A/N: I'm sorry to all of my readers, but I just couldn't get this story off my head. Stupid Andy got it in and then offered to co-write it. I hate you, ¬.¬

Prince of Darkness

By Ran Mouri & Madame Poppoff

The night was pitch black, and silence spread over Odaiba. Children were sleeping, huddled together, trying to find some comfort without their parents.

Outside, dark digimon roamed the streets in search of the eighth chosen child. The one that might lead to the downfall of Lord Myotismon. The one that held light and power beyond most of their understanding.

Inside, however, there was only darkness.

Myotismon growled low on his throat, staring at the sea of children sleeping on the floor. The annoying little creatures proved to be a failure. None were the one he was looking for, and had created a cacophony of crying and whining throughout the day.

He wished he could kill them all at once, so he could stop smelling their human stench.

He would have to wait, however. Once the eighth child was annihilated, all the others would follow and his reign would last forever.

He just had to be patient.

Suddenly, among the shadows, he could see movement.

A cruel smirk sprawled over his lips.

Perfect, he was getting hungry anyway.

With measured steps, just to make the less amount of noise and still be a threatening creature, he approached the moving shadow, his smirk widening just slightly as he saw the little boy approach a window.

“Aren't you tired, little one? Why aren't you sleeping like your friends?” he asked, growing amused when the boy tensed and, slowly, turned to him.

He had seen the boy before, of course, and he wasn't the one he was looking for.

The boy stared at him with honey-colored eyes that held no fear, but the tear tracks across his cheeks were evidence enough for the old vampire.

“Those are not my friends,” the boy answered with a shrug. “No one wants to befriend a corpse.”

A corpse, huh? Interesting.

“Why would such a lively thing as yourself feel like a corpse?” he asked, kneeling by the boy. He was so tiny.

“I was supposed to die, some months ago,” the boy confessed, his eyes set outside. “I didn't, so I'm more or less the same as you.”

His bravery only got him a raised gold eyebrow.

“Interesting,” he mocked. “I hadn't expected to meet one of my kind here.” Deep inside, he decided he would gain this brat's trust. Only so he could taste the betrayal in his blood when he breathed his last dying gasps.

He smiled.

“Your family must have been relieved you didn't die, then,” he said softly. The boy nodded.

“They were, for a while. Jun-chan used to hover around me for months, just to make sure I wouldn't fall dead right then and there, but now she has a boyfriend,” he shrugged. “So she doesn't need me anymore.”

“Jun-chan being...”

“My sister, she raised me so far.”

The vampire frowned a little, he vagely remembered the brat being dragged inside with an older looking girl and two screaming adults. Obviously both of their parents.

And yet.

The boy looked even smaller then, than he had before, and that same selfless courage sparkled in his eyes. The courage coming from someone that accepted death a long time ago and can stand the time he has left proudly.

Quite an interesting find.

If only the boy hadn't been so young, he would have been a delicious treat.

He curled his lips slightly, a frown marring his face.

“Tell me your story, Mr. Vampire?” the boy asked softly, his eyes, shining gold, regarded him seriously.

“My story?” Myotismon asked, surprised. “Why would someone want my story?”

The boy lowered his face for a few minutes, deep in thought. Shadows played with his features, hiding them from the vampire's eyes.

Then he looked up and locked his fiery eyes with Myotismon's.

“That's what I collect,” he said simply. “The moment you leave, that's it. Your are done. But if you leave your story, it's almost like you will remain here. At least inside someone else's memory.”

It was a different concept altogether, to leave a part of yourself into someone else. It brought ideas to him.

“Your own idea of immortality?” he asked, interested. The boy nodded.

“I have my parent's stories, and my sister's and his boyfriend's too. Osamu'niichan shared it with me when she wasn't home,” he explained. “They are mine now, a part of me. They'll never leave me now.”

“And you want to know mine,” the older man stated.

“Yes, you'll be a part of me then. If I die you will feel it, I will be a part of you. If you die I will cry your death and remember your story for all times. You and I will be immortal then.”

Without really knowing how or why, he sat down by the window and pulled the little boy into his arms, covering his cold form with his cape. The boy was special, he knew.

He had the wisdom of an older man and was trapped into the body of a human child. And those eyes, sometimes brown, sometimes golden.

Those eyes had the spark of miracles awaiting.

“I was born in a world far different from yours,” he began, feeling a little surprised when petit hands took hold of his own and didn't let go until he had finished his tale.

As the sun started to appear over Odaiba, Myotismon laid the sleepy boy down on the floor, his hand unconsciously caressing his short auburn hair.

“Your tale is sad,” the boy yawned.

“So is yours,” Myotismon answered, his eyes locked onto the child's.

“Now you are a part of me, and I'm a part of you,” the child smiled tiredly, another yawn breaking out from his lips.

The vampire nodded.

“Go to sleep, little one. My minions will watch your sleep,” he whispered, unsure. The boy nodded slowly, closing his eyes.

“Good night, lord,” he whispered with a sigh. The vampire smiled.

“Good night.”

Once the boy's breathing became even and his whole frame relaxed in deep sleep, the vampire let his smile fall. His body filled with reluctance to see the boy go down with the others. This one was special. This one had a part of him, just as he had a part of the little one with him now.

After listening of his tale of cold and neglect, locked in a cold room away from the sun, filled with tubes and nurses with glass cold eyes, of whispered conversations between parents that didn't want to care for a dead son, and doctors that had lost hope long ago. He decided this one was a kindred spirit.

This boy was his now.

Maybe that was how chose digimon felt, when meeting with their destined partners. The feeling of connection and bonding.

He frowned.

It wasn't such a bad idea.

Others had done it before him. He was sure he had heard of them.

Slowly, he bit his own hand and let some of his cursed blood spill from his palm and into the boy's partly open mouth. Now, under the harsh light of daylight he could see the boy's pale sallow skin and the dark rings under his eyes, the skinny complexion and fragile frame.

This boy was really ill. He was most possibly going to die soon.

“You won't die, now,” he whispered into the child's ear. “You will bloom like a flower under the sun, you'll grow strong and beautiful, away from death and despair. And when I'm king you will come with me and be my little prince, my own chosen. Just wait a little.”

The boy groaned softly, curling in his sleep.

Myotismon let one last smile curl his lips before standing. He had the eighth child to find still, and a kingdom to build.

No one would question this boy's miraculous recovery. He would make sure of it.

And once he was ready, the boy would become the Dark Prince of his Kingdom.

With a flare of his cape, the vampire walked away, his cold eyes scanning the last group of children he had to check over. Tailmon would most likely try to trick him again.

To be Continued.