A/N: Now that I have received enough reviews (no, I'm not selfish or anything—I just want to know if people are interested enough for me to continue), it is time I post the second chapter. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially to Adalia Glenys for her honesty and willingness to give some constructive criticism! (Yes, it's ironic that I received A's in AP American Lit, but I still can't write a story using proper English… it's the connotations in vocabulary that really get me!) Please, if you find anything awkward in the way I write or are confused about something, don't be afraid to tell me. Thank you!
Adalia-- Thank you for your honesty! By the way, the explanation for the lack of bloodlust and my take on copulation are explained here. And no, Myotismon does not qualify as a true angel. There's an explanation for that as well.
Sabriel-- Thanks! Hope you had fun on your trip!
blackmage-- I hope to see you back here!
vampirelucemon-- It's so nice to see you again! Thanks for dropping by!
By the way, if there is anything in this story (particularly this chapter) that might be a little… intense for the younger audiences, let me know so I can change the rating.
Chapter 2
Love is Pain
The two angels lay on the surface of the cloud, entwined in each other's arms and wings, pieces of their thin, scanty attire scattered around them. Both, after making love to each other the "traditional" way long into the night (which was impossible to distinguish from the day because they were not even on Earth to begin with), were exhausted yet still caught in the web of passion. Angewomon was nearly drained of her energy, and her eyelids were weighted shut.
Myotismon, on the other hand, seemed to live on through his effort, most likely because he maintained his strength through intense training and even more strenuous battles. He ran his hand through the angel's hair and down her side, letting it rest on her hip. "Angewomon…" he whispered into her ear.
The angel was only half-awake and heard the vampire's voice only as a faint call. "Hmmmmm…?" she asked. She felt herself burning up… but not from the heat of recent events…
"Angewomon… may I… give you the vampire's kiss?"
The angel felt nothing but her head swimming. She did not care… all she wanted was for something to ameliorate the growing fire in her skin. "I want you… to…" She trailed off.
The vampire did not interpret the intentions of his bride correctly, and took it in as "I want you to make love to me your way." He felt his mouth water with the lust for blood once again, just as he had before he transformed into an angel. His fangs elongated, aching to penetrate the rosy flesh on her neck and cut deep into her veins. He could see her jugular vein throbbing on that beautiful neck of hers, and he could hear the rushing of her sweet, red blood which enticed him to release his data into it… with that, he could create an heir, a son… so beautiful, like her—
He grabbed Angewomon around the waist and pinned her to the surface of the cloud like so many other victims to the grass. She turned her head aside, knowing what was about to come but not desiring it—but she could not refuse this expression of his affection for her. He only saw the neck—that beautiful neck just full to bursting with her sweet nectar—his fangs elongated to the point of aching, and his thirst overcame him—
He plunged them deep into her flesh, right where her vein throbbed the hardest. He could feel her pulse quickening and hear her heartbeat and deep breaths. She screamed—it was not painful, but it definitely was not pleasant, either. She could feel it all enter her neck—twin blades releasing a stream of data squirting into her vein like vaccine through a needle—searching for her most fertile soil… searching… searching…
Angewomon began to scream even harder, as if she were in pain, as if she were ill—the fangs withdrew, and blood erupted from the twin punctures, through the vampire's awaiting lips, pouring down his throat and filling him with her sweet nectar—
He swallowed, leaving a bitter aftertaste lingering on his tongue. Suddenly, everything seemed to pull him backward and disorient him, as if his head were swimming in frozen water. He felt a rush of cold air on his skin and a different sort of flesh against his lips. Blinking and gaining consciousness, he saw that the womon in his arms now lay beneath him, yet at the same time was wrapped around him, and a woman—a flesh-and-blood human grasping for her life, her face invisible to his sight. He had no control… he felt like a marionette with the strings pulled by not Fate or Destiny, but himself. He knew it… he had done this before… he had done more than merely drink her life… he had objectified and soiled her, leaving her in the ground with nothing but his marks and bruised, bloodstained skin.
