Day One: Part 1

[Alain the Carnedge]

Alain emerged from the river choking on his own blood, only barely digging the claw that was his left hand into the ground beside him and slowly pulling himself out from the water. The mercenary knew that he was effectively dead already, but kept going regardless. Pure willpower and adrenaline was the only thing keeping him alive, and he knew it. His right arm was effectively dead, his clothes had nearly merged with his flesh, and breathing alone made him feel like he was drowning in his blood. He was just glad that he couldn't feel the pain. Alain managed to crawl into the shade and rest against a tree, coughing as he did so.

Just like that, his chances at winning the Abyss went straight to hell. Missiles and..some weird, magic energy ball launcher had almost killed him outright. The mercenary felt a twinge of guilt now that he'd realized how much of a shitty situation he'd put that green-haired guy in. He could now relate, and it felt bad. Not bad enough that he'd die, at least not yet. But soon. It wasn't long until he'd perish, now. But all the same, his rage kept him conscious and just alive enough that he could analyze his situation.

He could barely breathe. His bag was gone, taken by the other two. But simply waiting to die was out of the question. Alain spat out blood and started to limp away, regretting his reliance on the ball more than ever. All that was needed was a single wrong move, and it was over. His luck had failed him. All that was left was for him to encounter one foe, and his time in Dante's Abyss would come to a close. Alain knew that, but he pressed on anyway. He himself didn't know why, or what he'd do with the pathetic amount of strength he had left. All he knew was that he didn't want to die like a coward, sitting by the river waiting for the end.

His vision blurred, but he limped onwards. The mercenary kept pushing himself on to a destination that he himself didn't know, as the other two had taken his map, and the compass. Alain gripped the Pokeball with his left hand and tried to walk normally. He felt like he was going to vomit, but the lack of pain made walking a lot easier. It was all he could hope for that he wouldn't drown in his own blood. The only way he'd survive was from an alliance. Or managing to kill somebody using medical equipment, but it was more likely they'd punch him in the face and he'd keel over instantly. The only thing he could do was keep walking...and hope hell didn't have enough room for him yet.