TENTAMON! Gotta rape 'em all! [tent x male/futa] [Hapto x 49_place_holder]

Hapto

Hapto

Super-Earth
Joined
May 12, 2011
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Far off in space, there floats a planet, remarkably similar to ours.

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On this planet thrives a metropolis, surrounded by a harbor, desert, forests, and crescent mountains, all to the bafflement of local geographers.

Not to be outdone by the whimsy of nature, the city has just recently finished the multi-million dollar construction of an immense, multi-lane bridge, stretching across the nearby lake, to accommodate all the thoroughfare between the thriving metropolis, and an adjacent village containing only one house. But it is on this bridge of municipal zeal, that our story begins.

Underneath the many crimson and white banners heralding the "Great Tentamon Championships 2013.2", stands our... hero, whose trek across the bridge and to the forests beyond has just been interrupted. The interrupter: another Tentamon Trainer, gripped with an irresistible urge to battle their Tentamon against those of any other trainer they meet to prove who is the best! Local doctors may have been able to cure this nervous condition, had the advent of Healing Stations not all but destroyed the medical industry.

In the meantime, our hero has a battle to attend, against a spiky-black haired and red-clad youth half his age, hurling unfounded insults and now, a Tentaball, flashing to disgorge three, sad-looking tentacles of pink, purple and oozing green, squat in our hero's way.

A challenge has been issued, and now it falls to our hero to respond.
 
Billy Mundy was raised that if you wanted something, well, take it. With his mother describing how simply wonderful it was to be a tentamon trainer, Billy's curiosity piped up, and wanted to follow in his mother's footsteps. At first, she refused, saying he wouldn't derive nearly as much joy from it as a female would, which just drove him to go on. There were male trainers, and Billy was sure he could do better than all of them. Now with a lifelong goal and the reluctant support of his mother, he set about on his journey.

The whole trainer buisness turned out to be quite a bit of fun, if not a bit demanding. Mother said that Billy must have inherited her talent, whatever that meant. It was all a numbers game to him. Billy saw tools, animals, along the way, not creatures with feelings or intelligence not unlike his own. He was cold and distant, only giving praise if a fight was won. Billy would win, a lot, and that meant his carefully assembled team would win, but he never celebrated with them. Females tended to warm up to their tentamon real quick, leading to strong bonds. The same was not true for male trainers.

Now, as time passed and his victories and career shaped him, the kid went from a passionate, wide eyed youth to a sneering, aggressive young adult. He grew up, but not out. No real amounts of fat or muscle. The man tried to keep his brown hair short and neat, while wearing simple clothes such as a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt, and a hooded jacket simply because. Billy smiled at his opponent. A bit of quick fun, yes, but he had to be getting somewhere before the tournament.

"That's pretty embaressin'. Bit of advice, you're lookin' at a future champ here. I'll make this quick." With a flick of the wrist, Billy sent out his own combatant. With a flash of light, what could best be described as a giant blue jellyfish appeared, with many appendages ready to put to use. The young man chuckled to himself, already confident he won.
 
The other trainer showed no fear. They never did, no matter how obvious their crushing defeat. After all - it wasn't them who were about to receive the actual beating.

The towering blue jellyfree was half translucent, but still cast an ominous shadow over the three, comparatively tiny tentamon stood before it. They were all fairly generic and very low level ones, none standing taller than a foot. Holding onto the ground with a single sucker a few inches across, their bodies tapered upwards to a flanged 'head' of sorts, all three of which were now staring up in horror at their opponent. The oozing, dark green one in particular, with brown spots running up its 'back,' had two spots that looked like round eyes atop its pseudo-head, open wide in disbelief.

"Oozachoo," the other trainer commander, "use ooze." The tentacle didn't take it's 'eyes' off its opponent. A moment later it suddenly shrunk inwards, deflating noticeably as a loud squelch of green ooze splatted from its base, puddling around its shaking, shriveled form.
 
Billy watched as the common tentamon the enemy trainer possessed made the first attack, rather pitifully. It might as well have ticked his behemoth of a tentamon. The young man broke into a chuckle. He had to admit, the tenacity of these rivals trainer never ceased to amaze him. It kept things exciting.

