Ok, soldier. You had your little break. It was nice wasn't it? Got to see your family? Your wife (or husband) and kids? Remember we don't own anything Digimon related?

Don't answer that. I don't care about you and your mamby-pamby land dreams! Get to reading!

Chapter 5: In Which I'm On Fire

I told you…don't…play with fire.

Hey. Quick question for you guys. You know how your parents have "rules" that you "have to" follow? ("Listen to your mother."-Dad) I mean, every parent probably has them.("Keep your room clean, Takuya."-Mom.)And every child has broken them at least once, am I right?

Shake your head yes. Stop lying.

I know me asking about rules doesn't exactly make sense at all, but I have a reason. The biggest rule in our house (Besides the "Go to college. Don't come back. Especially with a baby."-Both.) was to never mess with fire. Yet now, as I am chained to something in someplace being burnt the fuck alive, I'm breaking that rule. (Technically.)

First of all, fire (if you didn't know) is extremely hot. (Like your mom/ sister/ girlfriend. Or you.) It tickles your skin like a thousand feathers, licking at you like a cat with a big bowl of milk. (As long as no mice come around to steal it.) And it hurts. And not in like a 'just got poked by a needle' hurts, but a 'Shit! I just got impaled with a sword!' kind of way.

But I digress. The fucking pain I'm in doesn't really compare to the sight before my smoke clouded eyes. There's a…(and I'm being completely serious here) midget bird busting through the hole in the wall. He's completely white, save a pink belt around his waist. He's short and has stumps for limbs with little claws protruding out of them. He has a gray beak and beady black eyes.

And I've seen him before.

It's the dino bird midget from my dream. His stumpy little arms reach inside his belt, pulling out a giant ass book. It's like…it's like he's carrying a copy of Harry Potter inside of his (utility?) mutters something as he flips through the book, pages flying at a speed I can barely comprehend.

I'm going to take the time that he's looking for whatever the hell he's looking for to ask you another question. Sorry, I'm not trying to go Jack Bauer on you or anything, but you guys seem pretty smart. (Yes, even you, reader scratching your ass. And stop doing that shit. It's disgusting.)

Sorry. I got distracted. My question was: How long do you think it would take to die if you were set on fire? Obviously I am asking the question because a) I'm on fire, but because I've also been on fire for the past 5 minutes. That's about how long it takes to burn down buildings, so how in the fucking world am I still alive?

I might be thick, dense, and hard-headed (in the words of my mother and various ex-girlfriends) but I'm not fire retardant. (But my little brother Shinya does call me a retard quite often.)

I suppose that…the thing is done searching through his book, as he exclaims some strange words that I can't hear very well, (something about 'spirit fire' and a 'crystal freeze'?) the stubby legs he has carrying him to the stupid she-devil. He jumps, pages of the book flapping at an ungodly speed, and screams out an attack (I guess.) in his raspy, childlike voice.

Crystal Freeze!

A faint, almost white, blue light shines out from the pages of the book just before it disappears. The air becomes thick with the frigid temperature of a blizzard as a bone-chilling gust embraces the room. The fire seems to diminish for a moment, oppressed by the bitter cold air, before roaring back to life with renewed vigor.

The effects of the attack have also seem to hit Mrs. Hadokin, the majority of her body frozen in place in a block of ice. The eye slits in her mask knit in pure rage, her lips screaming words so profane that someone would be have to be out of their right to repeat them. (Something along the lines of an "asshole motherfuckering piece of damn ice, fuck damn it.")

The brave little thingy is running toward me now, little legs pumping at a speed that I am willing to assume is fast for someone his size. (Yeah, 5 miles an hour…not fast. At all) He's yelling something about evolving and breaking chains, but none of it makes sense. His book pops into existence again, this time clutched in his hands like a bat, and he swings at my head.

A loud groan escapes my lips as the book connects. "Why the hell did you do that, you tiny bastard?" It slips before I can stop myself, the politeness I had intended to show gone because he hit my head. (And it hurt.) He frowns, face mirroring that of the dream in which he starred not long ago.

"Takuya, did you not learn to show gratitude to those who have saved your life?" His raspy voice haunts me, echoing in my head, pushing memories long forgotten to the surface.

"Look, Neemon, it's a human-child-kid."

"And I'm the keeper of my pants!"

"Where's the spirit?"…"Hell Fire!

The spirit! (Agnimon!) This is how I can get out of this mess! All I have to do is…

What do I have to do?

