116

Two Evils

"He had been for aeons…it was told in tradition and runes inscribed in a dead language, the language of Old Gods, and in the time when dark magical powers had battled for possession of the universe." – R. H. Barlow, "The Tomb of the God"

Demon listened to the IceDevimon's report with slitted eyes that burned even so with the blue found in flame.

"So, Dagomon," he said as his informant ceased to speak, "you have succeeded better than I anticipated. And in doing so you have delivered to me my prize." He addressed the IceDevimon in a louder rasp. "I'm leaving. You are dismissed."

As his servant bowed Demon opened a portal at his feet and sank into it. For a few moments he was wrapped in violet darkness, and his laugh echoed through the space between spaces as he thought of the fulfillment at hand. Then the purple glow gave way to gray sky, and below him was the darker gray of the plateau of Leng. Some distance ahead of him crouched the low bulk of the abandoned monastery, built before Demon's advent to the Dark World by an unknown group for the worship of unknown powers of Darkness. For many ages it had stood empty – until now.

Demon glided forward, as yet seeing no signs of habitation. He would have to reduce his size to enter the building, but he looked forward to pouring fire through its corridors as he searched for the Chosen Children – first and foremost for Ichijouji Ken, and the Dark Seed.

Still hovering, he was approaching the monastery's black entrance when there came a movement on the roof, about the level of his eyes. A man, or something that could pass for a man, stood there, and Demon recognized him as the mysterious visitor to his throne room.

"I've decided to refuse your offer," Demon said. "My own is that you hand over the Chosen Children… and the Dark Seed. In exchange I may consider not reducing you, all your allies, and this building to ash and rubble."

The Dark Man grinned broadly.

"You must be feeling generous," he remarked. "Unfortunately, I can't accept either."

"Then you will die," Demon answered, with no trace in his voice of the other's humor.

"It's a pity it has to come to this," the Dark Man said. "You have so many admirable qualities. But I was called here by the will of another, and I'm afraid I have a job to do." With a swift motion he crossed his arms before him, and the darkness of the plateau redoubled as he did so. "Mask Change! … Pharaohmon!"

With this new transformation the Dark One had retained something of his human features, though he stood taller than any mortal man, and the eyes in the golden death mask glowed with a redness undimmed by the atmosphere of the Dark World. He wore a whitish cape and breechcloth, and his body was fully wrapped in linen the color of tarnished gold. But for all his ghostly majesty the voice was the same as ever.

"You like that? 'Mask Change'? I fit right in."

"So you can change your form," Demon muttered, showing no surprise at the strange transition. "But that won't matter in the end." His hand arose, full of fire. "Flame Inferno!"

The pharaoh only smiled and held out before him his staff, topped with a gold serpent coiled into the sign of infinity. As the gout of flames approached its target there was a sudden change in the attack's behavior. The fires converged at a single point, and in another moment a dense ball of burning energy lay prisoned in the circle of the snake's body, like soap in a bubble wand – the lightness of the Dark One's manner inviting the comparison.

"You don't seem to have a very good memory," he said. "I hope you weren't expecting to kill me with that."

"Your tricks can only delay the inevitable," said Demon, bringing his hands together to conjure a more powerful blast of flame. As he hurled it the Dark One swung his staff, and the next moment there was an explosion that scorched the stone of the building and plateau for a hundred meters round. The smoke cleared, and each combatant saw the other standing unharmed. Demon spoke again.

"It is strange that I have never heard of you. You are one of the few I've encountered whose power can challenge mine. Just who are you?"

"Pharaohmon, at the moment," the other smiled.

"Don't play games with me," Demon snarled. Rather than resort to his fire a third time, Demon swept toward his opponent on his dark wings, hands at the ready with talons that glowed a dull crimson. As the distance closed between them, the Dark One raised his own arms – not in self-defense, but as if in invocation.

"Necro Mist!"

Even as the words formed something stirred at his feet. A faint purple mist, seemingly exhaled from the stones of the monastery itself, rose upwards like a phantom barrier. Demon's eyes narrowed at the development, but he did not slacken his speed. The wall of mist had now become a billowing cloud. In another moment Demon would meet it, but before any collision could take place the Dark One grinned toothlessly, and pointed at his opponent as if siccing a hunting dog. Instantly the purple mist surged forward, and in the instant before he met it Demon could see it taking the shape of a huge head – the head of Pharaohmon.

The next moment his entire body was enveloped in a chill like death. The mist seemed to sink into him, poisoning his data, attempting to corrode it away to nothing. He flexed his stiffened claws and wings in perplexed rage. It would take more than this attack to defeat him – much more – but in that moment he grasped the fact that this would be a battle unlike any other. He knew now that for perhaps the first time he faced a being with the capacity to destroy him. Fury erupted in him at the thought, and in a few seconds the clammy mist had burned away under his leaping flames.

