Chapter 7: Halloween contest
Edward took a deep breath of night air. It even smelled like the real thing, he noticed. Clean and fresh and somewhat cold against his skin, he knew the air was but an illusion in a world created as such. The only place where he forgot that fact was Overdell cemetery. He longed to go back there. But the task had to be done, he reminded himself, if he wanted that island for his own.
He made his way up to the collapsed building. Those ruins, just like everything in them, were of Leslie's making. She had told him that she needed them as a foundation for the rich and glorious mansion she was going to build on top, but when she had never finished the structure, he had started to wonder whether that was true. The illusory mansion's code Titus had laid above the ruins had been deactivated or taken out altogether, and a viewer emerging from the woods at the foot of the mountain was greeted by broken down stone walls surrounded by an air of decay. It dawned on him that Leslie might not have found an actual method to keep the other two out—at least not one that involved code.
When he reached the building's perimeter, he felt uneasy. There was rubble as well crashed down beams and blackened walls everywhere, but no embers or vermin, since the ruins had only ever been programmed to be a broken down structure made of stone and heavy wood, not to actually burn down. It seemed as though everything inside was in a state of everlasting decay, as if time had stopped just after the fictitious catastrophe had happened.
In he went, treading carefully where large beams had come down and shattered into pieces, raining countless splinters on the ground. Although the building would have been quite massive if it had been intact, parts of the ruins could not be reached, leaving only few choices for a path. The last thing he needed was having to search his way around in a maze.
A few minutes of wandering the ruins passed and Edward had not yet found his colleague. Maybe she had gone back to the real world, he considered as he came to a halt. But then again, he knew her to go home even less than he did. Maybe it was because both of them did not consider the real world 'home' anymore.
He looked around the room he was in. It was one of the better preserved ones, with more or less intact stone walls towering at three sides, one leading into an archway filled with rubble. He noticed that this was also a dead end to his route, with the only usable entrance to the room being the one he had come from. He was about to turn around and try out another of the few available paths, when something caught his eye. It was a kind of unevenness on the otherwise ordinary floor. He walked over to inspect it, finding a rectangular shape that seemed to be embedded in the ground. He felt over it. It was unlike the cold stone floors around it. Painted wood, he deducted, which had even been made to look like the rest of the ground. He felt over what he thought to be a kind of hatch for a handle, his fingers finally touching something that felt different. A little metal handle that had been painted like the rest of the contraption could be turned up. He pulled on it until the hatch gave way. It creaked softly as it opened and finally revealed a hole in the ground.
"Leslie?" he called out into the darkness.
He knocked tentatively, the metal door hard and cold against his knuckles. He had found it at end of the corridor the hatch had led to. Now he was waiting in near darkness, the only light coming from faintly glowing runes on the walls. Neither of them knew what they meant; they had just started appearing when they had set the A.I. to work.
"Who is it?" called Leslie's voice from inside, its sound muffled by the heavy metal door.
He stated his name. A moment of silence passed, then he heard shuffling on the other side. A lock was turned and the door was opened. The pale yet handsome face of Myotismon greeted him, its eyes glittering behind the mask it wore. Whenever he saw it, front covers of badly written novelettes about mythological creatures and women walking home alone in the dark sprung into his mind.
"Hello, Edward," it greeted him.
Its cold, clear voice reminded him that Myotismon was nowhere near a character in a bestseller for bored housewives. It was the first Ultimate level Digimon in the Digital World and one of the strongest at that. He still remembered the surprise and awe he had felt when Leslie had unveiled her newest creation, a Digimon that was the only one of its kind at that time. Sure, following Leslie's success with the new level of power, Titus and Kennedy had started creating many Ultimate Digimon, all of them scattered about the Digital World. Hell, Kennedy had even programmed one of the strongest ones as a mere joke, a singing ape-like Digimon that thought itself a celebrity and musical genius. But despite all their efforts, he knew Myotismon to be a thorn in their sides, simply because it had not been their idea.
The Digimon let him step into the room. It was dimly lit and smelled of scented candles, a paradise for an introvert misanthropist like Leslie. The woman in question sat on a richly ornate ottoman, looking at him with wide eyes. As his got used to the dimness, he noticed that she looked flushed, like somebody who had frantically cleaned up the worst of a mess before letting an unexpected guest in.
"What do you want?"
Even her voice sounded hoarse. He wondered why she was so hostile.
"I just want to talk, if that's alright with you," he answered.
"I don't really have the—"
"Remember the look on John's and Reed's faces when they saw him?" he interrupted her, nodding to Myotismon who had withdrawn to the corner.
Leslie's eyes flickered over to the Digimon and her expression softened slightly.
"John was so sure he had in the bag, with that black devil of his. Although, I do have to admit: I thought Devimon was quite impressive," he reminisced.
"And remember Kennedy presenting his Ogremon? It hit him on the head with that bone and just walked off into the sunset. He shouldn't have put so much of himself into that code, but I have to say, I found it hilarious. Serves him right to get a little dose of what we're dealing with every day," he went on.
Leslie gave a little laugh. He knew she would eventually warm up to him with that memory. It was hard not to feel a little spiteful when it came to small victories over their competitive colleagues.
"I mean, I knew I wouldn't win Kennedy's stupid Halloween contest with a bunch of Bakemon. To be honest, I didn't care. I just had them flying around Overdell, you know?"
Leslie nodded, the reminiscent smile still on her face, looking nowhere in particular.
"But when you called for Myotismon—that was something else. You could see that they didn't expect it. You showed them that day."
The woman's eyes had set back on the Digimon.
"I need you to go," she said, never looking at him. Her face had gone back to being an unreadable mask again. Edward stood in still surprise. He thought he had warmed her up to talk, and now she was throwing him out?
"Leslie, what—"
Long, pointed nails were placed gently on his chest.
"My mistress ordered for you to leave."
The Digimon's voice was calm, but Edward knew the threat that lay beneath.
He took a few steps back, then the heavy metal door snapped shut in front of his face. He stood in the darkness of the hallway again, hearing only his own breathing. He had come no further than before.