed for repairs, any that would circle around and get him closer and into a more stable area, one they could excavate safely.
Choking on a deep lungful of grit and dust after attempting a calming breath, Ingo recalled Excadrill before running headlong into the dim, taking twists and turns on instinct, pushing himself until his lungs burned and his legs ached and he heard his pounding heartbeat echo like a drumbeat in his ears.
Ingo moved with such single-minded focus he nearly collided with the Plasma grunt standing directly in his route forward. He slid to a stop, chest heaving with deep frantic breaths, eyes wide in the dark. Sweat, blood? slipped down his chin, into the dust at his feet with a soft pitter-patter like rain. This time he didn’t bother to wipe it away, instead glaring daggers at the impudent intruder squaring up in front of him.
Earthquake in an unstable tunnel, bunch of low life, conniving–
“Please! Please Emmet!”
Excadrill clawed at the veritable mountain of rubble between them and please, Arceus above, an open space on the other side containing his younger brother and enough oxygen–
“No!” Ingo wiped the sweat pouring into his eyes with the back of a dirty and torn glove, blinking when it came away damp with bright crimson. This was getting them nowhere. They couldn’t risk another collapse and that’s exactly what they were doing, digging haphazardly like this. In his head, Ingo followed the tracks, in service, out of service, closed for repairs, any that would circle around and get him closer and into a more stable area, one they could excavate safely.
Choking on a deep lungful of grit and dust after attempting a calming breath, Ingo recalled Excadrill before running headlong into the dim, taking twists and turns on instinct, pushing himself until his lungs burned and his legs ached and he heard his pounding heartbeat echo like a drumbeat in his ears.
Ingo moved with such single-minded focus he nearly collided with the Plasma grunt standing directly in his route forward. He slid to a stop, chest heaving with deep frantic breaths, eyes wide in the dark. Sweat, blood? slipped down his chin, into the dust at his feet with a soft pitter-patter like rain. This time he didn’t bother to wipe it away, instead glaring daggers at the impudent intruder squaring up in front of him.
“I do not have the time to deal with you.”
“That’s just too bad, isn’t it?” A flash of blinding light heralded the release of a Crobat and Ingo very nearly threw himself at the pair of them in a rage. There wasn’t time for this. He needed to get to Emmet. Snarling, teeth bared, he reached for his ace, already shouting for a devastating Psychic blow before Chandelure even fully materialized, shouldering the trespasser into the wall, hard, before her Pokemon could finish fainting.
Left, left, right, left, straight.
Into more of them.
Chandelure screeched, flames erupting, casting eerie shadows, incensed by the panic and anger radiating from her partner. She would consume their souls, blacken and burn beyond recognition for making Ingo feel this way. Let them wander these subway tunnels forever lost and she would gloat over their sorrow.
“STOP!” The sharp command halted her in her tracks. “We. We cannot.” It pained her to hear the strain in his voice. She would do this for him if only he would let her.
She would enjoy it.
His arms came around her, gentle fingers smearing so much claret across her banded surface.
Okay.
Okay.
Explosive, the trio of humans who dared enter their domain gasped desperately for the stale air of the tunnels, trembling from a supernatural chill. They would recover.
Eventually.
Ingo tugged gently on one of her slender arms and she followed reluctantly, but not before letting loose one more harrowing and shrill howl, taking much joy in their cowering.
“Leave them. Not worth it. Have to. Have to find him.” Ingo shook his head as if to clear it and staggered into the wall only to push off with both hands, using the momentum to launch back into a run. She could sense her trainer’s brother. They were close, getting swiftly closer, their twin spirits so similar and yet so unique. “Should be close by.” Her trainer stumbled to a halt, crooked fingers skimming the rough hewn surface of the wall and she tugged him to the appropriate place.
Here. Emmet is here.
“Heard Chandelure. Loud and clear. Excadrill!” Trembling, Ingo framed the digger’s face. “Carefully. He, he could be hurt. We do not know how much space–” Ingo choked before schooling his expression into one of determination, but tunneling came naturally to Excadrill and with Ingo by his side helping shift the debris, they made quick work of the stone barrier keeping the pair apart.
“Emmet!” Ingo squeezed through the gap, sinking to his knees at his brother’s side with hands fluttering like twin Butterfree. He didn’t know where it was safe to touch. Not with his uniform stained with blood, torn and dirtied and half buried in the rubble. “Chandelure, I cannot see. I need to see!” And assess. And plan. And save. “Emmet. Emmet. Wake up!” He clawed at the rock and dirt, hacking around the clot of mud and muck in his throat.
Not pinned. Not crushed. Still.
Still.
“S’loud…nngh’Ingo.” He hissed between clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut against the soft purple glow.
“Your leg!” Broken very badly if the odd angle was any indication.
“I…I am Emmet.” The slur in his words frightened Ingo and even likely concussed his brother noticed, “…n’I am…m’fine…” Lashes fluttering, Emmet fought to stay awake, paling suddenly and losing the battle when Ingo pulled him upright.
It was a long way to the appropriate exit and now with his younger brother on his back Ingo was feeling the strain of the last several…
Hours?
However long it’d been.
Aches and pains, likely from being pummeled with rock in the collapse following Team Plasma’s Earthquake, bloomed in a painful garden across his shoulders, arms, back, and a headache burst to life behind his eyes as though granted permission by the relief of finding Emmet–
Of finding him.
He was a warm, solid weight and more than worth the pain it caused Ingo to carry him.
