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"https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/2963/2963797_kaleemmcintyre_1.jpg", "thumbnail_url_large_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/2963/2963797_kaleemmcintyre_1_noncustom.jpg", "thumbnail_url_medium_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/2963/2963797_kaleemmcintyre_1_noncustom.jpg", "thumb_medium_noncustom_x": "120", "thumb_medium_noncustom_y": "90", "thumb_large_noncustom_x": "200", "thumb_large_noncustom_y": "150", "thumb_huge_noncustom_x": "300", "thumb_huge_noncustom_y": "225" } ], "pools": [], "description": "There was no fairness in life.\n\nThis was a truth Bidziil had learned firsthand after having his clan scattered to the wind by the humans who came upon his people’s lands. The young growlithe pup had been on the cusp of becoming an adult in the eyes of his Windsinger tribe when the outsiders had come to speak with his chieftain and some of the other elders. The humans had spoken with honeyed sweet words about how they wanted to help innovate life within the tribe by giving them usage of their strange tools which pushed clouds of smoke and steam into the sky in exchange for use of their fertile lands. The chieftain had of course said no to this bargain, as he held no trust for the humans that did nothing to hide their thoughts about how low they thought of the arcanine tribe. \n\nWhen the outsiders left to go about their way everyone assumed that they would not return, but this had been a mistake on their part, as several weeks later they had returned. Once again they attempted to try and foster a ‘deal’ with the chieftain of the tribe, as they liked to call it, going so far as to promise the scarred arcanine both immeasurable wealth and control over some of the other tribes within the country once they brokered agreements with them. The chieftain had been staunch in his position to not allow them to ultimately defile their lands as they had been so eager to do, if only because he had sent out some of the fastest runners within the tribe to spy on the humans to see just exactly how they conducted themselves within the cities they had created for themselves far beyond the tribe’s lands. The tales of how many other pokemorphs had been enslaved by the humans and forced to work for them in their buildings and on their farmlands was one that had filled the chieftain and elders with unending disgust, and while some had thought to go and try and help those that had been bound and chained the chieftain had been hesitant to do so, if only because their people were not a war loving clan.\n\nOrdering the outsiders to go about their way and not to return had been a fool’s choice on the chieftain’s part in hindsight, as when words did not sway his heart the humans returned weeks later with roaring troops ready to conquer them all. \n\nThe first few battles had gone extremely well for the battle painted arcanines as they charged across the grasslands brandishing swords and spears made of bones and wood. The humans had not expected such resistance from the ‘savages’ that they so clearly despised, even though they came with shields which could block the streams of fire which the striped dogs could blow from out of their painted maws. Yet as the confrontations continued to take place month after month the losses for Bidzill’s people continued to mount without end. The chieftain could see that soon he and his tribe would soon find themselves defeated, and so he had the females and pups that weren’t able to fight moved to the deep south where they would hopefully be safe while he and the others would set themselves into position to lay down their lives on the grasslands for which their ancestors had bled and died for. It was during one of these battles that Bidziil had come to see the end of his people and their way of life.\n\nThe lingering members of the tribe had fought back as hard as they could with what numbers they had, their extreme speed and flame soaked maws continuously pouring out streams of liquid fire onto the soldiers that thought to stand against them as best they could even as more and more of them fell one after the other. The battle was sadly turned against their favor when a massive war tank rolled across the grassland pouring out endless clouds of ash and smoke across the blood soaked grass. A massive mechanical wail filled the air as the death machine fire several blasts of iron at the charging arcanine and growlithe. Bidzill never felt physical pain like what he had experience when a large blast of metal shot at the ground several yards away from scattered those warriors who had been making one last desperate march forward. The metal fragments had splintered after hitting the ground, swiftly killing all of those in the immediate area around the blast, while knocking him and the several dozen others that stood around him off of their feet. \n\nDarkness claimed him before he knew what exactly happened next.\n\nThis was the last blessed mercy he had received in life, because after he had come away from being so injured, not to mention partially deafened, the growlithe found his life becoming nothing short of a living hell.\n\nWaking up chained inside of a large stone room the young growlithe immediately yelped and growled as he tried to free himself from the thick metallic bindings which had been wrapped all around his body. Looking down at himself the crimson eyed pokemorph had not been pleased to see that his young body had been left scorched and battered, the war paint which he and his tribemates had painstakingly placed over themselves now looked less like proud tribal patterns and more like a pup’s sloppy attempt to decorate himself. If that wasn’t bad enough a quick sniff over his half nude body told him that he had been left unwashed for several days now, as the scent of blood, ash, smoke, earth, and death covered him from head down to his paw pads. Anger quickly settled within his belly and using it to fuel himself Bidziil struggled as best he could to try and get himself free once he shakily stood up off of the cold stones resting underneath him.\n\nHis immature strength proved to be of no help to him though, as despite how hard he struggled, he could not break the hold grasp the steel chains held over him. It was only after he had exhausted his strength, which in itself hadn’t exactly returned in full, did the tribal pup cease in his frantic struggles. Settling himself back down onto the floor with a tired huff Bidziil looked around at the dimly lit room to try and see if there was some manner of escape for which he could use to get out from his dank prison. There wasn’t much to be found in the cold room. The barred window offered him no measure of freedom, despite seeing the afternoon sun shining down upon his muzzle, nor did the only door which, more than likely, led out from the room. \n\nCalling out to his clanmates had been the growlithe pup’s next maneuver, however no matter how many names he rolled off his tongue none of the others called back to him. A sense of lonesomeness quickly began to eat away at his mind as the hours ticked by in silence, as without his tribemates beside him Bidzill found himself swallowed up by a sense of anxiety the likes of which he had never felt before. Tears welled within the corners of his crimson colored eyes but the young tribal refused to let them flow. \n\nHe was stronger than that, after all! \n\nHe was a warrior of the Windsinger tribe! \n\nWhat would his people think if they saw him bawling like a pup that had lost his mother?!\n\nAnd yet as the darkness crept across the room the sense of panic and loneliness grew to the point where it felt nearly all-consuming. \n\nIt was the sight of humans dressed in strange clothes entering into his prison that broke the growlithe out from his self-induced disquietude. Bidziil didn’t want to admit it but he was actually glad to see another being after so long, though his glee was quickly squashed underfoot once his nose caught onto the stench of oil and disease which ran from off of their bodies. The pup could feel his stomach rolling as his sensitive nose drank in the scent of sickness which seemed to be lingering across the human male’s bodies. So of course when they began to speak harsh words down at him in a language he barely understood his joy quickly turned into irritation. \n\nWhen their words failed to draw any semblance of a conversation from out of him one of the well dressed men foolishly stepped over to him. Bidziil quickly snapped at the person when they came over to shout into his face. The feeling of catching the human’s hand within his jaws brought a sense of amusement to the young tribal’s mind as he latched down onto the browned flesh and then crunched. The sweet sound of bone being crushed in between his fangs was like music to him, and while he might not have been at his full strength at the moment the growlithe’s jaws had more than enough power within themselves to destroy his capture’s hand. His sense of elation was swiftly marred by the stale taste of blood which ran down across his tongue, the disease which festered within the human’s scent ran deep within the others blood and it took everything within Bidziil not to retch as the taste of sickness coated his tongue.\n\nBidziil was able to spit the nauseating crimson liquid from out of his mouth, but only after the other men came over to beat him with a bunch of wooden clubs hidden behind their backs. Pain lanced through the growlith’s head and muzzle as the sudden strikes assaulted him, however the pup did his best not to cry out. He didn’t want to give his captures the satisfaction of hearing him howl, after all. It was only once he was lying on the ground once again, his eyes and cheeks swollen from the abuse he had been dealt while blood dribbled down his nose, that the beating stopped. The injured man was quickly shepherd out of the room and the metal door was then slammed shut leaving Bidzill alone with his thoughts and injuries.\n\n\nCurling in on himself as the cold night began to draw itself over him Bidziil allowed his anger over the present situation boil inside of his soul until it felt as though living hate was festering inside of his belly. \n\nSadly this twisted knot within him found itself quickly unraveling as the days passed by in slow succession without anyone coming to check on him. The growlithe was ashamed to admit that he had to use the side of his stone prison to relieve himself, as he had not been able to find a hole within the floor where he could do his business. The sense of disgust he had felt with himself was one that ran deep, but it was nothing compared to the pains of hunger and thirst which assaulted him on the fourth day of his capture. Delirium overcame the young tribal by the sixth day, and soon he began to weep and babble to himself like a lame as his body demanded that he be given something in order to not expire where he had curled himself up on the cold ground to sleep. \n\nSweet relief came some time later on in the form of a bushy brown furred figure wandering into his cell to see to him. Bidziil could barely see who or what the other was, though his nose told him that the individual in question was not human, as there was a sweet flowery scent coating the figure’s body. When the unknown creature lifted him up into their arms the growlithe immediately began to nuzzle his nose into the side of the other’s chest. It was the feeling of a wooden cup being placed against his parched lips that made him stop his desperate show of affection. The young tribal took a sniff of the liquid and elation rapidly filled his mind when the cool scent of water ran through his dry nose. Bidzill greedily began to drink his fill after that, much to the other’s amusement as he could hear chuckling coming from up above him. The growlithe began to cough out the water onto his savior’s hands seconds later, as his body went into slight shock from the influx of liquid rushing into his belly and throat after going so long without. The figure that held him within their waifish arms was patience with the young tribal though, as he continued to hold the other close while allowing Bidziill to calm his body and then drink once again. \n\nThough in the end this may have been more of a merciful cruelty than salvation, as a short time after the other had left to go about his way the humans from before returned to poke and prod and ask him questions for which he had no answer to. They thankfully didn’t beat him this time, though they didn’t treat him with any great respect either as one of them came over to unchain his weary body, letting it slump onto the floor as exhaustion grabbed a hold over the growlithe. Because of his weakened state Bidziil was helpless to resist two of the men as they dragged him out of the room into the afternoon sun. Where they took him he couldn’t say for certain, all he knew was that he was just able to make out several different creatures, both pokemorph and not, wandering about the surrounding area through his bleary eyes. Some of them stared at him, that he was sure of because he could remember a few pointing in his direction, though not one of them thought to try and aid him as he was taken over to a large carriage that was being pulled by a pair of muscular looking mudsdale.