Scar Stories (c) DeskRage
Chapter 2
Cherrymon and the Woodmon prepared to deliver a blow when several things happened at once.
Several things seemed to explode at once.
"THERE THEY ARE!" a shrill, lisping voice screeched from the woods surrounding. "WE FOUND THEM!" A troop of Geckomon erupted out of the brush, each brandishing spears.
At the exact same time—
"Pyro Sphere!"
"Diamond Storm!"
"Terrier Tornado!"
Five attacks erupted out of the surrounding forest, destroying all the surrounding foliage for several yards.
One of the unluckier Woodmon caught the full brunt of Guilmon's Pyro Sphere and exploded into a million bits of red data with a screech. The other three flinched and started backwards, as if unsure of who their new enemies were.
Apparently, so was everyone else.
The Geckomon—since there were at least a dozen of them—swarmed towards both the remaining Woodmon and Guilmon and the others, a wall of spears and indistinct shouting from which Impmon thought he could hear,
"Look, we found them!"
"Get away from those two!"
"Wait, who are we fighting?" Guilmon responded in confusion.
"The Woodmon!" Guardromon cried above the din.
The Woodmon and Cherrymon had been hacking away at anyone they could touch, but as soon as the motley force straggled together and formed a line against them, Cherrymon finally balked.
"Retreat," he said, backing away into the woods. The Woodmon fled, some running so quickly that they nearly hit other trees in their panic. Impmon glared at him as he went, meeting his eyes.
"HEY! Coward!" he yelled after him. He didn't get far. He tripped on a break in the ground and plunged to the ground and got a red-hot star of pain exploding in his nose and a mouthful of dirt for his trouble.
Someone had grabbed his arm and was trying to help him to his feet.
"Are you all right? We saw Guardromon's signal in the sky and came as soon as we could."
Impmon hadn't even registered the person helping him was Lopmon as he snapped back, "Yeah, fine!"
He immediately regretted it, though. She released him and looked away, her big black eyes full of hurt. What was—oh. He remembered earlier that day.
I'm an idiot! "Wait, um," he began awkwardly, but before he could finish, he found a bright spear shoved under his nose.
"And who," someone lisped shrilly, "Are you?"
Before Impmon could slap the spear away, another Geckomon dragged the one menacing him back.
"Put that away, you fool! These are old friends of ours!" The Geckomon who corrected the spear holder turned and grinned at the party, who'd collected in a clump around Impmon and Guardromon.
"I knew it!" Guardromon said. "I knew I had been here before."
Two of the Geckomon marched over to the two who had been eating the mushrooms of forgetfulness.
"Get up, you idiots! You're lucky Guardromon and his friend found you before you were loaded!"
"Who're you supposed to be?" the one with the mushroom growing out of his head slurred. The senior Geckomon smacked him and shoved him the unfortunate pair towards the gathered pack of Geckomon. "And that—" the most senior Geckmon shouted at the rest, "is why you don't go wandering from your post when on guard duty!" he adopted a much friendlier demeanor and turned back towards Impmon and the others.
"We never expected to see you guys again. We thank you for helping rescue those two. Please, come back to the fort and we'll thank you properly there."
"Fort?" Guardromon said. He sounded distressed.
"Yes, fort! Now come on, Pu—Cherrymon and his goons come back for round two!"
The partner Digimon accepted the invitation as gracefully as possible. The Geckomon lit their torches and flanked the group like some kind of formal escort and marched away into the trees. Impmon had no idea what was going on, but frankly didn't care. It was about time something nice floated their way, and he wasn't about to complain.
He didn't even complain when Guardromon picked him up and placed him on his shoulder.
"Hey, I can walk!" All right, maybe a little.
"Nonsense!" Guardromon insisted, "You fought well, and deserve a rest." There was new warmth in Guardromon's voice. Impmon frowned, not sure of what to make of that.
"Looks like Guardromon's good karma is paying off!" Guilmon murmured as they walked.
Impmon sniffed loudly. "Enough already with the karma," he muttered.
The fort was built on a slab-like island of grays stone backed by jagged slate hills out on a murky lake. A ring of torches surrounded the perimeter like the world's most hazardous garden hedge. It was much bigger than he'd previously thought it'd be, squarely built of wood and stone. A drawbridge loomed skyward, nearly as tall as the watchtowers that flanked it, bound by sturdy iron chains. The drawbridge itself had several deep gouges raked through it, and the chains had the cobbly look of having been seriously damaged before.
The senior Geckomon shouted up at the Geckomon operating the drawbridge and introduced them as "Guardromon and his companions". This was followed by a flurry of militant activity, barked orders and the slow, laborious lowering of the drawbridge.
"Things have gotten bad, haven't they?" asked Guardromon mournfully.
"You have no idea!" the senior Geckomon leading them in exclaimed. "That Puppetmon sends them to harass and kill our people all the time, but we're not taking it lying down anymore! Our King makes sure of that!"
Impmon frowned. He'd always thought of Geckomon as squishy green pushovers. Their general idea of an attack was singing a bad note at someone. This seemed weird for them. But then, he'd sure never seen Geckomon with spears.
But mention of a Puppetmon made nearly everyone start. "Puppetmon?" Renamon asked, eyes narrowing. "There's a Puppetmon in those woods?"
"That's who they must have meant when Cherrymon mentioned a boss," Impmon mused.
The senior Geckomon flinched, eyes wide. He had the look of someone who'd said too much, but before anyone could start to grill him about what was going on and why these idiots had built a fort in the middle of a nasty Mega's territory, a Geckomon wearing a blue tabard flanked by two Otamamon dashed out to meet them.
He introduced himself as the Steward, and thanked them all profusely for their efforts, and asked them to follow him to their accommodations, while the patrol that led them here dispersed and marched off.
The inside of the fort was Spartan full of ptrong, straight edges that sent a shiver running down Impmon's spine. Inside, packs of Geckomon and Otamamon marched around in orderly lines, and it was creeping him the heck out. It seemed kind of unnatural.
He shook his head vigorously. He didn't like to think he shared any opinions with Cherrymon!
"Shouldn't we ask him about the Puppetmon?" Guilmon whispered.
"Well, they don't really wanna talk about it, so maybe now's not the time?"
"Bad manners…"
"We don't really have guest quarters, but we hope this will do for now,"
Impmon didn't have a clue of what he was talking about, and the sight of their accommodation dashed any thoughts of Cherrymon from his mind. The room before them was warm, gently lit and the wooden floor neatly covered with rush mats that smelled lightly of dried herbs. In the center, a bunch of pillowy bedding had been neatly arranged.
Compared to the cold, pungent mud outside, this was heaven. It was all Impmon and the others could do not to collapse in an undignified heap. He suddenly felt kind of dirty and claustrophobic. This had been the first time in a very long time since any of them had been inside a building.
The Steward guy or whatever informed them that there was a bath down the hall, and they had this time to rest and do as they please. Maybe in response to the stomachs growling in unison, he added that dinner would be served in a few hours.
"A few hours?" Calumon groaned.
"My stomach will have eaten itself by then," Terriermon added.
Impmon frowned at Calumon. "What about that plum-thing I—"
Calumon's look of vague confusion in response to this and awkward silence that followed made him sit up.
"Plum-thing?" Calumon asked.
Impmon jolted. Aw, nuts. Renamon shook her head imperceptibly. Renamon had set it by Calumon's side, and the little guy probably hadn't even noticed as they'd probably stampeded out of camp like the forest was on fire. He may not have even been fully awake when that happened.
Embarrassed, he flopped backwards onto the soft bedding and stared determinedly at the ceiling, trying to stifle the blush of embarrassment setting fire to his face. "Ahh, just forget about it."
"Ugh, Impmon, get off the bed, you're covered in muck!"
"Wait—hey, get off me!"
It was swiftly decided that good manners and good hygiene trumped exhaustion in this case, and the group trundled off towards the bath. Impmon fought for a little while, but it was when Renamon made a gesture that suggested she was simply going to grab him and drag him along, he composed himself and stomped irritably after everyone.
