WARNING! I *think* this is what is known as a 'lime' story. It contains a quantity of sexual references---not *explicit* but you definitely will not be wondering what is happening.
To put it simply, this is an intimidation rape story by two digimon against a third. That means there is no violence other than the fact that the sex is not consensual. (Note that Kyer is NOT belittling the fact that rape of any sort is a despicable act of violence against another being. What I mean by "no violence" is that the victim is not knifed, bludgeoned, or otherwise suffering from severe physical injury on account of being attacked. That was probably as clear as mud, but please forgive… I've never done a rape story before.

"What sort of structure was that?" the lone figure wondered as he peered through the trees at the silvery dome while carefully stepping around a sleeping wormmon. It was getting late in the day and he had started out early that morning. Fatigue was beginning to set in. Perhaps he should risk flying up and getting an aerial view of the thing before advancing any further. If it wasn't obviously inhabited by someone, he could use it as shelt--

The first digimon---a grayish-blue skinned humanoid who was a Champion-level Data Wizard--- reeled back in shock as another digimon suddenly loomed over him like a praying mantis inspecting its prey, an oversized clawed hand knocking the Data's weapon out of his hand. Taken completely by surprise, the wizard stumbled backwards, then forward as he remembered the wormmon and overcompensated to avoid stepping on the digimon. Only the wormmon had mysteriously disappeared, startling him all over again.

Wormmon didn't move that fast.

Dead leaves crackled under soft boots as he sought to regain his balance on the uneven footing of the forest floor, nearly tripping over his Celestial Egg staff which had fallen near his feet.

"And what manner of player is this who has stumbled out onto my playing boards?" the second digimon wondered aloud, obviously amused at the havoc he had wrought.

The very tall, gangly being before the Champion held his aristocratic chin in one hand as he arrogantly studied the young wizard.

The trespasser on his realm was approximately half his height and clad in a yellowish jumpsuit that abounded with zippers. Over that was a very short, open-style vest kept close to the ribs via two black bands. And over that was a dark, threadbare cloak with white runes sewn into the inner lining. A wide-brimmed witch's hat with a skull on the band and which had likewise seen better days completed the picture.

For his part the Data was doing his own share of assessing.

His ambusher was dressed in some sort of fancy court jester costume, with a mask that was black on one side and white on the other; a red heart emblazed upon the side. Frills of white flowed from the ends of his sleeves and encircled his neck. Yet despite the comical look of the mon, the other was not reassured. Resting crisscrossed fashion upon his back where two enormous swords---and they appeared very menacing indeed to the weary Champion.

Only a Mega could handle the power of Trump Swords. And 'Mega' was a digivolving level two steps above that of his own.

Even at his best, he was seriously 'outgunned' in this match.

"Nothing to concern a powerful digimon such as yourself, lord, I assure you," Wizardmon quickly allowed his spine to bend in an apologetic bow. The staff he used to concentrate his energy attacks lay just inches from the toes of his boots, but the Data didn't dare attempt to retrieve it. He wasn't sure, but from the others features he was almost positive this was the most feared of the Dark Lords, the mighty Piedmon himself. The experienced Mega-level Wizard of the Virus-class was reputed to wield terrifying power and was extremely fickle on how he treated those he ran across. Sometimes he impressed them into his service, sometimes he killed them outright. Rarely did he ignore them altogether. So the tales went, and just now he didn't feel inclined to doubt them. Unless the fates decided to smile at him, Wizardmon knew he was one deleted digimon!

Unfortunately for Wizardmon, the fates seemed more inclined to smirk than smile at him today.

"A lovely line you recite; however, I don't recall asking to hear words of flattery..." The trump swords slashed downwards, trapping the hapless Wizardmon between their silvered flanks as they pierced the ground near his feet. With a flourish, the outlandishly attired Virus swept up the fallen staff and inspected it with a bored expression before tossing it back, sniffing disdainfully. "Did I?"

"No, my lord," the magician answered with only a slight waver in his voice.

"Mmm… Perhaps it has a brain after all," the Virus mused as if to himself, dusting off imaginary specks from his suit. "Well then, my diminuesque trespasser, what did I ask for?"

Not normally one who let himself become intimidated, Wizardmon felt his mouth go dry as he risked a look into the hard mask covering the Dark Lord's face. Even colder eyes gleamed expectantly from behind the head gear. He coughed and swallowed, trying to get his voice to work again.

Piedmon's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Do you require a cue card?" A white glove tightened on the hilt of the blade to Wizardmon's left side. "Perhaps one of my prompters here will help you to recall the script?"

"You asked...."he began, then cleared his throat and began again, "Wizardmon. I am called Wizardmon, my lord."

