Code Crown Chronicles – Angemon's Groundling
Disclaimer – This is a work of fiction set in the Digimon Fusion world which is owned by Bandai. Though this story is my own creation, I claim no ownership of the world or the characters of Digimon Fusion. This story is merely for entertainment and is in no way part of the official canon. I thank Bandai for Digimon Fusion and hope they will understand that the world and characters are so deeply rich they have sparked my imagination beyond the confines of what they created.
Prologue
I am mad, or all but. I am, or rather, I was, Wisemon – one of that type of Digimon who study and ponder the patterns and programs of our digital reality. As a scientist, I believed that the incursions of the Bagra Army held no meaning for me. I was not a fighter type Digimon who they could conscript and use to wage their war, or who could pit his skills against their advances in a show of rebellion; nor was I weak enough to be overwhelmed by their strength. I foolishly thought I could simply move out of their way if their attention ever turned toward me. I had forgotten a basic lesson – tyranny always feels threatened by free thought.
I don't know what happened to leave me in this partially maddened state. I had been captured by the Bagra Army and imprisoned along with others deemed too useful to destroy out of hand. One by one we were put through a process. To this day I do not know if it was the application of some machine or program, or a malign ability of a rare, if not unique, Digimon.
I watched, in fascinated horror, unable to muster my usual dispassion for all things scientific, as the Digimon just ahead of me was shackled into place in a clear tube that ran from the floor to the ceiling so high it could not be perceived from the ground. Blood-red light caught him in a beam from above and his aspect immediately darkened, his fangs jutted more fiercely, his claws lengthened, and his scream deepened into a guttural, feral roar. Hatred gleamed in his eyes after the light ceased, but he acknowledged the author of his torment as 'master' once he was freed from his bindings.
Laylamon strutted across the expanse of floor in this mad scientist laboratory tucked into one corner of her dungeon. "Ah, yes. I've been waiting for you, in particular," she said. She cupped my chin in her clawed hand and leaned close, knowing I could do nothing as the clamps had already secured me from moving. "You will be so much more useful to me once you've been mind-shattered. Never fear, the process won't affect your intellect at all. It will just make it that much easier for you to do what I command you to do without all that annoying morality getting in your way. Come now. The pain is momentary, but the bliss of working for me will be endless!"
She was wrong, on both counts. The pain is with me always. And working for her is no bliss. I know that I look the part of one of these artificially maddened Digimon, but my core programming, somehow, resisted the change. I believe it is this resistance that permits me to remain free, at least in my thoughts, but my internal resistance is also what causes me pain – the suffering that is slowly, but inevitably completing what that beam started, and turning me toward evil. Before madness takes me over completely, I will strike a blow for free thinkers everywhere, and while I may not be able to stop Laylamon, at least the fruits of my labor will not be forced to help her.
So, to you, reading the preface in this book, I entrust the result of my experiment to you. Just under where I buried this book, you will find a Digi-Egg. Perhaps I should have destroyed it even as I set explosives to destroy all my research and experiments in the Bagra base, but...
Of all the experiments I had been forced to do at Laylamon's bidding, this one is the culmination of them all. It is everything she wants – an operative who can think for himself, unlike the mostly mindless Troopmon, and who is built for stealth and speed to be the ultimate assassin. But, it – no, he, is more. He is – my child – and my way to reclaim what the Bagra Army sought to take away from me.
His aspect is fierce, as Laylamon demanded. His skills are lethal and implacable, as she wished. But, his code, the core of his being, is not enslaved to her, or any one else's, commands. His heart is as free as any Digimon's, notwithstanding his unusual generation.
By the time you read this, my code will have scattered into the digital ether. Before I lose what little of my free will remains, fall entirely under Laylamon's compulsion, and turn these final results of my research over to her and the Bagra Army, I will do what I must. They call me MadWisemon, but I will face my dissolution as the Wisemon I have always been. I beg you, nurture the Digi-Egg, let the Digimon hatch. Rest assured that no matter how evil his aspect, the Digimon's code is pure. Raise him and let him be my legacy, the one thing I was able to do according to the freedom of my own code, as yet uncorrupted by the maddening influence of the Bagra Army's mind-shattering ray.
Protect also this book. It is the only way I was able to keep his mind free of evil. It is his Code Book.
His name is Reapmon.
Chapter One
"I now know why you summoned me," Angemon said after reading the preface of the book. "But what can the Order of the Warriors of the Light do? Though we repulsed the Bagra Army's attack, some of our members were wounded. Surely you have contacts within Silicalia who can help. I assume you found the Digi-Egg Wisemon mentioned." Angemon gave what honor he could to the brave Digimon by referring to him without the 'Mad' preface to his name.
