Digimon: Paradise Lost

[Kamotz]

Digimon: Paradise Lost
​

The Breach - last known location of the Peacemakers

Celia Castiel
Scout Report:
Location: the Breach
Time since Demonic Emergence: 6 months
Time since Lucifer's Rise: 5 months
Time since all hope was abandoned: 4 months, 3 weeks, 6 days
Activity: Normal. Non-active.

I am continually sent on these missions: to watch the Breach; to watch where all the evil that destroyed my home came from. I don't know why. I don't know anything anymore. Why we were abandoned; why the demons let us live; why I'm always assigned to watch this stupid hole in reality. As if the Peacemakers are really still alive. It's stupid. But Commander Galic insists. He probably doesn't think there's anything I can do on the front lines. Not with how I've been cut off. And I'm, of course, far too pessimistic to serve as any sort of morale booster. How could I? Knowing what I do...how we've been abandoned? How can anyone?

And yet...here I am. As always. As I have been since Lucifer rose. And the Peacemakers failed. It's been six months since they were last seen stepping into the Breach. According to the rumors, the demon Samael allowed himself to be exorcised so the rest could follow his path through the circles. A noble gesture of anyone; demon or not. I don't know how true it is...but I don't think Commander Galic has any reason to lie. Not when he suspects the same things I do. He knows, as I do, that they must be dead. Six months in the Inferno, in Hell--with no word. It can't be anything else. But still...here I am.

Not because Galic still believes, though I know he desperately wants to--he has too many friends among the Peacemakers. No. I can see it in his eyes. Despite the front he puts up. He's lost hope. He hides it as best he can. But that look in his eyes is one I'm far too familiar with. It's a look I've seen on each and every face.

Well...not quite. Two still haven't. And it's because of them that there's anything left of us at all. Pagan deities. There was a time when that thought would bring bile to my throat. I was so foolish. Maybe we wouldn't be so lost if there were more of us like them. The last two gods of Saga.

Thor Odinson. Svarog Triglav.

Powerful, forceful, proud, stubborn to a fault, passionate beyond measure. They are ceaseless and unrelenting and uncompromising.

It's because of them. That's why Galic keeps asking me here. I'm sure of it. Even though we both know, in our hearts, that no one is coming back. They believe. And we so desperately want to--want to make them proud; want to not disappoint them.

If the Peacemakers never return...I wonder; will they lose hope then?

Celia the D'Arcmon, First Sword of the Conclave, finished her report. It wasn't so much a report as it was her thoughts. No one bothered reading it. Ever. If anything of not happened, she'd just tell them. If the Peacemakers came back, they'd all know. All she had to do was wait a few more hours. Then she could go back, report the uneventful news, and start all over.

"Or maybe today is the day I die," she whispered softly, without remorse or regret, as she did each and every day for the past five months. Accepting death as an inevitability was the only way to get through the day.

She heard a crack--a sound--like the opening of an enormous iron gate, and the ground beneath the Breach grew white-hot, and burning light seeped out. The earth erupted, hot and molten, piercing cry rang out across the sky.

Celia's eyes grew wide as something...some things...made their way through the Breach. They struggled, and pulled, and carried one another through. Groaning under the strain, quaking with the effort of passing through realities unaided. Then, with a final roar, they emerged. Beaten, blackened, shaking.

The Peacemakers.

"Unbelievable," she gasped, and for a moment thought to go revise her report. They had returned. Just as Thor and Svarog believed--knew--they would. She'd been so wrong. "I'm such a fool."

"What the--and forgive the irony--HELL is going on here?" Samael was the first to speak. He looked wild, angry, with wide, bloodshot eyes. He also looked exhausted.

"We're out," muttered a MagnaAngemon. One that could only be Michael. The Hand of God. "We failed, but we're out."

"Yeah. I got that. On account of the not-being-in-Hell-anymore," Samael spat back. Celia gasped. That anyone--nevermind a demon--would speak to an Archangel Saint like that...

"The world looks like it's gone to shit. What, I get exorcised and the world falls apart?" Samael scoffed. He shook what appeared to be bits of shadows from his clothes. "And everyone always told me I was overestimating my importance."

"Clearly something else is at work here," Michael said. He was battered and bruised, he looked barely able to stand...all of them did. "But the world should have been able to hold on for a day...it hasn't...hasn't been so long..."

"Archangel Michael!" Celia shouted, springing up from her crouch and sliding down towards the Breach. "I don't--it's you. How--I mean...how?"

"F*ckin' eloquent," Samael growled. "Here's a 'how' for you. How could you guys screw this all up in a freakin' day-and-a-half?"

The Peacemakers stared at her expectedly. Accusingly. As if she were the one leading the forces of the world. As if she were the one who'd personally failed.

"A day?" she snarled. "You've been gone six months." She glared at them. "Six months we've had to survive without you. We've been abandoned. The Council is banished. The Royal Knights are gone. And then you. We had no idea what had happened. For six months. We'd all but given up hope."

"Then why're you still here waitin' for us?" Samael quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I was asked to," Celia said. "By the only ones who still believed in you."

No one said a word then. The revelation that they'd been missing six months seemed...impossible to believe. But it was the only thing that made sense.

"We shouldn't stay here," Michael said, his voice barely a whisper. "Our exit from the Inferno will have caused quite a stir. The demons will know."

"Let 'em," Samael snarled. "I'm itching to cut something."

"We're weakened. Exhausted," Michael admonished him. "We won't win. We need to move from here. Find Thor and Svarog. Coordinate a counterattack."

Celia was shocked at how quickly Michael took charge of the situation. No gasps of startled disbelief. No cries against the unfairness of it all. Simple logic. Mathematical equations. Problems that required solutions.

"What happened here?" Michael asked quietly; his voice low, but rumbling with restrained strength and force of will.

"They can tell you at the Tree."

"The tree?"

"Hadrael's Tree," Celia clarified. She saw some of the Peacemakers flinch. "It's...it's the only place we've been able to make a stand." She glanced to the sky. She could feel it. The beating of ragged wings. The stomping of bloody hooves. "They're coming. Nightmare Soldiers."

"Form up!" Michael shouted, igniting the blade on his arm. He watched the horizon with weary, angry eyes.

"Shouldn't we run?" Celia suggested.

"We won't be fast enough, not all of us, at least," Michael explained, his body tense. "And if they catch us with our backs turned it'll be the end of us."

Soon they could all hear it. The screeching and roaring filled the air. The sky darkened. And the demons came.


\=\=/=/


Hadrael's Tree - the Resistance camp
Home of the Virus Busters

Galic Lupocore surveyed the assembled fighters. Six months had forged them into hard souls. Rough, angry, and eager to fight. It had also left them without hope. All they had was the next fight; an unspoken expectation that maybe--just maybe--this next fight would be their last. And they could finally leave it all behind.

For Galic, that wasn't an option. The former-Peacemaker wasn't much of a fighter anymore. Oh sure, he could still hold his own against any minor demon; he could put the majority of the fighters at the camp in their place; and his knowledge of combat and tactics were top-notch.

But he'd pushed himself too far. In the battles with the Royal Knights in the year prior, and the Mikaboshi after that...he'd dug too deep into the power of the Burst Mode. Held the form for too long without first mastering the base MirageGaogamon coding. He'd lost partial use of his left arm after that. He'd continued training. But he knew. He could feel it. His body could barely take the strain anymore. He felt himself ripping apart each and every time he fought.

It was why he hadn't joined the Peacemakers in their efforts against Mephistopheles those six months ago. There were nights--dark and cold and miserable nights--where he thought maybe. If he had joined them, he might have helped balance those...abrasive personalities. They were all under such pressure. Even the normally-calm and collected Michael had lashed out. Maybe he could have done something to mediate and focus their efforts. It's what he was best at.

Could this all be his fault?

But he only pondered those terrible thoughts alone in the dark, when no one else was listening; when no one else could see him for all he was not. Because in the light of day he had to appear strong. Even if his body wasn't. It was true now more than ever.

He'd been broken.

It'd happened so quickly. It was that first month, still weeks before Lucifer rose. And there was still hope of turning the tide and winning. Thor and Svarog had done their best to keep that hope alive. They were always on the front lines. Always bringing every ounce of strength against the enemy. Keeping the Demon Lords occupied and their malevolent power at bay.

But six against two were not good odds, even for ones such as them. Even for gods. And the fighting; the constant defending and evacuating and retreating and fighting again...it was taking its toll. No one else would have noticed. But Galic had seen them fight before, at the peak of their power, with all their fury and godly might. And he was beginning to see them dull; move more slowly; with less fury. To him it was as plain as day, even with his own body working against him, with his own senses dulled and twisted...he could tell.

It had terrified him.

No one else was willing to fight beside them. To confront the Demon Lords head on. And why would they? How could anyone see themselves fighting in such a battle? Alongside gods? Against devils?

Only Galic dared. It had cost him dearly.

He knew his body would suffer. That pushing himself to the Mega level--and further--would only exacerbate the loss of control he had over his facilities. But what choice was there? It was either that or watch Thor and Svarog--his friends and comrades--die.

So he dared.

And nearly died.

He'd underestimated just how much his body had deteriorated. It was a rude awakening. He'd prided himself on his speed and his accuracy. But he'd lost so much of both. Beelzebub made that abundantly clear when he both outpaced Galic, and then severed his arm mid-bicep with a single swing of his claws. The shock, the sheer disbelief, was all Galic remembered before Belphegor's fist filled his vision.

He woke a week later. Missing his left arm. The blow from Belphegor was so thoroughly strong that it cracked his eye socket and shredded his eye. Healers had been ordered--no doubt by Thor and Svarog--to work on him, to try and fix him. But Galic rebuffed their offers. There were so many others in worse shape than he was. And his already-deteriorating body had left him rather used to the handicap. As "luck" would have it, the arm and eye he lost were the ones that were failing him anyway.

There was also the fact that they couldn't fix him. His wounds healed, sure. But no one could regrow his missing eye or arm. Whatever the Demon Lords were made of, it was monstrous, and it prevented wounds from being fully regenerated.

He only had three things left: his mind, that of a tactician; his heart, that of a warrior; and his soul, that of a hero.

He didn't know exactly what that last thing was worth. But few were ever graced with such words of praise by Svarog, so he figured it was at least worth holding on to.

Even if he'd gladly trade all three for the body of a fighter.

"Commander Galic, you called for us?" He turned and found the six scouts he'd summoned. They were aligned before him, standing straight. He still commanded some respect, it seemed...

Now was not the time for self-pity.

"Indeed," Galic said. He faced them with just his good eye. He never looked straight-on. "I have scouting missions for you. Two groups of three."

"What? We never go in more than two-to-a-group. This is just clunky. Too many all together," said the young Halsemon, a female named Falia. The other scouts said nothing, but didn't seem to disagree.

"You'll humor me," Galic said. And that ended the discussion. "Rayner, Yugu, Il'phaes; you'll go together. I'm going to need you three headed due east. The last scout shift mentioned signs of civilian refugees. No actual confirmation, just campfires and makeshift shelters. If you can find anyone, escort them back here. Be aware, though; there have been numerous reports of incursions from the Mountain. Demons will likely show up."

He tuned to the other three. "You'll go southwest. Standard scouting procedure. Keep an eye out for survivors, demons, troop movements, anything of note." They stared at him a moment longer. "Dismissed. Get to work."

 

[Hotshot]

Gigas emerged from the Breach with the other Peacemakers, gasping for fresh air. Or any kind of air. Air that didn't burn his throat when he breathed. He stumbled forward and landed on one knee, now beholding a desolated world. He heard Samael yelling. Michael asking questions. He had only one question. A question that burned through his brain.

"IVY? WHERE'S IVY?!" the HerculesKabuterimon thundered, grasping Celia the D'Arcmon by the shoulders with his giant claws and shaking her. "IS SHE OKAY?!"

"Gigas! Cool it!" shouted a nasally voice from beside him. His best friend, Nocchi, laid a little wooden hand on his huge companion's knee. "If there's any woman who would've survived the attack of a horde of demons and the rise of Lucifer, it's your wife."

