Chapter Text
...
…
…Where was he?
…He felt so tired.
…and hungry, for some reason.
He couldn't really see much of anything, nor could he feel anything. A profound, unsettling nullity seemed to have colonized his entire being. His body was a distant, muted instrument, and his senses were hopelessly dulled.
“Finally!”
His disoriented musings were violently interrupted. A voice sliced through the void—ethereal, yet massive, as if a choir of whispers spoke from every direction at once, encompassing whatever "here" was.
He mustered a terrifying amount of strength to force his eyelids to part. He regretted the decision instantly. A blinding, sparkling expanse greeted him, a vast void that pulsed and fluctuated through an unbearable kaleidoscope of colors: electric red, deep sapphire blue, and vibrant emerald green.
“I finally found you!” the voices resonated.
“I came here just to find you, you know?”
What was that? Just him? That couldn’t be right—he was a down-on-his-luck electrical engineer, nobody special enough to warrant this cosmic drama.
The voices continued, indifferent to his internal protest: “Please come… and lend us your strength!”
Lend them strength? How? And what in the hell was happening?
He knew he wouldn’t gain answers by simply refusing. Resigned, he looked deep inside himself, trying to recall any absurd method for releasing latent energy. He dimly remembered that to release energy, one had to look within oneself and expel it outward. So he closed his eyes and just focused.
“The Power is gathering!” the voices boomed, their tone rising in intensity.
He didn't stop. The sooner he complied, the sooner he might get an explanation.
“Here it comes!” “We're going to the world of Pokémon!”
What? Did he hear that correctly?
At that moment, the lights around him intensified to an almost painful brilliance. The colored void collapsed, becoming an absolute, overwhelming white, as though he were trapped inside a floating, celestial kiln.
The voice spoke again, but this time, it was singular and strained, almost out of breath. Its tone was impossible to decipher—part desperation, part solemn command.
“This path of light is the link between our two worlds…” “Complete the following prompts with an honest and open heart.” “Awaken the true Pokémon within you!”
What the heck does that mean?! He loved Pokémon, sure, but how did that connect to being interrogated by a mysterious voice in an unknown void?
“A new student transfers into your class. What do you do?”
“I-I observe what kind of person they are. If they're nice, I'll show them around. If they're malicious, I'll avoid them.”
The white void accepted his answer, and the color returned—not completely, but solely as a calming, vibrant green that swirled around him. So that's the reaction to my responses.
“Two of your friends are fighting, and you wish they'd stop. What do you do first?”
“I try to think of the root problem between them and then initiate a conversation to resolve the issue.”
The void now pulsed, fluctuating rhythmically between red and green. It was oddly mesmerizing, despite the circumstances.
“They start selling a new kind of pastry at your favorite bakery…”
“I will definitely try the new one. I enjoy experiencing new things, especially food.”
Now the void shone with a beautiful tapestry of red, purple, and green hues, like a living kaleidoscope spinning around him.
“You have been hiking up a mountain for two hours, but still haven't reached the peak…”
“I pump myself up for one last, hard push. I'm not a quitter.”
The colors deepened. An overwhelming blue overtook the void, making it feel less like a space and more like a vibrant, churning ocean. He wished, foolishly, that he could take a picture.
“You want to jump rope during recess, but everyone wants to play tag.”
“I play tag with everyone. I don't want to argue about picking games; I just want to play with the group.”
Pink joined the sea of colors, vibrating brightly. The void felt less like a prison and more like a portal, as a gentle, non-irritating wind began to brush against his face.
“A wizard appears before you! He says he'll transform you into anything!”
“A wild beast that is one with nature.”
Orange tones blended in, creating a vivid, swirling landscape of light.
“Alright, vacation time at last! What kind of music fits your mood?”
“The freshest, latest rap. I love singing along and listening to new tracks!”
With the final addition of yellow, the void began to resemble the eye of a vibrant, light-filled tornado. The wind around him picked up noticeably. The white center of the funnel shone brightly, drawing his eye.
“What would be the best word to describe your partner?”
He flushed, embarrassed by the sudden shift in topic. “What? Well, I’d like a cute partner, if I had to choose a word.”
The light became overwhelming. He instinctively shielded his eyes as the voice spoke the final verdict, a loud, undeniable declaration:
“You carry yourself with thunderous authority.” “You're brave enough to speak your mind.” “You can do everything well, so others rely on you.” “As brave as you are, you must be…”
The void shattered. Sensation rushed back to him—a dizzying surge of feeling. The air whipped violently around him. His feet hit the ground, but the surface felt strange, buzzing with an electrical tingle.
A Ƨ͟ηø͢ƦḽẫҘ
The final word was a distorted garble, like a radio transmission being violently cut off. What was that?
“Now, what is your name?”
Maybe answering would finally yield some better results. Even if he felt a chilling premonition that something was terribly wrong, he had to play along.
“My name is Makoto.”
The wind intensified, swirling into a tight vortex around him. The floor beneath his feet began to glow and sparkle, casting a dazzling light upwards as though a star had been inverted and buried beneath the ground.
“And now, the partner that will stick with you through thick and thin on this adventure.”
The floor flared with a dichromatic mirror-sheen in a sea of shining colors. Makoto instinctively squeezed his eyes shut against the brilliance.
Mercifully, the light dimmed to a tolerable level. He opened his eyes. He was still within the colorful, cloud-filled void, but looking down, he saw a fuzzy figure materialize. As it came into sharp focus, Makoto recognized the shape:
It was a small, stout, crocodile-like creature with a red body and a large, white, square snout. It has a distinctive yellow, flame-like tuft on its head that seems to be glowing with heat, and it walks on two short, red, stubby legs.
A Fuecoco.
“A Fuecoco! How cute!” the voice chirped, sounding far too pleased with itself.
