Chapter 3 is also well on its way! I had some sudden inspiration and wanted to get to the meat of the story, so I powered through the necessary world-building as interestingly as I could make it!

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Please enjoy, and munch thanks!

-Makar.

//

“Rrmm.”

Something nudges against Fabian’s side. A paw, maybe, but his sleep-addled mind doesn’t quite care.

“Mrm,” he sleepily grumbles. A nearby laugh sounds.

“Wake up, buddy,” says someone, and the paw pushes firmly against Fabian’s side, toppling him off of a warm nest and onto rough ground, earning a startled yelp from the Jolteon. His eyes, now snapped open, take in the scene, heart racing from the impromptu wake-up.

He’s in a stony clearing, with a sandy dirt beneath his paws, and scattered boulders making up an enclosed terrain, filled with bundles of leaves, wool, and other elaborate nests, each seemingly customized to its owner’s liking (one is literally just jagged rocks, Fabian notes with an internal wince). It’s sunny and bright, so naturally the supposed sleeping quarters are empty, except for the individuals who seem to have woken him up! They’re both electric types; a Luxio, mane of black hair wild as ever, and another Jolteon. This one, however, a good portion larger than Fabian, and with distinct green fur for his lustrous pelt.

“Good morning!” The Luxio chirps excitedly, whilst the shiny Jolteon remains calm, sitting patiently beside the canine. Fabian blinks, looking between the two, a contrast of normalcy, rarity, and confusion, all in a mysterious package.

“Where— what happened?” Fabian stutters, a tremble creeping up his legs as his last memories catch up to him, rushing to fill the gaps. The morning routine. The clearing. The berry patch. The mysterious Pokemon. Raikou. The story, the paralysis, the grand, looming, enticing jaws…

“Oh Arceus, what happened?” The duo had thankfully not interrupted while they watched Fabian catch up with his own memories, but now, the Luxio chitters, humored. “Don’t go invoking their name, now! Little close for that.” The comment earns the canine a bat on the head by the Jolteon’s paw, before the shiny Jolteon himself turns to Fabian.

“I’m Strike, and my exuberant companion is Rex,” the shiny Jolteon introduces. “And you are presently at the Thunderous Plains, the lands owned by Raikou. We were informed of your arrival; do you remember a mention of his dwelling beyond the mortal plane? And of being chosen?” Strike inquires. He sounds casual, experienced; is this wild occasion a normal circumstance? Fabian does nod, as he had latched onto every word spoken by the legendary, even whilst contained within him.

“The Thunderous Plains are that location mentioned; a territory within a dimension above that which contains the mortal Pokemon, humans, the regions… this is specialized for Raikou’s living, as well as his subjects. Which is why you are here,” he adds. Fabian mutedly nods. Some things are clicking together, but it’s still so… unbelievable. “We’re just nearby the lands of Suicune and Entei, the Crystalline Tundra and the Fiery Ruins respectively, but you now can claim yourself a resident of this realm,” Strike finishes, picking himself off of his paws and nimbly bounding up a nearby boulder, before nodding at Fabian to follow. He does, leaping up beside him, leaving the Luxio in the clearing below. Fabian looks over the view, and gapes.

It’s a lush, trimmed field, lush with light grasses, boulders and savannah trees dotting the land, rolling fields stretching through a sunny, sky-like void. At some point, Fabian can see, the plains abruptly shift in one direction to a snowy field, expanding into gigantic mountains, while the other way hosts a towering volcano, crevices and caves in its walls hinting to a carved-out cave system.

Pokemon roam across all of these landscapes, a distant, gleaming Arcanine bellowing out a plume of fire from the mountainside, and a Delibird flies from tree to tree, snow falling from the pines’ branches as it passes. Strike waits as Fabian takes in the scene before continuing his explanation. “As a subject of Raikou, you are granted limits far beyond that of your mortal life. You will no longer hunger, nor suffer the limitations of sleep, illness, and other afflictions. You can roam the mortal plane, but claim these benefits there, living life as adventurous and free and safe as you please. However, here, we are all brought by our legendarys’ interest. You experienced first-hand one of Raikou’s many interests.” A teasing tone laces Strike’s words, and Fabian’s ears jolt up, almost embarrassed. Strike smiles in return.

“No worries. We’ve all done it, Fabian. And none of us have been hurt. One of his boons is that we don’t feel any negative consequences as a prey, or a predator.” The life and death terms that had dictated his survival are spoken as a commodity, something fun or pleasurable. He can’t say it isn’t fascinating. “Most ‘mons around these parts are frequenters of the act, and you are most welcome to partake in it here, or find its wide audience in the mortal realm,” Strike says, and looks to Fabian, as if prompting for any other questions.