Gigas relinquished his grip on the D'Arcmon. As he did, they heard the beating of leathery wings, stomping of bloody hooves. The approach of demons. Energy surged through Gigas' tired body. Electricity crackled across his horns. He clenched all four of his fists and stood with Michael, who had readied his blade.

Nocchi, weak as he was from their journey through Hell, shouldered his hammer and mustered a grim smile. "Nyeheh. Let 'em come. I'll put 'em through Hell."

There was a third of this fearsome trio. He had emerged from the Circles last, behind all the others, just as he had entered it six months before. This was the Shawjamon, Sha. Though something had happened in Hell. None of the others had noticed it yet, because he was behind them all. He had seen visions in the Inferno. Horrible, horrible things from his past. From his parents' past. His lineage wasn't so pure. Neither was he.

His appearance had changed. For the moment, he was not his usual Shawjamon self. He had been tainted by Hell. Now he was Sagomon.

His left eye, usually hidden behind a protective headband glowed red. The devil's eye. The frog-man digimon gripped his weapon and chuckled to himself. "Cha-haw. I'll kill 'em."

He was exhausted. But he would fight.

 

[Tundra_Wolfmane]

Azur, his clothes torn and his body beleaguered with injuries, was silent as he reentered the world. Even Fenrir, usually speaking out his thoughts and observations for his descendant’s sake, was quiet as they exited Hell.

Behind the wolf man, the steps that Aeria had taken to walk through the Breach were tired and slow. It was all she could do to stop herself from falling right onto the ground in exhaustion as her surroundings changed. It was by no means at all any prettier or refreshing, but it was better. It gave her a bit more energy to keep standing. At the very least, the sense of no longer being in a demons’ dwelling place put a lot of weight off of her shoulders.

That was, until she remembered that their own world was now overrun with said creatures, and it showed. The feeling was made worse upon the realization that the world had moved faster without them. What of her newly made friends? The ones that just taught her how to truly fight?

What of that old town that she used to call home?

“Please…be safe,” she whispered, knowing how impossible the likelihood of it was.

Of course, it might have been unwise to have been worrying about the safety of others. She turned her head to the sounds of crackling laughter, of malicious roars and terrible screams. She was not ready…simply not ready to fight again. She needed rest!

Aeria looked at everyone else, seeing the tiredness in their eyes and the injuries on their bodies. All of them did.

She bit her lip and stood up straight as much as her battered body could.

“Not yet,” she whispered, mustering her energy. She faced the demons, forcing her body to be strong despite how much her fragile spirit trembled. Right now, fight was all they could do.

The wolfman nearby, who had been listening to the conversation between the angels for Fenrir's sake, tensed up.

He clenched his fists and turned back to the cloud of demons swarming upon them. Without a second thought, he went to her side. It was probably much more of a task than she could handle, having to handle not only surviving through hell but also his need to keep her safe at all costs, even if she was against it. But he had learned all too well how quickly life could fade away. And he would not survive if anything happened to her. He could not.

'Don't overwork yourself, Azur,' Fenrir's voice spoke in his head, although the wolfman heeded him no mind.

He didn’t care how tired and beaten his body was. He didn’t care for the screaming of his body to lay down and sleep. His own pain and suffering was second to the task at hand. If it was to keep Pyra Torren safe and alive, Azur Schattenlicht would walk through Hell all over again and back.

---

OOC: Apparently, I was reminded that Shoon had been beaten up and bruised last we saw of him. Therefore, I shall edit him out.

 

[Griff4815]

Tyr pulled himself out of the Inferno with a grunt, ignoring his shuddering and protesting muscles. He held his arm around a ShineGreymon's waist, helping him up as well.

"Thanks, dude..." Gunnar told his best friend, his arm draped over Tyr's shoulders and his foot embedded in the solid earth.

The VictoryGreymon gave him a faint, tired smile. "'Course..." he said, panting a bit from exhaustion.

Inside Tyr's subconscious, Tiwaz Koenig listened to the exchanged words between Michael, Samael, and the D'Arcmon.

"Impossible... We've been gone for six months...?" Tiwaz thought.

"Six months?" Tyr breathed, his eyes widening.

"No way..." Gunnar whispered.

Meanwhile, Barachiel emerged from the glowing rift, exiting the noxious demon pits and arriving back on their home. He felt dirty... and somewhat sick to his stomach.

They went through all of that, and nothing had changed for the better. The were unable to stop Mephistopheles. Caradoc, his closest friend, was still in danger of having his soul taken by a demon, thanks to the deal that he had made to help him find Hadrael. And now, the Demon Lords were free and the Digital World had been beset by demons for six months, if what this Digimon said was true.

He looked around to make sure that Caradoc had made it out of the rift without any difficulty. When he was satisfied, he turned to look for Gunnar's form among the multitude of Peacemakers.

Nearby, Kheprius clawed his way up and hung onto the edge of the breach, resting his exhausted wings.

"Yeah... Sammy? Next time you get yourself exorcised, can it be for a lifetime supply of beer instead? Because that was so not worth it... Cripes..." he spat.

The GrandisKuwagamon tried to pull himself up with his arms, but found it exceedingly difficult. He was about to let out an exclamation of profanity, but he stopped when he noticed a black hand reach down in front of him. He looked up to see Barachiel offering his hand to him.

Kheprius took it and allowed his brother to pull him up. "Thanks..." he muttered.

Barachiel nodded. "So much has changed," he said to him with a tinge of wistfulness in his typically serene voice. He looked around at the dark, decayed world that they had once called their home.

Kheprius glanced at the TigerVespamon with his single, crimson eye. "You're tellin' me," he said.

Quietly, Barachiel made his way over to Caradoc and Guinier. "Caradoc, Guinier," he spoke to them. "Are you both alright?"

Just as their answers came, something the D'Arcmon said struck something deep within his core.

"Hadrael's Tree," Celia explained. "It's...it's the only place we've been able to make a stand."

Barachiel grimaced and turned away from Caradoc and Guinier, looking towards the resistance scout. Although it had been over six months in actuality, it hadn't been long since his mentor's death. It had been but a week to Barachiel, since he was last there, at the tree. He remembered what he did... finally releasing all of his pent up rage and sorrow, hacking away at the tree like a berserker. He supposed that might have been how he adopted the power necessary to evolve to SlashAngemon, through his contact with the energy of creation.

"Hadrael's... Tree," he whispered. It had been his home, once. That home was now gone, and the tree grew in its place. While it brought him great pain to think about, he felt some comfort in the fact that that tree managed to persevere all those months. At least a vestige of his home survived.

He glanced at Caradoc. He still felt partially responsible for that deal he made with a demon. It was all so that they could find Hadrael. They had found him, but it didn't make a difference. Barachiel had promised his friend that he would ensure the security of his soul. They hadn't been able to locate the demon during the foray into the Inferno, but maybe now...

Khep looked over at Barachiel sympathetically, but he decided to leave him. He stretched his stiff, sore joints and made his way over to a Paildramon. "Yo, Pyra."

Pyra glanced over at him, but she didn't reply. She was lost in thought at the revelation that they had been gone for so long. To think that the demons had been present in Saga for six whole months without them. Although she didn't show it, she was worried.

"Father... Max... Mother... Please be alright," she inwardly hoped.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the sounds of demons filled the air.

"Form up!" Michael hollered.

Pyra's pensive gaze hardened. She passingly noticed Azur and Kheprius' presences beside her. They were alright, and that was enough for her in that moment. The Paildramon stepped forwards, extending the long blades on her wrists. She flew into the air, readying herself for combat.

"They picked a bad time to attack us," she thought.

Kheprius' eye flashed with a bloody grow. He smirked maliciously. He was tired of getting beaten down; now, it was his turn to satiate his blood lust. "Oh yeah... This is gonna be fun. I'm going to give these pricks hell!"

Nearby, Tiwaz began to communicate with Tyr. "Tyr," he said. "You're exhausted. Let me deal with these things. I'm pent up and ready to let loose, anyways."

"Are you sure, Tiwaz?" Tyr asked, thinking his response so that it didn't look like he was talking to himself, even though everybody knew the situation with Tiwaz.

"Bloody positive," Tiwaz said with a smirk. "You leave these rubbish-swimming, yellow-bellied monstrosities to me.

Tyr's eyes flashed orange and his form became engulfed with light. His body was wreathed in flames as it grew to Tiwaz's massive AncientGreymon form.

"Right!" Tiwaz announced with a toothy smirk. "Who's ready for a little payback?!"

 

[TheSequelReturns]

Trowa fell to his knees as soon as he exited the breach, supporting himself on one of his swords. His eyes stung, his breath was dry and ragged, he felt like his very being had been eroded, but he was alive. How, he wasn't quite sure. By all means, none of them should have managed to make it back from that place. He looked around at the others as they struggled to pull themselves together. They didn't look much better than he did, not even their more angelic or demonic members. For once, no comments came to Trowa's mind. All he could think about was how crazy it was that they had survived, but perhaps the better question was why had they survived?

Trowa had always been sure of himself, mostly because he didn't worry about thing until after they happened. This had normally served him well, but it had a nasty habit of sucker punching him with shocks and surprises lately. How was he supposed to keep reality in check when it kept doing strange things on him? If this was the sort of thing he was going to keep running into as a Peacemaker, life in the Hives wasn't sounding so bad.

Behind him, Justin drug himself out of the pit and collapsed. The Justimon rolled over onto his back as his form slowly dissolved back into a SuperStarmon. Duo followed shortly after, still looking bruised and beaten. The two of them had taken a lot of hits in there, Justin especially. The SuperStarmon was so eager to prove himself, so ready to dive headfirst into danger to show that he too could be brave and fearless that he wound up getting hurt. But it didn't stop him. Every time Trowa had thought the little star had twinked his last twinkle, he got back up and ran right back in. He was as admirable as he was dense. Right now though he looked out like a light.

Duo too was looking worse for wear. He had stayed on the front lines the whole time and he had fought hard. Trowa could remember the tenacity and the force behind his blows. Duo hadn't been fighting just to protect those he cared about, there had been genuine anger in it. Perhaps the Gaiomon had simply had enough. Trowa couldn't blame him if that was the case. Because of all the trouble those demons caused, he still hadn't even met his neice. Speaking of which, what had happened to Saria and Niraphim while they had been dragging themselves out of the pit?

Lucia was the last of the four to emerge, and the first thing she saw when she emerged from the pit was Duo reaching out his hand to help her up. The Minervamon tried to smile as she took his hand, but the smile broke before it started. She was happy to be alive, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Some of the others were talking to someone she didn't recognize, a D'Arcmon, and Lucia was struggling to hear the words. Her ears were ringing and her vision was still a bit blurry. Lucia had always been good at taking things, even particularly hard things to take, but the trip through Hell had already dragged her well past her limit. Her happy mask was well and surely broken at the moment.

It was then that she heard something she couldn't quite believe. She coughed as she tried to speak, taking several tries to get her lungs to work and her mouth to form words. "We... we were gone for six months?!"

"No." Trowa looked around but saw only ruin. Part of him wanted to believe it was because they were simply this close to the literal gates of hell but he also didn't see any of the demon lords around either. The more he took in his surroundings, the more likely it seemed that they had missed at least some time. But if it was six months... "Saria, Niraphim, the others, are they safe?"

"I pray so." Lucia said. "Too much can happen in six months."

Duo coughed. "If they survived, Saria will have taken Nira to the Tree our guest mentioned. I'm sure of it." The lizard-man looked downcast. Saria was resourceful, but six months was a long time to hold out against foes as powerful as the demon lords. How much of the world had been reduced to ruin in their absence? How many lives lost because they failed?

Something stirred up the air. Trowa strained to hear, and made out what sounded like hooves and wings. The bad kind.

"Form up!" Michael shouted, and the Peacemakers pulled themselves into combat stances with a speed that was truly impressive after all they had just been through.

"WHERE ARE THEY!" Justin leaped off the ground with such force, the dust cloud nearly hid him from view when he landed upright. "COME AND FACE YOUR END, DEMONS! FOR THE FLAMES OF JUSTICE SHALL-"

Trowa socked the overly-excited star over the head. "Chill will you, my head hurts enough as it is. Save some of that gusto for the welcome party."