\n\nThanks to his slightly delirious state from being starved as he had been the pup could do nothing as he was placed within a strange metal box that had several other worn and exhausted figures resting within it. He wanted to speak with the others once the carriage began to move but there were no words within his dry throat. The others seemed to share in his suffering as many of them could only moan and squirm from their positions around him. Bidziil would never know how long they had traveled, though he was aware of the fact that after he was pulled out from the interior of the metal box night had settled over the world once again.\n\nThings were done to him after he was dragged into an odd sterile looking building, many of the events he couldn’t remember, but through them all one thing Bidzill could recall was the fact that he was injected with several strange substances by needle sharp tools which made a deep sense of cold bloom within his chest, arms, and legs. He was thankfully fed scraps of meat and vegetables hours later, just enough to help him come to grips with his new reality, but not enough to give him the strength to fight. Upon recovering his senses Bidziil found himself surrounded by others of his tribe, though something seemed to be wrong with all of them, as whenever he tried to speak their language to them they would shy away from him, or speak in the tongue of those that had captured their people. It was only later that the growlithe found out the abuses for which many of the others had been subjected to, some of which he found himself being treated to after he and the others had been set out to live with their ‘owners’.\n\nThe concept of owning another creature was one that the growlithe did not quite understand, as his tribe had never participated in the enslavement of another being before. Those humans who had thought to bind him and his fellow clanmates within a new set of steel chain seemed not to care for his confusion and disgust over their practices, as they simply made him and the others work tilling the land of their farms. Bidziil had wanted to fight back against the others, but he had swiftly come to learn that the flames which burned within his chest refused to come to his call when, upon seeing one of the handlers set over them beating an exhausted riolu, the liquid heat had failed to shoot out from his muzzle. The strength within his limbs was the only thing he could use to defend the other pup as he heroically charged at the man before punching and kicking at him as best he could with the chains wrapped tightly around his arms and legs.\n\nThe beating he received for such foolishness had been severe, so much so that the growlithe had been left dazed and confused the next day following the assault. Not being given food by his masters didn’t help matters in the slightest, as without fuel his body had to rely on the small drinks of water he was given by the riolu that he had helped to save in order to heal himself. Bidziil was forever grateful for the other’s kindness. \n\nAfter recovering his strength the growlithe was taken from those meant to farm the earth and placed amongst a group of pokemorphs that were meant to place wood and metal slats down across the dry ground. Because the work was much more grueling than tilling the land the group in question were far removed in age from the pups the growlithe had been working with beforehand. This older collection of pokemorphs had been captive for far longer than he, and it showed in their listless demeanor, darkened eyes, evolved forms. Because the slaves were older, larger, and stronger than him Bidziil had to fight to keep up with the pace of those around, and though he tried his best to do so his immature body just wasn’t able to do so as the weeks rolled into months. The changing of the seasons did not help one bit in this matter, as the humans who held control over his and the other’s lives forced them to work through the pouring rains and freezing snow. \n\nThat some of the pokemorphs died while doing their tasks came as a complete shock to Bidziil. \n\nDeath was usually something that was thought of as being a semi-sacred event to those within the Windsinger tribe, as it was said by the elders that those who died had completed their duties here in this life and were now being raised up to join with those of their family that had come before them. The humans that thought themselves master of the pokemorphs in question didn’t see such events as being anything close to special. This truth was made all to clear as the slavers would sometimes leave the dead in the place that they had fallen to rot as a way to cow the withering spirits of their slaves. When some of the few pokemorphs that still held some manner of respect for themselves and their traditions tried to bury the fallen they were immediately beaten and then taken away, sometimes for days on end. When they returned, if they returned, they would be covered in numerous bruises and would do everything they could to try and distance themselves from those around them. Bidziil would never forget how so filled with terror their eyes had become, as though they had been shown horrors beyond measure by their captures for their attempts at basic decency.\n\nBidziil experienced some of these nightmarish scenes firsthand, as he had more than once tried to place the dead within a grave befitting their sacrifice for being here in this twisted hell. The feeling of the rough hands of the humans punching and kicking him in the gut while he was tied to a stone wall near one of the houses where they slept was an experience that he never wanted to repeat, though whenever he would try once again aid the fallen he was treated to worse and worse punishments for him crimes. Not being fed was something that Bidziil had become used to, so that tactic didn’t fail to stamp out the sense of defiance which was within his heart, though the feeling of his naked body being kissed by whips covered in liquid cold or by sparks of electricity shook the foundations of his mental resilience in ways that he didn’t know if he would ever be able to recover from. \n\nBidziil continued to try and resist having his spirit broken by the humans as best he could by spitefully disobeying them whenever he could. A sense of pride burned within his chest as the pup was able to inspire several others to rebel, even in some small measure, against their hadlers, though this small victory was quickly snuffed out when many of the others were separated from the main group. Whispers that they had been sold off and killed made it so that those who remained quickly distanced themselves from the strong willed pup. More than one night during his enslavement did the growlithe come to find himself having to huddle up alone within the wooden shack that they had been given to sleep in. The colder months proved themselves to be the most harsh for the young tribal, as the few blankets that the pokemorphs had been given were confiscated by those that wanted them the most, and who would fight for them if need be, and so all Bidziil had to keep himself warm was the dull flame within his chest. \n\nAnd yet still he refused to allow himself to be broken, at least until he had been shown the sacred stone.\n\nThe sight of the glowing orange rock was one that the growlithe had always been looking forward to after he had come to learn of its significance to the Windsinger tribe. The day for which it would touch his body was one that was supposed to symbolize his full journey into manhood, and one for which he should have experienced right before he was chosen to be a mate by the female members within his tribe. But as one of the humans brandished the stone in front of his bound face all Bidzill could feel at that given moment was sheer unrelenting terror. He of course did everything he could to fight back against the chains holding him down as he watched the fiery stone draw nearer, but alas there was nowhere for him to go as the hand holding the key to his evolution came over to grace the side of his neck.\n\nFeeling the warm magic within the stone touch himself Bidziil tried to resist what was about to happen to him, but there was no denying what nature had intended. His shivering body quickly began to shudder as he felt an insane heat traverse through his veins, lighting his blood on fire at the same time his heart began to pump all the harder within his chest. That the chains around him were unlatched did nothing to comfort the growlithe as he felt himself slowly growing from the forced evolution about to take place within himself. \n\nA howl tore free from his muzzle as his bones felt like they were melting underneath his skin, that was the only way to describe the gooey sensation that swam inside of his tingling body. The feeling of his small form slowly preparing to reshape itself was one that Bidziil fought his hardest against, but there was no halting the sensation of everything inside of him shifting and pulling and contouring in a strangely painless way. The elder members within the tribe had often told those pups around his age that this was to be expected from the magic of the fire stones for which the earth had cultivated for them, but to actually experience it firsthand without the guidance of the adults who had gone through such a transformation before was mind numbing to say the least. \n\nEverything just felt so wrong! \n\nThis wasn’t how his evolution was supposed to happen!\n\nAnd yet there was no denying the change happened to him. \n\nHe growled and barked as his form extended outwards, bulking in size as the energy churning within his guts reconfigured every fiber of his being to fit the new dimensions for which he was growing into. The sounds of his bones popping made his elongating ears twitch sparadocally, though he was able to keep himself from passing out from disgust as tried to focus on the dull flame now roaring back to life within his chest. Reaching out to grip the floorboards Bidziil found his puppy claws lengthening from out of the tips of his fingers as the jet black protrusions hardened to the point where they could put some smaller knives to shame with their increasing sharpness. The muscles within shoulders and arms inflated in size seconds later as new growth overtook them, this in turn granted the growlithe the extra strength he would need to crush boulders with his widening fists.