The Footsteps are Fading

Chapter Two

Taichi spun in circles on his swivel chair. He had just locked the doors of his travel agency business (an agency for travel to the digital world) against the crowds outside, who were now screaming and pounding on his windows. One might say that it was bad for business (his ignoring the crowd), but there was no other digital world travel agency anyway. Taichi closed the blinds, turned up some music louder, and started to spin around again.

He wasn't exactly thinking of anything in particular. His thoughts would wander aimlessly down the rooms of this building (which served as his home too), then to Sora and Matt's house (which he was very familiar with), and back to his old apartment with his family. His parents were dead now, all he had left was Hikari, and even she was on a suicidal mission. He didn't have any family; all he had was this business and his friends. Oh, and his own personal gym in the back of the building. He had just decided to head back that way when he heard a familiar shouting outside. He carefully opened the door, fended off some angry people who were wondering what was happening to their digimon, and let Sora in.

She beamed up at him in awe of his keen recognition, and slid past gracefully with her compact Japanese body. She was amazingly slim in light of having four children, and Taichi found himself wishing time and time again that he had been blessed enough to have been her husband. He had always felt so close to her, almost as close as Hikari was to his heart, but for some reason she had chosen Yamato. Ah well, those things were well in the past by now. He turned the music down and turned to the "one who had gotten away."

"How'd you find the time to get away from the kids?"

"I told them that their favorite uncle could come over for awhile if they behaved for their father. They rarely do, so I had to bribe them."

Taichi grinned at her boldness, for her kids' "favorite uncle" was none other than himself.

"Well, that's awful nice of you to invite me to see your kids, but I sort of had some plans."

"Like? You never have plans! Which still amazes me; Tai, you should really start dating someone. It's not like no one likes you. Your one of the hottest, I mean, nicest guys ever."

"Ah, I'm just waiting for that special someone I guess."

"Haven't found her?"

"I wouldn't say that," he trailed off meaningfully, but a deaf stranger could probably guess that he was talking about her.

She changed the subject rather abruptly, dragging him into a conversation that neither of them wanted to really talk about but felt obliged to.

"So what'd you really come to see me for?" Taichi asked suddenly. She sat down on his swivel chair and spun around in it once or twice and then dragged her sneaker-clad feet to a stop. Her subfusc eyes raised up to his questionably, and then fell back to the carpet.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean: why – did – you – come – to – see – me? There has to be some reason that you fought the crowds for."

"Well…Tai, I just wanted to…wanted to be with you I guess. I just felt bad after all that digital world stuff and… well, you being around always comforts me. That's why."

He fought the strong urge to sprint over and hug her small body to his, stroke her hair and mollify all her worries. Instead, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.    

"Oh, yeah, that stuff."

The words sounded bland, nonchalant, which was exactly the effect that the master of being nonchalant had desired. He caught Sora raising her eyebrows in a manner of "whatever you say, lump of coal for a heart man", but felt no shame. He was certainly not obligated to disclose any of his thoughts to her, and yet here she sat, opening her heart and worries to him, not relying on her husband, but him, a long trusted friend. Long, that was an understatement by a mile.

"Should I go?" his guest asked rather sharply, and he forgot in a flash that matched the beat to the background music just what his façade should accomplish.

"No, no, please don't; I didn't mean to sound like that. Well, you know me, I just…don't like to show those things."

There was an awkward silence, in which Sora nodded her head politely and pushed back into the raging and foaming sea of the crowd outside. Her children did not get to see their favorite uncle as promised that night or any other night that whole week. There was an unsaid and uncomfortable feeling burning once sturdy bridges in their relationship down into an evil chasm below, a chasm that resounded so curtly with Yamato's spirit.

That sweet rapport which had been in their grasps for more than twenty years was losing its empathy, showing its raw and meager sidings, turning this way and that in their now loose fingers, and soon, oh so painfully soon, it was sure to slip. Then where would it head? Or was it some sort of backwards virus: killing its host by leaving it after such a long and soothing stay. A virus that had no other meaning but to kill without thought, for it couldn't think, one of the worst of the prokaryote type. The viruses' victim scraped down unto the floor, ripping at the carpet mindlessly. Echoing in his mind were the shouts and curses from outside, mingled mercilessly with Sora's polite yet sour nod. Why would such a thing be created to harm one so much! He cursed and loathed that twisted virus, taking an oath to meet it one day in hell.