"Oh, I shall." Justin said. " These demons shall rue the day we emerged from their pit."

The TigerVespimon smirked. "For once bright-eyes, we agree."

 

[Corrosion]

((OOC: Short post...is really short. I didn’t want to bunny anybody. The original version died with my other computer, sadly.))

Rayner looked up from his book. It seemed that he had been called on to go on a scouting mission, which he did not entirely look forward to. The world was infested by demons and the resistance at Hadrael’s Tree was constantly pressured--the situation worsened every day. He had nearly lost hope, but he would continue to hold onto that small sliver of a chance that the Virus Busters would experience a windfall...even to the end. His sheer power was certainly less than many of the others’, but his fighting ability closed the gap somewhat; Mega form was a bit aways and using it would cost him, but he knew that he might have to and he was ready for the consequences.

Closing the book, Rayner got up and placed it back onto his small shelf. He made sure to grab his dragon orbs and his bow and arrows on the way out.

The short float over to the gathering place where Galic had summoned him to afforded little more time to think. It seemed that the MachGaogamon wanted them to scout in groups of three, something that he had not done before. He hoped that he would not interfere with the others, as he had no control over the arrows after they left his bow and demons were likely going to attack them.

’Civilian refugees...I hope we’re not too late.’ Rayner, worried as always, kept on thinking while Galic talked to the other scouts. He looked around and acknowledged his teammates, Yugu, a Rapidmon, and Il’phaes, a Fujinmon. ’We’re all fliers, it seems like. That will be useful if we need to execute a hasty retreat.’

Once the wolfman was finished talking, Rayner turned to face his fellow scouts, nodded, and started the float up and out.

 

[niedude]

A cloud of darkness moving, blackening the heavens, hiding hundreds of sinister menaces not of this world loomed on the horizon. Proto knew it was no match against such an army, yet the digimon could not ignore the cloud. The urge to chase it, to defeat it, compelled it from inside its very Digicore.

The cloud's movements were uniform and focused, denoting clear coordination and purpose. They had an objective, and for them to amass in such quantities meant that objective had to have a profound importance.

And so, regressing back to Searsdramon form and making full use of that form's agility and stealth, Proto infiltrated the enemy's line. Sprinting from place to place, at one point even hiding atop a Devidramon completely incognito, it managed to even eliminate three champions and one ultimate through a combination of stealth, throatslits and backstabs. Proto never stayed in one zone for too long; the digimon was careful not to raise too much awareness of its presence, and the slaying of the ultimate did just that.

Proto was just about to consider a tactical retreat when the entire feel of the cloud changed. The march became brazen, offensive even. The march changed into a... charge. They were charging at something, they were attacking. But what?

Proto moved forward, moving through demons far too fast to be chased. They were otherwise focused on whatever target they had to even notice it. When Proto reached a vantage point, he digimon finally saw the unbelievable: an army of digimon emerging from Hell itself.

Who... who were they? Surely not demons, they were going to be attacked by demons. A resistance? One that had made it into hell?

And then, a pillar of flames burned the horizon. From it burst forth a mythical being Proto recognized. How could it not? AncientGreymon, the one and only.

Proto did the unthinkable: foresaking cover, the digimon jumped. The Hazard Symbol burned white on its chest, and darkness, pure darkness ripped Proto's armor and wrapped around it. Wings sprouted from its back with a gruesome and vicious sound. The darkness embraced Proto, dressingbhe digimon in a durable, elastic material.

And so the Cyberdramon shot forth, like a comet covered in dark energies, heading directly towards the AncientGreymon

 

[Kamotz]

Michael Ha'Yisrael
The Breach

Michael was ill-equipped to accept failure. He was dedicated, devoted, determined, and resourceful. He reasoned there was no reason why someone with his abilities and his constitution should ever fail.

And yet he had failed. Spectacularly.

He had failed to stop Mephistopheles. At best, he'd hindered the demon; marginally slowed him down and inconvenienced him. At worst, his failures had actually helped the demon along. He had failed to stop Lucifer's ascent, and because of that the devil walked free on Saga's soil.

Six months. They'd been away for six months. But to them it was mere hours. He should have expected time to move differently in the Inferno...it was Hell, after all. But he'd almost expected time to move more slowly. For hours in the outside world to feel like days in the Inferno, so that each moment you spent there was an eternity. That's what he'd been taught his entire life. But it was the opposite...

How?

"The data," Bedivere murmured, as if sensing the torrent of questions running through Michael's head. He looked just as disturbed. "The Inferno was filled with demons before. A huge amount of data. Each one processed data. But once they were free..."

Of course. Once the demons were loosed, the Inferno was skeletal; empty...save for the Peacemakers. Its ability to utilize its inhabitants to process data plummeted.

That explained the "how"...even if it didn't make him feel any better.

"They're coming," said Caradoc. The sharp-eyed Valkyrimon stared off into the ever-darkening sky. Michael still couldn't believe how black and charred everything looked, like it had simply been scorched barren. He should have expected it. Of course Lucifer would retaliate this way, after spending hundreds of years in the icy cold prison of his Cage.

"Be ready," Michael said, raising his blade. He was just starting to make out the individual demons among the throng. He was just beginning to hear their cackling laughter. He tried to remain strong, but he was tired. His limbs were leaden, his back aching and stiff. His hands felt weak, and his eyes heavy.

"Watch each other's backs!" Bedivere shouted over the growing roars. "Circular formation. Rotate inwards. Five minutes fighting, five minutes rest. We can do this, Peacemakers. We've faced far worse with far less."

"Tsk, I don't need that," Samael spat; he cracked his knuckles and clicked his claws against his guns, eager. "All this 'form-up, friends' is horseshit. I'm not the holding-hands patting-you-on-the-back type. None of us are."

"Well give it a shot or die," Caradoc growled. "One less demon--"

"Yeah, because there's so much similarity between me and them," Samael snarled, gnashing his teeth angrily. He looked ready to pull his weapons on Caradoc. "Remind me again which one of us sacrificed more for this group?"

"I sold my soul--"

"On a fool's errand! For nothing!" Samael spit. "And anyone with half a brain could have told you that."

He and Caradoc whirled to face each other. Michael wanted nothing more than to stop them, but the Enemy was closing in.

"You've always been a liability with your bleeding-heart, kumbaya, bullshit," the fallen angel snapped. "Now more than ever."

"Samael," Michael scolded.

"I ain't done, helmet-head," Samael hissed.

"Samael!" He wasn't listening.

"I said, I. Ain't. Do--"

"Samael, Move!" Michael shouted. Samael dropped down low as Michael's fist exploded with burning light. It vaporized an oncoming group of Devimon.

The Peacemakers formed a circle, protecting one another and presenting the demons with an intimidating wall of horns, fangs, claws, and weapons. They were powerful, for certain. But they were tired, and the sky was so thick demons it blotted out the sun. They filled the air with their screams and the beating of their wings.

Michael remained on the outer edge of their formation, utilizing all his holy might to keep the demons at bay. Each swing of his holy sword shred into demon flesh, each burst of power cut a swath through their ranks.

But they seemed endless.

Samael found himself back-to-back with Caradoc, and suddenly the demons attacking him were the second most repugnant thing he could imagine.

"You better hold up your end, bird-brain," Samael muttered, firing wildly into the black swirl.

"So you can stab me in the back yourself?" Caradoc shot back. He sent a bright bolt of power from his crossbow into the demons' ranks.

But neither of them left their post or lowered their guard. Whether out of grudging respect or necessity, neither of them would say.

It was sheer, utter madness. For each demon the Peacemakers slew, ten more would take its place. And it wasn't as if slaying demons was the easiest thing either. By their nature, demons were tougher than regular digimon of equal digivolution level. That made things like Devimon and LadyDevimon dangerously difficult in high numbers unless one was outrageously strong or well-equipped to handle demon-types.

It was becoming plain to see that the Peacemakers weren't. Under other, less trying, circumstances they might have been the former. But they were all weakened. And Michael may also have been the latter, but he was one against thousands.

A cascade of blackened energy cracked into Bedivere and he dropped to his knees. Demons clawed at him, dragging him into the swirl. His sister Guinier leaped forward, slashing with her glowing forearm blades, and Gunnar hauled him back into the center of the circle.

"This is absurd!" Gunnar shouted, barely audible over the screeching and cackling around them. He blasted into the swarm with fire, but he didn't have the strength to do more than drive them back. "We should have run."

"I told you that," Celia snapped, driving her sword through the chest of a Devimon. The demon pulled himself further up her blades and latched his claws onto her wings. She shrieked.

He laughed. Briefly.

But Celia's second blade whipped around and the Devimon found it lodged in his throat. With a sneer and a shout, Celia wrenched the blade and lopped the demon's head from its shoulders.

Michael shot to her side and pushed her back into the Peacemaker's formation, despite her protests. They had only one chance to escape. If he could gather enough strength. If he could hold on just a little bit longer...

"Corona Destroyer!" Samael howled, firing a bolt of unholy power from the mouth of his arm-cannon. He was too far away from the formation and the demons were all over him. The blast brought him a momentary reprieve, but an instant later he was swallowed by the mass of demons and vanished from sight.

The churning mass then exploded with crimson light as the X-Evolved Beelzemon slashed his way out from underneath them. He crackled with blood-red electricity and charged the horde, fighting his way back to the Peacemakers' circle.

"Too many," he hissed, spitting a mouthful of blood--both his and not his.

Michael steeled himself. There was no other choice. He stepped forward and flared his power, driving the demons away with the sheer overwhelming brightness of his being. He threw his arms to the side and extended his blade, drawing a circle with it through the air.

"Gate," he said, his voice bright and powerful, no matter how greatly it pained him to remain such. Around him, the demons' eyes grew wide. They recognized what was coming.

"Of," he continued, struggling to hold on against the power he was attempting to unleash. His body shook violently, and he forced it to comply. The demons turned and scrambled away, clawing over one another, fighting for space.

"Desti--"

"Mikey! MOVE!" Samael shouted.

Michael glanced up just in time to see the massive form bellowing down from above. He ceased his attack and leaped to the side just as a pair of herculean fists crashing into the spot he was just moments before. The blow shattered the half-formed Gate of Destiny and split the ground, heaving up chucks of rock. The second blow came an instant later, and the demon swung an enormous backhand that cracked Michael across the face and sent him flying.

"Belphegor," Samael hissed, drawing his black-bladed swords. The hulking Demon Lord let out a low, growling laugh.

"Ah, Peacemakers," Belphegor boomed. He spread his wings wide and stepped forward. The demons parted for him. They didn't attack, merely circling silently. "It's been so long. How do you like our work?" He gestured to the world around him.

"Not a big fan of the redecoration," Samael snapped. He whipped his blades and prepared to charge. "There were some really nice places to get drunk."

Samael sprinted forward, but Belphegor met his charge and buried his fist in Samael's gut. It stopped the fallen angel's charge abruptly, pulverizing a half-dozen of his internal organs and jettisoning a spurt of blood from his open mouth. The Demon Lord barreled past him, plowing into the Peacemakers' formation and trampling over them.

Some of the other Peacemakers managed to rebuff his charge, firing their attacks and pushing him back. But that only served to slow him down. He let out a roar, billowing hellfire from his mouth. It swathed the Peacemakers and sent them tumbling back.

"Get up," Bedivere urged. He struggled to his knees. "Form ranks again! We can fight him off."

"Unlikely, little knight," Belphegor sneered. He raised his foot and drove it into Bedivere's chest, throwing him over the ground.

There was a cry of rage--for vengeance--and Celia shot through the air, her blades held high. She never made it to the Demon Lord. His wing snap-extended and struck her in midair. Belphegor had her in his hands before she even hit the ground. He hoisted her high by her wings, and held her aloft, laughing.

The sky rumbled, a sound so low and loud that it completely drowned out the screeching and the howling of the hundreds of demons all around the Peacemakers. Belphegor looked back, scowling. The black host quieted, circling silently, and much more slowly. Michael, struggling to his feet, still couldn't see anything beyond the swarming mass of black wings. There were simply too many of them. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the reprieve.