\n\nA hiss ripped free from Bidziil’s lips as he felt his neck and chest expanding as the all-consuming heat within him flared outwards, the sight of which was marked by small wisps of steam drifting up from off of his barely clothed form. While at any other time the young tribal would have loved to embrace the familiar heat which was once again surging within his chest, he cursed his body for allowing such a thing to take place in front of the humans who he felt nothing but seething hatred for. Opening his mouth to snarl at the others Bidziil’s stretching maw allowed his lengthening fangs to terrify the men around him for a few seconds as drool dribbled down across his lips. Anger and hunger twisted throughout his gut making him wish to lash out at the humans in front of him, but a sudden wave of nausea lanced through his belly stopping him from making his way forward. \n\nBidzill rolled his head back and forth across the ground in anger and disbelief as his chest and torso ballooned with unending mass. Pure strength was surging through the growlithe as he could literally feel his new muscles hardened around his elongating bones and widening cartilage. The sensation of his thin fur surging out all across his body was something that filled him with a sense of pride, as he knew that his new coat would be able to better protect him from the cruel tortures for which his handlers would probably try and usher onto him. The fact that he was thinking about such a thing being good made the young tribal’s belly roll with a deep sense of loathing. \n\nThis was not how this was supposed to happen! \n\nThe transforming arcanine slammed his clenched fist into the ground hard enough to break the wood. The feeling of his waist shooting outwards to become a thick base which would support his new upper bulk made Bidziil want to roar out loud as he lifted his widening head to stare daggers at the slavers pointing and laughing down at him. The desire to kill every last one of the humans in front of him was so palpable that he could swear that he could taste their blood on his lengthening tongue. Crimson eyes sparkled with a barely restrained madness as the arcanine shifted his gaze over the group, that his sights slowly slipped down as his body grew upwards by several inches at a time was something that made his sense of depraved mania all the more enjoyable. \n\nIt was very fortunate for those around him that the sudden pulse of manhood him made Bidziil double over once again.\n\nThe sensation of his sheathless sex twitching in between his legs as it gained extra girth disgusted the arcanine to no end. Usually this aspect of his evolution was one that he and the other males of the Windsinger tribe were supposed to look forward to above all else, as the growth of their genitals would symbolize their potency to their potential mates, thereby allowing them to visually measure just how many pups that he and the others would be able to give to them once he took one of them into his tent. Of course, because life’s malice had no real end, his balls took this moment to inflate to the size of ripe oranges and then on further to become as big as coconuts. The swaying orbs carelessly dangled down low in between Bidzill’s legs as the ragged underclothing he had been given to wear had popped upon his hips widening to the dimensions they now possessed. His manhood, already pretty long for someone his age, expanded down further to give him a powerful tool for which many would find intimidating. The thick scent of his musk filled the arcanine’s nose with the stale taste of a male that had long since been unable to allow himself to find release, and while he would have loved to reach down and give himself a few good strokes in order to ease out the tension pooling within his groin, right now he was too revolted with what was happening to allow himself the pleasure.\n\nNot helping circumstances was the fact that the men were making motions in his direction that he really didn’t like. \n\nPulling himself up once he felt his thighs stretching and then filling with new muscle, Bidziil let out an ear ringing bark at the slavers. This chest rattling noise instantly shut up the crowd standing in front of him. The fact that his still growing legs were able to allow him to fully tower over the others made his intimidating outcry something to be reckoned with, however it was swiftly ignored once the arcanine knelt back down onto his knees. A sad fact of the matter was that, while he was indeed stronger than he had been before, he was still growing, and so the bones within his feet and legs needed time to center both his balance and his new mobility. \n\nBidziil shook his head when the already fluffy fur along his tail and neck puffed up, the swaying appendage behind him shot out like a snake before curling slightly to give him the trademarked s-curl that all arcanines possessed. Meanwhile up above his glorious mane, something for which the Windsinger tribe was especially proud of, and often decorated with beads and other small items to show off its prominence, had drifted over his head to shadow the glazed look of exhaustion which had cast itself within his now shimmering crimson eyes. Reaching up to grab at his face Bidziil shook himself wildly as he tried to wake himself from the nightmare that was this particular moment in his life, however there was no coming awake from this, as the moment in question was the hard reality of his existence. \n\nHis body finished its transformation some seconds later with his spine loudly popping as it settled into place allowing the rest of his body to properly center itself. Once he felt as though he could stand up without falling flat onto his face the former growlithe didn’t wait to form a plan that would benefit himself and the new body that he now possessed, he merely darted forward to attack the humans in front of him. The men proved to have been waiting for this as they dove out of the way of the snarling arcanine’s way to allow him to crash into the wall behind them. Exhaustion quickly filled Bidziil’s mind as he found that his new form was completely spent from that one attack, so of course the humans around him began to attack him with their heels and clubs. He yelped and whined and snarled from the assault but none of it did him any good. He was trapped as he was by his own forced evolution, and as pain ignited itself all across his body the arcanine could do nothing more than wish for death as he stared up into the shadowed faces of those standing above him.\n\nAfter the slavers had their fun with him they quickly chained his new body with even stronger metal restraints, they then muzzled both his face and his manhood in order to show their full control over his body. A few of the men pointed to his balls while making gestures that Bidziil could only feel sheer terror to see, but they were stopped by the others for some reason. Because he still didn’t quite understand their language he didn’t know why they hadn’t mutilated them as they clearly intended to do, all he knew was that after they had dragged him up onto his feet they quickly threw him into a dark room without being given anything to eat or drink.\n\nThe handlers knew well enough that this would settle whatever aggression was lying within his heart and mind, as proven by the fact that after several days without being given anything to sate his now much more demanding system Bidziil found himself all but begging to be let out from the sweltering shack that he had been placed within. He was indeed let out, though not without having to debase himself by eating and drinking from large bowls set onto the floor before him. That he did so without question struck the young tribal’s pride in a way that he was sure he would never recover from.Not helping matters at all was the fact that once he was returned to the others none of them so much as attempted to ask him how felt or offered him the barest hint of comfort for the mental and physical suffering for which he had endured.\n\nWork came easier for the former tribal pokemorph after that as Bidziil simply toiled away the hours in silence in order to try and not think about everything that had happened to him. The arcanine didn’t want to think about the people he had lost, the deep wound that had been struck across his pride, the body that he now possessed that was a symbol of everything he had lost, nor the fact that this would be how he would die. He just worked. \n\nAnd worked.\n\nAnd worked.\n\nAnd worked.\n\nBidziil felt his mind distancing itself from the rest of himself at some point since his body seemed to do the job for which had been assigned to him without thought. That he, like so many others, ignored those that died around him was not something that bothered the arcanine anymore. The fire type pokemorph actually felt something akin to envy for those who took their last breath while suffering away the days in the rain and snow all for the sake of their master. When he had come to think of the sweet mercy of death’s embrace as being the only way to truly spite the slavers that forced them to work grueling hours underneath the blazing sun and within the howling winds was something that Bidziil didn’t know, but once he did analyze these feelings he welcomed the end of his existence. \n\nThe arcanine didn’t know how many years had passed after that, his ability to recount the seasons had long since fled from his grasp as he simply did as he was told without thinking about the before or after of his actions. That he was moved from one job to another was something that barely concerned the muzzled pokemorph. All he needed to know was how to do the job that was in front of him, which came easier after he picked up a few key words by the humans that held control over his life. The ever shifting faces of those around him and the subtle changes to the world in question simply went unnoticed by the former tribal pokemorph, and in a way he liked it that way. It was just so much easier to not think about what was happening around him both during and after a long day of grueling work carving ore from deep within the earth, or carrying crates onto ships, or hauling carriages behind his backside. \n\nAnd then everything suddenly changed one day.\n\nBidziil and the others had been hearing grumblings from some of the humans they were working under for quite some time now, but they didn’t spend the energy trying to care about what was going on with their masters. So it came as a very big shock to all of them when they were loaded up within a van and then taken to a large city filled with red stone buildings tall enough to kiss the sky. Looking around at the ensembled group of pokemorphs after he was led out of the can the arcanine found himself confused beyond all measure as he noticed thousands of slaves like himself standing around with looks ranging from apathy to perplexion. A warm murmur settled over the area as the middle of the city was filled with the quiet conversations of those whose spirits hadn’t been broken by their time serving the whims of humanity, though Bidziil took no part in conversing with anyone. Instead he and several others watched as a well dressed alakazam walked up to a wooden podium set within the center of the street and then begin talking.\n\nThe speech was rather simple and yet it was one that carried such a momentous weight to it that Bidziil would never forget it.\n\n“My fellow pokemorphs, I know that you have suffered greatly at the hands of the humans that have taken you from your homes, destroyed your lands, scattered your people, and broken your bodies for the sake of their selfish ambitions,” the psychic pokemorph spoke in a calm and collected tone even as the well dressed officials standing beside him squirmed like worms on a hook. “However, I am here today to tell you that this unforgiving time in your life has come to an end, as myself and several others within the First Pokemorph Union have worked long and grueling hours in order to write new laws within the rules of this modern society to give you your freedom.” \n\nA literally hush fell over the entire city upon as literally no one knew what to say to this. \n\n- - - - - - -\n\nArt: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/resondog", "description_bbcode_parsed": "There was no fairness in life.