"I like your determination kid, but you ain't the first one to lose to me with that attitude, and you won't be the last. Physophora? Give 'em a good Slam. Show 'em what a real Tentamon can do." A Jellyfree Tentamon to be specific. It had to visible eyes, or mouth, but the leviathan still uttered a lot rumble in acknowledgment. Used to following orders from Billy, the large creature brought up several of it's many appendages in preparation of an attack. Instantly, they were brought down, aiming to crush the poor runt and render it completely unable to remain conscious, much less battle.

"You still wanna keep going? I don't mind, but I got places to be, kid." The cocky trainer quipped, leaning and resting against a conveniently located tree.
 
Billy's arm fell straight through the tree, followed by the rest of his body. He then found himself on the ground, impaled by an immaterial tree, which flickered and disappeared, leaving only the hysterical laughter of the other trainer.

Amidst laughs and gasps he spluttered "See - the power - of my - Psyplop!" The short purple tentamon was uncoiling from a position of intense concentration, pink energy crackling around its purple psuedo-head, sweat glistening on its smooth form. It had apparently taken all it had to create the immaterial illusion of the tree. Time and effort perhaps better spent contending with its towering opponent.

The Oozachoo lay broken at the other Trainer's feet in a puddle of its own fluids. Though tentamon rarely had bones, this one looked like it had broken a few from Physophora's attack, laying there wincing and whimpering in pain, seemingly unable to even handle its contact with the ground. That was to be expected - all of a Jellyfree's tentacles exuded a very potent venom, causing hypersensitivity with anything they contacted. Very useful for weakening strong opponents to future attacks, but for this little broken creature, the effect was overkill, and thankfully for it, enough to render it quickly unconscious.

That didn't seem to be bothering the other trainer - the other male trainer, Billy was now sure, but it was often difficult to tell with the hairstyles and voices of most trainers nowadays. Worst of all, this one was still too busy laughing at the jape played on Billy to realize his biggest mistake. Not that he'd wasted valuable time that could have been spent fruitlessly attacking Physophora, or running away. Not that he'd broken, or at least toe'd the line, of the unwritten law that you did not attack the opposing trainer. No, the other trainer's biggest mistake was laughing at a floored Billy. His mistake, was making this personal.
 
The experienced trainer struggled to cling to air as he fell to the ground, scrambling to stand back on his feet. For a second, he was speechless, trying to form words but failing to express his rage ans surprise.

"Y-you, you can't be serious. I'm standing here with a freakin' Jellyfree, ready to wipe the floor with you, and you take your time to-, no. I'm done. I quit with this. We're done playing." The confident, smug attitude was replaced with pure anger. Billy stood, staring at the Jellyfree awaiting another command.

"Physophora? Venom Cannon."

He was pulling punches beforehand, having the Jellyfree simply hit the enemy. But this trainer went from a cute annoyance to an infuriating bastard. Now the poor kid's Tentamon were going to pay the price because of it. The Jellyfree floated backwards, extending all of the tentacles outward in a circular pattern as a small, bright neon green crystal materialized in front of him, no larger than six inches. The crystal took the shape of a spike, and was in fact solidified venom from the Jellyfree made weaponized, offering penetrating power and crippling poison. Once charged, the spike was fired, directly at the Psyplop who was doing nothing more than following orders.
 
The Psyplop looked up, just in time to see a crystal spike, nearly the same size as its entire body, impale straight through its 'head.' A moment later the head exploded, pink energy and shards of venom shooting in every direction. The remaining pink tentamon was currently trying to give something like cpr to the unconscious Oozachoo, as both were pelted by psychic arcs and crystalline venom both. Frozen a moment, pin-cushioned by blue spikes, it took a deep breath through its sucker, and screamed. Had it arms it would have been flailing them wildly as it ran on its sucker back and forth. It was difficult to tell whether or not it was deliberate, but a moment later it had flung itself off the side of the bridge.

Then there was the trainer. Billy couldn't tell if he was unconscious. Billy could barely tell if he was alive, assured only by the shuddering movement of his chest with each shallow breath. His eyes were open, but they weren't focused on anything, and seemed strangely blank, the cloudy irises colored only by a faint pink glow. Not the worst state he could be in, given that his entire body, from toe to forehead, was splintered with crystals of concentrated venom.

