Kamotz
God of Monsters
Eons ago. And Eons into the future. And right now...
It fell into the spaces between times and universes - a beacon, the shimmering light of thought and sentience. It had seen so much, so many things - all things, even - on its fall; things across the vastness of the Multiverse - but it had never seen itself. Across all things, it never was. How, then, had it come to be? Had Father not shaped it of Himself and sent it through the eternities? It remembered that.
Yes. Father had shaped it, and had given it a task.
Change. Conquer. Consume.
So it would. Find a world, a place, a time. It fell into that time and place like a shooting star. Brilliant and burning - for but an instant. Then it buried itself in the deepest, darkest, oldest corners of that world; it leaked its essence into the world - and watched and waited through war and upheaval and peace. Until untold centuries later a curious sort of creature came upon it, and touched it. And it whispered.
And then it felt things moving. All the things it had seen during its fall so long ago - or had it not yet happened? - began to twist and blur and fade away. And it remembered: Father had given it a task: change, conquer, consume.
Change came first.
The Savage Lands
One Month Ago
"You would stand idly by while our world falls to ruin?!" demanded the hulking Sleipmon. Sir Bors was the fury of battle, even in peacetime. His was the rage of the Royal Knights.
"Calm yourself, Sir Bors," said Sir Tristan the Gallantmon. "We did not come here to incite conflict. We are here because we hope Thor will join us in our endeavor. We did not come here to lash out at the heir to the White Sword."
Thor's fingers twitched at the mention of the blade, and he fought the urge to drop his gaze in shame. How many months had he remained in the wastes of the Savage Lands, struggling to come to grips with the White Sword's power?
"You are asking me to take that sword, which I have only just proven myself worthy of lifting, and using it to end the lives of innocent Digimon and their human partners?" Thor asked. "I cannot do this, and neither can you."
"Who are you to tell us what we can and cannot do?" demanded Sir Bedivere, the Examon. "Who are any of you to say what we can and cannot do? We are the Royal Knights. For centuries, our order has defended this world with our own blood, sweat, and tears."
"I know full well the history of the Royal Knights, Sir Bedivere," Thor snapped. "Or do you forget that it was my father that forged your order? He brought you together to defend those who could not defend themselves. He brought you together to protect the peace and right wrongs."
"Power is justice and right," said Sir Gawain the Duftmon. "And our strength is equaled by no other group in the entire Digital World. Not even you gods and eternals, with all your petty squabbles."
"Is this your reasoning, Sir Galahad?" Thor demanded of the silent Alphamon. "This is why you're turning the order from your centuries-long task? Because of some idiotic self-righteous notion?"
A sword was pressed to Thor's throat in the blink of an eye. On his right, the deadly Omnimon, Sir Lancelot, steadied the blade of the Transcendent Sword with terrifying certainty. Thor turned his gaze upon the white knight and held his glare. It took all his focus and willpower to lock eyes with Lancelot and not look away from the knight's intensity.
"A fine way you have of recruiting allies, Galahad," Thor hissed. "Tell me, do all other Digimon cower before such a display of brutality? Is this how you thicken your ranks?"
"Not at all," said Sir Guinier the UlforceVeedramon, waving her hands offhandedly. "We don't have this much patience with the others."
"Were you not the son of Odin, my sword would not have stopped at this side of your throat," Lancelot said. "Were you anyone else, I would not have allowed you to speak to the Royal Knights in such a manner."
"Sir Tristan, surely you, of all knights, cannot support this undertaking," Thor said, Lancelot's blade still at his throat. The Gallantmon remained silent for a moment. "This is madness."
"Most times I would agree, Odinson," said Tristan. "But I see the path our world is taking, and I fear where it ends. The humans will bring naught but ruin if they are left to run rampant. This is always the case."
"Then go before the Council," Thor pleaded. "I'll speak for you! I'll use my father's influence. My brothers and I - we can ask that rules be put in place...laws that the Tamers must follow...Galahad, please."
"Do you think us idiots!?" Sir Bors demanded. "Sir Galahad has already gone before them, already asked for the Tamers to be curtailed, for laws and regulations, but they would not hear his voice. They have left us with no other option."
"Enough," said Galahad, breaking his silence. "There is no more to be said. Lancelot, stand down." The Omnimon withdrew his blade from Thor's neck. "Your father was a hero, the first true savior. He allowed the rest of the Digital World to look on him as a leader because it allowed him to inspire. But among us...among friends and comrades; brothers of the sword...he wanted to be looked on as mortal, so that we might point out his flaws and his imperfections. It is a lesson we Royal Knights have strived to live by."
"Then how do you--?"
"The humans do not have this trait," Galahad explained. "They are supreme in their arrogance. They will break our world with their ignorance. They have no humility! I would see them stopped before this can happen. I will not allow your father's vision to die! Not while breath remains in me."
