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Black Knightmon
Author of 5 Stories |
Duat Diaries
Disclaimer: Digimon does not belong to me. This fic is set in Lord Archive’s Diaries Universe and is written with permission.
Chapter Six
The Night of Fire
She could not blame them their fear. No one could understand it the way she could. Out of their group she was the only one who had lived through it. Even now thinking about her captor was like a coil tightening around her heart, making it hard to breathe. Unlike the townsfolk though she wouldn’t let it rule her life.
The girl glanced at Alraumon. Ever since that incident her trusted partner was never far from her sight. She was just as afraid, Nephthys knew, of her falling back into Leomon’s grasp. With her root-like toes extended Alraumon had firmly entrenched herself in the top of the wall.
Neglect could not completely account for the ease in which the plant girl took root. The stone had become porous and brittle. The waning of spirits appeared to manifest itself in the city’s fabric itself. Though appearing solid and strong, the dividing wall was slowly failing.
If the inhabitants of the Slums had desired it they could’ve torn it down with ease. Nephthys began to have doubts about who were actually protected by the barrier. Though they lived in poverty and filth, the digimon of the Slums didn’t suffer from the malaise the rest of Burner had fallen into.
“Are you all right?” Eboni asked her. The three of them were alone on the wall. The boys and all their partners had already scaled the steep climb to the other side with Alraumon’s vines as ropes. Behind her, on the Slum side of the wall, a fallen building made for a ramp of debris. Though not quite so easily scalable as it had looked, as some of their cuts and bruises testified too, it made getting outside a lot easier than getting in. More proof, if Nephthys needed it, that the purpose of the wall had changed. The imprisoned had found a kind of freedom within the walls, while outside there was little of it.
“Just thinking,” Nephthys replied.
“I was thinking too. Perhaps, perhaps you shouldn’t come with us.” Nephthys regarded her friend calmly. In the dark it was near impossible for Eboni to read her expression. “You shouldn’t have to face him again, after what you’ve already been through. Alraumon hasn’t evolved yet either, it’ll be safer if you stayed behind. And if things should go wrong, you can come and save us.”
“If everyone thinks that’s what’s best,” Alraumon said.
“No.” Nephthys slowly shook her head. “After all we’ve put him through already, he can’t afford to let us live. If he catches us it’s all over, you know that. And Alraumon has helped before, even without evolving. When the time comes, she’ll do her part. We’ll both do our part.”
Eboni put a hand on Nephthys’ shoulder. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“Have you ever truly looked at the city?”
“What?”
“Just look and what do you see? Behind us there are cooking fires, and the occasional laughter. It’s not the best life, but they aren’t cowed. Now look the other way. Every household is dark, silent. Only the palace has light, but does it offer anyone any comfort? And all around us there are soldiers, armed with torches.
The digimon are all hiding, hoping to remain unnoticed in the darkness. All they have is fear. They built a wall to keep their fear at bay, but it still haunts them. Now they make a new wall, one of fire and bodies, to contain yet another fear,” Nephthys sighed. “You’re wrong; I have to go with you. Otherwise, I’ll just be like them. I can’t let fear rule me, Eboni, I just can’t live like that. I’ve seen what it can do to people and it’s horrible.”
“You’re not like them, even if you stay behind,” Eboni said. “If you are afraid…”
“I am. I know what we’ll be facing. Just. Just support me, all right?”
“I will,” Eboni said.
“Ahmose has reached the bottom,” Alraumon suddenly spoke. Her vines had gone slack, much to her relief.
“You go first, I’ll be right down behind you,” Nephthys said. She wanted to look at Burner at night for just a little while longer. This sight, she wanted to have it fresh in her mind. Leomon had done Burner a great injustice and it was time to set things right. Perhaps then both she and this city might find peace.
The river was an unassailable presence; it had seen the rise of ancient Burner and would still be there long after it had turned to dust.
Life amongst the digimon of those elder days had been primarily nomadic, with most herds and tribes vying for the lands near the river. Its water and vegetation were of singular importance for a variety of digimon – though some more than others. A tumultuous land where loyalty of kin was all there was in terms of order.
How all of that changed with the coming of Pharaohmon and the kingdom he carved out of a wild land. The future ruler, or so it was said, chose the largest bedrock nearest the river as the site of his capital. Starting first with walls and a base at its centre Burner quickly became the most powerful fortification in the lands, even before it became a city in truth.
Leading his followers together with a trusted, and very select, group of companions, he soon had complete control. And with control he set forth a way of life that persisted to this day. Few still lived who could remember those times, for while a certain amount of order had been imposed the land resisted taming. Of his companions only the names of a few were still known, and only because they themselves had remained in notoriety, such as the High Priest Anubimon. Such a longstanding culture, a legacy that should be protected, that was now in danger.
Gotsumon’s scowl increased and he briskly jerked his hand away from his eye cavity. When he wasn’t paying attention his fingers found their way to the hole where his eye had been. It itched, though nothing was there. A ghastly wound and the ghost of pain, a scar upon him as the Slums were upon his city.
“They’ll pay for what they’ve done,” he said to himself. The rot would go no further. “This city shall not fall to their treacherous ways.”
The guardsman turned away from the sands outside to look at the city within. Somewhere inside were the ones he sought. None of the guards had followed their captain up to the top of the stately gate. His mood had warred them all off.
