118
Hope
"Through all this ordeal his root horror had been isolation, and there are no words to express the abyss between isolation and having one ally." – G. K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday
It was the trembling of her cell that woke Miyako. An earthquake? Maybe, though perhaps not a real one. The hideous parasite seemed to have occasionally tired of tormenting her, but the visions it implanted in her mind remained difficult to separate from reality. She couldn't quite be sure when it had really left and when it was concealing itself by manipulating her senses. Illusions aside, the presence of the thing grasping her was awful enough. Her instincts told her – logic had abandoned her in her condition – that what she felt at this moment was real. She was in the cell, with the Parasimon's many appendages twitching before her. She heard its petulant whining in her ear, her brain.
"Now what is this?"
For the moment its attention seemed to leave her. She felt a little more lucid, and twisted about in an attempt to escape the monster's clutch. Meanwhile the shaking of the building had subsided.
"Stop that! Hold still," the Parasimon squeaked. There was a flash of blue as electricity surged through the tentacles, and Miyako went limp with a cry. The Parasimon tittered, but looked in confusion about the room even as it did so. Another tremor, more violent than the first, had begun. From above came a thunderous crack.
Something happened then, but it took a second for it to register on Miyako's mind. Then she realized that a great chunk of stone had fallen from the ceiling. Beneath it lay the crushed body of the Parasimon, its exposed tentacles still feebly writhing. A few seconds more, and the huge stone hit the floor as its victim disintegrated. The nasty thing attached to Miyako's back had also disappeared.
But although thankful for her torturer's sudden demise, Miyako remained locked in place by her handcuffs, unsure of what was happening and worried that any moment the Parasimon's fate might become hers as well. What was happening up there? A minute or two passed and the collapse was not repeated, though she thought she could hear other, more distant blasts. It definitely wasn't just another earthquake.
She remained in suspense for some time. No more large blocks fell from the ceiling, and no new Digimon appeared to harass her. The doorway through which her visitors had come still gaped open, left unclosed by the dead Parasimon. She stared into the dimness beyond it, but nothing stirred. It looked like the immediate danger had passed, at least, and for a while the discomfort of her position claimed most of her attention.
But then the silence was broken, if only slightly, by the approach of soft but rapid footsteps somewhere through the door and off to the right. Miyako wondered what was coming. She made an effort to brace herself for whatever this new being might be and what it might do, but felt too utterly drained to really do so. The padding feet grew louder. Then suddenly the runner leapt into view and stood framed in the opening, looking at her.
They took each other in at a moment's glance. To Miyako, the figure looked less sinister than the other Digimon she had met in this place, but that might not mean anything. A canine head surmounted a winged, humanoid body, but in the gloom she could make out few details, and the next instant her attention shifted to the sound of another pair of approaching feet. Soon the other newcomer came into view, and Miyako's mouth dropped open.
"Hikari-chan!"
"Miyako-san," Hikari said, stepping forward into the room. "You're alive. Thank goodness…" She closed her eyes, which were moist with relief. If Miyako was alright, perhaps all of the others would be too. As she drew closer to her friend, her face again grew troubled. Though still alive and whole, it was clear that Miyako had been put through a lot – if nothing else there was the cruelty of her restraints.
"Anubimon, would you help me?" Hikari asked, addressing the Digimon, who had remained respectfully quiet in the doorway. He approached and touched the handcuffs with fingers that glowed faintly, and they clicked open. Miyako stood where she was, rubbing her wrists and scarcely able to believe that this time she was truly free.
"Here, Miyako-san," Hikari said gently, handing her the bundle of her clothing that had been lying in a corner of the room behind her.
"Th-thank you, Hikari-chan," she said, taking them as her eyes welled up with tears.
"Are you… alright?" Hikari asked. "They didn't…?" Her voice trailed off.
"I… I'm better now," Miyako said. "But are Hawkmon and the rest really…?" She could see from the change of Hikari's expression that it was true. The encounter in the desert had not been a dream.
"We must go," Anubimon said, speaking for the first time. "Time is short, and there are still four Chosen Children to be found."
Hikari nodded. "Hurry, Miyako-san."
"Y-yeah." Miyako worked quickly to get fully dressed, pulling on the red pants, slipping on the vest and zipping it up. Shaken anew by the confirmation of Hawkmon's death, she was grateful for the presence of Hikari and the chance to find the others and escape. Without her friend's support she would have never found the strength to make the attempt.
The three of them passed together through the doorway and headed down a wide hall to another opening, blasted open minutes before by Anubimon.
"Hey, what's happening?" Miyako panted as they went on, trying to keep her voice low.
"There's a fight outside," Hikari answered. "Anubimon—"
"Hikari-chan!" Miyako interrupted.
"It's alright," Hikari said, nodding and not slackening her pace. She knew the cause of the exclamation, since she could see her light beaming ahead into the darkness, pointing out the way. "It's nothing dangerous. The light's here to help us."
"The light…" Miyako repeated. She recalled now the light that had come to them before in a dark hour, though it was a little more startling to see it emanate from Hikari herself. But then there had always been something special about Hikari. Her Crest, of course, was the Crest of Light, emblematic of something that stood apart from the traits of the other eight.