Human blood… the dash of fear left him craving more, so much he could gorge on it all night. He thrust himself forward until his body was pressed against hers, which was packed into the ground, and heard her feeble voice gasping, "Please… please… no more…" She turned her head upwards, but no facial features were visible—he had no recollection of any specific victims, thus he did not remember the details of her face. All he knew was her blood. He pulled out and lifted himself off the ground with his arms. Suddenly, the skin on her face was not alone—every detail of her visage was now completely visible and vivid—her mouth open in horror and shock, unattached to her thoughts, moving with her pleas but no sound escaped… her small, dainty nose draining fluid from the frigid darkness and her tear-drenched eyes which could hold no more… and her eyes. Her eyes were the most vivid of all—wide with desperation, with a pure, crystalline blue jewel in the center, tears streaming outward from the unbearable pain and knowing she would die.
Myotismon wanted desperately to comfort her; unfortunately, his thoughts were completely detached from his actions, and all resistance was in vain.
She staggered her breathing, gasping air for her life but never getting enough. Tears streamed down her colorless cheeks as she pleaded between gasps, "Stop… please, stop… I've had enough… enough… no…" Her voice dropped to a whisper—"I don't want to die… but at the same time… I want to! Dear God, I WANT TO DIE!"
Don't kill her! the vampire pleaded to himself, but all was in vain. His urges overpowered him, and he sank his fangs deeper into her neck, thrusting himself so far inside her, he broke other tissue and she screamed bloody murder. No one could hear her in the secluded park… It was so excruciating for him to relive everything—the way his sexual desire took control, accompanied by his vampiric instincts to create this creature, this monster—
He wanted to die. He wanted to let out a scream so loud the earth would shatter.
And he did. The vision shattered to reveal his true surroundings of the glittery heavens and soft clouds. He cried out from the overwhelming horror of reliving that one moment when he had become more beast than mon. He shouted so loudly, it could have been heard through Earth's atmosphere. Tears stung his eyes and blurred his vision.
And then—
The scar. He could feel his scar, perforating through his heart, eating away at his soul… his very existence…
Sparks of Crimson Lightning flew before his eyes, seemingly jumping from beneath his mask, but a crimson X outglowed all. He could feel the hellfire tormenting him from within, every flame licking at his skin from beneath it. A roaring inferno erupted from the cicatrix on his chest, enveloping him in heat and despair… demons laughed at him and mocked him, prodding him with their pitchforks… an unknown man spread his cape to unleash the very bats—his bats—from the Grisly Wing attack on him—they were eating away at him, reducing him to nothing… nothing… NOTHING—
"MYOTISMON!" screamed Angewomon.
The vampire's eyes sprung open to see his angelic love—his savior—kneeling over him and clutching his hands. Angewomon felt herself crying for what she believed was the thousandth time that night, but so much had happened to the mon she loved and cherished… she brought his hands up to her face and brushed them against her cheeks, as if to wipe away her tears. She could see Myotismon's chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to breathe. The scar, which had already been a dangerous-looking shade of crimson, had begun to glow like a red-hot coal.
"M—Myotismon?" she asked again, feeling the tears erupt from her eyes. "Live… please live… you've been through so much…" Her voice dropped to a whisper not unlike the victim's. "I want your pain to end… but at the same time… I don't want it to be through death! Dear Goddramon, I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!" She started to bawl as she held the vampire's hands against her face and brushed herself against them.
For a brief moment, Myotismon saw the victim's face in Angewomon's.
He gasped.
"Myo…" murmured Angewomon, and her face returned.
The scar ceased its burning, and all that remained for that moment was an unpleasant prickling inside, but the mental anguish had left an even deeper impact. Nothing could take his mind off that night's actions since he relived every detail. He had repressed it, even forgot about it, because the human body was nothing but a trivial object that could be utilized to any extent before disposal… particularly those of females. In his eight hundred years of existence, it seemed that he had never learned to love, but learned to make love. He had read a number of books that addressed the subject of the latter—history, biology, and—most of all—anatomy, but never lived to know about it. Digimon hatched from eggs; thus they either reproduced asexually or were continually reincarnated from recycled data. However, the humanoids were the exception. They had the capabilities and the structures to reproduce like humans (which justified the severe absence of humanoids in the digital world), and possessed such feelings as love, commitment, and passion. In his eight hundred years of existence, Myotismon had never experienced or felt love, so all substance was stolen from otherwise sacred feelings, leaving him with nothing but lust.
That sense of hollow victory led to several instances not unlike the one his memory had unearthed. He could now recall three other humans and countless unsuspecting female digimon whose faces held the exact same expression as the victim's.
He always felt a crash after the brief escape into pleasure, and he failed to realize this until after that particular woman. Nothing could ameliorate his longing for love… it was all lust that was satisfied.