"Humility," Thor said. "My father strived to teach me humility; always pushing me, always testing me." Thor focused on the White Sword, just beyond his senses, waiting patiently between worlds, between heartbeats. "The sword was the final test. All his power, all his strength, was passed to me upon his death. With the notion that I must be worthy to wield the sword. So then, Galahad," Thor called the sword down. It split the heavens like silent lightning and embedded in the earth beside him. He gestured to it. "Lift this sword."
"I do not need to prove myself to anyone, least of all to the ignorant and spoiled son of Odin," Galahad declared.
"What's the problem?" Sir Bors the Sleipmon demanded. "Just lift the damn thing." He strode forward, grasped the sword with one hand and pulled. But the sword refused to move. Bors wrapped both hands around the sword and wrenched upward, but the sword still refused to budge. "What is the meaning of this witchcraft!?"
"Not witchcraft," Thor said. "My father placed an enchantment on the blade. Only those who are deemed worthy may lift it. So I ask you again, Galahad, will you lift this sword?"
Galahad regarded Thor in silence; his gaze was unwavering, filled with ancient power and wisdom. But then he glanced off and turned away.
"Come, my knights," he said. "There is no more reason for us to remain here. The Odinson has spoken his peace, and we will leave it at that."
"You'll allow him to speak to us thusly?" Gawain demanded.
"He is the son of Odin," said Galahad. "I will allow it this once. Know this, Thor; it is because of your father that we leave you in peace now. There are not many to whom we would extend the same courtesy. However, should you become involved in the coming conflict--should you stand against us--we will treat you no differently than any other. Your parentage will mean nothing."
The Royal Knights turned and flew into the air, and Thor was left with a sickening dread in the pit of his stomach. Something dark was on the horizon. The time would come when all the world would tremble...
==\==/==
Paradise Eden
Realm of the Holy Host
One Week Ago
It was called many things by the inhabitants of Saga: Eden, Paradise, Heaven, the Celestial Sphere. It was a realm beyond the influence of Saga's gods and politics, a realm of laws and faith and order. It was a realm of sprawling sandstone spires, a canvas of whites, golds, and reds built into the land. There was nothing but the sandstone, an entire countryside of earthy colors covering the entire landscape. The only natural backdrop was at the very center of the realm, in the massive, multi-tiered garden of the central palace. It was Paradise, and above that central palace floated the Celestial Sphere itself.
Ethereal and glowing, the Celestial Sphere was built upon the most advanced coding found anywhere on Saga. It was a compressed Dyson Sphere, creating a condensed sense of space and time. It allowed the highest order of angels to bear witness to the flow of time uninterrupted by time and age from their metaphysical existence. The rest of the Holy Host served on Saga's physical plane, up keeping the realm and serving the will of God to their fullest ability. It was a realm of devotion and tranquility, more so than any other on Saga.
That tranquility was interrupted by a low, guttural roar. A black shape streaked through Eden, a squeal of tires left a set of black skid-marks over the white stone paths, sending the inhabitants of the realm running for cover. The shape bounded up stairs, over clear ponds, and through courtyards. It cut through libraries as old as the Digital World, and knocked over scrolls and texts that held secrets and truths as old as time.
"Move!" its rider, dressed all in black, shouted. But he did little else to avoid those in his way. He had an appointment to keep, after all. It'd been a long time since the angels called him to Eden. It didn't mean he'd stayed ignorant of what was going on. Everyone and their mother knew about the Royal Knights and their crusade. And if the Three were calling him...well, that meant good things were coming his way.
He skidded to a stop before the final archway that led to the central palace, directly beneath the Celestial Sphere. A beam of light flowed from the palace's core directly to the heart of the Sphere. That was where Samael's salvation lay.
Dismounting his motorcycle, he muttered a quick "stay here," to which the bike growled low in response. "Yeah, well no one likes you either!" Samael shot back. He strode into the castle, ignoring the gasps and sideways glares of lower angels and devoted. He emerged into the center courtyard, shielding his eyes from the light cast by the heavenly beam until they adjusted.
He'd been living in the dark for so long.
"Samael," spoke a voice. It was kind and gentle, full of compassion. But it was also powerful, and hardened. "You have been busy." It was Uriel the Ophanimon.
"By our account have committed numerous crimes that violate the laws of the lands and realms you have traversed," said the Seraphimon. Raphael. Even with his face completely hidden behind the shining mask, Samael could feel his smug sense of self-righteous condemnation. "What are your excuses this time?"
"You know full well what I am and what I do," Samael retorted with a shrug. He pointed over his shoulder. "And so does everyone else out there. In fact, I make sure to tell them. I don't hide what I am."
"Because you have no shame," Raphael all but bristled.
Still got it, Samael smirked to himself. His ability to ruffle their lofty feathers was one of his great joys.
"Shame never did nothing for nobody," Samael said. He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms over his head. "What I've got is a...belief in honesty and openness. I make sure that everyone that's gonna throw a punch at yours truly knows exactly what kind of hell they're walking into. And if they still choose to throw that punch? Well, that's on them." He gave the Three a narrow glare. "Free will and all, right?"
