Griff4815
No. 1 Grovyle Fan
Author's notes:
This takes place in the Digimon: Civil War and Digimon: Dark Reign universe and is a sequel to my one-shot called "Strom" as well as a sequel and prequel to Civil War and Dark Reign respectively. However, this fic is going to be more or less self-enclosed, meaning that you don't necessarily need to read the RPGs in order to understand what's going on (however, it would definately help. And it would help a lot of if "Strom" was read first.) This was originally going to be a short story, but it ended up being so long that I was forced to make it into a short fic, kind of like Tundra Wolfmane's Gathering of Heroes. This was written more for myself since I didn't get to have an epilogue post in Civil War and I'm having a blast writing it.
Disclaimer: Mostly all of the characters in this belong to me. The few that don't belong to the people who RP'd in Civil War. Now, without further ado...
Rated 14A for blood, violence, swearing and mature themes.
Chapter 1: Wounds (Part 2)
Chapter 2: The End of War
Chapter 3: The Sinking Sun
Chapter 4: The Beginning of the End
Chapter 5: How It Should Be
Chapter 6: The Slayer Legion
Chapter 7: A Reason to Fight (Part 2)
Chapter 8: Towards Our Past (Part 2)
Chapter 9: Prelude to Destruction (Part 2)
Chapter 10: A Happy Life (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4)
Epilogue: The Scars of Friendship
Chapter 1: Wounds
The setting sun cast a warm, orange glow across the sands of the island sitting in the water, off the shores of the blood-stained beach. It was that beach where the Dramon Empire and the united Rebels clashed in battle for the final time. That fateful battle brought about the end of the Civil War. The Civil War: the bloody war of oppression and expansion by the Dramon Empire. The Rebels of Harmonious Republic had remained persistent in their resistance of the Dramon Empire. Their dream was freedom and equality for all.
And now, the higher-ups of the Dramon Empire were dead from the massive battle. Imego, the usurper of the leadership of the Dramon Empire, was also slain. Gog-Magog, the prophetic beast of the world’s end who was summoned by Imego, was killed as well.
Peace and freedom was restored at last and the world still lived and breathed...
The Avengers, the elite team who spearheaded the rebellion in its closing months, and ultimately brought the Rebels to victory, were now becoming leaders to help the world find its way again. With the war only just ended, it would not be an easy task...
The surf calmly washed up on the coast’s sand before shrinking back into the sea, leaving previously golden sand a dull brown colour as the water passed over it. The light blue liquid, unlike the nearby ground, showed no signs of battle and destruction. Water was a paradox; it remained constant in its ever-changing form.
One Avenger sat alone, looking out over the beautiful and calm ocean, wondering how it could be so peaceful when a horrific battle was waged not one hundred meters away from it. The bulky, twenty foot, dinosaurian body of a Spinomon was seated in the warm sand on the beach’s shore. The sun reflected off his metal sail and cast light onto his tough, orange hide, giving his sweat-laced scales a bright shimmer.
Strom paid no attention to what took place behind him, on the former battlefield. The Dramon had surrendered and the united forces of the Rebels and their allies were sorting them out. There were thousands upon thousands of digimon walking around, reporting to their unit, finding medics for the wounded, watching over a group of Dramon prisoners, and so on.
The Spinomon cared not for those matters at that moment. The past two days had been incredibly taxing on him physically, mentally, and especially emotionally. Strom sighed lightly as his golden eyes continued looking out over the sea, towards the setting sun.
“Strom!” a commanding yet informal and light-hearted voice called out.
The digimon in question turned his head and looked down, his eyes darting around for the owner of the familiar voice. Strom saw the human-like form of a Justimon, who was garbed in a tight-fitting blue and white suit and a long red scarf which was draped like a cape, walking over to him. Strom instantly recognized him as Commander Braon, one of the three generals of the Rebel forces and Strom’s closest friend.
“There you are! I was wondering where you went off to. With all the dinosaurs from the Palaeozoic Sovereignty tromping around, you were like finding a needle in a haystack,” Braon said, grinning.
Strom offered a slight smirk out of the corner of his mouth and promptly turned back forwards, gazing out over the water in silence. The dinosaur took to his thoughts and the smirk he forced soon disappeared, curving down back into a frown.
“...Strom?” the Justimon asked, looking at him curiously. Strom closed his eyes and bowed his head while shifting his face away from Braon. The commander frowned and circled around so that he stood in front of the Spinomon. “Okay, what’s wrong?” he asked in a way that demanded an answer.
The large dinosaur sighed and opened his eyes, staring down at his currently only friend. “Ragna, Rai, Valra and Karasu are all dead...” he said in miserable voice.
Braon, surprised, opened his mouth to respond but ended up closing his mouth and sneering. He clenched his metal fist and turned, wanting to take his anger out on something. Unable to find anything suitable to lash out at, he took a long, deep breath and sighed. “Damnit...” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I...” Strom said. He looked at the two bloody wounds on his left hand that he received when handling Ragna’s Wyrmflame sword. They still burned with pain, a pain which intensified when he clasped his fist shut. “But now he’ll never know...”
Commander Braon turned and looked at Strom. “Who?”
Strom grimaced and dug his fist into the sand, deep enough to feel the grains dampen with water. “Ragna,” he answered sadly. “You know how badly I treated him, Braon... I was suspicious of him ever since I joined the Rebels. And after the failed assassination on the Three Great Dramon, I accused him of being the traitor outright... “
“Strom...” Braon said sympathetically. He walked closer to him and placed his hand on the Spinomon’s knee. “I was as surprised as you were when we found out that Goliath was not only alive but also the traitor. Yeah, you were wrong, but you couldn’t have known for sure...”
“Please, Braon... Don’t,” he said, shutting his eyes. “Don’t make excuses for me. I’m an idiot... It’s no wonder Ranney did what he did. I don’t know how you put up with m- AHH!” Strom suddenly roared as a blunt metal fist struck him across the face and sent him crashing down onto the sand.
Commander Braon landed on the ground and stared at him firmly. He cracked the knuckles of his cybernetic hand and then folded his arms. Strom scrambled to a sitting position and put his wounded claw to his throbbing face. “What was that for, Commander?!” he snapped, drawing attention from a few nearby soldiers.
“To knock that crap out of you,” Braon growled sternly. “Yeah, you made a mistake. A particularly big one. Do you think that self-deprecation is going to make it all better? You are flawed, Strom, but so is everybody. I happen to know for a fact that you’re a good friend underneath that tough, scaly and prickly exterior, so don’t kid yourself otherwise.”
“Commander,” Strom said in shock. He sighed and removed his claw from his face, revealing a smear of blood on his cheek. Braon was surprised at the sight of the crimson fluid since he was sure he didn’t break scales with his punch. Strom then winced as he loosened his hand, feeling a strong burning sensation run through his wounds. The Justimon looked down and noticed the large gashes in Strom’s palm.
“You’re hurt,” Braon observed, walking over to him and grabbing his claws in order to inspect his palm.
“It’s just a cut, Commander,” Strom replied dismissively.
“So I guess you don’t mind walking to the medical station without my help then,” the commander said with a grin.
Strom sighed and reluctantly stood to his feet. “I can never win against you, can I?” he asked in defeat.
“Nope! Luckily for you I have your best interests in mind,” he replied with a small chuckle, leading the Spinomon off the beach and towards the nearby fields where the military was still organizing.
“Luckily for me, indeed,” Strom murmured with sarcasm clear in his voice.
The Justimon commander led Strom through the frankly unorganized ranks, shouting out orders to any rebel that he passed. Everything was a chaotic mess. There were dinosaurs who meshed with insects who were surrounded by celestials who were flanked by Garurumon who were adjacent to several Greymon and so on. It was an organizational nightmare, especially now that the Rebel’s leaders, Apollo and Artemis, were now dead.
“Take those prisoners over there with the others,” Braon said to a MegaKabuterimon before turning to somebody else. “You, MetalGreymon, go take your forces over to Onaga and regroup near that tree.” He then glanced at an angry-looking Gargomon who was nearing a group of prisoners. “You! Don’t even think about harming our POWs!”
Strom watched the commander bark out orders as he continued walking through the battlefield. “...I’d help you out, Commander, but I sort of like having the flesh in my throat not permanently shredded,” he said, managing to retain a small smile.
“You’re a dinosaur; I thought you’d jump at the chance to destroy your vocal cords through yelling!” Braon teased, chuckling. “And hey! You’re my protégé and my subordinate; I order you to help me with this mind-numbing mess!”
“So sorry. I can’t,” Strom replied, holding up his bleeding claw to get out of the delegated task. “I’m wounded and have to go to the medical station--hey! Wait a minute!” The Spinomon realized that he had fallen right into Braon’s ploy of getting him to willingly get his wound checked out.
The Justimon smirked and folded his arms. “You’re not much of a tactician; you fell right into my trap,” he laughed. Braon directed Strom to several big white tents which were hitched up over the grass. “The medical station is over there, big guy. Go to the one that can fit you. I’ll be with you as soon as I get some semblance of order here... And please, don’t give the doctors any trouble this time.”
“That’s entirely up to them,” the dinosaur answered with an indignant grumble.
Commander Braon grinned and shook his head before running over to Commander Arahon Alpha, the only other high ranking Rebel around. Meanwhile, Strom slogged over to the massive tents, inside of which he heard groans and growls of pain. The Spinomon took in a deep breath, though instead of the fresh air that he was hoping for, he inhaled smoke and residual vapours still lingering from the massive battle.
He coughed and gave an unamused growl before walking in the large tent, where he towered over many of the doctors and patients. One of the doctors, a Guardromon, approached him. Strom looked down at him, immediately recognizing him as one of the doctors from the Rebels of the Harmonious who took care of them on more than one occasion.
“Oh dear,” he spoke, looking up at Strom. “You’re injured too, are you? Come, lie down over here.”
As he talked, the Avenger couldn’t help but be reminded of times past...
/-/
"Oh, you're awake. Good," said the Guardromon, approaching Rai. "Here you go. Fresh bandages. I shall put them on you."
