Digimon: Devil's Ascent (RPG Thread)

[storymasterb]

Something black streaked from the sky, it plowed into Sabnock all black and raging fire. As the comet struck, it roared and was swathed in fire and rage and destructive, ruinous anger.

"X-Evolution!"

The black form of a Dynasmon X erupted, Caradoc struck Sabnock with a furious punch, sending the MetalKabuterimon skidding back on his treads through the field of salt. Blazing, Caradoc's ravaged wings burst wide, fire howling in his eyes.

"I'm with you, Barachiel," he said, voice resonating with a dissonant serenity. It was all ice and chill fury. But anyone could notice the fire and venom burning, the undertone of utter hate seething beneath Caradoc's tone.

"Why're you getting involved?" Sabnock chuckled. "Choir boy I can understand, but you? I thought you'd be screaming at the heavens at how cruel fate is and all the angsting you heroes always start when things don't go your way."

"No," Caradoc whispered chillingly. "I have a better way to deal with this."

"Oh?"

"Kill you and all others who stand with Mephistopheles," the Dynasmon X spoke. "And then kill Mephistopheles." He raced forward. The aura around him burned an icy blue, fists clenching tightly. He struck, his fists hammering into Sabnock. Each punch boomed like thunder, cracks bursting across the MetalKabuterimon's armor like spiderwebs.

Sabnock drew back one arm and sparks crackled on it. "Bolo Thunder!" He punched and a boom of thunder split the air, lightning erupting from the blow and sending Caradoc smashing into the white field of salt wreathed in raging flashes of stormy power.

The dark knight rose, and glared chill wrath at Sabnock. His expression was hard and cold like frozen steel, a deathly mask through which only his pent-up anger pierced.

He glanced to Barachiel. "Let's kill this bastard." And he tore forwards beside his friend, ready to fight and kill. Ready to deal death.

-

The dark hero rose. Marcus chuckled slightly as he did so, gazing at the opposition. He prepared to join the fight, shadows swirling and dancing about his form.

His eyes narrowed, and he side-stepped, an instant before Bedrawd's burning blade could decapitate him.

"Interesting," the DarkSuperStarmon said, amused. "You're new. What are you about? Another proud god? A blind hero? A soldier of fortune casting his lot?"

"None of those," Bedrawd hissed in an all-too dragonic manner. "I am a knight. I am also a father. And you, wretch," he raised the Tyrant Collbrande, "are about to perish. Burning the Dragon!" He thrust his sword down, through the salt to the earth beneath. It quaked and broke, upheaving as magma burst from the cracks he tore open with willpower alone, sending columns of liquid fire screaming up to consume Marcus.

The Dorbickmon wrenched his blade free and charged, racing forwards. The magma burst aside and a shadow-swathed Marcus roared free, the shadow coalescing and hardening into chill dark Digizoid, the armor and visage of Darkdramon solidifying. The evolved servant of Mephistopheles rocketed at the knight, and thrust with his crackling lance.

"Tyrant Collbrande!" Bedrawd proclaimed, and his blade met the lance, blazing fire meeting howling lightning. The two burst apart and collided again, straining against the other's strength. Marcus smirked darkly and coldly, opening his maw.

"Dark Roar!" Blackness and void tore free, engulfing Bedrawd and knocking him staggering back. The Darkdramon ripped forward and drew back his lance to impale the staggered Dorbickmon, but Bedrawd twisted and Marcus' furious thrust struck the salt. The crimson knight twisted and his blade rent across the black dragon's armor, searing and cleaving into it before tearing free in a spray of burning oil.

Marcus turned in a blur and struck again, lance thrusting out. Bedrawd slashed the Tyrant Collbrande and forced the stab aside, but Marcus' fist swung and nailed him in the face, sending him staggering back, before the Darkdramon thrust again. This time his stab hit, laying open Bedrawd's armor and burying itself into his side. The Dorbickmon snarled as pain lanced through him, even as he tore himself off of the lance, sending blood splattering on his armor.

Marcus chuckled. "Father? I'd say grandfather. You're just some old tired veteran trying to relive the glory days, huh?" He raised his bloodstained lance and chuckled again. "If you want glory, I can give you a glorious death, old man."

"The only death here will be yours," Bedrawd spat.

"Not the vibe I'm getting," his opponent replied. He began to advance, drawing back the lance for a killing thrust...

"Ray of Victory!" Light flashed and struck, knocking Marcus back into the salt. A plume of white granules erupted on his impact, falling back to scatter across his body and the area around. Guinier descended, swathed in glorious, exalted light. The power of the Future Mode sung from her form, Digicode runes shining in the air around as they were forged and unmade in instants by the corona of potential which cloaked her.

"Can you fight?" she asked her father.

"It's a flesh wound," he replied. "This imbecile has something to learn about disabling the opponent." He rose, readying his blade, and Guinier's twin beam-swords ignited, shining as Marcus stood.

"An old man and a girl?" he chuckled. "We're playing a fun game here, huh?"

"No," Guinier said chillingly. "No games. We're here to mop up the last few dregs Svarog didn't deal with last time. This time, you die." And she charged, racing forwards as nothing more than a radiant blur of azure on the air...

 

[Griff4815]

Barachiel gave Caradoc a slight nod at his words, not taking his focus off of Sabnock even for a moment.

"Let's," he spoke in short reply, charging forward beside the Dynasmon X.

The TigerVespamon held his beam swords tightly as he ripped through the salt-tinged air toward the friend he once knew... in a past life. Even though they came from the same village and experienced the same pain, they were still ready to kill each other. They both wanted to kill each other...

Sabnock grinned inwardly as they raced towards him. He quickly raised his cannons and pointed them at the ground in front of the charging duo. "Anti Ground Ultimate Thunder!"

His arms exploded with violent tendrils of electricity, the lightning striking the ground in front of Caradoc and Barachiel and wrapping them in electrifying agony. The TigerVespamon hissed in pain, falling to the ground, but he still managed to lunge forwards. With a swift, calculating swing of his arm, he hacked his Royal Meister across Sabnock's armour, leaving a glowing, orange gash of melted metal in its wake.

"Damnit, Terrak!" Sabnock hissed, punching Barachiel down into the sand and running over his legs with his treads before speeding in reverse to put distance between himself and his foes. "I don't care if we were from the same village! That was ages ago and that place is burned and gone! I'm gonna kill you just like I would any other worthless pest that gets in my way!"

"I completely agree," Barachiel responded, wincing as he stood to his feet. "You're nothing but a memory. A ghost of what you once were. Now all you are is a vile epitome of greed and evil. You live your so-called life at the expense of the weak and the innocent. You truly are a monster, like the ones who took everything we had."

"Well we can't all be so saintly! Not in a world like this! Now, Terrak. Die like the ones you claim you care about! Bolo Thunder!" Sabnock cried, being pushed back as two connected orbs of lightning pulsed from his cannons and ripped towards Barachiel.

"Terrak is already dead," Barachiel spoke, his voice like a creeping shadow. He swung his arms outwards, releasing his two beam swords in a dual throwing motion. As the Royal Meisters flew towards their targets, Barachiel was already flying up into the air. The two beam swords stabbed precisely into the two electric orbs, aimed at where they were going to be. The positrons of Royal Meisters clashed with the electrons of Sabnock's Bolo Thunder and the two forces annihilated each other.

Knowing this would happen, Barachiel used the opportunity to fly towards Sabnock, taking him unarmed as his swords fell to the ground. "He died alongside my parents and the loving brother I used to know."

The TigerVespamon closed in on the MetalKabuterimon mercenary and drove the spiked toes of his exoskeleton into Sabnock's face. The blue mecha-like insect swore and recoiled, swiping a charged fist at Barachiel. The gold acolyte stepped on Sabnock's burning hot horn-cannon and pushed off into a graceful backflip to avoid getting struck. He stopped flapping his wings and landed on the ground. "Now all I have left is memories," he said, charging towards his opponent. "And that's exactly what you'll become: nothing but a disgusting memory."

With that, Barachiel extended his index and middle finger, driving them into the side of Sabnock's neck. Sabnock winced slightly, but then grinned at Barachiel. "What?" Barachiel asked, surprised. "That should have struck one of his central nerves. Is his anatomy different?"

"What the hell was that?" Sabnock laughed. "Was that supposed to be a nerve-striking technique or something?"

Barachiel attempted to recoil but Sabnock drove the six short claws of his two smaller auxiliary arms into each side of the insect's thighs. He let out a pained grunt and struggled, but soon found Sabnock hammering him across the face and upper body with his much bulkier, metal, main arms, which crackled with electricity.

"Such an... antiquicated... fighting style!" Sabnock laughed between blows. "You'll never hit my nerves under all this armour."

He then pressed his arm cannons against Barachiel's chest, grinning excitedly. "Bolo Thunder!"

A cry was ripped from the usually composed insect knight's throat as electricity coursed through him and sent him flying back, onto the ground. Barachiel grimaced and slowly looked behind him, seeing his Royal Meisters lying not too far off. After a few moments, he manged to bring himself to his feet.

"C-Caradoc. Cover me," he spoke, rushing over to his swords as fast as his body would allow.

However, Sabnock was already bent down on his hands and Barachiel in the dead center of his targetting screen. "Charging..." he thought, feeling the energy charging within the generator in his horn. "Electron Cannon!"

The linear beam ripped from the cannon and bulldozed across the salt field, whipping up a wave of the minerals on either side of the blast. Barachiel dove to the ground and grabbed his still activated swords. Falling into a roll, he landed on a knee and looked behind him, the beam of light reflecting in his compound eyes.

"Barachiel! Down!" a voice quickly roared from above, prompting him to drop on instinct. "Positron Cannon!"

Another beam of power ripped from the sky at a diagonal angle. The overwhelming positronic blast slammed into the beam of electrons, stopping it in its tracks as the two blasts cancelled each other out, much like when Barachiel's swords met the Bolo Thunder. Barachiel winced and covered himself as salt and heat washed over him. The positron beam kept up its defence until Sabnock's blast finally died down, needing to recharge.

The two combatants looked up to see Pyra flying not far behind Barachiel, the cannon on her back smoking.

"Pyra," Barachiel said in surprise.

"Don't get carried away, Barachiel," the dragon said, wishing somebody had told her that when she was in a similar state as him. "And that idea you had seems to work," Pyra added, referring to the tactic she watched him use on Sabnock that she had just used to save him.

"I was just lucky," he said humbly as he stood up. "I'll try to be more careful."

"Damn lizard!" Sabnock growled. "I don't know what the hell Khep sees in you." He turned to Nebiros who was still in a savage fistfight with Kheprius. "Nebiros!" he called out to his friend. "Give me a bit of back up here! I'm outnumbered!"

Nebiros glanced over his shoulder after jumping back to avoid a swipe from Kheprius' Gran Killers. "Shit. I'll try, but I'm in the middle of something. Slide Digivolve to Beetlemon for now!" he retorted, backing up as Khep's attacks became fiercer.

"Close quarters is not in my best interest right now!" he shouted in annoyance while shooting globes of lightning from his spinning arm cannons at his three opponents.

Nebiros growled, reluctant to turn his back to Kheprius, knowing the GrandisKuwagamon lethality. "Lightning Blitz!" he shouted, firing a javelin of lightning from his fists.

Kheprius was forced to duck and swerve to avoid it. In this moment, Nebiros turned around and sprinted towards Sabnock, firing another Lightning Blitz at Caradoc and Barachiel as he ran.

"Get back here!" Kheprius roared savagely, flying after him.

"Kheprius!" Pyra shouted, landing in front of him to block his path, her back facing him. "Get a hold of yourself. Who are these digimon to you?" she asked.

Sabnock grinned and attempted in part to buy some time while his cannon recharged. "Kheppy! Don't tell me you've been keeping secrets from your girlfriend! You haven't told her about your past as a mercenary? I'm hurt you haven't told her about us, your two best buddies and teammates," he said, hoping to build a wall of distrust between them and try to break up what he thought was a relationship.

Pyra looked at them in mild surprise. "You two were Kheprius' partners-in-crime?" she asked.

"They were," he said, trying to calm himself, not wanting to be reckless.

The Imperialdramon's blood red eyes widened slightly. "So the ones who raided Barachiel's monastery were..."

"Us," Nebiros spoke, glancing at Barachiel.

"Kheppy's friends," Sabnock added with a snicker. "Irony's a cruel bitch, isn't it, Terrak?"

The grip around Barachiel's Royal Meisters tightened, to the point that the energy katanas trembled slightly. He glanced at Caradoc, his expression calm, but his emotions raging underneath. "I appreciate your help, Caradoc... but if anybody gets to kill them... please allow it to be me."

With that, he threw himself towards them again, sprinting across the dune without another word. Despite his outward appearence, his mind wept with sorrow and burned with anger.

"FOR HADRAEL!"

 

[storymasterb]

The grip around Barachiel's Royal Meisters tightened, to the point that the energy katanas trembled slightly. He glanced at Caradoc, his expression calm, but his emotions raging underneath. "I appreciate your help, Caradoc... but if anybody gets to kill them... please allow it to be me."

With that, he threw himself towards them again, sprinting across the dune without another word. Despite his outward appearence, his mind wept with sorrow and burned with anger.

"FOR HADRAEL!"

"As you wish," Caradoc said quietly. Regardless, he snapped his wings open and raced onward beside the TigerVespamon. "But I can't let you do this alone."

His mind blazing with the memories of the monastery, the blood and the stench of death, he tore into Sabnock.

"Damn you!" the MetalKabuterimon snarled. "Why don't you quit? You're not a part of this!"

"Barachiel is my friend," Caradoc hissed. "As long as I consider that the truth, I'll fight beside him to the end." He drew back a fist, the chill blue flames searing and writhing around his black-armored form. "Dragon Thrower!" His blow landed and there was a boom like thunder as it collided with Sabnock's massive fist, lightning raging against cold flame. The two were hurled apart, sent skidding away. Salt plumed up around Sabnock's tracks as he skidded back. Caradoc snapped his wings wide and slowed to a halt in the air.

He glowered down at the two gold and blue insects. And then he rocketed down, shooting towards Sabnock again. He'd noticed that Barachiel was at some sort of disadvantage where the MetalKabuterimon was concerned, something was affecting the TigerVespamon's nerve attacks. Perhaps it was Sabnock's armor.

"Stay out of this," Sabnock snapped, raising one hand. Lightning crackled around it. "Bolo Thunder!" A globe of cracking force screamed into the air towards the Dynasmon X, who blazed with dragonic energies.

"Breath of Wyvern!" Caradoc roared. Azure flames exploded from his form, and coalesced into a blazing wyvern, shooting down and colliding with Sabnock's attack in a burning explosion of screaming flame and raging lightning. Descending through the ramapaging forces, sparks and embers playing over his armor, Caradoc glared cold death down. "You won't stop me, Sabnock. None of you will." He paused momentarily. "I'll let Barachiel kill you, if he so wishes. But let him stand alone? No. No matter how your pasts connect you, I won't let my friend stand alone against you."

And with that he charged down, ready to stand with his friend in the battle...

-

Marcus was straining to hold them back.

Guinier struck. She bicycle-kicked the Darkdramon in the chin and knocked him sprawling back, and as she landed she unleashed a shining Ray of Victory which slammed into his chest, cracking his armor and knocking him back again.

Bedrawd burst from nowhere, wrapped in flame and fury. He drew back his fiery sword and swung it, and Marcus barely intersected his lance to block the savage blow. Embers and sparks crackled and collided. Bedrawd glared fire and spoke.

"Burning the Dragon!" The ground exploded into a pillar of seething magma, it wrapped around the combatants and Marcus was consumed. He was forced to tear free as his armor seared his flesh, heated to blazing white-hot, and as he emerged droplets of Digizoid ran down the gleaming, glaring metal, solidifying as it began to cool. Bedrawd stepped free, unharmed, the Tyrant Collbrande in his hand writhing and crackling with his burning anger.

As the magma crashed down Guinier flashed forward. Her beam-swords struck, stabbing into Marcus through armor joints and weakened plates. He snarled as they struck, and then he roared. "Dark Roar!" Blackness screamed free and enveloped her, forcing her back. Marcus lunged, lance drawn back, and moved to impale the momentarily blinded UlforceVeedramon...

"Tensegrity Shield!" The glow about her form solidified, and it formed into a barrier of hexagonal panels which his lance struck and scraped away from. "Ray of Victory!" The barrier burst into light again and struck. It hammered his entire form and the Darkdramon skidded back and crashed to the salt. As he rose, snarling in pain and rage, the two dragons advanced. Their blades glowed, and their eyes burned with rage and conviction.

"Do not stand," Bedrawd spoke fierily. "Do not even bother to stand."

"Who do you think you are?" Marcus hissed from a burnt, seared mouth.

"I am, to most, just a retired knight," Bedrawd answered. "But I fathered two proud Peacemakers. I fought for the Council, I stood under their banner on many black days. And I survived. I will not allow that struggle to be in vain! I am Bedrawd Stormheart." He pointed the Tyrant Collbrande straight as an arrow towards Marcus' throat. "So do not stand. Throw down your arms, kneel, and surrender. Otherwise, this day... you're dead."

"You think you frighten me?" Marcus chuckled. "No, knight. Because I know that when all is done and this struggle is over, Lord Lucifer shall rule proud. And while I am rewarded for my faith, those who dared stand against his freedom shall be punished like no other."

"Is that so?" Bedrawd growled. "Well, cur. You want Hell so much? Let me send you there!" And with his daughter at his side he burst forwards, blade raised and ready to kill...

-

Famine was a monster, Bedivere observed. He ripped his way across the salt fields. Blows hammered those who stood in his way. This could not continue.

Crimson-red and full of conviction the Examon struck. First came an emerald salvo, his Digitalize of Soul striking the Black Horseman to little effect. Next came the shells, a hail of fire and ice which exploded around the Dynasmon X and wreathed him in an inferno of blazing flame and steam.

And then Bedivere impacted. "Dragonic Impact!" Like a meteor he landed. The winds screamed up and stinging particles of salt burst into them, plumes of white hurled skyward by the destructive force of the meteoric attack. But Famine held firm. He barely strained against the massive force of Bedivere's charge. As the Examon glowered and strained, the Horseman stared into his eyes and whispered.

And blackness exploded. It hungered and it devoured. The air was consumed, the dragonic form of Famine's Breath of Wyvern wolfing down air and salt and Bedivere alike in its jaws, into the conflageration of black flame that was Famine's endless hunger. Bedivere howled and burst loose, embers of black still burning until he shook them loose. The black monstrosity below exploded into embers, and Famine rocketed up. He grabbed Bedivere and he piledrived the Examon into the ground with a grab and a furious punch. The monster's strength was unbelievable.

