It was raining as Hikari Akarui stood outside of her school, gazing melancholically up at the sky. She could feel the droplets against her pale skin, and could almost see her skin turning red from the cold. It was very cold, a truly freezing day as November's autumn slowly changed to the brittle cold of winter. She knew she should go home, she knew that her uncle would worry, however she stayed, rooted to the spot, a growing yearn in her chest.
She didn't understand what it was, but the feeling was intensifying, slowly. Hikari's eyes lowered as she looked around the school grounds, which were deserted. She hadn't really noticed everyone filing around her, going their separate ways.
She blinked. A boy was marching purposefully across the grounds, his eyes staring forwards. His skin was a rich, natural tan colour; his eyes seemed strikingly green as he closed the distance in long paces with his tall legs.
Hikari took a moment to ponder what it must be like to be tall, having been short for her age her whole life. She stared at him, interest piqued, heart thudding. He finally took notice of her as he prepared to disappear around one of the main buildings to the back entrance. He stared at her, his face grim and ominous.
He closed the gap in two long strides and was suddenly towering above her, and now she could notice that he was really well-muscled. She was scared. The teachers have to still be around, she reasoned, as her resolve crumbled.
"You," he said his voice low and sharp. She couldn't distinguish the accent, if there was one, but it didn't really matter. There was such a menace as his shadow stretched over her that she just wanted to run. Anywhere—just away, run as far as she possibly could. Behind the school—she wanted to go there. It wasn't familiar—Hikari had been instructed to always leave through the main gate and walk straight home.
That's what she always had done, as well. Hikari was a creature of habit; she hated too much change. She'd had enough of it to last a lifetime.
"What are you doing here?" the tall man hissed, as if repeating himself for the umpteenth time. Hikari was dragged back to Earth, as the increased volume of rain made itself apparent.
Hikari noticed that the boy now looked thoroughly pissed off, his mouth a sneer, his eyes squinting in the rain. His hair, which was long and ginger in colour, adorned and tied together with some kind of mantle of feathers, was soaked through, sticking to his face, and his nose was dripping slowly. Hikari blinked in confusion up at him.
"I…" She wanted to tell him it was her school. She should be asking him that. But she didn't want any trouble. "I go to school here."
"Well then," He drew back, staring down at her uncomfortably. It was hard to tell, with his stone expression, but the little signs as his fingers, which were only just below Hikari's elbows with the boy's incredible height, twitched and he swallowed silently gave him away. However, the advantage was still not Hikari's. "You should be going. It's… It's raining. It's late, anyhow."
"I go through the back." Hikari lied spontaneously. She didn't let on as she stared stonily at him, though her heart slammed hatefully in her chest.
"You can't do that," he replied exasperatedly, dragging his long fingers through his ginger hair. There was a path through all of the feathers that adorned his hair, suggesting that he did that action often.
"…Why?" She asked meekly, brown eyes giving away her intrigue and fear.
"Because," he paused. "Because… It's not safe, there's damage, and I'm the repairman." The obvious lie didn't faze her as she stared up at him with interest.
"When will you be done?" She questioned, leaning back on her old trainers.
"Err, I don't know," answered the ginger man, crossing his arms and regarding her with further exasperation. "Soon enough, I suppose. Stay here, it's dangerous."
Hikari didn't say a word, simply watching him walk briskly around the building. She waited for a few seconds, simply staring at the spot where he'd disappeared, staring at the trees guarding the speared fence around the grounds before her feet carried her across the blacktop, and around the large main buildings.
It was eerily quiet as she approached the back. There was no sign of the 'repairman', and she began to wonder exactly what he really was, and why he was around. Her chest hurt and her head spun and she took a few steps closer to the back gate, which seemed miles in the distance. Her breath caught in her throat as she took a single step forward, through some kind of invisible barrier. Passing through it sent a shiver down her spine, as the surrounding area fizzed and crackled like a broken TV set. She twitched with unrest before staring at the scene before her.
It could've been a nightmare, but the nausea rising within Hikari told her otherwise.
It could've been a hallucination, but it was far too real for that—not that Hikari knew what hallucinations were like.
Ahead of her was a vast expanse of flames. It looked like the back of the school, but more hellish. Flames licked at the back gates—the paint had welted from them and they were left as ugly, well-dented and rusted bars, sticking haphazardly from the ground. The iron holding all of the bars together had split in places, worn thin by the fire's relentless beat-down.
Some of the bars had turned into rusting, corroded crosses.
Hikari stared, wondering what Freud would say. He'd have a field day. He'd probably say her subconscious wants to get laid or something, knowing Freud. She hadn't even registered the intense heat. She hadn't yet noticed the yells from up ahead.