Twenty and one belly rumblings from the time he woke up, Daisuki laughed at the open ceiling. It laughed back at him too, somehow knowing what his little joke was. You and me, it laughed, will be good buddies for some time to come. The smaller of the buddies gagged and retched at this silent response, and then spit precious saliva onto the floor, where it soon evaporated in a sizzle of steam.

It was ghastly hot. In the sky above only one star took witness to his happenings, and perhaps this was the one and the same that laughed at him, and perhaps it wasn't. In the hours or days or years following his waking, everything had seemed to personify itself, and all of his new buddies were laughing viciously at his predicament. He would have shaken a rueful fist at them, had the scratchy snakes wrapped around his wrists not bitten in so hard.

The shiny buddy way up high was painting his cheek and other exposed limbs with its special red fire paint. At every crease and relaxation of his muscles the paint stung more, until he was reduced to (not by choice) crying hot tears down onto the floor, where they immediately (if not before touching the stones) were wisped away on the rising heat.

His fingers were swollen purple with trapped blood, and even puffier with the inhumane heat. He laughed again, though, his cracked lips parting to release that wheezing sound, remembering with giddiness that he had forsaken all thoughts of being rescued from his mind. Then he heard the door cringe open.

"Hey, Davis? Are you in there?"

Of course I'm in here, can you not see me in this glaring sunlight? he shouted back to the intruder.

"Davis? Are you okay?"

Of course I am, now won't you leave me alone to play some more with all these wonderful snakes?

"Davis, there are no snakes in here with you. Look, I'm going to untie you, but I need you to be quieter, because…"

The bouncing sound of footsteps reached both of their ears almost at the same time, and Daisuki's rescuer/intruder closed the door in a hurry and dived under some limp straw in the corner.

There was no jangle of keys, only a gruff voice that sounded stout and at the same time reflected the image of its owner as being one of great stature.

"Hello little prisoner? Who might you be talking to?"

The sun, the heat, and my spit, the little prisoner replied.

"Is that so? Do they speak back in your state, or do they see you as less than worthy of that grace?"

Less than disgraced, I suppose.

"Now that doesn't make much sense, so I suppose as  to give you some water, at the least."

The little prisoner would be much appreciative.

Then the keys jangled their fine yet shrill tune and the grating of the door was soon to join the ballad. In from the hallway came a sudden, apprehensive air and the gruff, stout, and tall voice spoke again.

"Did you open your door?"

Does it look like I could, was the prisoner's dry reply.

So the voice took it as a sign of guards that were anything but sedulous and huffed off towards somewhere, perhaps to chastise those careless guards, and left in such a hurry that the promised water never reached Daisuki's mouth. 

"Davis," the intruder whispered again, "he left the door open, so let's hurry."

Pale hands grabbed his shoulders, but jumped back in quick reaction as Daisuki hollered in pain. Takeru, who was in fact the savior, looked down onto Daisuki's arm and saw a rapidly disappearing silhouette of his hand outlined in the burnt red skin of the little prisoner. Wait, little?

He took a double take on Daisuki's features and gaped openly in stupidity at his appearance. The man had shed off at least ten years! Bemused, he rubbed the back of his neck, and was just as nearly surprised at the slim feel of it. He looked down at his hands, which sure enough were that once familiar scene of weakness. No veins popped out at him, no knuckles looked out of place, it was all smooth and soft, and not to mention frightfully pale. And when he blinked, they returned to the hands of a man who has felt twenty five years.

Thundering footsteps rampaged down the hallway in response to the scream, followed quickly by the owner of the stout, tall voice poking his head into the doorway. His red, round face became redder at the sight of Takeru kneeling by the prisoner who wasn't little anymore, veins and eyes bulged in that visage of horror and his teeth grinded together with an unholy grating sound that knocked any spirit out of Takeru at all. Then the voice dashed up at an upsetting fast pace and knocked Takeru on the back of his broad neck, and he fell into a deep slumber at once, right onto Daisuki's red pain paint. He howled again for his sinister buddies to recognize the pain, but was caught halfway in between breaths by the voice's small but plump hand. He looked up, in terrifying dreamland, into the large, protruding eyes of the voice, and fainted clean away from fright as the voice rolled his eyes in either direction at the same time and laughed his putrid laugh.