As was the front of Physophora. But with a gulping motion all the splinters of crystal harmlessly dissolved back into his form, leaving only one unaccounted for. The one, tiniest splinter, protruding from Billy's right elbow.

But right now that one splinter, and its imminent effects, seemed the very least of his concerns. In the distance, coming from the far, city-side of the long bridge, Billy heard the familiar sound of sirens.
 
Billy merely stared at the scene, at the chaos that had just happened. He glared down at the splinter that poked out of his elbow, and the chemicals that flowed from it. The screaming and carnage before him took a few seconds to settle in. Then the shock set in. His blank expression suddenly turned to one of fear, he never meant for it to go this far. The sirens from far away were growing closer, prompting the young man to high tail it and run right there. All he could do was go deeper, deeper into the woods. Not the best idea, but the only option he had. Either that, or face the consequences.

"No, no, no! That wasn't suppost to happen! He made me, he didn't know what he was asking for! I don't even know his name!" Billy was in full blown panic, dead set on escaping the scene of the crime no matter how lost he was about to make himself.
 
The sirens, bridge, and everything else vanished as soon as Billy reached the trees. The logical part of his brain was telling him the facts: One, there had been no-one else around. Two, tentamon and the law didn't mix. If someone robbed you, assaulted you, blackmailed you, you went to the police. If the same crime occurred but tentamon were involved in any way, you apparently handled it entirely by yourself, no matter how young you were nor how serious the crime. And three, even if the legal and judicial systems weren't firmly in the pocket of tentamon sports revenues, the other trainer hadn't once used Billy's name, or even showed any sign he had recognized Billy. If he'd be able to recognize anyone at all anymore.

His brain offered him these facts, but his heart refused to stop pounding, his legs refused to stop running, his breath felt with painful clarity in his heaving chest right up until he tripped over a root and collapsed with an agonizing thump.

As his forgotten tentaball left his hand, a flash of light illuminated the dark, leering trees around him. Then it was dark again, leaving him panting, desperately exhausted, not yet realizing the effects of the splinter of crystal still imbeded in his arm, pushed much deeper by his fall, or sensing his very concerned team of newly appeared tentamon surrounding him.
 
The trainer swore as he tripped and fell. Billy was now scrambling to try and get back up as the shard stuck inside of his arm sank deeper. It was beginning to get too intense to simply move anything. He knew the effects of the poison. The trainer slowly brought his arm up to inspect as he laid on the forest floor, trying to pull the crystal out with his free, shaking hand. Now away from the terrible mess he made, Billy was trying to focus on getting himself free of the venom splinter.

"C'mon, just, a little- damnit!" his fingers slipped trying to grip the end, pushing the shard in almost completely. It was then Billy remembered what his left hand was holding earlier. Empty. The trainer struggled to try and turn his head, looking for any of his tentamon. Physophora the Jellyfree, Chorda the Psyflie, or Lemni the Slaimachoo. He didn't always remember the names he gave them, but Billy was left desperate.

"Listen I, let's forget what happened back there for a moment and help me, okay? I can't be left like this. The poison has to get out. Please?"
 
Their reactions were predictably themselves. Chorda, the two inch tall purple Psyflie, stared at a nearby butterfly. Physophora, with the ponderous slowness befitting her immense size, reached up, and began to lower two long blue tentacles towards the venom-splinter, both tentacles drenched with more of the venom. Only Lemni was useful, the gelatinous mass of lime-green cresting protectively before Billy's arm, two stubby 'arms' forming to wave frantically at the approaching blue-tentacles. Through the semi-transparent slime, Billy could make out Lemni's gelatinous eyes and simplified mouth, scolding the envenomed tentacles. And behind them, Physophora, ponderously pulling the limbs back, the giant jellyfree drooping in a sad, low tone of apology.

Lemni's eyes and mouth disappeared, and reappeared clearer on the side facing Billy. Lemni's features were bulbous and simplified as ever, the eyes serving no actual purpose but to express his emotions. And right now they were full of concern, and a definite hint of glee at being able to help.

