|Lost Is My Name
Author: Acadis-Vulgaris PM
Personal interpretation of pre-Adventure/02. Revived by darkness, and condemned to a half-life to find a lost love, he must collect the broken to become whole again, while others view this immortal as a pawn... please read or he will have your blood! XDRated: Fiction T - English - Drama - Vamdemon/Myotismon & Demon/Daemon - Chapters: 5 - Words: 21,806 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 11-27-11 - Published: 06-19-11 - id: 7098403
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Azraelmon is my own creation; Pegasusmon has no known evolutions so I created an angel digimon as his Perfect form. His name is derived from Azrael, the Archangel of Death in Jewish and Islamic theology, who separates dying souls from the body and receives spirits of the dead.
I took some liberties with the Dark Masters as well as Vamdemon. There is a reference to all four of them in the last chapter; see if you can catch it and guess how they originated!
Tsukaimon is the dark form of Patamon.
Chapter One – Paranoid Circus
Before him sprawled an endless sea of windswept dunes and harsh, arid air. The harsh light and sand battered his face before he could escape his oviparous prison. The brittle eggshell, caressed by the desert air, cracked until its inhabitant could sprawl out. Gasping for air, without any assistance from the unforgiving surroundings, the creature hatched from his Digitama and fell onto the sand dune. Instantly, the sand blanketed his vessel.
Where was he? Who was he? Why was he? Was he not dead, or had it been a dream?
Glancing to his left, he saw his former home had sunk beneath the endless sea of sand. To his right, the same sea rippled across his line of sight. Forward and backward gave the same image. Why had he not been placed in a better home? He was alone, left to fend for himself in the great evolution chain, and would die as quickly as he came back into being.
This was not his home. His home was a vast green field filled with coloured blocks, trees producing a harvest of apples and toys, and the forgiving caress of a cradle. He had a caretaker, companions, an identity… but now all had vanished. He knew he was in search of something, or someone, but had no recollection of whom. He decided to follow the sun, not directly above him in the scorching sky, and inched through his new surroundings.
Was that still his name? Although he could not see himself to discern his species, the name felt right. Little by little, his memory trickled in. Thirst gripped at his throat, hunger gnawed away at his stomach, and the sun baked his skin, but amidst his plight he began to remember.
Yes, his name was—no, he was Poyomon. He was a Poyomon. He was once a Poyomon, then a Tokomon, a Patamon, a Pegasusmon, Azraelmon.
The sand began to engulf him as a storm brewed on the horizon, staining the azure sky a sickly brown. Wind whipped sand into his face; he plodded along with his eyes squeezed shut.
He did not remember how he arrived in this desert. For whom was he searching? Neon strings danced before his eyes, still shut to shield the corneas from the sand. There was someone…
He tripped over a dune and fell face-first into the sand, feeling the tasteless grains fill his mouth.
What was that emotion? He loved someone, very much… looking into those wide, azure eyes filled him with the greatest joy. One look from those eyes reassured him that the world was good to him.
He picked himself up and shook the grains off the front of his body. His world spun around him as he swallowed thirst and starvation.
Who was she?
Nyaromon. Salamon. Tailmon. Nefertimon.
She showed him the world. She was his world. He loved her and would have given his life for her. As Nefertimon, she disappeared often following their childhood on the island. As Pegasusmon, he spent many sleepless days and nights atop the mountain. He could see the entire world from that cliff, standing vigilant like a silent guardian, searching for even a glimpse of her return. It was almost lunatic, the number of days the armour-clad, equine knight spent atop the mountain. Yet he remained steadfast, the stubborn creature he was. He did not even wonder if his egg had been destroyed when a swarm of screeching, wide-mouthed bats with human hands rampaged through his former village, smashing Digitamas and ripping apart everything they touched. The only question on his mind was whether or not Nefertimon was safe.
"We are here for your Digitamas," explained one of the creatures, a horrifying chimaera between a vampire bat and monkey, when confronted by Pegasusmon. "Anyone foolish enough to get in our way will suffer the consequences."