"Gah! Unhand me, Tinman!" the Rapidmon yelled.
\-\
Strom exhaled and narrowed his eyes, looking sadly down at the ground. Rai was dead. It was only yesterday that the rabbit digimon went about his light-hearted, if not hot-headed, antics and boasting. Strom half expected to turn around and be faced with one of Rai’s insults about his weight, intelligence, species or all of the above but that wasn’t to be.
It was Imego that killed him. He killed all of them... Rai, Karasu, Valra, and Ragna...
The Spinomon glowered and clenched his fist, causing blood to gush out from the cuts and trickle off of his knuckles. To him, Imego deserved a slow and excruciating death for each life that he took. Not just the lives of his friends, but every good digimon that he had killed. It incensed Strom that Gog and Magog killed him in the fraction on a millisecond... He wished years of pain upon that Dramon. Strom wanted him to suffer...
A searing pain ripped through Strom’s palm and coursed up his arm, eliciting an audible grunt and a wince from the dinosaur. He looked down at his hand and noticed that it continued to bleed. The dinosaur couldn’t help but become aware of a blue colouring around the edges of the gash.
“Strom? What are you waiting for?” the Guardromon asked, ushering him over to some open space in the tent between two wounded rebels.
“Uhh... Yeah, right,” he murmured, trudging over and sitting down with noticeable pain.
“You are quite bruised, you realize,” the robotic digimon observed.
“Just concentrate on the hand,” Strom replied brusquely while pointing to the wound with his other set of claws.
The Guardromon looked down at the open lacerations and placed his hands on his hips. “I should be able to stitch that up, but they’re pretty deep, so I can’t promise there won’t be scarring...”
“Get it over with. I don’t care about scars. Now it might be hard to tell, but I’m kind of used to them,” he said sardonically, gesturing to the two giant scars on his chest from when he was tortured.
“But of course,” the doctor said, collecting bandages and the stitching materials they had access to. Strom winced as the Guardromon began to run the durable needle through his tough yellow scales while holding the bandage to his slashes to staunch the flow of blood.
It was then when Commander Braon walked in, approaching Strom and the Guardromon. “How many wounded do you have, Doc?” he asked, looking around the tent.
“Too many, Sir,” the Guardromon replied sadly. “And that’s not including Dramon. We need more doctors and supplies. We just don’t have enough.”
“I’ll see what I can do...” Braon said with a sigh. “What a mess. If I had known all of it would be this much trouble, I might have reconsidered rebelling in the first place,” he joked. Unbeknownst to him, it wasn’t exactly in the best taste.
Strom shifted in his place uncomfortably, and several surrounding wounded soldiers glanced over at the Justimon, disenchanted by the comment. “Commander...” the Guardromon said incredulously.
Braon looked at him with confusion initially. He then glanced around at some of the other digimon, perceiving their reactions. Soon after, it hit him. “...Oh! I – uhh - ...I didn’t mean...” he stammered, sheepishly scratching his cheek with his finger. “I was just joking. Heheh... You see... Oh boy.” He sighed in defeat and sat down beside Strom. “You’re supposed to stop me when my mouth gets ahead of my brain.”
“Don’t worry. Any faux pas you make, I’m sure I’ve done worse... I’m not exactly socially tactful, in case you haven’t noticed,” Strom answered, grimacing as the Guardromon continued working on his hand.
“Really? I had no idea...” Braon answered, grinning.
Strom rolled his eyes in reply. “Are you here to check up on me?”
“Partially,” the Justimon answered. “Even Commanders need a breather, sometimes... Arahon’s got Ajax, Onaga, Valkur, Osiris, Gapsar and Karmas running around to try and help with the organizing. I’m surprised he didn’t call on you too.”
“I’m not that surprised,” Strom replied, looking away as the Guardromon tightened the stitches, sealing the wounds on his palm closed.
“We’re just simple soldiers,” Braon said, glancing out the open flap of the massive tent. “With our leaders gone, not only Apollo and Artemis, but Valdur, the Olympians and the Dramon’s higher ups too, things are going to be pretty hectic. I don’t know about you, but I’m used to looking at a battlefield, not a complex mess of bureaucracy and ‘the bigger picture’.”
The dinosaur nodded his head and looked down. “Yeah, I feel the same...”
“...However, I know that my job in the near future is going to be a big one and I’m going to have to deal with it.”
Strom glanced over to look at Braon just as the Guardromon tied the bandage around his hand. “Are you suggesting something, Commander?” he asked. Before Braon could respond, a MagnaAngemon came over and began working his Magna Antidote, which began to close Strom’s wound. After that, the robotic medic inspected the lacerations a final time. Strom picked up on the curious look in the Guardromon’s eyes as they gazed at the wound.
“Well, you’re all done here,” the Guardromon said, backing up and putting his hands on his metallic hips. “Would you be so kind as to leave so that we can make room for more wounded?”
Strom nodded and got to his feet with a strained growl. “No rest for the weary...”
Commander Braon grinned and stood up as well, stretching upon getting to his feet. “Yup,” he said, beginning to lead Strom out of the tent. He looked to the other soldiers in the tent. “Stay strong, guys. Good job today, all of you.”
“Don’t move your hand if you can help it, Strom. The tissue hasn’t healed,” the Guardromon called after him. “And there was one more thing... I noticed something abnormal with the collagen, that is, the scarring. I’m afraid there will, in fact, be scarring and there’s something... odd about it.”
Strom stopped and turned around. “How so?” he asked. He then glanced down at his palm and peeled back the blood-stained bandage. “What in the-... It’s... blue!? ...Tch. Of course it is,” Strom said with a sigh. “This could only happen to me...”
“What does that mean, Doc?” Braon asked.
“I am not entirely sure,” the Guardromon admitted. “I am pretty sure it is nothing dangerous. My best guess is that there was some sort of data alteration from whatever weapon cut him.”
“The Wyrmflame?” Strom whispered, remembering Ragna’s face along with the blazing blue flames of the sword. He also remembered cutting his hand when picking up the sword after the Dynasmon’s death. “But why?”
“I am not sure... It is probably temporary. Do not bother yourself with it,” he insisted.
“Gee thanks,” Strom muttered. “Yeah, I’ll lull myself into a false sense of security until my arm begins to mutate or turn inside out or something and I become a monster. Terrific idea, Doc.”
The Guardromon rolled his eyes and moved onto his next patient, leaving Strom and the commander alone. Braon walked alongside Strom and couldn’t help but notice that the dinosaur looked concerned. He grinned and placed his hand on the Spinomon’s arm. “Heh, don’t worry, Strom. Just look on the bright side. Like I said: chicks dig scars.”
Strom blinked and a small grin formed on his face. “That has yet to be proven,” he answered, following the commander out of the tent and into fresh air and the dark orange sunset’s light.
-
Night fell over the landscape, covering the fields with a silent darkness. All was quiet except for the calm sloshing of the surf against the nearby beach. The moon cast a blue hue across the land from its perch amongst the twinkling stars. Only a few wafts of smoke remained lingering from the battle. If it weren’t for the battle damage on the land, one wouldn’t have known a battle took place there several hours ago.
The Dramon prisoners were rounded up into several groups and watched over by several sentries. The guards, however, seemed more or less unnecessary. For the most part, the Dramon showed no wishes to continue fighting or try anything else dubious. Their command structure had been broken and after witnessing the unleashing of Gog and Magog, many began questioning Imego and his close comrades’ sanity. Several were already turning against Imego when he ruthlessly destroyed several fellow dragons during the chaos that followed Arahon Alpha’s failed execution. The Dramon prisoners slept out in the fields, finding themselves in the position the Rebels were in not long ago.
By nightfall, the united rebels were finally better organized. The Greymon Corps were in their own camp, the Leomon tribe in theirs and likewise with the Royal Hive, the Palaeozoic Sovereignty, and so on. The sounds of heavy breathing, light chatting and snores whispered against the dusk breeze.
That wind rustled the tattered branches of a tree sitting on a small hill overlooking the field. Sitting under the tree, leaning back against the trunk were two figures, one a large dinosaur digimon and the other a comparatively smaller humanoid digimon. The Spinomon and Justimon remained awake, staring up at the stars.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Braon asked from his relaxed stance with his hands resting behind his head.
Strom, who had to sit with his sail placed strategically beside the trunk, looked down at him curiously. “Hrm? What is, Commander?”
“Being able to finally sit out in the open like this. No more having to worry about being ambushed or followed back to headquarters. No more Dramon patrols. This is... freedom,” he spoke.
Strom thought about it for a moment and nodded fondly. “I never really thought about it like that... It’s hard to imagine.”
Commander Braon grinned. “What a difference a day makes.”
The Spinomon frowned and leaned his head back so that it rested against the trunk of the tree. His golden eyes narrowed as they stared up at the star-filled sky. “...Yeah...”
The Justimon looked up at him grimly and sighed. “Strom... I’m sorry about the others...”
Strom turned his head in the opposite direction. “Me too...” he said quietly. A blistering pain suddenly coursed through his wounded hand, right where the scars were placed. The dinosaur winced and brought his hand close to his chest.
The Justimon looked over curiously. “You okay?”
The Spinosaurus nodded. “Yeah... My cuts must still be healing...”
The two grew silent and continued gazing up at the glimmering night sky above. The stars flickered with an unspoken hope and solace. Both Strom and Braon could feel it lingering over their hearts.
Finally Strom broke the silence with a question he had for his friend. “Commander, can I ask you something? ...Why did you join the Rebellion? I mean, you’re part Dramon, aren’t you?”
Commander Braon looked up at Strom “Species doesn’t mean anything. I knew that what the Three Great Dramon were doing was wrong. I have a heart of justice, Strom... This form of mine isn’t just for good looks,” he said with a slight grin. His disposition soon became serious again. “You joined for the same reason, didn’t you? You were a dinosaur living in the neutral nation of the Palaeozoic Sovereignty and I was a dramon living in the newly founded Dramon Empire. Neither of us had to rebel, but we chose to because we knew it was the right thing to do. Am I wrong?”
