Clack

Clatter

Gears and pinions juddered and slid, worn bronze and cast iron pulling against ancient stone. A mechanism well machined and crafted in its time, though not without showing the odd quirk here and there; the slip of a tooth, or the gentle scuffing on one of the once ornate panels, the front edges now lined with a permanent layer of soot from decades of work now.

Commander Fornaxmon did wish that the mechanisms of the fortress weren’t quite such a constant reminder of his own body these days. Well-weathered, sure. Hardened and tempered from battle and sweat, with a fire burning as brightly as ever. But, nevertheless, it was a body born from many an experience, and experience had its ways of leaving little marks and quirks in parts that not two years ago had moved without complaint.

He wasn’t old. He wasn’t admitting that yet.

Just needed to do the occasional extra stretch now and again.

Ignoring the stiffness in his left shoulder, he straightened up and stepped out onto the stone step beyond the front gate, with the relative cool of the outside air worming its way through his mechanical joints. Before him stood a pathway formed from two rows of the Fire Forces, ordered perfectly by rank and height and stood to perfect attention, facing one another. In between them, a smaller faction; a squadron of Rinkmon and Sagittarimon, flanking four individuals behind.

The lead Sagittarimon stepped forwards, planting his paws against the scuffed stone below.

“Presenting their highnesses; the eminent quartet of the Spokes Sovereignty do honour their requested presence before the Fire Kingdom in agreement and fulfilment with the terms of their alliance.”

Fornaxmon descended before them, the top of his head letting off a little burst of flame as he bowed.

“By my power as Royal Commander, I am honoured to present the hospitality of the Fire Kingdom to the Spokes Sovereignty. Boarding and facilities have been prepared for you within the Infernal Fortress.”

It was a mechanical rote, but a fluid one nonetheless; years of heritage not yet stamped out from the Fire Kingdom’s assets. Fornaxmon waited a few moments, before hearing the collective stamp from both the Fire Forces and the Spokes Guard alike. He raised himself, getting a better look at the four leaders themselves as they proceeded forwards. There was little reaction from any of them, save for the tall, swaying tree nymph on the end. She was wearing a long-sleeved robe covering her long hooked claws, a beautiful golden mask and coronet on the top half of her face, and a blatant and condescending scowl on the bottom half. Fornaxmon’s insides clicked uncomfortably. He’d already been pre-warned of the good lady Hamadryamon.

“I trust your journey was an acceptable one.”

The mechanical man kept his demeanour as neutral as he was able; admittedly easy for him due to the lack of any facial expressions on his knight’s helm. Still, Hamadryamon tutted with disdain.

“For the most part. Your atmosphere here leaves much to be desired. Filthy smog is unbecoming of a well-established kingdom.”

She sniffed, making a show of pulling a cylinder out from her robe and dousing her exposed skin, causing her already iridescent colours to shine vividly. Fornaxmon merely stood back, glancing at the offending yellow and orange tapestry above.

“My humble apologies. Unfortunately for responsibilities such as ours we are tied by the location. I’m told volcanic ash contains many health benefits though.”

Hamadryamon placed the cylinder away, before twisting a strand of hair over one finger. “Honestly...leave it to toads to extol the virtues of pond scum.” She spoke underneath her breath, deliberately not addressing him and also deliberately not quietly enough that he didn’t hear. She waved a hand dismissively. “Lead the way, sergeant.”

“Commander, your eminence.”

The nymph paused, giving him a look capable of curdling the magma that coursed through him. Another sovereign walked towards him in response; a muscular duck with a cannon for a right arm and a greatly adorned military uniform.

He stood abreast with Fornaxmon, his own face stern and unreadable. The duck raised his left arm, the knuckles cracking as he did so. Fornaxmon held his own up in response, mirroring the movements.

Their hands came together with a crack, both of them solid and unyielding as they pressed inwards. Fornaxmon felt the iron grip of the sovereign curling around his palm, the webbed talons pressing in.

With a thunk, his shoulder gave, only just momentarily, and releasing a jet of steam as the stiffness eased off. The duck smiled.

“You’re flagging, old boy.”

“Easy now, sir. I’m not dead just yet.”

The two laughed, and brought their heads together, pulling each other in to a strong-man’s embrace. Hamadryamon stuck her tongue out behind them.

“Honestly, Muscovymon, show some basic dignity once in a while.”

“Leave them be, Hamadryamon,” came a voice from above her, and she sidled around as she looked up at the third of their members; a large vast-winged angelic figure with a body armoured in circling rings, and a kind expression on his featureless mask. “At least he’s remembered to bring his pleasantries.”

“Hasdielmon, forgive me. I see no reason to waste pleasantries in an area such as this. We don’t even want to be here.”

