A/N: I can't believe we're already halfway through! Anyway… this ties to the previous chapter. And there have been some reviews that address certain character actions, but they will be justified in here. Also, there's another flashback.
I don't know if the mask is an extraneous part of Myo's evolution or not, but in this story it is. Oh, and the explanation of the "blood" portion of his Crimson Lightning might upset the faint of heart.
By the way, I changed the rating to be safe. Some elements of this story might upset younger readers and are not for the faint of heart.
Chapter 5
The Return of Toxidramon
Angemon had returned to Angewomon's side, knowing that he should not be wallowing in his own self-pity like the vampire on the other side. He entered the chamber alone at his request and laid his eyes upon the terrible sight. His female counterpart—so close she was like a sister to him—lay limp in her bed, seemingly lifeless, while the life form inside her began to enter its very first stages of growth. With her helmet removed, her face glowed a feverish red hue as perspiration meandered over her skin and through her hair. Her eyelids were shut and her mouth was open, letting agonizing moans escape through it with each breath.
"Angewomon… I'm here for you," said Angemon, kneeling at the bedside and enclosing Angewomon's slender, lifeless hand in his gentle yet strong grip. "Please… I don't want you to die… we've been through so much… speak to me, my dear, and let me hear your voice…"
The angel maiden's eyes opened, and her Champion-level counterpart let out a sigh of relief.
"Myo…" she said weakly, brushing her other hand against Angemon's face and feeling the cool metal of his helmet. "Where… is… Myo? Why… is he… not here?"
Angemon felt his stomach plunging through the floor, and he sqeezed her hand more tightly. Negative thoughts bombarded his mind, each more grave than the last. Should she know about Myotismon in the Dark Ocean? She would be devastated to know… but if I told her that he was the one who created the virus, and that she is with child… He opened his mouth to speak, but no words escaped. He despondently shook his head. I wish I could… but something is holding me back.
"I wish I knew, my dear Angewomon…" he finally managed to speak as he cradled the maiden's hand in his. "But I can sense that he will return soon." With this assurance, Angewomon fell into a deep, heavy slumber, and Angemon quietly left the room. Although he was disinclined to do so, he knew he had to find Wizardmon.
Silently, Myotismon drew himself away from the tidepool, filled with anguish and self-pity. His face appeared even paler than before, and he felt himself shake. He placed his hand to his face and felt for the smooth, metallic reassurance that his mask was still present. Everything was; the firm ridges of the bat wings protruded from the edges.
"You look a little pale there, Myo-sama," said a familiar voice from near his feet. "Why don't you sit down?" he suggested.
Glancing downward, Myotismon saw that DarkTokomon had advanced past its In-Training stage to the Rookie DemiDevimon. It seemed as if the vampire were gazing through a mirror and saw himself when he was four years of age, and doomed to work under the servitude of Toxidramon for twenty-one long years… it had everything, from the same ebony wings to the ice-blue eyes that could freeze the blood running through his enemy's veins and could also petrify him with fear. It was frightening to see such a resemblance, but the vampire refused to say anything about it. The greatest wonder of all was how he could have digivolved all this way from Poyomon in such a ridiculously short amount of time. It had taken the vampire twenty-five agonizing years to reach his Ultimate stage; Poyomon's transformation took barely more than a day.
"Tell me," asked the vampire, "how long have you resided here?"
"Six months," replied DemiDevimon. "I've learned almost everything there is to know about this place from the prophecies in the lighthouse."
"Wait… I thought you said you had never been inside it before."
"No, I said that it was probably reserved for you, because none of it really fit my taste. There was all that literature I couldn't understand… the prophecies I could, though, so I looked through those… and then there's the candles on the wall and the drink cabinet I couldn't ever open. I don't know what you thought about those paintings on the walls, though…"
"I prefer the tapestries in my castle… I mean, also in Heaven everything's lovely as it is." How could I have said that? It's like I prefer my musty old castle to the endless sanctuary of my true kind. Unless… Myotismon felt the pain surging through the scar on his chest, and his head began to spin.
"Come," said DemiDevimon, motioning to a nearby rock that stuck out of the sand and was the perfect height for sitting on. "Sit down." Now that he was DemiDevimon, kindness on his part was regarded as suspicious behavior. However, as Myotismon ventured towards the rock, his intuition reassured him that this would not be any sort of deception.