Lemni examined the protruding splinter, staring at it constantly as the gelatinous mass of its head swayed one way, stretched upwards, squished so low its eyes plopped above its head, Lemni examining the splinter from every angle. Then, with a considered nod, Lemni bashed his head into Billy's arm. The soft slime parted instantly, swallowing up Billy's skin in a rush of warmth and unbearably strong sensation, the venom making the already sensitive areas of the armpit and the underside of the arm exponentially more sensitive than normal. Billy's arm recoiled from the over-stimulation, but Lemni's mass had already condensed around his arm, holding it snugly in place.

A moment later a stab of pain fired in Billy's restrained arm as the splinter slid free and a jet of slime rushed in. But the pain was overshadowed a moment later by an incredibly pleasurable heat, like Billy's skin was itself alight with radiance. He'd felt Lemni heal him before, and it always felt invigoratingly good, like the direct opposite of injury. But with the added effects of Physophora's concentrated venom, it felt very, very good!


Edited to retroactively change Physophora's gender to feminine.[/i]
 
"No, no no, wait! get back!" The approaching Jellyfree prompted him to try to crawl away, knowing what being touched with those poisonous tendrils can do to him. His Psyflie seemed to be purposely avoiding him, something Billy wouldn't normally allow. Only the Slaimachoo, Lemni, his first tentamon, seemed to offer genuine help, keeping Physophora back and examining the wound. That goofy stare Lemni would give Billy always left him unsettled. He would never know what his mother saw in these things, much less why she gave him one. He had to admit, the qualities Lemni offered were next to invaluable.

Lemni's healing powers were useful, but they always weirded him out. If he had his own way, Billy wouldn't have to touch any of these things. The regeneration qualities a Slaimachoo offered were too powerful to pass up. It was not often Billy put himself in the care of his overly friendly Slaimachoo, but now was one of those times. The male trainer let out a sigh of relief, glad one of his tentamon were being useful, before gritting his teeth at the pain from having the shard removed.

"Okay okay, that's enough. You can stop now." Billy tried to say in a calm and friendly voice. In reality, he was quickly becoming concerned with the new sensations he was feeling. Having the two tentamon's power mingle in his bloodstream was leaving him panting. This time, it was for pleasure rather than pain. Billy tried to shove Lemni off with his free arm, hoping he could at least now walk without his right arm hurting from touching the air itself.
 
At the shove Lemni instantly recoiled back, his body liquefying and slurping off Billy's arm, leaving it healed (if a little wet), with Lemni's head reforming into its usual face. But instead of looking hurt at the shove, Lemni looked - dazed. His eyes were rolling, the splinter of venom floating behind his face, until he shook his head and the splinter squirted free to lodged in a nearby tree.

Lemni still looked dazed, his gelatinous 'eyes' refocusing on Billy, the raised areas representing his irises looking much larger that normal - dilated - drugged? Billy was by now feeling the affects of the drug as well, and not just the hypersensitivity in his arm. The venom had reached his bloodstream, his still rushing heart spreading it quickly throughout his body - his unusually self aware body, most especially... his eyes widen at the sight.

Whether a direct effect of ingesting the venom, or a bodily response to the unusually pleasurable healing, Billy is very, very hard. And worse, no sooner had he noticed, than the wide-eyed Lemni did as well, and with concern and glee equal to seeing the wound on Billy's arm that Lemni could fix at Billy's command, Lemni flowed to reform looking up between Billy's legs.
 
Billy laid on his side, trying to cope with the venom that was rushing through his body. It felt like he was almost on fire, except of hurting it had a curious tibgling sensation that left him wanting for more. The chemical's effect could besr be seen at the bulge forming in the trainer's jeans. Billy's penis was little more than six inches, but at the moment it grew almost instantly, visible for him and his entire team to see.

His panic returned when he say Lemni draw close, not wanting that thing anywhere near his crotch. He brought his foot up to try and shove Lemni away, although the force behins it was weaker than his first push. Billy was repulsed at what the tentacled being was thinking.

"No! Get off ya hear! I can handle this myself." He almost stuttered the command out, leaving him frightened. Billy knew he had to keep an authoritative air about him, but the poison was leaving him weak.
 