He despised everything about it so much, he vowed that he would never do so again. Angewomon was different… they truly loved each other, and that was the only way they could truly express it. Still, he believed that everything caused the most recent memory to flood back and bombard him with the painful details from the other side.
Had he given her the vampire's kiss against her wishes?
"Angewomon… I'm sorry," he admitted. "I… I couldn't… I wish I had…"
"Myo…" began the angelic queen, as if consoling him. She leaned over him and played with a lock of his hair that clung to his face. "Myo… don't worry about it… it was my fault as well… I wish I could have helped it, but…" She did not have the heart to tell him that her body, not wanting him to sink his fangs into it, unleashed the power to bring back excruciatingly painful memories to whomever "attacked" her. She sighed again and sobbed into his bare stomach, desperately wishing for his scar to disappear.
Rosemon.
The name echoed in his mind.
You remember what happened to Rosemon.
He was whipped through time and space and saw himself as AngeMyotismon, only he acted more like he had as a true vampire and not a half-vampire like his form of Myotismon Celestial Mode. He saw the beautiful flower Rosemon resting peacefully on her bed of flowers, almost like a floral angel… her chest rising and falling as her sweet breath escaped her lips…
Blood.
Delicious, warming, fulfilling blood. He could hear it running through her veins like rivers, enticing him to drink deeply of it. The thought of Rosemon's blood bursting with the sweet flavor of nectar made his mouth water and his vision grow so sharp, he was nearly disoriented and overcome by dizziness. He was like a wild animal on the prowl, and he was about to catch his finest prey. He could feel his fangs lengthening and nearly digging into his chin.
Why must I? She is the queen of the digital forest?
Myotismon's body refused to listen to his mind. He pounced on her, pinning her to the ground, and plunged his fangs into her neck. He heard her sweet voice shatter the cold air, but he refused to listen to her as well. He glanced at Rosemon and saw the same expression as his previous victim's, and immediately the blood that rushed into his mouth was mixed with fear. His mind wanted his body to stop, but the latter seemed to have a mind of its own. The blood, laced with nectar and fear, was full to bursting with flavor and was so rich… so addictive… he needed more! He sucked and sucked, attempting to swallow every last drop of her liquid life.
All of a sudden, he pulled his bloodstained fangs out of her porcelain neck and let her fall out of his arms.
"What have I done?" The words seemed to escape as he found himself on his and Angewomon's casket-shaped bed in their palace, the angel watching over him like a sentinel. "What have I done?" he murmured.
"Shhhhh…" Agewomon put a finger against his lips. "It's all right, my love…" She cracked a weak smile as she helped the vampire sit up. "I'm sorry about everything… it's my fault…"
No, thought Myotismon. I was more in the wrong than you. Your nightmare-inducing power cannot be helped… but my past could have been… it could have been…
Angewomon lay on the bed beside her lover, resting her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. She began to feel as if she were burning all over, and as if everything in her head was flailing to keep itself from drowning. "I… I'm so tired…" she murmured, trying to find the vampire with her hand. She felt two cool hands envelop hers and lay it against his stomach, lest it be burned by the searing scar on his chest. "Myo… watch over me… feel better… I love you beyond what… words can…" Before she could say describe, she fell into a deep, dark slumber.
Myotismon lay awake for hours, partially from the fear of relapsing into another nightmare, but mostly because his mind was plagued with questions.
Was I no different tonight than I had been? he thought. It doesn't seem that I would be… Angewomon and I are married and love each other enough to demonstrate our love in that way… but I had listened to her those other times. Tonight, I sank my fangs into her, and I realize that she had wanted anything but that. Am I still a true vampire, possibly… a Virus?
I cannot be a vampire, or at least a full one. On the other hand, I am not an angel, either. As AngeMyotismon, I was a vampire wrapped in an angelic husk who slowly metamorphosized into a true angel. Then my physical state reverted back to my original form, but every other being knew that I had an angelic soul. Still, I felt so… discontent, like everything about it is so hollow.
Celestial Mode, bah! It's nothing but a change of costume, the absence of my Grisly Wing attack, two new attacks, and a sword. I am still capable of Crimson Lightning and Nightmare Claw, but I never use them anymore… I have no wings… He felt the twin agony protruding from between his lips, and winced as they drew blood on his fingertips. The tips of his white gloves were stained red. All I have are these damn fangs and a thirst for blood.