Maybe it won't be so bad, he told himself. Everyone says its great or whatever—
However, as soon as they slid the door open to the bath area, Impmon almost fled. It was fairly big with rough stone floors. Up against the wall, were these little shower cubicle things. But at the end of the room, there was another door, through which a plume of white steam curled through. Hot waer!
There were even little baskets and cubby holders for "clothing items". After watching Renamon remove her sleeve-thingies, Impmon reluctantly peeled his gloves off—the right was all but entirely shredded now—and unknotted his scarf before placing them in the little basket. The fabric was tattered, and stiff with muck and dirt. Ugh, even he had to admit this was three kinds of nasty.
Not one of the Digimon had ever been in what humans would call a "bathhouse", so Terriermon and Renamon kind of inferred the rules based on what their Tamers had described to them. Apparently, you had to scrub off and get clean before getting into the big tub thing.
This proved to be easier said than done. Even after vigorously trying to scrub the dirt out of his fur—which was harder, because his fur was very dense and close, and worst of all, very dark, which meant that unless the crud was in his face fur, the only real indicator of how dirty he'd been was the brownish soap froth seeping into the drain.
"Okay," he announced. After his initial flailing, he wanted to prove he wasn't a chicken by being the first the venture into the boiling cauldron in the next room. "You guys are slow. I'm going on ahead—"
"Impmon, you didn't get your back."
Actually, no one got their backs. The only one who had arms that could reach their back properly was Renamon, so the grand entrance into the bath area was delayed.
Initially, he didn't want anyone touching his back because he knew whichever fool was going to be his "buddy" right now,—he could have smacked Guilmon for insisting on the buddy system to wash each other's backs—which of course was Terriermon, of course, was going to result in,
"OW! That hurts!"
"Heh, sorry about that!" there was no malice in Terriermon's voice, but there rarely was, but some of the stuff he did and said… "Didn't think you were so sensitive."
"I'm not!" Impmon growled. "Ouch!"
Terriermon was dragging a rough sponge around on his back, and aggravating Impmon's neat ridge of still puffy, tender scars.
But Impmon bit the inside of his mouth and bided his time, because after a sort while, it was his turn.
"Okay, Terriermon, hold still. Boy, your face is covered in dirt. I've got me a nice sponge here to fix that! Ahahahahaha!"
"Aaaagh, stop, you're getting soap in my eyes!"
"Come back here, you're still not done!"
Calumon perched on the edge of the shower cubicle.
"Impmon and Terriermon do sure seem to be having a lot of fun. Woah!" The bar soap and water bowl went flying and nearly hit Calumon in the face. Even so, the little Digimon toppled backwards, only for Renamon to catch him and decide that everyone was clean enough.
Impmon frowned suspiciously at the bath. Everyone else hard already climbed in with happy sighs. He didn't get to deliberate long. He leaned forward to test the water with his toe, but ended up slipping off the edge and plunging in.
The water was hot—hotter than he expected. It stung his raw scars and stole his breath. Instinctively he tried to clamber out using the first thing he touched. This turned out to be Guardromon's now boiling hot metal side. He splashed away, grabbing clumps of Renamon's fur and climbing up onto the back of her neck.
"How can you all stand this? It's like being cooked alive!"
He was assured that "it takes a little while to get used to it". Renamon told him that it would probably make him feel better if he just tried to relax and enjoy the warm water. It would probably be the last time they got it before they returned home.
Impmon might have refused altogether. However, he saw Terriermon, floating around lazily on his back. He narrowed his eyes. He could swear he saw a challenge somewhere in the floating fat-sack's…floating. If Terriermon could handle it, so could he!
He plunged back into the water and tensed against the initial discomfort, trying to ignore the prickly heat feeling in the tip of his tail and toes. But after a while, Renamon turned out to be right. His muscles loosened, and he found his grip on the sides of the bath slipping a little as his eyelids grew heavy. The aches and pains he'd accumulated seemed to drain away. Even his scars, which had been achy, seemed to disappear.
He could actually get used to this.
"So, Guardromon," Renamon asked after a while. "What exactly happened?"
"Oh, right!" Guardromon said, as if startled out of thought. "I forgot we haven't told you about all that yet.
"Well, while Impmon and I were scouting, he heard a scream. I wasn't convinced at first, but…"
Impmon—who'd practically been dozing off at that point—opened his eyes. He glanced over to Guardromon, who was now proceeding with the story, and then to his own reflection, undulating in the water. That's not true, he thought. He was testing me.
Maybe it was the water, because he didn't stop Guardromon to point this out.
He did interrupt later at one point to tell everyone that the Geckomon had eaten mushrooms of forgetfulness, so they couldn't make fun of him on that point and that he was in fact, brilliant and people should take his word for things.
However, he couldn't help but note that Guardromon was paying special attention to his role in events. Normally, he wouldn't have minded. He might have relished it, even. But…
"Finally, Impmon threatened Cherrymon that he would Digivolve and destroy them, and—"
Impmon made a dismissive noise. "Ehhh, scared 'em off, didn't it? Gave you guys the chance to show up!"
"Did you try to digivolve?" Renamon asked him quietly. Impmon glared at her.
"Of course I did! But we all know that hasn't exactly been workin' out for me, now, hasn't it?"
"I wonder why…" Terriermon mused thoughtfully. "I mean, you digivovled on your own at least twice, right?"
"How should I know?" Impmon muttered irritably, looking away. He couldn't help but remember Cherrymon's words:
Even if you could at some point, you haven't it in you right now. Too many skeletons in your little soul.
"I mean, I met up with my Tamers before I went into Blast Mode for the first time, but after that…"
"You were with me!" Calumon piped up. "It was amazing!"
"But you didn't digiolve me." Calumon's ears shrunk back into his head.
"No…"
"Maybe he should try?" Guardromon put forth.
Calumon shrunk back a little further. "I don't think that's such a good idea," he said, wringing his hands.
"Me neither," Guilmon agreed. Impmon couldn't argue with that. Trying to force digivolution hadn't really worked out for any of the parties that had tried it thus far.
"I'm not in favor of the idea myself, but why do you think that?" Terriermon asked.
"I just have a feeling…that it would be a really bad idea," Calumon finally said.
"He is probably right," Lopmon said. "Zhuqiamon gave him the ability to digivolve on his own power. He created all the Devas. Some of us he simply created, like Mukuramon—others, like myself, were created off the data of an already existing species."
"So perhaps Zhuqiaomon modified his data somehow to make that possible, but that doesn't explain why he can't do digivolve now…" Terriermon said thoughtfully. "Hey, Impmon, have you felt sick since getting here?"
"No, I don't feel sick, but I've got some questions of my own if you all don't mind," Impmon said loudly. Cherrymon's words were ringing louder and louder in his head as the conversation rolled on. He didn't like everyone focusing on his problems. They already did that enough, and it's not like he could get away from it now. "Those jokers thought that if they loaded our data, they'd somehow be able to get to the Real World. What's up with that? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."
"It's a fairly common sentiment," Renamon sighed.
"But it's stupid!" Impmon protested.
"If it is permissible for me to say," Lompmon began, "it really is not."
Impmon curled his lip at her. "How's that?"
"Well, when one loads another in battle, the victorious party gains the strength of the defeated. Some Digimon even gain access to the defeated party's attacks after loading."
Impmon flinched.
Lopmon continued, "So, it is a logical assumption that one who loads a Digimon who has been to the Real World would grant the loader the power to do the same." Lopmon paused. "I believe that's the reason people think that."
Impmon rested his chin in his hand. Couldn't really argue with that…
"Maybe that's why Cherrymon didn't want to load us," Guardromon said.
"What?" Renamon's ears perked.
"He mentioned something about his boss, the stupid hypocrite," Impmon tapped the water thoughtfully. The other thing that was bothering him about what Cherrymon said is the fact he had called him a "guilty killer". How had he known that? Was it really possible to tell such a thing just by looking? "That must be Puppetmon or whatever."