"Davis, Davis. T.K., T.K. Are either of you conscious?"

"What is it?"

"It seems that a specific one of us is to be immolated."

"You don't say? To some sort of god?"

"Inanition, my dear Davis, is not always a positive thing to possess while others depend upon your judgment and care."   

"Apologies."

"Silence!" shouted a robustious voice, and all humming of the crowd ceased. "We are here to lick these people to death!"

There was much roaring of cheerfulness from the bloodthirsty crowd below their heightened stand point, and Daisuki passed a questioning glance at Koushiro.

"In the sense of flames," he whispered, with a little bit of a smile.

"Now," continued the speaker, "let the One choose who is to be licked first."

Daisuki would have snickered at the expression but for the dead serious faces of his friends. He observed them, wondering how many days it had been since they had seen each other. They seemed to be fine physically, but on their foreheads was a novel of worries, bound in hard leather casings by the heart wrenching look in their eyes. Then a guard next to him prodded his still crimson limbs and indicated that he should be attentive in the severest manner to the "One".

The One did not appear. The crowd stood silent, on edge, with all heads and limbs entangled in a mass of expectancy and awe. The guards and other higher peoples stood just as dutiful, staring at nothing in particular.

"I am in hopes this apparition does not appear," Koushiro whispered to Daisuki.

Another guard prodded him as well and growled down to him:

"Your verbiage is most annoying."

The others, as it was, were most intrigued by the votaries of the "One", and looked on in amazement at their composure, and patience. Certainly these quick events would send the teams' heads spinning, but as of now they were relatively calm and warmed up to the idea of their demise, which seemed duly inevitably. So they sat on their haunches, looking also to nowhere, and awaited the arrival of this mystic, if it was called so. They were left waiting for some time after that.

 The mob outside soon dispersed and went off in different directions in search of another soul to harass, leaving the dejected ex-digidestined leader to his depression. He half listened to the music, but even its soothing melodies didn't register very well in his scattered mind. Only Sora predominated his mind's wandering, but it wasn't her usual shining face, but a sad and rejecting profile. Sora, he thought, tugging at his heart strings, when did we become like this?

On the almost muted radio the D.J. struck up a new tune, and it drifted slowly through the small office in a cheerless meander, singing like fingertips sliding over polished wood:

Zankoku na tenshi no you ni, shounen yo shinwa ni nare…

The rising voice of the female resounded in his ears, and it felt like his mother whispering once again all those worthless but encouraging whispers.

Aoi kaze ga ima, mune no doa wo tataite mo. Watashi dake wo, tada mitsumete, hohoende'ru anata…

He smiled at these lines, beginning to hear his own story reflected in the words. Yes, change was here, but he was blatantly ignoring its knock.

Sotto fureru mono, motomeru koto ni muchuu de. Unmei sae  mada shiranai, itaiki na hitomi…

That wasn't exactly true for him though; he was not really intent on finding anything right now. Or was it inferring something more…

Dakedo itsuka kidzuku deshou sono senaka ni wa. Haruka mirai mezasu tame no hane ga aru koto…

Far…off…future? To Taichi that future seemed to always be right in front of him, an opponent who constantly snickered and slapped him time and time again, just inches out of his reach. And as for his back…well, nothing seemed to be sprouting out of it as of late, especially not wings.

Zankoku na tenshi no te-ze

But who needed wings?

Madobe kara yagate tobitatsu

Certainly not someone who could have everything.

Hotobashiru atsui patosu de

All he had to do was try harder, not let all of this walk over him.

Omoide wo uragiru nara

He had potential, and not just for any job, but for everything.

Shounen yo shinwa ni nare!

Yeah, he just needed to try…

He rose decisively with his fist clenched tight at this sudden burst of self-endorsement, and was splayed flat onto the ground again when a body fell heavily on top of his head. There was a shooting pain up and down his spine (which never quite felt the same again) followed by not being able to respire. He gasped and wheezed in precious air as he pushed the body off of him, taking a quick and unhappy notice of the giant hole in his ceiling.

