A few more turns. A few more cuts. A few more dead ends and I was finally on a single path, the one I hoped would lead me to an exit.
Steps echoed through the empty halls, and sure enough there was one young man, pacing back and forth along one of the walls, muttering to himself.
He was happy to see me, relieved actually. The distance between us shortened and when I saw the white of his eyes, I also saw the white of his pokéball, in hand.
Purple fog appeared from within the ball, it then took form and growled. A gastly had taken form and Shelly was not a match for it, so I switched it out with the little zorua. I have to admit that even then, the gas ball put up quite a fight, but my ally won fair and square.
The trainer retrieved his pokémon before any fatal damage incurred and proceeded to kneel in despair.
I wanted to ask what happened? Why was he in such a state of disarray? As I approached and reached out my hand in comfort, his figure started to fade. I could hear him crying, and underneath it a string of words that soon turned into wails.
– I’m never finding my way out! I’m such a loser! Lost! I’m going to be lost forever!
His figure had now completely vanished but his voice could still be heard.
I cut the only blockage out of the room as a thought kept filling my head… did I just battle a ghost?