"Yes and no," Pharaohmon replied. "We did not find the book first. We located it only when we followed a trail left by a Digi-Child wandering in the desert."
"Oh, the Digi-Egg hatched already? The situation is virtually the same. The foundling can be placed with someone in Silicalia..."
Pharaohmon shook his spectral head. "Angemon, though I am the king of the Sand Zone, I prefer to maintain a low profile and allow all the freedom to act of their own will. You know that I do not make requests, much less commands, lightly."
Angemon stiffened at the politely veiled, though still real, mention of the hierarchy of the Sand Zone. He might be the leader of the Order of the Warriors of the Light, but Pharaohmon, though he did not exercise his full power often, was indeed the king of the zone. If he decided to give a command to Angemon, it was his right to expect that order would be obeyed.
Pharaohmon sighed and shook his head ruefully. "I do not want there to be tension between us, Angemon. Perhaps if you meet the boy, you will understand my dilemma."
"He is quiet," Angemon noted a short while later. He could see influences of Wisemon in the Digi-Child's bearing, and a slight influence in his cloak, but little else that seemed familiar. His skin was dark, and he had unruly blond hair. Fangs jutted from his lower jaw to curve over his top lip. His limbs appeared to have been stretched, making his arms seem too long; in fact the wrist of his left hand was nearly at the level of his ankle. The double barrel of some sort of gun seemed to be attached to his right arm.
"I haven't been able to convince him to let the weapon go," Pharaohmon admitted. "It may well be that it is actually a part of him."
"I begin to realize the problem you would have placing him with someone in Silicalia," Angemon admitted.
The child's red eyes might have startled another, but Angemon knew better. Many of the Warriors of the Light also had red eyes. Though they weren't common, red eyes were present among many of the Digimon species. Angemon looked closer. The expression in the eyes was inquisitive and a touch melancholy, almost as if the boy knew his existence had started in a hard way. To Angemon's deeper, more discerning and assessing look, granted to him by the Queen of the Order of the Warriors of the Light, there was no taint of evil in the child just as Wisemon's notes had promised.
Angemon withdrew his soul-discerning gaze and regarded the boy with his natural vision once more. He smiled, noting one other feature that was odd among Digimon, but so familiar to him that he had not at first noticed it.
"You thought to summon me because of this child's passing resemblance to the Queen," Angemon stated.
"Does he resemble your Queen in some way? I hadn't noticed," Pharaohmon said, with an answering grin on his face at having been found out. "He seems to have vision through his third eye," he continued. "I don't know if there is anything special about that vision, but at least it isn't just for show. What say you, Angemon? Though it may be my right to issue commands, you know that I don't like doing so, and this isn't something I would order anyway. Still, I can't take care of him here, and I doubt I could find anyone else willing to look beyond the surface appearance enough to take the child."
The Digi-Child's solemn gaze flickered from face to face as Angemon and Pharaohmon spoke. He'd born Angemon's searching gaze steadily enough, but his curiosity about the new visitor was not sated. He'd followed the funny floating head when it appeared to lead him to this place and out of the desert, but since then, nothing much had happened to capture his interest. This new person though... He reached his left hand slowly to gently touch one of the feathers of one of Angemon's lower wings.
"Soft," he whispered, smiling up at Angemon.
Pharaohmon turned his gaze down toward the boy. "That's the first word he's uttered. He appears to be maturing at an accelerated rate."
Angemon nodded. "It makes sense. The Bagra Army would have no patience waiting for an operative to grow up. And, while Wisemon made sure evil would not taint his soul, that's what this foundling was designed to be. Indeed, it might be dangerous to try to place him among civilians, for them – and for him. We of the Order of the Warriors of the Light may well be the best ones to help him grow into the free Digimon Wisemon wanted him to be."
Pharaohmon nodded. "That is how I read this situation. If it is a burden you are willing to take on..."
Angemon smiled and shook his head. "No child, no matter what others may have wanted him to become, is a burden." He knelt to put himself more on a level with the boy. "Do you want to stay here, or would you like to visit the Great Hall with me? You can see if you like it there, and if you do, you are welcome to make your home with us."
"That's asking a lot of one who was just hatched a little while ago," Pharaohmon muttered.
The child placed his left hand in Angemon's right one. "Reapmon go home with you," he said.
"I stand, well, float, corrected," Pharaohmon said.