Lemni darted around the foot in fear, his face full of concern. But in doing so, he brought himself right up against Billy's body, the warm mass pressing in between Billy's legs. Lemni seemed to realize this happy accident too, his already flooded eyes dilating more. With acting only fractionally as convincing as Lemni seemed to think it was, Lemni feigning sudden ignorance and utter, wide-eyed innocence of this proximity. Completely accidentally, Lemni innocently pressing in a little closer, Billy feeling the warm pressure through his clothes all the way form his scrotum to his rear, touching every point in between, the venom giving each touch in indicent clarity, making Billy's erection twitch towards Lemni slightly.

In his desperation to please, that was all the consent Lemni needed. With a sudden intake of glee, Lemni's head rushed forward, flowing straight through Billy's jeans, the warm liquid flooding and swirling around his bare member within the confines of his clothes, the sensations incredible strong - incredibly strong - just incredible.
 
The Slaimachoo didn't appear to get the message, and dived right into Billy's groin. He tried to crawl backwards to get Lemni off, but the tentamon was now under his clothes. The sensation of the fluid rotating around his erect shaft left him near speechless, causing him to collapse to the ground once more and rendering him near immobile from the sensation.

"N-no damnit, that's not what I wanted, j-just get off now before I get mad! Lemni! Off, this is terrible!" Despite his protests this felt amazing for Billy, though it wouldn't stop him from lying about it. The only problem was his disgust at the idea.
 
Lemni either didn't hear, or was pretending thusly - it was difficult for Billy to tell without Lemni's bulboud face acting with all the believable innocence of a caught child. A child, now swirling around his cock, the indecency just kept on mounting! As did the stimulation, until Lemni's liquid condensed, the movement stopping as his cock found itself snugly enveloped in a warm, tight interior.

He had barely a second's piece to take stock of this and curse, before the interior of the container started changing. He felt the walls bubbling, then setting into many tiny bumps holding his sensitive skin, then change again into rings wrapped concentrically down his shaft, then again into innumerable fibres tingling against every detail of him, firmer buds nestling into him, scales, feathers, spirals, silk. The texture kept changing, as if Lemni had spent far too long thinking of possibilities and now couldn't decide on just one. In the end, the texture settled to the first - many tiny bumps pressed tightly against his now even harder form.

He heard, and felt, a satisfied squelch vibrate the mass. Then the entire tight, textured mass moved, and didn't stop, rushing down his tensing form. It felt like he was being thrust ever deeper into a tight orifice, the solid mass constantly liquefying as it hit his base and reforming solid ahead of his tip to give him infinitely more space to be thrust down, all within the confines of his pants.

The other Tentamon were watching with interest. Particular Chorda, who had long since finished convincing the butterfly that it was wearing tiny rollerskates, makings it planned landing on a simple treebranch a much more complicated affair that first thought. But Chorda had ceased deriving satisfaction from the buttefly's frustrated swooping, sliding, and frantic stumbling, when it had stumbled straight into an owl's open mouth. Now the tiny Chorda was watching Billy, with growing interest at his moral frustration, just as Lemni's pace quickened.
 
Billy was now gritting his teeth, the sensations Lemni offering him were intense. In truth, the boy had yet to have sexual relations with anyone or anything, too wrapped up in training his team as a rising star. This was not how he imagined his first time, being tempted by one of his very own tentamon. It didn't count if it was a tentamon, right? The situation was still repulsive. Billy was convinced he wasn't one of those girls who loved their tentamon too much.

He could feel the texture around his shaft. Having Lemni give him the chance to sample every one caused Billy to let out stifled cries for more. As Lemni settled on a particular texture and formed a mock orifice to torment the human with, he tried to reinforce his dominance.

"You're ignoring me! Just stop it! I'm ordering you!" Billy wanted to believe he had control over the situation, but the reality was that he was at the mercy of the tentamon he did nothing with but pit against others.
 
To Billy's surprise, satisfaction, disappointment, or all thereof, Lemni obeyed. In a moment or world-changing stillness, the tight bumpby interior stopped still on him, unmoving, tingling slightly as if shaking in fear. A few seconds later, some of the fluid pooled up under his belt, swirling, bulging, and setting into Lemni's, innocent looking face. His eyes were a little less dilated, still wide in pleading sadness.
 