Wow, how helpful. Thought Makoto with a tick mark. Could he get some actual information now? He desperately wanted to go home, or at least know the terrifying reality of his situation.
Suddenly, two things happened in rapid succession. Makoto felt the solid ground shudder and buckle beneath him. Simultaneously, the wind escalated into a shrieking, violent gale that threatened to tear him free from the floor.
Cracks began to form in the glowing ground, radiating pillars of every color imaginable, like a ruptured rainbow. Hethrew his hands up to shield his eyes as the brightness became agonizing.
“Now then, it is time for us to go…” the voice announced with finality. “To the world where Pokémon await!”
Say whaaat?! Makoto thought. If he hadn't felt an overpowering, sudden wave of exhaustion wash over him, he would have unleashed a volley of expletives that could've made a seasoned pirate blush. His eyelids grew heavy. The ground completely fractured, releasing pillars of blinding light. The wind wrapped around him like a suffocating tornado. He couldn't see anything through the fierce, all-encompassing brilliance as his consciousness spiraled away.
KRST BOOM! Crack!
A thunderous sound that sounded like a lightning bolt, followed by the cracking of glass, was heard as a brilliant explosion of colors and wind surrounded Makoto. Suddenly, as it came, he was gone, the void now vacant.
“I do hope this was the right choice.”
The one who spoke was a small, serene gray entity that floats with its eyes closed, marked by three red jewels on its forehead and twin tails.
“Whether or not it was the right choice does not matter. This is our final hope to face the coming calamity.”
The next to speak was a tiny red-and-cream, rabbit-like creature with big blue eyes and orange V-shaped ears, a matching forehead spike, and small wing-like structures that keep it hovering.
“It is true that what we did was for the betterment of the situation at hand. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Thisis the hand we have been dealt, so let's just hope they can handle it.”
The last to speak was a smoky, shadow-born imp with a spiked cowl and glowing eyes, its form hunched and shifting. When its power stirs, green and orange flames ripple from its features.
The other two were silent for a while, their expressions hard to gauge, but eventually they both nodded towards him. The shadow-like creature smirked, though it was without mirth as they looked upwards, taking in the void they were all in.
“Let us see if humans are truly as formidable as they say.
…
…
…
Now, where was he?
And why was he so thirsty?
A loud rumble echoed as he felt his stomach go empty. And hungry? His limbs felt heavy and disoriented, as if something were weighing them down. In fact, his whole body felt like something was weighing it down.
But that didn't matter. His ears still seemed to work, and they picked up the sound of a lake nearby. He slowly picked himself up with some difficulty. His limbs felt sluggish, and when he stood up, he felt heavier. Whatever—it didn'tmatter right now.
He didn’t fully open his eyes; his vision was pretty blurry, but it was clear enough to make out his surroundings. He was in a field near a forest, with a waterfall and a lake in front of him. Being his main focus, he realized he was really thirsty. His onlyfocus right now was getting some water.
He approached the lake with weirdly heavy steps. It felt like he was wearing steel boots, but he didn't pay any mind—he was thirsty.
The moment he was within arm’s reach, he threw manners to the wind, flopping onto his stomach. For some reason, this caused a loud thump. He dunked his mouth into the lake and was rewarded with nutritious water rushing down his throat.
‘Good God, this is delicious. It’s the most delicious water I’ve ever tasted,’ Makoto thought happily as he continued to satiate his thirst.
Through his blurry vision, he could make out something in the lakebed, but it was hard to see while he was gulping down water. He stopped drinking, deciding that his thirst was finally gone.
He tried standing up to get a better look at the water's surface, but his body felt incredibly heavy, like a huge weight was on his back. Yet, he felt that nothing was actually on top of him; his body was just that heavy. With some effort, he used his arms to push against the ground and heaved himself into a standing position. Unfortunately, that act alone left him winded.
“Huff, huff… What is up with my body? I feel like I ran a marathon just from standing up,” Makoto wheezed.
His eyes, though his vision was still blurry, finally took a good look at his arm, which was, in fact, not a human arm.
Instead, what greeted him was a bluish-green limb covered in fur, as wide as a loaf of bread, and ending in four clawed digits.
…
He flexed his fingers, and the digits skittered through the air.
‘What. In. The. Living. Hell!’
Makoto was thoroughly and quite frankly losing it. As far as he was concerned, he had normal human hands and a human arm! Not a tree-trunk-sized arm with claws!
Shakily, he looked over at his other arm and found the same result: a huge, furry arm with claws.
Then, with even more dread, he looked down. His jaw dropped, and he was pretty sure his brain was taking a while to catch up, because what confronted him was definitely not what his body was supposed to look like.
In front of him sat a belly so massive that it seemed to make up his whole body. It was covered in even more fur than his arms and was pure white; however, looking at his sides, he found that the rest of his frame was covered in that same bluish-green fur as well.
He walked over to a tree standing next to the lake he had just drank from, feeling a sense of dread with every step. Deep down, he already knew what he looked like, but he needed to be certain. When he reached the trunk, he leaned against it—intending only to rest lightly—but the wood groaned and creaked under his weight. Even a gentle lean was enough to make the sturdy tree protest.
Not gonna think about that right now,’ Makoto thought, though it was a wonder if he was actually convinced or just trying to lie to himself.
He then tried, with considerable effort, to lift his foot so he could see it. However, his massive stomach was completely in the way; it would be a surprise if he could even see his toes, let alone catch a glimpse of them wiggling.
So, he tried another approach. Shifting his weight carefully, he moved to the lake's edge and heaved his foot out over the water, dangling it so he could finally see it in the reflection.
He breathed deeply, trying to quell the surging panic. There was one last thing he needed to check. He pulled himself away from the tree, the wood creaking as it groaned back into place, relieved of his massive weight.