Ingo dragged himself onto the platform, following the familiar route via muscle memory and wading through pools of yellow emergency lighting. He carried Emmet to the ambulance, coughing harshly, painfully, in the cool night air, ignoring how unsteady he’d become in these last few steps and allowing the emergency responders to take him. To settle him on the gurney. To push him out of the way and right into a depo agent.
“Boss Ingo?!”
“I, I am f’fine. My brother. Emmet. See to, to Emmet.” He wobbled one step, two, on legs made of water. Dizzy, it hurt to breathe too deeply, vision darkening at the edges. He’d be fine. Was fine. The city and all its bright lights, flashing lights, tilted sickeningly sideways.
“Catch him!”
Catch who?
Ingo turned to look, or tried to, to help, to make certain their subway was safe, and knew nothing else.
Incandescence burst like light through the battle subway windows.
Murmuring like a train car full of passengers rose in a tide over a high pitched keening. Whining. Screaming.
Shouting.
NO!
Hands. Too many hands, paws, claws, holding him down. Pinning him under loose rock. Burying him until the light was gone. Until there was no room, no air. But he had to.
Had to, had to get to–
”Emmet!”
Dark. Endlessly dark and dim. Shadows leaping from tunnel to tunnel to tunnel contorting and grotesque and promising ruination.
”Where are you?”
Ingo reached for his Pokemon and found his belt empty. He was alone.
And Emmet was gone.
He was too late.
Too late.
Too late.
Ingo shot forward with a cry, regretting it immediately when his vision reeled, and fell back into the pillows, heaving for oxygen through a straw like he’d just run a marathon. His stomach twisted, his mouth flooded with salt. His heart hammered behind his ribcage, a terrified Pidove trying to escape the confines of its too-small prison.
“Ingo. I am Emmet. You are alright.”
“E’Emmet.”
“I am alright.” Ingo was already moving, throwing back the hospital sheets and sliding off the mattress, ignoring the brief sting and subsequent blood pooling in the crook of his elbow. “No! Stay in bed!” But he wasn’t listening. Wouldn’t listen as he tore the offending tube from his face. He needed to see, to touch. To know for sure this wasn’t some cruel nightmare. Barely making it one complete step, Ingo slammed to his knees, barely registering the pain, reaching forward with splinted, bandaged fingers that ached with a dull agony. “Ingo, no, your hands.” They wouldn’t move when he tried to force them, to hold Emmet’s, to grab his gown and pull him closer.
“Emmet. Emmet.”
“Yes, that is me. I am Emmet.” He turned as best he could, wrapping himself around him and shutting out even the dim light of the room. “You are Ingo. We are okay. Promise!”
“You were. The tunnel, it. You.”
“Shh, Ingo. You are not feeling well. You have been asleep for a verrry long time.” It didn’t feel like it. If anything, he was more exhausted than before now that the renewed panic was ebbing and its borrowed energy fading. Breathing far too fast, too shallow. It hurt.
“I, I…”
“Come here.” Ingo shook his head, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and words stuck somewhere he could no longer reach. But he would injure Emmet if he wasn’t careful and he had to keep him safe. That was his most important job and he’d failed in it before. He couldn’t fail again. “Do not argue.” With that firm command, the heavy, cloying weariness threatened to drag him down to the floor and, uncoordinated, Ingo nodded, climbing into the space Emmet made for him and cradling his hands close. “From digging,” he explained. “You need to be more careful. You did not even notice.” His little brother touched his bandaged forehead to his own. “You are a hero.” No. No. Only desperate. “The way the agents described you!” Emmet guided his head down to rest just below his collarbone where the strong beat of his heart worked its way into his pulse. “Close your eyes.”
“Mm.” Emmet’s palm slid steady over his back, soothing and real and warm.
Earthquake in an unstable tunnel, bunch of low life, conniving–
“Please! Please Emmet!”
Excadrill clawed at the veritable mountain of rubble between them and please, Arceus above, an open space on the other side containing his younger brother and enough oxygen–
“No!” Ingo wiped the sweat pouring into his eyes with the back of a dirty and torn glove, blinking when it came away damp with bright crimson. This was getting them nowhere. They couldn’t risk another collapse and that’s exactly what they were doing, digging haphazardly like this. In his head, Ingo followed the tracks, in service, out of service, closed for repairs, any that would circle around and get him closer and into a more stable area, one they could excavate safely.
Choking on a deep lungful of grit and dust after attempting a calming breath, Ingo recalled Excadrill before running headlong into the dim, taking twists and turns on instinct, pushing himself until his lungs burned and his legs ached and he heard his pounding heartbeat echo like a drumbeat in his ears.
Ingo moved with such single-minded focus he nearly collided with the Plasma grunt standing directly in his route forward. He slid to a stop, chest heaving with deep frantic breaths, eyes wide in the dark. Sweat, blood? slipped down his chin, into the dust at his feet with a soft pitter-patter like rain. This time he didn’t bother to wipe it away, instead glaring daggers at the impudent intruder squaring up in front of him.
Hi folks! I made some new art for the new year! :D I got the inspiration for this from the Japanese Nintendo Magazine’s cover art where Mario notices a falling snowflake and has a green scarf which is obviously Luigi’s.. well, not necessarily but it was the first thing that came to my mind Mario has probably lost his own scarf while going on an adventure or something, who knows? And Luigi, being the perfect and best little brother ever, of course gives Mario his own scarf.
I will put the Magazine’s cover art here below so you know what I mean:
I gotta say that I really like how this turned out! For once I’m actually quite happy with the result! Yay! ^-^
