Author's Notes

I was in a really bad mood and took it out on this fic which was just floating around in my head, which is why it came out the way it did. That is also (mostly) the reason why it is rated M. Description, psychological (and physical) torture, the likes...you'll find out when you see it.

And remember, this is just the prologue. So if you don't get it, you're going to be just as lost as a certain character when I post up the first chapter.

BTW, title means truth, or believe. Either works in context.

I would have gotten this up way sooner, but the server was down. A first for me.

Disclaimer: I don't own digimon. Simple.

Anyway, read and enjoy and tell me what you think.


Shinjitsu

It all began when Kouichi disappeared. Then suddenly, their reality was warped beyond recognition. Desperately trying to save the future by uncovering the truth of their pasts in the midst of lies, they find the darkness in them and what it's caused…

Kouji M/Koji & Kouichi K/Koichi

Rating: M

Genre/s: Friendship/Angst


Prologue

It seemed more a dream than a reality. But it had to be real, because he, or rather it, existed. It was not human, nor any other species known to humankind, though it occasionally took on a human form when it suited its own needs. And at that point, it did. After all, it would otherwise be rather difficult for it to carry on a conversation with a part of itself, much less administer some rather...unorthodox means to the stubborn part in question.

It emerged from rejection of itself, as had the plane upon which it dwelled. Few humans ever saw it, and fewer still remembered it. Such ignorance and the fragmented memories from little remembrance warped from their prejudice and innate fear of the part of them they themselves refused to acknowledge and consequently denied the existence of in the outer phenomenological field covering their innate self resulted in a definite split between the two personalities. The psychic split under normal circumstances resulted in a functional personality psychically distinct to that which they rejected. On the physical plane which many, if not most, humans defined to be reality, the disdained psyche was suppressed in the darkest recedes of the human mind wherein it, unless in dire circumstance, remained apart from the apparent whole.

On the spiritual plane however, this rejected psyche was able to manifest its essence; to what degree depended on the extent and parameters of the split. Said essence was retained through the process of death and rebirth on the physical plane and amassed itself over the course of time.

For the most part, it simply existed as a force, its consciousness and will developed over the long course of rejection. But the rare instance arouse in which the paradoxical nature of the rejection resulted in the rejected psyche sustaining a form on the physical plane, being maintained by the spiritual energy that stemmed from the hopes and dreams of he who it had originated from. Over time, the disdained psyche developed an essential uniqueness to its origin, and it was only at the point where the rejected psyche itself becomes conflicted, that a channel connecting the two planes opened.

It was a rare occurrence, and one made even more difficult to exploit as the channel only opened five years after the initial conflict, lasting for only an hour on the physical plane. Time ran differently on the spiritual plane; the opportunity would disappear in a split second, and it was a matter of extreme precision to establish a temporary connection which was greatly prolonged by the mere presence of the spirit and then made permanent as the connection forced the channel to reopen after twenty hours on the physical plane had passed.

The nature of that connection was however unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the perspective, far more complex.

It sighed, a bit contently, as the cool sea water lapped at its bare feet, a trait one of the rejected psyches had retained. It had taken on the form of a human male with noticeable Japanese heritage, about forty years old, with dark hair and dark eyes. To the outside observer, it, or he, was no-one special. But then, no outside observer would see. After all, the psychic plane, the subsection of the spiritual plane in which a soul could be drawn into during the dreaming phase, only existed as a reality for those directly experiencing it. Like a dream, it differed from person to person. It was one of the few places in which one could maintain a presence in both planes.

The form was, however, rather special to the one to whom it mattered. The brown eyes looked up at the captive psyche chained in an eagle fashion to the cliff which rose out from the water. It spread across the shoreline, and the walls were smoothed and worn away with time. Smaller rock fragments littered the shallower water, sharp and sturdy, enough to tear through any human skin. The cliff itself was three metres tall, the captive chained tightly enough so that only his (for simplicity's sake assuming the figure to be human, though there was a rather large possibility that he was part of the whole, thus in technical terms should be called it as opposed to him) facial features were allowed any visible movement, and low enough so that the high tide brushed against the soles of his feet.

His form was slightly transparent, enough so that the worn surface of the graphite behind him gave him a rather grey-scale appearance, illuminated slightly by the gold and purple light his aura emitted. He lifted his eyes as the other stepped near, its steps making small ripples in the water, itself barely illuminated by the same pale blue the water reflected.