"You cannot be forgiven if you don't show humility, Samael," said Gabriel. The big, fluffy, pink rabbit thing dared to talk down to him. All of them. They dared to talk of humility when surrounded by their opulence.
"Fair enough," Samael swallowed his anger down. "But is that really why we're here? It's been, what, five years since you last called me here? 'Can only think of one thing that might change that."
"The Royal Knights," said a new voice from above. Samael grimaced, he'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was filled with the same kind of self-important righteousness as the Three, but held a fire and liveliness that they sorely lacked.
Michael. The Hand of God.
"'Sup, helmet-head?" Samael deadpanned. The MagnaAngemon in question fluttered down beside them and gave him the most imperceptible of nods.
"Lord Michael," acknowledged Uriel. The other two followed in kind, eliciting a deep bow from the archangel.
"It's quite a mess," Raphael said, his voice harsh. "Royal Knights. For years, each iteration of their fellowship worked alongside us and the Council to maintain order. Peace. Not ten years into his command, and Galahad is ready to throw it all away."
"He's afraid," Michael said. "The actions of the humans are beyond the purview of the Royal Knights' charter. They don't know how to respond to them; they don't know how to approach them. They fear the change that comes."
"They should trust us," Raphael said icily. "We summon the humans to Saga. We assign them partners. It is our directive, as commanded by God Himself."
"You guys tell them that?" Samael asked with a yawn. He hated this. Hated all the posturing and preening. Four of the highest angels in creation peacocking to one another, trying to see which of them felt strongest about this upset.
They answered with dour glares.
"Psh. Fine. Whatever. See what that gets you. Frown lines. That's it," Samael rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"
"You?" Gabriel asked. There was genuine bewilderment in his voice.
"Yes. Me," Samael snarled. It was always this way. They were so caught up in their pretense that even the fact that they'd called him was now forgotten. "You. Called. Me. Here."
"Of course we did, Samael," Uriel said. God, could she ever not sound condescending?!
"The Council has sent a call out for warriors to meet them at the temple at Axis Mundi," Gabriel explained. "We have convened with them at length and have decided to send you both to join their assembly."
"What?" was Michael's aghast reply.
"For real, dudes?" Samael added, somewhat less refined. "Since when were you and the Council all buddy-buddy?"
"These are difficult times, Samael," Uriel chimed in all sing-song. "We have always maintained that cooperation with the Council and the Pantheons is in the best interests of the Host. Our methods and ideologies may differ, but our goals are the same."
"Whatever you say," Samael said, rolling his eyes.
"The Council's call is a week from now," said Raphael. "See to it that you're both there." Then the Three stepped back into the pillar of light beaming down from the Celestial Sphere, and were pulled back into the sky.
"See ya there, wing-head," Samael muttered. Michael didn't reply; he just stared up at the Sphere in silence. "Ugh. This is gonna be torture."
Samael strode from the courtyard, muttering old curses under his breath that Michael couldn't quite make out. He waited to hear the Behemoth motorcycle start up and roar away before letting out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.
It was unprecedented, calling him and Samael at once to cooperate with a Council initiative. The two factions rarely worked together, and never so closely. It meant the Three were truly worried about the Royal Knights.
"Lord Michael?" asked a voice. A D'Arcmon stepped forward and bowed low. "Are you...can I...is there anything...?"
"Just lost in thought," Michael muttered. He glanced up towards the Celestial Sphere. It had been three years since he'd returned to Heaven...since he'd been allowed to return. Not by any official decree, but because there was so much work to do across Saga. He'd spent eons serving as a warrior and a general. But the years spent doing simple good, protecting people had been more rewarding than anything else.
"Was that really Samael?" the D'Arcmon asked. "The demon? Is he really allowed here?"
"Samael goes where he wants, or where he's asked to," Michael answered. It had been a long time since he'd seen the fallen angel; he hadn't changed in thirty years. Every dark rumor that made its way to Michael only confirmed that fact. He was the dark side of the Sphere, the complete opposite from its usual authority figures.
The Three were often compared to the seasons: Raphael was like a winter day; bright, brilliant, and blinding, but horribly cold. Gabriel was autumn: cool, brisk, and prone to storms. Uriel was spring: warm, light, and airy. Michael himself was often compared to a summer day: blisteringly hot and unforgiving. Somewhat fittingly, Samael was compared to a summer night: swelteringly hot, dark, and suffocating.
It was as true now as it had ever been, and despite his obvious flaws, Samael had always seemed more alive than the rest of the Host.
But he couldn't afford to continue his musings. He had half a continent to cover and only a week to settle his other affairs.
It was time to get to work.
==\==/==
Axis Mundi, the Free City
Seat of the High Council
Now
Fire powered through the sky, a trail of rippling air in its wake. Its arrival sent guards and citizens of the city running for cover as it streaked through the sky like as a meteor. He swooped through the air, fire flashed around him and he dropped into the entranceway to the great hall. The Apollomon, Svarog, strode forward confidently. The Council, petulant little godheads, had called on him for some task. As if he was one of their subjects to be beckoned like a dog.