"Nothing will stand in my way for long!" he shouted. "Die!"

A blazing wall advanced on the Dark One. Again he raised his arms in an imperious gesture, and the mists of death oozed out of the air and stone to answer his summons. A shrieking hiss arose where fire and fog collided, each obliterating the other. And through this chaos charged Demon. His talons tore into his enemy's regal wrappings, and the Dark One fell back under the assault, his staff knocked from his grasp.

"Flame Inferno!"

At such close range the flames could hardly miss, but no sooner had Demon released them than they were repelled, leaving the Dark One unscorched. As the fire cleared Demon saw why. Another object had appeared in his enemy's grasp – a body-length shield like the golden lid of a sarcophagus.

"How long will this childishness last?" Demon growled at Pharaohmon's placidly smiling face. "Your attempts to defeat me have failed. Why prolong your life with these toys?"

"Can't the game be played for its own sake?" the Dark One asked. "You'll miss out in the end, Demon. 'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.'"

"That's the second time I've been called a fool," Demon answered in a low but dangerous voice. "Dagomon's minions were destroyed for their insolence, and now you will join them." His wings stretched wide as his hands came together. Instead of flame, a sphere of glowing blue energy grew between his palms, lightning arcing across its surface as it grew. "Chaos Flare!"

The Dark One only raised his shield as the orb of radiance sped towards him. Then orb and shield met, and the combatants' surroundings seemed to vanish in a furious blast of light and a crash of deafening sound.

Somehow Anubimon had found his way out of the labyrinth of tunnels that guarded the terrible chamber where the figure of Sato's unknown master gazed down at the bottomless whirlpool. These upper halls seemed almost welcoming by contrast, though he remained essentially lost. Maybe in the end he would be left to wander the lightless passages forever, immured long after his last chance of helping the Chosen Children had slipped away. He could still find no hint of their presence. He knew his search was pointless, but a grim sense of duty and an unwillingness to think kept him going.

Then he did pause. Was it his imagination, or had the atmosphere changed somehow, become suddenly less oppressive? He tried to analyze the sensation. There certainly was no visible change – the corridor remained as dark as ever – but some underlying sinister quality in the air seemed to have lessened. For some reason he thought back to his earlier brooding on the spirits of Digimon he had condemned to this world. Was it their presence that was now missing? It seemed almost as if the dark powers had been called away by some imperious command. What if…

He raised a hand, invisible in the blackness, and held it open before him. He closed his eyes and focused his will on that hand. And after a few moments, a dim glow began to filter through his eyelids. Opening his eyes he saw that he was not deceived. A spark of light hovered over his open palm, taking various regular shapes – a cube, a pyramid.

"It's true," Anubimon said, his voice startlingly loud after the long silence. There came a hint of an echo, and he clamped his mouth shut. But there was the ghost of a smile on it. Ever since entering the Dark World something had been suppressing his holy powers. Now he had them back, if only in a very small measure. He didn't know the cause, but it didn't really matter. He had to find a way to put his abilities to use before they were stolen from him again.

Again he closed his eyes, concentrating hard. His senses gradually expanded. There was a chance now… the slimmest possible chance…

Then his concentration shattered. From somewhere overhead came a sound like thunder, and the stones of the monastery seemed to shudder as in a violent earthquake. Anubimon staggered. From places both far and near he heard the sound of newly made rubble falling. He couldn't imagine what had happened, and couldn't know whether it boded well or ill for him. Regaining his balance he ran around the nearest corner. As he'd suspected, the corridor beyond was now littered with debris – he could see it because great cracks had appeared in the stone roof, letting in the dim phosphorescence of the gray sky.

Anubimon wondered briefly whether it would be useful to fly out of the building through one of the rents in the stone, but he dismissed the idea. After all, he didn't know what it was out there that had caused such incredible destruction, and there was no guarantee that finding another entrance would help his search. Better not to expose himself unless he had to.

He tensed suddenly as the voice of the Dark One, strangely magnified, came down to him from outside. He couldn't understand what was said, but another voice answered – a voice he didn't recognize, and which unlike the other, deceptively jovial voice sounded openly hostile. Could there be a battle underway between the Dark One and something else? Who was the opponent that could thus stand against it? But for now he put the question out of his mind. The Dark One was currently occupied. Combined with the damage to the monastery and the partial return of his holy power, he had an unparalleled opportunity, one he might not have again.

He leapt over the larger stones in his path and sped back into the darkness of more reliable shelter. But the darkness was now far from complete. As he went, he tried to shut out the sounds from above. His heightened senses were intent on detecting any clue that might lead him to a Chosen Child, and a faint glow went with him.