He stood up and wandered to the window, and realized that he cast no reflection in the glass, as he did in his original state. A thought entered his mind, and he gathered strength to conjure a viewing orb slightly taller than himself. A clear bubble outlined in a rainbow-hued film blew itself up on the center of the carpet, and in it appeared the vampire's worst nightmare: his true appearance.
He could not escape reality. There he stood, facing himself in the center of the room, staring at every imperfection. His skin was too pale and an unhealthy blue hue; wisps of his hair flew out of place; his face, so handsome it seemed to have been carved by angels, seemed completely hideous to the vampire himself because of his fangs and the ungodly scar that spanned his eyes. The mask was nothing short of ridiculous. The exposed skin on his body had the faint remains of scars from his past battles, unnoticable to the naked eye but clearly visible to their owner. Not even Angewomon noticed when she saw him up close, but Myotismon noticed everything and loathed it. Worst of all, he hated his thin and fragile frame. He had well-toned muscles, but none of them were able to effectively conceal the bones that stuck out from underneath his skin. It made him look like he had not eaten in years. He knew that a diet of blood and wine could never compensate for the intense fighting and training he had done on a daily basis.
A freak, that was what he was. An emaciated, scarred, vampiric freak.
Alone.
A frigid gust swept through the room, although the windows were not opened. The white velvet curtains blew upward, and the lone candles that surrounded the bed and glowed were reduced to wisps of smoke. Something unseen drained the color out of the surroundings, turning them a monochromatic shade of grey. Myotismon could hear his heart beating rapidly, accompanied by frightening sounds that he had once found pleasure in hearing—screams of the dying, the howling wind and roaring thunder, the screeching of bats—
Silence. All was gone from his mind, except a feeling of his feet going numb as they were enveloped in a wave of coldness. He could barely breathe, and he looked down to see his feet submerged in an unearthly, metallic flood, which rapidly began to fill the room. He blinked and glanced around, and saw that there was not even a room to flood. All that there was, was him and the water.
The Dark Ocean.
His Dark Ocean, with absolute nothingness. Not the Dark Ocean, which was considered a Hell or Purgatory for fallen digital souls. His Dark Ocean. The ocean beyond the Dark Ocean.
Everything grew colder. The vampire pulled his cape tightly around him, but the water had reached his waist and had soaked through most of the cloak. This was his shield, which no attack could penetrate, but it surrendered to water. If it was water.
"Angewomon…" he murmured, his mind spinning a picture of his angelic queen, wondering if he would ever see her again…
Angemon entered the room, his eyes beholding an unusual sight. Angewomon slept in the bed, but her face was scarlet from her intensifying fever. She seemed too weak to even awaken. Even stranger to his eyes, he saw Myotismon on the carpet, curled inside his cape, more exhausted than Angewomon.
"Angewomon?" he called out. "Myotismon?" he whispered.
Seeing that neither had even stirred, the angel grew concerned (mainly for Angewomon because he had never completely taken a liking to Myotismon.) Because he only knew about the presence of evil and not what sort of curse plagued either (if it were a curse), he hurried up several sets of marble staircases, each spiraling tighter and tighter before they reached the room at the top. It was a dome-shaped room with everything but the floor (and what was on the floor) made entirely out of glass. On the ground was a short pedestal, on which a blue light glowed. The angel silently walked to where the pedestal stood and concentrated.
As if it could read Angemon's mind, a beam of electric blue light shot out from the pedestal and widened until there was just enough room for someone to walk out of. A familiar, diminuitive, caped shadow appeared in the center, its edges becoming sharper and more defined as every second passed. With a dissolving sound, the light vanished, and an old friend of the angels and the half-angel stood where the beam of light had been.
"Wizardmon," the angel addressed the young sorcerer.
"Angemon," replied Wizardmon, seeing that since Angemon's face was solemn, this was not the time to be joyful about the reunion. "How come you summoned me? Is something the matter?"
"Yes…" replied Angemon, his mind seeming distant. "Yes, there is. Follow me." He escorted the wizard down the staircases and hallways until they reached the door at the end. He opened it to reveal that although Angewomon still lay motionless in the bed, Myotismon had stood up and appeared fretful and even to be panicking for the first time ever.