The walls were strong and thick and had never been breached by enemy forces, though they had seen plenty of conflict. There were four large gates, almost fortresses of their own right, at four opposing sides. The gates were barred with tempered wood and Chrome Digizoid, so heavy that much of the gatehouses consisted of an elaborate system of pulleys to operate them.
To get out of the city though one of them, a gatehouse had to fall and held long enough to open the gates. And if they were to try this was the most likely gate, closest to the Slums. Gotsumon liked to think it impossible, but the detachments were too small for his liking. The guards were stretched too thin, holding each of the gates, patrolling the outside of the Slums as well as a roundabout patrol of the outer walls. Unfortunately there were other ways of getting on the walls aside from the gatehouses, a necessity for moving troops in defence, but a weakness in Burner’s current state. At least they couldn’t go under the wall; the bedrock was too strong for tunnelling. Only a few endeavours had ever succeeded, but those holes had been found and resealed. At least, he hoped they were.
The uncertainty was what did him in; there were too many variables that could be exploited and not enough of his guards to cover them all. The plan was faulty. Not for the first time he cursed the existence of the damned priest who now had the magistrate’s ear. And where was he anyways? This plan was his doing; the least he could do was help seeing it through. Yet, after the meeting, Wizarmon had vanished. The priest had proven invaluable in finding them the last time. If they were to try escaping the city he’d do best in tracking them down. Somehow though, Gotsumon questioned the validity of this operation. What if they weren’t trying to escape the city?
“If you can hear me priest,” Gotsumon said in an angry drawl. Since his wounding anger came all too easily. “You’d better play your part better than you did this morning. Or priest or not, you will regret your failure in the dungeons. This, I swear.”
A single burst of wind, unexpected and small, extinguished the torch, plunging the crossroad back into all encompassing darkness. For the guards this was momentarily absolute, their eyes unable to adjust fast enough to the shift. Within that dark bubble anything could move unseen.
With a flap of his wings, audible as only another breeze – hiding what appeared to be the clattering of bones –, the serpentine Coatlmon raced up the street. How long would it take the surprised guardsmen to figure out there was no wind this night, he wondered.
Coatlmon was already halfway between the two intersections before the shout reached him. Apparently the one leading the Golemon wasn’t completely stupid. A similar cry of warning came from the group in front of him. It didn’t matter, in a few heartbeats he was among them and beyond them, the drag plunging that group into darkness as well.
Soon the trail of extinguished flames would tell of the escape, not to the closest eastern gate, nor the south, but west. Leading ahead of the scattered guardsmen, virtually unopposed the entire way, with only a moderately guarded gatehouse as opposition the Chosen would make their escape. As anxious as the guardsmen were to catching them, they couldn’t allow that to happen. Other groups would march, as fast as they could, only to suffer the same fate. Their prey was nowhere near the western gate.
Coatlmon grinned, with luck it would only be by morning – after a long night of chasing and hunting in the wrong part of Burner – when the ruse was uncovered for what it was. This was the best kind of joke; rarely could he play with such a large audience. And that they were wholly unappreciative only made it better.
Unseen Plotmon and Leormon, the former riding on the latter’s back, scouted ahead. Sharp eyes and keen ears, to hold on to the element of surprise. If anyone knew where they were going, if his partner failed, it would be disastrous. And so he kept looking back, lagging, though Sethos knew well enough his partner wasn’t going to join up with them any time soon. If at all, and it was that line of thought that worried the boy most of all.
Eboni held back a few steps, and fell in line with him. Her voice came in a whisper, and even that seemed loud. “Coatlmon will be fine.”
“You don’t know that. There’s so much we don’t know. This is only the second time V-mon has become Coatlmon, and the first time he’s gone out alone. Is there a limit to how far I can support him? What if it fails at the wrong moment?”
“We are here for a purpose, ordained by the Gods of this place, a purpose that goes beyond this city. This entire region has fallen into despair. As such it is not our destiny to fall here this night. Believe in your partner, he’ll make it out all right,” Hesire said. Neither boy nor girl had been aware of his approach.
“Comforting words, never thought you were capable of them,” Eboni blurted out. Hesire didn’t dignify them with a response; instead he glided back to the front. Nephthys gave him a smile, and the boy’s steps faltered briefly. So she had put him up to it. Eboni almost had to laugh.
“Purpose and Gods, he doesn’t know that for sure.” Sethos shook his head. “Those stories are just that, stories.”
“You’re worried about a talking blue lizard, don’t be so quick to assume it can’t be true,” Eboni said.
Sethos shrugged. Despite efforts, even the unexpected, he was still worried. None of their partners was currently at risk. He held another worry close to his heart. A selfish one, though if anyone had to bear it, it might as well be him. Not the girls, not his longstanding friend Ahmose, not even Hesire; the only one among them whom he found hard to understand. He came across as almost detached and esoteric, and his knowledge – while vast – covered far too obscure grounds. Their country’s history had never interested Sethos much, only in that it drew tourists to their home, keeping Ahmose employed.
Perhaps Hesire had also considered their bonds, though that bastard probably didn’t care. He’d see it as fate, destiny, or some such nonsense. How deeply ran the connection between himself and V-mon; would the death of one affect the death of the other? Better they never found out. “Perhaps you’re right.”
One more incursion into their midst was all it was going to take. Like a tightly-wound spring he uncurled and sped forward – not as fast as he would’ve liked. Now Coatlmon was uncertain, his speed had steadily dropped during the last couple of raids. Nothing to be done about that now, a Golemon had caught his eye, and vice versa.