“And—and wh-what’s required of me?” Fabian mumbles. It’s too good to be true too good to be true too good—

“Only that you don’t go flaunting your new life among the mortals, do not aid in attempting to harm any legendary, do not offer yourself as a subject to another legendary without explicit confirmation from Raikou himself, and that when he wishes to play with you, often for a meal and some teasing, that you do not deny his requests.” Strike gives an assured smile. “That’s it. You’ve achieved paradise. Congratulations!” he chitters, nudging a paw against Fabian.

A similar smile creeps up on Fabian’s maw.

“There we go!” Strike congratulates, before leaping down from the boulder, unflinching as any shock should run up his paws. Fabian follows, and finds no pain greeting his landing, unrealistic, but… fun. He can certainly live by these arrangements.

“Can— can I have a tour? Or an introduction?” Fabian asks quickly, nerves shifting into excitement. He’s been granted the life of fairy tales and myths and sure, he’d never expect it to be centered around… well, what does he even call it? He voices the question to Strike before he responds to his initial two, earning a humored glance from his shiny counterpart.

“There’s terminology for it, used both here and in the mortal plane. Simply, it’s called ‘vore’. The act of eating or being eaten, whole, for enjoyment. Can be sexual, can be vanilla. ‘Mons around here get creative; any orifice is fair game, buddy,” he jokes.

“Let me guess; I’ll learn that last part through experience?”

“Yup,” Strike deadpans.

Fabian barks out a laugh, before casting his gaze across the horizon. There’s… a lot to do, a lot to see.

“Well, Strike: explain away!”

--

He had put together some of the rest, the plethora of new information including that most legendaries actually indulge in the practice, but the legendary dog trio, as well as Ho-oh, are its greatest frequenters, due to their own origin stories, down the guzzle of the grand, fiery bird. Even some of the smaller legendaries, apparently, with shrinking magics at their fingertips, participate in the fun.

The legends can cross over into their associates’ lands, grabbing a bite or two before meeting with the legendary, sometimes, and it’s all in safe practice; like how he originally ‘arrived’, any fate resulting in death just ends up with the fallen/digested essentially “respawning” in the clearing of nests. Fabian takes the chance in his tour to edit his own, adjusting it to fit his size, and graciously taking some Mareep wool that the passing sheep offers. He donates a little bit of his own fur, and the haphazard combination of wool, fur, grasses, and branches looks right in line with the rest of the nests.

And eventually, although mentally tired from a lengthy tour and introductions (thankfully with no physical exhaustion), Fabian still notices Strike’s lingering gaze, promptly calling him out on it. “Oh! Well, I had mentioned earlier, Pokemon being ‘preds’ and ‘prey’, common lingo of vore. Generally, either for specific scenarios, or just what a ‘mon prefers to be. And I do tend to lean on being a pred,” Strike says, licking his lips teasingly, prompting a shudder down Fabian’s back. Now, however, it’s exciting. “You should try both a fair amount of times before making a choice, if you make one at all, but you’re smaller than most around here, but more importantly: smaller than me.”

Strike grins, and, feeling it to be only natural to play a part, Fabian shrinks in on himself, crouching to the ground as Strike stands taller. A questioning look crosses the shiny’s face, and after a beat, almost disbelieving, Fabian returns a firm nod.

It’s a simple, fluid, practiced motion: Strike lunges forward, maw opening beyond reason, and tosses his head back, Fabian held within it. The shiny’s throat stretches as it essentially inhales the Jolteon, saliva lubricating his path down as with muscular pushes and gulps, Fabian travels the whole distance down, and begins to fill the larger Jolteon’s stomach.

It sags immediately, the weight taking impact as it begins to nearly press against the ground. Upon being entirely consumed (“vored” his mind humorously supplies), he feels the world through flesh and a natural cacophony shift, before with a flump!, Strike settles onto the ground, giant, bulging stomach resting before him.

Inside, Fabian blissfully closes his eyes.

He isn’t sure why he’s taking to it so fast, so easily. It’s being eaten alive, the entire thing that his life had surrounded avoiding, but it may just be the complete inversion of expectations, or the knowledge that his fears are now… defeated. He can’t be killed by being eaten. And that single statement brings so much comfort that it seems stupid to not indulge in it, now.

But, another factor, is that he immediately finds it nice to be at the mercy of another, to let them to what they want, each understanding the dance of the act, and each enjoying the outcome: Strike is massaging his belly, pressing against the bulge and relishing in the feeling of being full, while within, Fabian enjoys the complete takeover of his senses, as well as gratification from the direct, sensual attention.

It’s… just nice, he supposes. And yeah, what Strike had said lingers; that he’ll face the more sexual side of it, and then the weirder sides, whatever that entails, but he supposes these ‘rules’ carry over, of it being just… something critical and deadly becoming something fun and pleasurable.

Relieved to find a comfortable ending to his looping thoughts, Fabian pushes any and all contemplation aside, as he lies, curled up in Strike’s belly, enraptured by the soft, continuous sounds of the internal, living orchestra, serenaded by a natural lullaby as he slowly, happily, drifts to sleep.