The Dynasmon X hammered down. His clawed foot slammed into Bedivere's chest at a force which cracked ribs and the talons pierced the Red Digizoid armor, causing the Lord of the Empty Seat's eyes to widen in pain, yes, but also in shock. It was nearly impossible to actually penetrate Red Digizoid, not without a weapon innately tailored to attack the data structure like Gaul's Dramon Destroyers. Armor was as much a part of a Digimon's data as anything else, weapons which bore effectiveness against the Digimon were more easily able to piece and damage their armor.

But to actually stab through Red Digizoid without such assistance was... His thoughts cut off as Famine ripped his claws free, and grabbed him by the throat. His claws crushed the Examon's windpipe, and the Black Horseman whispered... something. His lips moved but Bedivere couldn't hear the words over the sound of death ringing in his ears. A burning heat came to the side of his face, had the sun moved? He couldn't tell. He could barely hear the shouts, and the oncoming howling...

"That's not the sun..."

Something swathed in flames hit. It grabbed Famine and it howled, it blazed and it struck him over and over. The Black Horseman was forced to relent and release Bedivere in order to turn around and backhand Vritra away. The goddess went skidding back, her flames receding slightly to reveal the armored features of her WarGreymon X form. With distinct *snikt* sounds she unsheathed her Dramon Destroyers and lit her vernier boosters.

The goddess of wildfire rocketed forwards and plowed into Famine. As she hit her Dramon Destroyers stabbed and tore, flensing into Famine's armor and laying open his scales. He wasn't technically a Dramon, but his species' data was very close, Bedivere knew, and so the Destroyers still gave Vritra an edge as they had against Conquest. Due to the WarGreymon X's blazing charge Famine was forced off of Bedivere's chest and onto the fields of salt. Vritra struck the Horseman over and over, each blow wreathed in angry flames which called to mind the fire and brimstone which had created this white, deathly landscape.

"Terra Force ZERO!" the goddess barked sharply in a burning tone. Fire blazed free and engulfed Famine, but his blackness and hunger answered, it burned free from his pores and forced her fire back. The Black Horseman advanced, the unrelenting power of Famine swathing him. There was hunger all around. Bedivere's hunger for glory and victory. Caradoc's hunger for atonement and release. Barachiel's hunger for vengeance. The Horseman drank it in and from it he unleashed more blackness, more desperately hungering flame. It stifled Vritra's divine fire and enveloped the goddess. The jaws of fire closed around her, choking her and crushing her power and flame under the eternal, endless thing that was Famine.

And Bedivere was there. An emerald force struck Famine through the blackness and the hunger relented, drawing back to form a terrible, writhing shroud about the Dynasmon X's form.

"We do this together," the Examon said to the WarGreymon X as she stood, breathing more quickly and harshly than normal. "We can't stand alone against this one."

"I'm with you, for once," she retorted sharply. "Let's gut this bastard, wrench the Horseman out of him, and be done with this crap for good." Bedivere nodded with a smirk at her summary, and the two stood, glaring at Famine. There was silence, and then from the momentary eye of the storm, the destruction and the violence burst back into life...

 

[Kamotz]

Famine was upset at denied his meal of flesh and power by an alliance of dragons. It would not stand. He would wreak a terrible price from them and take everything they held dear. Famine was stronger, bigger, and everlasting. He was vast and terrible. His anger and fury were all-consuming. He was ageless and undying. But most of all...

Famine was hungry.

He charged forward, tearing through the sand and saltstorms, overwhelming Bedivere and Vritra with the suddenness and force. His massive hands closed around their faces like bear-traps, and the Horseman knocked them from their feet, carrying them with him as he flew, dragging them along the ground. He swerved to a stop and pivoted, hurling Bedivere and Vritra through the air and blasting them with a double-serving of Dragon Thrower. Famine tore through Gunnar's blast of flame and struck the light-dragon with a massive backhand. That same hand then curled into a massive fist and slammed into Tiwaz's chest. Famine's foot came down on the fire god with horrific force and smashed him into the ground.

"You," the Horseman rasped, the black fog of his breath wafting from his open mouth, thick black saliva dripping onto the pinned Tiwaz. "What do you hunger for?" Famine's eyes burned and bore into Tiwaz's mind, drudging up each and every delectable memory, everything that ever made the god scream or cry or laugh. Famine drank it in.

A force built above him, and Famine whirled around as Bedivere came streaking down from the sky, a cry of "Dragonic Impact" howling from his lips. But Famine planted himself firmly on the ground, and on Tiwaz, and caught the falling knight--easily; as if Bedivere wasn't a fiery, steel-plated dragon-meteor plummeting from the heavens. The Horseman slammed Bedivere to the ground, wrenched back his wings, and sent him flying with an enormous, well-placed blow to the gut. He turned back to Tiwaz and slammed him with a titanic blow, cratering the desert around with the unleashed shockwave.

Vritra struck from behind, raking the Dramon-Destroyers across Famine's back, and for a moment the Horseman was stunned. Then he whirled around and grabbed her forearms, crushing the gauntlets with a simple squeeze. He pulled her arms out to the sides and struck her in the chest with a huge kick. The blow sent her flying and ripped the gauntlets from her arms. Famine crushed them in either hand, bending and snapping the metal. Then he bit into them and ripped a chunk out with a horrid screech of metal, chewing and swallowing.

"Still so hungry," he rasped. He tossed the scrapped weapons to the side and charged the fiery goddess. "I will eat your eyes!" But Tiwaz struck first, raking his sword against the irod-clad black scales of the Horseman.

Famine whirled around and cracked into the god's sternum with his huge fist. He grabbed Tiwaz's head in both hands and squeezed, crushing the shining helm--crushing Tiwaz's head--like it was an orange.

He ignored Tiwaz's wild thrashing until he felt Vritra charge up behind him with Tiwaz's sword. Famine spun, keeping hold of Tiwaz with one hand and grabbing the falling sword blade with the other. Vritra was not as strong, not as honed with a sword to us it against him like that. He wrenched it from her grasp and knocked her aside with a crushing backhanded blow. Then, with casual ease, he lifted Tiwaz by his head and fed him a face-full of Dragon Thrower. He let Tiwaz drop before turning his attention back to Vritra.

Famine grabbed the goddess and ripped off her helmet; he crushed it to scrap, grabbed her by her hair, and drove his monstrous fist into her unprotected face. He lifted her by her throat and pulled her towards him. Famine's mouth opened wide, obscenely so, his fangs elongated and sharpened, until it looked as if he would bite Vritra's head clean off.

"Phoebus Blow!" A meteor struck; it dislodged Vritra and sent Famine tumbling over the ground. The son of Praamzius stood, glowering at the downed Horseman before glancing down to Vritra. "I hope you have enough strength to move," he said. "Because that just used up the rest of the power I had left from War." Famine shrugged himself to his feet and burned hate towards the sun god. "And he's back up. Well," Svarog rolled his neck and shoulders, and steeled himself. "Maybe there's more left."

Famine turned and howled his fury, rushing the two gods, but Svarog met his charge. He ducked Famine's blow and drilled his fist into the Horseman's side. Famine wheeled around with a wild haymaker, but Svarog sidestepped, grabbed his arm, pulled him forward, and drove his elbow into the Horseman's face. The sun god danced back, and as Famine charged again he sent a fiery arrow straight between the Horseman's eyes. Famine reeled back, and Svarog's burning fist found his exposed throat.

"Phoebus Blow!" The strike shattered the air and snapped Famine's head back, but the Horseman barely budged otherwise. Svarog struck again, but Famine casually caught his fist and stopped him.

"You're not as appetizing," the Horseman growled. "You don't have War's power anymore."

"Don't I?" Svarog snarled with a sneer. He sent a torrent of flame spilling over the Horseman from the orb on his back. Though it forced Famine back a few paces, the massive black dragon powered through it.

Famine leaped at him, swathing himself with the Breath of Wyvern. Blue-hot fire enveloped the Horseman and he crashed towards Svarog. But Svarog pulled deep, drawing in the power of Famine's flames, extinguishing them and empowering himself in the process. He pooled that power in his fist and drove it into Famine's face. He sent the Horseman spiraling to the ground below.

Svarog charged, but Famine recovered too quickly. He rocked Svarog with a vicious blow that sent the sun god spinning through the air. Famine was back on him before he even landed, falling upon him with an enormous hammer-fist. Svarog managed to cross his arms and block the blow, but the force broke through him and cracked his armor. Reeling, he was unprepared for the uppercut that followed and sent him flying.

Famine charged again, but Svarog sent up a wall-like mass of fiery arrows that exploded in his face and forced the Horseman to a stop. The war god smirked.

"Omni Sword!" roared a voice from above. The heavens ripped in two and power streaked down, crashing into the Horseman with the weight of the sky itself. Famine screamed in agony but turned his wrathful eyes towards the thunder god even as his power tore through him.

Svarog glanced to the Digimon around him; Vritra and Tiwaz. "A thousand pardons," he said, dripping sarcasm as he extended his hand. He forced his will over theirs, pulled in their power and pooled it in his fist. He tore forward and sent that power exploding into Famine's back. The Horseman tumbled directly into a second slash from Thor's sword, and was sent flying through the air.

"Not bad," Svarog muttered, looking to where Famine crashed. "The two of you did quite well."

"Two? I- Ah. Seeing double?" Thor wondered, an eyebrow raised.

"No. But I didn't think the other four of you were pulling their weight."

"Ah." Thor nodded. Famine pulled himself from the sand and salt. "These Horsemen monstrosities are powerful. It doesn't seem that they can be killed by conventional means."

Svarog smirked. "Now I see why the others had trouble with us. This one hits very hard. But he has no real technique." He glanced to Thor. "Have you any of Conquest's power?"

Thor shook his head. "It vanished when I killed him," he said. "And you?"

"I don't have much of anything at the moment," Svarog growled. He shook his head, trying to stay focused. "But if you can hold him for five minutes I can regain some strength. And we can put an end to this."

"You have three," Thor countered as Famine rose. The Horseman roared angrily, howling his rage and hunger to the heavens. The very salt and sand beneath their feet shook with it. Thor furrowed his brow. "Two. At the very most."

Famine let out a roar, swathing himself in bleeding darkness, and tore over the desert, ripping through the winds. Thor gripped the White Sword and met him head on, thundering forward, lighting trailing in his wake.

=====

Samael flapped his wings and angled down towards the ruins. Michael flew beside him. They raced forward, heedless of the other battles and Peacemakers behind or below them. None of any of that mattered. Mephistopheles was everything. The demon stood in the midst of the ruins, lines of red power bleeding from his empty eyes. He looked to and through and past them, and his face split a sneer.

Something erupted from the salt and sands behind him. Dracula charged forward, lightning whips in both hands. He cracked them through the air, slashing across Michael and Samael, but the two angels dodged and parried the blows, and with dual cries of "Corona Blaster" and "Hand of Fate" they let loose twin streams of power that slammed and tore into vampire lord and consumed him in a burning swath of holy and unholy fire.

They moved to strike on, when a massive arm reached out of the conflagration. It was enormous, twisted and monstrous looking; all hard grey-armored skin, grotesque and disproportionate. It snatched Samael out of the air and crushed him to the ground. Then a whirling grey whip cut through the air and slammed into Michael. The huge arm swished away the smoke to reveal a sickening figure.

Dracula was hideous. The massive right arm emerging from his shoulder was several times the size of his entire body, as was the tail. His left shoulder was enormous and round, armed with teeth. His left leg, too, had distorted, and like his arm was twisted and bizarre looking.

"What it God's name?" Michael whispered, pulling himself up. "Dracula, what is-?"

Then the rest of Dracula's old body exploded, spattering the desert with blood and flesh. And his new, full body was revealed. It was massive, huge, armored and grey and dead. But it was the eyes that Michael recognized. White. Empty.

"Dracula isn't here anymore, Hand of God," the beast whispered. His massive shoulders opened like huge mouths, saliva dripping from the teeth. "But I am. And I'm here to bring you a world of Hell."

"Belial."

 

[Tundra_Wolfmane]

‘He-...hello?’

There she stood once more, surrounded by the darkness that she had been in once. She couldn’t hear anything, unlike the first time where she could hear the murmurs of the waking world. It had been a moment she thought she didn’t want to relive, but she needed answers…desperately. And in order to get them, there was only one choice available to her in her current situation.

It was peculiar, though. Aeria wasn’t afraid. She was quite nervous, but she didn’t feel any fear. Instead, she felt confusion. Why now? Why was she able to finally speak with the self that she thought she feared after she had killed the one she loved the most? Why not before? Or even after the first time? Perhaps the one question she wanted to ask the most was this: Why did her other self even exist?

‘Well, well, look who’s back,’ a familiar voice spoke.

Aeria stiffened, or at least tried to. It was an awkward feeling. She should have realized that, as she was asleep, she didn’t have real control over her motor skills. That didn’t mean it could stop her from trying.

‘After the ‘Get away’ fiasco, I thought that you never wanted to see, or at least hear from me, again,’ the voice continued, sounding a little put off.

The WarGreymon steeled her nerves.

‘I…I need to…ask you something…’ she told the owner of the voice. She had hoped to sound a bit more confident than that.

‘Like I didn’t know that. The only time I’m ever allowed to take over is when you need me,’ the voice said in a tone that was both a matter-of-factly and a bit contemptuous. ‘After all I do for you, you seem to hate me.’

Aeria’s body must have been cold, because she felt a chill run up her spine.

‘Why…would I like you…?’ she had to wonder in her mind, memories of the times after she came back to consciousness coming back to her. ‘Why…do I need…someone that hurts the people around me…?’

If she could, Aeria would have flinched at the sound of growling. ‘Excuse me? If I did nothing, you’d probably have died a hundred times! You should be grateful!’

‘Then maybe you should have just let me die!’ Aeria thought back, feeling sadness overwhelm her as she remembered how much pain she caused just by surviving. ‘Then…maybe he wouldn’t have died…’

‘Bah, let you die? the other voice said in what sounded like unbelieving manner. ‘Do you know the things that you say right before I take over? Help me. I don’t want to die. Make the pain go away. I only know you through those words, but I can tell that you don’t want to die.’

’But… Aeria thought in surprise. ’But the first time I talked to you…was only…

’Please. That might have been the first time we’ve formally met, but I can hear the last thing that comes to your mind before you black out,’ the voice spoke. And then it turned thoughtful. ’Admittedly, the last time was quite unlike you; that was the first time I heard you want to protect someone.’

If Aeria were in her physical body, she would have blushed. She had merely wished that she were strong enough to do so.

‘Speaking of you strong enough,’ the voice started, which would have made Aeria blush harder. She had momentarily forgotten than thinking was speaking in her current state. ‘If you don’t want me to appear anymore, then actually get stronger. Better yet, stop being scared of your own power. Stop being scared of me.’

The WarGreymon would have blinked in confusion. ’E-excuse me?’

Silence. And then the voice spoke in a disbelieving tone. ‘You still haven’t got it yet? Then what the hell are you doing talking to me again!?’

Aeria’s physical body, still asleep, twitched in response to the outburst. ‘I-I only w-wanted to find o-out more…a-about why you…e-exist…’ Aeria said inconfidently.

‘Why I exist? You should know that answer best, Aeria. You might not like to acknowledge, but you made me because you’re too scared to use your own power. And what a power it is; I can’t even bring out its full potential,’ the voice told her. ‘But you can. So why don’t you stop being that scared little girl that I can already see that you are and actually stand up for yourself for once?’

If she could, she would have bitten her lip and wrapped her arms around her. ‘So…it’s my fault…that he died…? Because…I wasn’t strong enough?’

A sigh, and it didn’t come from Aeria. ‘Well, it looks like I’m getting nowhere trying to convince you. Good luck to you, Aeria. You’ll need it.’

And all of a sudden, Aeria felt colder. ‘W-wait!’ she shouted in her mind. ‘There’s still things I need to ask you!’ she called out.

Silence. Cold and lonely silence.

’How…how do I…become strong…?’

-

“Scharlach.”

The ShadowWereGarurumon blinked and turned to the AncientGarurumon beside him. Fenrir, being less than half his full strength, had decided that he would’ve been a hindrance rather than a benefit in the upcoming battle, especially considering the numbers they had to fight with. They would probably end up blasting at their own allies and getting in each other’s way if too many ganged up on one enemy. Being support was better than anything, at the very least.

The situation, however, had changed. And all because of one humungous monstrosity that was currently beating on their resident angel-demon duo. And no matter how weak, he knew that they would need all the help to survive the battle, let alone win it.

“Keep track of the Mamemon X,” he told his descendant.

“The Shoon kid?”

Fenrir nodded. He knew that Azur did care about the spherical machine Digimon. He’d hate for Shoon to get even more hurt, and Azur would probably be devastated if something worse than that happened. “I need to go help Michael and Samael.”

With that short announcement, he sped off straight towards the celestial angel and the demonic creatures in his presence. Scar gave an audible huff and folded his arms as he gazed on the sprinting AncientGarurumon.

“Well, looks like I’m playing babysitter again, Shoon,” he said, turning behind him where the Mamemon X should have been waiting. Only he wasn’t there. “…I should have known that this would have happened; it always did back in the dojo,” he muttered under his breath.

“Come on, little spherical guy! Where did you go!?” he called out as he himself started running in another direction, sniffing the air as he dashed to get a trace of the Mamemon X’s scent. And then with a grin, he exclaimed, “Got ya, you little metal ball!” He ran faster, following the scent of steel and hero-wannabe.

-

“Smiley Bomb! Version Electro Spider!

At that moment, Nebiros the Beetlemon found something clang with the back of his neck, making him turn around for a moment to see a widely grinning Mamemon X.

“I caught you!” Shoon announced smugly, pointing at the Beetlemon with a confident tone.

Nebiros gave a mocking laugh until he spotted a flashing spherical object at his feet, which then burst with a magnetic field that suddenly surrounded him and then condensed into an electrical net that looked very similar to a spider’s web before it fell on him. “What the hell!?”

Shoon folded his arms and nodded. “Meet my latest version of the Smiley Bomb first coats you in an electromagnetic field that gives your body a negative charge, and then it creates a positively charged net of electricity that will stick to you and shock you every time you try to escape it!” As if to emphasize his point, the net suddenly glowed bright blue, surging electricity throughout the Beetlemon’s body.

And then the Beetlemon chuckled. “This is electricity?” he asked in a mocking tone. “No. This is electricity!” he announced.