“Toltecan Wind,” Coatlmon hissed. Golemon aimed a wicked punch his way. With a beating of his wings Coatlmon stalled his flight, his face a mere breath away from the colossal fist. His tail continued on, like a whip, propelling a gust of wind to the centre of the patrol. Their part of the street was immediately plunged in darkness as the torch was blown out and away from the Gotsumon holding it.
Ducking low Coatlmon used the confusion to fly under the Golemon’s retreating arm and then over the head of the torchbearer as he was fumbling to find the stick again. Heat from the Golemon’s burning gasses would reignite the wood, but that took time and by then he was off.
An odd draft whizzed past his ears and the next thing he knew he slammed into a wall. His ears were ringing. Someone wasn’t as surprised as he had believed; doing the same approach every time – no matter how efficient – had come back at him. Through the ringing he heard strong steps coming his way.
“Where is it,” the torchbearer said. Apemon idly took a step back and kicked the torch, hitting the bearer straight in the face. Excited voices drowned out the cry, as the other guardsmen had a renewed focus in their pursuit. The Golemon didn’t even wait for orders, instead lumbering on in the serpent’s wake.
Apemon didn’t pursue. Together with the torchbearer he stayed where he was. This was simply one of many such raids, but the first where the raider was actually hurt. Had his club struck better on the first go the outcome would’ve been completely different. Yet no one came to help – previous experience had shown the group to be tightly knit.
“Which raises the question, why didn’t they? Are they even here?” Apemon glanced at the remaining guard. “You, get up and rally those Golemon before they leave town chasing shadows.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, do you want another smack?”
“No sir.” Gotsumon saluted awkwardly, his feet already in motion. If he wondered why his commander wasn’t following he didn’t ask. Sufficiently cowed and relieved to be away from Apemon’s presence the torchbearer knew better than that.
Alone at last, Apemon thought. The rules of the game had changed, and for a time he was the only one aware. If he could track and find them he could deal with them in a manner more befitting Leomon’s wishes, away from the eyes of the guards unaware of his and Leomon’s true allegiances. Discovery was not an option, there were still more of those true guards left than they could afford. Business in Burner would take a serious plummet.
Apemon set off. His club had a taste of the enemy, and wanted more.
Leormon slinked closer to the gate, invitingly open. Her belly was pressed against the cobblestone pavement as she crawled. No sand or simple rock here, as with everything no expenses were too great for Pharaohmon’s seat of power.
She was alone, and barely a few pounces away from standing beneath the ornate overhang of the gatehouse. With her sharp eyes, even more so at night, she discerned the murder holes on the ceiling and the tracks along which the gate doors were moved. Sniffing the air, as she had done every few paces, Leormon continued to edge closer. The air was stale; the smells that lingered were for the most part hours old. Perhaps there was a handful strong enough to have been made in the last hour, nothing more recent than that.
Anxious, and getting ever more agitated the closer she got to passing beyond to the palace gardens, Leormon wondered where the guards were. Their plan appeared to be working; all the guards were invested in patrols – patrols that were nowhere near. Still, it was foolish to leave the heart of the city so unguarded.
Then she realized that, with the passing of Pharaohmon, the palace had ceased being the heart. Leomon ruled now, mounting his legit activities from this place. Yet he was more a criminal than he was a magistrate. The latter was only used to support the former, and losing his hold over the palace was as nothing compared to being unmasked for what he truly was.
Satisfied no one was on guard and confident that she had remained unseen, even from the higher vantage points of the palace minarets, Leormon turned away to report on what she had found.
From high above the flickering lights and the trail they made were easily followed, and easily discerned as a feint. On the ground, in the heat of things, it was different. How long until someone realized what was happening? Incompetence was not unheard of in the city guard, few reached high enough positions, and few had the skill needed for command. And the force was too small to allow anyone unqualified in a command position. To blame it all on them was a bit unfair, none of them had the inside knowledge he had.
“So far so good. Oh, old friends, how predictable you are.” Wizarmon sighed. Their coming had confirmed their tale, as he knew they would. Corruption truly ran deep in Burner. Good thing he left, good thing he had returned. He spoke aloud and unabashedly, alone on his loft. “I commend you for getting this far, and for making such a transparent ploy actually work. Of course, without me, this place would be swarming with guards right now. How will you proceed? Will your righteousness prevail, or will it fall? Hm?”
An odd light had appeared in the sky, to the south east, leaning mostly to south. Not the light of dawn or the night sky. Faint at first it became stronger at time’s passing. No, not stronger but closer, a ribbon of fire.
“Better hurry, friends.”
“Few digimon have the privilege to walk these grounds, over the paths, beneath tall trees and past the fountains,” Plotmon added.
In its heyday the garden was a tight circle of assorted colours, filled with the tranquil sounds of tinkling water from the many fountains. From simple birdbaths to massive statues, all a display sparkling in the light, even at night, when the garden became a fey glade; that was the talk, but to Leormon’s keen eyes it was on death’s bed.
“I hate to break it to you.” His voice was hardly apologetic, rubbing the leaf of a large fern – a purple one at that – between his fingers. The texture was rough, the leaf so brittle it turned to flakes in Sethos’ hand. “But these plants are dying. If it was light out, I don’t think I’d call them beautiful.”
Skelamon nodded. “Water has been in short supply lately, and with all the recent troubles the gardeners have been unable to do their duties. Without a regular foray to the river these plants, these fountains, have been left to dry. No wonder, maintenance of this place is a luxury no digimon can afford.”
