The Demon Chronicles
Disclaimer: I am absolutely not making profit off of this fanfic—any infringement is not intended and never will be.
Rating: PG-13 / T
Genre/s: Drama, Action, Adventure, Romance, Tragedy, Horror
Currently Listening To: "Moonlight Sonata" (slower version) by Ludwig van Beethoven. It's a gorgeous classical piece and fits Demon perfectly. If you have the chance, look it up on YouTube and listen while reading. :)
Description: Everyone has secrets, even the Demon Lords. Told in eight sessions, we learn the Scourge of the Digi-Underworld's pasts, what brought them together, and the viciousness of their great founder.
Author's Note: Well, here is the next installment of The Demon Chronicles! I'd just like to take a paragraph to thank everyone who has reviewed my story. So, thank you! :) I appreciate all of your reviews and they really make my day, knowing I was able to be a source of entertainment for however few or many read TDC. Again, thank you and I hope you enjoy all further updates!
Lastly, to stop any confusion from arising, The Demon Chronicles takes place in seven sessions (or technically eight if you include Belphemon's two-parter) explaining the Demon Lords' past. All loose ends will be tied up in the three-part eighth session in which all of them come together and any loose ends left in the eighth session will be tied up in the epilogue. I hope you all enjoy. :)
So, without further adieu...
The Demon Chronicles
Session Two
.Demon.
It all began with a prophecy.
Just one simple prophecy, told by the old wise Jijimon. There was once a tribe of them off the coast of Spiral Lake, but as the years went by, the Jijimon all died off, replaced by younger, more attractive, but... less-fitting digimon. Back then, however, Jijimon were strong and wise, and had foretold of a great despair soon to overwhelm all realms. A great evil bathed in carnage would rise from the shadows of the Dark Area's nadir. This great evil, power riveting within his mighty jaws, would swallow all dimensions, realms, worlds, and, as the old wise Jijimon foretold, his rule would surpass all others.
When the Digital World began to panic at such a woeful prophecy, one of the Jijimon stepped forth to give away another part of the horrifying future – a ray of hope that one, and only one, could defy destiny. One had the power to stop this, and that was the shining power of a mon with hair like bronze, armor of gold, blue, and silver. He would bear a mask of metal and ten gold wings, and have a voice tempting and enchanting. In his hand he would hold the fierce and mighty Excalibur, wielding it with a clench made of iron.
His name would be (Seraphimon)
This legend passed down from generation to generation, and before long, the very last Jijimon told his son of the prophecy. His son grew and digivolved into a great and powerful digimon named AncientWisemon, who gave rise to a magnificent city now known to be the capital of the Digital World, a place harboring a palace more grand and graceful than any before it.
The Celestial Castle.
There could only be one king.
One with the fate of saving the worlds.
Yet, there were two heirs to the throne: two brothers.
One the prodigal and almighty Lord MagnaAngemon, and the other... a mere Patamon.
Who would win their fate?
Who would be the one?
The one to save the dimensions, and dispel the shadows?
.+.
Sometimes...
I feel as if I'm dreaming...
Like I'm trapped in a dream more vast and cloudy than the very aether above me. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't scream.
I can't even blink.
And the only one who can save me from this dream is the one who has the key... the key to the Zenith Gate.
I wonder who holds this key.
Could it be me? Someone I know? My brother – my father – the other Royal Knights?
I don't know.
I don't know anything.
And that scares me! It scares me because I am not used to the unknown! I must find who holds the key – I must find the reason why I am having these dreams – I must find why it is in every dream, at the end of every dream, that I find myself swallowed in flames.
My skin blackens. Curls and peels. Falls off my skin like heated candle wax. My pupils are stark white, and I reach out, reach to the heavens and its gift, that brightly burning sun, but as I hold out my hand, the sun turns red, the clouds darken, roar like a ravenous beast, blue lightning flashes, and it begins to rain.
It rains blood.
My white robes are tainted.
Tainted and turned a deep, rich color of red.