"What always helps me," suggested DemiDevimon as the vampire—still shaking—sat nervously on the rock, "is staring at the waves. They just… hypnotize me and make me forget my troubles in an instant. You see, the Dark Ocean isn't made of water, despite what legends say. It might seem like water, but it's extremely concentrated dark thoughts and feelings of every being who ever existed… at least those born with original sin. Animals don't think dark thoughts; their lives are based on instinct. Humans and Digimon have knowledge of good and evil, and that knowledge leads to darkness in some areas. Every time a human feels depressed, or angry, jealous, abandoned, or anything negative, the darkness from their hearts feeds their own personal Dark Ocean, and then when that human overcomes their feelings, they're emptied into this one. That's why it's so cold and compressing all the time. I learned that from one of the books in the lighthouse."
Myotismon looked at the waves, and instead of rolling in like the tides, they crashed onto the sand with a mighty force, still with a steady and hypnotic beat. All he could see was the silver meeting the grey and boring away at it, creating a new formation in the coastline, only to rip that away as well… he could sit there for hours… he could feel his heartbeat, and it was one with the ocean… everything was unnaturally tranquil.
"YOU!" bellowed a familiar raspy voice so close to the vampire he returned to reality. His scar began to hurt like hell, amplified by the presence of evil. Myotismon whipped himself around and gasped to see a horrific sight.
"Toxidramon!" he exclaimed, leaping off the rock and entering a defensive stance. "What are you doing here?"
"This…" snarled the half-man, half-dragon Mega through clenched teeth, "… is my home. And now you come to intrude on my territory and steal it from me like you have done with Server. Nightmare Castle, BAH! Well, I won't let you get away with this! I'll see you in DigiHell, bastard! FLAME OF GRENDEL!"
Myotismon could not have leapt out of the way in time. The fireball that was unleashed from Toxidramon's mouth billowed out in a blaze of poisonous flame. It hit him directly on his right breast, searing his pale blue skin and ripping it apart. He felt the venom infusing itself into his veins, and the pain was too overwhelming for him. He clenched his teeth and ground them together as he fell helplessly to the sand.
"Demi…Devimon…" he managed to cough out, "…help me, please!"
But DemiDevimon was nowhere to be seen.
"I sent your little friend flying away out of fear. Some friend he is," scoffed the hybrid. He gave the vampire a smug glance and added, "Not so powerful now without your cape to shield you, I see. Why, look at that awful scar on your chest! I'd hate to see it after I'm through with it! TOXIC CRUSHER!"
The beam of green light bore directly into the scar, increasing the already agonizing pain tenfold. It was so intense the vampire bit his tongue and clenched the sand in his fists, not wanting anything but to die. Perspiration dripped down his face, mingling with the salty tears squeezed out of his eyes. He could not see in front of him except the flashing lightning bolts and sparks only he saw. Agony bubbled into his mind, clouding everything else out, especially Angewomon… the evil in the scar wanted him to forget about her. Every single memory from his past flashed before his eyes in the most horrific montage known to him. Every human, henchman, and world he hurt confronted him, and he wanted to collapse.
"ENOUGH!" the vampire shouted for the first time in his life. He was ready to surrender to Toxidramon as long as he stayed away from the scar…
Toxidramon bared his yellowed fangs in a smile. "Enough, you say? I've been waiting here for 775 years in this limbo, my hatred for you growing with each passing day. You never stopped when I had enough, and now the tables have turned. I'LL say when you've had enough! I WILL RIP YOU FROM TOP TO BOTTOM! TOXIC CRUSHER!"
Relying on his reflexes brought on by years of training, Myotismon finally darted out of the way, and the concentrated toxins hit the rock and exploded it. Toxidramon grew even more enraged.
"CRIMSON LIGHTNING!" The vampire unleashed a whip of his own electrified blood at the dragon, hitting him in the chest and causing him to fly backwards with his front legs in the air like a horse on the battlefield, screaming in agony. Suddenly, Myotismon realized that he no longer held the upper hand; his Elysian Sword had not been taken to the Dark Ocean with him. Toxidramon skidded on the sand, then came to a halt, staring into the vampire's ice-blue eyes with his piercing venom gaze. Suddenly, Myotismon had done something that he had not dared after he became a being of light. His stare filled Toxidramon's veins with stinging ice, and the same scene from his childhood replayed itself.