He took a couple of steps toward the lake's edge, each movement causing the ground to quake just a little. With every rumbling step, he felt the sheer power and bulk of his new form. Finally, he reached the water and leaned over the surface to see the one thing he feared most: his face.
He leaned over the water, waiting for the ripples to settle. When the surface stilled, what stared back at him was certainly not human.
His face was now a large, cream-colored circle framed by bluish-green fur, with two pointed ears sitting high atop his head. His nose was gone, replaced by smooth skin, and his eyes had narrowed into two thin, sleepy slits. Even with his mouth shut, two small, white tusks poked upward from his lower jaw.
He looked less like a person and more like a massive, slumbering mountain. In an instant, the realization hit him: he was a Snorlax.
But something was odd—there was something wrapped around his neck. It was a scarf, colored in a striking pattern of red and the same bluish-green as his fur. Resting in the middle of the fabric was a peculiar symbol. It looked like a Pokeball, but the circular design was overlapped by a stylized leaf with a spiral in the center and a sharp, pointed tip.
While the scarf certainly looked cool, that did not diminish his rising panic.
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!"
The sound that tore from his throat wasn't human. It was a deep, resonating bellow that vibrated in his very chest and sent a flock of birds scattering from the nearby trees. The force of his own shout startled him; it wasn't just a noise, it was a physical weight that seemed to echo across the entire field.
He clapped his massive, furry paws over his mouth, but even that felt wrong. His paws were so big they covered half his face, and his claws accidentally poked his cheeks. The realization was finally sinking in—he wasn't dreaming he was a Snorlax; he was one.
His whole frame shook as he realized that this was all real. He was a Pokémon—a very heavy Pokémon—but an absolutely massive Pokemon. Every time he trembled with fear, he could feel his weight shifting, his thick layers of fur and fat rippling with his panicked breathing. He wasn't just a different species; he was a literal giant.
“W-Why? Why am I a Pokémon?! And why a Snorlax of all things?!” Makoto yelled out.
He pulled his paws away from his face and began looking his body over more closely. As he did, he realized something very odd—well, even odder than his current situation.
His vision was strangely restricted. No matter how hard he tried to "open" his eyes, his sight remained a narrow, panoramic squint. It was as if he were looking at the world through two thin mail slots. But more than that, everything was frustratingly out of focus. He could see the shapes of the trees and the shimmer of the lake, but the fine details were lost in a soft, dreamy blur.
It felt as though the muscles in his eyes simply didn't exist to open them wider or sharpen his focus. To see anything above or below his narrow line of sight, he had to physically tilt his massive head, struggling against the bulk of his own neck.
“And what's up with my eyes?” Makoto groaned, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “Everything’s a squint... and why is it so blurry? It’s like I'm looking through a thick fog.”
“Okay, okay, focus, Makoto!” he snapped at himself, slapping his cheeks with his heavy paws to shake off the mental fog.
He waddled back toward the tree and sat down heavily against the trunk. He chose to ignore the wood creaking and groaning under his massive weight as he settled in. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his racing thoughts.
“Let’s recap. I was a human.” He looked at his hands—or what he guessed were now paws. “I was turned into a Snorlax.”
He looked down at his massive belly with a grimace. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he pressed a paw into the center of it and stared as it sank in far deeper than he expected. There was no pain—no resistance at all—just an odd, doughy softness that swallowed his paw whole. The sheer amount of padding was almost unbelievable; he couldn't even feel his ribs underneath.
“I don't know why I am a Pokémon, and I'm now in an unknown forest.”
Wait—did he even still have his memories? He had spent the last few minutes reacting to how ludicrous and insane this ordeal was, but now that he actually tried to focus, he realized with a jolt of terror that he couldn't remember much about himself at all.
He knew his name was Makoto. He knew what a human was supposed to look like. He even had a vague, flickering image of a job... was he some type of worker? The harder he tried to grasp the details of his past life, the more they seemed to dissolve like mist. It was as if there was a static haze over his mind.
“I... I work at...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he stared at the blurry ground. He knew he had a life, a home, and a routine, but the specifics were being swallowed by a thick, mental fog that was even worse than his blurry eyesight.
‘Great,’ he thought bitterly. ‘I don’t have my memories—well, not all of them. I know the basics. I was a worker... I was dedicated to my job.’
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force a face to appear in the darkness of his lids. ‘I have a family. I know I have one. I can't remember their names, but I know they exist. Two parents, three siblings, and a nephew...’
There was just one thing he could hold onto: his name. But he knew that moping here wouldn't bring his memories back, nor would it explain why he had been stripped of his humanity.
“Well, staying here isn't going to yield any answers,” Makoto muttered, his voice a low rumble. “But I’d really like to have a word with whoever’s idea this was. I mean, a Snorlax? Seriously?”
He knew that in the Pokémon world, Snorlax were considered absolute powerhouses—unstoppable forces of nature once they actually got moving. But looking down at his rounded middle and his short, stubby legs, he couldn't help but feel skeptical. How was he supposed to defend himself like this? He felt less like a fighter and more like a giant, overstuffed beanbag. He didn't even know if he could throw a punch without falling over from exhaustion, let alone use a "move."
Whatever the case, he needed answers. His best bet was to find civilization—or at least someone else he could talk to, assuming they could understand him.
“I can’t just sit here and wait to turn into a decorative hill,” he grunted, bracing his paws against the ground. “I need to find a town, a person... anyone, preferably friendly.”
He pushed off the tree, his muscles straining against the sheer mass of his frame. Every shift of his weight felt like moving a boulder, but he was determined. He had to find out why he was here, why he was wearing this scarf, and most importantly, why his life had been reduced to a blurry, narrow squint. He took his first heavy, thudding step forward, the grass flattening instantly beneath his feet.