Booker (my nickname for this thing) is pounding at the chains with an axe he conjured from the book, metal upon metal, the loud clangs reverberating inside of the small room. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Mrs. H is thawing out, drips of ice running along her horribly disgusting (yet very sexy…don't tell anyone I said that) form like rain water into a creek.

Cracks are appearing in the chain, each swing of the axe wearing it down more and more.

Her arm is starting to get free.

Booker is swinging, (digital?) flames almost licking him as the axe is brought down once again. He opens his mouth to speak.

The ice has melted down to her elbow.

"Don't worry, Takuya. I'll get us out of here in no time."

She's struggling to move her wrist out of the ice.

"LadyDevimon won't stand a chance against you once you've unlocked the spirit of Agnimon again."

Now it's her hand.

"But," I whisper, "I don't know how."

The last of her fingers is breaking free.

He's stunned. "You don't remember? Well, that could be a problem." (This is where I say "no shit, Sherlock.") "Well, the first time you spirit evolved, it was to protect someone. So I guess it's triggered by an emotional stimulus."

She's cackling. Her arm is flexing…

He continues to ramble. "If that is the case, then all we have to do is make you feel a strong enough emotion to trigger an evolution."


"But how," he asks, "do we do that?"

Stretching…toward us…

I scream, trying to warn him. "Look out!"

But it's too late.

The nail impales him just as he turns around, blue wisps of data streaming out of his wound. His beak (mouth) is open in shock, eyes opened wide in a strange mix of fear and…acceptance? I think he's starting to smile, the blue wisps now pouring out of his mouth and flowing everywhere. The pink belt (it's actually looks like one of those body warmer things; I think they're called haramaki or something) is slowly beginning to dissolve.

He's dying.

He's laughing lightly, beak curved into a sad sort of smile. "Isn't it ironic," he wonders, "that I had once told you…(cough) that Digimon will not live for long in your world? Yet I (cough) chose to come here anyway?" The spittle and wisps (I'm guessing that they're made of data…because he's digital) mix as he speaks and coughs. And he smiles, paw reaching up to touch my face, gently holding my chin and wiping away the tears (They're manly tears! Of a man's grief!). "Listen, Takuya. Just know (cough) that you are mot to blame for this. I believe that all (cough) things happen for a reason, and meeting you…befriending you…saving you, all of it was for you to mature in the man that you have become. Please, (cough) do me one last favor (cough) and kick her ass." And his smile fades. And his hand falls.

He's dead.

My head throbs, each pound resembling that of a thousand drums being hit. Memories of Booker…of Bokomon (it's Booker's name) flash before my eyes. (Him running into me in the Digital World. Snapping the pants of some rabbit. Carrying an egg?) The beats get louder as LadyDevimon steps near, the clicking of her boots agitating my condition even further. 'It's her fault.' My subconscious is screaming, mourning, plotting for only one thing.


Heat begins to pool around me as my anger grows, chains finally breaking under the heat. LadyDevimon stares for only a second before charging with her nails prominently displayed. (The nails of a killer.) My hand reaches for my phone, yet I am too consumed with rage to realize that it has now changed to a black and red thing that resembles a remote control.

My D-Tector.

A picture comes up on the screen. (It's Agnimon.) My hand glows, blue wisps of data swirling around like fallen leaves gently floating on a breeze, and I swipe it across the D-Tector screen. The data wisps wrap around me like a cocoon, shedding my clothes in exchange for Agnimon's armor. My hair grows to reach my waist, changing from brown to blonde. Flames pool around my fists.

Guess who's back?

LadyDevimon reaches me just as I step out of the cocoon, her nails barely inches from my face. I grab her wrist with speed I didn't even know I had. I smile. Sadistically. "Hey bitch. Guess who's back? You miss me?"

Yola...whoever is still reading this far. Uh...I'd say sorry and give you guys some fantastic excuse about why this is late but I don't have one (yet). So please, most honorable readers, accept my most humble apologies for this inexcusable lateness! Also, sorry about Sergeant Burke up there. He's an ass.

Ok, that's done. Seriously, sorry about the update. Blame Call of Duty. And my Xbox. (And to anyone who has the PS3, I'm mad you get some really cool games that I can't have.) "No fan wars on PS3 & Xbox 360 shall take place." Capice? (Is that how you spell it?)

I'm ranting. My bad. Read. Review. Send me a friend request on Xbox Live. ( FieryKamikaze) Review. Thanks to all reviewers, readers, subscribers, random people who click on the story...whatever. I love you. Kinda. (Question: Is it just me, or does the document on FanFiction change the number of words in your story to a ridiculous amount?)

P.S. Don't forget to review.

P.S.S. I will finally introduce the other characters in the next chapter. Or two.