He knew he had to flee and find DemiDevimon, but Toxidramon had recovered from the blow. "FLAME OF GRENDEL!"
The vampire felt the flame penetrating his cape into his back, knocking him into the sand. He sputtered as it filled his mouth and he tasted its bitterness. Turning over, he saw Toxidramon looming over him, Toxic Crusher in his hand like a whip. He held up his hand in defense.
"Well well well, this scene looks familiar," remarked the dragon. "Where could we have seen this before? That's right, it was when you were Devidramon, and I was about to give you your taste of death. Looks like you're defenseless now. Look at you, all skinny and fragile, covered with so many scars and no armored clothing. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were an angel."
Celestial Mode.
"Last time I checked, you were wearing that blue military suit… and no mask. What could you be hiding under that thing, anyway?" He withdrew the Toxic Crusher and leaned downward, restraining the vampire with his spiked tail. As he writhed out of agony, Toxidramon chuckled and removed the white mask that covered Myotismon's face, throwing it aside. There was the crimson scar, slashing across his eyes like a bolt of Crimson Lightning, standing out starkly against his pale blue complexion and sapphire eyes. Myotismon surrendered; he was fully exposed now, and there was nothing he could do. He helplessly lay on the bed of sand, all hope drained from him. Toxidramon chuckled. "I knew you wore a mask, Myotismon, but it was only to conceal this? The scar I gave you when you disobeyed my orders? Pathetic."
The vampire lay still, not saying a word, as Toxidramon removed his tail from the vampire's body.
"I wonder if you'll take a liking to this, then! TOXIC CRUSHER!"
Not slowly enough to produce an actual scar, the dragon whipped his attack directly into Myotismon, starting at below his neck and going straight down his torso, hoping to mangle the vampire's manhood. Fortunately for Myotismon, the two silver belts around his waist and his white trousers unexpectedly reflected the Toxic Crusher back at its owner, forcing him backwards once again and causing him to writhe in agony.
Myotismon tried to stand up, but everything between his neck and his navel hurt like none other. Once again, the cross-shaped scar on his chest overpowered all, and everything he had repressed over the years came flooding back. He wished he could never be immortal again.
"That does it, you TRAITOR!" he could hear Toxidramon shouting. "It's time you returned to your life as a servant, the way it should be!" He threw an orb at Myotismon, who fell into a deep, painless sleep.
The scar still infused anguish into his mind, even in this dormant state. Everything continued from where the tidepool left off, only it had jumped forward several years. Toxidramon's palace had been transformed into Nightmare Castle, and as a result, Digimon strived to avoid it because it had become even more frightening. Legends were told of a vampire who stole into villages on Server and File Island in the dead of night and whisked the innocent into his castle and tormented them until they became completely loyal. This was true, with the exception of the Bakemon, who chose to serve him because he promised them an entire castle on a mountaintop instead of a church on a hilltop. Myotismon had become legendary and was slowly gaining control of the desirable portion of the main digital continent; however, he was becoming more discontent than ever because several of his servants were inquisitive about the blemish on his face.
"Master Myotismon," wondered the Bakemon whom the vampire had selected to be his right-hand servant, "what is that red line across your face? All of us Bakemon have been wondering it for quite some time, and you have never told us anything."
Although the Bakemon were servile to this authoritative master, the vampire knew that they would only serve a true leader. If he told them the origin of that scar, they would know that he, the one whom they called "Master," had once been a servant like themselves. They would never be a servant to a servant; no, that was beneath them. Myotismon would never let them know. He could not.
"It's a birthmark," he fibbed a little too quickly. "I've always had it."
"That's nothing to be ashamed of!" exclaimed the right-hand Bakemon. "I have something to be ashamed of." He motioned to the black slash that crossed over his left eye. "I got this scar when I fought a Rookie and lost."
At least you fought for it, thought the vampire, touching the blemish on his otherwise perfect face. And you fought an equal, and not your master…
"Could… could I be alone, Bakemon?" wondered Myotismon, motioning to the door of the study. Obediently, the ghost flew out without another word, and the doors slammed shut.
