The night was pitch black, and silence spread over Odaiba. Children were sleeping, huddled together, trying to find some comfort without their parents.
Outside, dark digimon roamed the streets in search of the eighth chosen child. The one that might lead to the downfall of Lord Myotismon. The one that held light and power beyond most of their understanding.
Inside, however, there was only darkness.
Myotismon growled low on his throat, staring at the sea of children sleeping on the floor. The annoying little creatures proved to be a failure. None were the one he was looking for, and had created a cacophony of crying and whining throughout the day.
He wished he could kill them all at once, so he could stop smelling their human stench.
He would have to wait, however. Once the eighth child was annihilated, all the others would follow and his reign would last forever.
He just had to be patient.
Suddenly, among the shadows, he could see movement.
A cruel smirk sprawled over his lips.
Perfect, he was getting hungry anyway.
With measured steps, just to make the less amount of noise and still be a threatening creature, he approached the moving shadow, his smirk widening just slightly as he saw the little boy approach a window.
"Aren't you tired, little one? Why aren't you sleeping like your friends?" he asked, growing amused when the boy tensed and, slowly, turned to him.
He had seen the boy before, of course, he had been one of the first, dragged with his parents and an older sister who had screamed her little head off at the sigh of him.
None of them were the one he was looking for.
The boy stared at him with honey-colored eyes that held no fear, but the tear tracks across his cheeks were evidence enough for the old vampire.
"Those are not my friends," the boy answered with a shrug. "No one wants to befriend a corpse."
A corpse, huh? Interesting.
"Why would such a lively thing as yourself feel like a corpse?" he asked, kneeling by the boy. He was so tiny.
"I was supposed to die, some months ago, there is something wrong with my blood and the doctors told my parents there was nothing they could do," the boy confessed, his eyes set outside. "I didn't die, though, not yet and I guess that makes me more or less the same as you."
His bravery only got him a raised gold eyebrow.
"Interesting," he mocked. "I hadn't expected to meet one of my kind here." Deep inside, he decided he would gain this brat's trust. Only so he could taste the betrayal in his blood when he breathed his last dying gasps.
He smiled.
"Your family must have been relieved you didn't die, then," he said softly.
The boy nodded.
"They were, for a while. Jun-chan used to hover around me, she held my hand a lot, just to make sure I wouldn't fall dead right then and there, but now she has a boyfriend," he shrugged. "Now I thin the wait is hurting them, they know it will happen and waiting for it is painful, so I think they are moving on without me. Jun-chan has a boyfriend now."
"Jun-chan being..."
"My sister, she raised me so far."
The vampire frowned a little, ah, the older girl. He could remember their resemblance.
And yet.
The boy looked even smaller then, than he had before, and that same selfless courage sparkled in his eyes. The courage coming from someone that accepted death a long time ago and can stand the time he has left proudly.
Quite an interesting find.
If only the boy hadn't been so young, he would have been a delicious treat.
He curled his lips slightly, a frown marring his face.
"Tell me your story, Mr. Vampire?" the boy asked softly, his eyes, shining gold, regarded him seriously.
"My story?" Myotismon asked, surprised. "Why would someone want my story?"
The boy lowered his face for a few minutes, deep in thought. Shadows played with his features, hiding them from the vampire's eyes.
Then he looked up and locked his fiery eyes with Myotismon's.
"That's what I collect," he said simply. "The moment you leave, that's it. Your are done. But if you leave your story, it's almost like you will remain here. At least inside someone else's memory."
It was a different concept altogether, to leave a part of yourself into someone else. It brought ideas to him.
"Your own idea of immortality?" he asked, interested. The boy nodded.
"Setsuko-san told me we could exchange stories a year ago, she was sick too. I have my parent's stories, and my sister's and her boyfriend's too," he explained. "They are mine now, a part of me. They'll never leave me now."
"And these Setsuko-san you speak of?" Myotismon asked, confused.
"She passed," the boy said simply. "But she is still a part of me too, so she's not completely gone."
"And now you want to know mine," the older man stated.
"Yes, you'll be a part of me then," the boy nodded. "If I die you will feel it, I will be a part of you. If you die I will cry your death and remember your story for all times. You and I will be immortal then."
He had the wisdom of an older man and was trapped into the body of a human child. And those eyes, sometimes brown, sometimes golden.
Those eyes had the spark of miracles awaiting.
Without really knowing how or why, he sat down by the window and pulled the little boy into his arms, covering his cold form with his cape.
The boy was special, he knew.
"I was born in a world far different from yours," he began, feeling a little surprised when small hands took hold of his own and didn't let go until he had finished his tale.
As the sun started to appear over the city, Myotismon laid the sleepy boy down on the floor, his hand unconsciously caressing his short auburn hair.
"Your tale is sad," the boy yawned.
"So is yours," Myotismon answered, his eyes locked onto the child's.
"Now you are a part of me, and I'm a part of you," the child smiled tiredly, another yawn breaking out from his lips.