Strom shook his head contemplatively. “No... You’re exactly right. To think... I persecuted Ragna for doing the exact same thing...”
“Blaming yourself is only going to make things worse,” Braon explained. “Whatever happened is in the past.”
“And we should move towards our future...” Strom murmured. Upon receiving a confused look from Braon, he decided to clarify. “It was something Ragna said to me. It made me think... He started to become my friend after all that I did to him. I wondered if I could do the same.”
The Justimon smiled. “I know you can, Strom. You know as well as I do that you’re a big softie underneath.”
The orange reptile indignantly turned his head away. “I can’t decide whether to be insulted or not...” Braon let out a chuckle, prompting a smirk from the dinosaur as well. Strom then turned back to the commander. “Uhh, Braon... I just wanted to say... thanks... for sticking by me all this time. And even for putting up with me. I know I’m not really easy to get along with,” he said, his cheeks tinted red with embarrassment.
The Justimon raised his hand and gently patted Strom’s forearm. “That’s what friends do, Strom.”
“Good friends, you mean,” Strom corrected lowly.
Braon sighed and gave Strom’s arm a final pat with his organic arm before removing it and placing it behind his head along with his cybernetic arm. “So, Strom... The war’s over... I know what I’m going to be doing.”
“What’s that?” the dinosaur asked.
“Long nap,” he replied, smirking. “Then I guess it falls to me and the others to get this world in order.”
“I don’t envy you,” Strom murmured as he looked back up at the stars longingly.
“What about you, Strom? What are you going to do now that there’s no Dramon left to fight?”
The Spinomon didn’t reply initially. He never really thought about it. Strom didn’t really ever picture the war ending. He was at a loss.
“We need good leaders,” offered Braon.
Strom chuckled to himself. “I’m not much of a leader... I’m more of a sarcastic, pessimistic, all-around unpleasant pain in the tail that the leaders hate,” he replied.
Braon grinned. “Can’t entirely argue with that... So what’s your plan then? What are you going to do?”
Strom’s smile slowly vanished. “I... don’t know.” His head bowed and his eyes were drawn towards the ground once again. “I don’t have anywhere to go...”
“What are you talking about? You literally have the whole world now,” the Justimon insisted.
“But I don’t...” Strom answered solemnly. “I cut my ties with the Paleozoic Sovereignty when I left to join the Rebels. But with the Rebels... I never really belonged either. I don’t have a home to go to.”
“King Aegyptu isn’t harbouring any ill-feelings towards you, Strom. I talked to him awhile ago,” the humanoid digimon explained.
“I can’t go back!” insisted the dinosaur angrily. His shouting prompted some annoyed swears from a few of the sleeping digimon in the field below.
Commander Braon remained calm and studied his face carefully. “This is about Ranney, isn’t it?” Strom let out a subconscious growl inside his throat, inadvertently supplying Braon with his answer. “You’re going to have to face him sometime, Strom.”
“I know...” Strom spoke softly but with reluctance in his voice. “I know I have to at least try to give him a shot. I already made that mistake with Ragna... I can’t afford to make it again, no matter how hard it is for me to face him but...”
“You do know that he probably still feels the exact same way that you do right now,” Braon explained. “Wracked with guilt and all... I saw him, you know, when we were at the Paleozoic Sovereignty.”
Strom sighed. “So you’ve told me... I can’t deny that it’s probably true, but still... Braon, you don’t know what it’s like to be betrayed by your former best friend. It’s not something you can get over easily. You’re left with a gaping wound inside...”
“I know it’s not going to be easy, Strom,” the Justimon told him. “But it’s right, though I think you already know that. It’s something that you two have to work out together.”
Strom nodded, though he still felt uncomfortable with the whole thing. “I guess you’re right.”
“Just remember his side of the story. I don’t want you going off on him again, understand?”
Strom offered a small grin. “I make no promises...”
Braon chuckled and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “Stubborn lizard,” he joked.
“You’re one to talk about being a lizard, you carefree half-breed,” the Spinomon retorted, grinning.
“Ooh, ouch,” the smirking Justimon replied. “I’d take that back if I were you; that’s insubordination. You want me giving you a new set of scars, you brusque, smart-alecky, overgrown pin cushion?”
“Yes sir!” Strom said as he mock-saluted him. “I’ll keep my trap shut from now on! ...Flamboyant, tights-wearing cyborg,” the dinosaur added in a mutter, just loud enough for his friend to hear him.
“Okay,” the laughing Braon replied, standing to his feet. “That’s it!” Without giving Strom a moment to respond, the Justimon jumped up and tackled the twenty foot dinosaur down with ease.
The Spinomon initially grimaced, but soon found himself chuckling. “I’m not going to go easy on you just because you’re my Commander,” he said as he knocked Braon off of his chest.
“You want a piece of me?” Braon challenged, lunging back at Strom as soon as his feet touched the ground. He landed on Strom’s neck and looked down at him with confidence.
As their merriment and friendly fighting continued, groans began to ring out from disturbed rebels and dramon alike. Several digimon shifted to their opposite side or cupped their hands over their ears to drown out the laughing and noise coming from atop the hill.
“Shut up! We’re trying to get some sleep!” a MetalGreymon finally shouted over to the pair, earning himself several irritated shushes, as well.
Strom flushed slightly and shut his mouth, realizing that they were being far too loud. Braon, however, hopped down off of Strom and looked down at the horde from atop the hill he was on.
“Okay, who the hell said that?!” he called out, pretending to sound angry, but smirking all the while.
The MetalGreymon’s face went white with horror as soon as he recognized the voice, realizing exactly who he just told to shut up. “C-C-Commander Braon, sir!” he stammered.
“That’s right,” Braon replied, ignoring Strom’s tittering. “Is there something you want to say to me, soldier?”
“N-no, sir! S-sorry! I didn’t realize it was you, Commander!” the MetalGreymon said, standing up and nervously saluting him. “It was his idea!” he pointed to the sleek, dark blue Greymon beside him who was watching with an amused expression.
“Hey!” the Greymon barked at him.
“Never mind,” Braon responded, grinning. “Carry on and get some rest. And... we’ll try to keep it down, okay?”
“Y-yes, sir!” the MetalGreymon said, bowing. “Thank you, sir!”
“That never gets old,” Strom said in a quiet voice, looking over at his Commander.
“What’s the use of having this rank if I can’t have a bit of fun with it every once in awhile?” Commander Braon replied with a smirk. “We should probably get some rest too, right? It’s been a rough day and we’ve got a big day tomorrow too.”
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff, Commander?” Strom asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well you are my apprentice and my subordinate, so you get to help me with micromanaging everything! Sorting out the POWs, meeting with our allies, organizing our troops, a load of post-war stuff that we weren’t trained for since we didn’t expect Apollo and Artemis would die. Sounds fun, eh, Strom? You’re going to love it,” Braon said, grinning.
Strom groaned and dragged his palm down the roof of his snout in dread. “You know me so well...” he replied dryly.
Braon chuckled and observed Strom preparing to lie down. “Not going to lie on your back tonight? You know, just to mix things up a bit?” he asked, eyeing the blades and spikes on the dinosaur’s back with a grin.
“Very funny, Commander,” Strom said responding with both a roll of his eyes and a small smirk.
The Spinomon got on all fours, lying down on his stomach, nestling into the soft grass, curling his tail around his body and resting his head on his forearms. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re adorable when you go to sleep?” the Justimon teased, watching this.
“I hate you,” Strom retorted, grumbling in embarrassment.
Commander Braon walked over to Strom and lay down as well, resting his head against the reptile’s flank, using the side of his underbelly as a pillow. “I swear, if you roll on top of me again, I’ll personally feed you your own spikes,” he warned with a grin.
“Nobody’s forcing you to sleep like that,” Strom answered, closing his gold eyes. “You could use your scarf as a pillow instead.”
“And get it dirty? I think not!” he replied, elbowing him slightly.
Strom let out a stifled ‘oomph’ as Braon unknowingly elbowed a fresh bruise that he sustained sometime during the battle. “Suit yourself, Commander...”
The Justimon smirked slightly and settled in. “Goodnight, Strom.”
“Goodnight, Braon...” Strom replied tiredly, his eyes remaining closed.
“And here’s to peace...”
-
As everyone slept, the night continued on. The world turned and the stars flickered with hope as time ushered in a new age: an age of peace and tranquility. Or so they hoped.
However, not everybody was so tranquil. Some digimons’ hearts still flared and ached from the previous day or just from the unnecessary war in general. In the battle stained fields, some digimon still stirred.
“Quiet down, Dramon,” the large, woolly form of a Vikemon whispered angrily. “Others are trying to sleep.”
The bipedal mammal folded his arms and continued watching over the group of twenty dramon prisoners of war, all of whom were asleep except for two. “We’re not the ones that haven’t been taught to whisper, filthy lout,” a humanoid cobalt-armoured dramon muttered under his breath, his voice refined and smug.
“What did you call me?!” the Vikemon guard asked, his voice rising.
“I called you an unkempt lummox,” the dramon reiterated.
The guard frowned pensively and rubbed the back of his head, trying to figure out the words seemingly foreign to him. “...One more time?”
“You’re a scruffy boor with the appearance and aroma of an abhorrent ogre,” he finished, smirking.
The Vikemon remained thinking in silence for several more seconds. “Well... as long as it’s a compliment,” he finally replied, sitting down.
“Idiot,” the dragon digimon whispered quietly before turning to his comrade with a grin. The other prisoner, however, was not in the least bit amused. The bipedal dragon clad in silver plate armour was completely void of any cheer. His green capes hung down onto his tail as his horned face stared down at his wrists, which were bound by chains.
“Aren’t you the glum one?” the more relaxed digimon said to the Slayerdramon with a calm, almost teasing expression on his horned face.
“And you aren’t?” the Slayerdramon shot back, glaring up at the blue scaled dragon who had large pink and azure wings jutting out from his back. The UlforceVeedramon’s wrists were also bound in front of him with chains and his V-Bracelets were removed, for obvious reason.