This was a truth Bidziil had learned firsthand after having his clan scattered to the wind by the humans who came upon his people’s lands. The young growlithe pup had been on the cusp of becoming an adult in the eyes of his Windsinger tribe when the outsiders had come to speak with his chieftain and some of the other elders. The humans had spoken with honeyed sweet words about how they wanted to help innovate life within the tribe by giving them usage of their strange tools which pushed clouds of smoke and steam into the sky in exchange for use of their fertile lands. The chieftain had of course said no to this bargain, as he held no trust for the humans that did nothing to hide their thoughts about how low they thought of the arcanine tribe.

When the outsiders left to go about their way everyone assumed that they would not return, but this had been a mistake on their part, as several weeks later they had returned. Once again they attempted to try and foster a ‘deal’ with the chieftain of the tribe, as they liked to call it, going so far as to promise the scarred arcanine both immeasurable wealth and control over some of the other tribes within the country once they brokered agreements with them. The chieftain had been staunch in his position to not allow them to ultimately defile their lands as they had been so eager to do, if only because he had sent out some of the fastest runners within the tribe to spy on the humans to see just exactly how they conducted themselves within the cities they had created for themselves far beyond the tribe’s lands. The tales of how many other pokemorphs had been enslaved by the humans and forced to work for them in their buildings and on their farmlands was one that had filled the chieftain and elders with unending disgust, and while some had thought to go and try and help those that had been bound and chained the chieftain had been hesitant to do so, if only because their people were not a war loving clan.