The humanoid insect then let out a roar as his body crackled with stark yellow electricity, contrasting with the net, which started to fizz and die. A few seconds later, the Beetlemon stretched out his arms, sending free electricity everywhere and dissipating the net that Shoon’s Smiley Bomb created.

The Mamemon X, meanwhile, had been blasted away by the shockwave, rolling on the ground. Before he could recover, Nebiros had already stood over him. “You’re nothing but an annoyance. I don’t need to get rid of you, but I bet you’ll just try another stunt that’ll get me angry enough to kill you anyway, so I might as well do myself a favor and end you right now,” he said, raising an electrically charged hand, grinning sadistically.

Shoon didn’t freeze; he knew well enough that doing so meant certain death. He tried to reach for another bomb that could possibly help him in his situation. But he knew wasn’t going to do it in time. Nonetheless, he tried, and he closed his eyes as the fist sped downwards.

“Engetsugeri!”

Instead of a boom made from contact between the electrically charged fist and Shoon’s metallic body, there was a loud smack. Shoon opened his eyes just in time to see Nebiros get blown away by a ShadowWereGarurumon’s powerful leg technique.

“Y-y-y-you’re…” Shoon couldn’t help but stutter out.

“Scharlach, remember?” the canid Digimon said, turning to the MetalMamemon X with a large grin. “Something great granddad Fen asked me to look out for you, and so I am,” he told Shoon, turning to Nebiros. “And that means making sure you don’t get done it by the likes of him.”

Nebiros growled and charged himself up, his whole body cackling with electricity. “Another pest!?” he said, glaring at Scharlach.

“Excuse me, but I’m not the bug that needs to be squashed,” the ShadowWereGarurumon said, cracking his knuckles. “And to be honest, I’m tired of being pushed around by a bunch of lowlife demons and their even lower peons,” he added, unsheathing his blade.

“Who are you calling a peon!?” Nebiros roared.

Scharlach didn’t deign to give a reply. Instead, his eyes flashed white, followed by his own body getting smothered in bright, white light as he threw his weapon into the air.

“Command my claws! Shape my weapon! Howl and take form!”

His glow intensified, blinding both Shoon and Nebiros who were within proximity. And then the weapon in the air took its own shine, adding to the radiance of Scar’s digivolution. It hummed, as if it were answering his call.

“Witness my enlightenment! Anubismon!”

The light broke away from him like comets shooting, trails of light passing Nebiros and those nearby before dissipating into the air. In his new canid and Egyptian-clothed form, Scharlack gave a wicked grin, grabbing his newly transformed weapon as well.

The weapon was a fusion between a scimitar and a shotel. It had a gold-plated hilt and a silver, moon-shaped pommel. Its two-pronged guard that seemed to curve outward in one side and then inward in the other, covering the hand and looking like a miniature shield. The blade of the weapon was straight for two feet before curving and forming a semicircle for the last foot. The tip of the weapon had a small protrusion that made it look like a hook.

“I normally don’t like using this form, let alone use this weapon for its true purpose,” he told Nebiros. “But for you, I’ll make an exception,” he said, angling his weapon in front of him in a way that it separates Nebiros head and body.

-

Aeria flew overhead where Guinier and her father did battle with the one called Marcus. Time and time again, she had told herself to go and help them, but it worried her constantly that she might end up hampering their efforts to down their foe rather than help them achieve that goal. But she kept on telling herself that she needed to get over that lack of confidence.

Steeling herself, she decided that she needed to find an opportunity to attack in a way that would help Guinier and Bedrawd deal serious blows to the enemy. It might have been pure luck that it came in the next moment.

Instead of charging back at the Dorbickmon and the UlforceVeedramon, Marcus retreated upwards, looking for a weak spot he could take advantage of. He hadn’t noticed Aeria above them.

“Now…or never,” Aeria spoke to herself as she stopped in midair and raised her arms. She took a deep breath. “Don’t…hold yourself back…” Above her hands, a small orange sphere of her power emerged. Then in a span of a second, the sphere above her hands expanded a hundred times its size, emitting intense and raw power.

“Terra Force!”

She called out as she shot it towards the Darkdramon, who only turned his head just in time to see it charging towards him at incredible speed. He couldn’t avoid it in time, so he decided the other alternative.

“Dammit!” he cursed as he crossed his arm in front of him.

The sphere of power collided with him, engulfing him within its radiance, before exploding with a mass of heated energy and air, sending the Darkdramon blasting backwards back into the ground and creating a small crater where he landed.

Above in the air, Aeria hoped that she had given Guinier and Bedraw some time to form a better plan than just charging blindly.

 

[Griff4815]

"I'll let Barachiel kill you, if he so wishes. But let him stand alone? No. No matter how your pasts connect you, I won't let my friend stand alone against you."

Barachiel heard Caradoc's words and silently appreciated them. He was about to charge Sabnock again, but a loud roar resounded and a massive form suddenly sprouted up in the distance. He watched in confusion as the demon took shape in front of Michael and Samael.

"What is that? Is it Belial...? he questioned. "That digimon. It's a MaloMyotismon... Myotismon... Him!"

The TigerVespamon made a literal beeline for what was once Dracula, the digimon that had brutally and callously took his mentor and father figure from him right before his eyes.

"Hey!" Sabnock shouted at him. "Don't you know it's rude to run off in the middle of a duel?! Yellow-bellied coward!"

Barachiel ignored him completely, causing Sabnock to scoff and turn to Caradoc with a wide grin. "Looks like it's just you and me, then. I don't like beating up on angsty mons but I'll make an exception for you."

Pyra landed at Caradoc's side, glaring at Sabnock. "Don't forget about me," she hissed.

Sabnock guffawed psychotically. "Alright! I wouldn't mind dancing with you, Khep's girl. Bring it on, sweetheart!"

"Gladly," the Imperialdramon Dragon Mode replied calmly. "Positron Cannon!"

-

Meanwhile, Barachiel flew with cold determination towards Belial. He flew straight past Michael and Samael, his Royal Meisters humming the song of vengeance.

"Murderer!" the TigerVespamon shouted, driving his beam swords into the massive MaloMyotismon's body.

Belial looked down contemptuously and bashed Barachiel unceremoniously to the ground. He raised his foot to flatten the insect warrior, but Barachiel quickly recovered, standing up and flying at a horizontal angle in time to avoid the demon king's foot.

"Dracula," Barachiel spoke, staring into Belial's eyes with hatred. "I will kill you. I'll see you dead. No matter how big you grow, no matter how much power you borrow and steal, I will make sure you will die by the end of this day and will not make it quick."

-

Tiwaz lay on his back, face up on the warm, ivory grains of the salt field. The salt brushed against the wounds he sustained during Famine's brutal attack, stinging them bitterly.

All he did was stare up at the sky, as if a thousand miles away. Tiwaz's chest expanded and constricted rapidly as he drew swift, frantic breaths.

He had been distracted. The memories that Famine drew from the buried crevices and chasms of Tiwaz's mind. The memories that he refused to excavate. They had all surged at him at once. It was all he could think about. It was because of this that his guard had been so lowered causing him to take such a severe beating. Had he been in a better state of mind and not known that Famine was such a bloodthirsty beast, he might have thought that that had been Famine's reason for drudging up his thoughts.

A blast of heat overtook Tiwaz but he didn't even flinch. He kept staring up at the sky. He hadn't even blinked since all the memories swarmed him, as evident by his dry eyes.

They haunted him, mocked him. Thousands of years of memories. His times with his close friends of the Great Ten. The smiles they shared, the pain they suffered. And their deaths. Though it wasn't just them. Tiwaz was also force to think about the times before he met them.

As tough as he showed himself to be, the memories would always remain.

"I..." he breathed, his voice rasp and quiet.

"Tiwaz!" Tyr goaded. "Get up! You're okay, right? The others need you!"

"Make it stop..." Tiwaz thought, wincing his eyes and doing his best to keep those words of weakness far away from Tyr. His heart stung and his chest tightened, but the EmperorGreymon force himself to stomp those feelings down, fighting against them. "Guys... Drazion..."

With an internal roar of pain and anger, Tiwaz's body ignited. "Tiwaz Koenig, you are stronger than this!" he shouted, sitting up and his black body becoming wrapped in traces of light. "They're just memories. Just memories, damn it! There are enemies still out there, you damn layabout. You have to fight! Ancient Evolution!"

The dragon man's body grew to a true draconic form. Giant wings sprouted from his black, blazing with burning feathers. Even the goggles on his head grew with him. With a determined growl, he shook himself back into the world around him.

Tiwaz raised his foreleg and pulled the blue goggles down in front of his eyes. He turned to Thor and Svarog, who seemed to be engaging Famine at the moment. The AncientGreymon then heard a roar in the distance. He craned his head and saw another creature evolving as well.

"What in the blazes?" he asked. "That must be Belial... Damn it." He turned to Thor and Svarog. "If you two can keep that guy attacking you, that would be great. The angel and demon look like they could use some back up."

"Sure thing, Mister T!" Gunnar replied, readying his GeoGrey Sword but waiting to see how Thor and Svarog would fare against the Horseman. "Won't let the big-eater here interrupt."

With that, the AncientGreymon beat his wings down at the ground, kicking up a cloud of salt, and flew into the sky. He flew towards Belial. Even though he was pushing himself back into the action, Tiwaz's mind was still muddled, as if there was a raging thunderstorm going on inside his head.

"Damnit," Tiwaz growled internally. "I'll get that mindless worm for trying to mess with my head. As much as I hate to admit it, it really screwed me up."

His head felt strange. He felt Fenrir's presence nearby, but something was very wrong. "What did that guy do to me? Why can I feel two similar presences when I try to hone in on Fenrir? It's weird. Damn it, Tiwaz, just focus."

The AncientGreymon flew over and saw Barachiel already attacking the demon known as Belial with surprising zeal and gusto.

"What does he think he's doing, trying to attack that thing all by himself? I thought those churchy types were supposed to be disciplined and calm," Tiwaz thought. The AncientGreymon flapped his wings and observed the beast as Barachiel tried to fight with him. "Maybe it would be best if I feel out his fighting style before rushing in. It would be great if Fenrir would back me up so we can double team this guy, but I don't know how fighting fit he is... or if he'd even go along with it."

Tiwaz looked over his shoulder at the others. "One thing is for sure, I have a feeling we're going to need back up to kill this one."

-

Nebiros growled as the newly evolved Scar took on the jackal-like form of Anubismon, who donned what appeared to be a cross between a shotel and a khopesh. "Okay, A-newb-bismon. Let's see what you've got."

"Never forget about an opponent," Kheprius hissed from his side, striking at Nebiros' armour with his claw and tackling him sideways. He snapped his pincers shut, but the Beetlemon ducked in time so that only his horn was caught in the vice.

"I didn't," Nebiros replied, punching his charged hands against Khep's chest, sending electricity once again through the GrandisKuwagamon's body.

Kheprius staggered back but quickly raised his Gran Killers defensively. He glanced over at Scar. "Yo, darker mutt. Let's try to coordinate our attacks if possible. He and Sabnock will be doing the same, so we can't let them get even one advantage."

"We will, will we?" Nebiros taunted, his body sparking aggressively.

Khep smirked. "Of course. You and Sab are so predictable to me. I know all of your moves."

The Beetlemon grinned maliciously. "Likewise, Aeolus."

"Last name basis now, huh?" Khep asked. "Fine by me." He charged at Nebiros once again as the two insects clashed.

Despite their histories, their will to survive overcame everything else. It was how they came to survive in the cold world they had lived in. However, this time Khep fought for more than just himself. He knew that his survival was necessary. And he knew that Nebiros and Sabnock's were not. The bridges were burned and now they were all out for blood.

 

[Kamotz]

Belial snatched Barachiel in mid-speech; his bizarre fingers plucked the insect from his flight and he squashed him to the ground. He flicked him away with a twitch and sent the bug skidding over the salt fields. He didn't care about Barachiel's hatred with Dracula: he was Belial, and to him, Dracula was only the most convenient meat-suit.

"Talk less." He laughed and aimed his shoulder-mounted cannons across the desert. He let his power fly, and twin streams of thick blackness roared out. One engulfed Aeria, Bedward, and Guinier; the other swallowed Khep, Scar, and Shoon.

Mephistopheles floated up beside the hell-king and offered a congratulatory chuckle. "As thrilled as I am to see you well and released, we cannot afford to remain." He gazed across the battlefield, where his soldiers and Horseman were fighting a tremendously mismatched battle. "Their numbers will overwhelm us if we give them half a chance. Even Famine will eventually be overrun." He growled low. "There was a time where we might have matched their numbers more, but-"

"That time will come again. Rest assured, Mephistopheles," Belial said. He turned his ever-white eyes to the demon. "And you will be rewarded for your efforts."

"I serve only at the Devil's will," Mephistopheles said with a bow. "I believe the time for games has ended, much to my chagrin. And I must accelerate my plans." Belial nodded, his teeth and fangs bared in a twisted smile.

Then there was a blink in the world, and they were gone.

"Damnit," Michael cursed; he had only been down a moment. "Again. And again we have no idea where he's gone." He straightened and glanced over the others, checking briefly to make sure no one was dead or dying. Injured, yes, but if they could still fight...

Samael propped himself up and shed his Blast Mode. "Back to square one then. What was that again? Sit on our hands? Cry foul? Yell at Tiwaz for being an idiot and telling us to do something?"

"Don't mock me, Samael," Michael grunted. He rolled his neck and shoulders, easing away the pain. It would have been less painful to heal himself and the others with Magna Antidote, but he needed to conserve as much of his energy as possible. "I'm not in the mood."

Samael shrugged. "I thought I was mocking Tiwaz...and everyone," he said. He flipped to his feet and cracked his joints back into proper alignment. "Maybe Thor'll get one of his kooky visions? Or we could try waiting again."

Michael shook his head. "No. Mephistopheles is different now," he said. "He's working quicker; less theatrically: no wit or stinging remarks before he leaves. He's nearing his endgame. We've seen nearly forty Seals break; who knows how many more have broken without our knowing." He clenched his teeth angrily.

"So are we at the 'put-our-heads-between-our-knees-and-kiss-our-asses-goodbye' part yet?" Samael asked. "Because I'd like to limber before trying anything that contortion-y."

"What is your Heaven doing in all of this?" Svarog demanded. He and Thor dropped from the sky, lacking any sort of grace and poise. They were beaten, bloodied, and bruised. And yet Svarog still managed to carry himself with his typical authority. "It's your devil rising, yes? Isn't there something they can do?"

"I wish I knew," Michael muttered, looking at the god darkly. "I've neither sensed nor heard anything from Heaven since I met my brothers outside Hadrael's mission. Perhaps Mephistopheles severed the link between Heaven and Earth."

A light exploded overhead, piercing through the clouds. "He has done nothing of the sort," a familiar voice boomed. Azrael descended from the sky, leading Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel. "Heaven has been girding itself for war."

"Without me?" Michael demanded.

"You seemed content to dance here in the mud looking for Seals to provide Mephistopheles with," Azrael snapped. He stood tall, regal in his black armor. "The Sacred Angels doubt your conviction and loyalty to Heaven. You spend all your time with these pagans and non-believers and...that." He spit at Samael. "You, a Saint...it's pitiful, Michael. Disgraceful."

Michael bristled. "Well while I 'disgrace' myself, fighting and bleeding for Heaven's Seals, with these 'pagans and non-believers', Mephistopheles is closer and closer to achieving his goals!" he shouted. "While Heaven girds itself for war, Seals are breaking! We could have utilized our numbers! Tracked down the Seals and protected them! Used Heaven's power to reach them before Mephistopheles!" He pointed an accusing finger at the Angel of Death and his three brothers. "Lucifer will rise. And nothing in Heaven's arsenal will be able to stop him."

"Do not be so conceited, 'Hand of God'," Azrael mocked. "And do not be so sure. There are things at work here bigger than Mephistopheles; bigger than you. Bigger, even, than Lucifer."

"Like what?" Michael demanded. But Azrael didn't answer. Michael smirked, shaking his head in disappointment. "You don't know, do you? None of you do."

"It is not our place to question the Word of God."

"What about the word of the Metatron?" Michael challenged. "Do you question that?"

"Watch your tongue, and know your place," Raphael snapped. "It is not for us to question the Resplendent Metatron, who has spoken God's Word since time immemorial."

"Truly, Michael, these Peacemakers have...lessened you," Uriel said. He shook his head sadly. "You are the Hand of God. Where is your faith?"

"People. Are. Dying," Michael hissed. "Where is your faith if you can just stand by and watch this happen?"

"We are not merely 'standing by', we are preparing," Gabriel corrected. "Our faith assures us of God's will. That-"

"Why are you here then?" Michael demanded. "What do you want, if not to help?"

"You are to return with us to Heaven," Azrael said. "You are to lead and prepare Heaven's army." Michael shook his head. "Lucifer will rise. Too many Seals have broken now to-"

"Do not speak to me of broken Seals!" Michael snapped. "Not when Heaven might have prevented it." He looked back to the Peacemakers and then at the four archangels before him. "You may have given up, but I haven't. Return to Heaven, give the Metatron that message."

Azrael and the others said nothing, and though their eyes were hidden behind their shining helms, it was easy to see the contempt on their faces. Without a word the four archangels spread their wings and ascended back into the light.

=====

Elsewhere...

"What to do, what to do..." Mephistopheles mused. He traced his fingers over the cold stone, reading the ancient hieroglyphics that outlined each of the 600 Seals. "So many options. Not all of them very easy..."

"We need numbers, yes?" Belial asked. He had shrunken down to a less-hulking size so that he might stand more easily in the smaller space of Mephistopheles' sanctum. "Then perhaps the lesser lords of Hell will suffice."

"Ah, your first subjects, yes?" Mephistopheles chuckled. "Powerful old demons? I would be delighted to have their company. Yes. But can you raise them from where they lay?" Belial just laughed. "Of course, a foolish question."

"Call forth War into a new vessel," Famine rasped, trudging forward. His wounds had already begun to heal. "The Horsemen must ride, and assemble as one."

"Conquest is dead." Marcus shot Famine down. "Can't have a Horseman Feista without all four, am I right?"

"Father will raise Conquest anew," Famine growled, glaring at the impudent little Digimon. "And all four will ride upon the killing fields."

Mephistopheles remained quiet, stroking his chin in thought. "Is there an appropriate vessel for War to take? Is there an appropriate vessel for Death as well?" He remembered the flames of War, and the words used to invoke it. "Famine, might I borrow your mind for a moment?"

Without waiting for a reply, he placed two fingers against Famine's forehead. And what he saw there brought a smile to his lips. Excellent.