“Of course I am,” the azure Royal Knight replied, his smirk disappearing. “The great Dramon Empire reduced to this.” He gestured with his hands to the other groups of POWs, all with guards keeping an eye on them. “The humiliation is unbearable. We actually surrendered to the Rabble of the Harmonious Republic.”
The Slayerdramon remained silent, choosing to stare down at his armoured arms, which showed signs of struggle due to the amount of scrapes and scuffs marks on his arms, presumably from fighting against the chains. He had since stopped trying.
“Well, Ishton? Aren’t you going to say something?” the UlforceVeedramon asked.
The silver armoured Dramon remained silent for a moment. “...No, Balion. I’m not.”
Balion rolled his crimson eyes and lay back down on his winged back. “And where is that damned Gotungir? I haven’t seen him at all since entering the battlefield. Have the rebel filth taken him for questioning?”
“No... He’s dead,” Ishton replied in a desolate voice. “Master Gotungir was murdered... by the one they call ‘Ajax’...”
Balion’s head jerked towards him, his eyes wide with shock. “...What?” he spoke, the usual condescension in his voice replaced by incredulousness. “No... That’s impossible! He was slain?!” Ishton replied with but a sad nod. Balion’s eyes narrowed into an angry grimace. “It... can’t be. No... Damn it!” he snapped, sitting upwards.
“Quiet!” the Vikemon guard ordered.
“Shut your damn mouth, you inbred parasite!” Balion shouted in response, earning him annoyed growls from his fellow POWs. The Vikemon snarled and narrowed his eyes warningly. The UlforceVeedramon returned the snarl and turned back to Ishton. “Gotungir’s actually dead?”
Ishton nodded again. “I saw it with my own eyes...” he whispered. He clenched his restrained fists.
Balion grimaced and looked down. “No...” he spoke softly. “Gotungir, you bastard... How could you go and die before teaching me the secrets of the Future Mode?”
The Slayerdramon snarled and pounced on top of Balion, pinning him to the ground and wrapping his fingers around Balion’s neck. The Vikemon just watched, thinking that Balion was getting what he deserved. “How dare you!” Ishton growled, glaring down at him as he started squeezing. “Master Gotungir is dead and that’s all you care about?! Master Gotungir taught you everything he knew, you ungrateful little worm... And you deserved none of it.”
Balion sneered and kicked Ishton off of him. He coughed and sat himself up, glaring at Ishton defiantly. “Not everything, apparently... If he hadn’t been so foolish to die in battle...” He growled angrily and looked off to the side.
“You probably would have died in battle if it weren’t for him, you spoiled little creature. The only reason Master Gotungir accepted you as his apprentice was because he had to, due to your bloodlines and your father’s accomplishments and influence. You never would have gotten the Future Mode anyways, Flamdring,” Ishton hissed. “He never saw any real potential in you. Master Gotungir--”
“’Master Gotungir’!” Balion quoted him mockingly. “I’m his damn apprentice and I don’t even call him that ridiculous title!”
“That’s because you have no respect... And you don’t know him like me...” Ishton spoke sadly, looking down at the dark grass. “He was my master...”
“Whatever that means,” Balion said, rolling his eyes. “Do you have a thing for my former mentor or something?”
The Slayerdramon shot him a glare that could kill. “Would you like me to cut your tongue out?”
“Without your sword, I’d like to see you try,” Balion challenged, grinning.
Ishton let out a short, dismissive growl. “...Whatever happens, our empire will be in ruins because of this. Not only have we lost so many of our kin, but we’ll be in deep economic trouble and our nation’s and species’ identity will be forever tarnished.”
“Thanks to that damn Imego,” Balion said, scowling. “What was the power-hungry idiot thinking?”
“I don’t know... I think the power drove him to madness. Thinking he could actually control those abominations...” Ishton spoke. The Slayerdramon looked over at the UlforceVeedramon. “Why are you here, Flamdring? I thought you told Gotungir that you wouldn’t follow Imego into battle after what he did to the Three Great Dramon. Yet here you sit, a prisoner like me.”
Balion let out a brief scoff. “I did tell him that, but as soon as I heard about Gog and Magog, I raced to the battlefield to see for myself. It was just in time to see that bastard’s data melt away. Then I felt the power of everybody being sent to Ajax. I even sent him my own just to spite Imego.”
“I didn’t,” Ishton mumbled. “Even though the entire world was at stake... I could never forgive him for what he did. It would be a tarnish on my soul if I gave him so much as a single fraction of power.”
The Slayerdramon whispered, his eyes narrowing. “I will never forgive any of them.”
“What?” Balion asked, turning to look at him.
“Our weak-willed comrades surrendered to these scum, but not I. With our command structure broken and our leaders dead, the moderates among us will reach out to the Rebels. Soon we’ll be walking hand-in-hand with them, trying to act like nothing happened,” Ishton spoke, standing to his feet which grabbed the attention of the Vikemon guard.
“It’s a shame, yes, but it can’t be helped at this point. ...What are you doing, Ishton?” Balion asked, standing up himself.
“I will not let that happen,” Ishton said to himself, anger flaring in his golden eyes. “I will not stand beside his murderers. I will be Master Gotungir’s sword, striking at them with flames of vengeance.”
He grabbed Balion by the neck, glaring into the UlforceVeedramon’s surprised red eyes. “I will get him his revenge.” With those words, Ishton hurled Balion into the Vikemon and lunged into the air, flying into the night sky.
After the initial surprise, the Vikemon guard threw Balion to the ground and noticed Ishton escaping. “Alert!” his voice resounded through the fields, causing many annoyed groans and swears. “He’s escaping! The Slayerdramon’s escaping!”
Commander Braon jolted awake and jumped to his feet. “Wh-what?! What’s going on?!” he demanded, looking around.
“Commander!” a blue Greymon hailed. “A Slayerdramon prisoner’s escaping!” He pointed with his small arm in the direction of the escaping Ishton.
“What?! Son of a...” the Justimon groaned. As this unfolded, Strom blinked himself awake and tried to get his bearings. Braon looked from atop the hill to the others. “Why weren’t the prisoners’ wings restrained?!”
“I’m on it, Sir!” the Vikemon told him, locking Balion in a bear hug.
“D-Damnit!” Balion swore, struggling against the hulking guard. “Get off of me, you brainless oaf! I wasn’t even trying to escape!”
“The order must have gotten lost in the chaos,” Strom said groggily. He looked over and saw a Garudamon guard taking flight after Ishton. The humanoid bird digimon flapped his wings frantically to catch up with him.
Soon the Garudamon’s body became engulfed in an orange aura. “Wing Bla—”
Ishton momentarily halted in his flight and turned around to face the oncoming Garudamon. As the avian digimon was in mid attack, the dragon slammed the toe of his metal boot into his face, causing the guard to reel back in pain. The Slayerdramon took this opportunity to continue on his way through the sky.
Braon scowled. “Of course. After him! Rai! Karasu! Take him down!” he ordered in a booming voice, hastily thinking of the fastest fliers he could think of.
“Braon...” Strom said sadly, clenching his fists as he got to his feet. “They’re gone, remember?”
The Justimon snarled. “Somebody go after him! Anybody!” he demanded, nearly begging by this point.
“Seventh Pteramon Squad!” King Aegyptu’s resounding voice rang out over the massive camp. “To action! Take down that prisoner!” the Spinomon twice as big as Strom ordered.
A group of exhausted armoured pterodactyl digimon reluctantly took to the skies, some yawning as they did so.
“Double the guard on the prisoners in case anymore try to escape! Triple them!” Braon shouted. The Justimon turned around to face Strom. “What are you waiting for, Strom? Start suppressing him until the Pteramon close in!”
“Y-right!” Strom stammered, quickly getting down on all fours and arching his back. “Sonic Slash Rain!”
A continuous salvo of blades exploded from Strom’s spines, shooting towards Ishton, who was a good deal away by then. The Slayerdramon swerved in his flight to avoid the massive blades. Strom growled and attempted to aim lower, but the further his target got, the harder it was to aim accurately.
Ishton flew with determination, bashing one of the oncoming blades away with his bound hands. Long ranged attacks from other digimon began to rip through the sky towards him. He ducked under a green beam that lit up the sky in an emerald flare and continued to fly up and over a volley of explosive shells. The Slayerdramon dodged and parried all of the attacks thrown at him in remarkable aerial manoeuvres.
“He’s out of range, Sir,” Strom said to Braon apologetically. The Commander watched as the Pteramon flew after him, but just couldn’t keep up with the aerial-based mega level digimon.
“And he’s too fast for the Pteramon...” the Justimon replied, dragging his palm down his face in exasperation. “Forget it; he’s gone... What a disaster... We could win the war but we couldn’t keep a single prisoner from escaping. That guy better not have been somebody important...”
“Everybody’s so tired from the battle and the chaos yesterday that they’re tripping over each other,” Strom said, stifling a yawn himself.
“No kidding,” Braon replied, rubbing his temple, still extremely annoyed. “We’re just lucky that the other prisoners are either just as tired or just don’t care enough to try to follow him or else this could have been a whole lot messier.”
Strom nodded and lay back down, trying to get settled into a comfortable position again. “It’s just one prisoner. And his hands are tied; he’s probably just going to go home now that the war’s over. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Maybe...” Braon said, stroking his chin.
The spinosaurus digimon found a comfortable position. “Can we go back to sleep, Commander?”
“Get some rest, Strom,” Braon told him. He then groaned. “I have to go check with the guards to make sure the other prisoners are secure...”
The Spinomon nodded and closed his eyes as the commander started walking down the hill towards the camp.
Meanwhile, Ishton looked over his shoulder and saw that the squad of Pteramon were finally giving up and turning around after realizing they were fighting a losing battle. “I’m almost free now,” Ishton said to himself, looking down at his chained hands.
“Soon, Master, I’ll avenge you. Once again, they will know our might...”