Ordering the outsiders to go about their way and not to return had been a fool’s choice on the chieftain’s part in hindsight, as when words did not sway his heart the humans returned weeks later with roaring troops ready to conquer them all.

The first few battles had gone extremely well for the battle painted arcanines as they charged across the grasslands brandishing swords and spears made of bones and wood. The humans had not expected such resistance from the ‘savages’ that they so clearly despised, even though they came with shields which could block the streams of fire which the striped dogs could blow from out of their painted maws. Yet as the confrontations continued to take place month after month the losses for Bidzill’s people continued to mount without end. The chieftain could see that soon he and his tribe would soon find themselves defeated, and so he had the females and pups that weren’t able to fight moved to the deep south where they would hopefully be safe while he and the others would set themselves into position to lay down their lives on the grasslands for which their ancestors had bled and died for. It was during one of these battles that Bidziil had come to see the end of his people and their way of life.

The lingering members of the tribe had fought back as hard as they could with what numbers they had, their extreme speed and flame soaked maws continuously pouring out streams of liquid fire onto the soldiers that thought to stand against them as best they could even as more and more of them fell one after the other. The battle was sadly turned against their favor when a massive war tank rolled across the grassland pouring out endless clouds of ash and smoke across the blood soaked grass. A massive mechanical wail filled the air as the death machine fire several blasts of iron at the charging arcanine and growlithe. Bidzill never felt physical pain like what he had experience when a large blast of metal shot at the ground several yards away from scattered those warriors who had been making one last desperate march forward. The metal fragments had splintered after hitting the ground, swiftly killing all of those in the immediate area around the blast, while knocking him and the several dozen others that stood around him off of their feet.

Darkness claimed him before he knew what exactly happened next.

This was the last blessed mercy he had received in life, because after he had come away from being so injured, not to mention partially deafened, the growlithe found his life becoming nothing short of a living hell.

Waking up chained inside of a large stone room the young growlithe immediately yelped and growled as he tried to free himself from the thick metallic bindings which had been wrapped all around his body. Looking down at himself the crimson eyed pokemorph had not been pleased to see that his young body had been left scorched and battered, the war paint which he and his tribemates had painstakingly placed over themselves now looked less like proud tribal patterns and more like a pup’s sloppy attempt to decorate himself. If that wasn’t bad enough a quick sniff over his half nude body told him that he had been left unwashed for several days now, as the scent of blood, ash, smoke, earth, and death covered him from head down to his paw pads. Anger quickly settled within his belly and using it to fuel himself Bidziil struggled as best he could to try and get himself free once he shakily stood up off of the cold stones resting underneath him.

His immature strength proved to be of no help to him though, as despite how hard he struggled, he could not break the hold grasp the steel chains held over him. It was only after he had exhausted his strength, which in itself hadn’t exactly returned in full, did the tribal pup cease in his frantic struggles. Settling himself back down onto the floor with a tired huff Bidziil looked around at the dimly lit room to try and see if there was some manner of escape for which he could use to get out from his dank prison. There wasn’t much to be found in the cold room. The barred window offered him no measure of freedom, despite seeing the afternoon sun shining down upon his muzzle, nor did the only door which, more than likely, led out from the room.

Calling out to his clanmates had been the growlithe pup’s next maneuver, however no matter how many names he rolled off his tongue none of the others called back to him. A sense of lonesomeness quickly began to eat away at his mind as the hours ticked by in silence, as without his tribemates beside him Bidzill found himself swallowed up by a sense of anxiety the likes of which he had never felt before. Tears welled within the corners of his crimson colored eyes but the young tribal refused to let them flow.

He was stronger than that, after all!

He was a warrior of the Windsinger tribe!

What would his people think if they saw him bawling like a pup that had lost his mother?!

And yet as the darkness crept across the room the sense of panic and loneliness grew to the point where it felt nearly all-consuming.

It was the sight of humans dressed in strange clothes entering into his prison that broke the growlithe out from his self-induced disquietude. Bidziil didn’t want to admit it but he was actually glad to see another being after so long, though his glee was quickly squashed underfoot once his nose caught onto the stench of oil and disease which ran from off of their bodies. The pup could feel his stomach rolling as his sensitive nose drank in the scent of sickness which seemed to be lingering across the human male’s bodies. So of course when they began to speak harsh words down at him in a language he barely understood his joy quickly turned into irritation.