But just as he was about to pick a direction, the forest came alive with the sound of rustling leaves. Something was closing in fast.
Three figures drifted out from the shadows of the trees. They were eerie, extraterrestrial-looking creatures with trench-coat-like bodies and large, brain-shaped heads. They didn't have mouths, and their most striking feature was their hands—three blunt, finger-like protrusions on each limb that began to flicker with rhythmic, colored lights.
Makoto’s breath hitched. Even through his blurry, restricted vision, he recognized them. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know from where, but the name echoed in his mind with a chill: Beheeyem.
The trio didn't waste time with words. They lunged, their mechanical-looking hands slamming into his sides. They were clearly trying to shove him, perhaps intending to force his massive bulk toward the darker parts of the woods. He winced, his instincts screaming at him to prepare for the pain of the assault.
But the pain never came.
To him, it felt like three tiny ants were trying to move a mountain. Their arms sank deep into his thick, cream-colored stomach, but instead of moving him, the force of their own push was turned against them. His massive belly acted like a massive, organic trampoline; the tension in his muscles snapped back, and the Beheeyem who had pushed the hardest was suddenly launched backward. It spiraled through the air, its finger-lights flickering in a frantic, panicked strobe before it crashed into the underbrush.
The other two staggered back, their hovering bodies wobbling as they stared at the "mountain" that had just effortlessly repelled them.
"Snort!"
A deep, wet sound escaped his nose before he could stop it. He knew he should be on guard—these Pokémon had clearly come out of the shadows to do him harm—but seeing one of them bounce off his stomach like a rubber ball was actually kind of funny.
He looked down at the remaining two, his belly still wobbling slightly from the impact. He was supposed to be the victim here, but it was hard to feel threatened when their "attack" felt like being poked with a blade of grass.
"I don't think you guys thought this through," Makoto rumbled.
His voice was so deep it made the air vibrate. He took one heavy step forward, and the thud of his foot made the Beheeyem flinch. Being a "massive mountain" definitely had its perks.
But deep inside, he knew he was bluffing. He didn't have a clue how to fight. Did he know Tackle? Body Slam? Or better yet, Hyper Beam? And even if he did, how did he trigger them?
He was a human pilot in a fleshy, biological tank. He didn't have the manual for
If they decided to stop shoving and started using actual Psychic attacks, he was just a giant, stationary target.
So, he did the only thing he could: he puffed up his chest, stood as tall as his round frame allowed, and prayed that being a 1,000-pound roadblock was enough to intimidate them into leaving him be.
Suddenly, a brown blur rocketed back into view from the underbrush where the attacker had vanished.
Its stoic, alien face remained unchanged, but its body vibrated with rage. The lights on its fingers were no longer flickering calmly—they were flashing a chaotic, aggressive red and yellow.
The lead Beheeyem let out a series of rapid, multicolored flashes, clearly barking commands to its companions. Immediately, the other two stopped fidgeting. Their panicked blinking ceased, replaced by a cold, eerie calm as they took their positions.
The three of them fanned out, floating in a perfect semi-circle around Makoto’s massive frame.
As they began to gather energy, Makoto’s eyes widened. A strange, instinctive flood of data surged through his mind, snapping into focus despite his blurry vision. He wasn't just guessing what they were doing; he knew.
The Beheeyem on the left held its blunt fingers wide, drawing in jagged, static-heavy sparks of yellow electricity. Thunderbolt, his mind whispered with terrifying certainty. The one on the right gathered a swirling, prismatic orb of energy that shimmered with an unpredictable light. Hidden Power.
But the leader in the center—the one still shaking with fury—was the most frightening. A concentrated, kaleidoscopic beam of swirling colors was coalescing between its hands, vibrating with a high-pitched hum. Psybeam.
The names of the attacks flashed in his head as clearly as if he were reading them off a screen. He had no idea how he knew the terminology, but he knew exactly what was about to hit him.
“Uh... guys? Can’t we talk about this?” he rumbled, his voice cracking with a very human sense of dread.
The response was a blinding flash of light as all three Beheeyem released their power at once. Thunderbolt, Hidden Power, and Psybeam streaked through the air with terrifying speed, converging on the human-turned-Snorlax.
And then… BOOM!
A brilliant explosion rocked the clearing, the sheer force of the combined moves kicking up a thick, choking veil of dust and scorched earth. The smell of ozone and burnt grass filled the air, completely obscuring the spot where the giant Pokémon had been standing.
The three Beheeyem hovered in place, their finger-lights flickering in a slow, uncertain pattern. They waited for the haze to settle, expecting to find a scorched, unconscious Snorlax—or perhaps nothing at all. As the dust eventually cleared, the attackers froze in shock. The ground was blackened and cratered, but the target was gone.
Had they destroyed him? Had their power vaporized such a massive creature?
No.
A heavy thump echoed from several yards away near the treeline, followed by the sound of labored, gravelly breathing. Makoto was huffing, his massive chest heaving as he stared at the smoking crater in pure disbelief.
In that split second of survival instinct, something had clicked. He didn't know how his stubby legs had carried him that fast, or how he had managed to propel half a ton of weight out of the blast zone, but he had moved like a blur. He had dodged.
"I... I'm still in one piece?" he wheezed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked down at his paws, stunned. It was like his body moved without thinking at that moment.
Was that a move?
He could still feel the lingering hum of energy deep in his core, a strange warmth that had surged through his limbs the moment he moved. But how had he done it? He didn't know the first thing about "using" a Pokémon's power.
Then, he remembered a tiny detail from the second before the blast. Just as the Beheeyem were firing, he had felt a strange, involuntary twitch—his pointer finger had flexed and wagged back and forth in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion.
Could that have been it?