"Gah, don't touch—Ah, that hurts you bastard!" Cried a voice; such a familiar voice—deep, and cold and foreign. She didn't even have to turn to know. It was him.
He was firing arrows furiously at little puppet-like creatures, which were treating his legs like giant pieces of broccoli, trying to dig their sharp-looking teeth into his legs. Despite his difficulty keeping the little things away, he was clearly in his element, his eyes glowing bright green. He jumped backwards in an amazingly effective somersault, over all of the knee-high vampires, landing to face Hikari.
She wanted to clap, until she noted his line of sight. Her; he was staring at her—with hell's fury. He mouthed something.
You.
She turned suddenly and ran out of the flames, back onto the blacktop and through the furiously pouring rain. She'd never forget it. She wasn't even sure it was real as she sprinted through the streets, dashing towards her home.
She didn't want to ever see that boy again.
She wanted to know more.
Episode 001: The Bad Beginning
Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap. Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap. David's fingers pounded the desk thoughtfully. He was tired, so tired that he couldn't lock onto what his tutor was saying. The Apple Mac sitting in front of him was saying there was some kind of error, flashing irritatingly, forever reminding him of its presence. Flash, flash, flash…
Her lecture about using Photoshop tastefully to adapt photos in just the right way was getting tired. Just by glancing around, the young, long-haired man could tell no-one was listening. Next to him, a girl was typing gibberish messages to her friend on Facebook. On his other side, a boy was tiredly flicking through various game walkthroughs.
The tutor seemed oblivious, however, too caught up in her passion for photography that she didn't notice that the twenty-odd college students were all oblivious to her words. Or maybe she knew exactly that they weren't listening, and she was adding tiny hints of incorrectness, hoping for someone to point out the flaws in her speech? If that was, indeed, her intention, she must've been hiding her irritation well.
No Waii! U need 2 talk 2 me ltr k? Luv uuu lol ttyl bich 3
At the fifth dungeon, turn left, followed by two rights and another left go straight on…
David couldn't take it anymore. Between his neighbour's arrogant messages and the annoying tacky webpages, he was developing a headache. Massaging his temple, David reached into the depths of his coat pocket, retrieving a small, self-encompassing device. He slowly removed the scarlet gem from the choker around his neck and, flicking out the USB port, inserted it into the Mac.
That connection made, an application appeared on the retro screen of the old device, which should've been impossible for the years-old model.
A red webpage appeared, noted on top with Penultima Kilo Network.
David navigated the 'website', finding the blog of Kaoru Arakawa, the 'Lone Demon', Hunter of Kyoto.
The bastard, a 'Penultima Kilo' of the worst kind, had written about a new hunter, with abrupt notes. It was less like a social blog and more like a little to do note for him, made public.
Another such malicious hunter, whom David referred to as the 'London Dick' due to his being the Penultima Kilo of London, hadn't written in months.
As he read up on all his other leads, David felt stabbing pains in his chest, as if a fire had just started. He crossed his arms over his chest, shivering.
Three years and he still wasn't used to it.
"You alright, dude?" The girl next to him asked, noticing his strange behaviour. David started to nod, but as he rose from his position curled around his phone, shook his head. "Hey, ah, teach!" the girl yelled, cutting off the woman at the front mid-speech. She saw the state of David, however, and concern flashed over her face.
"Oh, my. You should go, David, you don't look at all well…is it your condition again?—well, just remember the Photography assignment, alright?"
"Err… Of—of course," the youth, who was paler than usual, replied. He staggered out of the room before righting himself and taking a few long breaths to pace himself.
"You're milking that!" A voice from his headphones cackled.
"Shut up, I know," David replied, and the voice let out a snort even though he hadn't held the device anywhere near his mouth as he spoke. He slid across the screen of his red D-Spacer and found it.
There was a note for a 'Digital Field' in the area nearby—something that was never good news, even less so in mid-afternoon.
Having successfully calmed his initial pains, David made a break through it, leaving the College without notifying anyone. His 'phone' noted where the disturbance was; the hospital just down the road. David's hard sunk at the thought of so many lives just tossed down the drain before running slap-bang into the realisation.
David's best friend, Zhane Tracer, was in hospital after a really bad accident. David's breath caught in his throat. He choked out his name in horror, picking up speed as he ran to the hospital.
David slowed at the car park, throwing a glance to the cemetery that overlooked the large, gloomy facility. He was building up his nerve as he took a few nervous steps towards reception. And then, after a long, deep breath, he stepped through the hygienic automatic doors. The tiled floor, once expert and hygienic, had been torn apart and ravaged by roots that grew in every direction, and the stinging white walls had turned grey, the paint peeling at the walls crumbled thanks to ivy.
The reception desk was wilted, rotting with little spouts sticking out of it.
