After a long respite, I return! (that probably didn't merit an exclamation point but oh well) Sorry to everyone who got confused by the underlining or lack thereof in the last chapter; I swear it was all there when I uploaded it…

Here we go…again…my apologies to non-Digimon watchers. If you don't understand, tell me and I'll clarify, but hopefully I do a decent enough job explaining.

And absolutely nothing is mine! I don't even own an obnoxious T-shirt!

Dark Chest of Wonders, Chapter Two: Someone Other Than Fëanor Decides Now Would Be An Absolutely Spiffing Time For

"Fly to a dream, far across the sea…"

"Never again!" vowed Maedhros to himself as he staggered off the bus, swaying slightly as he walked; next to him Raistlin's golden skin was burnished a bit with green. "Never again will I entrust my fate to any transport without horses!"

Then stop walking, mumbled Fëanor. Is it not enough that I am robbed of everything important to me and then forced to, through you, suffer the bitterest of humiliations? Must you whine about petty indispositions?

"The tunic is a strange coincidence," snapped Maedhros as he followed Ken (who was acting rather strange, come to think of it; Maedhros had never seen such quiet intensity in his life) into the tall building the boy had called his "apartment". "And it is only natural to be upset by new forms of conveyance." Nonetheless he cast a baleful glance at the lettering on his "disguise" tunic; the words "You're just jealous the voices don't talk to you!" blazed smugly back up at him. Raistlin, Maedhros noticed, was walking more hunched-over than usual as well: perhaps it was the fact that he had been forced to shrink his staff and hide it in his pocket, or perhaps it was to conceal the words "I'm the evil twin" written in large black block letters across the red tunic he wore.

"Come on," Ken snapped over his shoulder to his two nauseous companions. "We have to hurry!" He herded them into a small boxy room and pressed a button with the number "3" on the wall. With a lurch, the room began to move upwards.

Maedhros groaned and closed his eyes.

o0o
Lyon groaned and closed his eyes. This was it. He was done for. He couldn't run any longer; he'd never been athletic. So. This was how he would meet his final end. Not at the hands of his best friend and his companions, but sprawled on the sand alone on a dreary beach with a vicious monster giving chase. It didn't even make sense. Unless…was he doomed to die, over and over again, in one strange situation after another, until Whoever was manipulating his spirit decided he'd suffered an appropriate amount for his sins? He'd find out soon enough, he supposed.

"Father, I failed you, I'm sorry," he moaned as a shadow fell across him; then his eyes snapped open and he leapt to his feet again. No. No. He would not disgrace his father—rest his soul—the Emperor deserved a son with a worthier end! For his father's sake, for Ephraim's sake, for his own sake, he would fight, and fight well. He was not the only Necromancer in all of Magvel for nothing. Power unimaginable was his to command; yet if he did not use it, what good was it to him, to anyone?

His spellbook, his staffs: they were still with him. Opening Naglfar, his precious tome, finding the passage he sought, Lyon swept his cloak out of his way and raised his hand, calling his magic with all his might. One hit, that was all he would get in, one critical, critical hit that would determine his fate.

He hoped he had the strength to make it count.

o0o

They crashed into the apartment, Ken's footsteps setting a pounding tempo for his companions; he noticed Yolei's number flashing on the answering machine and clicked it on as he dashed through the kitchen, then came to a sudden stop as her panicked voice began to reverberate through the room.

"Ken! They're coming! They're angry at you! At all of you! You aren't safe! They're coming, and they—" There was a gagging sound, a thud, then Lucemon's voice chirping faintly, "How come when I make a fist nothing happens but when you do people turn purple and drop on the floor?"

"They got Yolei," Ken said to no one, stunned and chilled. "They hurt her. And it's my fault."

"What is your fault? Kindly elaborate on what's transpiring here!" Maedhros came up behind the boy, looking a bit pale and ragged still after the jostling, jolting experience that was the Tokyo public transportation system. From another room came a low voice: "Ken! You're home! Who's with you?"