-
(Continued next post)
This takes place in the Digimon: Civil War and Digimon: Dark Reign universe and is a sequel to my one-shot called "Strom" as well as a sequel and prequel to Civil War and Dark Reign respectively. However, this fic is going to be more or less self-enclosed, meaning that you don't necessarily need to read the RPGs in order to understand what's going on (however, it would definately help. And it would help a lot of if "Strom" was read first.) This was originally going to be a short story, but it ended up being so long that I was forced to make it into a short fic, kind of like Tundra Wolfmane's Gathering of Heroes. This was written more for myself since I didn't get to have an epilogue post in Civil War and I'm having a blast writing it.
Disclaimer: Mostly all of the characters in this belong to me. The few that don't belong to the people who RP'd in Civil War. Now, without further ado...
Rated 14A for blood, violence, swearing and mature themes.
Chapter 1: Wounds (Part 2)
Chapter 2: The End of War
Chapter 3: The Sinking Sun
Chapter 4: The Beginning of the End
Chapter 5: How It Should Be
Chapter 6: The Slayer Legion
Chapter 7: A Reason to Fight (Part 2)
Chapter 8: Towards Our Past (Part 2)
Chapter 9: Prelude to Destruction (Part 2)
Chapter 10: A Happy Life (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4)
Epilogue: The Scars of Friendship
Scars
Chapter 1: Wounds
The setting sun cast a warm, orange glow across the sands of the island sitting in the water, off the shores of the blood-stained beach. It was that beach where the Dramon Empire and the united Rebels clashed in battle for the final time. That fateful battle brought about the end of the Civil War. The Civil War: the bloody war of oppression and expansion by the Dramon Empire. The Rebels of Harmonious Republic had remained persistent in their resistance of the Dramon Empire. Their dream was freedom and equality for all.
And now, the higher-ups of the Dramon Empire were dead from the massive battle. Imego, the usurper of the leadership of the Dramon Empire, was also slain. Gog-Magog, the prophetic beast of the world’s end who was summoned by Imego, was killed as well.
Peace and freedom was restored at last and the world still lived and breathed...
The Avengers, the elite team who spearheaded the rebellion in its closing months, and ultimately brought the Rebels to victory, were now becoming leaders to help the world find its way again. With the war only just ended, it would not be an easy task...
The surf calmly washed up on the coast’s sand before shrinking back into the sea, leaving previously golden sand a dull brown colour as the water passed over it. The light blue liquid, unlike the nearby ground, showed no signs of battle and destruction. Water was a paradox; it remained constant in its ever-changing form.
One Avenger sat alone, looking out over the beautiful and calm ocean, wondering how it could be so peaceful when a horrific battle was waged not one hundred meters away from it. The bulky, twenty foot, dinosaurian body of a Spinomon was seated in the warm sand on the beach’s shore. The sun reflected off his metal sail and cast light onto his tough, orange hide, giving his sweat-laced scales a bright shimmer.
Strom paid no attention to what took place behind him, on the former battlefield. The Dramon had surrendered and the united forces of the Rebels and their allies were sorting them out. There were thousands upon thousands of digimon walking around, reporting to their unit, finding medics for the wounded, watching over a group of Dramon prisoners, and so on.
The Spinomon cared not for those matters at that moment. The past two days had been incredibly taxing on him physically, mentally, and especially emotionally. Strom sighed lightly as his golden eyes continued looking out over the sea, towards the setting sun.
“Strom!” a commanding yet informal and light-hearted voice called out.
The digimon in question turned his head and looked down, his eyes darting around for the owner of the familiar voice. Strom saw the human-like form of a Justimon, who was garbed in a tight-fitting blue and white suit and a long red scarf which was draped like a cape, walking over to him. Strom instantly recognized him as Commander Braon, one of the three generals of the Rebel forces and Strom’s closest friend.
“There you are! I was wondering where you went off to. With all the dinosaurs from the Palaeozoic Sovereignty tromping around, you were like finding a needle in a haystack,” Braon said, grinning.
Strom offered a slight smirk out of the corner of his mouth and promptly turned back forwards, gazing out over the water in silence. The dinosaur took to his thoughts and the smirk he forced soon disappeared, curving down back into a frown.
“...Strom?” the Justimon asked, looking at him curiously. Strom closed his eyes and bowed his head while shifting his face away from Braon. The commander frowned and circled around so that he stood in front of the Spinomon. “Okay, what’s wrong?” he asked in a way that demanded an answer.
The large dinosaur sighed and opened his eyes, staring down at his currently only friend. “Ragna, Rai, Valra and Karasu are all dead...” he said in miserable voice.
Braon, surprised, opened his mouth to respond but ended up closing his mouth and sneering. He clenched his metal fist and turned, wanting to take his anger out on something. Unable to find anything suitable to lash out at, he took a long, deep breath and sighed. “Damnit...” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I...” Strom said. He looked at the two bloody wounds on his left hand that he received when handling Ragna’s Wyrmflame sword. They still burned with pain, a pain which intensified when he clasped his fist shut. “But now he’ll never know...”
Commander Braon turned and looked at Strom. “Who?”
Strom grimaced and dug his fist into the sand, deep enough to feel the grains dampen with water. “Ragna,” he answered sadly. “You know how badly I treated him, Braon... I was suspicious of him ever since I joined the Rebels. And after the failed assassination on the Three Great Dramon, I accused him of being the traitor outright... “
“Strom...” Braon said sympathetically. He walked closer to him and placed his hand on the Spinomon’s knee. “I was as surprised as you were when we found out that Goliath was not only alive but also the traitor. Yeah, you were wrong, but you couldn’t have known for sure...”
“Please, Braon... Don’t,” he said, shutting his eyes. “Don’t make excuses for me. I’m an idiot... It’s no wonder Ranney did what he did. I don’t know how you put up with m- AHH!” Strom suddenly roared as a blunt metal fist struck him across the face and sent him crashing down onto the sand.
Commander Braon landed on the ground and stared at him firmly. He cracked the knuckles of his cybernetic hand and then folded his arms. Strom scrambled to a sitting position and put his wounded claw to his throbbing face. “What was that for, Commander?!” he snapped, drawing attention from a few nearby soldiers.
“To knock that crap out of you,” Braon growled sternly. “Yeah, you made a mistake. A particularly big one. Do you think that self-deprecation is going to make it all better? You are flawed, Strom, but so is everybody. I happen to know for a fact that you’re a good friend underneath that tough, scaly and prickly exterior, so don’t kid yourself otherwise.”
“Commander,” Strom said in shock. He sighed and removed his claw from his face, revealing a smear of blood on his cheek. Braon was surprised at the sight of the crimson fluid since he was sure he didn’t break scales with his punch. Strom then winced as he loosened his hand, feeling a strong burning sensation run through his wounds. The Justimon looked down and noticed the large gashes in Strom’s palm.
“You’re hurt,” Braon observed, walking over to him and grabbing his claws in order to inspect his palm.
“It’s just a cut, Commander,” Strom replied dismissively.
“So I guess you don’t mind walking to the medical station without my help then,” the commander said with a grin.
Strom sighed and reluctantly stood to his feet. “I can never win against you, can I?” he asked in defeat.
“Nope! Luckily for you I have your best interests in mind,” he replied with a small chuckle, leading the Spinomon off the beach and towards the nearby fields where the military was still organizing.
“Luckily for me, indeed,” Strom murmured with sarcasm clear in his voice.
The Justimon commander led Strom through the frankly unorganized ranks, shouting out orders to any rebel that he passed. Everything was a chaotic mess. There were dinosaurs who meshed with insects who were surrounded by celestials who were flanked by Garurumon who were adjacent to several Greymon and so on. It was an organizational nightmare, especially now that the Rebel’s leaders, Apollo and Artemis, were now dead.
“Take those prisoners over there with the others,” Braon said to a MegaKabuterimon before turning to somebody else. “You, MetalGreymon, go take your forces over to Onaga and regroup near that tree.” He then glanced at an angry-looking Gargomon who was nearing a group of prisoners. “You! Don’t even think about harming our POWs!”
Strom watched the commander bark out orders as he continued walking through the battlefield. “...I’d help you out, Commander, but I sort of like having the flesh in my throat not permanently shredded,” he said, managing to retain a small smile.
“You’re a dinosaur; I thought you’d jump at the chance to destroy your vocal cords through yelling!” Braon teased, chuckling. “And hey! You’re my protégé and my subordinate; I order you to help me with this mind-numbing mess!”
“So sorry. I can’t,” Strom replied, holding up his bleeding claw to get out of the delegated task. “I’m wounded and have to go to the medical station--hey! Wait a minute!” The Spinomon realized that he had fallen right into Braon’s ploy of getting him to willingly get his wound checked out.
The Justimon smirked and folded his arms. “You’re not much of a tactician; you fell right into my trap,” he laughed. Braon directed Strom to several big white tents which were hitched up over the grass. “The medical station is over there, big guy. Go to the one that can fit you. I’ll be with you as soon as I get some semblance of order here... And please, don’t give the doctors any trouble this time.”
“That’s entirely up to them,” the dinosaur answered with an indignant grumble.
Commander Braon grinned and shook his head before running over to Commander Arahon Alpha, the only other high ranking Rebel around. Meanwhile, Strom slogged over to the massive tents, inside of which he heard groans and growls of pain. The Spinomon took in a deep breath, though instead of the fresh air that he was hoping for, he inhaled smoke and residual vapours still lingering from the massive battle.
He coughed and gave an unamused growl before walking in the large tent, where he towered over many of the doctors and patients. One of the doctors, a Guardromon, approached him. Strom looked down at him, immediately recognizing him as one of the doctors from the Rebels of the Harmonious who took care of them on more than one occasion.
“Oh dear,” he spoke, looking up at Strom. “You’re injured too, are you? Come, lie down over here.”
As he talked, the Avenger couldn’t help but be reminded of times past...
/-/
"Oh, you're awake. Good," said the Guardromon, approaching Rai. "Here you go. Fresh bandages. I shall put them on you."