All that was left of the receptionist was a little grey voodoo doll.
David bypassed it, not even shuddering at the thought it was a person once, he'd seen such things too many times by now. He was depressed at the very idea of defeating this field.
Did it matter? Did it really matter? Zhane was dead for sure now. He traced his steps carefully across the broken white tiles, feet splashing in water from the burst pipes.
It was a murky brick red; water mixed with plaster.
He paused beside ER, wondering what the Operating Room would look like now. Then, it occurred to him; there were no Slave-Drives; the little digimon that milled around before the 'final boss' if you would.
Why weren't there?
David was pondering this very confusing fact when he heard an excited cry—deep, and masculine, and all too familiar. He broke into a run, away from the ER and down the hall, which was as equally ravaged by nature as the reception. He didn't bother with the trashed hand-wash on the wall, busting through door after door until he reached the corridor.
Beside him, a little orange lion was standing, his alien eyes surveying the carnage.
"This is different from the last time you were here, for sure," the beast joked weakly. David didn't even reply, stumbling forwards. Room 52, 53, he stopped, hearing a voice.
"What?" Chirruped the voice in confusion.
"I feel it. Another one is here!" Another, growling voice, replied.
"Another what?" The boy was still confused. David wasn't anymore, stepping into view around the doorway. He stared, stonily, at Zhane.
"Zhane," David said softly. He ignored his face lighting up, and the words of excitement he spoke were lost on David at he stared at his friend's legs. They'd been mangled by a road accident just yesterday.
Zhane, a hardened and incredibly cheerful biker, has been part of the accident just two days ago; a lorry that had spiralled out of control hit Zhane (or Zhane hit it, the lorry driver had died and Zhane could barely remember it, so there weren't any statements and no one knew for sure). He'd been catapulted from his bike, smashed on the windshield and then hit the concrete, unconscious and entirely unstable.
They'd said they didn't expect him to last the day, and yet here he was. David wanted to hug him, to slap him, to yell at him—to do anything at all with him, since he was alive, but he also wanted to kill him and spare him this life.
Zhane was still babbling excitedly.
"You don't know what you've done," David said, at last. "You went and became a Penultima Kilo…?"
"Yeah, yeah, but I've got this little guy! Isn't he cool! Kumamon, David, Digimon World 2003!" Zhane caught the little bear's cap and span it around his head a few times, causing him to grab Zhane's hand.
"Hey, this is the enemy, got that?" Kumamon wasn't even looking at Zhane or David, rather straight at the smug-looking lion standing in the doorway. The lion cub started to smile, bearing a row of razor sharp, snowy white teeth.
"Uh-uh, little man," Coronamon chided, "This is David's territory, my territory, and—"
"We'll have to train you," David cut him off. He ignored Coronamon's sharp gasp, continuing; "I can't have you running around doing God knows what,"
"What? I'll be good at this. I'm good at the games," pouted the dark-haired boy.
"This isn't like the games, Zhane," sighed David, reaching out and knocking his head softly with his fist. "This is real life."
"What's your power? What's your D-Arms? I picked Fear Manipulation—remember, that course I wanted to take about psychology? Well, I can change the fields to people's fear—it'll take a lot of hard work to master it, but I know I can! And I picked a glaive, too. Glaives are so cool, they're better than spears no doubt!" He gabbled, practically springing up and down. David couldn't help but smile a little, even though Zhane was going to get the strictest Hunting Teacher ever, and he chuckled softly.
"My power's Elemental Manipulation, my D-Arms is a Sword Hilt." David sighed. When a regular human walked into a 'Digital Field'; the barrier Digimon created to feed on human brainwaves – a form of data; the human would usually die, and have their physical form transmogrified into something pertaining to the Digital Field or the Digimon in question. But occasionally, seemingly by random chance, they meet an enigmatic blind man who'd offer the human a contract; to be bound to him, to give one's life up, to be bound to the most powerful Digimon in a field, but you get a wish. One measly wish. You get a power. What good was that in the afterlife? You got a weapon. Very useful, since you couldn't hide it and had to carry it around, and you'd have to fight nightmarish monsters in fields of pure, unleaded mind fuck.
He was still clouding young Digimon fan's minds with hope and dreams of heroism. David sighed in defeat, staring at Zhane, whose face had switched to concern.
"What's your D-Spacer?" He croaked, holding up his phone, which, in fact, was not a phone, but his way to connect to Digital Fields. He wore a gem around his neck as proof he was, in fact, David, if he didn't wear it, the D-Spacer wouldn't respond. David noted a deep, tanzanite-like gem attached to a ring on Zhane's finger and nibbled his lip in annoyance.