I am Lord MagnaAngemon.
And my dreams always become nightmares.
.+.
(My dear, sweet angel)
(Make them pay for what they did to me)
Why?
What did they do to you?
(They took her from me...
They took...
Someone very, very dear to me...)
Who?
Who took her away from you?
(They did.
The Royal Knights
Your brother
You.
All who answer to "mon" took her from me.
And the only way to repent is to...)
(Lord MagnaAngemon listens to the disembodied voice, blond hair falling across his eyes, hands clenching and un-clenching, listening, listening, wondering, soon to be knowing. He needed to know. He needed to know. He needed to
(...Obliterate them all...)
(Make them fly apart like autumn leaves)
(Scattered snowflakes in the wind)
Kill them...?
To please you...?
(I am the reason you exist)
(I am the reason you shall remain existing)
A key...
A key is somewhere...
I must find the key...
The key to the Zenith Gate...
(I am the winds of words
The tides of war
I am the earth of graves
And the air you breathe
I have not the key
Nor the Zenith Gate
But I AM the key
I AM the Zenith Gate)
I...
Must find the Zenith Gate...
My destiny lies within the Zenith Gate!
(Then follow what I say and yes, my dear, sweet Lord MagnaAngemon, you shall have the Zenith Gate)
(He stands. Nods. Clenches his fists. Alone and embittered, Lord MagnaAngemon's gaze turns to something in the distance. There, glimmering in the velvet-colored night, was the Celestial Castle. So bright, so beautiful. It was snowing that night.)
(MagnaAngemon could remember the bitter cold; could remember holding out his hand and watching each flake flutter to his palm. He would watch the snow for a few minutes, seeing it sit in his hand. Then, after a while, it would melt. Just water, the amount of a teardrop. Strange how something so beautiful could fade into nothingness in such short of time.)
.+.
Flames flickered around the two figures. They saw nothing of each other but their silhouettes, even though they were standing a mere few feet apart. The flame was cracking, popping, embers glowing a deep and malignant orange. A few sparks spat out and fluttered between them, and through that wave of glowing coal, the two figures shot forward.
Clashed.
Arm-against-arm, they stared at each other and watched as sparks cascaded to the floor.
One had the most brilliant blue eyes.
Eyes that reflected the fire, the burning castle, wooden beams creaking and splitting, falling around them, yet neither of them noticed; too concentrated on the other to care. Also reflecting in those baby blues was a manlike creature, with eyes that blazed.
Blazed.
Though not enflamed, those eyes needed not to be fire to make him feel fire. Those eyes, a steely silver color, burned.
"Brother... my brother..." said the blue-eyed figure, fingers lacing with the other's as they clashed. "Have you forgotten who you are?"
"Who am I? Whose blood runs through my veins?" the silver-eyes replied, leaning close to his brother, the flame's light flashing across his face, revealing a metal mask and hair like bronze. "Tell me, is it your blood? Or is it the blood of the voice in my head? He says he is all things, and so I follow what he says. In order to exist... in order to fulfill... in order to reach my destiny, I must do as he tells me to do."
"You HAVE forgotten who you are!" More sparks. More clashing. A hand swiped through the gray, smoking air, slapping the silver-eyes's cheek. The silver-eyes shuddered and his brother hissed, "You are MagnaAngemon, now SERAPHIMON. You are the son of Alphamon – my brother!"
"Blood..."
A chuckle.
A gruff, dark chuckle.
The silver-eyes – Lord MagnaAngemon; no, Seraphimon – took a step back.
"What does blood have to do with anything...?"
The flames grew higher.
The castle walls grew weaker.
"'Brother, oh, brother!', please. Blood has nothing to do with it. I am trying to create a new age – no, a new world! Blood must be shed, brother, and you are no exception. Someday, even I will be no exception."
The blue-eyes – Angemon – snarled, reaching forward to grab Seraphimon by his metal neck and howl, "You're wrong! No blood need be shed at all to create a new world! Seraphimon, have you lost your compassion? Your grace? Your love?! Have you lost your hope for this world?!"