He would see what they wanted, if only to throw it in their faces. They had no sense of honor or justice; just a bunch of pandering and back-patting until conflicts simply faded away. This was probably some sort of pointless errand. It was probably Mogis that suggested his involvement, Svarog figured, if only to lord his authority over him. Whatever the task, whatever the mundane chore they sought to send him on...they would regret insulting him, the son of Iroas Rod.
As it turned out, however, his arrival was not the only one that had the populace of the Free City stirring. Scores of Digimon assembled in the streets to watch the procession of warriors march towards the Temple of the Council. Svarog didn't have the patience to trod through the dirt and prostrate himself before the Council. The dozens of warriors behind him grumbled their displeasure at, but he cared little for their petty hurt feelings.
He strode into the great hall, flanked by warriors on all sides, jostling for position, edging each other out, hoping to curry favor by being first to bask in the Council's glow.
"Children, the lot of you," Svarog snarled. He turned up the temperature of the fires surrounding him; not enough to hurt anyone, just enough for them to give him space.
"Welcome," boomed a massive Vulcanusmon. Indra was his name. Svarog had spent a long time away from the politics and the backstabbing of Council court, but he still remembered these gods. "We thank you for your attendance."
Even the way they spoke of thanks reeked of falsehoods. Svarog almost spat in defiance. Their voices rang from the mountaintops as if they were better than everyone else. Better than all the mortals, better than even him. It was precisely this that led him to discard the trappings of royalty and seek real glory.
"These are troubling times," spoke another god, an Apollomon. Heliod. Svarog recognized him. It was like looking into a mirror. "I'm sure many of you have already heard at least rumors of what stirs in the south. It is my unfortunate responsibility to confirm those rumors."
There were murmurs among the assembled host of warriors.
"Lord Heliod speaks of the Royal Knights," said a shimmering Dianamon. The goddess Nylea.
"It's why we've called you here," said the Minervamon. Pharika; she stood with all the poise of a fellow warrior. Finally, someone who spoke his language.
"And what, if at all, was the reason you didn't consult me, Xenagos?" spoke another voice, this time from amongst the crowd of summoned warriors. The sea of fighters parted and an Imperialdramon, armored in black, strode towards the Council.
"Thor," the Bacchusmon couldn't even look the Imperialdramon in the eye, never mind say his name without flinching. "I-"
"When Galahad approached me, I came straight to you," Thor interjected, causing quite the commotion among the warriors. You didn't just interrupt a Council member. "I asked that I be included in the decisions made going forward. Was I unclear in that regard, old friend?"
"Thor, I-"
"Thor Odinson," the Marsmon Council member boomed.
Mogis. Svarog fought the urge to curse.
"Outside these walls you are the crowned prince of Asgard. Perhaps there we might -- out of courtesy -- owe you explanations. But within these walls, the word of the Council is absolute. And you will respect the Council," Mogis all but scolded the Imperialdramon.
"My apologies, Lord Mogis, Lord Xenagos," Thor forced out.
"We figured, perhaps, that you'd be too busy ruling Asgard to be bothered with a Council summons," smirked a Mercurymon. He drummed his fingers on his chin. Svarog felt a shiver run down his spine. He trusted Phenax least of all.
"I haven't set foot in Asgard since my father died, Phenax," Thor shot back.
"Oh. Not very responsible of you," said a voice off to the side. A Piedmon stepped forward from behind a nearby pillar. He seemed inappropriately at-ease with interrupting a Council member. But it wasn't his lack of decorum that bothered Svarog. Every shifty and slimy impression he'd felt from Phenax he felt in equal measure from this Digimon.
"Need I remind you what happened to the last Digimon that taunted me when I had the sword?" Thor all but threatened.
"For all the good it does you, Fighter Mode," Loki taunted.
"You should try to hid your obvious jealousy, Loki," Thor growled low. "It doesn't suit you."
"Perhaps," Loki waved him off. "Then again, neither does shimmering white armor."
"No, you choose clown makeup instead."
"I'm a trickster. And I'm honest about it. I fail to see the problem."
"ENOUGH!" shouted the Jupitermon. Keranos, god of storms. "I'm sick of hearing the Odinsons squabble. I don't know how your father dealt with it, but I am not your father and I will not allow it to continue! Not when we have pressing matters to attend to."
"If Thor wishes to join the force we establish to confront this threat, then we are happy to have him," said the Venusmon. Thassa. There was no malice in her voice, no sarcasm. True sincerity.
She was also very easy on Svarog's eyes.
"And we offer him our sincere apologies for not including him on the matter."
"Now that the family squabbles are out of the way, perhaps we can get back to the matter at hand?" asked the Junomon. Svarog could almost hear her eyebrow twitch with annoyance. The god of civilization stood and addressed the assembled warriors. "Sir Galahad has declared it his duty to rid our world of humans. By any means."
"We will not stand for it. It goes against ideal this Council was founded upon," said the Minervamon. "We are asking a great deal from you. But we must know if there are those among you who would stand with us.
"And go to war with the Royal Knights."