Zhane dug out his iPhone, which had turned a gentle, deep blue hue. David's eyes slid over it to meet Zhane's eyes. Zhane frowned, lowering his arm.
"What? What's up?" Zhane asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"I… It's just… Thanks, for partnering with me and all."
"…No problem."
Michihiko Akane was walking self-confidently through a field, questioning, thoughtfully, where everybody was. His partner, a confident, vicious Palmon, was padding beside him. He was out of his element, but excited. His first hunt!
"Hey," a voice. Clear, loud and cruel. It didn't seem very Digimon-like, though Michihiko's only experience was the anime series.
"Yeah?" Michihiko said indignantly, though Palmon was more apprehensive, lifting her vine arms with her eyes narrowed.
"Don't 'yeah' me," a person sprang out from seemingly no-where, mist heralding his appearance as his hands gripped Michihiko's arms. "What do you think you're doing, in my territory?"
"Yours? This is my home too," Michihiko pulled free, though Palmon was backing off fearfully, seeing the near-full pouch at the tall, alarmingly thin boy's belt.
"Shut up, you idiot," Palmon hissed warningly.
"I'd listen to her. Polite warning; leave." It was the only thing the boy said. Michihiko blinked, taking in the boy's appearance. He was fairly tall, not strikingly, but taller than Michihiko, and his pale face was adorned with a mop of strikingly blonde hair, clearly bleached.
"Don't order me around, listen, you-"
Bang.
"Too slow," the boy said quietly, his fingers stroking the trigger of his D-Arms—a revolver. Michihiko fell rapidly; collapsing in a gasping, bloody heap, as Palmon fell forward too, clutching her chest.
"Pal…" Michihiko wheezed, though his vision was blurry and the cold air chilled his skin and bones.
"Oh, right. Might as well tell you; A digimon and partner are linked, so that when you die, they do. When they die, you do. Guess I forgot…" he shrugged, and though to Michihiko he was now blurring… A smirk was visible on his pale face.
"Let's go, Kaoru!" a high-pitched voice cried. The creature's tone of friendliness went to show how close the pair had become. Michiko felt tears run down his face, his mind reciting his murderer's name: Kaoru.
Hikari was adding a new font to the typeface of the Newspaper section of the school's webpage. It was becoming tiresome, and she was beginning to wonder just where the president of the newspaper club has actually gone. He said he was going to acquire some more printing paper. That shouldn't take as long as it already had.
Her mind was still buzzing from her encounter with the man from earlier. Her club started at five, so she went home to change and to get a snack before returning for it. She'd almost forgotten in the… heat… of the moment.
She hadn't noticed the yells of the track team disappearing until just then. She pushed herself away from her chair to look out of the window to try and see them, but her attention was caught by the state of the room.
Her chair, which she was certain was black, plain cotton and uninteresting, had turned into a pink, fluffy object that looked vaguely chairesque, cuddly toys were leaning against every possible item in the room and the computers were either pink and fluffy, or not there at all. The large, looming windows had pink kiddie-locks featuring puppies attached.
Hikari stumbled back. This was not the room she was in just a second ago. She shook, feeling all of her energy sink out of her, all of her rationality disappearing and her urge to run increasing. She tripped back out of the room, collapsing onto the floor and reacting accordingly, hissing out a yell of pain.
"Hello? Hik—Hikari! Is that you? Hikari!" Screamed the president. Hikari fumbled to her feet, yelling out a Japanese greeting in her fear and then chasing his voice. His screams of agony echoed around the halls and her head. She tripped on a doll, left in her way, and hit the hard, metal ground with a slam. As she crawled to her feet, she finally saw him.
The Newspaper Club president. His body was unharmed but his face was screwed up in such horrified agony and his eyes were blank and clouded that he was, quite obviously, dead. Hikari felt her eyes sting, and then her cheeks soak. She was crying, for the first time in years.
"Kevin!" She cried futilely, noticing the thing that had done that to him. An adorable little cream-coloured puppy turned to look at her, grinning maliciously. It dashed towards Hikari, but was blocked by a tall, apparently blind man, who was regarding the creature with some kind of…, pride. She wasn't sure where he'd come from, but her urge to run became her main instinct as she pulled herself away from him. Somehow, she couldn't do it; she couldn't get up and run away.
"Good Afternoon. Do you wish to make a Contract with me?"
Next Time:
A young, cheerful girl is almost killed by a digimon, but is protected by a mysterious hunter named Deep – that's me! She is inspired by yours truly to find her own Digital Field and contract… But that's crazy, isn't it?
Meanwhile, Hikari learns of the horrors of hunting from her stalker and Kaoru, the mysterious, villainous hunter learns that digimon are getting even stronger…
Find out in the next episode: "Beneath the Surface"