"Angemon!" exclaimed the vampire, rushing over to the angel and motioning to where his bride lay. "It's Angewomon… I'm so afraid of what it is…"
The angel, though feeling less discontent that his companion had awoken, was still overly concerned about his female counterpart. "Yes, Myotismon… I know… that is why I've summoned Wizardmon to help."
Wizardmon glanced at the angelic ones. "Me?…" He sounded taken aback at the thought of being treated as a doctor, but if it was for his best friend, then he would have to put his knowledge to the test. He gathered all his power and walked over to the bed. Then he removed every bedcover until he could clearly view the angel's entire body. He ran his hands over her and murmured an incantation, seemingly in a trance. Something began to glow an eerie, sickening green, but it was unknown to the others in the room. The incantation grew louder, and the tempo gradually quickened. Angemon and Myotismon exchanged glances, partially wondering what would become of Angewomon, but also wishing they knew exactly what Wizardmon was doing.
"Angemon?…" asked the vampire.
"Yes?" wondered the angel, appearing concerned for him but really for his own counterpart.
"Are you… familiar with… with… a dimension known as… the Dark Ocean?"
Before Angemon could answer, Wizardmon climbed off the bed and Angewomon awoke, gathering enough strength to prop herself up. She pulled the covers over her and rested her head back.
Wizardmon blinked his jade-green eyes, then looked into the desperate, wide, sapphire-blue ones of Myotismon, as well as Angemon's, who were hidden beneath his silver helmet. After gathering the heart to break the news, he sighed and said, "I can honestly say that Angewomon is not going to die…"
The other two breathed a sigh of relief.
"…yet," added the wizard, knowing what looks would riddle their faces. "She… was infected. Unfortunately, not by any man-made computer virus, which are curable by digital remedies. This… was a digimon-made virus…" He glared at the vampire. "…spawned by Myotismon!"
The vampire grew so unbelievably pale, his skin almost became transparent. "I… WHAT!"
The wizard, though he had grown more amiable towards the vampire over the months of his guardianship, suddenly grew bitter once again. "You have infected Angewomon! With the virus you created! And to make matters even more drastic than before, she is pregnant with your child!"
A gasp filled the room, and Angemon grew nearly paralyzed with rage. He advanced on Myotismon, who backed away from intimidation, shock, and fear, until the vampire's back was against a window. "You… bastard," was what the angel managed to say, intimidating everyone in the room because he had never dared curse before. "You miserable… loathesome… cruel fiend! First you fill her with children, then you infect all of them with your own virus… YOU ARE KILLING YOUR OWN CHILDREN!"
Myotismon stammered, "I—I didn't know—" before his scar began to glow more vividly than ever, burning deep into him again. Angemon was so overcome with fury, he thought the vampire deserved every last wave of pain from his mark.
"It's just like you to do something like that, Myotismon." Angemon spit out the vampire's name. "Even when you were still AngeMyotismon, I knew that you were not one to be trusted… and today you have proven me correct. No one in the history of the UNIVERSE would do something that cruel… that heartless!"
"I didn't… do it on purpose—"
"What makes you think I'll actually believe that, you womanizing freak?" Below them, the cloud spawned thunder and lightning to emphasize the rage he felt, and even the weather in the digital world felt the angel's wrath. "You were never an angel. You're not even a Vaccine type—you're a VIRUS!"
A Virus… a Virus… a Virus…
"You are not one of us! You never were! And now, you never will be again! HAND OF FATE!"
Before Myotismon could react, he saw a fist, then a beam of light heading straight towards his chest, forcing him back with such great might that the window shattered and the vampire fell to the balcony one floor below them. Glass rained down on him, cutting his limbs and slicing his garments. Angemon flew downward onto it, relishing the sight of Myotismon cowering before him, begging for forgiveness, holding one hand over his head and the other extended forward. Trembling, he glanced upward, and in an instant, he stood up and prepared to fight back, whether he wanted to or not. A rope of Crimson Lightning fell out of his right hand, and Angemon's fist began to glow.
"Don't you ever die?" demanded the angel. "HAND OF FATE!"
A beam of gold light flashed out of his fist, and hit… nothing. Angemon was slightly taken aback and assumed that the vampire had flown out of the way, but there was no evidence that he had. He glanced around, but saw no sign of him.
"Are you familiar with a dimension known as the Dark Ocean?"
Angemon lowered his arms in defeat. He knew it then.
The vampire didn't die.
To be continued…