On the purely spiritual level, no barriers existed. As it stood, only one barrier existed between them: the temporary channel construct. Upon the spiritual level, no physical barriers existed; even the darkest recedes of the human mind that one pressed dormant and effectively rejected were laid out in the open. The human physical concept of humility was non-existent; there was no privacy in a world where all was laid bare. As such, clothing was not carried nor mirrored across astral projection, ie. in the event that the body remained on one plane while it's spirit was projected elsewhere. Which meant that the two figures, on the physical level of the psychic plane, saw the other in totality, without unfitting garment to hide them. Or rather, it saw him; he lacked the knowledge, or rather memories, to understand its nature.

It, in the guise of the older make, put a solid hand on each of the boy's cheeks, index fingers reaching up to force the other's eyes open. Hazy eyes starred blurrily back ,recognising it as the form it took rather than the form it was, even as the pale, naked form trembled indiscreetly from both cold and the instant (though correct) assumption of fear as he took in his immobility.

Even of the psychic plane, aspects of the physical plane existed. The forces of nature was one example; wind, water and rock formations were all plentiful to name a few examples. Pain was another, though wounds inflicted on the physic plane were not sustained by the physical body.

And then, there were some things which were carried over, mainly the spirit which projected itself, or else was projected elsewise. Others were mirrored; memories, appearance...though the degree of transparency depended upon the nature of the established connection.

As the memories were mirrored, the captive had, naturally, maintained those of his human life, or rather, the life he believed to be his human life. Thus, he remembered the form before him as one who he recognised on the physical plane.

'Otou-san...' the boy breathed, only to cry out as manicured fingernails dug into his skin.

'No,' the other hissed, a definite taste of sadism in his voice; understandably, as it was something that many pressed dormant. 'I'm not your father, human.' Then it added, as the boy's eyes widened in confusion and increasing fear: 'But then you're not human either. Are you?' This was said in a tone which demonstrated its certainty.

He opened his mouth to answer, only for the other's hand to come down and stop the action.

'I know what you're going to say,' it whispered, hovering in front of the other so they were on the same level, in close enough proximity to make the captive's cheeks burn with shame. 'And I've heard it said before.'

It leaned in so that the nose of the guise it took and that of the chained boy touched. 'But know this. You will learn in time the truth and accept it; after all, you are only a shadow...but for now, I want to know the capability of your physical form. Such knowledge will undoubtedly prove rather useful as my plan finally comes into fruition.'

Before the boy could register the implications of that statement, the other removed its hand, it going, with its pair, to the boy's temples instead.

For a moment, he could feel the physical pressure on his skull, till the feeling was lost as excruciating pain shot through every nerve in his system. The screams exploded from him, echoing in the empty space that stretched before him, even as his vision faded into blackness; his eyes, though open, becoming senseless, even as time, unmeasurable, passed. For those who studied psychology, it was a well known fact that the lack of a sensory vision contributed to a deficiency in regards to the remaining ones, not to mention the after-effects it had on normal cognitive processes following re-exposure.

And then, after what he felt an eternity had passed, he heard his own cries of pain dim. By then, he had lost the presence of mind to realise, or perhaps remember the source of the screams; to him, they had become simply a part of the surroundings. Even the stiffness of his joints, hung for hours on end without release, had been lost as distinct boundaries blurred, his body flicking in and out of focus like static on a television screen, only as real as one believed.

Distantly, he heard the sound of glass shattering, before all faded into the blissful oblivion as the threads tying the trapped soul, or psyche should one take the allegation of the other to be correct, to the physical plane pulled him, or it, back to what it perceived, or had, to be his own reality, the astral projection shimmering and fading as though a reflection or a mirror image, though visibly struggling as though one forced back beyond the barriers which separated the two mostly distinct planes.

In all reality, that was not far at all from the truth. Thus, it was in all inevitable that the same would soon happen to him too.

Then, the entire plane disappeared like the dream it was, the connection, for the next twenty four hours at least, effectively cut, nullifying all, save the repercussions which had stemmed.

Twenty four hours till the connection was reforged. Then from there...no-one could really tell.

After all, when the boundaries between truth and falsehood become blurred to such an extent where it is impossible to distinguish one from another, especially when perception, logic, reasoning and emotion fail, a belief which falters with each wind becomes the steady hand that leads the way.

And when that guide wavers, as does the will of the one bound to it.