"If he wanted you two alive, that must mean he wanted to load you two himself and go to the Real World," Terriermon frowned. "Which means that by staying here, we're putting all of these Geckomon in danger!"
Impmon snorted, stirring the water with his tail. "I'm beginnin' to sense an ulterior motive," he muttered, but before he could elaborate.
"Impmon, you don't know anything about these guys and they didn't ask for help on the way in. Do you always have to assume the worst about people?" Terriermon asked.
Impmon bristled. "None of us know anything about these guys! Look at Guardromon—since we've got here he's been nothin' but surprised at everything we've seen so far, so you'd better can it, fatty."
"Are you trying to start something?" Terriermon started to rise a little bit out of the water. Impmon for his turn started to get up as well, but any potential scuffle was quickly defused by Calumon.
"Woahhh!" Calumon cried. He'd circled around behind Impmon. "Your scars are really pink and puffy!"
"Hey, get off my head, you cream puff!" Impmon snarled. He wasn't angry so much as he was reacting. "And don't poke 'em, that hurts!"
"Yeah, Impmon's sensitive!" Terriermon quipped.
"Look, you—"
He was cut off by the sudden click-click sound of claws on stone. Everyone perked up at the sound.
A little Otamamon crawled into the room. She seemed surprised that everyone was already looking in her direction as she entered. She bashfully informed them that she was just here for the clothing baskets, with plans to launder them. On her way out she told them that dinner was going to be ready soon, and that the King Geckomon was very happy to be receiving them.
"King Geckomon?" Guardromon said. "Things have changed around here…" he sounded almost disappointed.
After the Otamamon left, Guilmon suggested that they simply talk to the Geckomon King at dinner and figure things out from there. Soon, people started leaving the bath in order to go dry off. Impmon was reluctant to go. He was comfortable in the warm water, and not interested in the cold he knew he would be feeling immediately after getting out, or more conversation with the others.
Eventually, it was only him and Renamon left.
They both enjoyed the stillness in companionable silence, taking in the quiet and peace. Both of them understood at least one some level that there wouldn't be much of it in the days to come.
Surprisingly enough, it was she who broke the silence.
"They meant well, you know."
"Eh?" Impmon had been distracting himself from his own thoughts by swirling around clumps of Renamon's shed hair.
"Everyone is trying to cope and learn at the same time, so don't be too hard on them."
Impmon bristled. "Who said they're makin' me feel bad? I didn't. Don't make this about me, I'm fine."
"You also shouldn't be so hard on yourself." She opened her eyes and stared at him levelly. Impmon stopped swirling the hairs and glared at her.
"Why not?" he growled at her.
She didn't growl back, but her voice had the quality of frosty gravel.
"You saved two lives today."
Impmon snorted.
"Are you outta your little mind? We were lucky I didn't get us killed. If you guys hadn't shown up we woulda been toast." He chuckled darkly and started to swirl the hairs again. "Some hero I am. Not like I don't have a history of this sorta thing blowing up in my-"
Renamon suddenly stood up, sending a wave lapping against his face. He coughed and spluttered as she exited the back and headed for her towel.
"Hey—"
She stopped him dead. Her eyes were focused—but instead of a steely expression that he learned meant grow the hell up, he saw…
He blinked stupidly. He wasn't sure what he saw, but he didn't know if he liked it.
They reminded him of the eyes she had when she and Rika rescued him out in the desert a lifetime ago.
With that, she left the room, claws clicking on the stone floor, leaving a trail of cold water.
The food at dinner was simple—if he hadn't been so hungry, Impmon might have even called it sparse—but it was presented with such gratitude and warmth of the part of their hosts, it seemed a sumptuous feast. There was warm rice, gently steamed vegetables, noodles and even a little fish (he kinda liked his fish raw, but whatever sauce they cooked it in reminded him of civilization, which was nice). But at least there was enough of it for everyone in the group to have seconds—and given how hungry and relatively weak they were, it was nothing if not a blessing.
Afterwards, they were summoned to what looked like some kind of great hall. The Steward informed them that, "The King would see them now,"
"Well, it sure isn't just him," Impmon muttered. The room was slowly filling up with other Geckomon and Otamamon, all sitting down along the sides of a hall. "What the heck is all this about?"
The Steward let them towards the back of the chamber. On a low dais of bright, polished wood was a very simple, minimalist throne-chair, but it was unmistakably a throne, flanked by two other attendants. Seated on the throne-chair was a Geckomon, gripping a staff in one scarred hand.
And that wasn't the only part of him that was scared. Fading, jagged scars had torn their way across his flesh, leaving him looking strangely mottled at any distance. The green of his flesh seemed lighter, and the skin around his eyes weary and tired. However, those weird, manic Geckomon eyes seemed to gleam with a banked passion, an alien clarity that was absent from pretty much every other Geckomon in the room.
Everyone in the group dipped their head to the King as if on cue. Impmon was a little behind the curve and bowed hastily a beat after everyone else.
"No need for that," the King said, waving a hand dismissively. "You're my guests. Please, sit," he gestured at a set of cushions that had been arranged on the dais in front of the throne.
"Um, King, sir," Guilmon began. "I'm sure I've heard your voice before, but—"
"Of course you do! It's been a long time since Orochimon's days, but not that long. I was the head of the village then, and that much hasn't changed. I'm not as pretty as I used to be, but I can assure you that my people and I are much stronger. In part, thanks to you and your friends. I want to thank you again for stepping in to rescue two of our number. How are you enjoying our hospitality? Is everything to your liking?"
They assured him it was. Impmon was already bored and a little confused. Renamon, Guilmon and Guardromon (and Leomon, Leomon had been a part of that group, too…) had all been here before at some point—they'd liberated this bunch from some bully of an Ultimate, so of course they'd be treated like friends. Of course, had he been a part of that group, perhaps he would have been able to appreciate the magnitude of the change in the Geckomon.
"Good, good…" the King nodded appreciatively. "But I do notice your humans are missing, but you seem to have acquired other members. Not all of them have been lost to the Chaos, have they?"
Renamon hastily assured them that this was not the case, and asked him how he knew. He coughed.
"The Chaos came. And many of us were summoned the fight it. I myself was digvolved to ShogunGeckomon, and battled against it. I sustained terrible wounds, and these scars are what remain." He gestured to himself. "But I was lucky. Many, many Digimon and even small worlds perished at the edge of Chaos.
But we have you to thank for its welcome defeat. The Sovereign have sent your story out across the layers of the Digital World, although specifics weren't included. Where are your humans now?"
"We seek to reunite with them. It's on this journey that we stumbled into your territory once again," Guardromon said.
The King nodded. "We thank you again for your struggle and sacrifice. You have saved the worlds."
A rumble of assent rose in a wave from the assembled Geckomon. The King continued.
"But our world, which was already savage, has only become more so. So much was destroyed, my friends. So many were sucked up and destroyed. Our world is not only savage, but desperate. So we built this fortress and forsook our peaceful ways in order to protect ourselves and our resources." He sighed.
"From the likes of the Puppetmon and his minions?" Renamon supplied.
The Geckomon King looked a little uncomfortable. He scratched his belly and closed his eyes. "Puppetmon, a Cherrymon and their Woodmon came here when we were still early in the stages of building this fort. We would occasionally exchange information, but left each other in peace for the most part. We heard stories of Puppetmon and his ilk marauding around the edges of the woods, but didn't interfere. We'd had the good luck for him to leave us alone, no need to draw attention now. But upon finishing the fort, he started sending his Woodmon out to attack periodically—and the attacks have only increased in frequency at time has passed. We don't know what he wants, but any attempt to talk has been met with violence."
Guilmon looked over his shoulder. Renamon followed his eyes, but it was Guardromon who spoke, "They are greater in number than your people, now. The Woodmon."