When their words failed to draw any semblance of a conversation from out of him one of the well dressed men foolishly stepped over to him. Bidziil quickly snapped at the person when they came over to shout into his face. The feeling of catching the human’s hand within his jaws brought a sense of amusement to the young tribal’s mind as he latched down onto the browned flesh and then crunched. The sweet sound of bone being crushed in between his fangs was like music to him, and while he might not have been at his full strength at the moment the growlithe’s jaws had more than enough power within themselves to destroy his capture’s hand. His sense of elation was swiftly marred by the stale taste of blood which ran down across his tongue, the disease which festered within the human’s scent ran deep within the others blood and it took everything within Bidziil not to retch as the taste of sickness coated his tongue.

Bidziil was able to spit the nauseating crimson liquid from out of his mouth, but only after the other men came over to beat him with a bunch of wooden clubs hidden behind their backs. Pain lanced through the growlith’s head and muzzle as the sudden strikes assaulted him, however the pup did his best not to cry out. He didn’t want to give his captures the satisfaction of hearing him howl, after all. It was only once he was lying on the ground once again, his eyes and cheeks swollen from the abuse he had been dealt while blood dribbled down his nose, that the beating stopped. The injured man was quickly shepherd out of the room and the metal door was then slammed shut leaving Bidzill alone with his thoughts and injuries.


Curling in on himself as the cold night began to draw itself over him Bidziil allowed his anger over the present situation boil inside of his soul until it felt as though living hate was festering inside of his belly.

Sadly this twisted knot within him found itself quickly unraveling as the days passed by in slow succession without anyone coming to check on him. The growlithe was ashamed to admit that he had to use the side of his stone prison to relieve himself, as he had not been able to find a hole within the floor where he could do his business. The sense of disgust he had felt with himself was one that ran deep, but it was nothing compared to the pains of hunger and thirst which assaulted him on the fourth day of his capture. Delirium overcame the young tribal by the sixth day, and soon he began to weep and babble to himself like a lame as his body demanded that he be given something in order to not expire where he had curled himself up on the cold ground to sleep.

Sweet relief came some time later on in the form of a bushy brown furred figure wandering into his cell to see to him. Bidziil could barely see who or what the other was, though his nose told him that the individual in question was not human, as there was a sweet flowery scent coating the figure’s body. When the unknown creature lifted him up into their arms the growlithe immediately began to nuzzle his nose into the side of the other’s chest. It was the feeling of a wooden cup being placed against his parched lips that made him stop his desperate show of affection. The young tribal took a sniff of the liquid and elation rapidly filled his mind when the cool scent of water ran through his dry nose. Bidzill greedily began to drink his fill after that, much to the other’s amusement as he could hear chuckling coming from up above him. The growlithe began to cough out the water onto his savior’s hands seconds later, as his body went into slight shock from the influx of liquid rushing into his belly and throat after going so long without. The figure that held him within their waifish arms was patience with the young tribal though, as he continued to hold the other close while allowing Bidziill to calm his body and then drink once again.  

Though in the end this may have been more of a merciful cruelty than salvation, as a short time after the other had left to go about his way the humans from before returned to poke and prod and ask him questions for which he had no answer to. They thankfully didn’t beat him this time, though they didn’t treat him with any great respect either as one of them came over to unchain his weary body, letting it slump onto the floor as exhaustion grabbed a hold over the growlithe. Because of his weakened state Bidziil was helpless to resist two of the men as they dragged him out of the room into the afternoon sun. Where they took him he couldn’t say for certain, all he knew was that he was just able to make out several different creatures, both pokemorph and not, wandering about the surrounding area through his bleary eyes. Some of them stared at him, that he was sure of because he could remember a few pointing in his direction, though not one of them thought to try and aid him as he was taken over to a large carriage that was being pulled by a pair of muscular looking mudsdale.

Thanks to his slightly delirious state from being starved as he had been the pup could do nothing as he was placed within a strange metal box that had several other worn and exhausted figures resting within it. He wanted to speak with the others once the carriage began to move but there were no words within his dry throat. The others seemed to share in his suffering as many of them could only moan and squirm from their positions around him. Bidziil would never know how long they had traveled, though he was aware of the fact that after he was pulled out from the interior of the metal box night had settled over the world once again.

Things were done to him after he was dragged into an odd sterile looking building, many of the events he couldn’t remember, but through them all one thing Bidzill could recall was the fact that he was injected with several strange substances by needle sharp tools which made a deep sense of cold bloom within his chest, arms, and legs. He was thankfully fed scraps of meat and vegetables hours later, just enough to help him come to grips with his new reality, but not enough to give him the strength to fight. Upon recovering his senses Bidziil found himself surrounded by others of his tribe, though something seemed to be wrong with all of them, as whenever he tried to speak their language to them they would shy away from him, or speak in the tongue of those that had captured their people. It was only later that the growlithe found out the abuses for which many of the others had been subjected to, some of which he found himself being treated to after he and the others had been set out to live with their ‘owners’.

The concept of owning another creature was one that the growlithe did not quite understand, as his tribe had never participated in the enslavement of another being before. Those humans who had thought to bind him and his fellow clanmates within a new set of steel chain seemed not to care for his confusion and disgust over their practices, as they simply made him and the others work tilling the land of their farms. Bidziil had wanted to fight back against the others, but he had swiftly come to learn that the flames which burned within his chest refused to come to his call when, upon seeing one of the handlers set over them beating an exhausted riolu, the liquid heat had failed to shoot out from his muzzle. The strength within his limbs was the only thing he could use to defend the other pup as he heroically charged at the man before punching and kicking at him as best he could with the chains wrapped tightly around his arms and legs.

The beating he received for such foolishness had been severe, so much so that the growlithe had been left dazed and confused the next day following the assault. Not being given food by his masters didn’t help matters in the slightest, as without fuel his body had to rely on the small drinks of water he was given by the riolu that he had helped to save in order to heal himself. Bidziil was forever grateful for the other’s kindness.

After recovering his strength the growlithe was taken from those meant to farm the earth and placed amongst a group of pokemorphs that were meant to place wood and metal slats down across the dry ground. Because the work was much more grueling than tilling the land the group in question were far removed in age from the pups the growlithe had been working with beforehand. This older collection of pokemorphs had been captive for far longer than he, and it showed in their listless demeanor, darkened eyes, evolved forms. Because the slaves were older, larger, and stronger than him Bidziil had to fight to keep up with the pace of those around, and though he tried his best to do so his immature body just wasn’t able to do so as the weeks rolled into months. The changing of the seasons did not help one bit in this matter, as the humans who held control over his and the other’s lives forced them to work through the pouring rains and freezing snow.

That some of the pokemorphs died while doing their tasks came as a complete shock to Bidziil.