"Wormmon, get the digiport up!" Ken called down a hall as he stuffed his goggles in his pocket, ignoring Maedhros (and Raistlin, who after having a coughing fit halfway down the hallway had caught up to the rest) completely. Sighing in frustration, the two doggedly followed him into a sparsely furnished room, where a small green insectoid—Ken's partner Wormmon—was working with a strange, glowing machine, tapping furiously on a pad with letters on it. With a blip, a window began to unfold itself on the screen…

….as the glass door leading to the terrace on the far wall exploded into a million shards and Lucemon, large and vampiric in his bird-and-bat-winged Falldown Mode form, forced his way in. Anakin and Roger dropped out of his arms onto the floor and drew their weapons: Anakin his lightsaber and Roger his wizard's rod. With a word from Raistlin, the Staff of Magius reverted to its original size; Maedhros drew his sword, hoping that it wouldn't unexpectedly burst into fire again.

"Time for payback!" Roger cried triumphantly.

Ken held his digivice out to the computer screen and felt another stabbing pain in his neck. "Yes," he agreed through gritted teeth, "but not for you."

Anakin wavered: "What do you mean?" he asked, but Lucemon charged in, screaming; Raistlin raised his staff to ward off the angel/demon's attack; Wormmon leapt into Ken's arms; the boy gave a terrific howl of pain and grappled at the back of his neck, sinking to his knees while still managing to choke out "Digi…Port…Open…."; Maedhros was about to ask once and for all just what in Eru Iluvatar's name was going on when he felt himself be sucked away, into the machine….or to strange dimensions beyond….

And then nothing but darkness….

o0o

Lyon's "life" was saved by a flash of light and an elf. The flash of light, because it blinded his opponent momentarily, and when it cleared gave him new prey; the elf, because it fell unexpectedly out of the sky directly on top of him, knocking him down once more but shielding him completely from any attacks.

\"You tampered with the digiport, didn't you?" he heard a young voice asking. The elf on top of Lyon groaned and opened his eyes—grey eyes, confused and crazed. "Um-hello," said Lyon, blinking, not sure what to say and exceedingly embarrassed. The elf's face turned redder than its hair and it hastily jumped off of the Prince's reclined body, stammering apologies. Nearby, more strange figures were getting to their feet: two men who looked like they might be magicians from their robes, though an empty scabbard hung off one's belt, a dark-clad swordsman with a battle scar slashed vertically across his right eye, only his blade seemed to be made of light, a strange winged creature that flashed with light once, then shrank down to the form of a small boy, who strangely upon looking around remarked only, "Dumped on a beach again!"

Turning from these strange sights, Lyon saw the reason why none of the newcomers—or himself for that matter—had been blown off the seascape by the giant, horned, wizardlike monster which had just moments before come very close indeed to destroying him. A lone figure, clutching tightly something green and moving, stood unwavering before it.

The figure, Lyon realized, of a mere boy.

o0o

"Of course I tampered with the digiport!" howled Daemon as Ken stared him down—or rather, up, as the Digimon had grown since Ken had seen him last. Once Daemon had towered above the buildings in Tokyo. Now he rivaled a mountain, his robes wide violet expanses, malicious glee dancing in electric-blue eyes the size of buses, the only features in the blackness between his pointed hood and wrinkled tall collar. "Do you think I would pass up the chance, now that I have absorbed Dagomon and become practically one with the Dark Ocean, to get back at you? Did I not swear it?"

"Yes," replied Ken, matching him blue-eyed glare for blue-eyed glare, an insect scowling up at the exterminator defiantly, "you did."

You forced me to make the choice, Daemon, you wanted my Dark Spore just like Oikawa, but while he at least traveled with known entities—and was threatening innocents, which at the time you were not—you were an enigma. You are still an enigma. Why me? Why my Spore? Why then? Why, if you could pass between worlds so easily, did you not show yourself until then? Who are you? What do you truly want? I locked you here, here in the Dark Ocean I could access only through channeling my darkest thoughts, the seeds of evil within me turned upon themselves and made to serve good, because I thought you could not reach me here, could not reach anyone.