Impmon took note of the crowd. The Geckomon and Otamamon sat in neat rows, but in almost all the rows, there were little breaks that suggested an empty space. He got the impression of a half-eaten box of chocolates.
The Geckomon King made a gesture as though was trying to wave away his story. "Enough of that. We'll discuss that later." He opened his eyes. "I have a favor to ask of you."
Impmon, instantly alert and wary looked up.
"One hears nothing more than terrible tales of tyrants and bullies the likes of which not even Orochimon and Puppetmon approach. We are weary of such tales of darkness and cruelty, even in as merciless as ours. Would you honor us with tales of heroes, and give us something to sing about once more?"
Cherrymon hated this bulky form. No matter where he went he always left a significant trial and crackly noise. He was never without something scraping against his canopy. Although he guessed he didn't mind that part so much. He liked the feeling of dead foliage breaking against his bark and snapping into ash.
Either way, it wouldn't be a problem for very much longer. In the Real World, there might just be a chance for him to digivolve again with the help of a human Tamer.
Puppetmon hadn't and wouldn't punish him for losing one of the Woodmon in the fight earlier. The information that was gleaned from the situation was so much more valuable.
Although he did wish that Puppetmon could talk to him where he could see. He didn't like talking to a gangly red-eyed shadow crouched up in huge dead tree above.
This was a good spot, because based on the tracks and the smell of smoke nearby, that that Impmon and his friends had been here.
"This is a good tree," Puppetmon said. "It's dead, and from the top you can see for just about forever. I'll bet it's so tall that if it fell over one day, it might even reach the Geckomon fort."
"You're probably right."
"So. How many were there?"
"It was hard to tell with all the Geckomon, but I think there were eight of them. I think it's a pretty safe bet that they've all been the Real World." This was something he knew based on looking at the Impmon and the Guardromon alone. There was something off in their eyes, something he could see very well—something alien in the ways that they moved and even fought that you didn't see in the average Digimon.
He was a Cherrymon, and he could tell these things. Eyes were the window to the soul. He wasn't sure where that thought came from, but from wherever it was, Cherrymon found it to be a reliable adage, and he himself was a fantastic judge of character. "So that means we only need two of 'em."
"That's not what it means at all, you idiot!" Puppetmon shrilled from the tree above. "Do you wanna know what that really means?"
"What?"
The smile in Puppetmon's voice was unmistakable. "What it means is that we get four of them each! I like the sound of that a lot better."
Cherrymon frowned. "Listen, Puppetmon," he said, curling both hands. "Not all of them should be taken that lightly. I know I said that most were rookies, but they've got a MarineAngemon and this weird demon dinosaur Digimon I've never seen before." He paused. "All I can tell you is that he's a Virus type like us, and that one blast from his attack incinerated one of the Woodmon. He could be trouble. Aside from that…" he hesitated. He wondered if it was worth bothering Puppetmon about that weird little Impmon, but he didn't get to hesitate long.
A sudden clacking noise followed by Puppetmon's cherry-red eyes in his face made him flinch backwards, but he held his ground.
"What else, Cherrymon? You're not hiding anything, are you?"
"Well, the Impmon that was with the Guardromon. He threatened to digivolve and blow us all away. He had these great big scars down his back, so I'm sure he's done it before. You remember when the Youngest was killed?"
Cherrymon braced himself. He knew that Puppetmon didn't like talking about the days when all of them were hopeless Woodmon stomping around on that barren upper layer, and then later three randomly digivolved, hopeless Cherrymon doing the same until this Beelzemon roared out of nowhere on some mechanical monster, guns blazing. Puppetmon preferred to think their history started after the two of them were digivolved and summoned to fight the Chaos.
"Yeah? Good riddance, too, I'd have loaded that weakling myself if that lunatic hadn't shown up. Scars, you say." He made a motion of stroking his chin as if in deep thought. Cherrymon made sure his face was carefully blank for this façade, but if he'd felt a little bolder, he might have rolled his eyes.
"So, if that's the Impmon, why didn't he digivolve and blow you all up if he thinks he can?"
"That's just it, I don't think he can." This is where Cherrymon allowed himself a small smile. "See, boss, I think the little guy feels bad about killing. I could see it, in his big green eyes. There's the ghost of someone he's loaded in there. He can't do it."
Puppetmon immediately froze. He twitched.
"Guilty?" he repeated. "About killing? About loading an enemy? About getting stronger?"
He stood up with a clatter and skittered up higher on a branch, staring out at what Cherrymon knew to be the direction of the fortress.
"A Demon Lord Digimon like that, guilty about success at being a Digimon? That's disgusting! And those slimy idiots are giving shelter to that kind of trash? Ha!" He bounced on the branch, causing a rain of charcoaly dead leaves to rain down on Cherrymon and the assembled Woodmon lurking at the edges of the clearing.
"It's like those Geckomon are begging me to knock down that silly little fort of theirs. Well, I can't turn a blind eye to that kinda depravity anymore!"
Puppetmon didn't sound angry. He was laughing his head off, practically dancing with glee. When something angered Puppetmon, his mood turned violent, and when he was violent, he was happy. The Woodmon had better keep their mouths shut now.
"So…if we could have stormed that fort at any time, why haven't we already done that and loaded all the Geckomon?" A Woodmon whispered to his neighbor. Puppetmon evidently heard this as well, turning sharply.
"Who said that?"
A hush fell on the clearing. Puppetmon dropped to the ground with a light thud, and began to stroll around. The Woodmon shrank back, but they didn't dare run.
"I'll tell you why," he purred, twirling his hammer. He suddenly settled on a group of Woodmon, clustered not too far from the base of the massive dead tree and hopped onto one of the low hanging branches, so quickly that you barely saw him move. "Think of it this way. You're at the beach and you see a bunch of little digimon building sandcastles. Now, when I see sandcastles, the first thing I want to do is stomp right through them. But stomping little sandcastles are no fun. So instead of stomping them right there, I'd wait. I'd wait and wait until that sandcastle was nice and tall, all decorated with seashells and shiny rocks. And when the little guy who built it stands back to admire his pretty sandcastle all bright-eyed and proud of himself—that's when you do THIS!"
In the blink of an eye, he flipped off the branch and swung the hammer. For a microsecond it looked like he was about to smash one of the Woodmon into splintery bits, but instead, he averted the blow at the last second and hit the tree.
With an earsplitting snap, the tree cracked. Slowly, slowly, it started to fall in the direction of the Geckomon fort. It rattle and rumbled, branches raining down thought the fragile canopy, groaning as it went as if in pain, until it finally thundered to the ground with a massive, distant crunching sound.
The silence hung still and stiff in the air only for a second before Puppetmon turned to face his men.
"But we don't get to wait for that moment. I was hoping they'd build that thing up a little taller, but we don't have time for that anymore. Opportunity knocks!" he started to laugh again. This time, the Woodmon nervously joined in.
"Cherrymon, start heading to the fort, but don't attack," Puppetmon instructed, climbing up one of the trees again.
"Why not?" Cherrymon asked. "Because I wanna talk to them first, silly. Get going, I'll catch up with you in a minute."
Puppetmon couldn't smile, but there was a devious sting in his voice that was probably the closest thing he could get to it.
Impmon tried to enjoy the stories at first. After all, many of them were good stories. Of course, there was that whole bit in the middle…involving him, carnage, attempted murder, murder…before he rediscovered Ai and Mako…and then the stuff that happened after Ai and Mako…
Even what happened this evening was a bust.
He tried not to shift too much, but he was dimly aware of his tail twitching almost every time someone mentioned his names.
He burned with shame, as they skirted around the issue. Since everyone was telling stories, it basically came down to paying very close attention to each other, in case someone mentioned a potentially humiliating, shameful detail.
All of it surrounding him, of course.
A couple of times, everyone could tell that Terriermon was about to say something, before someone maybe-not-so-subtly poked him, or gave him a look. Terriermon, for his part, started to get visibly irritated, but Impmon wasn't paying attention to the other Digimon, or anything really for that matter.