Fornaxmon and Muscovymon pulled apart, the duck popping his cheeks out. “I’m assuming they warned you about her?”

“They warned me.”

“I can hear you, peasants.”

Hasdielmon chuckled, ushering everybody together with a sweeping gesture of his wings. “Don’t mind her. She’s just a little cranky because she thinks the heat’s making her wilt.”

The nymph flushed, pushing out her lips in a pout. “Darli-...Hasdielmon, you don’t have to rat me out like that...

“Aah!”

The angel turned, watching as the fourth of their member fell flat out against the stone. “Careful Gryllimon; there’s a step there.”

Gryllimon, the fourth and final sovereign got to her feet, whispering apologies under her breath as she straightened her insectoid wings, her arms folded in front of her as if she were praying. She reached up, and straightened her blindfold as she tiptoed forwards gingerly.

Fornaxmon straightened up again, and held his arm out to the side.

“Shall I show you all to your boardings? You’ll want to rest before the ceremony tomorrow.”

The four agreed, and they entered along with their entourage. Muscovymon caught Fornaxmon’s eye, and gave a smirk.

“I’m looking forward to it. I’m sure it’s going to make a hell of a bang.”

Fornaxmon gave a puff of flame, before pressing a palm against the switch on the wall. The great gates closed firmly, just as jaggedly as they’d opened, leaving the hallway illuminated by the great orange flames on the walls. He nodded, and continued after the sovereigns as their guide, with the torches casting flickering shadows over the ornate gates.

Unseen and undetected, a shape hovered inside one of those shadows, watching as the group disappeared down the end of the hallway. She sat back, allowing her body to adjust to the colour and feel of these unfamiliar walls.

As promised, she was in. And now she had a mission to fulfil.

The sun beat down against the head of the fortress as he stepped up, his paws pressing against the firm rock. He was the lone king of this fragile world. Beyond him, plains. Plateaus. Worlds. The wind cascaded between them and then reached up to the very head of the land, running through his thick crimson mane. Beads of flame circled around him and his muscular tail curled and flexed, and he braced himself and roared.

And his roar burst into flame, igniting the very sky and forming auroras and coronas, and he stood tall, witnessing his creation.

The rock gave way beneath his feet. The lone king tumbled. Falling and spinning, the ground speeding up towards him and

Flomp.

Coremon got a mouthful of leather sheet as he landed face first on the floor, his legs stuck up in the air at obscure angles.

Maybe not a lone king just yet. Though he was thankful he was at least alone for that display.

He rolled onto his back, untangling himself from the thin sheeting, and he pressed his arms out in front of him and arched his back, stretching as a cat would. He did look remarkably cat-like in some respects, with tufted pointy ears and a supple, lithe form adorned in short crimson fluff. His arms and legs were more like those of a monkey; grasping fingers and grey skin, with wings of yellow fur trailing up his forearms, glistening slightly with an internal warmth. He had a squat, snub nose, bright blue eyes, and a long ribbed tail that curled around in a loop, ending with a small scorpion stinger.

He was a curious creature, but novelty made no excuses for a life in the trainee barracks, and once he was awake he was most certainly up and moving like nobody’s business. Sheets folded, cases packed away, training equipment polished and hung neatly. In not ten minutes time he stood at the entrance of his little bunk, looking back into the neat cubby hole.

Well, he needed to set an example. Not just as dorm leader, but for whoever the next trainee would be who was going to take his place.

It dawned on him, just momentarily, that this would be the last he’d see of what had been his little home for the last five years. It had seemed so much bigger when he’d arrived. Now he’d outgrown it.

He grimaced, pushing the wads of sentimentality deep down into himself as he strolled out into the hallway, where there were lines of similar bunks to his, all laid in a circle. He grinned, and set off into a canter, his tail running against the railed walls with a resonating ting-a-ling.

“That’s it now, everybody up! Morning preparations abound. Come on, hop to it!”

“Yes leader.”

Many of his fellow trainees were already up and moving, and they filed out in turn, knocking and barging in on the other – mostly younger – Digimon who were still getting used to the rush and riot of the lifestyle. Coremon turned a corner with a swing on the rail, trotting along towards the entrance itself.

Flompf.

Coremon stumbled, nearly toppling over an In-training who had just emerged in front of him. He straightened up, clearing his throat as he smiled at the little ball of fuzz.

“Eyes front, soldier; we’ve got a big day ahead.”

The Digimon shuffled, the fluff parting to reveal a squat, kitten-like face and four stubby little paws, clearly trying very hard not to cry.

“I-i-is it true, leader? Are you really never coming back here?”

Coremon stared down into those big black eyes, feeling almost as if he could have been looking into a mirror. But he crouched down, running a hand through the newest trainee’s head fluff.