It fell into the spaces between times and universes - a beacon, the shimmering light of thought and sentience. It had seen so much, so many things - all things, even - on its fall; things across the vastness of the Multiverse - but it had never seen itself. Across all things, it never was. How, then, had it come to be? Had Father not shaped it of Himself and sent it through the eternities? It remembered that.
Yes. Father had shaped it, and had given it a task.
Change. Conquer. Consume.
So it would. Find a world, a place, a time. It fell into that time and place like a shooting star. Brilliant and burning - for but an instant. Then it buried itself in the deepest, darkest, oldest corners of that world; it leaked its essence into the world - and watched and waited through war and upheaval and peace. Until untold centuries later a curious sort of creature came upon it, and touched it. And it whispered.
And then it felt things moving. All the things it had seen during its fall so long ago - or had it not yet happened? - began to twist and blur and fade away. And it remembered: Father had given it a task: change, conquer, consume.
Change came first.
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Digimon: Unholy Crusade
Act 1: Tears for Peace
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Digimon: Unholy Crusade
Act 1: Tears for Peace
The Savage Lands
One Month Ago
"You would stand idly by while our world falls to ruin?!" demanded the hulking Sleipmon. Sir Bors was the fury of battle, even in peacetime. His was the rage of the Royal Knights.
"Calm yourself, Sir Bors," said Sir Tristan the Gallantmon. "We did not come here to incite conflict. We are here because we hope Thor will join us in our endeavor. We did not come here to lash out at the heir to the White Sword."
Thor's fingers twitched at the mention of the blade, and he fought the urge to drop his gaze in shame. How many months had he remained in the wastes of the Savage Lands, struggling to come to grips with the White Sword's power?
"You are asking me to take that sword, which I have only just proven myself worthy of lifting, and using it to end the lives of innocent Digimon and their human partners?" Thor asked. "I cannot do this, and neither can you."
"Who are you to tell us what we can and cannot do?" demanded Sir Bedivere, the Examon. "Who are any of you to say what we can and cannot do? We are the Royal Knights. For centuries, our order has defended this world with our own blood, sweat, and tears."
"I know full well the history of the Royal Knights, Sir Bedivere," Thor snapped. "Or do you forget that it was my father that forged your order? He brought you together to defend those who could not defend themselves. He brought you together to protect the peace and right wrongs."
"Power is justice and right," said Sir Gawain the Duftmon. "And our strength is equaled by no other group in the entire Digital World. Not even you gods and eternals, with all your petty squabbles."
"Is this your reasoning, Sir Galahad?" Thor demanded of the silent Alphamon. "This is why you're turning the order from your centuries-long task? Because of some idiotic self-righteous notion?"
A sword was pressed to Thor's throat in the blink of an eye. On his right, the deadly Omnimon, Sir Lancelot, steadied the blade of the Transcendent Sword with terrifying certainty. Thor turned his gaze upon the white knight and held his glare. It took all his focus and willpower to lock eyes with Lancelot and not look away from the knight's intensity.
"A fine way you have of recruiting allies, Galahad," Thor hissed. "Tell me, do all other Digimon cower before such a display of brutality? Is this how you thicken your ranks?"
"Not at all," said Sir Guinier the UlforceVeedramon, waving her hands offhandedly. "We don't have this much patience with the others."
"Were you not the son of Odin, my sword would not have stopped at this side of your throat," Lancelot said. "Were you anyone else, I would not have allowed you to speak to the Royal Knights in such a manner."
"Sir Tristan, surely you, of all knights, cannot support this undertaking," Thor said, Lancelot's blade still at his throat. The Gallantmon remained silent for a moment. "This is madness."
"Most times I would agree, Odinson," said Tristan. "But I see the path our world is taking, and I fear where it ends. The humans will bring naught but ruin if they are left to run rampant. This is always the case."
"Then go before the Council," Thor pleaded. "I'll speak for you! I'll use my father's influence. My brothers and I - we can ask that rules be put in place...laws that the Tamers must follow...Galahad, please."
"Do you think us idiots!?" Sir Bors demanded. "Sir Galahad has already gone before them, already asked for the Tamers to be curtailed, for laws and regulations, but they would not hear his voice. They have left us with no other option."
"Enough," said Galahad, breaking his silence. "There is no more to be said. Lancelot, stand down." The Omnimon withdrew his blade from Thor's neck. "Your father was a hero, the first true savior. He allowed the rest of the Digital World to look on him as a leader because it allowed him to inspire. But among us...among friends and comrades; brothers of the sword...he wanted to be looked on as mortal, so that we might point out his flaws and his imperfections. It is a lesson we Royal Knights have strived to live by."
"Then how do you--?"
"The humans do not have this trait," Galahad explained. "They are supreme in their arrogance. They will break our world with their ignorance. They have no humility! I would see them stopped before this can happen. I will not allow your father's vision to die! Not while breath remains in me."