He knew he was sweating—he could feel it beading under his fur. Heck, he wouldn't be surprised if he was literally steaming with shame at this point.
Maybe I should say something. He felt dishonest, and dirty, even though they'd literally all just come out of the bath. But listening to this felt almost like he was hearing for the filth in his soul.
You can't digivolve. Too many skeletons in your little soul…I can tell just by lookin' at you.
I know your type.
Guilty killer.
They'd left all the worst parts of his contributions to the overall narratives out.
Impmon frowned. On a greater, darker level…what became of his story if you left all that stuff out?
You couldn't.
He balled his fists.
What I did was unforgivable. No matter what I do I can't change the past…
But he had been forgiven.
And who was he without his failures?
It seemed like omitting them from the story seemed like they took him out entirely—
"Each of you played a part; each of you has a grand, shining story. We thank you for them all. I can't ask all of you to speak, we don't have time for all of them tonight, for you more than anyone deserve a rest. But Impmon,"
At the sound of his name Impmon tore himself from his thoughts and looked up, blinking owlishly,
"I see that you bear scars from your battle with the Chaos. Few Digimon sustain that type of wound and survive. You have demonstrated your heroic nature tonight with our comrades in the forest tonight. Would you tell us the story of the scars on your back?"
Such a situation would normally call for an articulate response, so of course, he could only manage an intelligent, "I—uh…uhh…"
This was it. He would tell it. He wasn't sure how he was going to, but to not respond would be filthy and dishonest, and all these half-truths were making his head light. Gah, he preferred a straight-up lie to what he was hearing. He started to stand up, when Terriermon spoke.
"Impmon doesn't want to tell that story. It's still kinda soon for him."
Impmon jerked his head to look at Terriermon, eyes wide. The little brat was staring determinedly at the King, wearing that same blasé expression he always had on his face, with those shining, clear black eyes. "He's a little sensitive."
Guardromon immediately leaped to the up to the storytelling plate, eager to rush said awkward out of the room by offering to recap the story of how they and the Geckomon became friends through the defeat of Orochimon in grand style, to the appreciative "aahhs" and applause of the Geckomon.
He began talking, his voice echoing and ringing around the room. Impmon glared at Terriermon with the fury of several dozen overheating Playstations and hissed at him, "I never asked you to cover for me!"
Terriermon hissed right back out of the corner of his mouth. "Sure you did. You didn't have to verbalize it for everyone to start doing it."
"That ain't fair! You can't hold me accountable for something I didn't do!"
"And apparently we can't hold you accountable for the stuff you did do!"
The applause and cheers receiving the end of Guardromon's tale covered up the snarl of rage that ripped out of Impmon's throat, but both of them found it in themselves to cram it in for a few seconds as the King Geckomon started to speak.
A few seconds.
"Truly a heroic tale." The King Geckomon sniffed, teary from the telling. "We are in the company of legends tonight. It is a shame that we do not have all the participants of that day here with us tonight…Leomon's death will not go unmourned. He like so many, claimed by the Chaos…"
"He wasn't killed by the Chaos." Terriermon blurted. There was a sharp intake of breath, not just on the part of the assembled crowd, but on the part of the partners as well.
"He was defeated by another Digimon? That…is truly a tragedy. I take it he was avenged? Who killed him?"
Impmon gulped. He had to speak, or he'd not just be a murderer, but a two-faced coward as well. He could feel every eye on his room, especially Terriermon's boring holes into his scarred back.
Impmon stood up. He felt strangely numb. He saw Renamon and the others finch. He thought he saw her move out of the corner of his eye, as if to reach out her hand. He saw her mouth move, but the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.
"I did."
A hush crashed onto the hall like a ton of bricks.
The voice of the Geckomon King was like a hand that weakly struggled out of the pile of bricks.
"What? But—"
"But nothing!" Impmon burst out. "That 'Cat Deva' everyone kept mentioning! That was me! I tried to kill everyone here in exchange for the power to digivolve, loaded hundreds of other Digimon, and then I killed Leomon! I killed him, and it's because of me that the Chaos managed to get as strong as it did—because Jeri didn't have a partner to protect her! Remember Jeri? You remember her, that sweet little girl, a little girl who wouldn't even hurt a flea! I killed her partner and absorbed his data, and she was left without anyone to protect her." His voice cracking now and he just did not care, "You wanna know my scar story, Chief?" he turned around to show his back to the King and then the aghast audience. "This is what I got for trying to make what I did right again. I tried to save her, and I failed! And how did I survive, you ask?"
Lopmon whispered something, but he couldn't hear.
"I dunno, destiny's idea of a joke, I guess!" he spat out the last words. "So I'm not a hero! I'm the furthest thing from it." he turned to Terriermon and leveled him with a withering gaze.
Terrieron stood up and hopped over to where Impmon was standing. "Don't go getting mad at me. You didn't have to say anything. But you did, because all these half-truths and lies we were telling on your behalf were weighing on your underdeveloped excuse for conscience. You're only upset because everything you just said is true!"
"You think I need you to tell me that? GAHH!" Something inside him snapped. He punched Terriermon full in the face, putting every ounce of fury and strength he could muster into a single blow. It barely made Terriermon stagger of course, but it was something.
Terriermon caught him completely by surprise by hitting back. He caught him straight in the chin with a ridiculous amount of force despite his tiny frame, making him bite his tongue—and before Impmon could even hit the ground, "Terrier Tornado!"
The crowd gasped. The blast of air sent him careening halfway across the hall to crash into the aisle, causing his vision to blur for a second, but it didn't matter. The second his eyes refocused enough to distinguish one shape from another, Terriermon was already mid-attack and heading straight for him, tiny fists balled.
He hit Impmon in the gut this time, sending him skidding hard on his side. Impmon snarled and dragged himself to his feet only for Terriermon to pin him heavily again, sitting on his chest with his little claws, rarely used, prepared to strike. Impmon struggled and managed to grab Terriermon's hand before the jerk could take a chunk out of his ear, but it was only a matter of time—he was outclassed, and he knew it.
"TERRIERMON, IMPMON, NO!" Guilmon cried. But his cry was drowned out by a thunderous crash and the groaning of the roof as a huge dead tree tore through the great hall's ceiling like tissue paper.
The Geckomon screamed and ran towards the throne area, still intact as chunks of wood and stone hailed down on the aisle. Terriermon and Impmon could only stare at the impending trunk as it crashed down towards them, its shadow looming—Impmon could practically feel the twigs sticking into his eyes—
They were suddenly caught up in a furry embrace and yanked to safety. Renamon crouched over them both protectively, out of harm's way as the tree finally smashed to the floor, cracking the stone and sending up a storm of white dust.
The silence was absolute.
Only when the dust started clearing did it seem that people started to breathe again. There were the shouts and calls of, "Are you okay?" and "Is anybody hurt?" and the "What just happened?"
People were starting to rally and begin clean up and investigation when Impmon finally pushed himself off the floor, spitting dust and rocks out of his mouth.
Terriermon was already standing.
Before either of them could say anything, Renamon loomed over them. Impmon was taken aback. Renamon never loomed.
"Are either of you hurt?"
The answer was "not really". The scuffle hadn't been a bad one, and neither of them were even bleeding, the sting of the blows traded already having faded. The blow to pride, well…
"Then you should both leave. Go up to the battlements and keep watch."
"What?" Impmon protested. He didn't really relish the idea of helping with the cleanup, and in fact he didn't really want to face anyone in this building right now—but he wasn't going to let them thing he was murderous, cowardly and lazy.
"Shouldn't we ought to help down here?" Terriermon asked. "And don't be covering for Impmon anymore—I think he's made it pretty clear that—"
"Terriermon." The force in Renamon's voice cut Terriermon right off mid-sentence. "Both of you have done quite enough for one night."
The cold disappointment radiated from her eyes, bright in the torchlight, like angry starfire, and Impmon found himself cowed. Terriermon for his part was stiff, surprised—maybe even confused. Had Impmon been less furious and embarrassed, he might have allowed himself a tiny smirk.