"Marcus, go find the Cambion," Mephistopheles ordered. "Tell them that the time has almost come. They must be ready to fulfill their...digital destiny." The demon strode out from his sanctum and into a vast and blackened field. He looked up to the orange sky and spoke with a voice filled with dark hopes.

"I looked, and there before me was a red horse. Its rider was given a fiery sword and power to take peace from the earth, and to make men slay each other."

And from the sky it came, like a meteor from the blackest reaches of the cosmos, burning and fiery, to take peace from the earth...

 

[Griff4815]

"And tell him 'Khep says he can cram his God where the choirs don't sing' while you're at it!" Kheprius chimed in, watching as the angelic envoy flew away. He emphasized his point by flipping them the bird... twice.

The bruised and charred GrandisKuwagamon spat and collapsed to a knee, exhausted and annoyed. "Sab and Neb got away too," he muttered. His black hand closed around a handful of the salt, the grains seeping through his fingers as he squeezed.

"Sabnock and Nebiros, right?" Pyra spoke, walking up next to him after reverting back to her Paildramon form. She reached down and helped Kheprius to his feet. He took his arm away from her, standing on his own.

"Yeah," he replied. Kheprius looked across the gathering group. He saw Barachiel staring off in the direction Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael and Azrael flew, seeming to be lost in thought. "Terrak will never forgive me for this."

Pyra looked at the dark insect. For all the bad, unpleasant things that could be said about Khep, there was one thing that she could honestly say: that he truly cared about his brother. Pyra couldn't help but relate to him in that regard. She felt the same way about Maximus. For all she knew, Max could have eventually felt the same way about her that Barachiel felt about Kheprius, if she hadn't stopped going down the dark road that she had headed towards.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Give him time, Kheprius," she said. "Hadrael only died a few days ago. He's still trying to make sense of it."

"What's there to make sense of?" he retorted. "They're my ex-friends-slash-mercenary-teammates. Therefore ergo, I might as well have killed that angel guy myself. At least, that's how he's going to look at it. You'd think the Holy Host would teach forgiveness..."

"Why don't you try talking to him?" Pyra suggested. "Talk to him man-to-man. Tell him how you feel and explain yourself."

Khep looked at her as if she just told him to give Gigas a bug-hug. "Talk to him about my feelings? Maybe I can get him a bouquet of roses and some chocolates while I'm at it," he sardonically replied. He turned to Pyra with a grin. "But hey, I'd love to talk about my feelings with you, good-looking. Maybe we split a couple drinks between us too?"

Pyra sighed, shook her head and walked over to the group. "It was only a suggestion."

"Hey, that wasn't a no either," he called after her.

She looked over her shoulder. "No." The Paildramon gave him a quick wink and walked over to Fenrir.

"...I'm getting mixed signals here!" Khep added. He rolled his eye and gave a dismissive wave.

As he walked through the odd terrain, Kheprius thought to himself. "Nebiros and Sabnock. So I really have to kill you...? Damnit. What's wrong with me? I've never hesitated before killing somebody before. They want me dead; Sab tried to kill me! It's either us or them. That's how it was growing up and it's no different now," he reasoned.

He sighed and slid his fingers through his hair. "Maybe that's why. I grew up with them... We all shared the same pain and anger after the attack. I know what they went through... They grew twisted. I grew twisted... but I realized I had thanks to Gig. Is it because I see myself in them? Or do I care about them...? Or maybe I just can't let go... Damn it. I can't pull my punches. Not for them and not for anyone! My life is on the line. Terrak's life. Pyra's life. Gigas' life. The whole damn world, no matter how crappy it is. There'll always be some kid who was like me who wants to live a normal life. That's what I have to protect, no matter who I have to kill and no matter how I have to do it."

-

Barachiel watched as the four angels flew away. "Why do they refuse to help us?" he asked himself, feeling a bit betrayed. "First Michael Ha'Yisrael's coldness and now these four? Is this the true face of the Holy Host?"

The TigerVespamon turned away and gripped the pendants around his neck. "But Hadrael and the others were so warm. They even accepted me despite my heritage. Is it because these digimon are centered around Paradise? Is it the bureaucracy that makes them so cold and callous? It seems strange though. Is there something else that's going on around here that we don't know about? Something even Michael doesn't know about?" he questioned.

He sighed. "It would be egotistical to think this was all a test of faith for me. ...But if it were, I fear I'm failing." Barachiel held the metal symbol tighter. "Hadrael, am I going down the wrong path?"

Barachiel lowered his arms, twitched his sore wings and walked over to Caradoc and the others. "So... that was Belial? He was reincarnated in Dracula's body..." he said to his friend. "And now Nebiros and Sabnock... My past keeps coming back to haunt me. I had thought I had cut away from it when I became Barachiel Aker... but we can never seem to escape our pasts, can we, Caradoc?"

His defeated voice became one of determination. "This time, I will cut away from it. I'm not Terrak Aeolus anymore."

-

Tiwaz growled at the departing angels. "With friends like them, who the hell needs enemies, eh?" he murmured.

The AncientGreymon gently flapped his wings and landed on the ground, where he reverted back to his EmperorGreymon form. "So we have to sit around and do nothing again unless the great prophet Thor has another vision. Terrific."

Something still unsettled the dragon about the last battle they had. He began to look around the group for Fenrir, but something caught his eye. Tiwaz had a double-take upon seeing an Anubismon. For a split second, he thought it might have been his old friend and teammate, Dämmerung Zweilicht, but then he knew better.

The EmperorGreymon walked over to the Anubismon, who was lying spread eagle on his back, relaxing. "Is that you, Scar?"

The winged jackal's ear flexed and he looked up. "Oh, hey there, Big T," he greeted.

"Right. Certainly not Dämmerung..." he thought. "Definately you, Scar. I didn't know you could digivolve to Anubismon. Custom weapons and everything too, eh?"

Scar chuckled. "Just because the family line's usually Garurus doesn't mean we have to be restricted to it, right? And yep!" He looked to the weapon at his side. "I'll tell ya, it took a while to figure out how it works. Took some real expensive metal, too. But hey, it's a surprise that no one expects."

Tiwaz gave a nod. "I don't know how many stories of the Great Ten you were told, but my friend Dämmerung was also an Anubismon," he explained, a bit of pride in his voice as he spoke of his teammate.

"Oh, I knew that already. Was in the book Fenrir's wife, Lyonesse, left. She had all sorts of stuff written down for future Weissritters, or at least their descendants," he replied.

"I see..." Tiwaz said, raising an eyebrow curiously. "Anything about me?"

Scar nodded. "Oh, lots about you too. Pretty much about all of you Great Ten. I think Fenrir helped Lyon with it," the Anubismon explained.

The EmperorGreymon cast what was a mixture of a grin and a frown. "...Then I can't imagine I was painted in a very flattering light."

"Really? My sister found you dashing and brave. I just thought you were pretty cool," Scar said, starting to grin. "Both of us agreed that you were pretty much a hothead though."

Tiwaz blinked and smiled proudly. "...'Dashing', eh? Err, anyways, right. There was something I noticed during that battle. It may have because my brain was rattled around, but I could have sworn I sensed Fenrir in two different places," he explained.

Scharlach shrugged in his lying position. "Beats me. I was with him the whole time, and I think there was only one of him around."

"I guess it was just me then..." he said, folding his arms and thinking.

Scar's eyes lit up, remembering an afterthought. "Oh, there was one weird thing it didn't say about you and the Ten though," he remarked.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

Scar sat up and looked at him strangely. "It doesn't say how you and Fenrir split up, or how you died. I mean, ev'ryone knows how the others went - pretty bravely I might add - but not you," he explained. "It went from, the eight died, and then to how great aunt Pearl met with your son, Thlay."

Tiwaz frowned and looked away from Scar. The memories would always remain. The painful ones especially...

"...Ah. Right..." he answered, his voice staying strong, but he inwardly hoped the issue wouldn't be pressed.

"So, how did'ja die?" Scar continued.

The dragon grimaced. As hard as he tried to stomp down the memories that Famine brought to the forefront, now he had to acknowledge them again. After a few moments, he forced himself to reply.

"I'm guessing it wasn't recorded because I died after Fenrir. I was a week too late to see him..." he explained, a tint of sorrow donning his voice.

"Huh, that's a shame," Scar informally replied as he stood up and stretched. "Too late to see him... does that mean you didn't know he died?"

"I still don't know how he died," Tiwaz explained, still hoping to avoid the issue of his own death, "I doubt he'd tell me if I asked him, being the surly mutt he is and all."

"Ah. Hmmm...tell ya what, tell me about how you died, and I'll tell ya as much as I can remember off the top of my head about his," Scar suggested, grinning.

Tiwaz eyed him scrutinizingly. The offer intrigued him. It had always bothered him that he didn't know how exactly Fenrir died. The answer was clear to him. "Deal... Right. Anyways. My death..."

The EmperorGreymon exhaled and closed his eyes. "I'm sure a fatalist like Fenrir would tell you that you can't choose when you die... I did." Tiwaz smiled sombrely.

"...Yep, I was expectin' that."

"Fighting against fate until the bitter end..." Tiwaz continued, his tone distant... forlorn and longing, even.

Scar smiled a bit. "Hmmm... Pretty sure Fen won't tell ya that, but n'yways, as my old grandma would say: 'intruigin'! So you mean to say that you basically decided to just die?"

"You obviously haven't heard the sort of stuff Fenrir's been saying lately," Tiwaz said with a grunt. "And it's not like I commit suicide or something..." he folded his arms. "I heard a village was going to be slaughtered by five Dexmon during the Death-X plague. I knew I would die if I went, but I still did. I killed them and died in the process. End of story."

Scar raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you wouldn't have died if you decided that you weren't going to die there yet," he suggested.

Tiwaz grit his teeth. "Am I being lectured by someone who's thousands of years younger than me?" he asked irately.

The Anubismon smiled a bit and winked. "Hey, it's the new times, Big T. Maybe you could learn a few things from someone who lives in a different age." He folded his arms. "Still though, that doesn't sound much like ya at all. From what the books said, you and the rest of the Ten occassionaly had the odds against ya where you were s'posed to die, but none of ya did til Millie. so don't be getting angry at me for something that I didn't really see ya doin'."

Tiwaz growled and turned his head away indignantly. "Well, it happened. I can't go back in time and change what happened now can I?" he snapped in irritation. "Anyways, now it's your turn," he dismissively added.

Scar tilted his head. "Hmmm...where do I start...well, you probably knew that Fen was sick, right?"

Tiwaz stared at him incredulously. Sick? This was news to him. He had never heard anything from Fen about being sick. His blue eyes stared Scar in the eyes. "...What?" he asked in complete confusion. "Sick...? Sick how? With what?"

Scar rubbed the back of his head. "Guess not." He folded his arms. "And we don't really know. We just figured it was a pretty much incurable. Aunt Lyon even said that Fen spent most of his life with you guys searching for a cure," he explained.

The EmperorGreymon stared at Scar, his expression blank. The news hit him like a few tons of bricks, crushing his already damaged spirit. Tiwaz was completely stunned.

"...He... did what...?" he asked, still staring at him in vacant disbelief. "Most of his life...?"

Scharlach thought, his eyes closed. "Mmmm...I think it was cause of him looking for the cure was the reason he met you and the crazy old person."

Tiwaz's fists slowly balled up as he heard the news. His eyes narrowed into a cold glare. His black scales started to heat up significantly. "He didn't even..." the dragon god's voice trailed off and he snarled, his scalding breath heating the air.

Scar opened his eyes. "Uh... Am I missing something here?" he asked obliviously.

"All that time... Fenrir was sick that entire time... He knew he had a fatal disease and yet he..." The pain and anger Tiwaz felt rose, flaring up. He swung around and looked around the group, searching furiously for Fenrir. Waves of heat were now coming off of the fire god's body.

Scar looked worried. "Uh, hey, are you alright, Big T?" He tried to approach him but suddenly felt the extreme heat coming off of Tiwaz. "Woah! You're burnin' up, man!"

Tiwaz ignored him and snarled. He spotted Fenrir and was now walking towards him with fiery determination. "Fenrir... What else are you keeping from me? What else have you lied about? We were supposed to be friends, but..."

"...Did I just do something stupid?" Scar asked, watching Tiwaz storm off.

Fenrir was standing alone, sighing. Upon noticing Tiwaz walk up to him, he turned and looked at him questioningly.

"You stupid, selfish, lying, MUTT!" Tiwaz roared, delivering an uppercut to Fenrir's chin, strong enough to knock him off of his feet.

Fenrir grunted in pain and surprise as he flew through the air and landed on his backside. "T-Tiwaz?! What the hell are you doing?!" he demanded, wincing.

Tiwaz simply growled and was on the AncientGarurumon immediately, pinning the wolf's shoulders to the ground. The dragon glared into his red eyes. "You knew all that time! You were sick all that time! You were mortally ill and you didn't tell us! That's why you were travelling with us?!" he demanded in turn.

The light god's eyes widened in pure shock. "How did you- who told you that!?"

"Scar did! But it should have been YOU!" Tiwaz snapped, glaring at him.

Fenrir grimaced. "I--" He looked away. "...You were never supposed to find that out."

"And why is that?!" the EmperorGreymon demanded. "Do you not trust me? I could have helped you! But nooo! You have to try and be all independent. Fenrir doesn't need anybody else. He doesn't need friends, even ones who would be more than happy to help him if they so much as knew something was wrong! Hundreds of years and you kept this from us. From me!"

The lupine digimon growled back at him, narrowing his eyes to lock them with Tiwaz's angry blue ones. "Don't act so hypocritical on me, Tiwaz. If you were in my position, I know very well you would have done the same."

Tiwaz snarled and angrily punched the ground beside Fenrir's face, missing him on purpose. "That's a lie! I know you don't think so, but I'm not nearly as deceitful and selfish as you are. I wouldn't keep something like that from my friends for their entire lives. Or were we even your friends?!" he asked heatedly.

"Even if you knew how stubborn and how much they cared about you!? That they'd probably walk over the ends of the world for you if it meant to cure that disease!? Well, what if there was no cure!? Do you realize how heartbroken they would become!? How hard it would be to watch them do something so futile, do so much all for nothing!? Do you know how painful it would have been to tell them that they couldn't do anything about it!?" Fenrir responded with just as much intensity. "Could you stand breaking their spirits like that!?"

Tiwaz clenched his fists, wincing at what he heard. "I... Damnit, there had to have been a cure! So all that makes it okay to give up?! You were going to just let us watch you die?! How did you think we were going to feel then?! How do you think I felt when I found out you had died out of nowhere?! I didn't even get to attend your damn funeral!" He released Fenrir and stood up.

Fenrir sat up after a few moments of silence, propping his knee up and resting his elbow on it. "I searched for eight hundred years... and not only I. Cogwej did as well, and Dämmerung. If there were any two who could have found one, my best lead, it would have been them. It took me eight hundred years to accept that I couldn't escape it... how long would it have taken all of you had I told you?"

The dragon of fire growled, not accepting what he heard. "I'm not sure. As long as it took!"

Fenrir frowned. "And if there were no cure? What would you have done then?"

"I don't know! Made one myself!" Tiwaz snapped, flustered and unwilling to accept that Fenrir had a point.

"Don't you think Cogwej tried that!?" the AncientGarurumon retaliated.

"Probably! Maybe he did it wrong! So you were able to tell those two but not the rest of us, is that it?!" he demanded.

Fenrir grit his teeth. "That would have been hard to believe. For all his flaws, Cogwej had a brilliant mind. And..." He looked away from Tiwaz. "...Those were special circumstances."

Tiwaz rolled his eyes. "Right. Of course they were. I wonder how many of the other Ten you told. Maybe it was just me who was in the dark," he muttered.

Fenrir glared at him. "If you want to believe that, then go ahead. Whether you believe it or not, I've said what I've said."

Tiwaz returned the glare. "Tch. Fine," he said, acting as if he didn't care. He turned his back to Fenrir and started walking. "I know how it is."

"Tiwaz," Tyr tried to say diplomatically, hating to watch friends fight. "Don't do this."

"Don't say anything, Tyr," Tiwaz growled. "Whatever excuse he has, I know his true colours. I'm sick of trying."

Gunnar who was watching the feud, exhaled and folded his arms. He looked over at Justin. "Hey, Twinkles," he spoke. "Can you believe this group? Everybody's always snapping at each other. It's like drama city." Gunnar grinned.

"Even Duo and Trowa seemed like they were at each other's throats recently. What was all that about? Fighting over Lucia? I'm surprised you weren't in the thick of the fray too," he said with a laugh.

"Aren't there more important things to worry about than in-fighting and personal squabbles?" Pyra asked, walking over to join them. "Just when we gain the upperhand, Mephistopheles gets Belial. Who knows who else he'll get on his side? We should be trying to figure out how we're supposed to stop him before the worst happens."

"We're smaller picture sort of guys, Pyra," Gunnar replied, smiling innocently. "I'm better at killing pitspawn. I'll leave the rest of that stuff to people like Michael, Thor and Barry. Looks like the angels won't help us so we'll be on our own."

Pyra sighed. "I'm getting kind of used to that..."

 

[storymasterb]

Barachiel lowered his arms, twitched his sore wings and walked over to Caradoc and the others. "So... that was Belial? He was reincarnated in Dracula's body..." he said to his friend. "And now Nebiros and Sabnock... My past keeps coming back to haunt me. I had thought I had cut away from it when I became Barachiel Aker... but we can never seem to escape our pasts, can we, Caradoc?"

His defeated voice became one of determination. "This time, I will cut away from it. I'm not Terrak Aeolus anymore."

"Our pasts won't let us go," Caradoc mused. "I suppose, that out of all the things in this world, the past is something you can't escape. It'll loom out of the darkness and snatch you back... force you to confront the nightmares in your memories." For a second, he recalled one of those memories, himself as a child, and the nightmarishly exaggerated form of his father stood, eyes wild and full of desperation. He was silent for a moment.

"I have no time for my past now, though," he finally continued, very quietly. "My future's slipping away, second by second. I can't waste that time looking back on a past of pain and misery... I just have to live in this moment and do what I can."

"Your past isn't all pain and misery," Guinier spoke, appearing beside him. She shed the Future Mode, sparks of light dancing past her face in the breeze. "Weren't there moments you cherished? Moments with your friends? With... me?"

"There were," he admitted. "But..."

"Why," she cut in, "did you make that deal then?"

"Because I wanted to save Hadrael," the Valkyrimon said. "I... I was a fool, perhaps... but what other way did we have?"

Guinier didn't speak.

'But... I also believe he is a good man."