Then came the light. Like fire, like sunlight, piercing through the writhing mass of demons. A column of fire speared through the Black Host, immolating all too slow to escape its path. The demons scattered to the skies. Belphegor whipped away and rose out of the fire's trajectory. The sky cracked, split wide open, as lightning flashed and lanced through the fleeing demons.

Belphegor growled low as two streaks of light cut through the sky, breaking through the ranks of demons. The fiery red trail struck the Demon Lord like a comet, driving a fist into Belphegor's snarling face. The demon tumbled from the sky, dropping Celia, and the fiery thing seared down after him. The other streak--flaring white--and scooped Celia up before she hit the ground. The fiery meteor drove Belphegor into the earth, and flame exploded into the air.

"Lord Thor," Celia groaned, she straightened and stood. The white-hot form that had caught her calmed and the blazing aura around it faded to reveal the white-armored Imperialdramon. Thor. King of Asgard. "I--I just--"

"You did well," Thor said. He clenched his fist, glancing out of the corner of his eye to where Svarog clashed with Belphegor, now in the sky. "We'll take it from here."

\=\=/=/

"You," Belphegor snarled angrily.

"Yes. Us," smirked fiery Svarog. "What, you thought you were the only ones to feel the Inferno breaking open?"

"Force them back," said Thor, with a voice that rumbled like summer thunder, as he rose into the sky. "Cover the others' retreat."

Svarog sneered and lit with flame. "Fine. You deal with the gnats," he said, turning a baleful eye towards the Demon Lord. "I'll deal with dogface."

"Very well," Thor said. He moved back, spreading his wings. His body crackled with electricity. "But do so on the ground."

"Oh?"

"I don't want you getting singed up here," smirked the thunderer.

Svarog let out a bellowing laugh, then flashed forward, driving his fiery fist into Belphegor's face. He slammed into the Demon Lord and crashed with him into the ground. In the sky above, Thor drew his arms and legs towards his chest, pooling his might. Then, with a roar, he let it loose. Lightning and power flashed, atomizing demons in all directions, and clearing the way for the Peacemakers.

"Agent C.C.," Thor acknowledged, dropping from the sky to stand by the Peacemakers. "Lead them to the Tree. Svarog and I will cover your escape."

"Thor," Michael said. He was at a loss for words. The Imperialdramon seemed so much older--wearier--than he had mere hours before. But, Michael remembered, for Thor it hadn't been hours. It had been months of warfare. And even ageless gods grew old in times such as those.

"We'll speak later," Thor said. He turned to Celia--C.C. "Go now. We don't have much time until the rest of them show."

"Yes, my Lord," Celia said with a bow. For Michael, to see an angel of the Host bowing to the Lord of Asgard was a strange thing indeed.

Not a hundred yards away, Svarog--god of the sun and fire and war; son of Praamzius the last king of Svarga--clashed with the Demon Lord of sloth. Svarog's power was great, his knowledge of combat unequaled; but the Demon Lord was stronger than any other digimon that had ever lived. A monster, in all sense of the word.

"I grow tired of you, little god," Belphegor snarled, lifting Svarog and crushing him to the ground. A lesser being--if he hadn't crumbled under the blow--would have submitted then and there. But Svarog was above such pitiful things as submission, as surrender and death. "I will grind your bones to dust."

Svarog twisted, bunching up his legs and hurling Belphegor from him. "You are not the first to make such a claim," the sun-god growled. His fists lit with flame. "And you are far from the most terrifying." He landed a dazzling blow to the Demon Lord's jaw, one that sent fire and liquid light splashing out and set the air aflame.

Belphegor retaliated with a similar strike, one that threatened to knock Svarog's head clean from his shoulders. But the war-god held his ground, took the blow, and continued the fight. He was no stranger to these battles. He knew every move in the Demon Lord's arsenal. He knew exactly how to minimize the damage, how to endure the pain. He'd learned over months of battle with his demonic opponents. It was a hard-won tactic.

The two combatants locked hands and strained against one another. Power built in the air between them. Svarog felt himself being pushed back, his heels grinding into the dirt and rock. Belphegor had better leverage. He was bigger; taller, wider, and stronger. He wanted nothing more than to bend Svarog's knee and beat him into the ground.

Svarog refused. Not because of any misguided notion that he could defeat the Demon Lord in a contest of pure strength alone. But for the simple fact that this contest of strength was all Belphegor knew. All he cared for. All he paid attention to. It was exactly where they wanted him.

He came from the sky, swathed in lightning and power, cracking with the very weight of the heavens. The White Sword coalesced between his fingers and with a roar, Thor brought the blade down. It sliced through Belphegor's arm, severing it completely. The Demon Lord cried out, and Svarog silenced him with a burning fist.

"That's twice you've taken this arm, Odinson!" Belphegor snarled, grasping at the stump. The severed limb twitched on the ground before erupting into data and flowing back into Belphegor's wound.

"I'll stop when I've taken your head," Thor spat. Energy crackled around the length of the blade as he charged again, not waiting for the Demon Lord's arm to regenerate.

Belphegor raised his energy claws on his remaining arm and they clashed against the thundering might of the White Sword. But it was a half-hearted endeavor. He knew full-well the overwhelming power of the blade; there were perhaps four other relics in all existence that could withstand its might. The energy claws barely slowed the blade, shattering--crumpling--under the pressure of the strike.

The backlash of power sent Belphegor stumbling back, but he recovered quickly. He bellowed, but his cry was drowned out by Svarog's angry roar, and the deafening howl of the fires he unleashed. The Demon Lord was swept away in the conflagration, failing even as his arm began to regenerate.

The two gods pressed their advantage. Thor extended his arm and called the White Sword to life. He pointed it towards Belphegor as power gathered within the blade. Beside him Svarog called upon the fires of his soul. God-flame pooled in the orb on his back and flowed through his arms into his hands. Then he and Thor let their power fly, driving their godly energies into the Demon Lord.

It was too much for Belphegor, and he faltered under the gods' unrelenting assault. Thor wasted no time and charged, slashing with his blade. But Belphegor let loose a jet of hellfire from his mouth and pushed the god back. Thor retaliated; dissipating the flames with a stroke of his sword before hurling the mighty weapon at his adversary. It dissolved into pure lightning and cracked the air before lodging itself in Belphegor's chest and hurling him back. Thor let out a roar as he charged forward.

But Svarog grabbed him.

"We must go," the sun god advised, glaring angrily at the fallen demon. He was already beginning to regenerate. "Dogface and his ilk are roaches. We don't have the time to--"

"We have all the time in the world," Thor countered, snapping. "There is only this time. Only the now. This is all that matters. It must end."

"Look at them!" Svarog growled, throwing his arm towards the Peacemakers. "They won't survive a drawn-out battle. Not the one you're willing to fight. Not the one that summons more Demon Lords and more of the Black Host. You and I have fought that battle. And we can't win it alone."

Thor glared at his compatriot, but the sun-god held his gaze. "The demons are already coming back," Svarog rumbled.

Thor scoffed and relented. "Clear a path for them," he said, glancing towards the Peacemakers.

"You cannot stay," Svarog insisted.

"It was not a request, Svarog," Thor bristled. He fixed his glare on the fallen Belphgor, his sword still embedded in the Demon Lord's gut. "Clear a path."

Svarog growled and turned away, alighting with flame to burn a path through the demons and break an opening for the Peacemakers to escape; to return to the Tree. Thor frowned; they'd been so close. Battles with the Demon Lords were long, drawn-out, arduous affairs. Their regenerative abilities were almost unparalleled. Whatever power source they drew from was tremendous. But he and Svarog had come so close this time.

"Soon," he muttered a vow, as much to Belphegor as to himself. He raised his hand and called the White Sword back. It ripped from the Demon Lord's gut and flashed through the air into his fingers. Thor turned away.

And Belphegor, coughing blood, with a stump for an arm and a hole in his torso...laughed. As if to mock him. As if to say 'Pitiful Odinson. He couldn't protect this world. As hard as he tried. No matter what he swore to its people; he failed them. Thor the failure, the pale shadow of his father's legacy.'

Thor's hand grip tightened around the White Sword. He felt that rage bubble forth. He'd been known for that undeniable rage in his youth. His pride and arrogance and rage. But he'd grown. He'd forced himself to have control over it; to be worthy of his father's power. But these demons had a way of burrowing under his skin and sending that rage rumbling up like thunder.

Power flashed and Thor wheeled around, sword held high, held alight.

"Omni Sword!" he roared, swinging the blade in a wide arc. The air split and cracked and burned as unbridled power exploded from its curve. It poured over Belphegor and atomized each and every demon that had been foolish enough to fly down and pick him from the dirt.

Thor didn't wait to see the damage he'd wrought. He already knew it wouldn't be enough. It never was. Instead he spread his wings and flew up to join Svarog and the Peacemakers as they made their retreat back to the Virus Busters camp by the Tree of Hadrael.

\=\=/=/

Hadrael's Tree - the Resistance camp
Home of the Virus Busters

He'd been called many things throughout his long life. "Boy" was the first. Then came "weakling," "grunt," and then "soldier." That had all been before he'd drank from the cup Odin offered so long ago. After that it had been "your lordship," and "Sir Fengxian," and "Royal Knight." Those had been his names for so very long. Nearly 800 years. But then Artorius had to go and shove that Grade Alpha up his ***. They butted heads over everything. Quite literally everything. Until he couldn't take it anymore and left, renouncing his title as a Royal Knight.

He'd taken to calling himself "Lu Bu" after that. "Boss," they called him now.

There was also the more distressing name: "the last Royal Knight." It implied that Sir Hector was dead. And indeed he might have been. But Lu Bu knew better to discount the red-mantled dragon knight so quickly.

"Oi, where's that idiot dragon?" he shouted over the din of the camp. "Proto should be back by now."

"I had him scouting other areas," Galic said, standing by the former knight. "My reconnaissance teams have been sent out to relieve him."

"But he ain't back yet," Lu Bu said. He crossed his arms. "What's the use of fighters that don't listen, eh?"

"Proto has his own strengths," Galic countered. "We do not require blind loyalty."

"Don't patronize me, Doggie," Lu Bu quipped, using his nickname. He meant no offense by it. "I need my fighters to listen. Isn't that right, boys?" He glanced behind him to his two most trusted fighters: a BanchoMamemon and a BanchoLeomon.

Galic rolled his eyes, much to Lu Bu's amusement.

 

[Griff4815]

The Peacemakers had been forced back once again. The legion of demons and the surprise appearance of Belphegor was too much for them in that state, even with the aid of Thor and Svarog.

Tiwaz looked over his armoured shoulder bitterly. It made him sick to retreat. It was against his very nature. He knew that it was the right choice given the odds and their current state, but it still felt like it was an admission of failure or cowardice.

He had fought tooth and claw against that swarm of demons. He had lashed out with every weapon in his arsenal. The Warrior of Flames had nearly exhausted his energy supply in unleashing an inferno onto the demons. The feathers of his fiery wings were ruffled and matted with blood - both his own and that of demons - which boiled as it evaporated in the embers. His heavy plate armour was sizzling hot and his blonde hair was thick with muck and sweat. Tiwaz's mouth and nostrils leaked smoke and the cannons on his back wafted up ripples of heat from their red hot muzzles. The great salamander had pushed himself to the very limit.

Nevertheless, he beat his sore wings against the thick, noxious air. They were tired... nearly too tired to carry Tiwaz's exhausted body. However, Tiwaz forced himself to fly proudly. He refused to walk. He refused to trudge away from a battle, plodding through the mud with a head bowed in shame. If he had to retreat, he would retain his dignity, despite the pain it caused his wings.

He had been angry during that battle. Incensed, livid, seething at the traumas and wounds that had been agitated during his time in the Inferno. He didn't mind taking his anger out on the swarms of demons that attacked them. But now, he was too tired to be angry. His emotions were on a lazy simmer.