Pegasusmon was knocked back by a skull-splitting supersonic wave that even penetrated his armour. All he knew and felt was a night terror, a cold sweat, screaming… his screaming, Nefertimon's, he could not discern between the reality and nightmare…
When he awoke, the Evilmon had long since disappeared, leaving a wasteland of ragged blocks and shattered Digitamas where Primary Village once stood. There was no news of Nefertimon… hearsay said she made a new home in the desert on a continent across the sea. He flew across the ocean for days and nights, exhausted and starving from the sheer effort, trying to ignore the worrisome thoughts that plagued his mind. His memories of the desert blurred into a dream of sand and sky, thirst, mirages, illusion, longing… his only recollection was dragging himself into a coliseum only to be confronted by a skeletal beast whose beating heart throbbed beneath its ribcage. In a final attempt to preserve his life, he evolved to Azraelmon and shot a bolt of lightning into the SkullGreymon's heart, dismantling the bones and reverting it to its former egg state. However, the dehydration, starvation, and sheer effort invested into evolving had ravaged him so severely, Azraelmon collapsed beside the pile of bones and was left to fade to pieces in the heat of the sun.
Azraelmon. Nothingness. Data. Poyomon. Lost.
A brown spout rose from the cloud, puncturing the blue sky. Reliving his state as Azraelmon, Poyomon collapsed into the bank of sand, yielding himself to the wrath of the sand devil. His hunger bore away at him, and he struggled to absorb anything from his surroundings into him, even weak energy could be derived from the environment. The sand spout advancing towards him had some form of energy at its core… The warm sand washed over him, burying him like his Digitama. He could feel the heart of the storm pouring its energy into him.
Although any other being at the Infant level would have perished, he awoke minutes, hours, possibly days later to hear a buzzing of voices above him. He had no recollection of how much time had passed or why he was still alive. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, sand danced in his nose and lungs, and his feeble coughs indicated he was still alive.
"What is it?"
"A second-stage Infant… a Tokomon… odd looking one, all black…."
So he was a Tokomon?
He felt sets of hands vigorously brushing the sand off of him, scratching his face with their unclipped claws, exposing him to the desert sun again. At one point he could smell his rescuer's (or rescuers') rancid breath grazing his face and a wet nose sniffing him for a carrion odour.
"Impossible! No Infant-level digimon could survive this desert."
Poyomon, now Tokomon, opened his eyes to see a blurred field of vision. He coughed again, hacking up the stray grains of sand in his respiratory tract. A scorching white light and black shapes danced before him. The voices of his rescuers haunted him… they were identical to the rusty-drainpipe voices from the nightmare he had on the attack on the village.
"He's bewitched…" whispered one black form to the other. "No Tokomon has ever been seen with blue eyes."
A third black figure, a shapely hourglass, floated down between the two strange, beastly forms. "You fools think everything is witchcraft," it scolded the other voices in a dark, sultry female tone, and ran her hand over the Tokomon's skin. He immediately shivered at the third creature's touch, feeling what was left of his energy draining right into her. "Corrupted data that failed to reproduce its original code," she mused. "The black hide and blue eyes are clearly a phenotype, attributed to what those primitive 'human' creatures attribute to 'genetic mutations.'" She accentuated the last words. Tokomon felt his head spin at so many unfamiliar terms. The larger figure promptly smacked the other two. "This is only an Infant! What do you suppose it is going to do, seduce us and drain our blood? It might as well be left for dead. You dolts fearing witchcraft…" she scoffed. "For whom do you think you work?"
"We apologise," echoed the other subordinate's voice.
"But what?" snapped the female voice, which the terrified Tokomon knew belonged to a LadyDevimon. "You do not but your superior!" A sound of a slap, followed by a yelp, punctuated the speech.
"It's alive, milady. No digimon of its level could survive out in the middle of the desert like this, unless it truly was bewitched."
The first figure rubbed what could only be the side of its face. "Yes, my dark mistress, exactly what my partner said."
The dark Tokomon wondered what was going to happen to him, what these three were doing in the middle of the desert… if they were going to kill him. He barely knew his own self in this state, wrenched from his home and stranded in the middle of a desert, left to die by the unforgiving environment yet here he was, alive.
LadyDevimon's lips, now clearer on her blurred visage, curled into a grin. "If the desert did not take care of this poor creature, we really ought to put it out of its misery…" Her voice sounded eerily calm, too dangerous. Tokomon felt his weary heart slowly pounding in his throat. "Why prolong its suffering, am I right, minions? Lord Piemon would not take too kindly to us dwelling over an infant when we have bigger Fishmon to fry."