"Jeez," mumbled the man rubbing his neck and back, "how the heck did a person make that hole?"

After casting another disapproving glance at the capacious gap above him, which was spitting out plaster like a sick mother, he focused on the body lying next to him. Fortunately the person did not look dead or seriously injured, so he moved a vigilant hand towards the body, reassured that he wouldn't be suspected of killing this mysterious person. His fingertips touched the soft facial skin and pictured a time of happiness, completeness, and freedom. Everything flashed brilliantly in the dark room and the pale skin glowed with a new inner heat. Taichi retracted his hand quickly as the body shivered and rose to its feet, displaying short golden hair and a feminine build. She glided to face him, her so smooth face the picture of emptiness and her golden eyes paintings of pain.

"He…he…hello," Taichi finally managed to spit out. Her expression changed little, but the slight fluctuation on her brow conveyed such a deep meaning; it was surely an explanation. He asserted that he understood her movements and…

Hello. The sound crept out of the music around them and wound its way to his ears. It did not hurry to get to him though: it curved under his desk, through the window panes, and then into his sensitive hearing. When it got to him it had traveled many miles and related these miles and the hopes of more to the listener, who listened intently to this silent communication. Only when the voice flew to him again did he realized it was from the girl in front of him who was half his height but twice his age. The message was finally creeping into his mind with prevailing vim when the woman began slipping around the room. Her pale feet did little more than brush the floor, trailing a sweet scent of lilies in the springtime, but with an underlying odor of their decay in a dry summer. She turned back to him after her expedition throughout the tiny space and spoke slowly to him, this time using her real voice. The sound of it was not as silky as the first, for it seemed riddled with questions and more questions, and a never-ending thirst for something.

"Where did I come from."

Taichi's throat had a mysterious something logged in it so he merely pointed up to the hole, which she stared at for a minute, contemplating its existence and its affect on her being.

"No," she sang again, "where did I come from?"

Again all he could do was point at the hole in silent awe, even though he wished dearly to provide her with a better answer. Her beauty wrapped him in its aura and pressured him to tell more, but he could not, and suddenly fear for his life began rising against that something in his throat.

Calmly, she drifted through the other rooms in the building in a silent storm of thoughts, leaving him to watch her wake. When she did not appear again he stood up tensely, and preformed his own scooping out of the rooms, which ended with him baffled about the pastel girl's appearance and disappearance.

Daisuki let out a sudden screech of pain that sent the whole crowd shuddering. Heads craned in his direction, covered with smiles and glinting eyes of secret knowledge.

"Izzy!" the victim screamed, "help me!"

But the plea fell upon silent eardrums, while drums in the background covered up all sound. Their boom and hollow yell poured liquid fear into Daisuki's mouth, until he collapsed to the floor, coughing up the fear in great heaves of inside muscles. Just over the din of the voices he could hear: "The one has chosen!" and directly after that horrifying statement flames leaped into the air next to him, connected to no ground whatsoever. Their white heat lashed out at his red body in zealous confliction, flattening him to the ground in a sudden burst of hate. He could feel all hairs on his limbs curl and fall off in one instant, soon followed by an overpowering smell of…wasabi?

Easing his eyelids open, he found a scene, not bright with flames, but voluptuous and verdant. Happy sounds greeted his once charred ears and he caught himself wondering if he had woken up from a terrible nightmare in a place he didn't know. Here all the birds sang in unison with the sprite wind, creating the lasting effect of peace, prosperity, and all other things that humans have at the top of their 'To Accomplish' lists. The wind was coaxing him to close his eyes and rest, but there was no reassurance present that this would be here when he awoke; in fact, he was quite sure it would be gone. So he fought a losing battle against the peace, but finally drooped into a happy slumber.  

When he woke up a soft hand was stroking his brow, its pale color in sharp contrast with the still green area. He could hear the wind whispering again through the trees and he felt the homely shawl of happiness encompass him until he sighed into the folds of sleep for the second time. The hand continued to caress his forehead with daisy light fingertips, tickling here and there with a silky embrace on every cell. His dreams were carefree and when he looked up in them the sun was silently moving back and forth back and forward. Then it would morph into that flower hand and confirm his existence time and time again. His sighs were deep and pleasurable, and the nagging thought of the real world drifted away away and then finally snuggled down for a nice rest.