Tiwaz looked around at their ranks. They all looked tired. He noticed a Cyberdramon who appeared during the demon attack. He recalled nearly roasting the Digimon before realizing that he wasn't one of the demons, although he had sure looked like one at first glance. Celia seemed to know who he was. He just assumed he was part of the resistance group that she had mentioned.

He craned his stiff neck in the opposite direction, causing a few bones to pop as he looked into the sky. The fire god saw Thor and Svarog flying together. He could hardly believe that it had been six months, but the wear and tear on the two gods was proof enough. That battle-haggard, weakened state reminded him of the battle against the Milleniummon all those years ago. Tiwaz could only hope that this situation wouldn't be nearly that terrible...

His eyes lingered on Azur's form as he tried to rid the memories that came to light from that battle. He and Fenrir hadn't spoken since their argument before entering the Inferno. It seemed so long ago now. He couldn't even really remember what it was about in that moment. He was too exhausted. Tiwaz couldn't help but wonder what Fenrir saw while he was in there.

A soft growl escaped his lips. Tiwaz flapped his wings and joined Thor and Svarog.

"Six months..." he spoke, looking at the fellow two gods. "Exactly how bad is it, then, eh? How much has changed?" He looked around at the scorched earth. "Apart from the obvious..."

-

Kheprius flew alongside Pyra. Demon blood drenched his Gran Killers and went all the way up to his elbows. His razor sharp forceps dripped crimson as well.

"Can't say I'm happy to see that Belphegor guy again," Kheprius spat, speaking over his buzzing wings.

"We all made it out alive," Pyra spoke. "That's good enough for me."

"You've got pretty low standards, Pyra," Khep quipped.

"Given the circumstances, I don't think I do..." she replied, sighing. "We faced that Demon Lord twice in less than a day, not the mention the other six, and not to mention that massive battle before we entered the Inferno."

"Yeah, I guess..." Kheprius muttered, remembering back to that battle where he had faced Nebiros and Sabnock. "This is frickin' great. Things keep going from bad to worse."

He flew ahead of Pyra and met pace with Samael. "Sammy, please," he said, flying beside him. "Tell me you have a hidden cache of booze around here somewhere. If I've ever needed to get drunk off my ***, it's now, and I don't know how many bars, pubs, taverns, alehouses, or even breweries are left standing."

Meanwhile, Pyra flew down and landed beside Azur, taking the weight off her wings for a few minutes. "Are you alright?" she asked him, looking the wolfman over for injuries. She knew he was reckless, but she wasn't sure if it had gotten the better of him during that last fight. She had also noticed in her peripheral vision that he seemed to be sticking close to her during the fight, but she didn't think much of it since all of the Peacemakers had huddled into a circle for defensive tactics.

-

Gunnar soared alongside Barachiel, who, in turn, was close to Caradoc, Guinier, and Bedivere.

"How're you holdin' up, Barry?" Gunnar asked the TigerVespamon with a weak grin on his face.

"Stiff... sore... thank you. However, I am better than you are, it seems," he replied, looking over at Gunnar. "You're bleeding."

Gunnar shrugged dismissively. "We're all bleeding," he offhandedly said.

"I guess you're right..." Barachiel conceded. He looked over at Caradoc. "I heard what Samael said to you before the attack. Don't give him too much heed... You know how... abrasive he can be."

He turned his crimson, compound eyes away from Caradoc. "So much has changed, hasn't it? So much destruction since this all began..."

Gunnar overheard Barachiel's wistful words and began to fly away from him. He was already having a hard time keeping up his sunny, confident disposition. The inferno was incredibly rough on him, as he was sure it had been for the rest of the Peacemakers as well. The things he saw in the Wrath circle especially made his scales crawl.

Not wanting to think about it, he flew over to Justin. He would have gone to speak with Tyr, but the VictoryGreymon's body was currently still occupied by Tiwaz, so he couldn't. He didn't mind speaking with the Justimon, though. He was fun to tease and compete against.

"Hey, Scarf Man," he greeted with a confident grin. "How many pit spawn did you manage to kill back there?" His grin faltered a bit. Suddenly the term 'pit spawn' left a particularly bitter taste on his tongue.

 

[Tundra_Wolfmane]

The fight might have only been thirty minutes. Nay, perhaps even twenty. But for Azur, it felt like hours. Hours of dodging black claws and bloodied fangs, of punching every single ugly, bizarre demonic face In front of him into sparse data, of making sure that none could even think of trying to get past him into their defensive circle and towards the Paildramon that had been nearby.

He had already begun to revert back to his original fighting style, of instinct and reflex, if only because the only thing keeping him moving was the adrenaline that usually fueled such tactics. Even Fenrir, usually the calm observer in Azur’s mind, could not keep up with the large amassment of demons that replaced each other again and again in order to give Azur guidance.

The god of light was loathe to do only that, but there was not much else he could do. His own mind was tired and overstretched. And Azur’s body would have still been in the same state regardless of who controlled it. Rather, it would have been in a much worse one if he had expended any much needed energy to digivolve into AncientGarurumon, the only form that Fenrir could control.

So it was with great relief, perhaps an indignant and humiliated one in the younger and much more stubborn wolfman’s opinion, when a path for retreat was made.

If it kept them alive for one more day, then any retreat was welcome, or so Fenrir had thought in Azur’s mind.

Though what a day to be alive that it was. Azur was living in a world overrun by demons and their ilk. He couldn’t imagine it; how could he? His travels with Galic and Dunkelheit brought him all over the world, and it was far too difficult for him to imagine that the places and people he’d seen over the years, something of such great magnitude, to simply be…destroyed.

The thought only provoked a memory that wasn’t his own, and he felt Fenrir’s mind withdraw.

Azur shook his head as he dragged his battered feet forward. He needed sleep. Badly. He already pushed his body past its limits a long time ago. He felt like his body, already fresh with new, bright red wounds along with the old, would fall under its own weight in any second.

“Are you alright?”

The sound of her voice was like a refreshing stream for his parched throat. It calmed him and gave him energy all at the same time. It gave him a bit more vitality to walk with, at the very least. He could keep on walking if it could keep the tone of worry from her voice.

Was that what love was?

“Ah,” Azur spoke with a tired rasp. He frowned a bit; he was supposed to say he was fine. He gave her a small glance, swallowed saliva to wet his throat, and nodded instead. He felt like falling right then and there, but Pyra didn’t need to know that. “You?” he asked, looking her over.

He could see gashes and bruises on her body, and it made him grimace. It wasn’t like anyone else in their group was doing any better, but it always made him feel worse to see them on Pyra. He kept it to himself, though, knowing that she wouldn’t react positively to his thoughts.

-

Aeria flew despite her exhaustion and pain. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind against her face as she traversed the winds and skies of their world once more.

Even though it wasn’t quite the same, even if the world had been infested with the demons, the feeling of the air around her was comforting. It caressed her body softly, reminding her of times of peace and serenity.

She had to keep reminding herself that that was what she was fighting for with the Peacemakers, even though it felt so far away now.

The WarGreymon opened her eyes and looked at her companions, looking to see if any of them needed any help getting to their next destination. With the help of her Gaia Force, she had kept most of the demons on her side at bay, which also meant that she fared a bit better than the other Peacemakers.

The closest one to her was Michael, and she remembered how he had tried to muster energy to perform one of his powerful attacks before getting attacked by Belphegor. Her body shuddered at the memory of the Belphemon’s strength, but she quickly willed it away and hovered to the angel’s side.

“Do you need any help, Michael?” she asked him with a tone of worry. She didn’t really know what she could do, but asking at least gave her options, if any.

 

[Hotshot]

Anxiety coursed through Gigas like an electrical current as his wings beat rapidly to keep him and most of the flightless Peacemakers in the air. He had wanted--needed--to ask Thor or Svarog if his wife was okay. If she was safe. But he hadn't had the chance. He would find out soon, he imagined, as they approached Hadrael's Tree. He couldn't believe it had been so long since they left. The last time he'd spoken with Ivy, she had told him he would be a father. His fears doubled as he recalled the conversation which had happened only hours before in his mind. If she hadn't survived the onslaught of demons, then his unborn child would have died as well.

The thought was almost too much to bear.

"Gig," muttered Nocchi, who sat on Gigas' head, body tied to one of the HerculesKabuterimon's horns like a safety belt. "Don't worry about Ivy. If there's any woman spunky or smart enough to keep her an' yer kid safe from hell-scum, it's her."

Gigas nodded slightly.

"Nyaaahh!" the Puppetmon squealed with the shake. "Don't do that! I'm gonna be airsick! I'll be chuckin' wood chips all over yer head!"

Sha, leaning against another of the huge bug's horns, chimed in, "You could get barf-splinters, brah. Not fun. Cha-haw."

Nocchi glared at the frog-man, but his glare quickly turned to a surprised look. He hadn't noticed it in the chaos of the attack and their hasty retreat, nor in their emergence from the Inferno just before, but Sha's coloring had changed. Not only had his armor changed from white and green to dark blue and silver, but his hair had whitened.

"Sha. What the heck happened to you."

Sha shrugged, and looked at Nocchi with his revealed red eye--something he didn't normally do. "It's called Sagomon. I used to look like this before I joined a, well, a really special friend on a journey. But that was a long time ago."

The Sagomon looked toward the Tree as they neared it. "I guess the Inferno brought it back out of me. I'll probably revert back to normal soon."

"I hope," he mentally added, with a cringe.

"Well, I hope so," Nocchi replied. "'Cuz it's freakin' weird."

 

[niedude]

OOC: In the process of cleaning out my computer before formatting it clean, so forgive me for not posting this sooner. I kinda rushed it a bit as well, since I have to get the formatting done today if I don't want to be even further held back. Also, I kinda took some liberty in forming some vague backstory between Proto and two of the Resistance's prominent figures. If any of what I wrote conflicts with established personalities, or just about any other complaint, I can edit it out withhout a hassle ^^

Proto, Chaos Born

It could not be, but indeed it was.
The Peacemakers had, indeed, emerged from the claws of hell itself, and Proto had been there to witness it firsthand. It was a tremendous honor as well as a hope spot, but any glimmer of faith was shortlived. The dire situation in which the army of fighters found itself was, truth be told, pitiful. Proto had spotted Mega Level Digimon barely able to stand upright (or on their paws, whichever the case it may be) and many, many wounded.

The oncoming storm of demons was bound to be too much for them. Amongst the slicing of throats and the piercing of hearts, Proto could make out bits and pieces of conversations here and there, allowing it to piece together what little was possible. So the digimon learnt of the divergent span of time between planes, of the fights between several of the Demon Lords themselves and many other tidbits which might prove useful.

The Devidramon form Proto currently was using was being pushed to its limitations. Proto had entertained the idea of sliding into Tankdramon; the added firepower would surely help, yet there was no way to control friendly fire in this scenario and Proto desperately needed the added mobility of being a Cyberdramon to avoid the swarms of demons clawing at it.

Yet even in this stage, it was only a matter of time until Proto was unable to keep up. The others were already unable to fight. A long battle would not be fortuitous and should be, at all costs, avoided. With that in mind, Proto attempted to find the closest thing to an authority figure it could see and sounded its advice:

“The condition of the Peacemakers’ army ensures this confrontation has abysmally low chances of success and equally unappealing chances of survival by the mass populace; immediate retreat accompanied by whatever means of distraction we possess is the best course of action pursuable. Additiona-“

A crash, a crackle, a tempest. The sky split open; for the first time the demons began scurrying in what appeared to be fear. They knew what had just arrived: the almighty deity Thor Odinson, apparently accompanied by the equally well-known Svarog.

From then on, it was sheer chaos. Proto struggled to survive the oncoming battle between the god and the Demon of Sloth that appeared as well, but it’s last advice still seemed to be the best course of action: retreat and fight another day.

Odinson seemed relunctant to miss this opportunity to strike a decisive blow, and indeed, it would benefit the effort greatly. But the warnings of a prolonged fight and the possible appearance of other Demon Lords, in Proto’s mind, outweight the pros of risking an army to strike down one of this hydra’s seven heads.

So they fled back to Hadrael’s Tree, where the Resistance and the Virus Busters were held up.

