102

Messengers

"'In brief, I have postulated a monistic evil, which is the source of all death, deterioration, imperfection, pain, sorrow, madness and disease. This evil, so feebly counteracted by the powers of good, allures and fascinates me above all things.'" – Clark Ashton Smith, "The Devotee of Evil"

Iori had sat waiting in the blackness for hours. Further sleep was out of the question; he remained awake and meditated on tragedy because there was no other option. In addition to mourning for Armadimon he wondered what had happened to the others. There were no more sounds in this place than there was light – at least, there were no sounds he couldn't have imagined. Sense deprivation may have been responsible for the stealthy sounds he sometimes thought he heard. He'd moved little in all the time he'd spent waiting, not wanting to risk walking into some unseen peril in the dark.

He started to wonder if his captors were ever going to show themselves. Anything, he felt, would be preferable to this eternal dwelling on the death of his partner, the fate of the other Chosen Children, what had happened to Chiho, and what might yet be in store for her and everyone else he cared about. Had he been left here to suffocate while the enemy plotted the torment and destruction of his family and friends? There could be nothing more horrible than being buried alive… except being buried alive knowing he could not fulfill his duty to protect others.

He reached a point where there was nothing for it but to try and explore his dungeon before he went insane. He'd waited long enough, and there was no guarantee that he had anything to wait for. It was hard to move after sitting for so long. His body ached as if he'd spent too much time on kendo practice, or maybe as if someone had taken a shinai to him. That last nightmare came back to him, and his expression turned hard in the darkness. He had to get out of here, before the monster he'd faced down did still greater damage.

His movements were slow from caution, but it didn't take long to determine that there was literally no way out of the room. The realization nearly paralyzed him. The atmosphere grew close, as if he could feel the walls pressing in on him. Wait! Maybe the ceiling…? But what did it matter? Even if there was an exit above him, he would never be able to reach it.

He sat down again, heavily. He was trying his best to remain calm, but he'd been calm for about as long as he could. His breaths came deep and ragged, and again his eyes began to tear up. But it was at that moment that the awaited change finally came. The darkness began, if not to lighten, then at least to lessen. The gray, featureless room came into view, as if a curtain were rising. As he watched the change take place, Iori heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and looking quickly around saw Sato Katsu standing there before the reclosing wall.

Iori got to his feet, willing the tears away and hoping the man didn't notice them. For a few moments they stood still, each returning the other's gaze – Iori's cold, Sato's colder. It was Sato who broke the silence.

"What do you want to know?"

The question caught Iori off guard. Even so, the answer came quickly, and pushing aside his misgivings he gave it.

"Where are the others?"

"Interesting. That tended to be their question as well."

"Are they here, then?" Iori asked.

"What does it matter? There's nothing you can do whether they are here or anywhere else. Why didn't you ask what was going to happen to you yourself? Surely you care."

The scorn in Iori's expression became overt. "You probably wouldn't be able to understand," he said. "A person like you… can't have any friends." It almost sounded like a question.

"I have associates," Sato answered. "Friends are liabilities."

"You really can't understand," Iori said bitterly, shaking his head. Silence fell, and his look turned thoughtful. Sato waited, his dark eyes still expressionless. "Didn't you ever…" Iori began slowly, but the question trailed off into nothing.

"Go on," Sato prompted, a trace of his grimacing smile creeping into his features.

"I… don't understand," Iori said. He spoke with hesitation, unsure of himself. "But I want to understand. In the past, I met Ichijouji-san and Oikawa-san, when they were bad people, but they hadn't always been that way. They were both tricked. And now you—" He looked up, anger on his pale face. "You're worse than either of them. You've done… so much evil. You say you know the darkness is using you. Why?" He swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was firm. "I want to know why."

"You wouldn't understand me," Sato said with a sneer, "any more than I understand you. Maybe you will eventually, but I doubt it. You've lived in the light all your life. In your so-called Real World darkness is a purely negative quality, a mere absence of light. You cannot hope to understand me until you have lived in darkness – the true, positive, living Darkness – as I have done."

Sato spread his arms wide, the palms of his hands open, their fingers crooked. "Here! This is your first time in the World of Darkness. Physically, that is. I'm sure you've felt its touch before, as has any human being truly acquainted with sorrow and terror. This is your world, now. And perhaps, by the end, you will understand."

His arms dropped to his side and he advanced, Iori retreating step by step from the hatred burning in his eyes. The boy's attention was fixed on his captor, and neither of them noticed that the room's hidden entrance had reopened until a new voice spoke with the rushing sound of hot gas.

"Sato-sama, a messenger has arrived."

Sato turned his back on Iori and looked at the Troopmon.

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding irritated.

"One who speaks for the gods," the Digimon replied. There was a long silence. Finally Sato retraced his steps to the doorway. On the threshold he turned back to fix his cold eyes on Iori.