His mind flashed back to a name he hadn't realized he knew: Metronome. The move was legendary for its unpredictability. It drew upon the user's energy to pull a random attack or ability out of thin air.
"I... I just gambled my life on a finger-wag?" Makoto muttered, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.
He had likely rolled the metaphorical dice and come up with something like Extreme Speed or Agility just in time to avoid being vaporized. It was a terrifying thought. He was essentially operating a machine where the dashboard was written in a foreign language, and the emergency brake was a game of chance.
‘I doubt I’ll get something good all the time. It’s a move of chance, after all,’ he thought with a grimace. It was like a high-stakes gacha game where the prize was either survival or a one-way ticket to oblivion. He couldn’t afford to be reckless; he had to be careful about how many times he pulled that lever, because right now, it was the only weapon in his arsenal.
But the Beheeyem weren't going to wait for him to calculate the odds. Their finger-lights were already beginning to strobe a sharp, angry yellow as they pivoted toward his new position. The air started to crackle again, the smell of ozone intensifying as they recalibrated their aim.
Fight theme:
Makoto held his breath and let his finger wag. Left, right, left...
Suddenly, the air temperature around his face plummeted. His throat felt like he’d swallowed a blizzard, and a crackling, jagged energy surged upward from his chest. Before he could even brace himself, a jagged streak of frozen, azure light erupted from his mouth.
Ice Beam.
"Whoa—!" Makoto gasped, but the recoil was unlike anything he'd ever felt. The beam wasn't a steady stream; it was a wild, freezing hose of power that he had zero experience steering. Instead of hitting the Beheeyem dead-on, the frozen bolt zig-zagged wildly. He swung his head, trying to lead the target, but the beam sprayed across the forest like a malfunctioning fire hydrant. It slammed into a nearby oak, encasing the trunk in instant, jagged glaciers, then whipped across the grass, turning the forest floor into a lethal skating rink.
Makoto gritted his teeth, his neck muscles straining as he tried to wrestle the freezing light toward the lead attacker. His massive head moved with all the grace of a wrecking ball, the beam jerky and unpredictable.
"Stay... still... " You floating... lightbulbs!" he grumbled, frost coating his lips.
With a desperate heave, he managed to swing his head just as the lead Beheeyem dipped to the left. The jagged azure bolt caught the alien's long, trench-coat-like arm. There was a sharp crack of ice meeting flesh. The Beheeyem let out a distorted, digital-sounding shriek. The arm instantly turned a dull, frost-bitten blue, hanging limp and shivering at its side.
The impact sent the Beheeyem spiraling backward, its lights flickering a panicked, erratic violet. As soon as the beam connected, the pressure in Makoto's chest vanished. It was as if the move itself knew its job was done. The freezing torrent cut off, leaving Makoto with a final, weak puff of frosty air.
He stood there, huffing, his throat feeling like he’d just swallowed a bag of dry ice. He had finally landed a hit, but the price was a raw, aching chest and a forest floor that was now a shimmering, treacherous ice rink.
The wounded Beheeyem clutched its frost-bitten arm, its finger-lights pulsing a weak, pained orange. Seeing their leader actually hurt changed the atmosphere. The other two didn't rush in blindly; they hovered lower to the ground, their lights flickering in a rapid, silent consultation.
"Yeah... that's right," Makoto rumbled, trying to hide how much his throat burned. "Don't come back for seconds."
One Beheeyem drifted high into the air. Around its body, three distinct orbs of pure energy began to manifest and orbit it with increasing speed: one of searing crimson fire, one of crackling yellow electricity, and one of jagged blue ice. They hummed with a chaotic, unstable frequency as it prepared to unleash a Tri Attack.
At the same time, the second Beheeyem dove low, its eyes glowing with a harsh, earthy brown light. It pulsed its psychic power upward, and the air itself seemed to densify and fracture. Suddenly, massive, jagged boulders began to materialize out of thin air high above the tree line. They hung suspended for a fraction of a second before the Rock Slide was triggered, and the heavy stones began plummeting toward the snorlax's head.
The forest floor began to groan under the pressure. Makoto’s mind hissed the names as the threats materialized. He didn't even have time to brace himself before the air above him grew heavy with the falling stones, while the three elemental orbs converged into a single, spiraling beam aimed right at his chest.
It was a pincer movement. He was being crushed from above and blasted from the front.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Makoto roared. He looked at his hand—er, paw. The finger was already twitching. It was his only hope. He didn't have the luxury of waiting for the perfect "roll." He just needed to survive the next five seconds. He swung his paw with everything he had, the rhythmic wagging of his finger becoming a desperate blur as the boulders and the elemental beam closed in.
Suddenly, the air felt wet.
With a deafening roar, a massive, towering wall of water erupted around Makoto. His gamble had paid off: Surf. The liquid shield caught the falling boulders and tossed them aside like pebbles, while the Tri Attack slammed into the rising tide, its energy dissipating harmlessly into the churning foam. The wave then surged outward in a violent, circular wake, slamming into the Beheeyem with the force of a freight train and tumbling them deep into the forest—including the one he had clipped with the Ice Beam.
As the water receded, leaving the clearing muddy and the ice rink melted, Makoto stood at the center of the wreckage, soaking wet and gasping for air.
"Okay..." he panted, wiping water from his eyes. "That... was definitely a five-star pull.
He panted heavily, the air whistling through his lungs as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. Without the rush of combat to keep him upright, he could feel every ounce of his massive weight pressing down on his joints. His energy felt completely sapped, as if those few moves had drained a battery he hadn't known was limited.
GROOOWL!
“What was that?!” Makoto yelled, his head snapping around as best as his thick neck would allow. He scanned the muddy, water-logged clearing with wide, frantic eyes. Were the Beheeyem back? Was there something even bigger lurking in the shadows of the trees?