The trainer blinked as the Slaimachoo reluctantly ceased his stimulation. Billy did not honestly expect that to work, and the absence of the mock orifice left him wanting. While the insane pleasures Lemni offered unlike anything Billy ever experienced before, the male trainer still had some standards. He reached out with one of his hands, softly but firmly trying to shove Lemni, and just to cover that goofy face.

"Okay, well, um, good. I... you can back away now." He was a lot calmer now, his panic and anger fading now that it looked like he was back in control and reassured his dominance. Billy had to consider, what would he trade to feel that emotion again? Not his career. Fucking his own tentamon was the least professional thing he could think of. It'd get attached, he might start caring about it, and Billy was pretty sure it wasn't entirely legal in certain provinces around the world. Billy had a career to consider, and he wanted a real, human girl to share it with.
 
As if Lemni could read his thoughts, disappointment filled his large eyes. His head drooped, and when a Slime-Type drooped, they poured, completely liquefying, his head dissolving and running down Billy's sides. After a moment's more hesitation, the solid orifice released its hold on his erection, his envenomed body still keenly feeling the liquid running down his length, around his scrotum and down between his cheeks, all with wanton clarity. But all too soon it was over, Lemni running and pulling his puddled self out from under Billy's body, laying liquefied between his legs, not choosing to reform.

Physophora reached out two concerned tentacles towards the puddle, remembering at the last second, and leaving the envenomed limbs hanging, coiled back above Lemni's puddle, wanting to hold but unable to touch. A trembling, low tone sounded from the immense, eyeless dome of her head, before, with a slowness for even her, she turned it to look down on Billy. Her sheer size had meant she had always looked down on him, but this was the very first time when he felt she was doing so in more ways than one.

Chorda gave a high-pitched, leaping 'huff' of disappointment, and turned away to try and find another source of satisfaction.
 
Billy grunted as he slowly stood up, his legs still shaking from the session that almost left him begging for release. He couldn't let them dwindle on what happened. Noticing the tentaball on the ground, he grabbed it, intent on returning all three.

"Above all, you'll forget what happened here. Put it behind us. Remember how things work. I tell you what to do, one day you'll get in the Hall of Fame. You'll be remembered forever as winning fighters who helped the greatest Tentamon Champion. I guarantee you that. Remember you're nothing without me." That was his promise, the words he'd constantly use to keep them in line and enthusiastic. At the very least, he was giving them results, they were well on their way to Billy's goal. With that, he relinquished them all to their appropriate spots, putting the devices back on his person.

"Now where the hell am I?" Repressing what just happened and ignoring the wet stain in his pants along with the still raging erection, the trainer focused. With him now alone, Billy looked at his surroundings, wondering just how deep into the woods he ran into. He couldn't just go back yet; the male left a crime scene behind him. Instead, he picked a direction slightly away from that, and set off, hoping the foliage would thin out so he could see civilization soon.
 
Unfortunately for Billy, the direction he'd chosen was South. More unfortunately still, all that lay before him was the infamous 'Cape of Never Seen Again.' The deepest, darkest, and most infamous part of this forest. Secluded at the very point of the headland, surrounded on three sides by water, the thickest trees, the deepest darkness and the most sinister stories, and a destination Billy's previous blind rush had put him on the very doorstep of entering.

There were hints. The unusually thick foliage. The distant sound of the sea on all sides. The wooden sign before him saying "Cape of Never Seen Again: No Really, Turn Back Now!" Admitted that was the most obvious, and was supported by a host of similar signs forming a virtual wall of warnings extending off in both ways as far as he could see. "Do Not Enter!" "Extreme Danger!" "Think of Your Children!" "Only the Very Best." That last one, one of the smallest, plainest signs, stating only an immutable fact, stood directly before Billy's feet.

The Cape of Never Seen Again was three things - a resource, a warning, and a legend. The resource, was Legendaries. The majority of tentamon, regardless of type, were simple and squat creatures, baring only a single tentacle and rarely deviating from a near-foot height. Rarer tentamon, like those Billy had collected, existed in sparse numbers all over the world, a little more frequently near places like this. But Legendary tentamon - the most unique, most powerful, feared and coveted tentamon of all, wielded by only the most famous trainers in history - they only existed in places like the Cape of Never Seen Again.