"Humility," Thor said. "My father strived to teach me humility; always pushing me, always testing me." Thor focused on the White Sword, just beyond his senses, waiting patiently between worlds, between heartbeats. "The sword was the final test. All his power, all his strength, was passed to me upon his death. With the notion that I must be worthy to wield the sword. So then, Galahad," Thor called the sword down. It split the heavens like silent lightning and embedded in the earth beside him. He gestured to it. "Lift this sword."
"I do not need to prove myself to anyone, least of all to the ignorant and spoiled son of Odin," Galahad declared.
"What's the problem?" Sir Bors the Sleipmon demanded. "Just lift the damn thing." He strode forward, grasped the sword with one hand and pulled. But the sword refused to move. Bors wrapped both hands around the sword and wrenched upward, but the sword still refused to budge. "What is the meaning of this witchcraft!?"
"Not witchcraft," Thor said. "My father placed an enchantment on the blade. Only those who are deemed worthy may lift it. So I ask you again, Galahad, will you lift this sword?"
Galahad regarded Thor in silence; his gaze was unwavering, filled with ancient power and wisdom. But then he glanced off and turned away.
"Come, my knights," he said. "There is no more reason for us to remain here. The Odinson has spoken his peace, and we will leave it at that."
"You'll allow him to speak to us thusly?" Gawain demanded.
"He is the son of Odin," said Galahad. "I will allow it this once. Know this, Thor; it is because of your father that we leave you in peace now. There are not many to whom we would extend the same courtesy. However, should you become involved in the coming conflict--should you stand against us--we will treat you no differently than any other. Your parentage will mean nothing."
The Royal Knights turned and flew into the air, and Thor was left with a sickening dread in the pit of his stomach. Something dark was on the horizon. The time would come when all the world would tremble...
==\==/==
Paradise Eden
Realm of the Holy Host
One Week Ago
It was called many things by the inhabitants of Saga: Eden, Paradise, Heaven, the Celestial Sphere. It was a realm beyond the influence of Saga's gods and politics, a realm of laws and faith and order. It was a realm of sprawling sandstone spires, a canvas of whites, golds, and reds built into the land. There was nothing but the sandstone, an entire countryside of earthy colors covering the entire landscape. The only natural backdrop was at the very center of the realm, in the massive, multi-tiered garden of the central palace. It was Paradise, and above that central palace floated the Celestial Sphere itself.
Ethereal and glowing, the Celestial Sphere was built upon the most advanced coding found anywhere on Saga. It was a compressed Dyson Sphere, creating a condensed sense of space and time. It allowed the highest order of angels to bear witness to the flow of time uninterrupted by time and age from their metaphysical existence. The rest of the Holy Host served on Saga's physical plane, up keeping the realm and serving the will of God to their fullest ability. It was a realm of devotion and tranquility, more so than any other on Saga.
That tranquility was interrupted by a low, guttural roar. A black shape streaked through Eden, a squeal of tires left a set of black skid-marks over the white stone paths, sending the inhabitants of the realm running for cover. The shape bounded up stairs, over clear ponds, and through courtyards. It cut through libraries as old as the Digital World, and knocked over scrolls and texts that held secrets and truths as old as time.
"Move!" its rider, dressed all in black, shouted. But he did little else to avoid those in his way. He had an appointment to keep, after all. It'd been a long time since the angels called him to Eden. It didn't mean he'd stayed ignorant of what was going on. Everyone and their mother knew about the Royal Knights and their crusade. And if the Three were calling him...well, that meant good things were coming his way.
He skidded to a stop before the final archway that led to the central palace, directly beneath the Celestial Sphere. A beam of light flowed from the palace's core directly to the heart of the Sphere. That was where Samael's salvation lay.
Dismounting his motorcycle, he muttered a quick "stay here," to which the bike growled low in response. "Yeah, well no one likes you either!" Samael shot back. He strode into the castle, ignoring the gasps and sideways glares of lower angels and devoted. He emerged into the center courtyard, shielding his eyes from the light cast by the heavenly beam until they adjusted.
He'd been living in the dark for so long.
"Samael," spoke a voice. It was kind and gentle, full of compassion. But it was also powerful, and hardened. "You have been busy." It was Uriel the Ophanimon.
"By our account have committed numerous crimes that violate the laws of the lands and realms you have traversed," said the Seraphimon. Raphael. Even with his face completely hidden behind the shining mask, Samael could feel his smug sense of self-righteous condemnation. "What are your excuses this time?"
"You know full well what I am and what I do," Samael retorted with a shrug. He pointed over his shoulder. "And so does everyone else out there. In fact, I make sure to tell them. I don't hide what I am."
"Because you have no shame," Raphael all but bristled.
Still got it, Samael smirked to himself. His ability to ruffle their lofty feathers was one of his great joys.
"Shame never did nothing for nobody," Samael said. He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms over his head. "What I've got is a...belief in honesty and openness. I make sure that everyone that's gonna throw a punch at yours truly knows exactly what kind of hell they're walking into. And if they still choose to throw that punch? Well, that's on them." He gave the Three a narrow glare. "Free will and all, right?"