"Gah! Unhand me, Tinman!" the Rapidmon yelled.
\-\
Strom exhaled and narrowed his eyes, looking sadly down at the ground. Rai was dead. It was only yesterday that the rabbit digimon went about his light-hearted, if not hot-headed, antics and boasting. Strom half expected to turn around and be faced with one of Rai’s insults about his weight, intelligence, species or all of the above but that wasn’t to be.
It was Imego that killed him. He killed all of them... Rai, Karasu, Valra, and Ragna...
The Spinomon glowered and clenched his fist, causing blood to gush out from the cuts and trickle off of his knuckles. To him, Imego deserved a slow and excruciating death for each life that he took. Not just the lives of his friends, but every good digimon that he had killed. It incensed Strom that Gog and Magog killed him in the fraction on a millisecond... He wished years of pain upon that Dramon. Strom wanted him to suffer...
A searing pain ripped through Strom’s palm and coursed up his arm, eliciting an audible grunt and a wince from the dinosaur. He looked down at his hand and noticed that it continued to bleed. The dinosaur couldn’t help but become aware of a blue colouring around the edges of the gash.
“Strom? What are you waiting for?” the Guardromon asked, ushering him over to some open space in the tent between two wounded rebels.
“Uhh... Yeah, right,” he murmured, trudging over and sitting down with noticeable pain.
“You are quite bruised, you realize,” the robotic digimon observed.
“Just concentrate on the hand,” Strom replied brusquely while pointing to the wound with his other set of claws.
The Guardromon looked down at the open lacerations and placed his hands on his hips. “I should be able to stitch that up, but they’re pretty deep, so I can’t promise there won’t be scarring...”
“Get it over with. I don’t care about scars. Now it might be hard to tell, but I’m kind of used to them,” he said sardonically, gesturing to the two giant scars on his chest from when he was tortured.
“But of course,” the doctor said, collecting bandages and the stitching materials they had access to. Strom winced as the Guardromon began to run the durable needle through his tough yellow scales while holding the bandage to his slashes to staunch the flow of blood.
It was then when Commander Braon walked in, approaching Strom and the Guardromon. “How many wounded do you have, Doc?” he asked, looking around the tent.
“Too many, Sir,” the Guardromon replied sadly. “And that’s not including Dramon. We need more doctors and supplies. We just don’t have enough.”
“I’ll see what I can do...” Braon said with a sigh. “What a mess. If I had known all of it would be this much trouble, I might have reconsidered rebelling in the first place,” he joked. Unbeknownst to him, it wasn’t exactly in the best taste.
Strom shifted in his place uncomfortably, and several surrounding wounded soldiers glanced over at the Justimon, disenchanted by the comment. “Commander...” the Guardromon said incredulously.
Braon looked at him with confusion initially. He then glanced around at some of the other digimon, perceiving their reactions. Soon after, it hit him. “...Oh! I – uhh - ...I didn’t mean...” he stammered, sheepishly scratching his cheek with his finger. “I was just joking. Heheh... You see... Oh boy.” He sighed in defeat and sat down beside Strom. “You’re supposed to stop me when my mouth gets ahead of my brain.”
“Don’t worry. Any faux pas you make, I’m sure I’ve done worse... I’m not exactly socially tactful, in case you haven’t noticed,” Strom answered, grimacing as the Guardromon continued working on his hand.
“Really? I had no idea...” Braon answered, grinning.
Strom rolled his eyes in reply. “Are you here to check up on me?”
“Partially,” the Justimon answered. “Even Commanders need a breather, sometimes... Arahon’s got Ajax, Onaga, Valkur, Osiris, Gapsar and Karmas running around to try and help with the organizing. I’m surprised he didn’t call on you too.”
“I’m not that surprised,” Strom replied, looking away as the Guardromon tightened the stitches, sealing the wounds on his palm closed.
“We’re just simple soldiers,” Braon said, glancing out the open flap of the massive tent. “With our leaders gone, not only Apollo and Artemis, but Valdur, the Olympians and the Dramon’s higher ups too, things are going to be pretty hectic. I don’t know about you, but I’m used to looking at a battlefield, not a complex mess of bureaucracy and ‘the bigger picture’.”
The dinosaur nodded his head and looked down. “Yeah, I feel the same...”
“...However, I know that my job in the near future is going to be a big one and I’m going to have to deal with it.”
Strom glanced over to look at Braon just as the Guardromon tied the bandage around his hand. “Are you suggesting something, Commander?” he asked. Before Braon could respond, a MagnaAngemon came over and began working his Magna Antidote, which began to close Strom’s wound. After that, the robotic medic inspected the lacerations a final time. Strom picked up on the curious look in the Guardromon’s eyes as they gazed at the wound.
“Well, you’re all done here,” the Guardromon said, backing up and putting his hands on his metallic hips. “Would you be so kind as to leave so that we can make room for more wounded?”
Strom nodded and got to his feet with a strained growl. “No rest for the weary...”
Commander Braon grinned and stood up as well, stretching upon getting to his feet. “Yup,” he said, beginning to lead Strom out of the tent. He looked to the other soldiers in the tent. “Stay strong, guys. Good job today, all of you.”
“Don’t move your hand if you can help it, Strom. The tissue hasn’t healed,” the Guardromon called after him. “And there was one more thing... I noticed something abnormal with the collagen, that is, the scarring. I’m afraid there will, in fact, be scarring and there’s something... odd about it.”
Strom stopped and turned around. “How so?” he asked. He then glanced down at his palm and peeled back the blood-stained bandage. “What in the-... It’s... blue!? ...Tch. Of course it is,” Strom said with a sigh. “This could only happen to me...”
“What does that mean, Doc?” Braon asked.
“I am not entirely sure,” the Guardromon admitted. “I am pretty sure it is nothing dangerous. My best guess is that there was some sort of data alteration from whatever weapon cut him.”
“The Wyrmflame?” Strom whispered, remembering Ragna’s face along with the blazing blue flames of the sword. He also remembered cutting his hand when picking up the sword after the Dynasmon’s death. “But why?”
“I am not sure... It is probably temporary. Do not bother yourself with it,” he insisted.
“Gee thanks,” Strom muttered. “Yeah, I’ll lull myself into a false sense of security until my arm begins to mutate or turn inside out or something and I become a monster. Terrific idea, Doc.”
The Guardromon rolled his eyes and moved onto his next patient, leaving Strom and the commander alone. Braon walked alongside Strom and couldn’t help but notice that the dinosaur looked concerned. He grinned and placed his hand on the Spinomon’s arm. “Heh, don’t worry, Strom. Just look on the bright side. Like I said: chicks dig scars.”
Strom blinked and a small grin formed on his face. “That has yet to be proven,” he answered, following the commander out of the tent and into fresh air and the dark orange sunset’s light.
-
Night fell over the landscape, covering the fields with a silent darkness. All was quiet except for the calm sloshing of the surf against the nearby beach. The moon cast a blue hue across the land from its perch amongst the twinkling stars. Only a few wafts of smoke remained lingering from the battle. If it weren’t for the battle damage on the land, one wouldn’t have known a battle took place there several hours ago.
The Dramon prisoners were rounded up into several groups and watched over by several sentries. The guards, however, seemed more or less unnecessary. For the most part, the Dramon showed no wishes to continue fighting or try anything else dubious. Their command structure had been broken and after witnessing the unleashing of Gog and Magog, many began questioning Imego and his close comrades’ sanity. Several were already turning against Imego when he ruthlessly destroyed several fellow dragons during the chaos that followed Arahon Alpha’s failed execution. The Dramon prisoners slept out in the fields, finding themselves in the position the Rebels were in not long ago.
By nightfall, the united rebels were finally better organized. The Greymon Corps were in their own camp, the Leomon tribe in theirs and likewise with the Royal Hive, the Palaeozoic Sovereignty, and so on. The sounds of heavy breathing, light chatting and snores whispered against the dusk breeze.
That wind rustled the tattered branches of a tree sitting on a small hill overlooking the field. Sitting under the tree, leaning back against the trunk were two figures, one a large dinosaur digimon and the other a comparatively smaller humanoid digimon. The Spinomon and Justimon remained awake, staring up at the stars.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Braon asked from his relaxed stance with his hands resting behind his head.
Strom, who had to sit with his sail placed strategically beside the trunk, looked down at him curiously. “Hrm? What is, Commander?”
“Being able to finally sit out in the open like this. No more having to worry about being ambushed or followed back to headquarters. No more Dramon patrols. This is... freedom,” he spoke.
Strom thought about it for a moment and nodded fondly. “I never really thought about it like that... It’s hard to imagine.”
Commander Braon grinned. “What a difference a day makes.”
The Spinomon frowned and leaned his head back so that it rested against the trunk of the tree. His golden eyes narrowed as they stared up at the star-filled sky. “...Yeah...”
The Justimon looked up at him grimly and sighed. “Strom... I’m sorry about the others...”
Strom turned his head in the opposite direction. “Me too...” he said quietly. A blistering pain suddenly coursed through his wounded hand, right where the scars were placed. The dinosaur winced and brought his hand close to his chest.
The Justimon looked over curiously. “You okay?”
The Spinosaurus nodded. “Yeah... My cuts must still be healing...”
The two grew silent and continued gazing up at the glimmering night sky above. The stars flickered with an unspoken hope and solace. Both Strom and Braon could feel it lingering over their hearts.
Finally Strom broke the silence with a question he had for his friend. “Commander, can I ask you something? ...Why did you join the Rebellion? I mean, you’re part Dramon, aren’t you?”
Commander Braon looked up at Strom “Species doesn’t mean anything. I knew that what the Three Great Dramon were doing was wrong. I have a heart of justice, Strom... This form of mine isn’t just for good looks,” he said with a slight grin. His disposition soon became serious again. “You joined for the same reason, didn’t you? You were a dinosaur living in the neutral nation of the Palaeozoic Sovereignty and I was a dramon living in the newly founded Dramon Empire. Neither of us had to rebel, but we chose to because we knew it was the right thing to do. Am I wrong?”