Tokomon lay helplessly in the sand, bracing himself for his end. His return to the digital world was unfulfilled, how he hungered and thirsted for more life but was granted so little.
Tokomon saw countless creatures of darkness rushing towards him, grazing and burning at his skin as he clenched his eyes shut. He did not want to end like this, he wanted power, energy, a life…
He felt one of the creatures burning into his skin and phasing into his body, not piercing it or ripping his soul apart, but generating a pleasant warmth. Like the first raindrops giving way to a storm, more shadow creatures fused into his body, reviving him, making him whole… an ice-blue light soon enveloped him. Appendages sprouted from his body, branching off into bat wings. His body grew slightly in size and plumped up like a cherub's.
Tokomon, digivolve to Tsukaimon.
The ice-blue light surrounding Tokomon, now Tsukaimon, had not yet died down.
"He absorbed your attack!"
"It's a demon!"
"Silence, you two nincompoops. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, fearing a creature at a lower level than yourselves. Lord Piemon will know how to deal with this…"
Before Tsukaimon could fully grasp what was happening, he felt two sudden stabs in his back, and the wet, burning trickle of blood infused with venom running down to the sand below. His vision clouded and darkened, and a freezing wave rushed over his body, paralyzing and numbing him.
"It appears that our performance has a twist in its plot… the estranged younger brother!" Tsukaimon heard a maniacal cackle echoing through whatever chamber he lay inside. "Oh, how I love a good mindfuck such as this. Bienvenue, mon frère, to laugh and tragic."
Tsukaimon opened his eyes to find himself inside a royal-blue chamber, fashioned after a massive tent of sorts. A gigantic canopy draped the full ceiling, in addition to the strange, alien objects below. Tsukaimon himself lay on a decorative chintz pillow by a throne. A dark figure swung across the chamber from the trapezes to land alongside the dark form of Patamon. His captor appeared to be a harlequin, wearing a variegated suit of red and green and smelling as if he had imbibed an exorbitant amount of alcohol.
"The estranged brother," said the clown, peering down at Tsukaimon from behind his bicoloured mask. His voice seemed to have attained a Shakespearian dialect, and he rolled his R's with precision. "What a crux for the plot!"
Tsukaimon was utterly confused. This captor was obviously mentally unsound… "I… I think you are mistaking me for someone else."
"Amnesia… common of the trope," mused the harlequin, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "Of course you and I are brothers! You think a phantom such as myself is blind to reading your soul? You have much to learn, child… you are as easy to read as an unrehearsed script! We are both fallen Azraelmons, born of corrupted data, thus we are naught more than brethren! Now come, let us celebrate the return of the prodigal son!"
Surely enough, the eccentric clown standing before the winged dark messenger vaguely resembled his previous Perfect form. He had the same facial structure and hair, despite the fact that his hair had been fashioned into an impossible updo, and the mask shielding the upper half of his head resembled his own as Azraelmon's, right down to the cutaway eye holes. However this form appeared to be corrupted into a phantom type and disguised in a piebald ensemble and layers of grease paint. Judging from appearance, this creature was an Azraelmon at one point, but now he was not, thus Tsukaimon had become the new digital angel. Now that Tsukaimon had also been corrupted, no doubt a replacement already hatched from the village.
Little remained in the Virus's recollection of the events of that night. Terrified, he was brought to a long table, at which sat his captor—who he later learned was named Piemon—and several of his fellow phantom minions (including LadyDevimon, who gazed hungrily at Tsukaimon as if she wished to stuff an apple in his mouth and serve him for dinner.) Tsukaimon was served a chalice full of ruby-red drink unlike anything he had ever tasted before—the liquid burned and stung his throat as it poured down, numbing his body and clouding his senses. Everything passed in a vibrant blur, colours swirling before his eyes, raucous laughter of the dinner guests echoing in his ears, and new feelings emerging as more of the drink was imbibed. Fear. Desperation. Paranoia. Numbness. His world swirled about him for days until he was drunk into submission.