"You cannot be forgiven if you don't show humility, Samael," said Gabriel. The big, fluffy, pink rabbit thing dared to talk down to him. All of them. They dared to talk of humility when surrounded by their opulence.
"Fair enough," Samael swallowed his anger down. "But is that really why we're here? It's been, what, five years since you last called me here? 'Can only think of one thing that might change that."
"The Royal Knights," said a new voice from above. Samael grimaced, he'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was filled with the same kind of self-important righteousness as the Three, but held a fire and liveliness that they sorely lacked.
Michael. The Hand of God.
"'Sup, helmet-head?" Samael deadpanned. The MagnaAngemon in question fluttered down beside them and gave him the most imperceptible of nods.
"Lord Michael," acknowledged Uriel. The other two followed in kind, eliciting a deep bow from the archangel.
"It's quite a mess," Raphael said, his voice harsh. "Royal Knights. For years, each iteration of their fellowship worked alongside us and the Council to maintain order. Peace. Not ten years into his command, and Galahad is ready to throw it all away."
"He's afraid," Michael said. "The actions of the humans are beyond the purview of the Royal Knights' charter. They don't know how to respond to them; they don't know how to approach them. They fear the change that comes."
"They should trust us," Raphael said icily. "We summon the humans to Saga. We assign them partners. It is our directive, as commanded by God Himself."
"You guys tell them that?" Samael asked with a yawn. He hated this. Hated all the posturing and preening. Four of the highest angels in creation peacocking to one another, trying to see which of them felt strongest about this upset.
They answered with dour glares.
"Psh. Fine. Whatever. See what that gets you. Frown lines. That's it," Samael rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"
"You?" Gabriel asked. There was genuine bewilderment in his voice.
"Yes. Me," Samael snarled. It was always this way. They were so caught up in their pretense that even the fact that they'd called him was now forgotten. "You. Called. Me. Here."
"Of course we did, Samael," Uriel said. God, could she ever not sound condescending?!
"The Council has sent a call out for warriors to meet them at the temple at Axis Mundi," Gabriel explained. "We have convened with them at length and have decided to send you both to join their assembly."
"What?" was Michael's aghast reply.
"For real, dudes?" Samael added, somewhat less refined. "Since when were you and the Council all buddy-buddy?"
"These are difficult times, Samael," Uriel chimed in all sing-song. "We have always maintained that cooperation with the Council and the Pantheons is in the best interests of the Host. Our methods and ideologies may differ, but our goals are the same."
"Whatever you say," Samael said, rolling his eyes.
"The Council's call is a week from now," said Raphael. "See to it that you're both there." Then the Three stepped back into the pillar of light beaming down from the Celestial Sphere, and were pulled back into the sky.
"See ya there, wing-head," Samael muttered. Michael didn't reply; he just stared up at the Sphere in silence. "Ugh. This is gonna be torture."
Samael strode from the courtyard, muttering old curses under his breath that Michael couldn't quite make out. He waited to hear the Behemoth motorcycle start up and roar away before letting out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.
It was unprecedented, calling him and Samael at once to cooperate with a Council initiative. The two factions rarely worked together, and never so closely. It meant the Three were truly worried about the Royal Knights.
"Lord Michael?" asked a voice. A D'Arcmon stepped forward and bowed low. "Are you...can I...is there anything...?"
"Just lost in thought," Michael muttered. He glanced up towards the Celestial Sphere. It had been three years since he'd returned to Heaven...since he'd been allowed to return. Not by any official decree, but because there was so much work to do across Saga. He'd spent eons serving as a warrior and a general. But the years spent doing simple good, protecting people had been more rewarding than anything else.
"Was that really Samael?" the D'Arcmon asked. "The demon? Is he really allowed here?"
"Samael goes where he wants, or where he's asked to," Michael answered. It had been a long time since he'd seen the fallen angel; he hadn't changed in thirty years. Every dark rumor that made its way to Michael only confirmed that fact. He was the dark side of the Sphere, the complete opposite from its usual authority figures.
The Three were often compared to the seasons: Raphael was like a winter day; bright, brilliant, and blinding, but horribly cold. Gabriel was autumn: cool, brisk, and prone to storms. Uriel was spring: warm, light, and airy. Michael himself was often compared to a summer day: blisteringly hot and unforgiving. Somewhat fittingly, Samael was compared to a summer night: swelteringly hot, dark, and suffocating.
It was as true now as it had ever been, and despite his obvious flaws, Samael had always seemed more alive than the rest of the Host.
But he couldn't afford to continue his musings. He had half a continent to cover and only a week to settle his other affairs.
It was time to get to work.
==\==/==
Axis Mundi, the Free City
Seat of the High Council
Now
Fire powered through the sky, a trail of rippling air in its wake. Its arrival sent guards and citizens of the city running for cover as it streaked through the sky like as a meteor. He swooped through the air, fire flashed around him and he dropped into the entranceway to the great hall. The Apollomon, Svarog, strode forward confidently. The Council, petulant little godheads, had called on him for some task. As if he was one of their subjects to be beckoned like a dog.