Mollified for the moment, the Dark Lord relaxed his grip on the weapon. "And what, pray tell, is a wizardmon?" he asked.

"A Data, if you please, sire, not worthy of your time. I am merely a Champion-level wizard, Lord Piedmon."

The harlequin's head tilted a little. "A wizard digimon, you say?"

"That is correct, my lord." Wizardmon bowed again, thankful that his mouth and brain seemed to be back online again.

"I've never seen your sort before. Your kind must be very rare."

Wizardmon bit back a sigh. "So I am often told, my lord."

"I've been watching you for a little time. What are you doing poking around my doorstep, little Wizardmon?" The Viral's hand caressed the hilt as he looked somewhat bored.

"Nothing, great lord--- I mean, I didn't know it was your 'doorstep'. I was only heading northwards along the forest."

"And what is there... northwards" Piedmon gestured rather offhandedly in that direction---"that so interests you?"

"It was only a path chosen at random, my lord. I had no real destination in mind. My feet go where they go, and that is where I end up," Wizardmon lied. He wasn't about to tell the Mega the real reason for his being in the area: that he had been trailing a gatomon, when a kwagumon had attacked and caused him to lose track of her while he tried to evade the dangerous beast and simultaneously draw it away from the cat digimon.

You see, recently, the white feline had saved his life when others hadn't even noticed he was dying. Then she'd introduced to him a new concept of thinking: that selfishness did not have to be the rule one lived by. Naturally, he was still rather skeptical and had refused her offer to join her in her task of putting together an army for someone called Myotismon. However, he had felt compelled to stay near her all the same---out of sight---but never too far away.

Until now.

Why had he not simply let the gatomon's kindness slip from his mind? Then he wouldn't be in this situation!

Wizardmon was no coward, but neither did he see any reason for seeking out trouble. Trouble could get one's data blasted into its component particles and had the tendency to come of its own volition---so why add additional invites? And (in the wizard's experience), trouble usually came when mingling with other digimon in their towns---which was why he had skirted the last two Gatomon had visited. Now he wished he hadn't. The locals might have been able to warn him about the various menaces living in these woods.

"Aah... a traveler of the world!" The Mega chuckled and clapped his hands together with all the enthusiasm of a toddler receiving a long-sought for toy. "A stalwart purveyor of the sights and sounds of our common heritage come to share what you've seen! A storyteller you are, then? Yes, you must have tales to spin---poetic words of wonder to amaze your audience? I wonder…" A pointed boot unexpectedly reared up and knocked the Data's wide-brimmed hat clean off his head, exposing the mop of blond hair underneath.

"Hmm… Passably fair though a tad lacking in stature." Piedmon murmured under his breath as an art critic would when evaluating a sculpture. "Large, green eyes like fresh lilly pads… acceptable. And gold---even a muted gold---is always welcome."

Wizardmon blinked rapidly as the glare from the setting sun unexpectedly struck his sensitive eyes. As if to compensate for the loss of his wide headgear, he hunched his shoulders so that the upswept collar of his cloak covered even more of his face then it already did.

Why had the Mega done that?! Was this Dark Lord suffering from dementia----or was he just trying to taunt him? He ducked his chin further into the concealing collar of his cloak as he tried to calm his breathing. There was a reason he always wore so many layers of clothing even when under the hottest sun. Just the loss of his hat made him feel… smaller. Vulnerable. Exposed to criticizing eyes.

"Not really. I try to avoid the kind of situations that make for good storytelling, my lord. I am only a passive digimon who is not interested in a fight. If you will allow, I would like to be on my way, for the hour is getting late." He looked back longingly at his fallen hat, avoiding the other's reddish eyes. That is... with your permission?"

Chuckling, Piedmon reached down himself to pluck up the ragged hat and set it haphazardly on the other's head. "I do believe you are being modest. Yes, I think that is it. Your eyes hold more than your mouth is telling. And I simply will not hear of your leaving so soon! What sort of host would I be to let a weary traveler come and go without offering him a place to rest?"

"My lo--"

"Yes, correct--- your *lord*," the clown said with smug satisfaction. "I think we've established our positions already. I am the great director of Life's play: Lord Piedmon. You are the lowly neophyte actor: Wizardmon. As such you wouldn't want to turn your nose up at my supremely gracious offer, would you? It would be"---the voice lowered threateningly to a timber not unlike that of a rattlesnake's hiss---"as a slap to my face."

"That would not be my intention, my Lord," Wizardmon agreed, cursing those smirking fates. He had no wish to spend time in the close company of anyone save maybe the feline. He certainly had no taste for being under the 'care' of an off-kilter Dark Lord. Unfortunately, the Mega was making it quite clear that not acquiescing to the offer would entail suffering dire consequences so he quietly bowed his head in submission.