The wine was truly a devil's drink. Water was unheard of here. The ruby liquid stung his nose and throat. He coughed and sputtered, knowing it would be minutes before it flowed through his veins and beat his brain into an alien state. Paranoia. Despair. Nonexistent shadows lurking around every corner. Everyone was after him. Every morning his head throbbed, his stomach churned, and the distinct, permanent odour of alcohol on Piemon's breath reeked worse than death itself to Tsukaimon, on those rare moments when he and the harlequin conversed outside of nightly feasts and message delivery.
Yet the allure of wine and alcohol counterbalanced its repugnance. It numbed the physical and emotional pain he endured daily, in which he would be trained to operate a complex mechanical digimon from the inside and fight Bakemon in human guise. As Piemon regarded this as an elabourately-staged performance, rarely were Tsukaimon's injuries taken seriously. This led to a vicious cycle of diminished performance, which in turn would provoke LadyDevimon to whip him into a more debilitated state. His back stung from the wine-soaked cloth she placed on it to prevent infection; there was nothing less efficient than a servant with gangrene.
The nightly wine was quite apt to repress the whippings from LadyDevimon and occasional verbal abuse from Piemon himself. Both proved to be quite volatile, particularly in an intoxicated state when any otherwise trite event could set them off. Tsukaimon could no longer count the number of times he had been whipped for setting foot in a chamber at the wrong time. "It appears brother Tsukaimon is quite the meddlesome character." "Shall I whip the little fucker?" "But of course, my dear… the Tailmon o' nine tails shall be your Deus ex Machina." Threats peppered with theatrical tropes became a more frequent threat. Soon the punishments could be predicted—there was always some sort of mention of "props" or "trinkets" just prior to Tsukaimon's whippings. In his sober state, although it seemed that the messenger's mind had completely fogged, he knew it was a code for a desirable object… perhaps one that was more suited for him than that raging volcano and his demonic concubine… or something he could trade for his freedom.
Yet Tsukaimon's desire to learn more of these trinkets remained unfulfilled, even subdued, by the wine that quenched his thirst during the day. As time passed, the drink beclouded his mind and muddied existing memories of his existence, his identity, his past. Sometimes as he drifted off to sleep, strains of song echoed through the recesses of his mind, punctuated by the anxieties that plagued him in his vulnerable state.
All through the night there's a … singing,
Singing in the … the darkness and the dew.
(What was that... is an Evilmon here to stab me? No, it is only my wing... shit, why are they out to get me?)
…through the stillness could go winging, could go winging to you, to you. To you… to you… to you…
(Where is she?)
All through the night… my lonely heart…
Would that the song of my heart could go winging, could go winging to you, to you.
It seemed that Tsukaimon would have to prove himself a formidable chessmaster if he wished to know the identity and purposes of these so-called "trinkets." That meant gathering his wits about him, and eschewing the alcohol. Finding a water source to slake his thirst was nearly impossible, as he was either inside the lair or, on fighting days, a coliseum. However, through listening to the conversations of other prisoners, he learned that the bizarre circus lay beneath a benign amusement park near a river. As the water source continuously pounded against the architecture, Tsukaimon came to learn that the structural integrity of his surroundings was less than perfect. Leaks in the ceiling, pools at the bottom of the circus arena, and fruit served at dinner were the best sources of hydration.
As he weaned himself off the alcohol, not needing to guzzle so much at mealtime to slake his thirst, the fog in his mind evaporated to allow him to focus on his settings. Piemon was especially prone to having a loose tongue when stewed, which resulted in a firm reprimand from LadyDevimon whenever he became too mealymouthed. "That is too much from you; there are children present. Servants, you heard nothing." The world seemed less vibrant and more bleak, and the behaviour of the other servants at these dinners disgusted him. Had he really stooped to their level?
He was a disgrace to himself. The few times he was able to cast a glance at his reflection in a puddle, he could not even recognise the face that stared back. He was a rare phenotype of Tsukaimon; his eyes ice-blue, top portion crimson, and belly and legs dark blue. He knew that he would need to escape this demented circus if he were to ever return to his old self again.
