A/N: Apologies for the unannounced hiatus! I can't promise more frequent updates, because my creative drive writes whatever it wants to write, but here's another prompt for you guys, since someone contacted me on Tumblr and said they were looking forward to it. All I have to say to that, looking at the current prompt I'm on, is '...are you sure?'
030. Death.
"Mugendramon?"
There is something heavy in the air between them as MetalSeadramon coils himself around him, as is their way. Something that is beyond the normal tension or fear they feel simply at the idea of being caught. Something that is almost enough to completely overpower that fear.
"Yes, MetalSeadramon?"
Everything seems impossibly fragile. He addresses him with a formality he can't remember using in their time together, outside of the formality used in front of Piemon. It feels wrong, but everything feels wrong.
"They'll be here soon."
For a moment, he wants to ask MetalSeadramon what he's talking about; for a moment, he wants to pretend that this isn't something they've been expecting from the start. He wants to throw himself full-force into denial, refuse to believe their situation.
It's unfair. He knows it is.
"I know."
"Piemon's going to send me after them first."
"I know."
"Can you promise me something?"
"Anything."
"Live."
He stands in Piemon's throne room like a statue, but the rage that boils under his artificial skin is anything but still.
"We've never been anything more than cannon fodder to you, have we?"
The question amuses Piemon, but everything amuses Piemon. The world and everything in it is one big theatre filled with set pieces and actors for him to direct to his hearts content, or write off when they act in a way that displeases him. He is an actor to the core and a predator in jester's clothing above all else.
"You never once expected us to defeat the chosen children. We were just a way to slow them down while you observed, found their weak spots," he continues. "You promised us the Digital World and never had any intentions of handing it over. If by some off chance they didn't destroy us, you would have done so yourself without a moment's hesitation."
"You've put on a wonderful performance thus far," Piemon says with all of the smug glee of a man who has nothing to fear. "It's a shame to see it cut so tragically short."
"How long have you known?" He owes him so much more, but it's all he will ask of him.
"Since the beginning," comes the reply. "Trying to pull the wool over the eyes of a trained thespian like myself is rarely a good idea."
The rage is no longer boiling, but cold and innate under his skin. It is more than just flaring anger, it is something ingrained in him; something he feels took far too long for him to realize. A deep and solid hatred for the Digimon he once considered his saviour.
"He's dead because of you," he says flatly. Any emotion that was once in his voice has drained away now. "You threw his life away for a few short days of preparation, for your own amusement, for nothing. Even I don't know anymore. All I know is that it was pointless. And all this time you've known."
Piemon drums his fingers against his face and closes his eyes. He seems pleased, more pleased than before, revelling in Mugendramon's words and the pain carried in them.
"Don't you have work to be doing?" he asks, sing-song. Mugendramon simply stares at him.
"I'm going back to my city," he says firmly. "I'm going to prepare for the arrival of the humans. None of that is for you. I'm done listening to your orders. I will destroy them for his sake."
He turns to leave, then pauses.
"Something for you to consider," he says. Piemon listens raptly with that infuriating grin. "If you're throwing us against them just to slow them down, if you're using us as cannon fodder, then what are you? Do you truly believe that Apocalymon will let you win? He will destroy you as he will destroy everything."
The smile drops from Piemon's face for the first time Mugendramon can remember. It is sickeningly pleasing.
"Lord Mugendramon, sir!"
The Hagurumon swarming at his feet call out for his attention, but he takes notice only because of their incessant panicking.
"It- do you really think you need to face the chosen children on your own? Surely there is someone else that can be sent-"
"No," he says firmly. "This one is mine."
He sees it in crystal clarity, one of the worst disadvantages to a supercomputer brain; that pivotal moment in which metal met metal, the Dramon Destroyer met the king of the sea, and the king of the sea had lost.
WarGreymon and the children have stolen from him and he will pay back every one of them, starting with the Dramon Destroyer himself. That thought is all that he has left now.
One of the benefits of a supercomputer brain is the ability to think at a rate time cannot keep up with. As he charges into what he knows is a battle he will, in all likelihood, not walk away from, his mind calls forward a thousand thoughts at once.
"..I couldn't stop thinking about you. So I sat down and tried to figure out why that was, and I came to a conclusion."
"And that conclusion would be...?"
"That I.. um.. I think that I.. love you..?"
MetalSeadramon hadn't even been given a chance to fight back. It was over too quickly. He hopes that it was at least a quick and painless experience. His body shuts down his pain receptors automatically; he turns them back on. He wants to feel what MetalSeadramon felt.
"I could leave the ocean forever, never to set a fin in water again. I could give up all my power, all of my status. I could even give up eating, Mugendramon. But if I ever gave up loving you, I think I'd die."
He hopes he can at least injure him before it's over. Leave him with a mark to be a constant reminder of the fact that he's taken everything from him. It's a pipe dream; he is disadvantaged here.
He is Piemon's perfect Dramon construction facing down the Dramon destroyer.
"Can you promise me something?"
"Anything."
"Live."
His optical receivers shut down, a closing of his eyes against the oncoming danger. The image is not replaced by darkness, but instead by those memories running through his mind in perfect clarity. He sees MetalSeadramon in as much detail as when he lived; in absolute perfection down to the shade of his hair and the glisten of his armour when he first emerges from the water. He can tell that his body is moving, in a distant and detached way- but it feels like he is still, alone together with MetalSeadramon once more. As he hopes he will be soon.
I'm sorry, MetalSeadramon. I can't keep my promise.
In the end, it's much faster and infinitely more painful than he thought it would be. And if he has a last thought, it is that he is proud to say he has marked the enemy.
And that soon, they will reach Piemon.