“I’ve heard the gardeners were sent off by Leomon, and have even come under suspicion of killing Pharaohmon,” Leormon said. “Word is they’ve either left town or gone into hiding. Kind of like us.”
“I don’t know about that, if they were serious about them being the culprits they would’ve been caught by now. It’s just a rumour, especially now that we’ve been made public enemy number one,” Ahmose said, his voice dropping into a murmur. “No one is hunted like we are.”
“We’ll make it,” Nephthys whispered.
“Yeah, we’ll turn everything around, you’ll see.” Eboni grinned. “Even this garden. It’s not much now, but when we are through it will be more beautiful than ever, for everyone to see.” She took a hold of Nephthys’ hand, putting the other on Ahmose’s shoulder. “Tonight we’ll definitely save Burner.”
Sethos shrugged, but he was smiling nonetheless. Even Hesire gave a brief, if solemn, tug of his lips. Not enough for Eboni. “What’s wrong with you people?”
“Be quiet everyone, I hear someone coming,” Leormon suddenly whispered urgently. Getting into a squat, the young cat was ready to pounce. Eyes wide she was focused on the gate they had past through. The others edged into ferns, gaining and losing cover as the leaves fell apart on touch. Leormon felt her heart beat wildly in her chest.
A figure emerged out of the gloom, small and with a noticeable stammer in his gait. Leormon blinked in recognition. She began to speak, but before that someone else already abandoned the weak cover. “It’s V-mon.”
“Hey guys,” V-mon said, nearly falling into Sethos’ welcoming arms.
“You reckless fool,” the boy said, “weren’t you supposed to avoid fighting at all costs?”
“Couldn’t be helped, some big lummox sucker punched me. I’m fine though.”
“More importantly, have you achieved the objective?” All eyes were on Hesire, and not all were friendly looking.
“Perhaps we should allow him a moment of rest first?” Ahmose suggested.
Sethos glared. “No, he’s right. We have no time. V-mon?”
V-mon was still catching his breath. “It’s done, the fools will be running around for hours, for sure. Let’s do what we came here for.”
Another Gotsumon appeared on the battlements, and stopped to look around. Eyes, two of them, fell on his position. Gotsumon waited for his kin to approach and speak. He recognized her of course, as he did all of the digimon under his command. As his predecessor had done, he too believed he should know all of them. Even though it hurt more losing subordinates, he felt he owed it to the ones who put their lives on the line for the sake of the city.
“Sir,” she said, saluting quickly. She had come from far; too far if the target of the escapees was this gate. South then, with the breakpoint somewhere between the two gates.
“Report, if you please.”
“Yes sir, our line has been breached, between groups twenty and twenty-one.” Gotsumon nodded, that was approximately what he had deduced. “We’ve been pursuing due west, last I’ve heard, sir.”
That peaked his interest. “West, not south? Are you certain?”
“Yes sir, when the line was breached the patrols along it, in a line due south-west, were attacked. They then began their pursuit, going towards the western gate. Since then they’ve incurred several raids.”
“All of it on route to the west? That makes no sense.”
“But isn’t that gate one of the least protected?” she said, taking his question as directed at her.
“It is, aside from the north gate it is also the farthest. The longer they are in the city the higher the chance for discovery. Aside from that, they are pursued, so the gate will have to be taken quickly before they are overrun. A hard thing even with the gates’ minimal defences. Are they stupid, or am I missing something?”
“Sir, shouldn’t we join our comrades instead of waiting around?”
Gotsumon looked her in the eyes. “Moving too hastily invites mistakes. And even if we go now we’ll just be another few in a larger mess. Our presence will not help the overall efforts much. Better to think things through, especially if your gut tells you something is wrong. Always trust your gut.”
“Yes sir.”
“Wait, you said patrols along the cordon were attacked? When they were already through them?”
She nodded.
“We’ve been had. Why invite more patrols to pursue you if you’re trying to escape? They intended to be followed, if it were them at all. How many enemies were spotted? Lion, ghost, hound?” Despite himself he snarled. “Serpent?”
“Only the serpent, sir.”
“He’s the fastest. He’ll lead our patrols away and double-back behind them. While they search in vain the fugitives have free reign in the rest of the city.” He shook his head. Not stupid, those fugitives, not at all. If only he had a better view of the city, such as the palace towers, he would’ve seen this sooner. But over there he was too far from the action, and the magistrate had ordered him to supervise on site. No overview, just another soldier dependent on messengers.
“These are my orders for you. Tell the patrols the enemy is not going west, what they followed was a distraction. I’d send more with you, but I can’t spare anyone from this gate. You must hurry, and recall them all.”
“Yes sir,” she saluted, turning on her heels. Gotsumon could only hope she reached the patrols in time but he doubted it. Even more, he doubted they were trying to escape at all. They had several opportunities to do so, yet hadn’t.
“Wait, belay those orders,” Gotsumon called out before his messenger reached the way down. Follow his gut was what he said. “We were mistaken, they aren’t escaping. The palace is undefended right now, they are after the magistrate.”
Her eyes widened, and she was immobilized by shock at the implications. “Sir!” Saluting again she ran, her orders understood. Gotsumon followed. Holding the command post was moot, he was going to rally the guards here and take them straight to the palace. If they got there in time all they had to do was hold out until the full force arrived. They were going to be there in time, the magistrate was too strong to fall. Gotsumon had to believe that. Not another one, not on his watch. Pharaohmon, Leomon, not again.
