It had been some days since he had found her, alone, cold, scared, defenceless; in the forest all by herself. All Salamon had done since he brought her back to the castle was sleep, curled into a cloth blanket in the corner of Myotismon's study, as he worked and muttered to himself.
On the third day of drifting in and out of consciousness, the strength finally returned to her little body. Lifting herself, Salamon stretched, yawning, enjoying the warmth that surrounded her. The room was large, but cosy, warmed by an enormous fireplace. with a warmth and a smell she wouldn't ever get out of her nostrils. There was a sweet smell about the room, like roses, but subtler. There was something underlying, something she had never smelt before. It was metallic, and as she breathed deeply, it crept from her nose to her mouth, filling it and leaking onto her taste buds.
The catch on the door leapt up and the door opened. A dozen or so bats flew into the room, settling onto the rafters and glaring down at Salamon before wrapping their wings around themselves to sleep. Suddenly anxious, Salamon retreated back into the blanket before a noise at the door made her stand straight.
The hinges creaked as the door was pushed fully open by a gloved hand.
Salamon had only half seen him when he rescued her in the forest, but now, as he stepped into the study, she saw him in full. He stood tall, over ten times her size. He was dressed in a blue uniform and black cloak, lined with red. Over blue eyes sat a red mask, flared at the tip like a bat opening its wings. His hair was cropped short, a dark honey blonde colour.
He was intimidating to say the least, but the worst part about him was the two long fangs protruding over his bottom lip. These lips were pulled into a satisfied smile as he stared down at the tiny Digimon in the corner of his study.
Salamon realised she was shaking. She may have been young and naïve, but her Vaccine instincts told her to escape from this mon; that he was evil of the worst kind.
'You are finally awake,' he observed, striding into the study, allowing the door to bounce shut, making Salamon jump as it hit the frame with a loud bang.
Words stuck in her throat and her heart began to beat double time. Ignorant of her fear, Myotismon sat at a large desk, opening a leather bound book in front of him.
Salamon craned her neck out from the nest of blanket to see him.
'Come here,' he said.
Though he had not raised his voice, she knew it was a command, stepping out of the safety and warmth of the blanket and pacing towards him.
She stopped at the side of the desk; otherwise the bigger mon would have had to strain over to see her tiny figure.
'Do you know who I am?' he asked her, eyes fixed on the cover of a book on his desk.
Salamon shook her head. No words had been exchanged during their first meeting.
'Pardon?'
'N-no,' Salamon stuttered.
A smirk crossed his lips. 'I am Myotismon, the Undead King, commander of the underworld, and rightful ruler of the Digital World.'
'You saved me from that Dobermon in the forest,' she squeaked.
A noise escaped Myotismon's lips, something bordering on a sarcastic chuckle. 'Dobermon was a former recruit, who had the idea he would leave my service without my permission. He needed to be taught that the only way one leaves my Nightmare Army, is by being deleted. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.'
'You still saved me,' Salamon pressed.
Her cheek was met with a glare and she backed away.
'I recruited you,' Myotismon told her plainly.
She gulped, any preconceived notions of her survival being a good thing suddenly buried in the pit of her stomach.
'You are a promising recruit and being so young and new, I can easily mold you into something to be feared.'
That didn't sound too bad.
'Then again, you may Digivolve into some pathetic thing that is of no use to me, in which case, I will just have to destroy you,' he continued, faintly amused by the fear in her eyes. 'What was your prior form?'
Salamon cocked her head to the side. 'What do you mean?' she asked, fear making her voice come out no louder than a squeak.
'Whom did you evolve from?' Myotismon pressed.
'Nyaromon, I was Nyaromon.'
A frown flickered across Myotismon's face. 'How is that possible? You are already a Rookie.'
Salamon watched, confused, as Myotismon flicked through the book on his desk.
He muttered something to himself, something too quiet for Salamon to hear, before shutting the book and raising from his chair.
'Come,' he told her.
Obediently, she followed him. As they walked, she had to double her usual pace to keep up with his long strides, and bound forward when she fell too far behind.
If it hadn't been for his lead, she was sure she would get lost in this place - wherever it was - with every wall being the same shade of grey stone, and the floor being the same dull grey. Maybe they had been white once, and maybe once the walls had been smoothed or plastered, but now, between grey blocks of cut rock, were smaller stones filling in the gaps.
She took it all in, trying to remember which way they turned, and how many doorways they passed through. Paying too much attention to the walls rather than to the mon in front of her, her paw caught at the trails of his cloak. She tripped head over heels, making Myotismon's step falter.
He turned to her, glowering down.