Death was usually something that was thought of as being a semi-sacred event to those within the Windsinger tribe, as it was said by the elders that those who died had completed their duties here in this life and were now being raised up to join with those of their family that had come before them. The humans that thought themselves master of the pokemorphs in question didn’t see such events as being anything close to special. This truth was made all to clear as the slavers would sometimes leave the dead in the place that they had fallen to rot as a way to cow the withering spirits of their slaves. When some of the few pokemorphs that still held some manner of respect for themselves and their traditions tried to bury the fallen they were immediately beaten and then taken away, sometimes for days on end. When they returned, if they returned, they would be covered in numerous bruises and would do everything they could to try and distance themselves from those around them. Bidziil would never forget how so filled with terror their eyes had become, as though they had been shown horrors beyond measure by their captures for their attempts at basic decency.

Bidziil experienced some of these nightmarish scenes firsthand, as he had more than once tried to place the dead within a grave befitting their sacrifice for being here in this twisted hell. The feeling of the rough hands of the humans punching and kicking him in the gut while he was tied to a stone wall near one of the houses where they slept was an experience that he never wanted to repeat, though whenever he would try once again aid the fallen he was treated to worse and worse punishments for him crimes. Not being fed was something that Bidziil had become used to, so that tactic didn’t fail to stamp out the sense of defiance which was within his heart, though the feeling of his naked body being kissed by whips covered in liquid cold or by sparks of electricity shook the foundations of his mental resilience in ways that he didn’t know if he would ever be able to recover from.

Bidziil continued to try and resist having his spirit broken by the humans as best he could by spitefully disobeying them whenever he could. A sense of pride burned within his chest as the pup was able to inspire several others to rebel, even in some small measure, against their hadlers, though this small victory was quickly snuffed out when many of the others were separated from the main group. Whispers that they had been sold off and killed made it so that those who remained quickly distanced themselves from the strong willed pup. More than one night during his enslavement did the growlithe come to find himself having to huddle up alone within the wooden shack that they had been given to sleep in. The colder months proved themselves to be the most harsh for the young tribal, as the few blankets that the pokemorphs had been given were confiscated by those that wanted them the most, and who would fight for them if need be, and so all Bidziil had to keep himself warm was the dull flame within his chest.

And yet still he refused to allow himself to be broken, at least until he had been shown the sacred stone.

The sight of the glowing orange rock was one that the growlithe had always been looking forward to after he had come to learn of its significance to the Windsinger tribe. The day for which it would touch his body was one that was supposed to symbolize his full journey into manhood, and one for which he should have experienced right before he was chosen to be a mate by the female members within his tribe. But as one of the humans brandished the stone in front of his bound face all Bidzill could feel at that given moment was sheer unrelenting terror. He of course did everything he could to fight back against the chains holding him down as he watched the fiery stone draw nearer, but alas there was nowhere for him to go as the hand holding the key to his evolution came over to grace the side of his neck.

Feeling the warm magic within the stone touch himself Bidziil tried to resist what was about to happen to him, but there was no denying what nature had intended. His shivering body quickly began to shudder as he felt an insane heat traverse through his veins, lighting his blood on fire at the same time his heart began to pump all the harder within his chest. That the chains around him were unlatched did nothing to comfort the growlithe as he felt himself slowly growing from the forced evolution about to take place within himself.

A howl tore free from his muzzle as his bones felt like they were melting underneath his skin, that was the only way to describe the gooey sensation that swam inside of his tingling body. The feeling of his small form slowly preparing to reshape itself was one that Bidziil fought his hardest against, but there was no halting the sensation of everything inside of him shifting and pulling and contouring in a strangely painless way. The elder members within the tribe had often told those pups around his age that this was to be expected from the magic of the fire stones for which the earth had cultivated for them, but to actually experience it firsthand without the guidance of the adults who had gone through such a transformation before was mind numbing to say the least.

Everything just felt so wrong!

This wasn’t how his evolution was supposed to happen!

And yet there was no denying the change happened to him.

He growled and barked as his form extended outwards, bulking in size as the energy churning within his guts reconfigured every fiber of his being to fit the new dimensions for which he was growing into. The sounds of his bones popping made his elongating ears twitch sparadocally, though he was able to keep himself from passing out from disgust as tried to focus on the dull flame now roaring back to life within his chest. Reaching out to grip the floorboards Bidziil found his puppy claws lengthening from out of the tips of his fingers as the jet black protrusions hardened to the point where they could put some smaller knives to shame with their increasing sharpness. The muscles within shoulders and arms inflated in size seconds later as new growth overtook them, this in turn granted the growlithe the extra strength he would need to crush boulders with his widening fists.

A hiss ripped free from Bidziil’s lips as he felt his neck and chest expanding as the all-consuming heat within him flared outwards, the sight of which was marked by small wisps of steam drifting up from off of his barely clothed form. While at any other time the young tribal would have loved to embrace the familiar heat which was once again surging within his chest, he cursed his body for allowing such a thing to take place in front of the humans who he felt nothing but seething hatred for. Opening his mouth to snarl at the others Bidziil’s stretching maw allowed his lengthening fangs to terrify the men around him for a few seconds as drool dribbled down across his lips. Anger and hunger twisted throughout his gut making him wish to lash out at the humans in front of him, but a sudden wave of nausea lanced through his belly stopping him from making his way forward.

Bidzill rolled his head back and forth across the ground in anger and disbelief as his chest and torso ballooned with unending mass. Pure strength was surging through the growlithe as he could literally feel his new muscles hardened around his elongating bones and widening cartilage. The sensation of his thin fur surging out all across his body was something that filled him with a sense of pride, as he knew that his new coat would be able to better protect him from the cruel tortures for which his handlers would probably try and usher onto him. The fact that he was thinking about such a thing being good made the young tribal’s belly roll with a deep sense of loathing.

This was not how this was supposed to happen!

The transforming arcanine slammed his clenched fist into the ground hard enough to break the wood. The feeling of his waist shooting outwards to become a thick base which would support his new upper bulk made Bidziil want to roar out loud as he lifted his widening head to stare daggers at the slavers pointing and laughing down at him. The desire to kill every last one of the humans in front of him was so palpable that he could swear that he could taste their blood on his lengthening tongue. Crimson eyes sparkled with a barely restrained madness as the arcanine shifted his gaze over the group, that his sights slowly slipped down as his body grew upwards by several inches at a time was something that made his sense of depraved mania all the more enjoyable.

It was very fortunate for those around him that the sudden pulse of manhood him made Bidziil double over once again.