He would see what they wanted, if only to throw it in their faces. They had no sense of honor or justice; just a bunch of pandering and back-patting until conflicts simply faded away. This was probably some sort of pointless errand. It was probably Mogis that suggested his involvement, Svarog figured, if only to lord his authority over him. Whatever the task, whatever the mundane chore they sought to send him on...they would regret insulting him, the son of Iroas Rod.
As it turned out, however, his arrival was not the only one that had the populace of the Free City stirring. Scores of Digimon assembled in the streets to watch the procession of warriors march towards the Temple of the Council. Svarog didn't have the patience to trod through the dirt and prostrate himself before the Council. The dozens of warriors behind him grumbled their displeasure at, but he cared little for their petty hurt feelings.
He strode into the great hall, flanked by warriors on all sides, jostling for position, edging each other out, hoping to curry favor by being first to bask in the Council's glow.
"Children, the lot of you," Svarog snarled. He turned up the temperature of the fires surrounding him; not enough to hurt anyone, just enough for them to give him space.
"Welcome," boomed a massive Vulcanusmon. Indra was his name. Svarog had spent a long time away from the politics and the backstabbing of Council court, but he still remembered these gods. "We thank you for your attendance."
Even the way they spoke of thanks reeked of falsehoods. Svarog almost spat in defiance. Their voices rang from the mountaintops as if they were better than everyone else. Better than all the mortals, better than even him. It was precisely this that led him to discard the trappings of royalty and seek real glory.
"These are troubling times," spoke another god, an Apollomon. Heliod. Svarog recognized him. It was like looking into a mirror. "I'm sure many of you have already heard at least rumors of what stirs in the south. It is my unfortunate responsibility to confirm those rumors."
There were murmurs among the assembled host of warriors.
"Lord Heliod speaks of the Royal Knights," said a shimmering Dianamon. The goddess Nylea.
"It's why we've called you here," said the Minervamon. Pharika; she stood with all the poise of a fellow warrior. Finally, someone who spoke his language.
"And what, if at all, was the reason you didn't consult me, Xenagos?" spoke another voice, this time from amongst the crowd of summoned warriors. The sea of fighters parted and an Imperialdramon, armored in black, strode towards the Council.
"Thor," the Bacchusmon couldn't even look the Imperialdramon in the eye, never mind say his name without flinching. "I-"
"When Galahad approached me, I came straight to you," Thor interjected, causing quite the commotion among the warriors. You didn't just interrupt a Council member. "I asked that I be included in the decisions made going forward. Was I unclear in that regard, old friend?"
"Thor, I-"
"Thor Odinson," the Marsmon Council member boomed.
Mogis. Svarog fought the urge to curse.
"Outside these walls you are the crowned prince of Asgard. Perhaps there we might -- out of courtesy -- owe you explanations. But within these walls, the word of the Council is absolute. And you will respect the Council," Mogis all but scolded the Imperialdramon.
"My apologies, Lord Mogis, Lord Xenagos," Thor forced out.
"We figured, perhaps, that you'd be too busy ruling Asgard to be bothered with a Council summons," smirked a Mercurymon. He drummed his fingers on his chin. Svarog felt a shiver run down his spine. He trusted Phenax least of all.
"I haven't set foot in Asgard since my father died, Phenax," Thor shot back.
"Oh. Not very responsible of you," said a voice off to the side. A Piedmon stepped forward from behind a nearby pillar. He seemed inappropriately at-ease with interrupting a Council member. But it wasn't his lack of decorum that bothered Svarog. Every shifty and slimy impression he'd felt from Phenax he felt in equal measure from this Digimon.
"Need I remind you what happened to the last Digimon that taunted me when I had the sword?" Thor all but threatened.
"For all the good it does you, Fighter Mode," Loki taunted.
"You should try to hid your obvious jealousy, Loki," Thor growled low. "It doesn't suit you."
"Perhaps," Loki waved him off. "Then again, neither does shimmering white armor."
"No, you choose clown makeup instead."
"I'm a trickster. And I'm honest about it. I fail to see the problem."
"ENOUGH!" shouted the Jupitermon. Keranos, god of storms. "I'm sick of hearing the Odinsons squabble. I don't know how your father dealt with it, but I am not your father and I will not allow it to continue! Not when we have pressing matters to attend to."
"If Thor wishes to join the force we establish to confront this threat, then we are happy to have him," said the Venusmon. Thassa. There was no malice in her voice, no sarcasm. True sincerity.
She was also very easy on Svarog's eyes.
"And we offer him our sincere apologies for not including him on the matter."
"Now that the family squabbles are out of the way, perhaps we can get back to the matter at hand?" asked the Junomon. Svarog could almost hear her eyebrow twitch with annoyance. The god of civilization stood and addressed the assembled warriors. "Sir Galahad has declared it his duty to rid our world of humans. By any means."
"We will not stand for it. It goes against ideal this Council was founded upon," said the Minervamon. "We are asking a great deal from you. But we must know if there are those among you who would stand with us.
"And go to war with the Royal Knights."
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