The vampire hurried over to a mirror that was covered in dust and wiped the surface clean. Through the dirt and grime he saw nothing except the dark interior of the study. Running his hand over his mouth, he felt the pinpricks of his fangs and remembered that he was a vampire; therefore he was unable to cast a reflection. He banged the mirror with his fists and laid his head on the desk beneath it, crying "Why, damn you? Why must I take on this horrific form?" He banged the desk once more and realized that this would take him nowhere, so he despondently slunk out of his study and up to his crypt. Along the way, he passed packs of Bakemon who bragged about the scars they had earned in battle against stronger Digimon, holding himself as upright as he could and attempting not to show how impure he was compared to these true fighters. His right-hand mon was nowhere to be seen.
Finally, he reached his crypt at the top of the largest tower in the castle. His velvet-lined casket remained open, while the crimson carpet embroidered in gold lay beneath it, spreading around the entire floor. Horrific tapestries depicting death and suffering covered the stained-glass windows that encircled the entire room by day, but it was during a severe thunderstorm in the dead of night, and rain pounded mercilessly against the windowpanes. Between every other window was a torch that constantly burned. A tarnished chandelier adorned with dust and cobwebs hung from the ceiling and had never been used. One of the windows led to a ledge that overlooked the entire north side of Server, with a stone angel standing sentinel.
Rain pounded even harder against the glass. Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the wind howled. It was the ideal setting for a horror movie. Quickly, Myotismon shut the heavy wooden door to the crypt and locked it. He would not let anyone see him… not in this condition. Silently, he remembered the viewing orbs that he could produced and wondered if they would allow him to see himself. He let a crystal bubble roll out of his hand and hover in the air, growing until he could see his face.
There he saw it; the crimson scar stood out starkly against his skin and drew attention away from everything. It pained him to even see himself that way, and he knew that he needed to hide from himself. He tried to glance into his eyes, but they were drawn back to the abomination on his face. It was impossible to ignore, and even worse, the vampire had heard that it glowed whenever he attacked. Glowed, for Goddramon's sakes! That made everything even worse. He was a slave, a slave even lower than the Bakemon. Eventually they would discover Myotismon's terrible secret, and then every final servant in his castle would never respect him… unless he knew how to hide it.
The viewing orb disappeared, but Myotismon still knew what lay on his face, right across his eyes. This was more than a mere blemish; this was the very symbol of his past. If only he had chosen to conceal it when he digivolved… if only he had a helmet like those angel Digimon… but he had to be this damned vampire!
Enraged at himself, Myotismon cried out and ripped his blue tunic apart, exposing his chest. Then, with his fangs, he tore slits down each sleeve until his wrists were exposed. He rushed over to the nearest window.
"CRIMSON LIGHTNING!" With one whip, he blasted a jagged hole in the glass, and the wind caused some of the pieces to blow in.
Unyieldingly, the vampire picked up a blood-red shard, the sharpest he could find. He attempted to slash his wrists open, but all it created was a mere scratch. Remembering he had fangs, he placed his wrist against his dagger-sharp canines, dug them deep inward, and dragged his arm across until a deep slit was created. Relishing the feel of his own blood escaping his wounds and tasting the salty liquid in his mouth, he sank his fangs into his other wrist and did the same. Rainwater mixed with the blood as he held them upwards and let his life trickle down his arms… and now to plunge a piece of glass into his chest and end this horrible chapter in his life—
Bakemon flew into the room, phasing through the door. "Master Myotismon, what are you doing?" asked his right-hand minion.
The vampire glanced at the ghost, half enraged for allowing him to live another day, the other half grateful for the same.
The lead Bakemon glanced at his master's wrists and said nothing. "Allow me to bandage them, sir, so you'll live."
"I have no will to live anymore," replied Myotismon, still staring at his life escaping him.