'Take care,' he warned as she got back to her feet, shaking off the bump her head had received.
'Sorry,' she mumbled, eyes lowered to the ground.
He glared at her and she didn't dare look up until she heard him turn, waiting again until he had taken two steps, his feet - the same size as her whole body - thudding against the stones.
'If you had any ideas about wandering off alone,' Myotismon began as they turned another corner. 'I would advise against it. There are a great many number of Digimon who stalk these halls and prey on the weak and meagre like yourself.'
'I'm not weak,' Salamon whined with a pout at her lips.
As if to prove his point, Myotismon stopped, quickly turning in one swift movement, bending at the waist to pick the tiny Rookie up by the scruff of her neck and pinching the roll of flesh hard.
She let out a pained cry at the action, squirming under his hold.
'You were saying?' the mon asked with a smirk.
If she hadn't been afraid, if her body hadn't been quaking in fear, she would have glared, her small sense and understanding of dignity and pride screaming at her to stare him down and deny him. Instead, she kept quiet, tears threatening to leak from her blue eyes.
Myotismon let out a snort and tucked Salamon into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way through the castle until a final door gave way to their destination. An inverted "L" shaped room, lined with packed book cases adjacent to a long table. A fireplace against the wall to the left of the door with a wingback, bottle green leather armchair drawn close to the flames which sprang to life when Myotismon's feet crossed the threshold.
'What is this place?' Salamon asked, shying back into Myotismon's chest.
'A library,' he replied simply, concentration on one row of books unwavering.
She nodded, eyes tracking and following, face turning to a frown as Myotismon picked a book out and headed for the armchair, picking her up by the scruff once again as he sat down, placing her on the arm of the chair.
Salamon craned her neck to see over his arm, frown deepening at the symbols and squiggles on the page.
Noticing her intrigue, Myotismon dropped his arm, giving her a better view.
'Can you even read?' he asked, a hidden eyebrow cocked behind his mask.
Salamon squeaked, cheeks flushing red as she shook her head.
'No!' she spoke quickly when Myotismon glared at her.
'You were completely alone up until I found you?'
'Yes. No one paid any attention to me, or talked to me. Dobermon only noticed me because he was hungry, he said.'
'He probably thought you were still at the In-Training level. But even you as a Rookie could have defended yourself against that poor excuse for a Digimon.'
Salamon looked confused, cocking her head to the side, staring up at Myotismon with wide eyes.
'How?'
'How what?'
'How could I have defended myself?'
Myotismon shut the book, the disturbance in the air puffing into Salamon's face.
'You have no sense of self awareness, do you?' he asked, baffled by her naivety.
'No,' she muttered, pouting again.
'Do you remember what happened to Dobermon? What I did to him?'
She thought back, and spoke about the red lightning that had strangled Dobermon, crushing him until he burst into data.
'My Crimson Lightning,' Myotismon told her.
'What's that?'
'Digimon have a defence mechanism, an attack or two, for when they're threatened or need to fight off enemies.'
'I don't,' Salamon murmured.
'Stop pouting.'
She glanced up at him quickly, seeing him glaring at her. She wrinkled her nose and did her best to straighten her face despite questioning why a pout was a bad thing?
'You will know what it is when the time comes. Most Digimon discover it when they are under great threat and have no option other to fight or die.'
She stayed silent, watching him as he stared down at the front cover of the closed book, eyes narrowing and a smirk pulling at the corner of his lip.
'Maybe I'll have to help you,' he said suddenly, clutching at her neck above the golden ring at her neck, lifting all four of her paws from the arm of the chair. 'If I keep squeezing, you'll have no other option other than to try and fight me.'
'I can't,' she squeaked. 'I can't breath.'
He did nothing to relent, or loosen his grip, only staring into her eyes, a battle of blue against blue.
'Please.'
Even through the leather of his gloves, he could feel her pulse at her neck weakening, he could see her eyes darkening, and her paws stopped kicking. Just as she was about to pass out, and he was to finally let go, the ring around her neck began to vibrate, and suddenly became hot against his flesh, but apparently not Salamon's.
'Maybe you can't defend yourself,' Myotismon growled, dropping Salamon back to the chair. 'But you are protected.'
He inspected the damage to his hand, his glove burnt through and his blue hued flesh bubbling, data fuzzing around it, healing the wound.
Salamon lay unmoving, drawing in laboured breaths, unaware of the harm her ring had caused Myotismon.
'I think I will have to keep an eye on you.'
He placed a hand on her head, gently, almost affectionately as he stroked a finger between her ear.
'Pathetic little thing.'