Strom shook his head contemplatively. “No... You’re exactly right. To think... I persecuted Ragna for doing the exact same thing...”
“Blaming yourself is only going to make things worse,” Braon explained. “Whatever happened is in the past.”
“And we should move towards our future...” Strom murmured. Upon receiving a confused look from Braon, he decided to clarify. “It was something Ragna said to me. It made me think... He started to become my friend after all that I did to him. I wondered if I could do the same.”
The Justimon smiled. “I know you can, Strom. You know as well as I do that you’re a big softie underneath.”
The orange reptile indignantly turned his head away. “I can’t decide whether to be insulted or not...” Braon let out a chuckle, prompting a smirk from the dinosaur as well. Strom then turned back to the commander. “Uhh, Braon... I just wanted to say... thanks... for sticking by me all this time. And even for putting up with me. I know I’m not really easy to get along with,” he said, his cheeks tinted red with embarrassment.
The Justimon raised his hand and gently patted Strom’s forearm. “That’s what friends do, Strom.”
“Good friends, you mean,” Strom corrected lowly.
Braon sighed and gave Strom’s arm a final pat with his organic arm before removing it and placing it behind his head along with his cybernetic arm. “So, Strom... The war’s over... I know what I’m going to be doing.”
“What’s that?” the dinosaur asked.
“Long nap,” he replied, smirking. “Then I guess it falls to me and the others to get this world in order.”
“I don’t envy you,” Strom murmured as he looked back up at the stars longingly.
“What about you, Strom? What are you going to do now that there’s no Dramon left to fight?”
The Spinomon didn’t reply initially. He never really thought about it. Strom didn’t really ever picture the war ending. He was at a loss.
“We need good leaders,” offered Braon.
Strom chuckled to himself. “I’m not much of a leader... I’m more of a sarcastic, pessimistic, all-around unpleasant pain in the tail that the leaders hate,” he replied.
Braon grinned. “Can’t entirely argue with that... So what’s your plan then? What are you going to do?”
Strom’s smile slowly vanished. “I... don’t know.” His head bowed and his eyes were drawn towards the ground once again. “I don’t have anywhere to go...”
“What are you talking about? You literally have the whole world now,” the Justimon insisted.
“But I don’t...” Strom answered solemnly. “I cut my ties with the Paleozoic Sovereignty when I left to join the Rebels. But with the Rebels... I never really belonged either. I don’t have a home to go to.”
“King Aegyptu isn’t harbouring any ill-feelings towards you, Strom. I talked to him awhile ago,” the humanoid digimon explained.
“I can’t go back!” insisted the dinosaur angrily. His shouting prompted some annoyed swears from a few of the sleeping digimon in the field below.
Commander Braon remained calm and studied his face carefully. “This is about Ranney, isn’t it?” Strom let out a subconscious growl inside his throat, inadvertently supplying Braon with his answer. “You’re going to have to face him sometime, Strom.”
“I know...” Strom spoke softly but with reluctance in his voice. “I know I have to at least try to give him a shot. I already made that mistake with Ragna... I can’t afford to make it again, no matter how hard it is for me to face him but...”
“You do know that he probably still feels the exact same way that you do right now,” Braon explained. “Wracked with guilt and all... I saw him, you know, when we were at the Paleozoic Sovereignty.”
Strom sighed. “So you’ve told me... I can’t deny that it’s probably true, but still... Braon, you don’t know what it’s like to be betrayed by your former best friend. It’s not something you can get over easily. You’re left with a gaping wound inside...”
“I know it’s not going to be easy, Strom,” the Justimon told him. “But it’s right, though I think you already know that. It’s something that you two have to work out together.”
Strom nodded, though he still felt uncomfortable with the whole thing. “I guess you’re right.”
“Just remember his side of the story. I don’t want you going off on him again, understand?”
Strom offered a small grin. “I make no promises...”
Braon chuckled and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “Stubborn lizard,” he joked.
“You’re one to talk about being a lizard, you carefree half-breed,” the Spinomon retorted, grinning.
“Ooh, ouch,” the smirking Justimon replied. “I’d take that back if I were you; that’s insubordination. You want me giving you a new set of scars, you brusque, smart-alecky, overgrown pin cushion?”
“Yes sir!” Strom said as he mock-saluted him. “I’ll keep my trap shut from now on! ...Flamboyant, tights-wearing cyborg,” the dinosaur added in a mutter, just loud enough for his friend to hear him.
“Okay,” the laughing Braon replied, standing to his feet. “That’s it!” Without giving Strom a moment to respond, the Justimon jumped up and tackled the twenty foot dinosaur down with ease.
The Spinomon initially grimaced, but soon found himself chuckling. “I’m not going to go easy on you just because you’re my Commander,” he said as he knocked Braon off of his chest.
“You want a piece of me?” Braon challenged, lunging back at Strom as soon as his feet touched the ground. He landed on Strom’s neck and looked down at him with confidence.
As their merriment and friendly fighting continued, groans began to ring out from disturbed rebels and dramon alike. Several digimon shifted to their opposite side or cupped their hands over their ears to drown out the laughing and noise coming from atop the hill.
“Shut up! We’re trying to get some sleep!” a MetalGreymon finally shouted over to the pair, earning himself several irritated shushes, as well.
Strom flushed slightly and shut his mouth, realizing that they were being far too loud. Braon, however, hopped down off of Strom and looked down at the horde from atop the hill he was on.
“Okay, who the hell said that?!” he called out, pretending to sound angry, but smirking all the while.
The MetalGreymon’s face went white with horror as soon as he recognized the voice, realizing exactly who he just told to shut up. “C-C-Commander Braon, sir!” he stammered.
“That’s right,” Braon replied, ignoring Strom’s tittering. “Is there something you want to say to me, soldier?”
“N-no, sir! S-sorry! I didn’t realize it was you, Commander!” the MetalGreymon said, standing up and nervously saluting him. “It was his idea!” he pointed to the sleek, dark blue Greymon beside him who was watching with an amused expression.
“Hey!” the Greymon barked at him.
“Never mind,” Braon responded, grinning. “Carry on and get some rest. And... we’ll try to keep it down, okay?”
“Y-yes, sir!” the MetalGreymon said, bowing. “Thank you, sir!”
“That never gets old,” Strom said in a quiet voice, looking over at his Commander.
“What’s the use of having this rank if I can’t have a bit of fun with it every once in awhile?” Commander Braon replied with a smirk. “We should probably get some rest too, right? It’s been a rough day and we’ve got a big day tomorrow too.”
“What’s this ‘we’ stuff, Commander?” Strom asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well you are my apprentice and my subordinate, so you get to help me with micromanaging everything! Sorting out the POWs, meeting with our allies, organizing our troops, a load of post-war stuff that we weren’t trained for since we didn’t expect Apollo and Artemis would die. Sounds fun, eh, Strom? You’re going to love it,” Braon said, grinning.
Strom groaned and dragged his palm down the roof of his snout in dread. “You know me so well...” he replied dryly.
Braon chuckled and observed Strom preparing to lie down. “Not going to lie on your back tonight? You know, just to mix things up a bit?” he asked, eyeing the blades and spikes on the dinosaur’s back with a grin.
“Very funny, Commander,” Strom said responding with both a roll of his eyes and a small smirk.
The Spinomon got on all fours, lying down on his stomach, nestling into the soft grass, curling his tail around his body and resting his head on his forearms. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re adorable when you go to sleep?” the Justimon teased, watching this.
“I hate you,” Strom retorted, grumbling in embarrassment.
Commander Braon walked over to Strom and lay down as well, resting his head against the reptile’s flank, using the side of his underbelly as a pillow. “I swear, if you roll on top of me again, I’ll personally feed you your own spikes,” he warned with a grin.
“Nobody’s forcing you to sleep like that,” Strom answered, closing his gold eyes. “You could use your scarf as a pillow instead.”
“And get it dirty? I think not!” he replied, elbowing him slightly.
Strom let out a stifled ‘oomph’ as Braon unknowingly elbowed a fresh bruise that he sustained sometime during the battle. “Suit yourself, Commander...”
The Justimon smirked slightly and settled in. “Goodnight, Strom.”
“Goodnight, Braon...” Strom replied tiredly, his eyes remaining closed.
“And here’s to peace...”
-
As everyone slept, the night continued on. The world turned and the stars flickered with hope as time ushered in a new age: an age of peace and tranquility. Or so they hoped.
However, not everybody was so tranquil. Some digimons’ hearts still flared and ached from the previous day or just from the unnecessary war in general. In the battle stained fields, some digimon still stirred.
“Quiet down, Dramon,” the large, woolly form of a Vikemon whispered angrily. “Others are trying to sleep.”
The bipedal mammal folded his arms and continued watching over the group of twenty dramon prisoners of war, all of whom were asleep except for two. “We’re not the ones that haven’t been taught to whisper, filthy lout,” a humanoid cobalt-armoured dramon muttered under his breath, his voice refined and smug.
“What did you call me?!” the Vikemon guard asked, his voice rising.
“I called you an unkempt lummox,” the dramon reiterated.
The guard frowned pensively and rubbed the back of his head, trying to figure out the words seemingly foreign to him. “...One more time?”
“You’re a scruffy boor with the appearance and aroma of an abhorrent ogre,” he finished, smirking.
The Vikemon remained thinking in silence for several more seconds. “Well... as long as it’s a compliment,” he finally replied, sitting down.
“Idiot,” the dragon digimon whispered quietly before turning to his comrade with a grin. The other prisoner, however, was not in the least bit amused. The bipedal dragon clad in silver plate armour was completely void of any cheer. His green capes hung down onto his tail as his horned face stared down at his wrists, which were bound by chains.
“Aren’t you the glum one?” the more relaxed digimon said to the Slayerdramon with a calm, almost teasing expression on his horned face.
“And you aren’t?” the Slayerdramon shot back, glaring up at the blue scaled dragon who had large pink and azure wings jutting out from his back. The UlforceVeedramon’s wrists were also bound in front of him with chains and his V-Bracelets were removed, for obvious reason.