Truth be told, Proto never really had any intention to join any particular faction. The digimon merely did so to gain an advantage: after all, the faction’s resources and intelligence would surely combine greatly with its own expertise in combat and stealth. Proto figured it’d be a great addition to the cause, and that both it and the Resistance would come out winners.

Proto wasn’t so sure now. One benefit of joining was Proto began to discover how it related to other sentient individuals, both in social occasions and more formal ones. It discovered that social interaction wasn’t something it craved in any particular fashion, though Proto certainly didn’t dislike it. However, social structure and hierarchy, on the other hand, Proto completely despised. Generals and officials and grunts, each one stepping over the other simply due to rank: a thing many seemed to think created legitimacy, but that Proto simply thought of as oppressive and redundant at best.

Structure had its uses; that much Proto could see. But filing and compiling digimon as if they were nothing more than names – the rank and file – was atrocious. And paying respect to someone simply because they bear a title was equally as malicious. The generals that used that power to secure themselves a position of forced respect, especially, got from Proto nothing than contempt and animosity. A true leader, Proto reckoned, gains followers simply by his or her actions. It is their example that rallies armies and creates admiration. A true leader, a true hero, needs not be rewarded with rank.

It was this reason why Lu Bu and Proto always seemed to clash. Lu Bu was often abrasive, and Proto often heard him call it “idiot dragon”, among other insults. Proto realized such language was common in a military setting, but that did nothing to appease it’s anger at the treatment.
The constant supervision and attempts to recruit Proto into team assignments certainly didn’t help. On more than one occasion, Lu Bu’s morals contrasted with Proto’s so much, Proto had decided to quit the Resistance for good.

Luckily, there was a more calming presence in the resistence: that of Galic.
Though Proto had yet to form any sort of bonds with anyone in the resistance, the digimon sensed a sort of understanding from Galic. Luckily, Galic had no qualms sending Proto on solo missions, which made its stay with the Resistance that much bearable.

 

[Kamotz]

Michael Ha'Yisrael
Hadrael's Tree - the Resistance camp
Home of the Virus Busters

Michael had heard them call the tree "Hadrael's," but it very well could have been called "Michael's." It was the tree he'd brought forth from the desecrated ruins of Hadrael's small mission. He'd imbued the unhallowed grounds with all his Grace, and pure Creation grew from what had been corrupted by a demon's design.

The tree still stood. Against all the twisted horrors the world had become, the tree was still standing; a beacon, a power that remained against all the darkness the Demon Lords had brought to bear.

Their arrival set the camp stirring. The Peacemakers, returned. Michael sorely wished they were a more hopeful-looking sight. As it were, they were haggard and bloody, barely able to stand. They were probably supposed to be the best hope for the world. But he didn't feel like any sort of savior. He was barely able to feel his wings.

Almost as soon as they landed at the edge of the camp, they were confronted by a group of what Michael could only assume were the leaders of the Resistance. He recognized Galic, though he almost flinched at the sight of what had befallen his former comrade. Also there was a digimon he hadn't seen in decades. The "Lost Knight" Sir Fengxian. Lu Bu. He'd survived.

The questions began pouring out: "How did this happen?" "Were is Ivy?" "What happened to everyone else?" "Where is Ivy?" "How bad is it?"

"WHERE. IS. IVY?"

Gigas, the ever-booming.

"Here," Thor answered the enormous insect. "Somewhere here, at least." He glanced out of the corner of his eye, sweeping his gaze across the camp. "She cares for the wounded and the dying. I've done my best to--"

But Gigas was no longer listening.

"Is this it?" Bedivere asked, looking over the camp, silently scrutinizing each of the ragtag (and not-so-ragtag) fighters and soldiers. "Is this...everyone?"

"Some are out on patrol," Galic said. He was refusing to make eye contact, as if he was ashamed. How could that be? How could he be ashamed of giving so much for the cause? Or, Michael wondered, was he just projecting his own insecurities and fears. "We try and search for survivors, for refugees escaping the Mountain's zone of influence. There aren't many, but--"

"Is this all you have?" Bedivere asked, more forcefully this time. "Where are the armies? The Greymon Corps? The Nomads? Where--"

"Where is the Host?" Michael cut in, his voice low. Celia he'd seen. She was obviously a Host soldier. But there was no one else. Not a single angel.

"They left us," Celia spat, scowling. "They abandoned us. As soon as Lucifer rose they tucked tail and ran. Sealed off Paradise."

"No," Michael said firmly, disbelievingly. "I can't believe that."

"Try," Svarog growled. "I don't know what kind of obscene strategies you angels have, but this is far from anything I would subject my allies to."

"They left me--and others--behind," Celia said. Michael could see the rage in her eyes. The betrayal. "Many others. All of us low-ranking. Soldiers. None of their vaunted archangels or saints. And most of us...the Nightmare Soldiers target us first."

"It shouldn't be possible," Michael said, frowning angrily. "One cannot keep an angel out of heaven. It simply cannot be done."

"Well it has been," Celia countered.

"Then something needs to be done," Michael said firmly. He stood straighter, but almost crumpled under the weight of his injuries. "We will go to Heaven. And we will demand answers."

"Didn't you hear, Michael, you can't," Lu Bu said. He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "They must've hit you harder than I thought."

"Maybe Heaven has found a way to bar an angel's path," Michael said, his voice steely. "Maybe they were afraid. Maybe they were hoping the demons would not be able to breach their barrier either. Maybe they fell to cowardice. I don't know. But if you think anyone can stop the Hand of God from returning to Paradise..."

Lu Bu scoffed. "Your angel friends don't--"

"Get rest," Thor ordered. Lu Bu was silent; every other digimon was silent, waiting for the thunderer's next command. It surprised Michael to see just how powerful Thor's presence had become. "C.C., show them to the barracks. Give them whatever food and water we can spare. Ivy will see they receive medical attention."

"Yes, My Lord," Celia said. She didn't bow, but rather straightened her neck and gazed reverently upon the king of exiled Asgard. Now Michael understood why. When the angels of Heaven had abandoned her, it had been Thor and Svarog--the gods she'd been taught to be repulsed by--that took her in, that stood beside her, and continued the fight. Michael understood her devotion.

"Svarog. Galic. Lu Bu. We'll coordinate our next steps," Thor continued. "I want patrols brought in and our defensive lines tightened."

"Will you two be rejoining the Peacemakers?" Lu Bu asked. "Leave the rest of us?"

"I am going to seek answers from the Host," Thor said, glaring at the former Royal Knight. "On behalf of every digimon that they abandoned."

"It's not as if either of us issue many commands, after all," Svarog joined with a grin. "We fight the Demon Lords and whatever big monsters they send our way. Soldiers and tactics have always been under your direct command." He nodded to Lu Bu and Galic. He smirked. "Unless you want to switch places with us."

"And deal to those over-winged cowards?" Lu Bu scoffed. He threw his hands up in frustration. "I'd rather fight in the dirt than beg in Paradise."

"Good," Thor said, smiling sadly. "Because it doesn't suit you."

 

[Kamotz]

Michael Ha'Yisrael
Virus Busters camp
Combat Support Hospital

Michael stumbled into the field hospital, leading the Peacemakers behind Celia--C.C., Thor had called her. He could barely stand. He could barely think. He could barely feel. He was still reeling; from their agonizing emergence from the Inferno; from the revelation that six months had passed; from the pain of battle. Belphegor was strong. Monstrously so. He'd only been struck like that once before. When Amatsu-Mikaboshi blasted him at point blank range.

And Belphegor had done it casually. A glancing blow with a backhand. He'd pulverized Samael with a direct strike; the fallen angel was still coughing up blood as his internal organs stitched themselves together. All things considered, it was lucky that he'd hit only Samael like that. No one else could've take that punishment and healed so quickly.

Samael coughed and spat blood. His eyes narrowed and he snarled angrily at the empty space between him and the floor.

"You heal faster than most," came a soft voice. A Kuzuhamon, dressed in a white haori and black hakama, stepped forward. Beside her was a Sakuyamon, similarly dressed, except in red rather than black. "Lord Thor and Lord Svarog were similarly inconvenienced the first several times they clashed with Belphegor."

"'Inconvenienced'?" Samael hissed, coughing blood through his incredulity. "You call this—arg!" He curled up under the severity of his injuries.

"Yes, 'inconvenienced,'" said the Sakuyamon. She glanced from Samael to more of the wounded laying on cots and blankets further along the building. "Most do not rise after being struck by a Demon Lord. Commander Galic lay comatose for an entire week. He lost...much."

The Peacemakers remained silent; the stark reality of the new world had be made apparent when they'd seen Galic's injuries. It was a sober reminder of the battles ahead. Not even they were safe.

"I'm clearly just that much tougher than anyone else," Samael said, attempting his usual snarking, condescending humor.

No one laughed.

"You said 'the first times'," Michael pointed out, trying to find the glimmer of hope in her words. He was not one for moroseness and head-hanging. He needed strategy. "Something changed, then. Something must have. Svarog fought him today. Matched him blow for blow."

"Thor and Svarog are gods," Bedivere muttered low, more to himself than anyone else, it seemed. "Maybe that's why?"

"Gods tried before," Michael said, remembering back. "The first time. Before the Seals were constructed; before I shunted Lucifer through the Gate. Gods tried. And they died just like the rest."

"Maybe they found something to help them in battle?" Caradoc questioned. He rubbed his chin. "Some sort of secret power?"

"If Thor and Svarog knew how to reduce the Demon Lords' advantage, they would not keep it to themselves," Michael insisted. That much he knew. They were not ones to hold strategies and powers for themselves when the world was at stake.

"It's Lord Thor, and Lord Svarog," Celia said, bristling. "And they paid for that knowledge. Many times over." Michael noticed the way she her breath caught when she said Thor's name. That level of devotion--to see someone with Celia's fire and spark so fully in awe of someone else, so fanatically…

It was love. Complete and utter enthrallment. He had never seen that devotion to any god less than Odin himself before. Not in all his long life. That it was a digimon he considered friend and comrade, was even stranger. It was almost terrifying. Were it anyone but Thor, Michael would be concerned. It would be an easy thing for a digimon--whether mortal or immortal--to twist that devotion--that love--into whatever fleeting needs struck him. To take advantage of it and carry the devoted into torment.

Anyone but Thor.

And even Svarog--from a pantheon whose influence had dwindled to almost nothing--had become revered by the survivors of the world. A war god, fire and rage personified; he was a hero, a savior.

Things had changed so much.

"Oh, please," Samael scoffed, wiping away the blood from his mouth. "Thoreo and ol' Fire-farts...I've made 'em both bleed."

"They spoke higly of you," Celia snapped, moving to confront Samael...a foolish move from an angel if ever there were one. "They spoke of your sacrifice and your cunning. They made no mention of your brute vulgarity."

Caradoc moved to calm her down, but was shrugged away with a curt "off me."

"Which is odd, because those two idiots know me better than that," Samael straightened and sneered. Michael frowned, he was baiting her. As he always did. He just couldn't help it when it came to angels.

Celia reached for her sword, and the entire room sprang to attention. All their years of battle-hardened reflexes kicked in. "You dare!?" Celia roared, drawing it. But with a cry of pain she crumpled to the floor, clutching her back and shoulders. Bedivere and Guinier tried to hold her up, but she pushed them away angrily. Surprisingly, she didn't drop her sword.

"Celia," gasped the Sakuyamon. She and her Kuzuhamon counterpart rushed over to the angel's side and wrapped their arms around Celia's shoulders. She didn't fight them away. Instead she sagged, and almost leaned into their touch. "Erayo. Tamiyo," she half-whimpered.

Slowly and gingerly, with the gentlest of prodding, they helped Celia back to her feet. All the while Michael could feel the alternating waves of healing energies pulsing between the two clerics and flowing through Celia.

"Tsk," Samael sighed, clicking his teeth. "That's really disappoi--GAH!" And Samael, too, dropped to the ground, clutching at his chest and belly. "No. That's cool," he groaned, snarling pain through gritted teeth. "Ignore me. I'm fine. Just had my guts pulverized, that's all."