Thence came the warning - the trouble with trying to trap legendarily powerful tentamon in the most secluded habitats far from civilization... was that they were legendarily powerful tentamon in the most secluded habitats far from civilization. They were coveted because they were so powerful. Everyone knew where this place could be found - it wasn't even that far from the city. But not everyone had their own Legendary or two on a leash. Everyone had heard the stories though.

Thence came the legend. There were many version of it, but they were all the same cautionary tail. Trainer goes into a Legendary Area, without support, backup, or flawlessly trained Rare tentamon. Trainer finds a Legendary, yaay. Trainer's tentamon are obliterated. Trainer discovers that a wild animal like a Legendary, without training nor human master, isn't inclined to stop at the tentamon. Trainer disappears, and the numbers of Legendary's slowly but surely increase.

Here endeth the lesson. And here is where our hero, newly humbled by his recent experiences, finding a place for change and compassion in his hard heart, and gifted with the common sense God gave a fly, did kick over the "Only the Very Best" sign and continue straight past the warning wall and into... wait - WHAT!
 
The lack of a map, compass, or anything to give him bearing did not stop Billy. The literal wall of signs, however, did. The trainer skimmed over each one, telling him the same bland warnings and trying to scare him off. This was it, it was one of those places. It was one of those places that had innumerable campfire stories talked about, each wilder than the last. At the same time, the Cape of Never Seen Again was very real, and aptly named. While it was proven that people have been seen again after visiting what seemed like accursed grounds, that number was very, very small. People who survived it's trials often went on to be high ranking contenders in competitive Tentamon, if they weren't already. The human smirked at the thought; if he dragged something out of here, he could surely go on to be one of the first male regional champions in God knows how long. Filled with newfound motivation, Billy mused to himself, humming a bit with he thought out loud.

"Only the very best? That's just it, I am the best!" With a swing of his leg, the sign was sent flying, and the trainer pressed on. "Trainers don't get famous by sticking to the slow and safe path anyways! I heard the legends. Well, it's time to become legendary!" This place would either make or break a man out of him, but Billy didn't even once consider the consequences. Why should he? The trainer won just about every challenge he ever had. Why should this be different?
 
Beyond the warning wall the trees grew steadily more dark and tangled. The overhead canopy hid all but the sparsest hopes of light, lending the dusty, root tangled way ahead an unearthly half-light. The gnarled and knotted tree trunks were frozen half twisted towards the ever shifting patches of light, the trunks that had long since lost the race to sunlight still reaching up bare talons of branches, their trunks split jagged from silent maws of black. All that was missing was a cloaked and twisted crone, speaking in the poetry of madness of doom to come and the ides of march. But Mrs. Harbinson no longer frequented these parts after the counsel revoked her Croning License for uninventive use of the word 'doom.'

Now the Cape of Never Seen Again was as deathly quiet as it was still, the only sound or movement coming in the occassional brush of sea-swept air, rustling the dark leaves and shaking the sharp branches in a wave of horrid movement all the way to and past Billy - whose attention was more rapt with the tracks before him.

Tentamon tracks came in many forms. The usual ones took the form of shallow, stuttered craters and/or round-edged lines where a single, two to three inch wide sucker had hopped or waddled its way along. Rarer tentamon each gave their own tracks - Chorda's inch-wide, dead-straight tracks would be barely visible, save for the obstructions blasted or melted out of her way, while Lemni's steady trail of wet was even more obvious, and Physophora's two-foot wide peppering of staggered lines and dots was hard to miss. But none were quiet-like these tracks. It may have been made by an army of smaller tentamon, each limb a few inches across, but pressed into the growth with a very obvious weight. They tracks weren't just on the ground as well, but could be seen cracking dry bark around the trunks of trees, even crushing the sparse foliage around some of the thicker branches, disturbingly high up.

All the marks were within the same, great span, as wide as Billy was tall, and leading a path deeper into the Cape of Never Seen Again.
 
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