"Compassion... grace... love..." Seraphimon tested the words to see how they fit. "...Hope..."
When he said nothing else, Angemon, his grip weakening, said, "Do you... hate me?"
"Hate..." Again, testing. Seraphimon's eyes, though shielded by his metal mask, narrowed. "I don't know the meaning of this word, 'hate'. All I know is that I have my destiny, and that is to create a new world. I must follow as he says – his revenge. Angemon, my brother..."
Another chuckle. His shoulders shook with each draw of air, with each exhale his fingers grew sharper (like claws, ready to gash, ready to rip, ready to tear), and every breath he took his body rippled with power and hissing energy.
His hand rose.
Fell.
Knocked Angemon back, forcing him to fall, to fall (beneath Seraphimon). Angemon winced and looked up, trying to see past the metal mask over Seraphimon's face, but to no avail. He had no eyes to look into. No heart. No compassion. No grace. No love. No hope.
Giving his brother a cracked, scarecrow grin, Seraphimon said, "This world will be wrought with his wrath, carried out through my own hands."
"SERAPHIMON!" Angemon stood, teeth clenched, tears falling from his eyes. However, he wasted not a single second to twirl his golden staff between his fingers, point it to the dark sky, and say, "HOLY SHOT!"
A light burst forth, a light brighter than even the red radiance of the surrounding flame; a flame that roared as it fought against the light, as if trying to consume that light just as it had most of the palace. But the beam of light would not be swallowed by flame. The beam of light hit with impending force (crrrrrk sounded his bones, crkpop), striking Seraphimon right in his chest where his heart should have been—
(but his heart had long ago been carved out by the voice in his head, so long ago, when the voice had told him he could have it all, have it all if he just listened, he could have it, have THE ZENITH GATE, and unknowing just who it was telling him his fate, he was strung along)
Now that chest was a hollow shell. With a resounding crack, the burst of light shot through, lancing past armor and skin and bone, slashing blood and splattering it across the flames.
Then there was silence.
The roof above them caved in long ago – they could see the stars glimmer above them. Silver jewels in the sky, those stars. A Jijimon once said that the sun was a gift from the heavens, to light up the dark of night. He said that the stars of night were the moon's gift, to compliment the sun. They were a family, those gods of the skies.
So, Angemon and Seraphimon wondered – could the gods of the skies see them at that moment, the snow falling from the aether above, swallowed by the hot flames before they could touch the ground? Was snow the sky's tears, frozen by the emotions of their hearts?
That was what AncientWisemon had said long ago, during the founding of the Celestial Castle.
Snow were the tears of the sky gods like sun and moon and stars, frozen by the cold emotions of the creatures below.
Were the skies crying for Seraphimon? For Angemon? For all the deaths and bloodshed that would follow this night?
Seraphimon fell to his knees. Blood spilled from his lips, his back arched over as the weight on his chest grew and he laid one of his palms flat on the tiled floor. His eyes were wide, skin ghostly pale, pupils just small dots at the center of his eyes.
"...How—?" Seraphimon hoarsely said, wiping the blood from his mouth with his sleeve as he looked up at the angelic creature. Something inside his chest lurched. He coughed and covered his mouth before more blood could spill, eyes widening. "A mere Angemon—?"
Angemon stared at his brother. His hands were trembling – trembling. He'd just shot the most powerful digimon in this world with a beam of light, brought him to his knees, and Angemon was shaking – uncontrollably. But... that feeling in Seraphimon's chest... oh, that feeling told him it wasn't out of fear that Angemon was shaking.
The angelic creature took a step forward.
Stood before Seraphimon.
His eyes narrowed.
"Angemon..."
(Seraphimon could see it – his dreams. His skin blackened and peeled.)
He was frozen.
(The black clouds roared ferociously.)
Something changed at that moment. The atmosphere, though they were surrounded by fire, grew... colder.
(Blue lightning flashed.)