"Well then, come along---step lively! Don't forget to bring your cute little baton, now!"

Quickly retrieving his staff, the magician allowed himself to be herded like a wayward sheep behind his lanky shepherd; not liking it one bit but unwilling to argue with the stronger monster.

They entered into the stone building and the clown digimon guided him to a descending flight of stairs. Dark shadows danced along the stonework from the light sconces that graced the walls. Gently but firmly, he was encouraged to take step after step downwards.

Wizardmon was staying close to the vertical stones, his attention focused on the Mega just a step behind him. It was thus that he failed to register that one of the dark shadows at the end of the staircase was not a shadow at all until he felt the pressure of an arm encircling his chest.


"What is this?"

"It's a wizardmon, my dear," Piedmon answered, unconcerned by the intrusion. "Possibly one of a kind, so do not bruise it."

"Oh, how nice," a feminine voice whispered near his ear, making the Data shift uncomfortably. Breath warmed the pointed tip as it brushed against it. "I do adore exotic things... It's been so long since I've had something original to amuse myself with." Nimble fingers glided between the fabric of his cloak and vest, finding and then feeling along the clasps that kept both secured to their owner.

Wizardmon stiffened as he felt first one then the other of the vest's twin bands that kept the article closed around his torso come undone under the insistence of the inquisitive digits. The same fingers then moved upward, tracing along the metal path of the zipper that ran down his jumpsuit from collar bone to some hidden spot between the legs. Under the skull-shaped clasp of his cloak, they came across the zipper's tag and grasped it firmly. "And it has so many delightful accessories to explore, too."


Alarmed, Wizardmon yanked the hands off of himself, body instinctively readying itself for flight into the air as he twisted around.

His assaulter was a demon woman dressed all in black with white hair that flowed down to her waist. Chains encircled her body, though she wore them as if they were favored accessories. Like him, her face was obscured by cloth, albeit in her case the item doing the concealing was a close fitting cap instead of hat and cowl. Also akin to his were two scarlet, slanted eyes cut into the knee of her suit. But where the Data's seemed to be giving warning to stay away, hers appeared to say that they'd marked you down as potential prey. And their own eyes? Unlike the wizard's gentle green, the demon womon's true eyes shone a similar hellish red to match her clothing's. Though not as tall as her master, she was still well over the wizard's height.

This must be, the wizard decided, Piedmon's consort, the Lady Devimon whose name he'd only heard spoken of in hesitant whispers, renowned for her cruelty towards inferior digimon.

Wizardmon felt his heart race even more---even imagining he could hear his knee zipper chattering with fear. He had to get away! Unfortunately, both ends of the stairs were blocked and the ceiling scarcely higher than the clown's head, there was simply nowhere for him to fly to. At any rate the point was moot; before his boots left the steps a pair of deceptively delicate looking hands clamped down on his shoulders, practically engulfing the moderately sized Champion in the soft white leather.

He was going nowhere.

"Lady Devimon is jesting with you, Wizardmon," the harlequin giggled. "She knows better than to play with my guests without asking permission first."

"Of the guest's or yours?" the magician blurted out unthinkingly, too unnerved to even bother being tactful. He had occasionally tended to assault victims before---for pay---and the rape victims had been the most traumatized. He had no desire to join their ranks. Escaping from something similar was why he'd become a wanderer in the first place.

"Why, mine of course." Piedmon grinned like a cat that had caught a mouse. "Won't you allow her to take your cloak and vest? There is a nice fire going in the basement room--- you'll find the temperature more comfortable without those extra layers."

"No! I-I prefer to keep them on---thank you." Clumsy fingers hastened to refasten the vest and pull the cloak tighter against himself as if it was a magical shield that could save him from harm.

If only it was!

"So jumpy you are!" Piedmon observed with a giggle. "One would think that you didn't like my company. Fortunately for you, I understand that your attitude is merely a result of fatigue from your journey. That, we must remedy." He turned to the waiting Lady Devimon. "Have the servants come to prepare the spare room for our guest."

"But my lord---" The dark angel gestured at the wizard.

"Later, my dear Lady Devimon, later. Can't you see that the poor mon is faltering on his feet? There will be plenty of time for us to… get to know him better."

Sulkily, the demoness bowed to her Lord and departed up the stairs, but not without leaving a few bats---some of her many servants---to flitter in her place. Piedmon snickered when he saw the red-eyed creatures had been left behind---his mistress' spies had not been what he had meant and she knew it! However, he said nothing, looking more amused than annoyed. The wench could always pay for her willfulness later.