GROOOWL!
The sound was deep, thunderous, and vibrated right through the soles of his feet. He looked around frantically to find the source of the noise, his heart hammering against his ribs. Eventually, when he heard it a third time, he realized the sound wasn't coming from the forest at all.
His half-lidded eyes settled on his own ginormous, cream-colored belly. It was quivering, the soft flesh rippling with the force of the internal roar.
He wasn't under attack. He was just hungry.
And not just "missed-lunch" hungry—this was a cavernous, soul-consuming emptiness that demanded to be filledimmediately. It felt as though his stomach had been turned into a vacuum the moment the Surf had dissipated.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Makoto groaned, his voice a low rumble that harmonized with his growling gut. “I just survived a psychic hit squad, and now my own body is trying to eat itself?”
Now that he really thought about it, every time he used Metronome, he had felt a distinct spark of energy leave his body. It wasn't just physical tiredness; it was a specific, internal reservoir being tapped into. That had to be the fuel—His core or whatever it was called in this world—that allowed him to channel those moves. Between the Extreme Speed, the Ice Beam, and that massive Surf, he had basically been burning high-octane fuel on an empty stomach.
The water he had gulped down from the lake beforehand had certainly helped with the thirst, but it did nothing to sate this void in his gut. If anything, the cold water had just reminded his stomach that it was currently empty.
GROOOOWLLLL!
His stomach gave another violent heave, and Makoto actually doubled over, his massive paws clutching his middle. The hunger was sharp and demanding, making his vision swim even more than usual. The world tilted dangerously, and for a second, he thought he might actually keel over.
"Okay... okay, I get it!" he wheezed to his own midsection. He was so consumed by the gnawing ache that he didn’t even take a second to think about how incredibly silly he looked—a giant, blue-furred mountain of a creature standing in a muddy crater, having a desperate, one-sided conversation with his own belly.
He needed calories—a lot of them.
His internal "Tank" was flashing red. If Metronome was the engine and that strange energy was the fuel, then food was the only way to recharge the battery. He began to scan the treeline with a newfound, predatory focus. He wasn't looking for a fight anymore; he was looking for anything that might be even remotely edible.
A few yards away, near where the frost from his erratic Ice Beam had scarred the earth, he spotted it. The cold blast had cracked open the canopy, revealing a tree laden with heavy, blue, bulbous fruit that had miraculously survived the flood.
Oran Berries, his mind supplied instantly, that strange Pokémon-instinct database kicking in again.
He didn't wait. He didn't even think. He began to waddle toward the tree with a speed that bordered on a charge, his massive feet stamping deep, slushy prints into the mud and melted ice. The scent of sweet, ripe fruit grew stronger with every step, overpowering the lingering smell of ozone.
When he reached the trunk, Makoto tried to hold onto a shred of his humanity. "Okay," he muttered, his voice thick with saliva. "Just... eat normally. Chewing is important. Don't be a savage."
With agonizing deliberation, he used the very tips of two massive claws to gingerly pluck a single, plum-sized Oran berry. In his paw, it looked ridiculously small—like a marble resting in a baseball glove. He brought it to his mouth and took a polite, measured bite.
But the moment that sweet, tangy juice hit his tongue, the facade crumbled.
It wasn't just a taste; it was a biological directive firing through his nervous system. His Snorlax brain, previously dormant, suddenly grabbed the steering wheel and slammed its foot on the accelerator. The concept of "chewing" was instantly deleted from his mental dictionary, replaced by a single, flashing neon sign that read: CONSUME.
What followed was less of a meal and more of an all-out buffet.
Makoto’s arms became cream-colored blurs. He stopped picking berries individually; instead, his massive paws acted like scoop shovels, stripping entire branches bare in single, violent swipes. He funneled the blue fruit into his cavernous maw like a woodchipper inhaling sawdust.
It was pure, unbridled gluttony. His cheeks bulged as he crammed fistful after fistful inside, barely pausing to swallow before the next load arrived. Blue juice sprayed outwards like a sprinkler, staining the fur around his mouth and chest. The sounds were primal—a symphony of wet chomps, deep guttural gulps, and the snapping of twigs as he accidentally ate those, too, in his haste.
He was like a ravenous bear had taken the reins, a whirlwind of fruit destruction. If a health bar had been hovering over his head, it would have been dinging upward rapidly with every noisy swallow.
Within sixty seconds, the tree was barren. Not a single berry remained.
Makoto stood there, panting slightly, his face a sticky mess of blue pulp and leaves. Then, with an almost audible cartoon POINK, his already immense belly seemed to swell outward just a fraction more, becoming perfectly, tightly round like an overinflated beach ball.
A deep, seismic BUUUURP escaped him, vibrating his ribs and shaking the last few remaining leaves off the naked tree.
The gnawing emptiness was gone, replaced by a heavy, warm sensation of absolute fullness. His eyelids, already naturally droopy, felt impossibly heavy. The fuel tank was full, and now the engine needed to power down. Immediately.
The drowsiness hit him like a physical weight. He didn't even bother looking for a soft patch of grass; the stripped tree trunk behind him would have to serve as a pillow. He slumped back against it, the wood groaning and bowing dangerously under his bulk, but it held firm.
"Just... five minutes," he mumbled, his head lolling back against the bark.
Instantaneously, the forest was filled with a sound arguably more terrifying than the explosion from earlier: the rhythmic, chainsaw-like rumble of a Snorlax snore. A small snot bubble inflated and deflated from his nose with every breath as he drifted into a comatose slumber.
He didn't know how long he was out—it felt like seconds, though the sun had shifted slightly through the leaves. The warm, fuzzy void of sleep was suddenly pierced by a sharp, high-pitched noise that chipped away at his peace.