"You're not a martyr, Caradoc," she said. "You shouldn't be one either... not now. We don't need martyrs. We need good men and women..." She lowered her gaze. "Think about it... before you start resigning yourself to what you've done... do you really have to give up everything?" And with that, she was gone. He gazed at the spot where she had stood, and wondered. Did he have to give up everything?

"I am the embodiment of His will."

Caradoc spun. That hadn't been Barachiel's voice. As he turned, from the corner of his eye he caught a flicker of coruscating light, but when his gaze fell upon it the light was gone. Had he imagined it?

-

"Are you hurt?" Bedivere questioned. Bedrawd looked at his son, and then regarded the gash in his side left by Marcus' lance.

"It's just a scratch," the Dorbickmon insisted. He stabbed his Tyrant Collbrande into the ground, and the sword burst into embers as he stepped away. "So... that thing was Belial?"

"It seems so," the Slayerdramon nodded. "Mephistopheles has another success... damn it!" He shot a glare at where the four archangels had hung in the sky. "Perhaps there's..."

"Hope? No," Bedrawd shook his head. "I've read of the battle which ended Lucifer's time upon this earth, Bedivere. The armies of Heaven alone were not enough that day. The Council had to intervene. The Royal Knights, too." A flicker of sorrow across his eyes at the memory of the shattered order. "If Lucifer rises, what we have left will crumble. We cannot stop the armies of the Inferno, not with a world broken by catastrophe after cataclysm."

"After the Amatsu-Mikaboshi..." the Lord of the Empty Seat muttered, recalling the reports. The armies of the world had stood, and had been shattered that day six months before. They had been slaughtered to a man, put to the sword by just seven foes. He had flown over the aftermath with the others on their way to fight the Chaos Lords and the Primordial Chaos itself. A field stained with blood, broken, sundered corpses of innocent humans scattered all around. And above the battlefield, a chill aurora... the data of the hundreds who had fallen.

Six months... that wasn't enough to rebuild the armies that had been lost, he knew. If Lucifer rose, with the might of the Inferno assembled behind him... he would sweep aside their resistance like a hurricane striking a sheet of paper.

"That's why we have to stop Mephistopheles here and now," Bedrawd nodded grimly, seeing the darkness in his son's eyes at these thoughts.

"Then we will," Bedivere answered. "Michael, with Belial ressurected, what do you think might be Mephistopheles' most likely next step? Would he be content with just Belial, Famine, Marcus and the Cambion, or will he attempt to gather more reinforcements before making more attempts to break the seals?"

-

"Fools," Vritra said quietly. The flame goddess stood, devolved from her WarGreymon X form. She stood and watched Tiwaz and Fenrir bicker like a pair of petty children, scorning their irrelevant concerns. These issues were thousands of years old. They had no importance to the world of that moment, a world hanging on a knife's edge.

She turned away, and regarded the sun for a moment. It brought back memories of what Svarog had said so shortly ago. What had she done wrong? What was she doing that was so... different to what was needed? She had drawn on the spark in her soul before, dredging up mere embers to unleash against her foes. What needed to be done to turn dreding up embers into unleashing the full burning might which blazed and raged in the very core of her being?

 

[Tundra_Wolfmane]

Right after witnessing Tiwaz and Fenrir’s fight, Scharlach immediately went into action, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. His grandmother and his late sister always said that he had a big mouth, and it usually got him into trouble, usually with said late sister. He supposed he should have taken her request at heart when she asked him to keep a leash on his mouth and his words; he was really feeling the sting now.

It wasn’t that hard for him to find the bag that he and Azur brought with them from his hometown; he always made sure it was close by. He needed it to sharpen and polish his and Azur’s weapon if it got to that point. It also contained a couple of valuables and necessities, as well as some things he was meaning to show Tiwaz, not that Fenrir knew about it.

“Ah, here they are!” he said with a slight tone of success, taking them out of the bag and quickly looking around for the ancient that was currently in his EmperorGreymon form. He saw him walking away, a foul expression on his face.

“I am not looking forward to this,” he muttered, but he stood up and jogged towards Tiwaz anyways. “Hey, Big T!” he called out to the dragon man, who gave a scathing reply. Scharlach knew it wasn’t personal, but he still couldn’t help but wince back a bit; the dragon man was a walking ball of ire, radiating silent anger and intense heat.

“Look, I’m pretty sure that ya got into that fight with Fen ‘cause of what I told ya, which means I shouldn’t have told ya in the first place. Too bad I can’t take that back, but the least I can do is this,” he told the Ancient of Fire. He tossed two leather-bound books, both tied together by a long, white ribbon, at the dragon, who somehow deftly caught it in his hands.

“Remember the book I told ya about? One of those is it,” the ShadowWereGarurumon told him, folding his arms. “The other one’s an old journal that Fenrir wrote in; I didn’t even know it existed until he came to the dojo, but I assume that it’s important to him. It’s up to you to read them, but I think you should. There are a lot of things old man Fenrir didn’t tell you either. For better or worse, he had his reasons.”

The black wolfman then gave a huff and started to walk away. There wasn’t much else he could say to Tiwaz the way he was. He grimaced, hoping that he wasn’t making the situation any worse.

--------------------------------------------------

Fenrir sat up, grit his teeth and clenches his fists. That was exactly why he didn’t want Tiwaz finding out. He knew that Tiwaz, the most stubborn, irrational and hotheaded of them all, would have understood the least.

‘Fenrir…’

The ancient of light let out a small, near inaudible curse. “Azur…did you hear us…?” he asked in a low tone. Azur’s silence subsequent already told him of the answer. “Do not inconvenience yourself, Azur. This is a problem that does not involve you,” he told the young lupine.

‘But…’

Fenrir sighed. He could still sense his descendant’s insecurities. He worried that his and Tiwaz’ argument only worsened his condition and reinforced the belief that the bonds he shared with his own companies were weak.

‘Do not worry, my young descendant. I will handle this on my own; you need to focus on getting recovering,’ he thought to the other occupant of his body. ‘Are you well enough to take over?’ he asked.

‘I…think so,’ came the uncertain reply. Fenrir supposed that was the best he could hope for.

He stood up, closed his eyes and allowed the light of evolution to overcome his body, transforming once more into the WereGarurumon form that Azur was most comfortable in. And then he let out a sigh, opening his eyes.

The wolfman looked at his hands raised in front of his face, staring at them, clenching and unclenching them. If he stared hard enough, he could swear that he saw the images that plagued his mind, hear the insults and the accusations.

“They’re…not true,” he whispered harshly, trying to make himself believe it them.

“Master Azur!”

Azur stiffened for a moment before turning his head towards the direction of the voice. There was only one person who called him that.

“Sh-…Shoon.” The Mamemon X regarded the sound of his name coming from the WereGarurumon’s voice with a very wide grin.

“You recognize me!” he said happily. “I knew it! I knew it was you!” he proclaimed energetically, jumping in the air. For one second, Azur felt the urge to slap his forehead in exasperation.

“I believed that you could beat whatever was going on in your head, and I was right!” Shoon then said, still jumping in the air giddily, not really paying attention to the WereGarurumon in front of him, or how the blue wolf reacted to his words.

In fact, Azur couldn’t help but give a tiny smile, and he put a hand on the Mamemon X’s head when he stopped jumping, rubbing the top of his head.

“Wh-wh-what?” Shoon asked; this was the first time Azur had ever done that to him.

“It’s…nothing,” Azur replied, taking his hand away. And then, after a moment of uncertainty, he said, “Thank you…”

Shoon was practically brimming with joy; that was yet another first for him: Azur thanking him.

Inside his head, Fenrir smiled. At least he was right about one thing in the past few hours: Shoon was going to be important in helping Azur get better, because he was one of the things that could best remedy Azur’s sudden insecurities: someone who believed in him wholeheartedly.

--------------------------------------------------

Aeria sighed as she sat on a stone, gazing once again into the fire.

She didn’t know whether she had been of any help in the last battle; in fact, they had been attacked right after she made her action, so she didn’t know if she even did the right thing. And then she came down so easily, and the thought ached her.

She looked down at her hands. Would she ever become strong?

 

[Griff4815]

Tiwaz stared down at the two books in his hand, observing them with surprise and curiosity. His eyes narrowed as he thought about what could be inside them.

"There's a lot Fenrir didn't tell me? I can believe that," he mused to himself.

"You should read them, Tiwaz," Tyr told him. "It might make you understand what Fenrir's going through."

Tiwaz grit his teeth, closed his eyes and shook his head. "Later... I can't right now," he replied. The dragon inwardly cursed at his momentary show of weakness and quickly went to correct himself. "I mean, there's more important things to do right now."

As curious as Tiwaz's eager and meddlesome spirit was, he dreaded what he might find in those books. More painful memories of Tiwaz's would only be drudged up and he might come across new information about Fenrir, the others, or even himself that could cause him greater pain. He couldn't help but think of something Dammerung, his friend and fellow Great Ten member, once told him. 'People always think they want to know the truth. That is, until they hear something they don't like.'

Tiwaz couldn't help but affirm that sentiment. He started to wish he didn't know that Fenrir had been sick and lying to him all that time. Now he wanted to know what else was kept hidden from him. At the same time, he rued the idea of reading Fenrir's true and honest thoughts.

With sharp growl, Tiwaz's hold around them tightened. "How am I supposed to carry these things? I don't have a bag and if I bring these into battle, they'll burn up. I doubt Scar would let me give them back either..."

The EmperorGreymon walked over to Kheprius and placed a hand on his shoulder. The GrandisKuwagamon glanced over his shoulder and then fully turned around. "You're not going to start scolding me like you're some sort of drill sergeant are you? You already gave the god of mutts a good tongue lashing; I'd have thought you'd be out of breath by now," Khep explained, grinning widely. "I also couldn't help but notice all the sexual tension between you two. Then again, I guess you two have technically been inside each other. Awkward, much?"

Tiwaz merely narrowed his eyes and thrust the two tomes into Kheprius' chest. "Look, bug. I need you to keep these two books in that place you go when you use Zone Black Hole. Can you do that without these things getting lost or anything? These are important."

"I could do that... for a price," Khep replied, grinning.

Tiwaz growled.

"Okay okay. I'll do it. Can't take a joke?" the insect asked. "Hey, maybe I should open up a storage business after we save the world again."

The EmperorGreymon rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Right. Great. One more thing... Don't read them," he said.

"Do I look like the kind of guy who reads?" the GrandisKuwagamon retorted, lying through his teeth.

"Good point. Well, thanks," Tiwaz said, turning his back to him.

"Tiwaz, I didn't know you were such a bookwyrm," Kheprius chuckled.

The EmperorGreymon simply shook his head and rolled his eyes at the pun, though a small grin formed on his face. "I wonder if he's related to Taranis..."

Tiwaz walked away and put some distance between himself and the group. "What am I doing?" he asked himself, closing his eyes.

"Tiwaz," Tyr's voice spoke up. "Why don't you give me some more god lessons until we start moving out again?"

The dragon man grimaced at the idea. "No, Tyr," he said plainly.

"But why not?" Tyr asked, confused.

Tiwaz snarled. "I said no!"

"But you're the one who's always getting me to be a god!" Tyr protested, confused and perplexed as to why Tiwaz uncharacteristically refused to help him.

"That was before I realized how wrong I was!" the EmperorGreymon retaliated heatedly.

Tyr shrunk back in his mind. "I don't understand, Tiwaz... What changed?"

Tiwaz sat down on the dune, his head in a hand with his elbow propped on a bent knee. "That last battle... All of the memories came back to me," he explained. "Before that I was so caught up in trying to better you, I forgot what it would do to you..."

"Do to me?" Tyr asked, blinking. "It would make me stronger, right? Wouldn't it make me a better digimon? Maybe I could be just like you one day. That's what you always told me."

"No, Tyr," Tiwaz replied, grimacing. "Everybody goes on about how incredible gods are. They talk about how powerful and superior we gods all are. Be it mortals or gods who only hang around with other gods. They don't understand what it's like to be a first generation god, born from and raised with mortals."

"I don't understand," Tyr said. "I thought gods were--"

"That's your problem, Tyr. You have such a wide, starry-eyed view of everything. You're not prepared for the pain that awaits you," the Ancient of Flame said. "I don't want you to become a god, Tyr."

"But... You were resurrected in me, Tiwaz," the VictoryGreymon pointed out. "Don't I... not have a choice?"

Tiwaz shook his head. "Just because you are the closest reincarnation of me, Tyr... Doesn't mean you have to become just like me. Your father couldn't realize my ancestral power and neither could his father. However, I have several descendants, Tyr. Some have the ability just like you... He may be an imperfect vessel for my reincarnation, but..."

"I don't understand..." Tyr said again, slightly flustered. "I thought it was like destiny for me to become a god just like you! I'm the one who you were reincarnated in, so there's no choice but--"

"There's always a choice, Tyr," Tiwaz insisted. "There's no such thing as destiny. We each make our own decisions and I choose not to help you realize your potential."

"Why?!" Tyr protested. "I need it! Or else I'll never be good enough! I'll never be--"

"What?" Tiwaz interrupted again. "Like the Royal Knights? You'll never be a hero? Or somebody me or your father would be proud of? Somebody you'll never be proud of?"

Tyr remained quiet.

Tiwaz sighed. "You don't need to be a god to be somebody important, Tyr. Look at the Royal Knights. They're mortals. ...You have the potential inside yourself. It's not in me. It's not in godhood. You need to realize this for yourself. Once you get over that damn inferiority complex and actually gain confidence and accept yourself, then you'll see..."

Tyr cringed and frowned. "Still though... Why?"

The EmperorGreymon was silent. Several seconds passed before he spoke again. “Gunnar, Sigurd, Ulik and Dhazbog... They’re your friends, right?" he asked.

"Yeah. My best friends!" Tyr responded, smiling a bit.

“...How would you feel if you had to watch them die while you got to--... had to... live on, just because you’re a god? Can you imagine the guilt? The pain?" he asked.

Tyr didn't respond.

"That’s what would happen, Tyr. You would have to watch your mortal friends and family die. I had to, the other Great Ten had to, and I’m sure even Fenrir had to. After awhile, you would only want to associate with other gods, because knowing relationships with mortal digimon just hurts too much. Godhood isn’t a blessing like everyone seems to think. It’s as much a curse. Take it from somebody who's been there..." Tiwaz's fingers slowly moved up his face and brushed against the rim of his goggles.

"I-I... I would have to watch them die...?" Tyr asked, the fear evident in his voice.

"Yes, Tyr," Tiwaz answered grimly. "We have extended lifespans. The only way you'd be able to live without getting hurt on a regular basis is by only associating with other gods."

Tiwaz's descendent was silent, mulling through the painful truths.

The fire god exhaled. "That's what I thought..."

-

Pyra turned and saw the familiar form of the WereGarurumon that she came to love. The Paildramon walked over to him with a smile and gave him a warm hug. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked him.

Azur stiffened slightly at the contact, but let out a breath after a moment to hug her back, closing his eyes.

"A bit," he replied, taking in her familiar, calming scent.

Pyra smiled with relief and rested her chin on the fur of his warm, soft shoulder. "I'm glad," she responded. The dragon grinned a little. "Knowing you, I'm sure you'll want to get back into the thick of the action soon."

Thinking to himself at her words, Azur turned his head slightly, nuzzling her cheek against his. "Maybe," he started after a moment's silence. He then sighed, pulling his head away and opening his eyes.

"No...I do," he then said, raising a hand to her cheek, rubbing it with his finger and staring into her eyes. “I… need to be there… with you,” he told her.

"To make sure you’re safe," he thought in his head.

Pyra sighed a calm breath upon feeling Azur's hand against her. She raised her own hand and returned the favour, putting her palm against his cheek. "You'll always be with me," she reassured him. "And I'll be with you too. Somebody has to keep you out of trouble, don't they?"

Azur allowed himself a ghost of a smile, feeling a bit of his old dignity returning. “I think…I can take care of myself now…”

Pyra grinned and leaned forward, planting a short, soft kiss on his lips. The contact surprised Azur, but he quickly closed his eyes to return the kiss. “Pyra,” he whispered once they broke away.

"You and me both, Azur," Pyra said to him, offering a small but warm smile. She looked into his eyes. "In that case... just remember that I love you."

Those words suddenly made things better for the wolfman, who let his smile widen slightly. "I love you, too," he whispered back, staring back at her with the love he knew he held for her. He let one of his hands slide down to hold hers. "And...I'll be more careful...about myself," he told her, squeezing her hand.

Pyra smiled and gripped his hand. "Good... I trust you will."

Azur looked at their conjoined hands, his mind suddenly sparking a memory. "Ah, Pyra," he said softly, turning to her. "You...said you wanted to tell me something...?"

Pyra winced at the reminder and retracted her hand. She still had to tell him about Kheprius. She didn't think it was a good idea, but in the state Azur was in, Pyra knew she shouldn't lie to him any further either. "Oh right..." she said unsurely. "...Azur, can you promise you won't do anything?"

The WereGarurumon blinked and frowned. It didn't sound like he was going to like what she was going to tell him... but she said she loved him.

"I... need to believe that," he thought to himself.

"I'll...try," he said shortly. For one reason or another, or maybe he didn't want to admit that he was afraid, he gripped Pyra's hand a bit tighter.

Pyra sighed nervously but looked him in the eyes with as much composure as she could muster. "During the time you left with Barachiel, Caradoc and Guinier, I had a very personal talk with Kheprius. There was a lot bothering him. He... must have been feeling vulnerable at the time," she explained, trying to placate Azur before the hundredth fight of the week broke out. Pyra glanced down, feeling guilty.

"...He kissed me."

Although he didn't make it visible obvious, those words shook him more than Pyra observed. Almost immediately, the images attacked him, of Pyra suddenly saying he wasn't good enough, and of Khep saying that he always knew it.

Letting go of her hand, he grit his teeth and closed his eyes tightly, pressing his palms against his head.

"Fight it, Azur!" Fenrir's voice told him in his head.

...And he was. He wasn't going to let it control him. But it wasn't easy.

Pyra grimaced. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Azur," she explained. "I promise I didn't return it. I was too shocked to do anything, really... I didn't tell you because I didn't want to make things worse between you two. I... don't believe that Kheprius did it out of any sort of maliciousness though. I think... it was a moment of weakness."

She started to notice his cringing. At first, she thought it might be in anger, but it became more apparent that Azur was in pain. "...Azur? Are you... alright?" she asked, frowning.

He lowered one palm from his head and opened his eyes a bit, trying to mask the pain. He needed to know. "What... did you do...?" he asked her, searching her eyes, hoping that she couldn't see his agony.