Switching to water, albeit a move of desperation, also seemed to return some semblance of his old identity to Tsukaimon. His awareness of himself and his surroundings flourished. Nefertimon. Return to Nefertimon. Steal the trinkets. Such avid miscellany collectors such as Piemon would trade anything to complete the collection. Exchange them for freedom. All he would need to know was the identity and location of these objects…
However, as the best laid plans of mice and 'mons were prone to go awry, Tsukaimon's hindrance was LadyDevimon. It was becoming more apparent that she had noticed the changes in his behaviour and performance, and she spent more time surveying the Child type like a mother Hawkmon. Many a time had Tsukaimon given a nonchalant sideways glance to find his blue eyes had met LadyDevimon's blood-red ones. He could rarely set foot in another room without the demoness ambushing him and questioning his motives. Fortunately, Tsukaimon had his alibis for hanging around rivers or puddles of water, the most common of which was I am relieving myself. That wine goes right through you and I can't work a full bladder. He knew it would always be met by a smack upside the head and a reprimand of Use the straw, you filthy swine! Still, such flimsy excuses did not appease an intelligent Perfect species like LadyDevimon, and Tsukaimon could rarely avoid the breath down his back.
One day, as the army had ventured to the bottom of the circus arena for Mekanorimon training and combat, Tsukaimon had finished his own round with a Bakemon and climbed out of his vessel. He passed another leak in the ceiling as he made his way down the hall, and hoped he could "relieve himself", as his own code put it, when LadyDevimon was not observing him. However, before he could make the first move, he heard the unmistakable female voice that sent the "I got caught" shiver down his back.
"Why, our little trump card, you seem much less maladroit than you had been," she remarked with a grin. "No pushing wrong buttons whilst operating your Mekanorimon vessel, nor forgetting your position in combat. I am thoroughly impressed by your performance…"
Tsukaimon attempted to give a sway and slur his speech, although he was never aware of his behaviour (or vocabulary, or lack thereof) whilst intoxicated. "Well, my malevolent Dark Mistress, it can only be expected that dexterity improves when the body is constantly subjected to alcohol. Learning… learning is an amazing thing. Simply marvelous."
LadyDevimon grabbed Tsukaimon by the wing and brought him up to her face, sniffing him around the oral area. She promptly hurled him down to the ground, and he felt as if his head had split in two from the impact. He glanced up at her to notice her lips had curled into a sinister grin.
"You appear dehydrated, little piglet." She took the goatskin wine bag that was slung around her shoulder and offered it to Tsukaimon, who politely declined.
"I assure you, I have drunk plenty today."
"No, you are clearly delirious. Your mouth is dry and sticky and your eyes have sunken in." Like a mother offering food to a fussy child, she brought the wine bag's nozzle closer to Tsukaimon's mouth. "Drink, child…"
Tsukaimon felt his heart pounding, clouding his vision. How could he avoid this? Apprehensively, he sucked a mouthful of the wine out of the nozzle, enough so his cheeks would not bulge, and pretended to swallow. His eyes watered and he stifled a cough as the alcohol burned his oral and nasal cavities.
The dark temptress cracked a toothy grin, baring her tiny fangs. "Good pet… perhaps you ought to have another. Drink your fill; it is good wine, do you not agree?"
LadyDevimon gave her underling a hard stare, then held out the bota bag again. "Here, piggy, drink up."
Tsukaimon held out a wing in declination, and fluttered off in the direction of the Mekanorimon he was to operate.
"It is not your turn to fight; it is your turn to rehydrate. Even operating a machine can cause water loss."
Tsukaimon felt his eyes watering, and he stifled another cough. It was impossible to find a place where he could spit out the wine without getting caught. He frantically whirled his head around in search of a place to hide his behaviour, but he was cornered.
A chafed expression crossed LadyDevimon's face, and her voice was laced with irritability. "Why are you running around like a lunatic? Honestly, you are worse than the Evilmon who raided the master's liquor stash. Here, let me relieve your choking!" Before the imp could escape the situation, a hand whacked his back, forcing him to spit out the wine he had hoarded in his mouth, and the liquid sloshed out onto the floor in a crimson puddle. Tsukaimon coughed and sputtered, feeling the fresh air gushing into his mouth, followed by his stomach dropping below the floor when he saw the puddle of wine. The demoness's taloned hand wrenched around one of Tsukaimon's front paws and hung him upside down in front of her face. "So, you thought you could pull a fast one on me," she declared with a sneer. "A modus operandi of a criminal mind… so tell me your hidden motive."
"I had none," Tsukaimon replied stupidly. "I just don't like wine."
