Pallet Town | Morning
The explanations he gets from the other Pokemon still don't really make sense in his own head; there must be a bigger gap of understanding between creatures like himself, and those of the corporeal kind than he originally thought. After all, there's a good chance ghosts don't have to worry about leaving a body behind upon their second death. Phobos doesn't know for sure, but he's heard stories...not that such tales ever made him feel better. He can't focus on that right now, though; he's got a job to finish."Yes, please. And again, be careful.""I will,"
he answers, though the response is far more confident than the ghost truly feels. That Pokemon in the first room set off several warning bells, and he doesn't have a good feeling about the last room because of it. Who knew how many vengeful spirits are lingering in this house, itching to inflict curses Phobos himself could never dream of casting? The fuzzy memories of the curses cast upon himself by Deimos bring what can best be described as a shudder through the ghost's misty form, but he can't just give up now because he's frightened. People are depending on him. What if Phobos chooses not to go in first, and someone gets hurt because of it, hurt by something that wouldn't have affected him at all? There's no way Phobos can let that happen-he won't
let that happen.
The ghost tries phasing through to the other side of the room, same as he did before. He fails, still on the wrong side of the wall, as if the material simply won't let him in. His eyes go wide.What the...?
Phobos attempts it again, and slips through with no problem at all. What was...? Dear Uxie, what is wrong
with him? The ghost can see wisps of himself breaking off from the center of his being, dissipating into the air. He can't be falling apart now, now is the absolute worst time for this, he's got to keep it together. Looking around the room, Phobos sees nothing that could be threatening, but it's still not a pretty scene. The ghost might be made only of poison mist, but that doesn't mean he doesn't recognize blood. There's a reason for the term flesh-and-blood
, after all. Throughout his exile, Phobos has seen blood everywhere, on walls and the ground and on other creatures, especially the red-eyes. For him, blood meant death, death and pain. Floating over to the poor creature lying on some sort of bulky object, Phobos wonders if the spirits lingering here are not vengeful in nature, but simply sorrowful. Everything in this world is dead or dying, and the spirit world can't do anything but watch. Would, one day, he end up among them? At least he didn't have any real family left, or friends; it'd be easier to watch a world fall apart when nobody you cared about existed in it. Though...it would be sad to not be able to talk to the three in this house any more.
No, he can't think about that. Phobos has to focus on his task. This creature has likely been dead for a long time, but that's not what grabs the ghost's attention. It is-or was-a human. Throughout his entire life, Phobos never had the opportunity to get close to a human, and his mother described them as fickle, short-tempered beings, terrified of ghosts. With the arrival of the red-eyes, he probably would never get the chance to see a living human. But this one? Phobos didn't have the slightest clue as to what had caused it to have such a weird, gaping hole in its head. What could possibly inflict an injury like that?
Phobos quickly scanned the room, but found nothing extraordinary or capable of creating any sort of gruesome wound. This isn't something I can just file off as nothing!
If there was a creature, or object, or anything that could kill a human in such a brutal fashion, then the entire group had to know. Phobos is about to leave, but with one glance back at the dead human, something new catches his eye. They were...holding something? He drifts closer to the hand, wondering what the heck it is. To the ghost's frustration, he can't recognize the unfamiliar, blocky shape, nor why a human would have been holding it as they died. Was it some sort of weapon, maybe? Unable to move the dead human's hand to get a better look, Phobos gives up trying to figure out what it is by himself; surely the others would have a better chance of solving this mystery. Not having necessary knowledge really sucked.
Returning to the other side, Phobos is thankful that, at the very least, his abilities weren't acting up again. "There's nothing in there but a dead human,"
the ghost reports, "I don't know what killed it, though. It had, like...a hole in its head? And there was blood on the wall behind it. I've never seen something like that before."
Embarrassment is flooding his mind; could he possibly look any more stupid than right now? Phobos took pride in his knowledge, but right now he doesn't know anything
. "I tried looking around for what could have done it, but all I found was something in the human's hand. It was weird and blocky, and-and metal? I think?"
Metal is not something really that familiar with Phobos either, other than the fact it is supposed to be shiny and humans really liked the stuff, or something like that."I, uh, couldn't really see it that well..."