Pyra sighed. "I sat there in shock... I was too dumbstruck to think of anything else to do. He pulled away and apologized and then I left," she explained.

Azur grit his teeth. "Pyra... what... did you feel...?"

Pyra looked at him, her eyes honest. "Fear... surprise... but..." She paused. "Kheprius and I do share a connection. He and I both went through the same sort of thing. We lost the ones closest to us and all we wanted was revenge. You helped me off of that terrible path, but... so did he. He and I are close, but to me he's just a special, if not annoying friend. What I feel for him isn't what I feel for you."

Although her words were probably meant to comfort him, they didn't really. Fear was clawing at him. Anger as well. But he loathed letting them control him. Instead, he focused more on another emotion.

Without warning, Azur pulled her close into a tight, embrace. He didn't know exactly when his love for her grew so strong and so profound, but that was the only thing that he could count on at that moment, the only thing that kept him from losing his faith in her love for him. He had to believe her, or he didn’t know what he’d do.

Pyra tensed up for a moment, but soon placed her arms around him soothingly. She whispered in his ear. "I meant it when I said I love you, Azur," she spoke, holding him close.

"I love you too..."

-

"You're not a martyr, Caradoc," she said. "You shouldn't be one either... not now. We don't need martyrs. We need good men and women..." She lowered her gaze. "Think about it... before you start resigning yourself to what you've done... do you really have to give up everything?" And with that, she was gone. He gazed at the spot where she had stood, and wondered. Did he have to give up everything?

"Guinier has a point," Barachiel spoke, looking at his friend, his voice level. "Don't give up just yet..."

The golden insect turned his head slightly. "You have a point too, though," he said. "The past is my shadow, a thing of darkness that will always cling to me, following me wherever I go. Even when I stand before the brightest of lights, it will always be right behind me... However, I refuse to look back and allow it to drag me down."

Barachiel looked at Kheprius. "Unlike him, the future is the only thing important to me. The past cannot be changed, but the future can be. And in my future, Hadrael's murderers will be brought to justice."

He gave a nod to Caradoc and turned towards Kheprius, beginning to walk in his direction. "I still can't believe it was Nebiros and Sabnock," he thought, glaring at Kheprius. "They're partially to blame for Hadrael's death and directly responsible for the massacre at my home. And yet Kheprius was their partner in crime when he was a mercenary..."

He began walking towards the black insect.

Towards the shadow of himself.

-

Kheprius switched from his GranKuwagamon form into his GrandisKuwagamon form after doing Tiwaz's favour for him. "Those should make for some good reading later," he said to himself with a smirk. "I wonder what they're about."

His red eye darted to the right upon seeing a gold glint, the white of the salt making everything brighter. He turned and saw Barachiel approaching him. "Terrak..." he greeted.

"Kheprius..." Barachiel acknowledged.

"By what grace do I owe this privilege of being able to talk to my own fraternal twin, your holiness?" Kheprius asked, thoroughly sarcastic.

"I thought we agreed to only refer to each other as 'brothers' so people wouldn't gawk at us and ask us a lot of questions," the TigerVespamon recollected.

Khep scoffed. "I'm surprised you even remembered," he said, folding his arms. "Given the way you've been, I wouldn't be surprised if you stabbed your brain with a sword just so you'd forget everything that happened before your supposed 'holy awakening'."

Barachiel stared at him plainly. "If I wanted to forget everything, why would I still carry around Dad's pendant? I was told to only focus on the good times."

"Great, so you paste over the attack, turn the other cheek and become Barachiel Aker," Kheprius said staring at him. "That's just escapism, Terrak. You can't avoid who you are. You can't avoid me either."

Barachiel narrowed his gaze. "Yes, my criminal brother... I'm sure you think you have all the answers," he replied.

Khep returned the glare. "I know you think that you do. You're always acting so holier-than-thou. The wonderful, obediant Barachiel Aker. But that's not the real you, is it, Terrak?" the GrandisKuwagamon asked with scathing slyness. "A name represents your nature. You try to be the calm, composed Barachiel but I know that, at heart, you're still the reckless Terrak that I used to know. I see flashes of it every so often, usually when you lash out at me. You're living in a fantasy! You think by changing your name, you can escape the past?! Your life as Barachiel is just a big lie!"

Barachiel growled. "I am who I make myself to be!" he protested. "I am Barachiel! Our parents are still my parents, but Hadrael was my mentor! It's you that's living in a dream world, trying to cling onto the life you had before our village was destroyed! That's why you stayed around those two monsters Nebiros and Sabnock and that's why you keep calling me 'Terrak'. I've changed, Kheprius. I'm not the digimon I used to be. Neither are you. The sooner you accept it, the better."

Barachiel stared at Kheprius. "It's about time you've changed, as well."

Kheprius clenched his fists. "No, you are still the digimon you used to be. And Nebiros and Sabnock mean nothing to me now. You can't blame me for what they did!"

"So I'm the only victim of the things you three did? You didn't steal, maim or murder anybody, Kheprius?" he asked.

"I didn't have the luxury of growing up in a way that I can look down on other people!" Khep heatedly retaliated. "I had to fend for myself in whatever way I could. And I'm a different person now from when I was then! I realized what I'd become!"

"So you say," Barachiel spoke. "You have plenty of excuses, don't you?"

Khep took a step fowards. "We're brothers, Terrak! Does that mean nothing to you?!"

"No," Barachiel replied, his voice cold. "I already told you, we're not brothers! We're nothing alike."

Kheprius laughed mockingly. "Yeah! Coming from the guy who swears vengeance on Neb and Sab for killing your angel. You and I are exactly alike, except for the fact that I admit that what I did was wrong!"

"His name is Hadrael," Barachiel said in annoyance. "You have a thick skull."

"You're the one who's thick," Kheprius hissed, glaring. "You know what? I don't care. If you want to be an *sshole, that's your problem."

Barachiel glared in response. "Likewise."

 

[Kamotz]

"I don't know," Michael answered Bedivere with a sigh. "It would only make sense to gather more forces, but...who knows? He might have many more waiting in reserve." He shook his head. "And with so many Seals still to choose from..."

"Who's to say whether he'll need any others to break the Seals," Thor said. He furrowed his brow. "He might not wish to draw any more attention to himself; a smaller force would be easier to move around. As much as Mephistopheles enjoys our 'attention,' he still needs to succeed."

"Let's assume he does, then," Svarog suggested, stepping forward. "It's safe to assume Heaven has done the same, yes? Then let's assume Mephistopheles breaks the rest of the Seals."

"What? Do you mean to just give up?" Bedward asked. "How can-"

"He's right," Michael realized, standing straight. "At least, mostly. Like the first Seal, the last must be something specific. It will be a certain Seal, and that must be where we head him off and stop him."

"And let him just break the rest as he likes?" Bedward demanded. The red dragon's frustration was mirrored in the rest of the Peacemakers. "How many hundreds do you think will die because of this? How many will you sacrifice to-"

"It doesn't mean we do nothing," Thor said, interrupting him before he could go too far. "We return to Anatolia, spread the word, strengthen our defenses."

Svarog nodded. "We prepare ourselves for the worst. We prepare for a wave of evil and power to wash over us. We arm ever man, woman, and child. We prepare spell-casters and priests and shamans. We take the precautions we couldn't take against the Mikaboshi."

"And how do we find this 'last Seal'?" Bedward asked.

"I bet we could find out in Heaven," Samael said offhandedly from where he stood at the outskirts of the group. "They already want Mikey back in, right? He brings me along and the two of us get to looking around." He smirked and flashed his teeth. "Maybe with a bit of persuasion?"

"I don't like the idea of doing harm to our brothers," Michael said quickly, glaring at Samael. But he sighed. "But...I don't see any other choice at the moment." He looked to the group. "Keep your eyes open. The Nightmare Soldiers are not just demons locked away. Many are still out there after the disbanding. Those like Gaul and Marcus; Mephistopheles may have an army ready."

"Now what?" Samael asked, looking around. "I don't see any magic staircases."

"If they want me back, they'll let us back in," Michael said, though he himself wasn't so sure. "They damn well better." He looked up to the sky and closed his eyes. He frowned. "And I'm going to have to listen to all their sanctimonious 'I-told-you-so' drivel. Ugh. The sacrifices I make for this world."

"Adios, Bug-eye, Frogger, Cruela." Samael waved to Khep, Sha, and Cresil. "Try not to get everyone killed, or mistaken for the enemy. I know you're all totally screwed without me but-"

FLOKOOM!

Samael and Michael were vanished into a beam of light and ozone, leaving nothing behind but a wash of dust and clouds. The Peacemakers looked gravely at one another, and the silent question of leadership seemed threatening to rear its ugly head.

"Well. We can stand around looking at one another suspiciously or we can get moving," Svarog said, stepping forward. "We need to get back to Anatolia. There will be plenty for everyone to do."

 

[Tundra_Wolfmane]

Take a deep breath, hold it in for five seconds, and then let it out.

Aeria couldn’t count how many times she had told herself that in the last five minutes, let alone remember how many times she actually did those actions. Acting for the sake of helping others was one thing that she was finding it slightly easier to do since her joining of the Peacemakers; talking to the others was one of the things that she still needed to work on.

“Confidence,” she said to herself ironically insecurely. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it in for five seconds, and then let it out. That was the umpteenth time. She vaguely wondered at the back of her mind if she had reached the twenties yet. She probably had.

Instead of standing there contemplating even further on that thought, she took a step forward towards the person she wanted to speak with. It was always easier to take the second step after the first one, or at least it usually was in Aeria’s case.

“L-lady Guinier,” she finally said, standing behind the UlforceVeedramon a few feet away. It was then that she realized that her voice was barely audible to her own ears, and she bit her lip.

‘Louder,’ she thought to herself, once more repeating her mantra. Take a deep breath. Hold it in for five seconds. Let it out.

“Lady Guinier,” the WarGreymon called out a little bit louder, hoping to get the blue dramon’s attention.

“I…I want to be strong,” she found herself saying. She couldn’t help but bow her head a bit in meekness. “B-but…it’s hard…doing it alone. I don’t know what to do,” she continued, rubbing her arm nervously. What a sight she must have looked like: the epitome of timidity wanting to become strong.

“Do you think…you could help me…?” she asked, not looking at Guiner due to her shyness. “O-or maybe just, um, give me an idea how to become stronger?”

Aeria opened her mouth again, and then closed it, suddenly forgetting what to say next. Her nerves were getting the better of her again. She took a deep breath and quickly let it out, hoping to regain a bit of her dignity.

“I-I guess…it seems weird that I’m asking you,” the WarGreymon said, more to keep away the awkward silence than anything else.

In the shy dragon’s mind, however, it wasn’t really. She didn’t have enough confidence to face any of the male Peacemakers properly, at least not yet. Pyra was friendly, but Aeria didn’t want to interrupt her moment with Azur. Vritra still terrified her to an extent, and she believed that the WarGreymon X still thought little of her. Lucia and Tia, on the other hand, seemed too distant to her.

But in Guinier, she saw a lot of strength, despite what she had gone through and was going through. She worried a bit that she was asking too much of the UlforceVeedramon, but it wouldn’t have hurt to at least try.

--------------------------------------------------------

“How’d I end up babysittin’ you again?” Scharlach asked as he put his hands on his hips, looking down at the Mamemon X before him.

“I am not a baby that needs to be sat on!” Shoon declared, folding his arms indignantly. “I’m only here because Master Azur asked me to watch out for you and keep you out of trouble!”

‘And that’s one way to keep the metal ball out of his hair. He hasn’t said a single word to me since he returned, and he’s already taking advantage of me,’ Scar thought to himself, rolling his eyes. He glanced at where his cousin was talking with Pyra. ‘He better realize that he owes me. Big time.’

“Right, right, of course,” the ShadowWereGarurumon said in a placating tone. “We can’t have Master Azur bothered to keep me in line,” he said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Exactly!” Of course, Shoon had a hard time hearing sarcasm when it came to the people he put in high regard.

Scar had to restrain himself from slapping his face in exasperation. He was beginning to understand why Azur asked Pyra to take him back to his former mentor, Galic. Only the MachGaogamon and his laudable patience could have handled the Mamemon X’s…eccentricities.

“Okay then…you can watch me while I…” Scar began to look around, slightly desperate to find something to get him away from Shoon. He found one and grinned. “While I go chitchat with the Peacemaker’s original resident samurai.”

With only that as a warning, the ShadowWereGarurumon sprinted off to where he spotted Duo.

Shoon blinked in confusion before frowning. “Hey! Come back here! I have to watch you!” he said, raising a hand in the air as he ran after the ShadowWereGarurumon. And then he tripped, succeeding in getting sand in his mouth, which he proceeded to splutter out.

Looking over his shoulder, Scar took a mental note to apologize to the Mamemon X when he was done scrubbing his tongue. He looked to his front and stopped when he realized that he was already in front of Duo.

“Hey, black samurai dude,” he said with a grin. “I don’t think we’ve properly met yet. The name’s Scharlach Hildebrand, descendant of Fenrir Weissritter, also Zur’s cousin, swordsman by trade, and a teacher of the ancient sword arts passed down in the Weissritter family,” he introduced himself, immediately reaching to grab Duo’s hand for a shake, gripping tightly.

With that single action, he could already tell that Duo was a very well-seasoned swordsman. He could feel the callouses and scars in the Gaiomon’s hands; they told him a fraction of what Duo had gone through, and a fraction was enough to tell him that the black dramon was not one to be trifled with.

Scharlach couldn’t help but want to test Duo’s swordsmanship himself.

“Azur’s told me a little bit about ya. Duo, right? He said that you’re a real good swordsman,” Scar said with a grin, letting go of Duo’s hand. “Actually, mind if I call you D?”

--------------------------------------------------------

After spending some time just being close with Pyra, Azur finally decided that he really needed to speak with a certain insect Digimon. He assured Pyra that he wasn’t going to start a fight. And when that didn’t work, he promised her that he wouldn’t brawl with the bug no matter how much he wanted to at that moment.

Of course, he didn’t mention that he wasn’t going to fight back if Khep attacked him. The WereGarurumon couldn’t deny that a part of him wanted the ex-convict to; he had overstepped his bounds, and Azur’s overprotective and territorial side was telling him to remind Khep where they were.

Nonetheless, he was off to find out just where Kheprius stood with Pyra. Whatever answer he was going to get, he was going to make it known to the GrandisKuwagamon that he wasn’t going to let him do whatever he wants, especially when it came to Pyra.

Azur had expected to find Khep fighting with someone again. He did. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was Barachiel; they had been at each other’s throats long enough for almost all of the Peacemakers to know that they didn’t like each other - and that was an understatement. What he didn’t expect was what their argument was about.

It was due to that and that alone that he decided that maybe it wasn’t the right time to speak with Khep, especially with his emotions running unusually high. It was asking for a fight, and he already promised Pyra that he wasn’t going to. And on another note, their argument struck a bit close to home…in a way. He sighed, shook his head, and was about to walk away.

Then he saw Barachiel walking off in a gruff. He didn’t what possessed him to do what he did next. He followed him.

When the TigerVespamon stopped, Azur went and walked to his side. The WereGarurumon didn’t look at him; he looked at the horizon in front of them instead. He didn’t know if Barachiel had noticed his presence following – he didn’t bother hiding it – but he knew that he had the acolyte’s attention.

“You’re brother’s a bastard.”

Well, that was true enough to Azur’s thoughts.

“But he’s still your brother…and your twin,” he added plainly. “Whether you’re fighting each other or laughing together…whether you’re on opposite sides or on the same…whether you like it or not…whether you accept it or not…”

Azur closed his eyes. “Whether one of you is alive and other is dead…”

“The fact that you’re brothers…twins…will never change…”

--------------------------------------------------------

“What a rather interesting turn of events.”

A voice whispered behind Kheprius. The moon’s light hit the GrandisKuwagamon just so that his shadow stretched down the dune that he stood upon. And from that shadow appeared Cresil’s Astamon body, rising from the darkness with an amused smile.

“Twins…I had assumed you were only brothers,” Cresil said with his silky demon voice. “But twins…yet another set for me to observe from the shadows...and this one with a situation oh so different from the first,” he remarked with a slight tilt of his head.

As soon as his full body emerged, he stepped away from Kheprius’ shadow, letting the light of the moon bathe him in its lunar glow. “Tell me, Kheprius Aeolus: why do you, who always seemed to be aloof and uncaring, the one that rolls his eyes at the emotional bonds that the rest of the Peacemakers eyes, find it so important that the acolyte accept you as his brother?” he asked.

And then he laughed a laugh that sounded like it should have come from a noble gentleman. “Of course, to hear a proper answer from you would be quite strange, would it not?” he said, turning away.

“Perhaps, though, it would interest you that your twin is being spoken to by another twin?” he asked with a grin.

 

[Griff4815]

Barachiel turned his head towards Azur after hearing what the WereGarurumon had to say.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Barachiel calmly replied, despite the fact that he was still worked up on the inside. He paused, but continued after a moment. "...When I heard Kheprius was somehow made a Peacemaker, I started looking into the team. Three Peacemakers died during the resistance against the Crusade..."

The TigerVespamon glanced over his shoulder towards Svarog. "One is somehow standing with us now." He looked back to Azur. "And another one had the last name 'Schattenlicht'," Barachiel explained.

The insect sighed a bit. "I'm sorry for your loss..." he spoke softly. "However... I don't believe that blood is thicker than water. Just because we're brothers - twins - does that mean that I'm supposed to treat him differently from everybody else? Am I supposed to support him unconditionally just because we share-- shared a last name? Even though he's a criminal and an accomplice to the ones that took the lives of everybody in my mission? While I respect your values, Azur, I'm afraid I don't share them..."

Barachiel stared into the distance. "During all those years that I was living with Hadrael, I prayed that, somewhere and somehow, Kheprius and my parents had somehow survived the attack. However, I made peace with the idea that they were dead and I tried to move on and live my life the best that I could. When I saw that wanted poster, I was overjoyed that Kheprius was still alive... but then the concept of him being a criminal sank in. I couldn't believe that my own brother would stoop to that," he explained. "Hadrael explained to me that Kheprius probably had to grow up on his own and resort to such acts to survive, but I still hated it."

Barachiel clenched his fists and shut his eyes tight. "If only..." he whispered. "If only I stayed with him during the attack. I just had to let my emotions and recklessness overwhelm my common sense. I just had to run out and leave Kheprius inside the house. ...If I had stayed with him, maybe Hadrael would have found the both of us instead of just me. If he didn't think I was dead, maybe he wouldn't have turned into what he is now. Maybe he, Nebiros and Sabnock could have grown up as good digimon..."