And why take my friends?

He heard the others assembling behind him, weapons up; out of the corner of his eye he saw a young periwinkle-haired man, clad in rich yet tattered robes, whom he did not recognize. Who was that? But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore but Daemon. Daemon, who he and his friends could not kill, even with all their partners working together. Daemon, the unknown thrusting himself into Ken's life for such a short period of time, yet forcing him to do so much. Daemon…Daemon…Daemon…

Ken had suspected as much when his Spore, the awakener of evil within him, had begun to twinge. And never in his life had he more detested being right.

"And now," the giant Digimon was saying, one purply-blue clawed hand raised, cupping a ball of fire, "now revenge shall be mine…"

Wormmon yelled and threw himself at the fireball; an explosion of data from Ken's ready digivice and he was Stingmon, stronger and faster yet no match for the monstrosity before him. Yet the fireball never hit him. It was never fired at all.

Suddenly Maedhros stood proudly next to Ken, his flaming sword still stuck firmly where he'd thrown it: right in Daemon's leg. The gigantic Digimon yelled in pain as his robes caught fire, then threw himself into the ocean, grabbing the elf in the process. When he emerged, he still held the struggling Noldo in one hand.

"And who are you," sneered Daemon, "who dares come between me and my vengeance?"

The sodden elf stared straight at him, eyes luminous, grave, and sad. "One who would help you. Who wants to help you see what you intend can only harm you. Revenge is not the answer, I know from personal—"

"Enough!" Daemon flung him to the ground. "Evil Inferno!"

"NO!" yelled Ken, but it was too late. Maedhros screamed as fire erupted around him, in several places turning the sand to glass. Then he was still, his proud copper-red head now charred and smoldering, his clothes burned away in places, angry blistering welts on his arms. Ken ran over and cradled the elf's burnt body in his arms, blinded momentarily by tears. "No," he sobbed, "no…no…no…" Not again, not again! Why must everyone always die for me? No one else should suffer for my actions! Daemon's quarrel is with me alone! Why, Maedhros, why? Why did you think you even had a chance?

A burning-cold hand touched his shoulders; through tear-streaked vision he stared up into hourglass eyes. "Leave him to me," Raistlin commanded in his penetrating whisper of a voice. "I will tend his wounds. Go repay your debt."

Ken was relieved—Maedhros wasn't dead--horrified through his shocked sorrow. "You…you want me to die?" He'd called Raistlin his friend!
The mage smiled wryly. "Oh, you would think that, wouldn't you, you thick-headed guilt-wracked fool? But unsettled battles are debts as well, and yours with the creature yonder is not yet finished. Even now, he makes ready to eliminate the others. Yet you have on your side a power you had not before, a strength of which he is unawares. Don't be a moralizing dolt and in your goodness kill your "friends". If someone gives you power—" his face stretched in a grin, or the eerie impression of a grin—"use it!"

"Use it?" Ken repeated stupidly as he rose and faced his opponent once more; as he stood, his goggles and the Crest of Kindness tumbled out of his pocket. Looking down at where they lay, the pieces began to click into place. Stingmon could not defeat Daemon; his friends could not defeat Daemon; he himself, no matter what weapon he conjured for himself to use, could not defeat Daemon. But his friends, plus the one power that always eluded him due to the lack of one crucial component…

Ken strapped the goggles on and strode back to where Roger and the strange man were trying to maintain a very shoddy shield against Daemon's fire; Lucemon watched in awe as Anakin tried to nudge the angel into battle. For Maedhros ,he thought.

"Stingmon," he told his partner, feeling what he needed materialize in his hand, the Tag that would make his Crest useful at last, that would turn all the power his angry, lost, yet very determined soul contained into raw energy and data that would alter and strengthen his partner, "digivolve."