The sensation of his sheathless sex twitching in between his legs as it gained extra girth disgusted the arcanine to no end. Usually this aspect of his evolution was one that he and the other males of the Windsinger tribe were supposed to look forward to above all else, as the growth of their genitals would symbolize their potency to their potential mates, thereby allowing them to visually measure just how many pups that he and the others would be able to give to them once he took one of them into his tent. Of course, because life’s malice had no real end, his balls took this moment to inflate to the size of ripe oranges and then on further to become as big as coconuts. The swaying orbs carelessly dangled down low in between Bidzill’s legs as the ragged underclothing he had been given to wear had popped upon his hips widening to the dimensions they now possessed. His manhood, already pretty long for someone his age, expanded down further to give him a powerful tool for which many would find intimidating. The thick scent of his musk filled the arcanine’s nose with the stale taste of a male that had long since been unable to allow himself to find release, and while he would have loved to reach down and give himself a few good strokes in order to ease out the tension pooling within his groin, right now he was too revolted with what was happening to allow himself the pleasure.

Not helping circumstances was the fact that the men were making motions in his direction that he really didn’t like.

Pulling himself up once he felt his thighs stretching and then filling with new muscle, Bidziil let out an ear ringing bark at the slavers. This chest rattling noise instantly shut up the crowd standing in front of him. The fact that his still growing legs were able to allow him to fully tower over the others made his intimidating outcry something to be reckoned with, however it was swiftly ignored once the arcanine knelt back down onto his knees. A sad fact of the matter was that, while he was indeed stronger than he had been before, he was still growing, and so the bones within his feet and legs needed time to center both his balance and his new mobility.

Bidziil shook his head when the already fluffy fur along his tail and neck puffed up, the swaying appendage behind him shot out like a snake before curling slightly to give him the trademarked s-curl that all arcanines possessed. Meanwhile up above his glorious mane, something for which the Windsinger tribe was especially proud of, and often decorated with beads and other small items to show off its prominence, had drifted over his head to shadow the glazed look of exhaustion which had cast itself within his now shimmering crimson eyes. Reaching up to grab at his face Bidziil shook himself wildly as he tried to wake himself from the nightmare that was this particular moment in his life, however there was no coming awake from this, as the moment in question was the hard reality of his existence.

His body finished its transformation some seconds later with his spine loudly popping as it settled into place allowing the rest of his body to properly center itself. Once he felt as though he could stand up without falling flat onto his face the former growlithe didn’t wait to form a plan that would benefit himself and the new body that he now possessed, he merely darted forward to attack the humans in front of him. The men proved to have been waiting for this as they dove out of the way of the snarling arcanine’s way to allow him to crash into the wall behind them. Exhaustion quickly filled Bidziil’s mind as he found that his new form was completely spent from that one attack, so of course the humans around him began to attack him with their heels and clubs. He yelped and whined and snarled from the assault but none of it did him any good. He was trapped as he was by his own forced evolution, and as pain ignited itself all across his body the arcanine could do nothing more than wish for death as he stared up into the shadowed faces of those standing above him.

After the slavers had their fun with him they quickly chained his new body with even stronger metal restraints, they then muzzled both his face and his manhood in order to show their full control over his body. A few of the men pointed to his balls while making gestures that Bidziil could only feel sheer terror to see, but they were stopped by the others for some reason. Because he still didn’t quite understand their language he didn’t know why they hadn’t mutilated them as they clearly intended to do, all he knew was that after they had dragged him up onto his feet they quickly threw him into a dark room without being given anything to eat or drink.

The handlers knew well enough that this would settle whatever aggression was lying within his heart and mind, as proven by the fact that after several days without being given anything to sate his now much more demanding system Bidziil found himself all but begging to be let out from the sweltering shack that he had been placed within. He was indeed let out, though not without having to debase himself by eating and drinking from large bowls set onto the floor before him. That he did so without question struck the young tribal’s pride in a way that he was sure he would never recover from.Not helping matters at all was the fact that once he was returned to the others none of them so much as attempted to ask him how felt or offered him the barest hint of comfort for the mental and physical suffering for which he had endured.

Work came easier for the former tribal pokemorph after that as Bidziil simply toiled away the hours in silence in order to try and not think about everything that had happened to him. The arcanine didn’t want to think about the people he had lost, the deep wound that had been struck across his pride, the body that he now possessed that was a symbol of everything he had lost, nor the fact that this would be how he would die. He just worked.

And worked.

And worked.

And worked.

Bidziil felt his mind distancing itself from the rest of himself at some point since his body seemed to do the job for which had been assigned to him without thought. That he, like so many others, ignored those that died around him was not something that bothered the arcanine anymore. The fire type pokemorph actually felt something akin to envy for those who took their last breath while suffering away the days in the rain and snow all for the sake of their master. When he had come to think of the sweet mercy of death’s embrace as being the only way to truly spite the slavers that forced them to work grueling hours underneath the blazing sun and within the howling winds was something that Bidziil didn’t know, but once he did analyze these feelings he welcomed the end of his existence.

The arcanine didn’t know how many years had passed after that, his ability to recount the seasons had long since fled from his grasp as he simply did as he was told without thinking about the before or after of his actions. That he was moved from one job to another was something that barely concerned the muzzled pokemorph. All he needed to know was how to do the job that was in front of him, which came easier after he picked up a few key words by the humans that held control over his life. The ever shifting faces of those around him and the subtle changes to the world in question simply went unnoticed by the former tribal pokemorph, and in a way he liked it that way. It was just so much easier to not think about what was happening around him both during and after a long day of grueling work carving ore from deep within the earth, or carrying crates onto ships, or hauling carriages behind his backside.

And then everything suddenly changed one day.

Bidziil and the others had been hearing grumblings from some of the humans they were working under for quite some time now, but they didn’t spend the energy trying to care about what was going on with their masters. So it came as a very big shock to all of them when they were loaded up within a van and then taken to a large city filled with red stone buildings tall enough to kiss the sky. Looking around at the ensembled group of pokemorphs after he was led out of the can the arcanine found himself confused beyond all measure as he noticed thousands of slaves like himself standing around with looks ranging from apathy to perplexion. A warm murmur settled over the area as the middle of the city was filled with the quiet conversations of those whose spirits hadn’t been broken by their time serving the whims of humanity, though Bidziil took no part in conversing with anyone. Instead he and several others watched as a well dressed alakazam walked up to a wooden podium set within the center of the street and then begin talking.

The speech was rather simple and yet it was one that carried such a momentous weight to it that Bidziil would never forget it.

“My fellow pokemorphs, I know that you have suffered greatly at the hands of the humans that have taken you from your homes, destroyed your lands, scattered your people, and broken your bodies for the sake of their selfish ambitions,” the psychic pokemorph spoke in a calm and collected tone even as the well dressed officials standing beside him squirmed like worms on a hook. “However, I am here today to tell you that this unforgiving time in your life has come to an end, as myself and several others within the First Pokemorph Union have worked long and grueling hours in order to write new laws within the rules of this modern society to give you your freedom.”

A literally hush fell over the entire city upon as literally no one knew what to say to this.

- - - - - - -

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