Rating: T (could possibly go up in later chapters; we'll see, though)
Story Format: Multi-Chaptered
Universe: Digimon Tamers, post-series, one year later
Characters: Beelzebumon/Impmon, Ai and Mako
Warnings: Violence, death, more violence, and cursing.
Summary: I didn't say all the things that I wanted to say and you can't take back what you've taken from me.
Author's Note: I wrote this in a whole new style, so it's probably gonna be a little tough to follow.
Chapter Playlist: "When Did This Storm Begin?" by Shiny Toy Guns, "Had Enough" by Breaking Benjamin, "Inside" by Sevendust
Cut Part One: Damaged
Part One: Damaged
Anyone who lives in West Shinjuku will tell you it's a chaotic place. There's always something, some kind of turmoil, and it's all because of the Digimon popping up out of fucking nowhere constantly.
Doubt quickly sprouts tattered wings and flees from the hearts of the skeptics watching the battle between a black-winged angel and three cloaked scythe-wielding wraiths, all four of them suspended in the air. The angel's emerald eyes glow with determination, and power rolls off of him as he confronts the demons. In turn, the trio of shades glares at him with malice with gleaming golden orbs through the shadow of the hoods of their cloaks and it's no denying that they're intimidated by the stronger as they back away oh-so slowly. While the angel has more strength than all three shades combined, there's something off about them, and he can sense it. He would use the terms 'crazy,' or 'out of their fuckin' minds,' and he's right. The poorly restrained madness in their eyes is enough to make him wary.
When the sky decides to fall…
Naturally, the mad shades are the first to attack. The middle one charges the angel, and wins a bullet to his head before its scythe could come halfway through its mission of tearing the angel's skin. Its body explodes, dissolving into data, and the angel doesn't bother absorbing it as he's still got two more of these freaks to deal with.
The second one is faster and materializes at Beelzebumon's back. Sparks fly as his claws meet the oncoming blade, successfully blocking the wraith's attack. He's about to bring his other hand over and knock the hell out of the Daemon, but a shaman beats him to it.
…I'm going to need your help to hold it back…
The end of the giant calligraphy brush she wields paints a symbol that burns through the wraith's body. Like its partner, this one implodes on itself and is gone in a matter of seconds. Now the shaman Digimon is in the angel's sight, and his green eyes lock with her blue. He tilts his head down in thanks and she acknowledges by doing the same.
They glance over and see the shining red and white blur that is Gallantmon, Crimson Mode, take down the third Daemon as it took an ethereal sword to the gut. The angel smirks—
…before it makes ashes out of the shadow I am…
--but it disappears as quickly as a shadow introduced to candlelight as the shaman screams his name, and when his gaze meets hers he knows this will probably be the first and last time he sees her so shocked and…scared? Yea, surprisingly enough, that's actual fear he sees in her eyes. He remembers how she looked at him when he prepared to kill her back in the Digital World, and even as she stared at the one who would end her existence for something as petty as power, he couldn't see a tint of fear in her eyes.
It was safe to say that whatever has her worked up can't be anything good.
And he's right.
…but we took our eyes off the dark…
Pain explodes all across his body as claws rip at him like a rabid animal. He arches his claws and gets ready to tear the dipshit who dared attack him into pieces, but the data that makes him him is dissolving. His claws, his wings, his legs, they're all vanishing as he starts to fall, his gaze forced down on the river below him.
Déjà fucking vu.
Except the last time he fell like this, with his being dissolving…it was different.
…and it stole everything that made us whole…
But before his now small body can go any further in his descent, a pair of strong arms quickly snatches him up and gets away from the Diaboromon. Its claws mangle the air where the angel was, but once its rotted brain finally realizes there's nothing to kill in front of it, it turns its attention to the bridge down below it where people watch through the windows of their cars.
Among those watching were two children with the same shade of chocolate brown eyes, light brown hair, and fair skin as the other. Their eyes fill and their hearts cry out as they witness what they believe was their angel being destroyed by the twisted demon. The girl tightens her small fingers around the silver and purple device clutched to her chest, a physical symbol of the bond with their friend.
…and like any thief, it kept what it took from me…
Completely disregarding the charging crimson knight, driven by anger as he, yet again, nearly witnessed the death of another friend, the Diaboromon turns to the bridge down below and roars as if it were the devil himself. Between its maw is a growing fire, black, but shining, and with every heartbeat, every second, it grows larger and larger until the twisted demon has no choice but to release it or risk losing its head to its own attack.
Gallantmon isn't fast enough.
The black fire was impossibly quick, reaching the bridge down below before the knight could raise his sword to tear the Diaboromon to shreds.
The two children, mirror images of each other in physical appearance, one boy, and one girl, who lost sight of the battle by the black fire, only have time to widen their young eyes and take in a short breath before it's all over. There is no pain. It's too quick for that. They don't have time to scream.
But what was left of their angel did.
He screams their names, his heart broken as though it too were consumed by the black fire that destroyed his world, until his voice gives out. His gloved hands are gripping one of the arms around him as tightly as he could in his weakened state, and in turn the shaman brings him closer to her in an effort to comfort him, driven by her own shock of what just occurred.
Whatever happened after that, the remnant of the angel didn't know.
Because there, in the arms of the shaman, his gaze still on the burning bridge, unwilling, unable to accept it all, a calm darkness overtakes his vision and his consciousness a second later.