A/N: This is a repost of a fic I posted on here three years ago. I changed it to make the story a oneshot, since I never expanded on it like I had planned.

Odaiba lay still in the darkness of night. Streetlights cast moving shadows, dancing a silent ballet for a blind audience. It was late, too late for worried parents to pace through empty hallways, their children not yet in bed.

But Hiroaki Ishida was working at this hour, and his son Matt was walking home, having safely gotten his little brother T.K. back to their mom on the other side of the bay.

Matt was glad their run-in with Myotismon had ended with everyone in one piece. Thanks to Gabumon and Patamon. As they entered the park, Matt smiled, looking down at Tsunomon under his arm. His loyal friend. Thankfully, this time on the walk home, Matt wasn't alone.

"I can't wait to get something to eat, I'm starving!" Tsunomon insisted. "Do you think there are any good leftovers in your fridge?"

"I'm sure there is," Matt said. The air was growing colder. An involuntary shiver coursed through him, and he stopped suddenly, looked around. "Hey, is it just me, or has it gotten really foggy?"

Tsunomon peered into the thickening layers of mist. "That's odd," he frowned.

Matt began to feel uneasy. "We'd better hurry home." He quickened his pace, but the disorienting fog closed in. It was getting hard to see now, and Matt felt panic rising in his chest.

The sound of heavy footsteps stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Human blood tastes so much sweeter with a dash of fear in it," a sinister voice rang out, and the fog barrier lifted slightly, revealing Myotismon, who walked toward them, his eyes filled with something that made Matt feel sick.


"You again!" Tsunomon growled, jumping from Matt's arms and standing in front of his partner, ready to protect him no matter what the cost.

"You are still weak from our previous encounter, I see," Myotismon observed, noting that the tiny Digimon could not hold him off even if he tried. "I have no use for you, pest," he hissed, waving his hand. A swarm of bats converged on Tsunomon, nipping at his skin, picking him up and carrying him away.

"TSUNOMON!" Matt gasped, watching as his friend disappeared into the bushes. He made a move to go after him, but Myotismon was quicker.

"Not so fast," the evil Digimon laughed. He grabbed Matt tightly by the arms, and threw him to the ground. Matt gasped in pain as his bare arms scraped against the asphalt, tearing flesh, leaving them raw and bleeding.

He rolled onto his back, eyes on his attacker. "You'll never get my crest, if that's what you're after!" Matt said boldly, pushing himself up on one elbow, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he wondered if Tsunomon was okay.

Myotismon smirked, revealing white, pointy fangs. "I have other needs to satisfy tonight," he insisted, his nails digging deeper into Matt's arms as he shoved him roughly to the ground.

Matt's fear intensified as he was straddled. He did the only thing he could think of as the Digimon's crushing weight held him pinned to the ground.

He screamed.

"Enough!" Myotismon growled, covering his mouth with one hand. Matt's screams, muffled as they were, turned to choking sobs as Myotismon's eyes bore into him, tearing his soul to pieces.

The hand left his mouth. He felt the cold fingers of his assailant as Myotismon ripped open the collar of his shirt, exposing his jugular.

This was it. He was going to die.

Myotismon watched his victim writhe in fear beneath him, watched the pulse beat rapidly in his throat until he could take the intoxicating smell of sweet blood no more.

"No, no, no!" Matt cried out, scratching blindly at whatever part of Myotismon's body he could reach. "LET ME GO, DON'T DO THIS!"

Ignoring his futile pleas for mercy, Myotismon lowered his fangs into Matt's neck, breaking the skin. Matt experienced stinging, white hot pain as warm blood flowed from the wound.

Myotismon drank thirstily, the other meals he had so frivolously taken no more than a passing memory now. Waves of dizziness hit Matt, the agony slowly numbing. His head flopped limply to the side as he gave in to the weariness, and everything went black.