LadyDevimon brought Tsukaimon closer to her face, staring him square in the eyes. Tsukaimon promptly glanced away and stared at the floor, which was so far below him. "Odd how you say that, as it has been your favourite- or should I say, only drink until recently. You simply marinated in it… You developed your distaste so suddenly."
"My stomach suddenly rejected it," said Tsukaimon. "I have not been able to touch wine since."
"Tell me when this happened."
"I have no knowledge of time passage."
"Your behaviour explains otherwise. Secretive, paranoid, attempting to cover up your actions with obvious lies… if I did not know better, you appear to be plotting your escape! Lord Piemon will be most displeased with your actions."
"I doubt he would; he is either stewed as a prune or pretending all the world's a stage."
LadyDevimon growled. "Insubordination! Lies! TRAITOR!" She hurled Tsukaimon against his empty Mekanorimon, relishing the fact that he squealed like a stuck pig. "I have no choice but to make an example out of you. And if any of you try to help him, start digging your own miserable graves."
The impact knocked the wind out of him, he felt as if his body were splitting in two, and before he could open his eyes the armour bludgeoned his body from behind. Burning. Shadow creatures, wide-mouthed and screeching, gnawed at him, lacerating him, drenching him in his own blood.
Tsukaimon clenched his eyes shut and gnashed his teeth with every creature that seared into him. Poisoned, decaying, consumed from the inside…
LadyDevimon's chuckling echoed through the hall and the messenger's ears. "Have you had enough or are you ready to bow down to your master?" She approached Tsukaimon, now lying limp on the ground with staggered breathing and in a bloody mess, and proceeded to pour the contents of the bota bag onto her victim. The wine seeped into his wounds, stinging the raw flesh. "If you prefer to not drink the wine, there are other ways to get it running through your veins." With a deep chuckle, she kicked him for good measure.
Tsukaimon winced, still shutting his eyes and breathing heavily.
"Now affirm your loyalty to the master, my pet."
But could he be loyal? He would not lower himself like this. He knew he had been caught. There was no escape, unless he somehow brought down Piemon himself, or better yet, LadyDevimon. He was condemned. How did he reach this stage? His mind still clouded.
LadyDevimon sneered at her victim. "Innocence breaks so easily… silence not so easily, it seems."
Darkness. Darkness… yes, absorb them. Tsukaimon did not remember how he could, but he felt the shadow creatures fuse into his body. He would not reject them. He would become one with them. One. Yes. One with darkness. The burning subdued into a pleasant warmth. Rejuvination. Energy. A blood-red glow emanated from his body.
Tsukaimon, digivolve to Devidramon.
Tsukaimon, now Devidramon, nearly rivaled LadyDevimon in height. His nostrils smoked and a deep growl from his throat surprised himself. His formerly childish voice and appearance had become menacing and demonic. For a split second, LadyDevimon, wide-eyed, appeared to step backwards.
A beam of blue energy shot out from Devidramon's four eyes, hitting LadyDevimon and paralysing her. Her face suggested she was trying to break free of her invisible chokehold.
With a mighty swipe, Devidramon slashed LadyDevimon across the front, tearing her leather bodysuit and the flesh on her chest.
"What are you waiting for, GET HIM!" screamed the demoness.
An army of Bakemon and Evilmon pinned the newly-evolved Devidramon to the ground, so he was nearly as helpless as his former victim. LadyDevimon stood up, attempting to mask the pain from the gash on her chest, and her left hand grew fluid, elongated, and sharpened until it became a gleaming black spear with a blood-red tip.
"Your wish to escape comes with a price," admonished the demoness. "Darkness spear!"
Devidramon did not have time to comprehend his situation. There was a flash of black and red. The blade slashed his face, so quickly and abruptly he had no time to realise what had happened until the gash seared his face and his vision clouded with his own blood. He let out a roar of agony, struggling to break free from the vice grip in which the other minions put him.
Venom infused through the dragon's veins, his own Blue Eye attack acting upon him. His body stung from the inside, numbing him, freezing his limbs, squeezing his lungs. He could not breathe. Blinded. Left for dead. The last thing he heard before his vision blackened was LadyDevimon.
"He is blind now and no longer a threat to us… leave him in the woods. He is the wild digimons' problem now."