Terriermon had never been scolded by Renamon before.
Someone was calling Renamon's name.
"Hurry and go." She instructed.
"H-hey, wait," Terriermon stammered. "What are you going to do?" Renamon glanced over her shoulder.
"Damage control." Was all she said before walking away. She never bothered to look back.
With plans to have words with both miscreants later, Renamon returned to the Guilmon and the others. They asked her where they'd gone, and she explained to them her solution. Impmon and Terriermon's continued presence down here would be at best a distraction from the clean-up effort and at worst outright conflict with the locals. This way, they were removed from the area, and put to good use elsewhere.
Impmon had excellent night-eyes. Putting him up on the battlements meant that if what she suspected was true and the dead treefall was not an accident, he would spot the trouble coming before it got here. Terriermon could provide second witness and had the added advantage of being much stronger than Impmon should things come to a head. Guilmon's buddy policy in effect again.
"Are they both okay?" Guilmon asked, despondent. Renamon nodded.
"They were having so much fun, earlier," Calumon sighed. "What happened?"
Renamon didn't answer immediately. None of the Digimon in their group were types that naturally came together in groups, each belonging to a fairly loner-specific species.
This whole Digimon group aspect was strange to her, and the only thing she had in her arsenal to compare it with was the very humanizing experiences she'd had with Rika and their times together with the other Tamers and their partners.
She'd heard Henry once laugh about how becoming a group was like what he called "growing pains". Curious, she'd asked what that meant.
"Well, we're not like Digimon, so, I guess you could say that some of the change we go through as we get older is physically painful. My dad says they mean just that—they mean you're growing."
Maybe that wasn't quite the right analogy. But if you could apply the pain of growth and change to a human child, could it mean that you could apply that logic to a human group? After all, she Rika and the others hadn't started off friends. She and Rika hadn't even started out as friends. It was only with time and much pain (it took a very long time for her to equate anything that wasn't physical injury as pain, but no other descriptor could describe her feelings during the initial stage of her and her Tamer's relationship). So by extension, shouldn't this very human-esque group of theirs run along that branch of logic?
She wondered if maybe, Impmon and Terriermon's fighting was due to a result of simply their natures, personalities bouncing off each other, mutual pain over the loss of their Tamers, or if it was a symptom of the group coming together. Likely a little of all of those things.
"Growing pains," she said at last.
Just then, the Geckomon King appeared out of the clearing dust, flanked by his two aides.
"That blasted tree!" he heaved. "I knew it would just keel over one day, but I never expected that it would crash right through the fort. This is a bad omen, indeed."
"Are you sure it was an accident?" Guilmon tilted his head a little. "I mean, if Puppetmon and his minions have been trying to get in here for a while…?"
The King cleared his throat. "I suppose we must now prepare for that possibility with all haste. I would rather hope that the old thing finally just had it."
"Don't worry, we'll help you out again," Guilmon said. Renamon glanced at him, her tail flicking in mild surprise. Part of her smiled inwardly—Guilmon would commit them to help the Geckomon fight again. It was just in his and Takato's very natures to do so. She herself couldn't imagine leaving at this point, either, even if wasn't the sensible thing to do. None of them did. This of course led to the question of how they were to going to literally fight a demonic forest, but now was not the time to worry about that.
The King sighed heavily. "It was not my wish to involve you in our fights again." He leaned on his staff.
"My good fellow, we simply could not have turned a blind eye!" Guardromon said heartily, echoing Renamon's thoughts. "It is in our very natures."
"Did anybody get hurt?" Guilmon added, stepping forward, gesturing with a heavy claw.
The Geckomon King coughed imperiously. "Well, aside from your two friends, no one so far has turned up injured."
Guilmon swallowed and lifted his head. "We're very sorry about that. I hope we didn't offend you."
"They didn't mean it, honest!" Calumon said.
"Things have been…complicated with them, as of late," Lopmon added, dipping her head a tiny bit.
"I can see that," the King said. "But I have one final question for you, and please understand I ask on Leomon's behalf. How is it that Leomon's killer—"
"Please don't ask that," Calumon broke in suddenly, a tiny whimper in his voice. "Impmon is…really, really sorry. I don't think he could put it into words even if he tried, but it's true."
"But—"
"Leomon's killer," Renamon interrupted, "has been punished enough."
Everyone looked in surprise at Renamon, who didn't waver. Her gaze was cold. The King swallowed whatever else he was going to say, and finally nodded.
"Very well." He was curt, and there was a hardness in his voice. But there was that understanding that undoubtedly came with it—something that said I will trust your judgment.
Without much further banter, the King thanked them again for their help with clearing rubble, and waddled off to help in the effort himself.
"He's kind of a nosy King, isn't he?" Calumon mused after him.
MarineAngemon made an affirmative noise. "Very nosy!"
"At the risk of sounding disrespectful, I think you're right," agreed Lopmon.
"Well, better get started. This is big mess," Guilmon picked up a large chunk of stone.
Renamon followed suit. However, there was a tingling in the fur in her ears, something in the air that made her whiskers twitch. She glanced out the hole in the wall.
Terriermon stared out across the battlements, into the dark forest. There hadn't been any movement for at least an hour. The sky was dark and muddy gray—he guessed day would be soon, but judging by the gathering clouds, and the wetness in the air, he figured it wouldn't matter. It would be dark tomorrow.
Overhead, the clouds rumbled, growling and threatening rain. He couldn't help but be reminded of the color of Henry's eyes, when he was mad. It made him start to wonder what the sky back at home looked like right now. Was it rainy and cold where Henry was, too?
He sighed, and leaned his chin on the damp battlement stone. He scraped his tiny claws along the edges. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly. His hands were still twitchy from the near-fight, and he wanted to go back downstairs and help instead of being a useless lump out here.
He looked out of the corner of his eye. Impmon had taken his post as far away from him as physically possible, clear on the opposite end of the battlements, resting his elbows on the edge. That Impmon. It was his entire fault, and he couldn't say anything to deny it.
"I hope you're proud of yourself," a disapproving voice said behind him. Terriermon flinched and turned around, to see Guardromon standing there.
"Proud of myself?" Terriermon responded.
"That's right. I just wanted to express my disappointment. Your behavior was shameful and unnecessary."
"Don't tell me you don't think he deserves it," Terriermon snapped back. "Even he'll tell you that he does. And since when was telling the truth a bad thing?"
"That may be," Guardromon granted. "But in the spirit of teamwork, shouldn't we try to extend the hand of grace? After all, it is the hand that Jeri extended."
Terriermon didn't say anything.
Guardromon's eyes softened a little. "He has a good heart. I've seen it. It beats for justice, just as yours does. Why do you think he spoke up in front of all those people?"
"You already know why I think he 'fessed up," Terriermon retorted, but Guardromon's words made an uncomfortable amount of sense. "So are you just up here to lecture me or am I allowed to go back down stairs?"
"The former, I'm afraid," Guardromon replied, turning to go. "But I can't really tell you what to do, now can I?"
He disappeared back down the flight of stairs leading up.
Terriermon blinked. He did have a point. No one had the right to tell him what to do! He never listened to anyone except Henry!
All the same, he didn't leave.
Impmon was tired.
I mean, come on, save a couple of dumb palookas in the forest, walk a couple of miles to the fort, eat for the first time in weeks, tell stories for who-knows-how-long, get into a fistfight with Terriermon and have that old dead tree explode the room—that's gonna take its toll. Especially without a wink of sleep.
He'd lost pretty much all track of time, but it seemed like this night was dragging on for freakin' ever. Or maybe the day had already come, and it was just too dark to tell.
In the real world, there would have been a slight lightening of the sky in a corner, and there'd be the tiniest tingling in the sensitive skin around his nose.
But of course, here, everything was dry. Almost like a dream. Even the guts in your body and the wetness of the ground and the air were only about as real as a movie…ahhh, just thinking about it made his head hurt.