"HEY!"
Makoto grunted, shifting his weight. The ground shook slightly, and the tree creaked in agony. He tried to swat the noise away like a fly, but his arm felt like it was made of lead.
"I'm talking to you, lard ball! Wake up!"
Reluctantly, one of his eyes cracked open—just a millimeter. The world was still a blurry, colorful smear, but he could make out a small, distinct figure standing right in front of his massive belly, hands on their hips.
"Did you eat these berries?" the young voice shouted, sounding equal parts angry and incredulous.
Makoto’s blurry vision adjusted to reveal a Fuecoco standing at his feet. Resembling a walking chili pepper with a white face and flickering yellow tufts, the little scarlet crocodile stared up at him, its square jaw set in a deep, indignant frown.
Next to the little fire-croc sat a small wicker basket, empty and overturned in the mud.
From the pitch and energy of the voice, it was clear this Fuecoco was just a kid. He was practically vibrating with indignation, his stubby arms flailing.
“I spent all morning filling that!” the Fuecoco yipped, pointing a claw at the barren, broken branches of the tree Makoto was leaning against. “These are from my Pop’s orchard! He’s gonna be so mad—the town’s berry festival is arriving soon, and you just turned the whole harvest into a snack! Pop finally let me help with it, and you just up and ate it!”
Makoto blinked sleepily, his hazy eyes struggling to focus as he tried to process the situation through the fog of his post-meal coma. A wave of confusion washed over him. Orchard? Pop? He scanned the immediate area as best he could with his restricted vision. Where was this kid’s father? Why was a young Pokémon out here all alone in a forest where alien hit squads were roaming? It seemed incredibly dangerous.
"Wait, kid," Makoto rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "Where is your—"
“Don’t try to dodge the question!” Fuecoco snapped, stomping a foot and causing a tiny puff of embers to escape his snout. His eyes flicked to the blue stains on Makoto’s chest fur. “I’m looking at the evidence! You’re covered in juice, and you’re sitting under a naked tree. You ate them, didn’t you?”
The little guy was undeniably brave, though he certainly had a mouth on him. He was standing less than a foot away from a creature that could crush him just by rolling over, yet he didn't back down an inch.
Makoto felt a cold sweat break out beneath his thick fur. This was surreal. He was a grown man—well, a grown Snorlax with the memories of a man—and he was currently being dressed down by a red, chili-pepper-shaped toddler.
"Look, kid, I’m really sorry," Makoto rumbled, holding up his massive, sticky paws in a gesture of peace. "I didn't see a sign or a fence or... well, anything! I was just really, really hungry."
"A sign?!" Fuecoco shrieked, his voice hitting a pitch that could shatter glass. "You don't need a sign to know you don'teat a whole tree! My Pop worked so hard on these!"
The little crocodile’s face turned a shade of red that rivaled his own scales. Suddenly, with a frustrated yelp, he charged. He didn’t use a move like Flamethrower or Tackle; instead, he hopped onto Makoto’s massive, soft feet and scrambled up the white expanse of his stomach like he was climbing a mountain of dough.
“You! Big! Greedy! Berry-guzzler!” Fuecoco yelled, punctuating every word by jumping up and down on the apex of Makoto’s belly.
To a normal person, this would have been an assault. To Makoto, it was a nightmare for a completely different reason. His belly was incredibly sensitive, and Fuecoco’s stubby feet were digging into all the wrong spots.
“Pfft—hah! Stop! Hey, kid, wait—ho-ho!” Makoto’s deep voice broke into a series of unintended, booming chortles. Every time the Fuecoco landed a jump, it sent a ripple of intense ticklishness through Makoto’s entire frame.
“Get—hah—off! It tickles! Stop it!” Makoto pleaded, his massive body jiggling like a giant bowl of jelly. He tried to grab the little guy, but his arms were too thick, and his belly was too wide; he just ended up patting his own sides helplessly while he shook with forced laughter.
“I’m gonna jump until you barf them back up!” Fuecoco wailed, his eyes squeezed shut as he bounced even higher, his little tail thumping against Makoto’s chest.
“I’m—pfft—serious! I’ll make it up to you! Just—hahaha—get off the tummy! Not the tummy!” Makoto was practically crying now, his narrow eyes squeezed shut as he rolled slightly from side to side. But the movement only turned his midsection into a more effective trampoline, sending the little red crocodile even higher into the air.
“I! HATE! GIANT! HUNGRY! POKÉMON!” Fuecoco wailed, his voice cracking with a mix of tantrum-fueled rage and genuine sorrow for his lost berries.
Suddenly, the kid lost his footing. As he slipped, his stubby claws dragged right across the very center of Makoto’s soft, white belly—a direct hit to the most ticklish spot on his entire body.
“EEEEEE-HE-HE-HE-HE!”
Makoto let out a high-pitched, vibrating squeal that definitely didn’t sound like a legendary mountain of power. The sensation was so intense it felt like lightning made of feathers. His massive legs kicked out involuntarily, and his whole body rippled with a forceful, gelatinous shudder that sent the Fuecoco sliding off his stomach and tumbling into the soft mud with a wet plop.
“Haaah… haaah…” Makoto gasped, his chest heaving as he clutched his sides, his face flushed a deep shade of pink.“Kid… you’re lethal. That’s a war crime. You can’t just… drag the belly like that.”
The Fuecoco sat up in the mud, looking dazed. A single, large tear bubbled in the corner of his eye, mixing with the blueberry juice on his face. He looked at his empty wicker basket, then up at the giant who was still vibrating from the tickle attack.
“My Pop’s gonna think I ate them,” the red crocodile sniffled, his anger finally dissolving into a heartbroken whimper.“He’s gonna think I was greedy and lazy, and he won’t let me help with the rest of the chores he gave me tomorrow!”