"I just hate what he has become... and I hate the guilt of knowing that I might have been able to stop it had I been more level-headed," he explained, some of his emotions showing through in his voice. "Hadrael always told me that my anger and wrath was my greatest flaw... I try to temper it, but it keeps breaking through and I can't stop it. Ever since he died, it's been getting worse..."

Barachiel shooh his head and sighed, turning back to Azur. "I'm sorry; I'm sure I'm boring you with my problems," he calmly said. He looked him in the eyes. "...I never had the chance to thank you, Azur..." he said. "When Hadrael died, my anger took control of me. All I wanted to do was kill them... You risked your life for me. I probably would have died if I kept fighting in the state I was in. It's because of that you were taken prisoner and forced to go through... I don't even want to imagine what."

The TigerVespamon placed a hand on Azur's shoulder. "Thank you... and I'm truly sorry. I'll... try to maintain my composure from now on... even if I have to face them again. Recklessness will only serve to get my friends and teammates killed."

He gripped the werewolf's shoulder and then removed his hand. "Thank you for your advice, Azur."

-

“What a rather interesting turn of events.”

A voice whispered behind Kheprius. The moon’s light hit the GrandisKuwagamon just so that his shadow stretched down the dune that he stood upon. And from that shadow appeared Cresil’s Astamon body, rising from the darkness with an amused smile.

Kheprius turned around and stared at the demon blandly. "Oh, it's you. I completely forgot about you existing," he replied, putting a hand on his hip. "By the way, thanks for all the help in the last several battles. You've really been pulling your weight; a real go-getter!" he snarked, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“Twins…I had assumed you were only brothers,” Cresil said with his silky demon voice. “But twins…yet another set for me to observe from the shadows...and this one with a situation oh so different from the first,” he remarked with a slight tilt of his head.

Kheprius raised an eyebrow, feeling a bit violated. "...What? Do you have some kind of weird thing for twins or something? I don't think that's a very healthy obsession, Al," he replied. "We're fraternal twins, if that helps stop you from creeping on me. Each came from a different egg. Besides, I don't think Terrak - or me, for that matter - will be into any strange kinky offers you suggest to him, so why don't you stick to Azur?"

The GrandisKuwagamon was about to walk away when Cresil emerged and spoke up again.

“Tell me, Kheprius Aeolus: why do you, who always seemed to be aloof and uncaring, the one that rolls his eyes at the emotional bonds that the rest of the Peacemakers eyes, find it so important that the acolyte accept you as his brother?” he asked.

And then he laughed a laugh that sounded like it should have come from a noble gentleman. “Of course, to hear a proper answer from you would be quite strange, would it not?” he said, turning away.

Khep scowled for a moment, upon hearing the first question. "I guess you had demon muck in your ears when you were eavesdropping on us because you missed the part where I said 'I don't care'," he answered, glancing at the Astamon. "Don't you have some soap to drop in the Inferno or something, you demonic dandy?"

Upon hearing Cresil talk about Barachiel being talked to by a twin, he turned and saw Azur conversing him with him. Khep rolled his eye. "They're probably founding the 'I hate Khep' fanclub. They'll be charter members." He eyed the demon carefully. "Here's a question for you: Why are you even with us? And why did Saint Mikey let you come along so willingly? You demons are all alike; you wouldn't be here unless you have something to gain from it."

Kheprius took a step closer and stretched his pincers. "Or maybe you're actually feeding Mephistopheles information about us whenever you disappear into your little shadow territory... It sure would explain why he's always several steps ahead of us and seems to know everything about us... wouldn't you say, Cressy?"

-

Tiwaz watched as Michael and Samael were beamed up to Paradise.

"Well. We can stand around looking at one another suspiciously or we can get moving," Svarog said, stepping forward. "We need to get back to Anatolia. There will be plenty for everyone to do."

The EmperorGreymon digivolved to AncientGreymon and nodded, stepping forward as well. "The boy's right. Come on, then. Hop to it. Let's get moving," he spoke, lying down on his stomach to allow digimon to ride on his back.

Once loaded up, Tiwaz stood to his feet and flapped his wings. "We may not know where Mephistopheles is, but we're at least we're doing something productive now."

The AncientGreymon started to lead the way back to Anatolia, remembering the direction they came. Pyra flew up beside him and looked over to him. "Do you think that they'll have any trouble finding out about the final seal?" the Paildramon asked him.

"Between Michael and Samael, I don't think they'll have any trouble bullying the info out of them," he replied. "I hope they don't end up turning the Holy Host against us, though. We have enough to worry about with the bloody demons."

"I don't think it would come to that," Pyra replied, frowning in thought.

"With fanatics like the Holy Host? Who knows?" Tiwaz countered. "There would be no so-called 'pagan' gods left if they had anything to say about it. I bet my tail on it."

Pyra glanced at him. "That's awfully cynical, Tiwaz."

Tiwaz grinned a little. "Living for thousands of years will do that to a dragon..."

The Paildramon smirked in response. "Well, if it makes you feel better, you still look like you're in your thirties."

The AncientGreymon let out a single laugh and Pyra slowed her flight down to trail behind him. The Paildramon locked speeds with Thor. One of the last times she had properly spoken to him was when she demanded he told her how to become stronger. It was when her mind was overcome with grief and anger. She wanted the power for the wrong reasons and eventually she got it.

Despite the fact that she vowed never to crave for power again, Pyra couldn't help but want to evolve like Thor had. He had the one Omni Sword, so she knew that she couldn't obtain Paladin Mode, but at the same time, she felt her Imperialdramon Fighter Mode isn't enough. Having an additional Mega III level would only benefit their battle to save the world.

Pyra cringed. She couldn't let herself think like that. No matter the intentions, she couldn't risk straying down the wrong path again.

She looked over at Thor. "Thor, how are you feeling?" she asked. "Better, I hope... Do you remember much?"

Pyra remembered another thing: when she said that she would kill Thor if she had to, during the time Conquest was possessing him and wreaking havoc. A part of her felt guilty for it, but a larger part of her knew what it was like to be the one causing all that destruction, if not in mind, than in body.

"I'm glad you're more or less back to normal," the dragon said. She smiled a bit bitterly. "When I was fighting you - or should I say Conquest - I couldn't help but want to evolve further more time, just to hold my own. But... if I start thinking like that, I could start to lose the control I have of myself. Still though, we need all the power we can get, especially if Mephistopheles succeeds in releasing the Demon Lords."

Pyra glanced at him. "Is it wrong to want more strength to protect those one cares about?"

-

Gunnar flew over to Sha, who was contently running along. "Hey. What's up, Croc?" he greeted, grinning as he flew beside the demon man.

"So... You're technically a demon, huh?" the ShineGreymon asked, folding his arms and looking pensive. "You don't act like one... like, at all, dude. You actually seem pretty normal... using the word 'normal' really loosely here. How does that work, pal? Are you like the exception that proves the rule?"

 

[Tundra_Wolfmane]

As Brachiel started talking, Azur simply kept himself silent and listened. He wasn’t much of a talker in the first place; he just felt that he should at least say something since he had overheard something he wasn’t supposed to hear. Of course, there were times when he thought he should speak or say something, but he found himself not really knowing what to say.

And then WereGarurumon had to shut his eyes and look away at the mention of what had happened to him. He didn't want to hear it; he didn't want to think about it lest the images and voices return once more to haunt his already bruised mind and ego.

Then he felt Barachiel’s cold hands on his furry shoulder. “Thank you for the advice, Azur.” The hand then fell away.

The wolfman shook his head a bit. “That…wasn’t advice. That was a fact,” Azur told him, turning to him to see what kind of reaction he was getting.

“I’m not telling you to forgive him. Or understand what he went through. Or support him. Or even like him,” the WereGarurumon continued, frowning and showing just how he felt towards the ex-convict. “I’m telling you that…Kheprius is your brother, differing names or otherwise.”

Then Azur found himself torn between sighing and gritting his teeth. Instead, he closed his eyes and brought a hand to his forehead, massaging lightly. He knew that his situation with Dunk had been the complete opposite than that of Kheprius’ and Barachiel’s, but he still felt the slight irritation at how they treated each other after realizing that the other was alive, especially when his own twin brother was dead. He opened his eyes and dropped his arm.

“He’s still alive…right?”

Azur let those words sink in using the moment to think about how Galic would have conveyed his words. “That means…he still has life in him. And life…is change…whether we like it or not,” he said, clenching his hands. “Then he can change too.”

“And change…means that there’s a chance,” Azur whispered, looking at him. “But only if you’re willing to give it to him. I’m not saying that you should give him one. Whether I do or not, it’s still…your choice.”

The WereGarurumon then turned his head over his shoulder, noticing that activity had begun behind them. It seems that everyone was preparing to leave. That means he and Barachiel should as well, and he turned his back to the TigerVespamon.

“I say this not for Kheprius…I still have something to settle with him. Not for you either. It’s because…this is what Galic, my own teacher, would have done. This is what he taught me to do.” Then his voice lowered to a whisper. “And maybe…because this is what Dunkelheit would have wanted, too…”

Then he went off to go pick-up Scar. And maybe Shoon.

----------------------------------------------------

Cresil couldn’t help but grin as he gazed up on the black bug that tried to look threatening. He had seen worse in Limbo.

“Of course all demons are alike. Sha is as merciless as an assassin with a grudge, correct? And Samael is as interested in the activities of you mortals as I am, yes? And I, well, aren’t I capable of being as conniving and as Mephistopheles?”

Then he folded his arms, looking nonchalant. “As for why I’m here…well, that would be telling, would it not?” he questioned with a large grin.

“I can assure you this…well, that is if you were to believe a demon such as I,” Cresil said with a tilt of his head and a sigh of faked disappointment. “My agendas are far different from that of Mephistopheles’.”

“Or if you don’t believe my word, why don’t you ask Michael himself for my reason for being here? I’m sure you would trust an angel more than a demon, correct? Oh, wait, not, I believe it should be the fallen one, Samael, that you’re quicker to rely on. But he’s a demon, and we’re all alike…quite a conundrum, wouldn’t you say?” he said shrugging his shoulders offhandedly.

“Or maybe you don’t rely on anyone at all. You are a convicted man, and no criminal would be as foolish as to put his trust in others,” Cresil said, looking at his hand as if it were more interesting than the Digimon a few meters away from him. “After all, if all demons are alike, then it must be the same for all criminals. Greedy. Wrathful. Untrustworthy. Hateful.”

Cresil turned his head slightly. “Ah, it seems it’s time to depart,” he noted in a plain tone. He glanced at Kheprius. “Until we speak again, little larva,” he said as he melted back into the shadows.

 

[storymasterb]

“Do you think…you could help me…?” she asked, not looking at Guiner due to her shyness. “O-or maybe just, um, give me an idea how to become stronger?”

Guinier was lost as to what to say. She didn't even recall speaking to Aeria before, and now... she pondered the questions for a moment.

"Aeria," she finally said. "I can't really say how you can become stronger. There are a lot of paths leading to strength, and I've trodden some. The path of experience and training, the path of desperation," memories flickered in her eyes, that desperate struggle against Mordred which had unleashed her Future Mode, "the path of forced power," and the memories of Angra Mainyu forcing her to evolve into Megidramon flickered through her mind, sending a shiver through her. "There are paths I haven't trodden, and ones I've never seen. Aeria, there are so many ways to gain strength... I can't advise you on which way to take."

She looked at the armored woman for a peaceful moment. "Sometimes, Aeria, you just have to live in a single moment to find what you're truly capable of. Standing at the edge of death and life... or wanting with everything to save something or someone... there are moments you have to live to truly understand and evolve through." she raised a hand, and the runic aura of the Future Mode shone around it for an instant. She was drawn to the runes in their intricacies, the words they spelled for brief instants before breaking into mere lost potential. "But I think I believe you'll find a moment like that, Aeria." She looked back to the WarGreymon. "And once you do, then you'll find the strength you want to find. Like I did... like we all did..."

-

"Guinier has a point," Barachiel spoke, looking at his friend, his voice level. "Don't give up just yet..."

The golden insect turned his head slightly. "You have a point too, though," he said. "The past is my shadow, a thing of darkness that will always cling to me, following me wherever I go. Even when I stand before the brightest of lights, it will always be right behind me... However, I refuse to look back and allow it to drag me down."

Barachiel looked at Kheprius. "Unlike him, the future is the only thing important to me. The past cannot be changed, but the future can be. And in my future, Hadrael's murderers will be brought to justice."

"A shadow... following me..." Caradoc murmured as his friend walked away. "Is that what my past is too?" He paused. "Father... he's still here, still standing proud, still drinking and making toasts in my honor..." His voice was bitter. "And mother..."

-

"Well. We can stand around looking at one another suspiciously or we can get moving," Svarog said, stepping forward. "We need to get back to Anatolia. There will be plenty for everyone to do."

"Yes," Bedivere said. "Let's get to it. There's nothing else here anyway." He glanced around. His heightened senses still took in the twin auras radiating from nearby, that of the black abomination, and the all-consuming nothingness which had torn it away. What was that intervening being? "Let's move out."

 

[Hotshot]

Gunnar flew over to Sha, who was contently running along. "Hey. What's up, Croc?" he greeted, grinning as he flew beside the demon man.

"So... You're technically a demon, huh?" the ShineGreymon asked, folding his arms and looking pensive. "You don't act like one... like, at all, dude. You actually seem pretty normal... using the word 'normal' really loosely here. How does that work, pal? Are you like the exception that proves the rule?"

Sha stared at the ShineGreymon quizzically (though Gunnar wouldn't have known, because the demon's eyes were concealed by his plated headband). His lanky legs taking long strides as he casually jogged beside Gunnar, the Shawjamon replied, "I haven't heard of any 'rule.' But if there was one, Nocchi would probably try to break it! Cha-haw!"

He grinned in Gunnar's direction. "I'm just Sha. That's who I am, that's who I'll always be. It doesn't matter whether I'm a demon, or an angel, or a frog, or whatever. Who I am in here--" Sha pointed to his heart. "--isn't defined by my appearance."

The Shawjamon chuckled to himself. "Rivers are different every day. They might look the same on the outside, but the water in them is different...always flowing this way and that. Some people are like rivers." Sha grinned at Gunnar once more. "But I'm not a river. I'm kinda like most trees, I guess. In the spring a tree looks one way, in the fall it looks another...and in the winter it's completely bare, exposed to the cold. But on the inside it's still the same. It's still a tree. Make sense? Cha-haw! Of course it does!"

==========

Nocchi sat perched atop Gigas's horn as he hovered over the ground below. Glancing over his shoulder at the massive HerculesKabuterimon, the Puppetmon shouted, "Nyaaaahh! Gig! Speed it up, would ya?!"

Gigas chuckled. "Hohoho...I would, Nocchi, but I'm taking a lovely stroll with my lovelier wife!"

"We're in a freakin' hurry, bugs-for-brains!"

"Nocchi!" Ivy scolded, fluttering up to the short-tempered puppet. "That's no way to speak to anyone!"

Nocchi crossed his arms over his chest, pouted, and grumbled under his breath.

"Nocchi," Ivy warned.

"...Yes, ma'am."

 

[Kamotz]

Svarog rolled his eyes. Again with the in-fighting, again with the constant bickering. "You're my brother." "No I'm not. I changed my name." "But you're still my brother." "But you're a bad guy and I don't like you." "But you're still my brother. Accept me!" "I don't want to because your life-experiences caused you to make different choices than my pearly-white *ss would have." And then of course, everyone was playing in their own two-cents. "He's your brother." "I'm a demon." "I have frog legs." "I like toast."

"It's madness," Svarog growled. He glanced back over his shoulder and shook his head. "If they don't like each other, fly on opposite ends of the damn group and be done with it. It's more than any sane being can handle."

"Why, Svarog, I didn't know you cared," Thor said with a chuckle. He flew beside his godly comrade.

"I don't--not about them," Svarog snapped. He shook his mane of fiery hair. "But we're standing on the brink, and all they seem to know how to do is bicker with one another over what is what and how to define everything."

"As you said, we're at the brink," Thor said. He shook his head sadly, but his eyes focused forward with resolute determination. "These might be their last few days, and it is the small things that become important for them now. Besides, what else should they do?"

"I was led to believe that some of them are at least reasonably intelligent," Svarog said, growling low. "An intelligent being would not spend that time arguing trivialities and semantics, and would instead try to use that semblance of intelligence to work towards a feasible goal."

"Have you?"

"I have a plan, yes," Svarog growled. "But there's no use explaining it here. When we return to Anatolia..." Svarog glanced to the side as Pyra flew up beside Thor. He gave Thor a nod and flew on ahead.

"Is it wrong to want more strength to protect those one cares about?"

"No," Thor answered, simple and to the point. "Not in and of itself. But power has a way of twisting things, even the purest of intentions. Because when you have power, few have the nerve to stand up to you and voice their disagreements, and those that do...what are they to you? They do not understand. They are not burdened with the weight of responsibility that comes with your power. They cannot possibly know what's best."

Thor sighed and shook his head. "Just as it happened to Artorius. He knew something about the humans' presence in our world, about a threat it might bring. And because of his power and the responsibility inherent in it he acted with impunity, regardless of the harm caused to the few. Because his power--and thus responsibility--was global in scale." Thor grit his teeth as he remembered the Alpha King and his fervor. "We know now that his fears and concerns were not unfounded. The humans...something is brewing.

"I don't know if I have helped put your mind at easy, Pyra. Probably not," he said with a sad smile. "But power, and the pursuit thereof, should never be taken lightly, and it should never ease your mind. Remember this, however: power gained is nothing, no matter how great. Power earned, however...that is the making of greatness, the mark of worthiness."

===

The Peacemakers arrived at Anatolia not long after, and their appearance sent a wave of relief flooding through the city. It wouldn't last long; the people hurried in fear, panic filled the streets. The Peacemakers didn't have much time before the world fell victim to hysteria and chaos. Anatolia and the entire Digital World were on high alert and, without the Council, leaderless. The gods that had led them all their lives were gone without a trace...All save two.

"Bedivere, you will need to reorganize the military," Svarog said. He stood amidst the Peacemakers, the commanders, and provincial leaders in the Council's now-empty chambers. Digimon had come from all across the countryside to take refuge and seek shelter in Anatolia. Other larger cities reported similar occurrences. "We need to set up communication lines with the other cities and coordinate with their defense forces." He furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin. "Find whatever remains of the Royal Knights' guard; they'll still be the most battle-trained and organized forces. They'll be easier to prepare."

