32

Codes

"They walk unseen and foul in lonely places where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. The wind gibbers with Their voices, and the earth mutters with Their consciousness. They bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not forest or city behold the hand that smites." – H. P. Lovecraft, "The Dunwich Horror"

Koshiro was busy before any of the others had even arrived.

Koshiro: We need some plan of action, Gennai-san. The dreams seem more real now, and if the Dark Towers keep appearing…

Gennai: Yes, that's why I contacted you. There may be a way to locate whoever it is that is bringing the Dark Towers into the Digital World, but I'm going to need your help to implement it.

A brief smile, tired but genuine, crossed Koshiro's face as he started typing back. That was how the Digimon Kaiser's reign had been ended. The source of the Dark Towers had to be found. There was an eerie parallel between recent events and those first five months of battle in 2002. Koshiro, then and now, had watched as the grid that represented the Digital World was swathed in black. Battles had taken place, and squares had been liberated, but it was like fighting a cancer or a hydra; there were always more being consumed. The war of attrition had come to an end only when the enemy stronghold had been found and destroyed.

Koshiro: We'll do whatever we can, but now that the enemy is in our world all of us will be kept busy.

Gennai: Your help is all I need for the project. The younger Chosen Children can continue the work they've been doing until we're done. I'll assemble Tentomon and the others in one place, so when Daisuke's team gets here they can transport them to the human world.

Koshiro: Will they be able to evolve here? We don't know how powerful the enemy Digimon are in this world.

Gennai: One of the Holy Beasts will be able to supply the power to reach the Perfect level. Thanks to everyone's efforts they have managed to recover greatly from their imprisonment and the destruction of the Holy Stones.

That was good news, at least. The older Chosen had been wanting to help out since this all started, but were unable to assist much without D-3s of their own to open the Digital Gate.

He typed back:

Koshiro: What is your plan, Gennai-san?

Gennai: I have been working on a program to pinpoint the source of the distortion that allows the Dark Towers to appear in the Digital World. It is almost finished, but I think that the two of us working together will be able to have it up and running faster.

Koshiro: I see. Please send me what you have.

Then, as an afterthought,

Koshiro: The others will be here soon to discuss the situation.

Gennai: I'm sending you the code now. Tell the others what we've just discussed. If all goes well, we'll be able to end this within a few days.

After the program had been sent and farewells exchanged, Koshiro began looking over the code. It was a complicated construction, but he didn't think that it would be too hard a problem for the two of them to solve. After a few minutes he leaned back in his chair and stretched.

The promise of positive action had removed a weight from his mind. Burying himself in work would help to erase or at least submerge the lingering images of the previous night's dreams, visions of dim abominations capering through a trackless labyrinth…

He got to work as soon as he could, but it wasn't long before he heard the apartment's doorbell ring, followed by the sound of footsteps in the hall.

Tachikawa Mimi – Mimi Tachikawa to her neighbors – received the call from Japan late in the evening. She had been preparing for bed when her friends across the Pacific, having just greeted a new and imposing day, contacted her with news of the assault on Tokyo. Sora had been the caller. Because of the cost of long distance communication, the conversation was kept brief, but Mimi had gotten enough details to nearly turn her stomach.

It was not only the events Sora related that did it. The previous night's dreams leapt unbidden into her mind while she listened. She had been back at Digitamamon's dilapidated restaurant on Spiral Mountain. MetalEtemon was there, as were her fellow Chosen Children, but their partner Digimon were nowhere near, nor could her screams summon them. None of her friends moved. It was as if they were paralyzed at the sight of death's approach in the form of this chrome ape-thing.

Powerful metallic fingers fastened themselves on soft flesh, rending and pulling. Blood described grisly arcs in the air, Jou's arms were ripped from their sockets, Koshiro's head torn from his shoulders. A metal fist crashed into Yamato's face, and the boy fell to the ground with a puddle of red where his features had been. At last there was only Mimi, stumbling backwards until tripping over a large shard of stone.

The monster's feet clanked to a stop just before her. She raised her arms, but couldn't block out the sight of Etemon's psychotic grimace as his hands reached out for the last time to choke off her cries.

The horrible vision had faded as the day drew on, but Sora's call brought it all back in crystalline clarity. Now they were dealing with more than just dreams, and no one knew what terrifying scenes might soon play out in unforgiving reality.

Only a week or so before she had been in Tokyo for the anniversary of their entrance into the Digital World, before she or any of them had any idea that they would be called into battle once again. At the moment she wasn't sure if she could get her parents to agree to another trip, but she promised Sora and the others that she would be back as soon as she could manage. They would need her and Palmon. She would have to do her part regardless of the strain on her father's checkbook.

"Again?" asked Tachikawa Keisuke, blinking behind his tinted glasses.

"Why now?" was Satoe's question – then, as a possible answer came to her: "Is it something dangerous? Those monsters again?" Her voice rose quickly. She showed every sign of bursting into her usual hysterics.

Mimi sighed. Her parents loved her almost to death, as her American acquaintances might have said. They had never gotten entirely comfortable with her dealings with Digimon, even if they could accept Palmon. Back in March, when Diablomon reappeared, she had gotten their permission to fly to Japan only by frequent assurances that she probably wouldn't be doing any actual fighting, which had turned out to be perfectly true. She couldn't make the same promise again in good faith.

But she mentally swore to herself, her friends, and her partner, to get there somehow. All she had to do was balance her father and mother's protectiveness against their other parental trait – the inability to deny her something she truly wanted. And she more than just wanted this.

The torches burned steadily in Wisemon's study, without ever needing to be relit or replaced. The reason for this was a mystery, but a very minor one, and Wisemon himself never even paused to wonder about it. If he thirsted for mysteries, he need only pluck another volume off one of the shelves. They were like his Book, in a way, all of them about secret things. They explained many of the things that his own Book had mentioned, and through cross-referencing many things had become much clearer.

The various languages came easier and easier to him. He never tired of learning the Rites, tracing the Symbols, memorizing the Words of power and what they meant. His Book, the one he had followed through the desert to the Dark One, continued to lengthen as he and his unseen co-authors added to it line by line and chapter by chapter. Its bulk remained constant these days, and it never moved anymore, though it would tremble slightly whenever the Dark One came to check in on Wisemon's progress.

One of these visits had occurred just the previous evening. The Dark One had known which of the tomes Wisemon had already read through, and quizzed him for some time on their contents. The Dark One had seemed very pleased. Wisemon had drawn his patron's attention to the Book, which lay at the center of the petrified table. The Dark One had grinned and rested a hand lovingly on its open pages.

"I know this book well, too," he said. "I've seen it many times before, though never in this language. It is a good book – an engaging book. You know I'm mentioned in it? Me and some associates of mine. Take care of this book, Wisemon. It's a powerful thing, and I can't properly express how glad I am that I found you with it."

For his part, Wisemon was also grateful to fate for putting the Dark One in his way. The Book had always been a part of him, perhaps the most important part of him, but only now was he learning what it meant. He was learning what it could be used for as well, but any practical application was secondary to absorbing the information, to delving deep into the secret forces that lurked behind the world's mask.

Sometime in the night, after the conversation, he was reading one of the books and had come across the Dark One's name – his real name – and paused for a moment to shiver with rapturous understanding.