Watching the little fire-croc shift from a fierce warrior determined to beat him up into a heartbroken, sobbing child tugged hard at Makoto’s heartstrings. He felt like the world’s biggest jerk—and in this new body, he literally was.
Makoto wiped a tear from his eye—one born of laughter—but it dried instantly when he saw the steady stream of tears sliding down Fuecoco’s face. The wailing had stopped, replaced by quiet, hiccuping sobs that made Makoto feel about two inches tall, despite currently being the largest thing in the forest.
“Aw, geez…” Makoto muttered, the guilt twisting in his gut harder than the hunger ever had.
With a heavy grunt that sounded like a shifting truck, he planted his palms in the mud and pushed himself upright. The ground trembled as he rose to his full height, casting a long shadow over the little crocodile. But instead of looming, Makoto immediately tried to get back down to the kid’s level.
He couldn’t exactly crouch—his knees didn’t really bend that way with his stomach in the way. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his weight on his knuckles like a giant gorilla, lowering his massive head until his face was just inches away from the sobbing Pokémon.
“Hey… hey, look at me,” Makoto rumbled, pitching his deep voice as soft as he could, which still sounded like a purring engine.
The Fuecoco sniffled, refusing to look up, his little claws scrubbing at his wet eyes.
“I’m a big, dumb lug, okay?” Makoto said gently. “I let my stomach think, and that was wrong. But listen to me—I’mnot gonna let your Pop blame you. I’m the one who turned into a vacuum cleaner, not you.”
He slowly extended his arm—which was about the size of Fuecoco’s entire body—and gently nudged the empty wicker basket upright.
“We’ll go find him together,” Makoto promised. “I’ll tell him exactly what happened. And if he gets mad… well, he can yell at the giant mountain, not the kid. Deal?”
Just as the Fuecoco sniffled, his breath hitching as he prepared to reply, the bushes erupted.
A massive blue blur burst from the foliage, rushing toward them with surprising speed. Makoto barely had time to flinch before the newcomer skidded to a halt in the mud. It was a Carracosta—a bipedal, ancient turtle Pokémon with a deep blue, rock-hard shell and thick, flipper-like arms that looked capable of crushing boulders.
The sea turtle didn’t even look at Makoto at first. With incredibly gentle, trembling movements, he hovered over the Fuecoco, his large flippers bracketing the kid’s shoulders as if checking for broken bones. He let out a low, worried whistle, inspecting every inch of the little fire-croc to make sure he was unharmed.
“P-Pop?” Fuecoco squeaked, his eyes wide.
Carracosta finally looked up, his weathered, ancient face shifting from frantic worry to a cold, protective glare. He stepped firmly between his son and Makoto, his heavy tail thumping against the ground like a falling hammer.
Makoto found himself staring down a father who looked like he was carved from solid granite and righteous fury. Thishad to be “Pop,” and judging by the way the proturtle Pokémon was flexing those massive flippers, he wasn’t here for a friendly chat.
A cold shiver ran through Makoto’s thick layers of blubber. A terrifying tidbit surfaced in his foggy mind: Carracosta were known to be brutal predators, capable of crushing and devouring prey whole shells, bones, and all—to strengthen their rocky armor.
Looking at the jagged plates on the turtle’s chest, Makoto realized he wasn’t just facing a worried father; he was facing a living fortress that could probably chew through a Snorlax if provoked.
Just as the Carracosta’s flippers began to glow with dangerous, watery light, Lyle—the little Fuecoco—scrambled into the mud between them. He spread his stubby arms wide, acting as a tiny scarlet shield.
“Pop, stop! Don’t hurt him!” Lyle shrieked.
The Carracosta froze, the glow fading, though his eyes remained sharp. “Lyle, get back,” the father rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. “He’s a scavenger. He could’ve hurt you.”
So, the kid’s name was Lyle. Makoto filed that away, feeling oddly steadier now that the “angry chili pepper” had a name.
“No, Pop, listen!” Lyle insisted. “He did eat the berries. Every single one! I was so mad I was jumping on his belly, but… but he didn’t get mean. He was gonna come find you! He promised he’d tell you it was his fault so you wouldn’tthink I was greedy or lazy.”
Carracosta shifted his gaze to Makoto. “Is that true?” he grunted.
“Every word,” Makoto said sincerely. “I’ve got a self-control problem. I saw the berries and just… lost it. Lyle was doing a great job guarding them. I’m just harder to stop than a normal thief.”
Lyle smiled up at him, tiny and grateful. Carracosta exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly as he looked from the barren tree back to the massive Snorlax.
“The name’s Franklin,” the turtle said at last. “I run the orchard. And if the boy says you owned up to it, I won’t crush you. But apologies don’t put fruit back on branches. You ate the harvest, so you’re going to work it off.”
He tossed a bundle of fabric.
Makoto caught it. A scarf—woven in soft pinks, mint greens, and bright blues.
“That’s your uniform,” Franklin said. “Wear it so the neighbors know you aren’t a wild stray.”
Makoto tied it around his upper arm instead of his neck; wearing it on his neck felt off mostly because he already had a scarf. He didn’t care for fashion, but it felt cooler this way.
“You’ll stay with us near the orchard,” Franklin continued. “No free meals until the debt’s cleared. You pay back every berry.”
Makoto nodded and followed.
Moments later, Lyle was trotting beside him, curiosity restored.
“So! I’m Lyle,” the kid chirped. “What’s your name?”
“Makoto.”
“Ooo. Fancy. You’re gonna need free hands, though—Pop’s got chores forever. Don’t worry! I’ll supervise.”
As they walked, Makoto felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest. He wasn’t just a monster in the woods anymore.
He had a debt. A place to go.And a direction to walk in, as well as a self-appointed manager