Not for the first time Hesire wished he could read what the walls told, and had the time to observe them better. This was what he lived for, and he had to let it go. For now, when things calmed down he fully planned to return. He wanted to know and if possible verify the account, aside from Pharaohmon others had to have survived to this day.
“History is written by the victors,” he whispered. Would the tale of the Chosen be told some day in this manner, and what would it say; heroes or villains, or not even that, just a footnote in history?
“This is it,” Skelamon announced. The end of the hallway had come; a closed set of doors many times their sizes. The lord had been an imposing figure, in size as well as reputation. He never needed to bend down to enter his inner sanctuary. “Is everyone ready?”
“You can still stay here,” Eboni said to Nephthys. The other girl shook her head; she was going through with this.
“All right,” Sethos said. His digivice clenched in his fist. “Let’s evolve and barge in. We’ll end it before he knows we’re here.”
“If he’s even inside,” V-mon voiced, his words unheeded. Everything depended on Leomon being inside. Word was he was definitely there, but word on the street was proclaiming them as evil as well.
Ahmose took charge. “Dobermon and Raiamon take point, Alraumon stays with us behind them and Bakemon and Coatlmon above us when we enter. After that we have to move quickly to subdue Leomon, while we still have the element of surprise.”
“Try to evolve Alraumon if you can,” Eboni said. Again she put a hand on the other girl’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. For support and reassurance, the memories of her crying after her ordeal were still strong in Eboni’s mind.
Nephthys pulled away. Though she meant well Nephthys couldn’t take this right now; her knees felt weak enough as it was. Sympathy and concern weren’t helping in this case, only bringing her back to those horrible moments. She looked at her digivice; so far she had gotten no reaction from the device. Not like the others. Perhaps her fear was holding the power at bay. She didn’t know what to do, but she wasn’t going to be a dead weight. Nephthys refused to be.
“If you can’t we’ve got things covered with the four of us,” Leormon added.
“No harm will come to any of you,” Plotmon said.
Sethos stepped forward, holding his digivice up to the door. “Enough talk. It’s a lot to ask of you partner, to do this twice in one night, three times in a single day, but let’s do this. All those rations you ate, the storeroom plundered here. You have to do it again. Evolve!”
Three more digivices were raised, light pouring out of all four of them. The fifth stayed inert, much to the disappointment of Nephthys and the chagrin of Alraumon. In this critical time the plant girl wanted so much to be of help. Nothing was forthcoming.
Dobermon and Raiamon leapt through the opening, stopping just short of where the doors had been deposited. Flowing gracefully through the air Coatlmon followed, joined by a less precise ghostly hovering. For the Chosen and their digimon both this was their first time within the chamber that had housed the powerful. Here the walls and ceilings were as black as the floor. Pillars of the same stone, only rounded, were only discernable by the glowing digicode markings upon them. Past the destroyed doors, to the centre of the chamber, the floor dipped into a bowl and within that bowl was a mirror. More than just water, it radiated power.
“I see you didn’t run. A pity as you were so very good at it. An entire guard force out looking for you, hunting you for days and what do you do. You come right to me. And you brought my girl back to me as well.”
Beyond the pool, on a raised dais sitting on a throne too large for him, the magistrate of Burner was unimpressed. Outnumbered, nevertheless he was not outmatched and his confidence showed. Elbow on armrest and his head resting on a ham-sized fist Leomon was the epitome of a ruler. The glow of the markings made the shadows dance across his body, highlighting his scars, his gleaming teeth and creating a malevolent light within his eyes. Not large enough for the throne, yet his presence was not diminished. Even the most stalwart of foes would be taken aback. At his words Nephthys visibly flinched, and Leomon’s lips quirked in a lopsided grin.
“We’ve come to make you pay for your crimes.” First to regain his voice Ahmose was unable to hide a tremor as he spoke.
Leomon laughed, a booming sound coming from everywhere in the chamber at once. “You have caused me no end of trouble. How’s that for crime. You all coming here with demands for the benefit of the citizenry, believing you are so good, so righteous. The same digimon who are, even now, in their beds asleep, hoping for your capture, your deaths. You do them no favours, believe me. Nothing is going to change. The weak stay weak, existing for the stronger to exploit.
But I will tell you something, since you did turn yourselves in to me. Surrender and I’ll take back my girl. I’ve changed my mind about selling her, she’ll come into my service – once the heat dies down. And for you, thieves of my property, I’ll grant you quick deaths. Let it not be said I’m incapable of showing mercy.”
“I won’t go back,” Nephthys whispered.
“You should really consider my offer, I won’t make it again. My girl, I told you back then to think things through. Do so now, and you’ll see that power, true power, can be yours. In the past Pharaohmon used the turmoil to carve an empire. That turmoil has returned. Power, true power, is ripe for the taking.”
Eboni gasped. “You’re mad.”
“We’ll never do things your way,” Dobermon growled. The plan had already failed, Leomon was impossible to unhinge. Their coming had not fazed him. No matter, the black hound knew what he had to do. Putting the lion off balance was only a first step, force was the deciding factor. Dobermon lunged forward, his sleek legs carrying him quickly to the centre pool. Heavier steps fell in line with his, a second lion, quadruped against biped. Both beasts jumped, soaring over the reflective surface of the water. The draft didn’t even cause a ripple. Onward, to the top of the dais, teeth bared.
