Whatever that was, he physically could not move away from It-- couldn’t turn away or back off, found himself incapable of even closing his eyes against It. He really, really wished he could have done any of those things, but no, here he was, rooted in place as the distance between them slowly diminished.

But that wasn’t to say that It was moving forward. While there was motion in Its form-- millions of details too intricate to focus on in the face of such danger-- Ingo would be hard pressed to say that It was ambulating towards him. Swords knew he wasn’t capable of moving from this spot, and the only other thing he could think was that, whatever It was, It was simply existing independent of the earth’s rotation, riding the planet like a slow moving sightseeing car.

The closer It-- or he?-- got, the more there was. By no means should something so massive fit the subway system. It was physically impossible. How hadn’t It brought the tunnel down on their heads? Again, the urge to turn and flee burned at him, every instinct screaming that he was in danger, and Ingo could do nothing but stand there in frozen horror.

Something in It flickered, and he had to fight down a wave of nausea at the sudden understanding that he had been Seen.

He tasted copper. For some unfathomable reason, his first response was to reach up and verify that, yes, his nose was bleeding. He couldn’t see the stain on his glove, unable to look away from the impossible creature before him, but there was little mistaking what seeped into the fabric.

What he thought were the entity’s eyes caught on the motion and, crooning, It bowed its head, focusing entirely on him.

It was-- it was a little like Chandelure’s call, he thought for just a moment, before rejecting that and finding a note like when Crustle got his shell to sit just right in the morning, or Archeops crying for attention, or, or--

He found himself so consumed in the multitudes of Its voice that he didn’t notice as it drew nearer. Static blared in his ears, and that much was oddly comforting, until he remembered what was going on around him, and had time to wonder if it had been caused by Its cry or the form Itself, actively advancing upon him.

Gods, he-- he wanted to be anywhere but here right now. He didn’t care where, just-- just away from It.

A wail cut through the snow in his head-- and there it was again, the noise Garbodor made when she got takeout containers from the Kalosian place off of Main-- and the being… maneuvered Itself around him, somehow. It was tempting to say It oozed like a Ditto, but that wasn’t quite right. Ingo just didn’t have words for what it was.

At the very least, with It out of his line of sight, Ingo found himself free to look wherever he pleased; he even managed to stumble forward for a couple of steps, keenly aware of what was behind him, but unable to muster the courage to turn and face It again.

It tugged on his collar and he found himself lifted off of his feet, dangling helplessly in the air as something crackled to life in the ground, heinously bright against the tunnel’s pitch dark, and yet still pale in comparison to whatever It was holding him at Its mercy.

There was a huff against the back of his neck, apology and a promise all in one-- like Tangela after she’d first used Stun Spore on him or when Sneasler--

...what?

He didn’t have a-- What was a--?

The taut cloth of his collar went slack. Unseen, It let go, and Ingo fell.

Moments later, a man awoke on the edge of a snowy settlement.