Now that Seraphimon was down, now that Seraphimon could hardly move, Angemon's disposition grew – colder.
(He reaches out as his skin melts from bone.)
And Seraphimon, watching his brother stand at full-height with flames bursting behind him, violently curling and coiling in the wind as their smoke ascended to the skies, knew at once what had changed.
(It begins to rain.)
Angemon was not smiling. Was not frowning.
(Rain not water, but blood.)
Seraphimon could not breathe,
(Blood which tainted not his white robes...)
could not move,
(...but the white robes of someone else...)
could not scream.
(And that is why Seraphimon's dreams had always turned to nightmares, because...)
He couldn't even blink.
(Seraphimon's dreams ended there. Forever.)
"You are the one..." Seraphimon whispered, fists clenching. If there was any part of his heart left, it was racing. Racing, and soon to stop. His lip trembled. "The one..."
Trembled and curled.
"...Who will open the Zenith Gate..."
(Then there was darkness until a light guided him to another
a boy
a boy with bronze hair and blue eyes
a boy with a warm smile and voice, clothes green
a heart of silver
a boy who would help him defy fate
and save the dimensions)
The flames crackled between them; crackled and popped.
"Always the first, brother... The first born, the first to train, the first to digivolve and take father's favorite," Angemon, just a mere Angemon, stood before a kneeling Seraphimon, raised his staff, and said, "But this time, you are the one who bows before me."
"Angemon..." Seraphimon grinned. Again, he softly chuckled. "I... understand now... the voice's intent..."
Angemon's eyes narrowed. "I have dreams, too, brother..."
Seraphimon's palms fell flat against the tiled floor, shoulders shaking as he laughed, blood cascading below him, pooling, but he didn't notice. No, he was too busy bellowing, too busy realizing what was happening to really care. "You are the one... This whole time... It was... You."
"And guess what?" Angemon cooed. He leaned forward, lips brushing Seraphimon's ear, one of his palms resting flat on the bloodied wound across Seraphimon's chest.
The staff
Fell
Angemon's lips
Curled
Into a grin
"You aren't in my dreams, brother."
Staff hit armor. Seemed to strike with more impact than any Angemon could possibly conceive. More blood. More bruises. More cries of realization and destiny and fate. That night, combined with the power of a creature they could not possibly understand, an Angemon
(a champion)
had defeated the almighty, prodigal Seraphimon
(a mega)
And gone from nothing
(to everything)
But...
his heart was darker than they knew.
After all, Seraphimon was attacking the castle.
Angemon saved them all.
Right?
.+.
As Seraphimon's data began to ascend, starting from the digimon's feet and slowly rising to his knees, Angemon crouched at his brother's side. As Seraphimon's dull gaze turned to his younger brother, the mega digimon gave him a sad smile.
"What, no tears?" Seraphimon whispered. "We are truly fools, you and I."
"Wrath... you said you would carry out his wrath before..." Angemon said distantly. Reaching forward to brush the back of his hand against Seraphimon's cheek, Angemon said, "I like that. Wrath. It sounds... powerful."
"How could I not see it before? This manipulation?" His legs disappeared. Next came his stomach, his hands, his arms, his torso. "Clearly... this creature haunting us... he doesn't care."
"No." Angemon stood, (looking down at Seraphimon) as his neck turned to white glowing data. Tilting his head to the side, the staff in Angemon's palm faded, and he said, "GranDracmon never cares."
And, like that, Angemon turned from Seraphimon and headed for the creaking, enflamed palace doors. As he turned, Seraphimon could see it: a twist of his little brother's lips, a curl, a grin. A bone-chilling, all-knowing grin.
"This is our new world..." Seraphimon whispered, closing his eyes as the rest of him began to ascend, fluttering in the ash-blown wind. "...Our beautiful new world, my brother."
.+.
A deal was made.
Less than a year later, Angemon would become
A MagnaAngemon
And MagnaAngemon would become
A Seraphimon.
And Seraphimon would become
.Demon.
GranDracmon's dear, sweet demon.