Michael took Samael's right arm and helped him to his feet. He noticed Kheprius on Samael's other side but before he could say anything, the one-eyed insect just shrugged and brushed off his concern. So he said nothing, figuring Kheprius would prefer it that way.

Celia sighed, still leaning against the clerics, and gave them a nod. "Erayo," she muttered, motioning to Samael. The Sakuyamon--Erayo--looked to the Kuzuhamon--Tamiyo as if to say 'are you sure?' Tamiyo hesitated for a moment

"Oh would you just go already?" Celia hissed, rolling her eyes. Gone was her stubborn malice and spite.

Tamiyo smiled faintly and nodded. Erayo gave Celia a reassuring touch and then went to tend to the agonized Samael.

"I'll be okay, Tamiyo," Celia said softly. Tamiyo lingered a few moments longer, pulling away more slowly until she was certain Celia could stand on her own, before joining Erayo in healing Samael.

\=\=/=/

Thor Odinson
Virus Busters - High Command

Thor and Svarog had dismissed the rest of the commanders, they'd finally reached a consensus. Not that there was much to discuss. From the moment the two gods felt the Breach reopening, they'd understood what would happen next. They'd planned for it all along. Everyone else had assumed the worst for the Peacemakers. Not them. They'd always known their comrades would return. And they had groomed the Virus Busters commanders to take over in their stead when that happened.

"This changes things," Thor said, staring at the ever-changing projection of Saga. He glared at the Mountain, the terrible place from where the Demon Lords held their stranglehold over the world.

"Not as much as you might think," Svarog countered. "Even if Michael can get us into the Spheres." They never let the others see or hear their disagreements. It was better for morale to see them united on all things. There was never a hierarchy between the two. Neither of them could afford to be seen as the one true face of the Virus Busters, even to the other commanders. So their decisions were always made just between the two of them, when they could discuss things as gods.

"It changes everything, Svarog," Thor insisted. "Regardless of Heaven. Now we have warriors. Powerful ones. Competent ones. Warriors comparable to us."

"Pah," Svarog scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And so what if they are? We've had warriors--strong ones--this whole time. And it has afforded us so very little."

"Not warriors like these."

"We have Galic."

"Who has not been the same since the Mikaboshi," Thor countered.

"We have Lu Bu," Svarog said.

"Who is but one, while the Peacemakers are twenty."

"We have the Bancho, the Chessmon, your Oni warriors, the Greymon Corps."

"None of which are Michael, or Samael, or Bedivere, or Gigas, or Sha, or Tiwaz, or Pyra, or Kheprius, or Nocchi, or Caradoc, or Azur," Thor shot back. "I would take the Peacemakers over any number of warriors from our current forces."

"Is that what you truly believe?" Svarog growled. He dashed his hand through Saga's projection and dissipated it angrily. "Why?"

"We have been fighting for damn-near six months," Thor said, his voice low, but lacking none of its usual force. "Our Virus Busters are tired, they've been run ragged. For the Peacemakers it has been a single day since the Inferno opened and we failed to stop Mephistopheles. They are ready and eager to fight. Once they've recuperated."

"That's my point!" Svarog insisted. He glared at Thor. "They haven't been fighting. They don't know what it's like. They're inexperienced."

"Experience hasn't afforded victory for anyone save you and I, Svarog," Thor said. "None of us had experience. Not against Royal Knights, or chaos gods, or demon tricksters, or Cambion. And yet each time it was the Peacemakers who emerged triumphant."

There was silence for a moment as Svarog stilled. Thor said nothing, allowing his brother god to come to his own conclusions.

\=\=/=/

Samael Cain
Virus Busters - Combat Support Hospital

His whole body ****in' hurt. It wasn't just his torso, but his skull and his limbs, too. Belphegor's blow had sent ripples of force slamming through his whole body. Ligaments split, bone chipped, veins burst. All at once. All with a single blow.

And it ****in' hurt.

And he was supposed to feel bad for that little angel ****? Acting all high and mighty? Telling him--him! Samael. The goddamn Fallen One--to show gratitude, or respect, to Thor and Svarog? Was that chick out of her ever-loving mind? Did she realize who the hell he was? Any other day he'd have snapped her like a twig for talking to him like that. Especially after what he'd been through. Ripped apart and hurled down through the Inferno like a rag doll.

And for what? Nothing. All so Thor and Svarog could let the world go to literal-Hell.

Gratitude his mother****ing ***.

He'd hissed as the two fox-ladies' magic helped his body stitch itself together. He'd have managed on his own without it, but he certainly wouldn't complain. They were already working on the rest of the Peacemakers. The process seemed to drain the patients more than the foxes, because each of them slumped back down and seemed barely able to move.

"How about you two ladies come with me and I'll show you just how much I appreciate the fixin' up?" Samael suggested, leering. "We can put all that mendin' to the test, eh?"

But the two--Tamiyo and Erayo, he'd heard, right?--simply ignored him continued healing the rest of the Peacemakers.

"Watch your tongue, Samael," Celia snapped. "Or I'll have it removed."

"Yeah? You gonna do it yourself," Samael snapped back, baring his fangs. "Because I'd love to see that. No really. I can't wait for you to try." He sneered, but Celia didn't back down. "The minute you step your lily-white *** out of line, I'll..."

The air became unsettlingly still and increasingly heavy, and Samael stopped himself from saying anything else. There was something in the room, a presence, overwhelming. Samael turned slowly, cautiously; calculating the scenario--the number of steps to the door, how quickly he could draw his weapons in his current state.

"What? You'll do what, Samael?" Thor challenged, in a voice that rumbled low. A very clear warning. 'Mine,' Thor was saying, with a force of presence so clear and strong that even Samael didn't dare to challenge it.

Beside the thunder god, Svarog chuckled to himself.

"Tsk. Whatever, Thoreo," Samael muttered. He turned and limped away, and threw himself onto one of the nearby cots. He didn't need to be fighting Thor right then. Not that he was really afraid of the god, at all. He just didn't feel the need to get into a drawn out brawl right there and then.

\=/

Michael watched as Thor forced Samael to stand down. Thor glanced to Erayo and Tamiyo, and finally to C.C. It was a quick glance, just once-over, just to make sure they were okay. He didn't really worry. They could all handle themselves. And with the rest of the Peacemakers there, they were in no real danger. As terrible as Samael made himself out to be, Thor knew he wasn't half as monstrous as the demons he'd been facing the last six months.

"Lord Thor," the three acknowledged, almost in unison. Erayo and Tamiyo bowed deeply while C.C. saluted. It made him distinctly aware of their differences. How they viewed themselves in relation to him. And yet they were all just as devoted to Thor, more so than to Svarog. And it was clear, to Michael at least, just how devoted Thor was to each of them, more so than any of the others he'd met.

"The Peacemakers will heal, my Lord," said Erayo, glancing to the Sakuyamon next to her. "Tamiyo and I have accelerated their natural healing factors. They need rest, but they'll heal."

"And yourselves?" Thor questioned, looking them in the eyes. "Are you holding?"

"It's nothing we aren't accustomed to, my Lord," said Tamiyo. "And there are still many more injured."

"See that they're taken care of, and then attend to yourselves," Thor ordered. Tamiyo and Erayo nodded slowly. "Celia." The Angel's eyes lit. "Svarog and I will see to the Peacemakers accommodations. We've decided on a new course of action. Finish your report with Galic and Lu Bu, and they'll inform you of your next mission."

The three of them bowed/saluted, and made their exit, but Celia stopped.

"Lord Thor, Jarnsaxa reported in earlier today." she said. "There were several more incursions on the northern slopes. She and her Oni turned them back." She hesitated. "I just...I thought you should know that she's okay," she said. "I would want to."

Thor nodded, and they left.

"Will you be joining us?" Michael asked the two gods. He knew Thor and Svarog had declared it their intent, but he was hesitant to make them leave their warriors. The two gods were clearly the focal point for their resistance. Without them...

"Yes," Svarog said, speaking first. "But not without reservations."

"We've fought to hold the line for six months," Thor explained, cautious. "The Virus Busters have--"

"Wait, 'Virus Busters'?" Duo asked suddenly.

"It was Shoon's idea," said Svarog, grumbling. "But it was well-received and brought them hope."

"The Virus Busters need strong leadership," Thor reiterated, steering the conversation back. "We've held them together with little more than force of will. Svarog and I have forged bands and refugees into warriors. We've managed to band the Oni, the remnants of the Chess Kingdom, the Bancho, and the Greymon Corps into something powerful. That kind of organization took blood and sweat and carefully-forged alliances."

"Galic and Lu Bu cannot maintain this alone," said Svarog.

"What can I do to help?" asked Bedivere, stepping forward. He was met with incredulous stares. "I've been...obsessed, and I need to stop. I've lashed out at you all. And none of you deserved it." He looked sadly to Caradoc and Guinier. "Most of all, I haven't been the leader you needed me to be. I didn't defer to the wisdom of those who knew better." He glanced at Michael. "And rested too much on my name and laurels. All the same. I think...I think that's what these 'Virus Busters' need. Someone who can be who I was. And I think that's who I need to try to be again."

"Then someone needs to be there to set you straight every once in a while," said Guinier, fighting--and failing--to hold back a smirk at her younger brother's reemerging nobility. "And who better to do it than me?"

"Might as well," said Caradoc. He also stepped forward. "It'll be just like old times." He extended his hand towards the dragon knight.

"A lot has happened between us since then," Bedivere said, still hesitant, still not taking Caradoc's hand. Michael said nothing.

"This doesn't change that fact," Caradoc said, not taking his eyes from Bedivere's. He glanced quickly to Guinier, then back to Bedivere before the dragon knight noticed. "All those things still happened. But you and I...us and Guinier...we've always been able to do great things. We still can."

Bedivere smiled, and took Caradoc's hand.

"Plus, Caradoc's still got that demon-deal hanging over his head. He'll probably be a liability," Samael blurted out from his laying-down position on a nearby cot. "So...there's that."

"Yes. Thank you, Samael, for ruining the moment," muttered Gunnar.

 

[Hotshot]

Gigas Kranatos
Virus Busters camp
Combat Support Hospital

Gigas could not be contained. Despite his Inferno-induced injuries--the day-old wounds, bruises, burns, and utter exhaustion--he simply could not bear to be apart from his wife any longer. She was not among the nurses immediately tending to them in the field hospital, and when Gigas asked (quite frantically), he was directed into a back room, where he could hear the sweet--but firm--voice of his beloved wife calling out orders for a half-dozen younger nurses to follow as they treated several wounded.

Gigas stopped at the door, emotion welling up inside him. It wasn't his booming voice, or his thunderous approach, or his enormous shadow that tore Ivy's attention away from her patients.

It was his choked sobs.

The Lilymon couldn't speak. Her heart was so full. Her eyes flooded with tears. She tore across the room and flung herself into Gigas's huge arms. Overcome by joy, Gigas fell to his knees, clinging to her, and wept. To him, it had been a day. To her, six months. But to them both, it had seemed an eternity of worry.

Ivy pulled back a little to look up at him, tears streaming down her face. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it back... They feared you wouldn't. But I just... Just couldn't believe them."

Gigas couldn't help but grin with his huge mouth. "How's the baby?"

"I think he takes after you. Every time he kicks I get thrown across the room."

\=\=/=/

Pinocchio Marion
General Misbehavior

"Nyah! Unhand me!" Nocchi growled, springing off his cot and crumpling to the floor. He rose and, despite the pleas of his nurses, proceeded to limp away. "Look after somebody who needs it! I'm fine!"

"Aw," spoke Sha's familiar voice--peering around the corner. "Lookit that: Nocchi's being thoughtful!"

"Sha! Ya little turd! Where're the others?! And where's my hammer?!"

"They must've put you in the pediatric ward, kiddo," Sha snickered, disappearing back around the corner. "Guess they didn't know you weren't a real boy!"

"What the-- Hey, nurses! Go help Sha!" the Puppetmon shouted, dashing--with much strenuous effort--after the once-Shawjamon/now-Sagomon. "He's not supposed to be that pasty color!"

"I can be whatever color I wanna be!"