“Of course I am,” the azure Royal Knight replied, his smirk disappearing. “The great Dramon Empire reduced to this.” He gestured with his hands to the other groups of POWs, all with guards keeping an eye on them. “The humiliation is unbearable. We actually surrendered to the Rabble of the Harmonious Republic.”
The Slayerdramon remained silent, choosing to stare down at his armoured arms, which showed signs of struggle due to the amount of scrapes and scuffs marks on his arms, presumably from fighting against the chains. He had since stopped trying.
“Well, Ishton? Aren’t you going to say something?” the UlforceVeedramon asked.
The silver armoured Dramon remained silent for a moment. “...No, Balion. I’m not.”
Balion rolled his crimson eyes and lay back down on his winged back. “And where is that damned Gotungir? I haven’t seen him at all since entering the battlefield. Have the rebel filth taken him for questioning?”
“No... He’s dead,” Ishton replied in a desolate voice. “Master Gotungir was murdered... by the one they call ‘Ajax’...”
Balion’s head jerked towards him, his eyes wide with shock. “...What?” he spoke, the usual condescension in his voice replaced by incredulousness. “No... That’s impossible! He was slain?!” Ishton replied with but a sad nod. Balion’s eyes narrowed into an angry grimace. “It... can’t be. No... Damn it!” he snapped, sitting upwards.
“Quiet!” the Vikemon guard ordered.
“Shut your damn mouth, you inbred parasite!” Balion shouted in response, earning him annoyed growls from his fellow POWs. The Vikemon snarled and narrowed his eyes warningly. The UlforceVeedramon returned the snarl and turned back to Ishton. “Gotungir’s actually dead?”
Ishton nodded again. “I saw it with my own eyes...” he whispered. He clenched his restrained fists.
Balion grimaced and looked down. “No...” he spoke softly. “Gotungir, you bastard... How could you go and die before teaching me the secrets of the Future Mode?”
The Slayerdramon snarled and pounced on top of Balion, pinning him to the ground and wrapping his fingers around Balion’s neck. The Vikemon just watched, thinking that Balion was getting what he deserved. “How dare you!” Ishton growled, glaring down at him as he started squeezing. “Master Gotungir is dead and that’s all you care about?! Master Gotungir taught you everything he knew, you ungrateful little worm... And you deserved none of it.”
Balion sneered and kicked Ishton off of him. He coughed and sat himself up, glaring at Ishton defiantly. “Not everything, apparently... If he hadn’t been so foolish to die in battle...” He growled angrily and looked off to the side.
“You probably would have died in battle if it weren’t for him, you spoiled little creature. The only reason Master Gotungir accepted you as his apprentice was because he had to, due to your bloodlines and your father’s accomplishments and influence. You never would have gotten the Future Mode anyways, Flamdring,” Ishton hissed. “He never saw any real potential in you. Master Gotungir--”
“’Master Gotungir’!” Balion quoted him mockingly. “I’m his damn apprentice and I don’t even call him that ridiculous title!”
“That’s because you have no respect... And you don’t know him like me...” Ishton spoke sadly, looking down at the dark grass. “He was my master...”
“Whatever that means,” Balion said, rolling his eyes. “Do you have a thing for my former mentor or something?”
The Slayerdramon shot him a glare that could kill. “Would you like me to cut your tongue out?”
“Without your sword, I’d like to see you try,” Balion challenged, grinning.
Ishton let out a short, dismissive growl. “...Whatever happens, our empire will be in ruins because of this. Not only have we lost so many of our kin, but we’ll be in deep economic trouble and our nation’s and species’ identity will be forever tarnished.”
“Thanks to that damn Imego,” Balion said, scowling. “What was the power-hungry idiot thinking?”
“I don’t know... I think the power drove him to madness. Thinking he could actually control those abominations...” Ishton spoke. The Slayerdramon looked over at the UlforceVeedramon. “Why are you here, Flamdring? I thought you told Gotungir that you wouldn’t follow Imego into battle after what he did to the Three Great Dramon. Yet here you sit, a prisoner like me.”
Balion let out a brief scoff. “I did tell him that, but as soon as I heard about Gog and Magog, I raced to the battlefield to see for myself. It was just in time to see that bastard’s data melt away. Then I felt the power of everybody being sent to Ajax. I even sent him my own just to spite Imego.”
“I didn’t,” Ishton mumbled. “Even though the entire world was at stake... I could never forgive him for what he did. It would be a tarnish on my soul if I gave him so much as a single fraction of power.”
The Slayerdramon whispered, his eyes narrowing. “I will never forgive any of them.”
“What?” Balion asked, turning to look at him.
“Our weak-willed comrades surrendered to these scum, but not I. With our command structure broken and our leaders dead, the moderates among us will reach out to the Rebels. Soon we’ll be walking hand-in-hand with them, trying to act like nothing happened,” Ishton spoke, standing to his feet which grabbed the attention of the Vikemon guard.
“It’s a shame, yes, but it can’t be helped at this point. ...What are you doing, Ishton?” Balion asked, standing up himself.
“I will not let that happen,” Ishton said to himself, anger flaring in his golden eyes. “I will not stand beside his murderers. I will be Master Gotungir’s sword, striking at them with flames of vengeance.”
He grabbed Balion by the neck, glaring into the UlforceVeedramon’s surprised red eyes. “I will get him his revenge.” With those words, Ishton hurled Balion into the Vikemon and lunged into the air, flying into the night sky.
After the initial surprise, the Vikemon guard threw Balion to the ground and noticed Ishton escaping. “Alert!” his voice resounded through the fields, causing many annoyed groans and swears. “He’s escaping! The Slayerdramon’s escaping!”
Commander Braon jolted awake and jumped to his feet. “Wh-what?! What’s going on?!” he demanded, looking around.
“Commander!” a blue Greymon hailed. “A Slayerdramon prisoner’s escaping!” He pointed with his small arm in the direction of the escaping Ishton.
“What?! Son of a...” the Justimon groaned. As this unfolded, Strom blinked himself awake and tried to get his bearings. Braon looked from atop the hill to the others. “Why weren’t the prisoners’ wings restrained?!”
“I’m on it, Sir!” the Vikemon told him, locking Balion in a bear hug.
“D-Damnit!” Balion swore, struggling against the hulking guard. “Get off of me, you brainless oaf! I wasn’t even trying to escape!”
“The order must have gotten lost in the chaos,” Strom said groggily. He looked over and saw a Garudamon guard taking flight after Ishton. The humanoid bird digimon flapped his wings frantically to catch up with him.
Soon the Garudamon’s body became engulfed in an orange aura. “Wing Bla—”
Ishton momentarily halted in his flight and turned around to face the oncoming Garudamon. As the avian digimon was in mid attack, the dragon slammed the toe of his metal boot into his face, causing the guard to reel back in pain. The Slayerdramon took this opportunity to continue on his way through the sky.
Braon scowled. “Of course. After him! Rai! Karasu! Take him down!” he ordered in a booming voice, hastily thinking of the fastest fliers he could think of.
“Braon...” Strom said sadly, clenching his fists as he got to his feet. “They’re gone, remember?”
The Justimon snarled. “Somebody go after him! Anybody!” he demanded, nearly begging by this point.
“Seventh Pteramon Squad!” King Aegyptu’s resounding voice rang out over the massive camp. “To action! Take down that prisoner!” the Spinomon twice as big as Strom ordered.
A group of exhausted armoured pterodactyl digimon reluctantly took to the skies, some yawning as they did so.
“Double the guard on the prisoners in case anymore try to escape! Triple them!” Braon shouted. The Justimon turned around to face Strom. “What are you waiting for, Strom? Start suppressing him until the Pteramon close in!”
“Y-right!” Strom stammered, quickly getting down on all fours and arching his back. “Sonic Slash Rain!”
A continuous salvo of blades exploded from Strom’s spines, shooting towards Ishton, who was a good deal away by then. The Slayerdramon swerved in his flight to avoid the massive blades. Strom growled and attempted to aim lower, but the further his target got, the harder it was to aim accurately.
Ishton flew with determination, bashing one of the oncoming blades away with his bound hands. Long ranged attacks from other digimon began to rip through the sky towards him. He ducked under a green beam that lit up the sky in an emerald flare and continued to fly up and over a volley of explosive shells. The Slayerdramon dodged and parried all of the attacks thrown at him in remarkable aerial manoeuvres.
“He’s out of range, Sir,” Strom said to Braon apologetically. The Commander watched as the Pteramon flew after him, but just couldn’t keep up with the aerial-based mega level digimon.
“And he’s too fast for the Pteramon...” the Justimon replied, dragging his palm down his face in exasperation. “Forget it; he’s gone... What a disaster... We could win the war but we couldn’t keep a single prisoner from escaping. That guy better not have been somebody important...”
“Everybody’s so tired from the battle and the chaos yesterday that they’re tripping over each other,” Strom said, stifling a yawn himself.
“No kidding,” Braon replied, rubbing his temple, still extremely annoyed. “We’re just lucky that the other prisoners are either just as tired or just don’t care enough to try to follow him or else this could have been a whole lot messier.”
Strom nodded and lay back down, trying to get settled into a comfortable position again. “It’s just one prisoner. And his hands are tied; he’s probably just going to go home now that the war’s over. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Maybe...” Braon said, stroking his chin.
The spinosaurus digimon found a comfortable position. “Can we go back to sleep, Commander?”
“Get some rest, Strom,” Braon told him. He then groaned. “I have to go check with the guards to make sure the other prisoners are secure...”
The Spinomon nodded and closed his eyes as the commander started walking down the hill towards the camp.
Meanwhile, Ishton looked over his shoulder and saw that the squad of Pteramon were finally giving up and turning around after realizing they were fighting a losing battle. “I’m almost free now,” Ishton said to himself, looking down at his chained hands.
“Soon, Master, I’ll avenge you. Once again, they will know our might...”
-
(Continued next post)
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