Leomon still showed no reaction, aside from a slight bemusement. Fangs didn’t concern him, not even the reputed dentures of the Raiamon breed. As the two went for his neck he instead grabbed theirs, holding them fast in place, the throne absorbing their momentum. Now he rose to his feet, his muscles bulging. As fast as they had climbed up they were thrown back down, breaking the surface of the pool.
Coatlmon hissed, the coldest wind following in his wake. Leomon backhanded him into a pillar, and looked around for the fourth attacker. He saw nothing, but he hadn’t gotten where he was by ignoring his instinct. He whirled around, even before Bakemon had finished appearing behind him. In one swift movement his sword left his scabbard, cutting into the ghost’s cloth. Fortunately for Bakemon only a low piece was severed. Completing the turn Leomon kicked the ghost in the face, sending him off before landing smoothly himself.
“Heroes,” he addressed the Chosen. Every word taking him further down the dais, while below him the two heads rose gasping from the water. “Somehow I hoped for better. Girl, my offer still stands, but this is your last chance. No? Pity.”
Leomon didn’t slow, he jumped and twisted around. From his free fist a ball of fire, like the head of a lion, intercepted the black jet of flame. Cancelling each other out.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Leomon taunted. Turning he saw none of the Chosen where they were. They had taken refuge behind the pillars, a temporary refuge, but Dobermon was glad for even that much.
“Climb,” Raiamon growled, trying to get a hold of dry ground. The obsidian resisted her claws, and she kept sliding back into the water. “Try harder!”
Something shimmered above them, and two purple claws descended on their backs. Their touch was cold, made of weakness. But their debilitating touch was contained. Bakemon sniffled, his speech slightly impaired. Something had broken underneath the cloth. “Let me help you out of there.”
A head appeared from behind another column. Sethos tried to get her attention, waving for her to come. Eboni shook her head, almost having to laugh at the look of consternation coming her way. She had to wonder if this was what panic was like. But then his expression changed.
“Eboni!” he cried and she understood. She scampered away, on hands and feet. Slipping, getting up again, dignity thrown to the wind, not daring to look over her shoulder. If she had she would’ve seen Leomon.
”That’s the right place for you, grovelling on the ground,” he said, and swung down his sword. Ice and wind pummelled it. Eboni screamed when it hit right next to her, sparks flying from the blade and the obsidian.
A hand took her wrist, pulling Eboni up right and taking her along. She and Ahmose ran, not stopping for cover.
Thunder crackled, the harbinger of Raiamon’s approach – ornaments clinking in the lioness’ mane. Reversing his grip on his sword Leomon struck the obsidian tiles with its tip. Grounding himself he diverted most of the voltage away from his body. His fur was singing in places, but it hardly mattered. Black fire followed in the wake of the lighting, answered in turn by Leomon’s own flame.
“What did you think coming here? That I was like my subordinates? Girl, you should’ve known better, so should you ghost boy.” Leomon scoffed. He retreated, each step resolute and nothing if not calculated. Dobermon snapped at him, following up with the nails on his front paws. Unexpectedly the hound scored a few hits as Leomon suddenly stepped in. unbalanced, on his hind legs, Dobermon was unprepared for the punch aimed at his exposed stomach. He yelped and started to fall back.
Raiamon came in with her crack bite, but Leomon kicked Dobermon against his flank and into hers. The two went down. Ignoring Dobermon, while sheathing his blade, the magistrate grabbed the lioness by her shoulders. Heaving and grappling he lifted her over his head, swinging once before throwing her into a pillar. The column shook, but didn’t collapse. Reaching back the magistrate unsheathed his sword once again, reversing it to point down. Dobermon groaned, wanting to get up but held down by Leomon’s foot on his abdomen.
“Do you see how outmatched you are? Feel the despair, now the killing begins. None of you shall be spared to see the morrow.”
“No!” Bakemon screamed. Ghoulish hands wrapped around Leomon’s clenched fist. Poison seeped through, and for a second Leomon flinched. His hand shook, grip weakening. Beneath him Dobermon heaved with all his might and rose to his feet. Leomon fell back, but collected himself in time so he didn’t crash himself. Through it all he momentarily stopped fighting against the poison. His nerves felt deadened and made it impossible to hold on to the sword in his hand. He punched at Bakemon, missing as the ghost hovered back and vanished. Kicking out the magistrate created some distance between himself and the hound.
“This avails you nothing,” Leomon hissed. Already feeling started to return to his appendage.
Hesire stepped from behind a pillar, a look of resolution on his face. When he spoke the other Chosen followed his example. “Wrong. We knew coming here what we were facing.”
Nephthys came to stand at his side. “It’s you who has been underestimating us.”
“It’s true you’re stronger than any one of us,” Ahmose said, still holding Eboni’s hand.
“But you aren’t fighting any one of us; you are fighting all of us. Together.” Sethos leaned back against a pillar, crossing his arms.
Eboni shook her head sadly. “It was my hope this could be resolved peacefully, but if force is all you understand, than force will answer you.”
Forcing herself forward Alraumon shot out her vines, tightening around Leomon’s throat. Like a missile Coatlmon dropped from the ceiling, constricting Leomon’s shoulders. His scales exhumed cold. Twin roars, Dobermon and Raiamon both plunged their teeth in his lower arms. The hound didn’t dig in deep, but the same could not be said for the lioness. Her teeth sank down, going through muscle and tendons, to the bone. She had his sword arm.