Outside of his happiness, the world was winding down the spiral of chaos, flicking beast off on its descent. His friends were rolling with the boulder, slipping into an undefined state of confusion, hate, and fear. The end of the spiral was at their feet now, when they were abruptly stalled by a woman on the path. She refused to budge under any pressure; she simply just held out her hand in a gesture that suggested stopping, as they soon did. Then the spiral gave way to a new light, becoming nothing more than a faded memory as its captives relished in the sudden but welcomed warmth. The woman extended her arms to the digidestined, a kind smile playing about her pale lips, and they heard in the distant background the groaning of their dying captors. When they reached the coruscate woman, they felt the solid ground beneath them poof into oblivion at her eyes, the spiral melt completely away in her mercy, and they just managed to catch a glance at her figure and found themselves all thinking the same words: "So pale…".

It was a bright morning when they awoke, some days later after the incident and far from the position of it, ravenous and disoriented. They found Daisuki lying awkwardly on his side, his breathing shallow and his body still tender. The confreres sat around in a circle, staring dumbly at each other and blinking and squinting at the demanding sunlight. A few words passed between the group, but were found meager and meaningless, so Mimi suggested eating something. That hell-bound smell was gone from the air, and what better thing to do then but eat and have an excuse to not try and decipher what had just occurred. As they ate their rations (which were considerably smaller seeing as the perishable food had gone bad some days before) Daisuki stirred from his slumber, blinked at the sky, and then blinked at his friends.

"Hello," he tried, but he could not find the strength to project it farther than his elbows. He observed them eating for some while, taking mental notes of their lack of manners and new tan lines, until he crawled to their circle and was handed food without a comment. He stared at it in disgust, then at them in the same contempt.

"What are you doing?" projected the cracked voice, and they all raised their eyes to him in feigned surprise. "What are you doing? Don't you…don't you…" but he trailed off without continuing his invigorating speech, and set about devouring the food. All went back to their own vittles, with little dust of care flurried by their leader's attempts. Finally Mimi remembered Jenai's words to her.

"What are we doing!" she cried, "Just look at us! We should have finished this by now and we haven't even found the culprit! Why aren't we talking about all of this? Who was that girl, those savages we met, those prisons we were kept in, and where do we go from here? And why isn't Davis dead? Didn't we all see him get swallowed by flames?"

All eyes turned to the man in question in a sort of accusing manner, and then back to Mimi when she stated dully:

"And where are our digimon?"

There was a dead silence and all tired eyes roved about the bivouac, not really surprised at finding their digimon missing. Why should they be there when everything else was so vehemently not in their favor.

"Why don't we just leave fate alone and go back home?"

Sadly, Koushiro's bland statement was considered by most of the team very thoroughly. And what's sadder is the same words were on the tips of their lips when Daisuki jumped up and smacked them all on the backs of their heads, especially Koushiro.

"What's gotten in to all of you! The digital world has been a part of our lives for more than ten years, and you just want to abandon it?" There were guilty nods all around. "WHAT! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!" He stared at Mimi and she stared back; apparently they were the only two left who wanted to go on. How disgusting. "How disgusting," he repeated and had half a mind to shriek on but decided against it. It was no loss to him, he could go on at any pace now if he could convince Mimi into going back home. Yes, his mind whispered in a conniving way, if I can get her away from here, prove I can finish this by myself…

A sound like cracking whips echoed across the sky in booms that made the earth tremble so much that Daisuki fell to his knees. The ground shuddered violently again as a second clap deafened them. Daisuki stared at his knees nonchalantly, stared at the worn holes in the pants and couldn't remember when they had gotten there. Had they been like this before setting out? The mesa seemed like eons ago, their friends younger and without much care for any future events. And what had Taichi said to him? What had it been? War is not about winning? The rest of his words were blurred and sketchy, as was his face, and the statement alone didn't make much sense at all. How could war not be about winning? Was it about death? Was that all?

He scrunched his fingers up into his sweaty palms, trying to remember those last words…

Something about children…