Series: Knight Tales||Title: Birth of a Knight
Characters: Shou, Barbamon||Romance: N/A
Word Count: 1,443/13,009||Chapters: 1/9
Genre: Drama, Angst||Rated: PG
Challenges: Diversity Writing: Digimon NEXT & Appmon: I19, 1000-2000 wpc; Three-Sided Box, 9 chapters, 1400 wpc; Presents Under The Tree Challenge; Include The Word Boot Camp, #35, entertaining
Notes: This is an AU. A nice fantasy one. Written for remi.
Summary: Shou is the only survivor of the bloodthirsty raid on his hometown. Not even Peckmon made it. Desire for revenge keeps him going and the assistance of Barbamon gives him the tools he needs to gain what he searches for. For as Barbamon's Knight and Champion, he can make it all right again.
Slowly, he twitched. Drew in a few tiny breaths before sucking in a huge surge of air and hauling himself upright, head snapping to right and left before his strength drained out again and he fell forward on his face, legs unable to support him.
He could taste moss on his tongue and an odd reek hung in the back of his throat. He blinked, trying to remember. Everything seemed so confused, a mess of clashing memories, shouts that made no sense, everything moving far too fast for him to process it all.
He'd come home with Peckmon. He remembered that much. He'd spent the day roaming the woods with his partner, watching birds, both Digimon and regular. They'd had dinner with his mother. Yes. Everything had been normal, peaceful, quiet. And then what? What had happened?
He couldn't remember. Not a single thing. It was all as blank as if it were all cut off cleanly by a knife.
He tried to breathe again and this time a sharp pain struck in the center of his heart. He trembled, closing his eyes. He'd never had that pain before. It couldn't mean anything good to have it now.
Even more slowly he looked down. His shirt had been clean before. Or at least it had been better than this. It hadn't had a hole clawed in one side or part of the other side burned or -
It hadn't had been drenched in blood. So drenched that he couldn't be certain what the original color was.
One hand shaking, he lifted it up and stared unwillingly at what lay beneath. He'd sort of expected, or hoped, a small wound. Not as bad as it looked, maybe. Not at all as bad as it felt.
Not something that made him take the shirt off and wrap it around himself, not wanting to see it again. Hoping he could get to someone who could help him before it was too late.
Maybe he could, if he could stand up. If he could walk. He pushed himself to his feet, legs trembling, and pitched forward again, not able to stand at all. Ice cemented itself in his chest and breathing grew harder, and he didn't think it had anything to do with his wound.
But he tried again, and again, and again, long minutes between each attempt, until he finally gained his feet, just as the sun rose, and the shadows dispersed, showing him what he didn't want to see.
If he'd passed by here at night, he could have been forgiven for not realizing this used to be a thriving town of good size. There wasn't much left of it, and most of what was left would resemble little more than broken pieces of buildings.
He could see bodies. Too many bodies.
All of them were human bodies; Digimon always reverted to data when they died. In some places he saw marks in the ground or streaks of soot and blood that marked where those Digimon who lived in the town - had lived in the town - made their final stand.
He took a step. Then fell again; for all that he'd managed to stand he couldn't walk yet. Pain streaked up from his wound and more from his right arm, which he now could see was twisted in a way that meant he couldn't use it. He hadn't noticed before, even with all of his efforts to get up.
He couldn't notice too much now. His mind wouldn't let him.
Again he tried to get up and this time when he couldn't he lay where he fell.
Why get up? Why move again when by nightfall or sooner he would be as dead as everyone else here?
His mother - he could see the body not that far away. His father wasn't even a thought; he'd passed on before his son reached the age of two. Peckmon - his heart wrenched. Peckmon wasn't even a collection of data anymore.
There wasn't anyone at all left. He had no kin anywhere and no friends as well. No reason at all to keep going.
Except one.
He dragged his eyes open, a sudden influx of rage sending his limbs shaking. If he could do it, if he could survive long enough to heal, then…
Revenge.
He would find out who did this. Everyone hadn't dropped dead for no reason. The buildings hadn't set fire to themselves. Somewhere out there, someone had done this, and he wanted to know who it was and why, and he would end them.
He threw his head back and howled out his rage to the fading stars and rising sun. Whatever it took, whatever he had to do, he would find out who killed his village and bring down his wrath on them, until they were as dead as everyone here. Nothing would stop him. If he died, then his ghost would return to exact revenge.
"You were right. There is someone here."
He didn't recognize that voice. He tried to turn over, only to find that he'd exhausted whatever dregs of energy he'd managed to squeeze out of his fury. He lay where he was, eyes half-closed, and worked his throat, wanting to ask who it was, wanting to ask them not to kill him. But not a word came out, not even the first squeaks of a word.
Then someone turned him over, with hands not all that gentle, but alive, and he saw a strange face looming over him. That face stared at him, before moving aside, and another one taking its place. This one was even stranger: shaped something like an old man with a long white beard, but somewhat larger, with a huge protruding nose, and very clearly a Digimon. Taloned fingers touched him lightly.
"Bring the healer. I believe he can be saved."
"As you command, Barbamon-sama."
The first stranger headed quickly away while the old Digimon continued to stare down at him. He didn't continue touching but only looked, as if he could not find anything more fascinating in the world. Looked and smiled, before he spoke.
"Was this your village?"
He wanted to say yes. Still the words wouldn't come. He'd cried out once, but that was all his voice wanted to do. It lay dead in his throat. So he nodded, just once. He hoped it would be enough.
"Do you know who did this?"
He shook his head this time. The Digimon nodded, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a hint of satisfaction in those eyes. He didn't think he was really in a position to recognize anything, though, and he didn't much care, not when he saw two other figures coming back toward them. Barbamon spoke before they had a chance to say anything themselves.
"Make certain he lives and regains his full strength. I think we can be of use to one another when he has."
The new strange Digimon bowed low. "As you wish, Barbamon-sama." He moved closer, the morning sun revealing it to be a Sorcerimon. He'd never seen one before except in pictures and he watched with an odd mixture of fascination and confusion as Sorcerimon worked over him, muttering under his breath at one point, waving his snowflake staff at another, and at yet another, drawing mystic sigils that hovered in the air, shimmering pure white.
Somewhere in the middle of all of that, the pain eased itself down to where he could close his eyes and let himself rest, and he did so with the purest of relief. He would have his revenge. He was going to live.
Barbamon watched as Sorcerimon's magic sent the broken child into a deep sleep. He hadn't expected a survivor, in all truth. That would make what was to come both far more difficult and much easier. It would take time to train him to be a competent warrior, let alone the champion he knew that he could craft from such battered material.
But he knew that he could do it. It would be worth doing, which made it all the better. And if the boy couldn't survive the training? Then he would try again another time.
He turned to his subordinate. "Find all the child's blood and gather it up. It could be useful in the future."
"As you command, Barbamon-sama," Murmukusmon replied, bowing low before getting to work. Barbamon observed in pleasure for a few moments, then returned his gaze to his new human project.
The raid here would prove far more profitable than he'd first imagined it might. Profitable, and entertaining.
To Be Continued
Notes: So another new tale begins. I read NEXT for a different challenge and Shou intrigued me. I doubt any of you are surprised. He's just the type I like. And now he's in my hands. Hehehehe…