“What?” Leomon exclaimed, held immobile.
The fifth digimon reappeared, taking the magistrate’s sword in his own ghoulish hands. Bakemon lunged forward, aiming for the centre of Leomon’s chest where the ribs came together. Roaring, in anger, pain, outrage, Leomon moved all holding him. Then the sword dug into his side, away from the intended target but by no means less wounding.
Leomon hadn’t gotten where he was by giving in. Defying the odds he brought his arms together in front of him, slamming Raiamon and Dobermon against each other to free them.
Bakemon stared deep in the lion’s eyes, seeing nothing but murder there. He tried to get away but claws took his cloth. The ghost was thrown away, and in the same motion Coatlmon was launched in the opposite direction and up. A pillar blocked his path, hard enough to dispel his form. V-mon dropped like a brick.
Alraumon’s vines were retracting but Leomon was faster still. Like Coatlmon earlier she was spun around and thrown. She screamed and struck something. Nephthys grunted, holding her partner as they both fell.
“What kind of monster is this?” Sethos asked.
Leomon glared at them, taking stock of the situation. One of the stronger pests was down, but three still remained, and in fighting shape. Though his blood was pumping he was losing mobility in his sword arm. And the wound in his side was nothing to laugh at either. Grunting he freed the sword from his body. In his other hand it would be less effective, and with only one working arm he couldn’t use all of his attacks at once. Incredible, but he had lost. Before the Chosen digimon could react he sheathed the blade, and formed fire in his hand. They tensed up, waiting to see who he was going after.
Leomon surprised them by slamming the fire into the ground, making a temporary wall between him and them. Then he turned and ran, his hand closing on the abdominal wound. Out of the chamber and into the hallway, he continued on. Though they had gotten him they were still in the city, his city. There was going to be another chance.
A ball, glowing in the same hue as the digicode markings so prevalent in the chamber, shot from the tip of the staff. It struck the pool, and the water exploded. What landed back into the basin was black, the shimmering light scattered.
Drops, then rivulets, seeped back into the basin from all sides. For now the scrying power was disrupted, until all the water was returned. All the time he needed. What happened this night was not for anyone’s eyes but theirs, this was all a private affair.
The chances of anyone watching were slim, but it paid to be careful at this junction. The priest hovered down, into the guarded midst of the Chosen, who were unsure whether he was friend or foe, as it should be. “Hold.”
“Wizarmon,” Alraumon said. “Why are you here?”
His boots touched down, and he looked everyone in the eyes before answering. Taking their measure, and reading there what he expected. “I’m not here to fight you; else I’d been here at Leomon’s side. I’ve come with a warning. Don’t pursue the magistrate; you’ve got bigger things to worry about. If you don’t leave the palace – no, make that the city – now, you never will.”
“Are you threatening us?” Sethos demanded.
“Hard of hearing, boy?” Wizarmon dismissed him with the wave of a hand. “You are hereby warned, Garudamon is coming.”
“Who is that?” Ahmose asked. Of course they would not know, but the reaction from their partners was all the more telling. They knew, and so they would leave. Just one more loose end before the Phoenix Guard arrived. Hidden under his cowl Wizarmon smiled.
A ragged tapestry hung in front of the portal, to keep the sands out in the event of a sandstorm. Most of it was now in tatters, parts of it were in his hand. Bandaging his wounds with only one hand was proving a difficult chore. And more than once frustration ruined his efforts.
“Things did not go well, lord magistrate?”
The magistrate looked up, and snarled at the diminutive priest. “And where have you been?”
“Around,” Wizarmon said. Shrugging the priest stepped closer. “I was witness to what happened. Seems like you underestimated them.”
“If you saw, why didn’t you step in? No, don’t answer, lest I take you down for your cowardice.”
Wizarmon cocked his head. “It wasn’t cowardice that stayed my hand, lord magistrate. Have you forgotten my purpose? I find the dark elements of our lands. Apprehending them is the task of the local enforcers. Only in dire circumstances do I interfere.”
“And this wasn’t dire? Forget it; just get your useless carcass out of my sight.”
Wizarmon shrugged again. “If that is your wish. But before that, allow me to tend to your wounds.”
“Do as you-“ Leomon’s breath stalled in his throat. Before his eyes the world twisted and turned. A sickening vertigo and terror, stealing the strength from his limbs, Leomon was paralyzed. The priest’s hand was on his abdominal wound, like a lead weight.
“Terror Illusion. In my grip you are made useless.”
Fingers digging through flesh, all Leomon could do was grunt. His sight was failing and though he spoke close the priest appeared to be miles away. His being was centred on those digging fingers. “What?”
“Foolish magistrate, blinded so easily by your assumed power, did you really think you were not susceptible to the very turmoil you sought to exploit?”
“Damned priest. What can you possibly hope to gain from my death?” Leomon said, almost passing out in the process.
“Don’t try to speak, just listen if you can. What do I seek to gain by taking you down? Nothing, except to remove a blight from this world. The Chosen were supposed to take care of you, but you who accuse me of cowardice fled from their righteous fury. You are nothing but a bit player in the greater scheme.”
“Such arrogance.”
Wizarmon laughed. “That is something that should be familiar to you. Your problem is that you never thought far enough ahead. Your petty power struggle, your dominance over this cowed populace, it means nothing. Surpassing the High Priest has always been beyond your reach.”
“But not yours?”