The vampire nodded.
"Go to sleep, little one. My minions will watch your sleep," he whispered, unsure. The boy nodded slowly, closing his eyes.
"Good night, Lord," he whispered with a sigh.
The vampire smiled, his expression, unknowingly reflecting his sudden fondness for the boy.
"Good night."
Once the boy's breathing became even and his whole frame relaxed in deep sleep, the vampire let his smile fall. His body filled with reluctance to see the boy go down with the others. This one was special. This one had a part of him, just as he had a part of the little one with him now.
After listening of his tale of cold and neglect, locked in a cold room away from the sun, filled with tubes and nurses with glass cold eyes, of whispered conversations between parents that didn't want to care for a dead son, and doctors that had lost hope long ago. He decided this one was a kindred spirit.
This boy was his now.
Maybe that was how chose digimon felt, when meeting with their destined partners. The feeling of connection and bonding.
He frowned.
It wasn't such a bad idea.
Others had done it before him. He was sure he had heard of them.
Slowly, he bit his own hand and let some of his cursed blood spill from his palm and into the boy's partly open mouth. Now, under the harsh light of daylight he could see the boy's pale sallow skin and the dark rings under his eyes, the skinny complexion and fragile frame.
This boy was really ill. He was most possibly going to die soon.
"You won't die, now," he whispered into the child's ear. "You will bloom like a flower under the sun, you'll grow strong and beautiful, away from death and despair. And when I'm king you will come with me and be my little prince, my own chosen. Just wait a little."
The boy groaned softly, curling in his sleep.
Myotismon let one last smile curl his lips before standing. He had the eighth child to find still, and a kingdom to build.
No one would question this boy's miraculous recovery. He would make sure of it.
And once he was ready, the boy would become the Dark Prince of his Kingdom.
With a flare of his cape, the vampire walked away, his cold eyes scanning the last group of children he had to check over. Tailmon would most likely try to trick him again.
The battle roared around him, Digimon and their partners putting their lives on the line for the future they believe in. He stared at it all with eyes that wanted to believe in one final miracle. One final push of their strength.
Their enemy continued to struggle, refused to let go of his own dreams of grandeur and darkness.
Suddenly Paildramon executed an attack their enemy could only dodge and those scornful blue eyes turn to their little group of warriors with disdain.
Frigid blue eyes meet with honey colored ones.
The roaring of battle stops, the heat and the smoke disappear. Suddenly chosen and enemy are floating around in a world of them both, untouched by time and space.
A perfect replica of the human tower where their first meeting took place.
The Digimon is staring at him, eyes wide and sorrowful in their understanding.
"Little one," he says, a small pained smile curling his lips.
"Lord," the boy whispers back in a greeting, his eyes full of pity.
"You became a chosen one," the Digimon accuses, trying to mask the jealousy that courses through his veins. This boy should have been his chosen, his child. And now a weakling shares the bond with this wonderful creature. A bond that should have been his.
The boy nods.
"You gave me the strength to do so," he says gently. "I owe you my life."
"Then why do you fight me!" the Digimon demands. "Why try to stop me! Have you no idea what I am trying to do?"
The boy nods again, his eyes still that calm ocean of sunshine and miracles that he has dreamed about for years.
"Because I want to save you," the boy says, a small smile on his face. "You told me your story, remember? A part of you is inside of me forever. I remember your story, your dream and your goals. You wanted justice in a world that sneered at you."
"I'm getting it," the Digimon protests. "By doing this I can-"
"No," the boy interrupts. "You have let the dream become twisted. You might not see it, but I do."
"Twisted," the Digimon repeats, eyes wide. "Is that why you want to kill me now? Have you grown to hate me as well?"
The boy shakes his head, burgundy locks falling into his eyes.
"If I destroy the twisted you now, you will be given a second chance," he explains. "Not today, nor soon, but you will be born again and by then…"
"Then…" the Digimon asks, sudden warmth blooming in his chest.
"Then I will have built a wonderful world for you and your kin," he explains, hopeful eyes glinting. "A world where you will be happy, where every single Digimon will be happy."
"That is your dream?" the Digimon questions, feeling the warmth in his chest expand and contract, the beating of his undead heart growing stronger.
"That is my dream, yes," the boy replies. "The dream you only fueled with this life you shared with me."
A sudden beam of light pierces the world they have found themselves in and the Digimon finds himself slowly disintegrating in a flare of colors and warmth. The hopes of every single child in the world is slowly melting him, reforming him in something new, something clean.
He sends a last shriek of relief into the air as his last energy caresses his little one's wild hair.
"Make your dreams come true," he whispers as death takes him by the hand in a merciful grasp.
And then, everything goes quiet.
"Good bye, Lord," the boy whispers gently as a single tear slides down chis cheek. Then he turns with a wider smile to his companion, the boy who shares a half of his heart and they both pretend those tears are of relief, instead of heartbreak over such a forced goodbye.