Brave Bear
Tomoki wasn't sure what he was doing, approaching Vritramon like that. Takuya had gone berserk, there's no way he'd recognize Tomoki, not with that Spirit corrupting his mind. Still Tomoki went forth, believing naively that somehow, everything would turn out right. Takuya would be back to himself, he'd master his Spirit, and Tomoki would have his big brother back.
Even when Vritramon clutched at his throat, Tomoki didn't struggle. He had to be brave; he had to be brave for himself, for his friends, and for Takuya. But his words didn't reach Vritramon; his pleads were laid on deaf ears. That was the moment Tomoki realized that the monster holding him wasn't Takuya…
I… don't want to die. I… don't-
His eyes went cold. Tomoki's body was thrown to the ground, limp, out of the way. In Vritramon's mind, another obstacle had been overcome. The fighting stopped. Shock flooded the scene. Vritramon remained poised to block, dodge, throw another attack. Vritramon's grin held the faintest trace of a snarl, and his panting was the only sound aside from the disbelieving breaths that seemed loud as thunder as they erupted from the remaining warriors.
Kouji and Junpei were frozen in place, Izumi choking back cries of helplessness. The scent of death floated subtly into place, flowing steadily like running water, dominating every other scent in its path. Vritramon let out a roar, unrestrained and savage and so utterly broken. It echoed off the trees. Smoke drifted from the forest fire, traveling in wisps and clouds. Blitzmon and Garummon were shrouded in light, and Kouji and Junpei soon took their place. A bird Digimon cawed in the distance.
In a world ruled by chaos, the dead are forgotten and treaded on by the living. Cherubimon's advisers stood at his side, Duskmon at his right, Vritramon at his left. Every year on a certain day, Cherubimon noticed Vritramon leave at sundown, visiting a very specific piece of land. It was blanketed in ash, charred remains of trees standing ominously, the foreboding silence whispering in one's ears. In the center of the destruction, a slab of stone protruded from the earth.
At the same time every year, just as the sun set behind those mounds of ashes, Vritramon set fire to a single, white flower, and left it there, burning, in front of the stone. Cherubimon approached the stone one day, curious to see what it read. Under the rough carving of a small boy and a small bear set a single word. Cherubimon knew not what it meant, but as his eyes skimmed over it, a freezing wind swept through the barren landscape.
BRAVE.