"But master, we made you a mask so no one would have to ask you about your… birthmark anymore." He presented the vampire with a crimson mask that had bat wings for tips. "We figured that since you are a vampire, after all, you need something bat-related… but first, let's stop the blood." He tore two ragged piece off of his sheet and tied them around his master's wrists. They immediately turned from white to crimson. Then, with honor, he placed the mask on Myotismon's face, and suddenly the vampire felt a sense of contentment. The only thing that could have been better was if he had never been scarred at all…
Everyone who worked for the vampire from then on knew he wore a mask, but they thought that it was a viable part of his evolution and thought nothing of it. As for the slits on his wrists, they had never healed. They did not become scars, but instead became outlets to amplify the amount of his Crimson Lightning—Myotismon's own blood charged with the power of lightning. He wore cuffs over them to harness the lightning into a whip, which added to the irony. The scars he had initially received because of servanthood had become what he used against his own servants.
Angemon found Wizardmon in their study, paging through a book of potent digital viruses and their antidotes.
"Angemon," addressed the young wizard without looking up. He could sense the angel's presence in the room.
"Wizardmon, have you found a cure for Angewomon yet?"
"I wish I have, Angemon, but this takes time." The wizard sighed, feeling weary in his mind. "There are very powerful potions that can counter the virus in her system, but I'm afraid it will…"
"What?"
"Well… wouldn't it harm her baby? We do want both of them to live, don't we?"
"But… Wizardmon, we don't know what this child will be like! For all you know, he could be a Virus like Myotismon…"
"No, Angemon. I know that there are great things in store for his son, and prophecy says that he will be one of the keys to restoring balance in the universe. We must help him and Angewomon live…" His eyes lit up, remembering something. "Wait… I realized that all this is in vain!"
"What do you mean?"
"Since Myotismon created this virus himself, he would obviously know the antidote. I don't know what he put in it, but he knows which ingredients balance each other! If he knew… if he wrote it down and left it in his castle, then we could find it!"
The vampire awoke in a dungeon cell that very night, his head still swimming from the terrible poison running through his veins, his front side aching from the Toxic Crusher, and his scar burning like none other. He remembered the slits in his wrists, and felt not only flawed, but filthy. There he was, stuck in Toxidramon's castle in the Dark Ocean… once the angel that had saved two worlds. Where was AngeMyotismon, and how come he chose not to live like that? He could have selected the path of Angemon, after all…
Regardless, Azulongmon appointed him to the title of Dark Archangel of the Digital World. He was the one who mode changed Myotismon to Celestial Mode and gave him this ridiculous costume that could only protect him where the white covered his skin… why did it only cover his limbs, neck, shoulders, and lower torso? Why not where it truly mattered, where most of the shots were aimed?
To prove that he was more powerful, that was why.
Azulongmon created the angels' costumes, and their attire was so scanty because of the power that they possessed, not because they were vain and wanted to show off their bodies. They were not in need of fancy armor or a special force field to prove they could fight until the end. They had nothing to hide; no other means of strength except themselves. Myotismon was powerful as it was, and his cape and uniform merely provided an extra s" hield. The Celestial Mode cape possessed no means of protection, so it was up to the vampire to fight, to hone his potency and use it to its fullest extent.
If only he knew.
Azulongmon… why have you forsaken me? Is it because I am becoming evil again?
I have nothing to my name. My mask, my last shred of dignity, was ripped off by Toxidramon. My body is covered with battle scars, and the one on my chest hurts so much I want to die.
Why did you ever make me immortal? I want to die right now, in a pit of my own worthlessness.
Why could I not have been Angemon instead? Or AngeMyotismon, or Ange- anything! I no longer even deserve the title of "Celestial Mode." I am nothing but the vampire Myotismon, reduced to this. Why?
Suddenly, he remembered.
"It doesn't matter whether or not you are an angel," Angewomon's voice echoed in his mind. He knew it was from that very night they moved to their heavenly citadel. "To the world you may either be an angel or a vampire, but to me, you'll always be my dark archangel."
Angewomon.
Somehow, he had forgotten completely about her; just shut her out of his mind!
His will to live rested in her, and only he held the cure to her virus.
And his unborn son… how could he have forgotten about him?
Angemon… Wizardmon… the Digi-Destined… Wizardmon's new human partner Rena Yuriko… Earth… Digiworld… how could he have forgotten about them?
Although he knew he was slowly becoming evil again, he knew he had to escape the clutches of this digital Hell before it was too late. Not for himself, but for the worlds to which he belonged.
To be continued…