"What are you, a Chameleomon?!"

"Maybe! I'll add it to my list!"

 

[Griff4815]

(OOC: Okay. Let me try this third person limited POV post and see if it takes or not.)

Tyr Koenig
Virus Busters camp
Combat Support Hospital

Tyr stood with Gunnar, watching as the Peacemakers (although he wasn't sure if they were still called that or not) talked with each other. He felt a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest as he watched Bedivere begin to make up with Guinier and Caradoc.

Ever since they had all banded together again to take on Mephistopheles, Bedivere had seemed different to him. He seemed angrier and more impatient; Tyr remembered all of the times that he and Tiwaz got into an argument over something. It had been a little bit intimidating having been indirectly yelled at, but Tyr guessed he was used to it from all of his military training.

It made him happy that Bedivere seemed to be showing some signs of his old self, back before the business with the Black Sword and the Chaos Lords. Come to think of it, Tyr had been giddy ever since he came into the camp and heard that the amazing, legendary SIR FENGXIAN was among the resistance's ranks. Only hearing stories about him, Tyr had no idea what had happened to The Lost Knight after the Schism in the Order, but he had always dreamed of meeting them and now he had the chance to!

Even in these dark, depressing times, Tyr couldn't help but see the brighter side of everything. He had been beaten down, dragged through the mud, and broken more times than he could remember in recent history, but there was something about him that always managed to try and focus on the positives despite everything. Tyr supposed it was just in his nature. It wasn't always easy, though.

He looked down at his body. There were bandages covering his bulky muscles and they were kinda itchy. It bothered him a bit, but they were a lot better than the stinging pain from the wounds that Tiwaz received during the nonstop fighting of the past two days. He still didn't understand how the whole time difference thing worked or how it became six months for everybody except the ones that went into the Inferno, but he just hoped that his friends - Sigurd, Dhazbog, and Ulik - were alright. And he also wondered about his dad... if he was still alive...

Tyr closed his eyes. He was going to hold out hope that they were all okay.

"Don't worry, Tyr," Tiwaz's voice echoed in his mind, giving him a warm, reassured feeling. "They mentioned that there were elements of the Greymon Corps here. Perhaps your mates are among them."

Tyr smiled a bit and sat down on a cot, next to Gunnar. "Yeah... Maybe they are. Dhaz was always a good leader. He wouldn't let anything happen to them." He turned to Gunnar. "Hey, Gunnar. Do you think that Dhaz, Sig, Ulik, and the others are here?"

After making his comment to Samael, Gunnar turned to look at Tyr. "Dunno. I sure hope so. We should check once we're done here," he replied. His best friend stood to his feet and looked around at all of the other Peacemakers. He started to frown, as if something wasn't quite right. "Hey, where'd Barry go?" he asked out loud. "And Gigas, Sha and Nocchi aren't here either."

"Terrak went off on his own as soon as we got here," Khep said from his place near Pyra and Azur. He shrugged, like Khep always did when he wanted to make it seem like he didn't care. "Some personal stuff."

"Pardon my lateness," a calm, heavenly voice that Tyr came to associate with Barachiel spoke up. Tyr looked over to the doorway and saw the TigerVespamon gracefully walk in, despite grabbing a stomach wound where one of the demons must have gotten a good hit through his yellow and black shell.

Barachiel unassumingly walked towards one of the empty cots when Tyr noticed something green dashing towards him from behind.

"Uh-" Tyr could only utter before a female Stingmon dressed in doctor scrubs pretty much tackled Barachiel from behind. He soon realized that it was just an overjoyed hug. He had no idea who the Digimon was though. A fan, maybe?

"Gah!" Barachiel uttered, quickly turning around and cringing in pain at the quick movement and the Stingmon's abrupt hug.

"You're alive!" the Stingmon cried out with joy.

"R-Ruki...?" Barachiel asked in surprise, recognizing the Stingmon. His cheeks tinted pink. "I-... Y-You're... okay as well..."

Kheprius turned towards her, seeming to know who she was too. "Ruki?" he asked. His eye widened when she turned to him as well. "The fu-!" Khep found himself getting pulled into the hug as well. "D-Damn it! Ruki! Not in front of everybody!"

Tyr couldn't help but notice the nearby Pyra frown and raise an eyebrow, as if mentally asking who that Ruki girl was.

Ruki released them from the tight hug, flushing. Her large, red eyes looked like they had tears of joy in them. "Sorry..." she sheepishly said. "I'm just... I thought I lost you both again..." she told them, sniffling.

"Who the sodding hell is that?" Tiwaz asked Tyr in confusion.

"Dunno," Tyr replied, watching as Ruki composed herself.

Setting her emotions to the side, Ruki looked down at Barachiel's wounds. "You're hurt, Barry," she observed.

Gunnar looked Ruki up and down. Tyr knew that grin; he was checking her out. "Sooo..." Gunnar began in a jibing, sly voice. He smirked and glanced between her and Barachiel. "Are you Barry's girlfriend? He sure kept you quiet."

Barachiel shot Gunnar a stern look before looking away in embarrassment.

"I'm one of the head doctors here, so behave or I might accidentally-on purpose get your medicine wrong," she replied in a calm, playful voice. "Barry, Khep, and I are just old friends."

"Yes... From childhood," Barachiel agreed, as composed as possible.

"So, you're single?" Gunnar asked shamelessly.

Barachiel spoke up. "I'll be with you in a few minutes, Doctor Vesalius," he said to Ruki. "I just need to say something to the Peacemakers."

Ruki nodded. "I'll be seeing to the other patients, then. Make sure you show up; that wound could get infected."

Barachiel nodded and his and Khep's Stingmon friend walked out.

"I have decided to stay here," Barachiel told them in his clear yet soft voice, befitting for a bug who recently got a SlashAngemon form. "This place... That tree is... was my home, and I intend to protect it. I also feel that the medical skills that I learned under Hadrael's tutelage can come into use here, along with my combat skills."

He turned and calmly faced Caradoc. "I hope it doesn't seem like I want to abandon you all... and I realize that there are many things that I promised to do, but..." Tyr wasn't sure, with Barachiel having different-looking eyes, but it seemed to him like he was frowning.

Caradoc responded with a reassuring smile. "Then it's a good thing Bedivere, Guinier, and I have already decided to stay as well."

"You have?" Barachiel asked with mild surprise in his voice. As soon as he saw Caradoc's nod, Barachiel slackened up. "I see... Then it is decided. I will stay here and aid in whatever way I can."

"Oh, good," Khep spoke out. "Now I can stop worrying about confusing you with Trowa, the non-boring TigerVespamon."

Barachiel smiled slightly. "May God's blessing be upon you all. Even you, Kheprius."

"Oh, great... Thanks a bunch," Khep replied with a roll of his eye. "Just don't you and Caradoc go off and do anything else stupid like a couple of naïve dumb*sses while our backs our turned."

"Very well..." Barachiel said with some exasperation in his voice.

-

(OOC: Didn't have time for anything longer. I'll do more in the next post.)

 

[Tundra_Wolfmane]

Azur Schattenlicht
Virus Busters - Combat Support Hospital

Sitting next to Pyra, Azur kept to himself as the others started to mill about, talking to each other and deciding what to do. Since the moment they arrived and up to that point, he couldn’t help but keep thinking about how Galic looked and the way he couldn’t seem to make himself look at them…him, especially.

Perhaps it was because he was too tired or, more unlikely, Fenrir’s training to keep himself calm was finally working, but his outer exterior looked nothing like how he was feeling inside, apart from the clenched fists he kept between his legs. He was boiling.

It had finally hit him the moment he saw everyone else. He spent one day in hell while everyone else lived in it for six months. Galic, especially, seemed to have seen the worst of in and came back with one less arm. And that was not even counting how much of Galic’s usually unseen pride and dignity was lost. It didn’t matter how respected he still seemed to be; he knew the moment he laid his eyes on his mentor that the MachGaogamon had to turn into a different Digimon in order to get this far.

And it made his blood boil. ‘There’s nothing we could have done, Azur,’ he heard Fenrir speak to him. It didn’t change how he felt. He felt useless and ashamed. He let the people he loved get hurt.

The raging fire in his veins was suddenly replaced with blood-freezing chill.

“I need to go,” Azur suddenly spoke as he stood up. The chill in his veins was turning into anxiety. “I need to talk with Galic.”

Perhaps it was his tone of voice, maybe it was the hard look in his eyes, or just maybe, everyone was still too busy to care about their own current problems to worry about him, but his sudden action and outburst wasn’t met with any form of reaction. Azur paid that fact no mind. But…

The WereGarurumon looked at Pyra. “I need to know what happened to my family,” he told her, trying his best to keep the fear from his voice.

And he immediately walked out of the room.

Barely five minutes later, two more figures came in, one remarkably similar to Azur in shape but differed in color. The other one of the pair was far shorter, but his voice belied his height and size.

“Master Azur!” Shoon cried out as he ran into the room. “Master Azur!!!” he cried out, looking around.

“Come on, lil’ guy, you’re going to scare him away if you keep shouting like that,” the other figure, recognized by the Peacemakers as Azur’s distant cousin Scharlach, said as he walked in. He grinned when he saw the one person who should know where he is.

On the other hand, Shoon seemed to have locked on to the other person whom he had got acquainted with during his short stint with the Peacemakers.

“Gunnar!” the ball-shaped Digimon yelled as he ran over to the light dragon Digimon. He immediately grabbed one of the dragon’s injured arms.

“Are you okay? How hurt are you? What was it like in the inferno? What happened down there? Where’s master Azur? Is he hurt? What about the demons?” he asked in quick-fire succession as he looked all over the dragon’s injuries.

There was a different tone to his voice despite how energetic he was. It was worried but calculating. The naiveté and the innocence that used to be there was no longer there.

Scar, meanwhile, walked over to Pyra. “Hey, P,” he said as he walked over with an uncertain smile. “Nice to see you, well, alive,” he told her. “Nowadays, it’s pretty awesome to see someone you know hasn’t kicked the bucket yet,” he added with a sheepish grin.

He then looked around too. “So, uh, where’s Azur? I would have thought he’d be near you or something,” he said, turning to her with a questioning eye. The possibility that Azur had died was at the back of his mind, and he dearly hoped that the Paildramon would have words to allay his fears.

Meanwhile, away from them, a certain WarGreymon had just finished her session with one of the healers.

It hadn’t passed her attention that the Peacemakers suddenly had two guests in their midst, and she instantly wondered about her own friends, new as they were. She might have only known them for a little while, but she suspected they would also be at the frontlines along with the other fighters.

“U-um, excuse me, Tamiyo, I think?” Aeria then said, turning to the Sakuyamon that had been helping her speed along the healing of her wounds.

The other woman offered her a small smile. “It’s Erayo,” the Sakuyamon replied. “Is there something you need?”

“Oh, s-sorry,” Aeria replied and blushed at her small blunder, but she found the courage to continue speaking. “Is there, u-um, anyway that I might be able to find my friends?” she asked.

“Th-they would be f-fighting with everyone e-else, so m-maybe, um, there’s a place where they m-might be training or, um, r-resting?” she continued, hoping she was getting it right. “Unless th-they’re fighting right now,” Aeria amended with a small nod.

“They might be in the barracks if they’re not out on a mission or patrols.” Neither Aeria nor Erayo had to mention the other, less optimistic possibility if they weren’t present. “I still have other duties to attend to, but if you’d like, I can ask someone to bring you there so you can check,” Erayo told her as she finished bandaging Aeria’s arm. “I’m sure you’re worried about them as much as they’re worried about you. It would put their minds at ease to know you’re alive.”

“Th-thank you. I would like that,” Aeria spoke with a tiny smile of gratitude.

“You should ask if any of your other companions might have friends that are fighting as well. I’m sure they would want to go with you,” Erayo added before calling someone to bring her to where her friends might be.

Aeria nodded and looked over to the rest of the Peacemakers. ‘Courage,’ she thought to herself.

She took a breath and spoke as clearly as she could. “D-does anyone want to go w-with me to the barracks? U-um, m-maybe to check if anyone you know m-might be there?”