(Pokemon pred, vore, disposal)
You lie within the near pitch black darkness of the Salandit's mouth, accompanied by the creature's slick, cushy, serpentine tongue. The scent of its maw - though not exactly excruciating - is intense enough to make you second guess your every breath, and the warmth would be enough to make you break into a mild sweat, were your body not already soaked in saliva. The creature's tongue is not quite the only company you have. The throbbing sensation filling your system , the pain from the sand cuts, first degree burns, and paw-pin.... the soreness of a body that fought fiercely for survival in the primal theater that is the food chain only to capitulate before its predator...and the grim relief that comes with knowing that you have done all you can, and your fate is in the hands (or rather paws) of another. That very real physical sensation keeps you company as well.
You do not struggle. Instead, you merely let out a meek, somber, acquiescent groan. There is no use in fighting back. The Salandit proved its superiority over you already... that's why you're here, in its maw. But you do not know for a fact that the Salandit will eat you. Perhaps, you reason, perhaps it viewed you as a threat to its territory. Perhaps it will spit you out in some other location and content itself in knowing that its tiny competitor has been largely neutered. Perhaps it is aware you are a human, and could not bring itself to eat you. As you lie there, the creature's tongue begins to coil around you.
The Salandit props his forepaws against the peak of a sand dune as he surveys the area in silent contemplation, barely registering any emotion from his victory over humanoid vermin. To any outward observer, one might think wonder if it were searching for some trinket to plunder, on the lookout for a predator, or waiting in ambush. The reality lies somewhere in-between each. The vermin had put up an unusual fight for its kind, and was ready to wield a tool. Could there be others nearby? If so, would they be waiting to swarm him, or would they be ripe for the plunder. But finding nothing, he decides he might as well content himself on the morsel he has acquired. He is half-tempted to offer it to his den matron as a cloacal stimulant (for, indeed, many a tiny has valiantly offered himself as a tiny obelisk upon which she achives release), but thinks the better of it. He has earned a treat for himself.
With the creature's tongue coiled firmly around your body, you find yourself at once increasingly nervous and increasingly at ease with your situation. While you very much want to live, an unsettling theory begins to form in your head. The Salandit's maw is big enough to accommodate your entire body, and its tongue is equipped to engulf it as well. Perhaps this is what you are meant for. Perhaps, in this reality that you have woken up into, you are indeed meant to be food. You cannot deny that there is a twisted logic to it. This is not enough to prevent you from breaking into a struggle. You twitch against its tongue, calling out to the creature, begging it to let you go.
The creature does not let you go, but it does not gulp you immediately either. It does not even budge. As the creature's eerily maintains its inaction, you begin to wonder if time itself has frozen. It is only after a minute that you begin to pick up on a change, one you at first assume to be a mere trick of your senses at first. A sweet aroma begins to fill the creature's mouth...and the temperature around you seems to rise. You begin to cough and choke. Your breaths slow, and your eyes roll. Your struggles begin to die as your body badly overheats. It is only when you hear the sound of your own body sizzling like bacon a on a skillet do you realize that this is not a mere trick of your senses.
Using its own natural body heat, the Salandit is cooking you alive. The only reason why you were able to bear the heat at first was because the creature had flooded its maw with a sweet smelling sedative gas, courtesy of its body's natural control of poison chemicals. Realizing that you are moments away from a most agonizing death, yu make one last attempt to struggle, to break free, to bite at its tongue.
The Salandit barely notices the struggles of its prey. But it does bring its tongue out for a fraction of a second to monitor it. Its eyes raise in excitement as he sees its body. Bronzed to perfection. He reels his tongue back in, sits on his hindpaws, and leaves the creature wedged between his jaws. Lacking internal teeth, the Salandit relies on its masklike muzzle's jagged edges to break up its prey... and break its prey it does. Three swift bites crack the prey's body open and snap its spine. Rather than apply any more bites to the morsel, it slurps it inwards and wrings the flavor out of the creature, panting happily as it does.
After a minute or two of savoring, it gulps the prey down and rubs its belly before slamming its forepaws back down onto the sand. It lets loose a triumphant and vile toot as it strides forward, perhaps in an attempt to goad any unseen morsels into revealing themselves. But none come. He decides it better to content himself with the victory he had. The hard fought battle to disarm and defeat his prey. It even nearly got his eye. He earned every little bit of this meal, and he is sure his meal agrees as well.
Having died before even entering the creature's belly , you have nothing to say about the matter. Having only survived the beach for an hour or two at best, you failed to get the attention of a single human. In fact, you failed to determine if humans even existed in this world at all. Your were annihilated at the hands of not an apex predatory, but a thieving scavenger that's likely more inclined to gobble down hotdog buns than a live prey that can fight back.
And you tasted glorious.
Your body is excreted not onto the sands of the beach or the surface of the Salandit's volcanic den, but under a nondescript bush on one of Melemele island's routes. The steaming hot stool is as black as coal, and firm right from the start. It blends in well with the stump of the bush. So well, in fact, that a passing Rockruff doesn't even notice it as he stops to hike his leg over the bush. The stream of piss fractures the stool in half, revealing one of the few surviving fragments of your bones. The Rockruff does not notice your bones, but does notice the nauseating scent emerging from the newly fractured turd.
YOU DIED.
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