“Who’s to say I’m not loyal to my liege? Farewell magistrate.” There was a grim smile on Wizarmon’s face. Leomon roared, or thought he did, as a searing heat destroyed him from the inside out.
“Lord Garudamon,” Wizarmon said.
Garudamon took one look at him, taking his measure. “One of the High Priest’s many followers. What are you doing here, and where is the damned magistrate? Our approach could be seen for miles. Is this what security has come to in this place? It’s pathetic.”
Wizarmon rose to his feet, yet took care to show proper deference to the irate warrior bird. He was of a completely different league than Leomon – someone who must be shown proper respect. He had earned it many times over, enough to win the full loyalty of his squadrons.
“I’m sorry to say that things went awry here, sir. The magistrate is dead.”
“How did this happen, priest?”
“You’ve come here because of the rumours, haven’t you, for the ones who came here, who assassinated Pharaohmon, the Chosen?”
Garudamon stepped closer, staring down at him. “The one who asks the questions is me. You’re saying they killed Leomon?”
“The guards are out in force, hunting them down. For days now, yet they were unsuccessful. Their grip on this city is strong; tonight they came for the magistrate, and took him out.”
“You’re saying they’ve taken root?”
“Only way they remained hidden. Perhaps they’re even within the guard force. No one was there to assist him.”
“Where were you in all of this?” Garudamon asked.
“My search was proving fruitless. So I returned, too late to help, yet in time to see what happened.”
“How timely.” There was nothing in his words to show he believed what he was told. But then, Wizarmon knew, that was his way. It paid to invest time in understanding your superiors. “You shall return to the High Priest, and relate this tale of yours. One of mine will take you, at least part of the way.” Garudamon turned back to the opening.
“You believe they’ll prevent me from leaving the city sir?”
Garudamon looked back. “Your words only confirm what we, in the worst case, expected to discover. We’ve come prepared, this city will be purged.”
Flames like dancing fireflies filled the air above her, as if the stars had come down. Some stayed in place, while others moved – mostly in a v-formation. A lone flame came down into her street, growing bigger in its approach.
“Oh, be praised,” she said, dropping to her knees. This was the rekindling of hope, safety had returned to the city. The Birdramon was almost upon her. He would see, and save her. The Phoenix guard would save them all. Such a shining bird, a magnificent sight for her old eyes, its presence lighting the whole of the street behind her.
Toucanmon was astonished, the street was aflame. This wasn’t right; her house was going to be destroyed. Fire now fronted the bird, a scorching heat unlike anything Toucanmon had ever experienced. When he crossed her position, she was no longer there, no longer anywhere, for the Phoenix Guard had arrived.
Gotsumon helped a blackened, but still alive, figure to her feet. Recognizing in her his messenger, sent out not long ago, he pulled her inside a burning building. As they went this one still had a bit of life in its walls, enough to stave off collapsing until the Birdramon and Saberdramon past over to rain death on other parts of the city. Would that they were all Birdramon, at night the dark feathered avian guard were a lot harder to spot. Getting back to the palace was now forgotten. The magistrate was on his own, if he was still alive. Gotsumon’s priority remained with the digimon, those under his command and those under his protection. At least all he could find on their way out of Burner.
“You’ll be fine,” he whispered to the messenger, propping her against a wall. She’d live, if they made it out. He turned to a crouching Golemon, one he had taken from the western gate. “You, take care of her.”
Those he had found had orders to go west, rounding up as many survivors on route as they could while staying hidden. The Phoenix Guard was killing indiscriminately. This was a purge, aimed at the fugitives he had failed to apprehend. This was his fault, all of it.
Enough recriminations, he’d have plenty of time for that after he brought the digimon to safety. “You’ve got her? Then let’s go.”
Another digimon, a primate, appeared on the street and she could imagine how forlorn he must be, staring up into death itself. No reason to make things harder. Four meteors struck the place where he had stood.
A dark shape shot over the conflagration, it was the Apemon. His bone club struck her skull and before she knew it she was biting dust, hurting all over. The smell of burning soil filled her nostrils. It took her some time to realize she had crashed, and the burning was of her own meteors. The club struck her again, shattering her skull, and she knew no more.
Apemon sneered. “We aren’t all fools waiting for the slaughter.” Another bird had come, this one jet black. Apemon spoke for his benefit. “Come on, I’ll take you all on. Stop me from leaving this dump.”
The bird answered his challenge, and Apemon raced to meet it.
The Saberdramon charged with taking him away from the city felt agitated. No doubt for missing out of his fellows. Such an astonishing loyalty amongst the bird under Garudamon’s command, something the city guard – former city guard for a former city – could’ve learned from.
“You can set me off on the route to Query, so you can join your squad members. This is an important night for you all.”
“You’re very considerate,” Saberdramon said. Their descent answered his offer, landing on a sandy dune away from the city, nothing more than a glow against the horizon now.
“Tell your boss I’ll be returning to the High Priest through Query. I’m sure he’d like to know.” Trust was hard earned, and it was obvious Garudamon trusted few outside his corps. As a lowly priest he was not one of them.
The night was halfway gone, and many a sand dune stood between him and the town of Query. No way would he reach it before dawn, on foot. A fruitful day and he needed rest. The bird could take him there, but he wanted time to array his thoughts. Fortunately he had gone this way on route to Burner, and had prepared campsites for his return journey. One of those was close by, a day’s travel on foot from Burner yet decidedly less so by air. He’d set out from there.
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