But Miyako didn't take the time to ponder about it. Her thoughts turned to the boys. She hoped they would find them soon, and find them as relatively unharmed as she and Hikari were. In the excitement of the moment she had almost forgotten about the pain she had suffered, and which had not entirely left her.
Not much time passed before the group's winding route came to a sudden stop. The ray of light had ceased to point ahead and for a moment lit upon one of the gray walls before fading out.
"Here!" Hikari said.
"Yes," Anubimon nodded. He raised his hands. "Please stand back. Ammit!"
In a few moments an opening had been made, and the girls stepped closer to peer into it. Anubimon's spark of yellow sprang up, and by its glow the three of them could make out the outlines of a small figure standing rigidly in the shadows of the breached room.
"Iori!"
"Miyako-san?" came the boy's voice. "And… Hikari-san." He stepped forward, giving Anubimon a quizzical glance.
"I am Anubimon," the Digimon said.
"He helped us get out," Miyako explained.
"I am Hida Iori," Iori said, bowing. "Thank you. Are you the one who attacked this building?"
"No," Anubimon answered. "I am a fellow prisoner. It's fortunate that such a distraction allowed me to act." And perhaps something else, he thought, remembering the strange coincidence – if it was a coincidence – of his returning powers. At the touch of his hand Iori's handcuffs fell to the floor.
"How can we find Takeru-san and the rest?" Iori asked.
"This way!" Hikari said, pointing down the hall as a pallid glow sprang up. "We'll follow the light. Another is close!"
Iori's surprise and curiosity could be plainly read in his expression, but the pragmatist in him realized that this was no time for lengthy explanations. If there never came a time when everything could be explained in safety, then there was little point in explaining at all.
Takeru stood, leaning with one shoulder against the wall. Much as it hurt his wrists, he continued to pull at the handcuffs, hoping against hope that something would give. With the cuffs on, there would be no chance of climbing out of this place. There was little enough chance if he could manage to get free of them. The blast from above had damaged the ceiling of his cell and one of the walls, but the ragged opening was a considerable distance above the floor. Still, with his hands free to reach, he might just be able to make use of the fallen debris to climb out of the room and begin his search for the others.
A flash of color against the leaden sky turned his attention suddenly upwards. He stifled an exclamation at the unexpected sight that met his eyes, but the next moment he realized that it made perfect sense. If this place was, as he had suspected, the World of Darkness, it was exactly where Demon had been left after his battle with the Chosen Children. Could he be working with Sato and the rest? But he seemed to be fighting something… A defensive halo of fire ringed him, though it faded as Takeru watched.
Given the angle and the relative narrowness of the hole in the ceiling, Takeru could not see what Demon was looking at. The Dark One still stood, his shield cracked and his golden wrappings no longer immaculate, but without apparent injury. He and Demon eyed each other in silence for a moment, and then the Dark One hefted the lid of Pharaohmon's sarcophagus and hurled it with one arm.
"Tut-Ankh-Lyl!"
"What are you thinking?" Demon muttered, releasing bolts of purple energy from one hand. The barrage of beams struck the Dark One's projectile in many places, shattering it completely into golden chunks. But the pieces still came on, seeming to actually pick up speed. From below, Takeru saw the razor-sharp fragments embed themselves in the fabric of Demon's robes. Then, with an angry growl, Demon launched himself towards his enemy, and disappeared from Takeru's view.
What's going on up there? Takeru wondered. Then, remembering his plan of escape, he began to work again at the handcuffs, gritting his teeth at how they chafed. He hoped that there would be enough strength in his wrists and wounded limbs when the time came to hoist himself out of this pit.
But that was a pointless concern. Takeru knew, though he couldn't admit it to himself, that those handcuffs were not coming off. He had been pulling and prodding and fiddling with them for a long while now, trying the same strategies over and over, because he could not lie there and do nothing while his friends suffered. Sato Katsu had said his goal was to convince Takeru of the stupidity of hope. Yet without hope he had nothing. He refused to give in – to cease to hope, he felt, was to die.
Not that hope was easy. Hope was hard. Four years ago it had seemed a little easier, when he was younger and more naïve. It had literally saved his life in Piemon's realm, where his denial of impending doom had triggered the Super Evolution to HolyAngemon. But here? Here he had no partner Digimon. Patamon – Takeru fought back a muffled sob – Patamon was gone. He might escape the handcuffs, escape the cell, but what then? What could he do in this dark world, with his friends in straits even more dire than his own?
He hoped because he could do nothing else. To cease to hope… That meant hell. That meant the end of his humanity.
Suddenly something else claimed his attention. From the adjacent room or hallway he detected a sound that was not the sound of the now-distant battle. He thought that it was the sound of footsteps. The person had been running, but as they approached their pace slackened, almost seemed to become more cautious. He heard the shifting of rock, and it occurred to him that the person had to be crossing the pile of debris that must lie on that side of the wall.
A louder sound came – stone sliding and rattling, and then the stumbler's silence was broken by a cry of mingled surprise and pain. And Takeru recognized that voice.
"Ichijouji-kun?"
The call was out of his mouth before he could think better of it. Another moment of quiet. He waited in suspense. Then:
"Takeru-san?"
Takeru let out a sigh of relief. The last ember of his hope began to burn a little brighter.