He grabbed his head and massaged his forehead and face, as though he could rub out the disconcerting train of thought and that annoying feeling that his ears and mouth were full of cotton and blinking was getting to be sticky.
He actually kind of wanted to take another bath and just go to sleep.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Terriermon, flopping around boredly on the edge of the battlements. Maybe he could try and make himself angry at him again. That would give him energy again pronto, but as hard as he tried, the best he could manage was a heavy cold feeling with the inevitability of concrete. Disgruntled, he rested his chin in his hand and looked away.
The only reason you're upset is because everything you just said is true!
He's got that right, he admitted bitterly to himself, tapping his tail against the stone of the battlements. Actually, admitting that, even in his own mind was enough to get the fury cogs going, even if slowly. Because it was true, Terriermon had no business rubbing it in his face like that, he already knew! But should he have punched him like that?
Maybe not, but Impmon didn't feel sorry about it in the slightest. Yes. Hmph, it was probably bound to happen anyway! And if Terriermon didn't deserve it then, he'd deserved it a couple of times from other stuff, too.
"Um…" Lopmon's voice cut through his thoughts. He stiffened, turning to look at her. She was covered in dust and smelled like dead wood and rocks. In her right paw, she was holding his scarf and gloves. "I brought these."
"Er…thanks." Impmon wasn't sure what to say. He took the scarf first. It was back to feeling like fabric again, and smelled a little bit like soap. But, "Hey, where did you get these? Didn't that little Otamamon have 'em?"
Lopmon looked away, "She asked me to return them to you."
"Tch." Impmon tied the scarf on and glanced back towards the forest, unable to hide the trace bitterness in his voice, "What, they afraid my bad murderin' karma'll rub off on them?"
Lopmon didn't say anything for a little while, and for a second Impmon thought she'd left. But she surprised him by hopping up alongside him, speaking with more resolution in her voice than he'd ever heard. "Impmon, please. I won't pretend to understand fully what Terriermon said about karma, but if what he says is true then all of us have enough bad to merit the trouble we're all getting in this life. Even him. But that's not what's important."
Impmon growled and pulled his gloves out of her grip.
"Oh yeah?"
He started to pull on his left glove, and then the right—only to stop and stare stupidly.
The right glove, the one that had been shredded all to nonsense, had been stitched back together. They weren't neat stitches by any stretch of the imagination, and the thread was the wrong color, but…
A memory blossomed in his mind, pastel colors, wooden floors and old fans, crumbs on the carpet and the smell of apple juice and crayons—but most importantly of Ai and Mako, holding up that stupid stuffed bear with the stitched-up arm.
He looked back to Lopmon, eyes wide and a little unfocused.
She didn't seem to notice. "You and I are not like the others. We were their enemies by nature and circumstance. Both of our destinies were to commit grave betrayals to find our true paths—as guardians to our young Tamers. This is what is important. This is our destiny."
Impmon snapped back to reality, tightened his gloves and bared his teeth at her. His heart wasn't really in the gesture, but he didn't like being cross examined by Lopmon, someone whom he didn't know well. But wasn't that the freakin' point?
You ought to be grateful for this chance to get to know your teammates better, Renamon had said.
But hearing all this from Lopmon made him feel naked and strangely vulnerable—almost panicky in a way, and before he could stop them, words were tumbling out of his mouth like cereal out of overturned box,
"You know I'm really gettin' tired of hearin' that word—destiny, destiny! You don't make a lot of sense, bunny brain, but thanks for the sagely advice."
"One more thing?
"What?"
"We are almost done with the clean-up. The King insisted our group go and get some sleep. Renamon and Guilmon are finishing up some final preparations, but they asked me to come and relieve you two. The Geckomon watch will be coming up to replace you soon, so if you are tired..."
"I'm not tired. I'm as alert as ever and my eyes are still sharper than a dentist's drill. I'll come down when I feel like it, got it?"
Behind him, he heard Lopmon utter a tiny sigh. His tail and spine, stiff with defiance twitched at the noise. Of all the people he could be yelling at, he'd already yelled at Lopmon too many times today, and for what? She was nice enough, he guessed, but he was also tired of taking back the stupid word-vomit things he said and with Terriermon just over there looking on with curiosity even if he couldn't hear, he wasn't about to say sorry now (oh for all the love in heaven, please don't let him be able to hear!).
As soon as Lopmon left, he slapped his hand to his face and glared out at the forest through the gap in his fingers, grinding his teeth. Why was he so stupid? His eyes were practically watering with the effort of keeping them open…
A flash of movement across the water—
The trees were shifting, bending—
An electric shock might have torn through his body. He leaped up to stand on the battlements and narrowed his eyes. He could hear a heavy stomping sound, like the whole forest was moving towards them—and something spindly, swinging what looked like a giant hammer and carrying a flag of some sort, a white—
Impmon's eyes widened.
"What the—"
"Impmon!" Terriermon was scrambling over to his side of the battlements, leaning up against the stone and staring out at the approaching army. "Is that—"
"Trouble. Come on!"
Terriermon had sounded the alarm amongst the guards, while Impmon decided to take the express route down to the great hall.
He slid down the side of the fort and scrambled for the hole in the wall, sending bits of debris falling in a silty rain. He could still hear a commotion inside, so that meant Lopmon was right. So much the better.
"HEY!" he shouted, sticking his head inside. From the height, his voice carried well over the swept-up hall. Renamon and the others and most of the Geckomon were still in there. "We got company!"
There was no time for anything better. The Geckomon literally threw a rice paper screen on the massive hole in the wall, if only to present the illusion of a better defense. The King mobilized every able-bodied Geckomon in the fort to attention, and warned everyone to prepare for the worst.
The worst. Renamon's eyes narrowed at the thought. She slid on her sleeves and clenched her fist.
Perhaps there was a chance that if Calumon managed to digivolve them they could manage? No, Calumon had never digivolved any of them past Champion on his own, and they had no Tamers…Woodmon were strong, but she on her own had taken out plenty of Champion-level Digimon before. But a battle-hardened Ultimate and a Mega?
Perhaps what they were doing was irresponsible, but they had no choice now. Even if they wanted to run, they would likely be unable to escape pursuit from a Mega and a small army. Still, what to do? Was it possible that they could defeat him, if they absolutely had to? Surely they could? Hadn't they defeated more impossible odds?
Not alone…
She shook her head. All this worrying. It wasn't like her. Perhaps this acquisition of human traits wasn't always a good thing. Before Rika, before the D-Reaper, she had never feared death. Now that she had someone else to live for, however…
No. It hadn't come to that yet.
"That's a lot of Woodmon," Guilmon said, staring out at the veritable forest camped out on the shore of the pond. "So, that's Puppetmon?"
"Yes," Renamon supplied.
"He's tiny. Are you sure he's a Mega?" Impmon said, narrowing his eyes. Renamon followed his gaze. Puppetmon was a little hard to make out at this distance. He appeared to be standing on one of Cherrymons branches, holding a long Hammer and another pole, the tip of which was hidden in the boughs.
"Sure he is!" Marine Angemon supplied. Impmon blinked.
"Oh yeah. No offense."
"Size has nothing to do with it," Guardromon worried, "I hear that hammer of his can kill a Champion with one strike!"
"Let's hope whoever said that was exaggerating," Terriermon replied, "If that's the case, he could take out this whole fort by himself!"
They were all waiting up on the battlements, along with the Geckomon King and a show of force, holding spears and creating a fence of shiny thorns. Renamon was certain day had come, but it was still dark out.
"I hoped it wouldn't come to this," the Geckomon King said. "Still, what is he waiting for?"
Suddenly, the spindly shape that was Puppetmon leaped off of Cherrymon's branches and landed lightly on the ground. Renamon could see the other pole—it was—
"A white flag?" she blinked.
"What, like surrender?" Impmon frowned.
"Heeeyyyyy!" a tinny voice—unmistakably Puppetmon's—rang out across the lake.