Svarog looked to Galic. "Find your nomads. They were able to relay messages before, hopefully they can do it again until permanent communication is set up," he said. He looked to the rest of them. "We need to start preparing defensive measures, fortifying our positions. We need weapons and artillery and tracking sensors. Strengthen defensive positions and clear out any vulnerable areas. Arm every capable civilian, and move all incapable ones to shelters.

"I will not suffer through another 'Mikaboshi' incident," Svarog snapped at them, hoping to push them to act. "Because I don't believe I'll be able to come back and save you this time."

"The people will see this," Galic muttered, though loudly enough for the others to hear. "They will see this and they will be frightened."

"They should be," Commander Mars the EmperorGreymon growled. "Hell. I'm frightened."

"They will panic once the hysteria sets in," Galic pointed out.

Svarog nodded. "That's what Thor is for," he said, glancing at the thunder god.

"Pardon?" Thor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You're the only one who can hold them together now," Svarog explained. He looked out the windows to the people moving about the streets below. "God of Thunder, King of Asgard, Son of Odin...it can only be you who inspires them to strength and hope."

 

[storymasterb]

"Bedivere, you will need to reorganize the military," Svarog said. He stood amidst the Peacemakers, the commanders, and provincial leaders in the Council's now-empty chambers. Digimon had come from all across the countryside to take refuge and seek shelter in Anatolia. Other larger cities reported similar occurrences. "We need to set up communication lines with the other cities and coordinate with their defense forces." He furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin. "Find whatever remains of the Royal Knights' guard; they'll still be the most battle-trained and organized forces. They'll be easier to prepare."

"I have a few of the former guard officers enrolled in the army," Bedivere nodded. "I'll find them and get them to ressemble what former guard soldiers they can." He quickly weighed up, making considerations. "I'll talk with the higher-ranked officers and draw up defensive lines we can occupy, see what parts of the city can't be defended." He nodded. "I'll need to get to that now, so excuse me." With that, the Slayerdramon departed.

-

"Gareth! Palamedes! Agravain!"

The three Digimon looked away from where they were inspecting troops, the first white in hue with leonine features, the second a towering red dinosaur clad in armor, jagged blades attached to his arms, and the third white and emiciated, with large clawed hands, eight wire-like tentacles lashing behind his back.

"Yes, Sir Bedivere?" Gareth the IceLeomon questioned.

"I need the three of you to reassemble as many of the Royal Knights' former standing guard as possible," the Slayerdramon ordered. "We need a solid core of troops we can depend upon in any battles to come, much of our forces are likely to be made of conscripts. The former guard are the best-trained force we have, we need them now."

"Yes, sir," Palamedes the WarGrowlmon X rumbled.

"What about our strategy?" Agravain the Gravimon asked. "Are we fighting this defensively or offensively?"

"From our current plans, defensively," Bedivere confirmed. "But I will need to see you and other high-ranking officers later to map out our defense lines and strongpoints. We need to consider which parts of the city we cannot afford to defend with our numbers."

"Aye," Agravain nodded. "We shall start recruiting as much of the former guard as we can find, Sir Bedivere. Send for me when you hold this council."

"I will," Bedivere nodded. "Good luck, you three."

"And to you, Sir Bedivere," the three nodded in return as they moved away, hurrying to locate their former comrades in arms.

"Lord Bedivere?" The Slayerdramon turned, seeing a soldier stood. The Flamedramon looked at the Lord of the Empty Seat in silence, as though trying to force himself to break the barrier of rank between himself and the Peacemaker. "What... who's attacking us? And how? What exactly is coming?"

For a moment, Bedivere looked at the soldier as though attempting to conjure an answer where no honest one existed. He could not say what attack might fall upon them. What forces might strike the defenses and test the mettle of those manning them. There was no word to describe the unknowable, and the unknowable was what lay ahead.

"I don't know," he finally admitted, sending shivers through the ranks nearby. Doubt and fear, enemies who struck long before swords were drawn and shields raised. "But!" The ranks steadied. "We shall fight whatever comes. I am Lord of the Empty Seat. And I have seen many black days! Days when the sun seemed to die and all men falter! But on those days, we. Stood. Firm! Heroes and gods and angels, all proud, all high, but when the darkness encroaches upon our world it is you who is tested! You! Men and women of this world!" He stopped, drawing deep breaths as he regarded them all. Every soldier gazed at him. "So I say now on the eve of this terror... stand firm once more. Lock shields with your comrades, shields of steel and shields of bonds. Stand together! For everything you cherish! All that you know and love! Think of those things and from them draw your strength and courage!" He paused again, breathing. All eyes still on him. "I don't know what is coming, what form the darkness will take this time, but I say: it doesn't matter! We will fight! And we shall win! As we have won! A day may come when the world is broken and we desert one another, but this. Is! Not! That! Day! Stand together, draw ranks! Lock shields and ready your blades! And fight! Fight for courage! Fight for friendship! Fight for decency! For everything you cherish! And we shall prevail!" He drew the Fragarach from the air, the weapon blazing like a firebrand, and held it high. Cheers erupted, and weapons held up. "So man your posts, do your duties! Defend the innocent and the vulnerable! To arms, soldiers! To arms!" And they dispersed, doing so, gaining orders and moving to start preparing the defenses.

Bedivere watched them for a moment, and fire and courage burned in his heart. These were the heroes. These small little people crawling where the shadows seemed to overwhelm them... when it came down to it, these were the ones who stood and held back the foe. With a final look at the everyday heroes of the world, Bedivere took flight. He had officers to rally and a strategic briefing to organize quickly.

-

Vritra watched. From above she watched as the lines were drawn, as men and women ranked together. Weapons were forged and distributed, swords, spears, shields. Fortifications began to rise, crude, temporary, but they would do. The goddess regarded them. So great. So irrelevant.

"You're Vritra, correct?" It was Bedrawd.

"Yes," she answered. "Why aren't you helping prepare the defenses?"

"I came to see if there was any news of my wife," he answered. "Apparently she already left home and went to Lyonesse."

"For all the grand speech and the wonder, what is coming?" Vritra spoke. "We can't tell any of them. Because we don't know ourselves."

"Oh? What's coming is 'the enemy', Vritra," Bedrawd replied. "It's what we always call them. Dragons, beasts, dinosaurs, machines... they're all 'the enemy' when we face them."

"You know what I mean," Vritra retorted. "We don't even know if the defense lines your son and his generals are drawing up right now are even what we need for whatever Mephistopheles is up to." She glanced to the Dorbickmon. "We don't even know if all the grand speeches about standing together will help when whatever is coming... comes. With the Mikaboshi we knew, we knew what it was and what it would do. And it still carved our army and the humans into oblivion. Seven against the assembled might of the world."

"Against uncertainty we can only fight with order," the knight answered. "So we draw up the lines and rally the troops to them, we shelter those incabable of fighting, we forge weapons and stockpile supplies. It's the only way to keep everyone from breaking under the tension." He paused. "What do you intend to do?"

"What presents itself," she answered quietly.

"I see it in your manner, Vritra, you want to be killing something. You're frustrated that what's out there is beyond your power..."

"That's just it," she snapped. "Once, Stormheart, my power dried this world to sand and wind. So why, now, is it that this demon and his minions are beyond my power to obliterate?" She looked at her hands. "What is he looking for? What is the answer?"

"What's the question?"

"Gilgamesh," the BurningGreymon muttered. "Some riddle of his... something about saying what I truly am."

"What did you answer?" Bedrawd asked.

"Who I am," she retorted in a blunt tone. "Fire and drought and burning wind. Vritra Ahi, Vritra Death-Wind, Vritra Ash-Heart. All that I am, the drought and the world burned dry."

Bedrawd considered. "Vritra, think about it. Is that you?"

"Naturally," she snapped. "It's my power, my legacy."

"Legacy," he said. "It's not you. It's what the last Vritra was." He looked piercingly at the BurningGreymon. "Vritra, did you cause a world drought? Did you reduce pastures to dry waste? And were you slain by Indra?"

"I'm standing here," she deadpanned.

"You answered Svarog wrongly," the Dorbickmon replied, shaking his head. "Vritra, he asked what you were. You answered with what the first Vritra was. Think about it, what are you when you take away all that he did? All that he was? What then? What is Vritra Ahi without her namesake?"

She was silent for some moments, pondering, struggling with the question. "I..." She looked at the sun, gazing unblinkingly into its light. "I suppose without that... I'm..."

"Nothing," Bedrawd concluded. "All your life you've been using your namesake to describe yourself and what you are. You've been forging yourself a mask out of history. Svarog's question needed you to look behind that mask and see what you really were without it. And without the mask of history and glory you've built, what are you?" He gestured. "Nothing, Vritra. Without the first Vritra, there is no true Vritra Ahi."

Vritra turned to him, stunned. It made sense, she realized. Once she'd discovered her status as Vritra's reincarnation, she had been hiding behind the legend. Boasting. Using myth and history as ways to describe her own power. And now... what did lie behind that? It was... nothing. A few scraps of forgotten memories, names she barely recalled. All the past she had gone through before the realization, before the mask was donned. Nothing.

"Where is Gilgamesh?" she asked.

"Look for the shouting about incompetence or the not-so-suble indication that he may not return from the dead this time," Bedrawd chuckled. "While you go and solve that riddle, I am going to take a place on the defense lines."

"Still fighting?"

"I'm old and weary, Vritra," he said. "But by the Council... I'm not stepping into the shelter now. That line needs every soldier it can get." He nodded. "Go on, go debate your riddle." He took in her surprised expression. "Vritra, I know gods. Riddles to you people usually mean 'last minute revelation of important details' or something like that. In this case, we need a revelation more than ever, so go." She nodded and was gone in a rush of embers, diving from the tower and soaring down on burning wings. The Dorbickmon nodded and retreated into the doorway, descending down the stairs...

 

[Griff4815]

"I haven't heard of any 'rule.' But if there was one, Nocchi would probably try to break it! Cha-haw!"

He grinned in Gunnar's direction. "I'm just Sha. That's who I am, that's who I'll always be. It doesn't matter whether I'm a demon, or an angel, or a frog, or whatever. Who I am in here--" Sha pointed to his heart. "--isn't defined by my appearance."

The Shawjamon chuckled to himself. "Rivers are different every day. They might look the same on the outside, but the water in them is different...always flowing this way and that. Some people are like rivers." Sha grinned at Gunnar once more. "But I'm not a river. I'm kinda like most trees, I guess. In the spring a tree looks one way, in the fall it looks another...and in the winter it's completely bare, exposed to the cold. But on the inside it's still the same. It's still a tree. Make sense? Cha-haw! Of course it does!"

Gunnar gave a half-frown, raising his opposite eyebrow behind his yellow helmet. "Sha, that's... actually pretty deep," he replied. He smiled a bit. "I have to admit, you lost me at the part about being a river. I kinda zoned out and started thinking about girls."

The ShineGreymon flapped his wings and continued his flight. "I guess you have a point. I'm a Greymon and I'm still pretty awesome... On the other claw, every other demon I've seen is a total *ss... and I'm not talking about donkeys. Samael, Cresil, Mephistopheles, the ones who... never mind," he looked at the kappa digimon with a grin and reached his arm out and slapped his back amiably. "Well, pal? I guess you're just a diamond in the rough, Sha, my friend!"

Gunnar flipped over onto his back and rested his hands behind his head in his flight. "We should hang out after this and maybe pick up some hot chicks," he said with a wink. "You can be my wingman. Heh. Get it, angel-boy?"

-

A few hours later, when the Peacemakers were getting situated in Anatolia, Tiwaz stood among the other Peacemakers and digimon of importance. It wasn't hard for him to see the fear in several of the soldiers and citizens' eyes. Had Tiwaz any fear in him, he refused to show it. It was his responsibility as a leader.

The AncientGreymon looked around at the others. Thor, Bedivere and Svarog were all getting to work. They were all leader-figures and they seemed to be sticking around Anatolia. There had already been several minor power struggles so far; a fact that Tiwaz knew was down to too many alpha males in the same place.

He was never able to follow somebody else's orders. This shone through during his days in the military. Tiwaz was always more comfortable leading than he was following. He had been told he sometimes adopted the mentality of it either being Tiwaz's way or the wrong way. Because of this, Tiwaz knew what he was going to do.

"Right then," the dragon god of fire spoke up. "Thor and Bedivere? You two get things in order here. I'm headed to Sparta to organize things there. It's time to inspire some courage in these pathetic, trembling, grass-nibbling, good-for-nothing mice. Perun! I've seen more guts in a Botamon!"

With a nod to Pyra, Tiwaz took flight, sending a warm blast of wind outwards from the flap of his wings. He didn't so much as glance at Azur (or, more correctly, the god of light who rested in Azur's body) as he rose higher. He looked down at the others. "Contact me immediately if anything big happens. I'll do the same with you. I'll find the fastest messenger I can get my claws on. We'll stop them in their tracks. I'll personally see to that."

The wyrm tipped his goggled head and flew off, soaring over the buildings with a calm, confident demeanour in his flight. He hoped that his relaxation would serve to rally confidence and hope in the hearts of the citizens and soldiers.

If they were still quivering when he returned, Tiwaz made a mental note to berate them into growing a pair. Tough love was the ancient's strong suit, after all.

Pyra watched as Tiwaz disappeared over the buildings. She might have gone with him, often feeling like the dragon's level-headed second in command, but she was still technically part of the Anatolian military and felt that her duty was to remain here. The fact that her father and brother both lived in Anatolia only strengthened her resolve.

The Paildramon walked up to Commander Mars, who was inspecting his mechanical Accel Arm. When the EmperorGreymon glanced up, she saluted formally. "Sir," Pyra greeted. "What are your orders?"

Mars returned the salute with his non-artificial limb. "Torren. Or should I say 'Paladrius' second coming'?" he asked. Pyra's brows furrowed in confusion and surprise. "Seeing as you're a Peacemaker again, I'm not authorized to give you any orders. Same goes for Koenig and Cyndar too. You're allowed to act as you see fit. Hell, you should be telling us what to do."

Pyra nodded. "Okay. I'll start helping the others organize after I see to something."

The Paildramon saluted the hulk of an EmperorGreymon once again and flew down one of the streets.

Commander Mars eyed the remaining Peacemakers and saw a certain light dragon trying to sneak away from him unnoticed. Mars charged forward and reached out his Accel Arm, grabbing Gunnar by the wings and yanking him back.

Gunnar let out a surprise yell and found himself dangling in front of the glaring face of his Commander. "C-Commander!" Gunnar chuckled, grinning sheepishly. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Don't act cute with me, Corporal," Mars snarled.

"Cute? Me? Well, if you really think so-Ack!" Gunnar yelped as his Commander's grip tightened on his wings.

"You're a Peacemaker now and I see you shirking off to try and chat with your friends?" he asked, gesturing over to Dhazbog the EmperorGreymon, Sigurd the WarGreymon, and Ulik the BlackWarGreymon, all of who were watching from nearby. "You had better be taking this seriously, Cyndar, because we are on the verge of war! There's no time for your antics."

The ShineGreymon narrowed his eyes. "I am taking this seriously! I've been fighting my ass off trying to beat these guys! Nobody wants to take those pitspawn down more than I do!"

Commander Mars grunted and dropped Gunnar, who landed on his feet. "Fine... Prove it then. Start acting like Peacemaker and get leading."

"Sir..." Gunnar replied, a slight tone of defiance in his voice.

"Cyndar," the EmperorGreymon spoke, stopping Gunnar as he turned. "I looked up to your father when I was just a Lieutenant. Dace Cyndar was a role model and a noble warrior. Prove to me that you're just like him."

Gunnar turned back and saluted. "I will, Commander..."

Mars allowed a small grin. "Why do you think I chose you to join the Peacemakers over Dhazbog, Sigurd and Ulik?" he asked.

The ShineGreymon smirked. "I thought my good looks might have something to do with it." He gave a short nod and then ran over to his friends.

"What'd you get chewed out for this time?" Sigurd asked, raising an eyebrow. "And where the hell did Tyr go off to?"

"Nothin', Siggy," Gunnar replied, slinging an arm around the irritable WarGreymon. "And since he and Tiwaz share a body, he's headed to whichever city Tiwaz is headed to. I have to admit, I kinda miss Tyr just being Tyr."

"Same," Dhazbog replied. The EmperorGreymon looked at his three comrades. "But there's no time for moping. Gunnar, come with us and help us set up a defensive line. Everything you can tell us about what we're facing will really help."

Ulik glanced over the ShineGreymon's shoulder. "The Commander is already glaring daggers at us. We should move before he starts throwing them at us instead," the BlackWarGreymon replied.

Gunnar nodded. "I'll do what I can."

-

As the other Peacemakers went to their own devices, Barachiel stood still, deep in thought. When he was in the Avalonian military, it was as a soldier, not an officer. Hadrael may have trained him and combat and self-defence, but he wasn't schooled in warfare. Barachiel felt there were others far more capable of strategizing than he was.

He mulled over what Azur had said to him. As long as Kheprius was alive, there was a chance that he could change. If Barachiel gave him that chance, there was still a possibility.

The TigerVespamon would have normally dismissed the idea. However, those words struck a chord with him. They sounded like something Hadrael would have said to him.

A cold chill crept up Barachiel's spine.

"...You seem to have more rage ever since you came back. It's passive in nature, but..." Hadrael paused and removed his hand. "Is it your brother? Mephistopheles? Or a combination of the two?"

"A combination," Barachiel replied. His grip on the bloodied cloth loosened and he stopped scrubbing the floor altogether. "I don't want to be angry... I left that behind me when you showed me the ways of the Holy Host. However, when I see what Mephistopheles is doing and what my brother has become, I can't help it. I try to diffuse it, but... sometimes it's difficult."

Hadrael smiled reassuringly. "Do not let it burden you... Even angels can become angry. What's important is that you try not to be. The worst thing that you can do is embrace it. That only causes misery to you and those around you. Just... try to look on the bright side of things."

Barachiel responded with a slight grin. "Yes, Father Hadrael..."

He remembered what Hadrael had told him and he scowled. "What is wrong with me?" he asked himself. "Have I become that hateful? That callous? I don't even trust in God anymore..."

"Is Kheprius right? Can I not escape who I was as Terrak Aeolus?" he asked himself. "No... That's not it."

Barachiel looked down at his necklace. "Hadrael... I need your help."

The TigerVespamon looked up and saw Kheprius starting to walk away, probably towards the bar. He steeled himself and jogged after him.

"Kheprius," he called out, stopping the GrandisKuwagamon.

Khep turned around with some surprise. "...Yeah?"

Barachiel sighed and forced himself to look in Kheprius' eye. "I have a favour to ask of you."