"I'm afraid that I am required elsewhere," he said. "I or my servants will see to you later. In the meantime, I suggest that you turn your thoughts toward what awaits you."

"Wait!" Iori cried, seeing Sato leaving. He ran forward, but the Troopmon intercepted him, the three metallic fingers of one rubbery hand clamping down on his shoulder and forcing him to kneel with the pain of the pressure. His hands still cuffed behind him, he could only remain there with his teeth clenched.

"No," Sato said. "There will be time later, I promise you. This will not end…until long after the Chosen Children have begged me for death, and I have had the satisfaction of denying it to them." He glanced at the Troopmon. "Hurt him some more, then return to your post."

And with that he left the room, and the wall shut behind him.

Sato found his visitor waiting outside the building. The creature's dark aspect suited it to its surroundings, though there was an awkwardness about it too. This was natural enough, considering that it was far from its usual habitat – for it was one of those things that Hikari had been fooled into thinking were Hangyomon, one of the Deep Ones that served no master but Dagomon. A little distance away was its mode of transportation: a black, serpentine creature with tenebrous wings, unmistakably related to the smaller being and also resembling a Digimon in form… an Airdramon, perhaps.

"Ia Ruruie," Sato said, looking over the strange messenger. "You are a long way from home."

"The journey was necessary," it replied in a deep gurgle. "I speak for the god we serve. I come bearing a rebuke, for the message should have been delivered to you directly. You have not kept yourself available, and have not heard the master's call."

"I have been busy," Sato said in a sullen tone. "I've been preparing the minds of the Chosen Children – molding their dreams – and have not had time to sleep naturally. It is because of my devotion to this work that the Chosen Ones are now in our power."

"Do not explain yourself to me," the Deep One said slowly. Off a ways behind it the draconic being flapped its great wings once and became still again. "It is your affair and not mine."

"What is the rest of your message?" Sato asked.

"The time that we have awaited for so long is nearly arrived," it answered, raising its clawed hands in a gesture of religious fervor. "Your efforts have not been in vain. The ripples of the years have become waves that before long will drown the light."

"Ia," Sato whispered. "Kutouruu futagun!"

"Yes," the Deep One continued, still solemn. "But there may be difficulties from another quarter. Demon has rejected the god's offer. You must be prepared if he decides to interfere."

"…Yes, I see," Sato said after a long pause. "But surely there is little enough danger. Demon's focus remains on the human world for now."

The Deep One didn't reply, only maintained the unblinking stare of its yellow eyes.

"There is no more to your message, then?" Sato asked.

"There is no more," it answered, "if you have heeded well these warnings from our god. Beware of Demon. There may yet be need to quench his awful fires. And do not allow your devotion to flag – you know that our god's demands must be met. Hear his call and follow his commandments. There is no other way."

"Of course not!" Sato said, anger coming into his voice. "Our god's word is law, and I will obey it. There is no need to lecture me. I have submerged myself completely in accordance to his wishes, and surely he knows it well. I accept his rebuke. You may go."

So saying, he turned round and walked back towards the black doorway of the great building behind him. The messenger said nothing more. It too turned, and having remounted the black-winged horror took its leave through the murky sky.

When the Troopmon's beating was ended, Iori lay again on the stone floor, too weak to try and follow it out the temporary door. He knew there was no position to lie in that wouldn't hurt, so he remained where he had fallen, unmoving. The Digimon hadn't wounded him – it was too blunt and puffy to deal serious damage – but he knew there would be many bruises left by the blows his handcuffs prevented him from fending off.

The pain was not great enough to command all his attention, so his mind naturally turned back to the encounter with Sato that the arrival of the "speaker for the gods" had cut short. He worked hard to reject the idea that pondering the situation was only an academic exercise. What he lacked in hope his sense of duty made up for. He would get out of here because he had to get out of here to help his fellow Chosen Children and the innocents in the human world. He tried to shut out the pain and concentrate on what had been said.

There seemed little enough to analyze. Sato had confirmed that he was now in the Dark World, a place that he had heard spoken of many times but never had the misfortune of visiting. Although Sato hadn't said so, his friends were probably here too. There was no reason why he alone might be spared – if one could call this being spared. Iori believed that Sato…and that other Thing…were capable of anything.

Sato Katsu… Where had he come from? Maybe some people were just born bad – an idea that Iori had held for a long time without giving much serious thought to – but his experiences in the past year or so had set him reevaluating his beliefs. And even if Sato had been born an evil person, how had he obtained his power? Where did his link to the darkness come from? Maybe there was an answer somewhere in their two brief conversations, but if there was Iori couldn't seem to find it.

That messenger… who were the gods it spoke for? Sato's masters, apparently. The thought of a yet greater evil turned Iori cold. His eyes watered again as he remembered Armadimon, and Chiho, and thought of what could happen to his friends and family members. Whatever the dark powers were planning, he had to stop it. He had to.