The Geckomon King blinked. "That's a flag of truce."
"Heeeeeeeyyyyy!" Puppetmon yelled again. "I just wanna talk! Why don't you come out so I don't lose my voice just trying to say 'hello'?"
"How stupid do you think we are?" Impmon retorted, shaking his fist.
"Yeah, you think we're gonna get within spitting distance of you guys?" Terriermon added, also shaking his fist.
"Guys, we're trying to negotiate!" Guilmon told them. "Shhhh!"
"Sorry? Can't hear you! Come on, throw me a bone here," Puppetmon shouted, "I think we might be able to come to a peaceful solution if you just talk to me! I'd hate to…" his voice degenerated into a set of tinny yells carried off by the wind.
"It might be worth a shot," Guilmon muttered. "But doesn't it kinda seem too good to be true?"
"He's got a flag of truce. We've got no choice, anyway." The Geckomon king signaled his aides.
Puppetmon's flag was made of skins. The pelts of at least three different pale-colored Digimon had been lashed together with red yarn.
"What took you so long?" He stabbed the butt of the grisly banner into ground, leaving a mark just beyond the drawbridge.
Renamon's fur prickled along her spine. It went against every instinct fired and fine-tuned in her system to even be this close to the Mega. He was gripping the flag with both hands, knees and shoulders bent in a strangely childlike way, but there was a grim, bloody look in his Virus-red eyes and an easy anticipation in his stance that frightened her because of its familiarity.
He, too, was flanked by two Woodmon, with the Cherrymon standing behind at a good distance. She narrowed her eyes. This was no doubt simply a way to try and mock the Geckomon King—if not to mock, then to frighten or upset with the mirror image reflected.
It told her much about the kind of creature he was.
Childish. Proud. Crafty.
"So," the Geckomon King said, clearly noticing the taunt and choosing to ignore it, "You wish to talk?" a breeze swept through, blowing the white standards of both sides.
Puppetmon made an exaggerated "looking" gesture.
"Where are the other ones? The Real-World Digimon? Oooh, way back there, I see."
It was true—only Guilmon, Renamon, Terriermon, Impmon and the King and his two aides had come forward. The rest of their group, and many of the Geckomon, had been asked to hang back. Initially, Impmon had been asked to stay to, but he'd "blown a gasket" (a metaphor picked up from Rika that she found apt in this situation) in response.
"Hey, I'm the one who saw him coming, and I don't want him or Cherrymon to think I'm afraid of them or something!"
In the end, everyone in the advance group, even Terriermon, acquiesced. Renamon understood. It wasn't just pride. She did think that the little Virus type thought altogether too much of what others thought of him in general, but this was a matter of honor.
"Don't worry, they're perfectly within hearing distance," Terriermon said with a smile.
Renamon sighed inwardly. She wished Henry was here, for Terriermon's sake. There was no need to antagonize Puppetmon.
"Is that so? Well then, best get to the point!" Like a gangly wooden spider, Puppetmon leaped. The sudden motion caused everyone to instinctively flinch away—
But Puppetmon had merely swung onto one of the chains. He laughed at their reaction, swinging on the sturdy chain like a child on a swing set. He swung down onto the drawbridge with a heavy thud. The Geckomon King frowned.
"What are you doing? Step back across." Puppetmon waved a dismissive hand and gestured to his gruesome flag.
"Scared you, didn't I? Don't worry, I've got a white flag, see? I'm not going to hurt you." The playfulness that had buoyed his voice disappeared. The change in sound reminded Renamon of what happened when a drop of ink fell into a glass of water—darkness spiraling and curling out. "You frogs are going to hand over the Digimon who have been to the real world. If you do, I'll pretend this fort never existed, and walk away."
Puppetmon's voice carried like an air horn, so everyone heard the offer. Renamon tensed. She could feel the gazes of the other Geckomon turn on her and her companions—once friendly eyes turned slightly predatory.
"You don't even have to give them all to me at once. I'll settle for this one, for starters." He pointed at Impmon, who in turned bared his teeth.
"You want a piece of me, you mutated fence post?" Renamon glanced at him. Impmon was trying to be stoic and angry, but he had always been painfully easy to read, even at this most calm and collected (which not very) in it of itself. But now, his defenses had already taken a sound and humiliating beating over the course of the day. At this point, their ragged shreds could barely be called a defense. He looked raw, and shamed, eyes inflamed with embarrassment. "I'll give it to you if you think you can handle it!"
Puppetmon eyes narrowed. He took a step forward.
"Impmon, quiet," Renamon stepped in front of him.
The Geckomon King, for his part, did not even look at them. Instead, his gaze hardened.
"What for?" he asked, his voice cold and level.
"I don't need to tell you, but I'll play since you asked so nicely," Puppetmon twirled the truce flag lazily. "To go to the Real World, of course!"
"Puppetmon, I don't know told you that, but it's not true," Guilmon said. "Loading one of us won't get you there. That's a made-up story."
Puppetmon laughed, a harsh, shrill noise that made the sensitive hair in Renamon's ears buzz. His Woodmon chortled along with him, but as soon as he stopped, they shut their mouths. Puppetmon reopened his eyes—that blood-hungry look returning like moss on stone. "Want to know why I don't believe you?"
"Well, I think we could hazard a guess," Terriermon said, scratching his head.
"You don't say? Well. What do you say, Mr. Geckomon King?"
All eyes turned to the King. A hush fell. Renamon could practically feel the bated breath of the Geckomon holding the line behind them. She shared a glance with Guilmon. In the worst case scenario, Guilmon would attack, and hopefully push Puppetmon into the moat, and then she'd go back and—
"You insult my people and I by asking!" The silence cracked like river ice. There was a short gasp. "Not a one of them considered betraying our friends, and we have done our share of groveling in the dirt before to monsters like you."
Puppetmon wasn't even looking at him. He was twirling his hammer slowly, staring at Impmon, who was glaring balefully at him from Renamon's side.
"You ought to reconsider," Puppetmon's voice was quiet. "I already have to destroy this place to remove the taint of your defective guilty friend."
"Shut—" Impmon started, but Guilmon cut him off, his voice a growl.
"Hey, wait! You said that if we gave ourselves up, you'd walk away and pretend this place never existed!"
Puppetmon blinked, as though genuinely surprised. "Oh darn. I messed that up. Let me clarify." The hammer stopped spinning.
A blur of gunmetal gray and an explosion followed.
Renamon found herself blown backwards in a blast of heat and splintering wood. She hit the ground hard, only to leap up as the smoke cleared.
Just as the Geckomon King shattered into a billion points of red light. Puppetmon's face was as hard and cold as the metal of the hammer, eyes glimmering in the explosion's fading fire.
"What I meant to say was that in order for me to even pretend that this place never existed, I'd have to smash it into tiny pieces, kill everyone inside, and then walk away. And then, I'd go to the Real World. Make sense now?"
The Geckomon aide who'd been holding the standard was screaming, tears falling from his eyes to land on the broken shaft of their side's white flag.
Impmon was already on his feet. "You lyin', cheatin', two faced ugly freak!" he howled. "That was a truce flag!"
"Like someone like you knows the meaning of the word," Puppetmon replied. He tore the skin-flag off the shaft and tied it roughly around the end of his hammer. He started to twirl it again. "You're a killer, but you're not even good at that. And just so you know—"the horrible playfulness returning to his voice, "White is the color of death! Don't you stupid fools know anything? Ahahahahhahaha!"
With two swift strikes of his hammer, Puppetmon destroyed the two chains that allowed the drawbridge to retract.
Puppetmon leaped, hammer held high and voice shrill, "ATTACK!"
A/N: On white being the color of death-no, I am not pulling that out of my rear. Traditionally in Japan, white is the color of death. Cherrymon are known for being fairly knowledgeable and wise, so I figured given the nature of the network (random data in random places), gossip, rumors and simple investigation, Cherrymon might have learned something like that and told Puppetmon. XD