“Now now, I won’t be going too far. As long as I’m here I’m gonna be more than a leader, y’know? I’m gonna be a commander, and look after each and every one of you little soldiers from the top. So no need for tears, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The KoCoremon sniffed, but he shuffled back, raising a paw into a miniature salute. Coremon returned the gesture, before turning towards the others, all now present in the dorm and watching after him. He smiled, and pressed a paw against the ground.

“Look after this place. Look after each other. And make the Fire Kingdom proud. I’ll see you all later.”

“Yes Leader.”

The sound of a hundred tiny cheers followed the little manticore out the door and up the stairs to the fortress courtyard, the voices still welling inside his chest.

Perhaps not a lone king, but he’d had to admit, he’d miss having his own little fiefdom to look after down there.

But we must all grow up. And it was time to take his own next steps.

The vents on the ring opened with a series of pops, venting hot air and dust from the mechanism as the entire ground slid upwards. Coremon poked his head out, feeling the volcanic air ruffle his short fur, and he shivered despite himself.

Even the most hot-blooded amongst the Fire Forces didn’t tend to spend too much time on the topmost layer, seared as it was by the sun and the goings on deep within. Of course, you’d have the engineers scuttling around organising the daily communications with Grid Central or the Northern Tribes, as well as the platoons of scouts and guards patrolling the wall at the perimeter.

But for all its large area, the majority of the fortress lay below ground; layers of barracks, armouries and catacombs where he and the other soldiers made out their living. Strategically, it made sense. After all, they were a military stronghold, and you don’t get that title without making a few people want to knock on your door with big sledgehammers. The entire fortress was designed to keep the inhabitants safe, and keep them ready for rapid response. Even the little tunnel from the trainee barracks was a part of it; many such vents were dotted around the charcoal landscape, allowing a swift release of soldiers wherever they were needed. Coremon had heard tales of entire wars being fought on these grounds alone, though having heard many such extravagant boasts it was hard for him to distinguish history from anecdote these days.

Still, there were certainly more Digimon around than usual, many of which Coremon didn’t recognise as he made his way down the slatted path. Soldiers of all kinds, dignitaries, heralds and scouts; the sheer number of unfamiliar faces made him a little self-conscious as he trotted towards the grand hall. This was the only part of the fortress that was fully above ground; a goliath of stone and steel, fed and illuminated from the magma tubes deep below, and possibly something else even more mysterious.

It almost looked a little conspicuous where it was, but again, it had its place. It was all very well being able to arm yourself to the teeth at a moment’s notice, but if you plan to have allies then you need a vaguely welcoming building to usher them into and serve hot beverages.

Or, indeed, hold graduation ceremonies.

Coremon found himself weaving and working his way around more groups of important looking Digimon, his head dipping down lower all the time as he edged around to the side-entrance where he was expected.

That is, until he heard a familiar voice not too far away, and he paused and ducked sideway, peering around one of the armouries. There was a quartet of Digimon there; the royal Commander Fornaxmon who currently had one hand locked around the shoulder of a great armoured waterfowl, a winged angel that towered over them all, and the owner of the voice he recognised – and former general of the Fire Forces himself – Muspelmon.

“I’ve seen these rebels many times across the digital world. They may seem small at first, but they grow, and they will cause damage.”

“Our citizenry has no need for further distress. We need compassion, not militarisation.”

“I’m just making the offer. We are allies; we extend hands as and when we need to.”

Coremon bit his lip, backing away slightly as he intended to leave the four to their no-doubt very important conversation, when the old general’s head suddenly turned, and he straightened up with a loud and presumptuous “Aaah!”

Coremon winced, turning around and giving a robotic salute to the four, feeling redder than usual. “I..uh...just-“

“Come on, no need for stammering, you’re the ‘mon of the hour after all. Carry on, look sharp.”

Coremon shuffled forwards, as the old general trotted around behind him, nudging him forwards with an open gauntlet. Despite being dwarfed by his angelic companion he was no slouch himself; with the four powerful legs of a red deer and obsidian armour adorning his flanks and chest. He had a great battleaxe strapped over his back, and his shoulders and head were broad, helmed with a deep black mask revealing blazing blue eyes, and twisting stag’s horns that reached into the sky. He looked every bit as imposing as his title suggested, but when he spoke it was with a delicate, almost kindly whimsy.

“You’ll see him later, I’m sure, but this is Coremon. My pupil and mentee, and one of our finest soldiers of the future generation of the Fire Kingdom.”

Coremon sat stock still, staring ahead into nothing as he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t embarrass him. The old general was indeed his teacher, and he was a good one, but he could be a little...overbearing and extravagant at times.

“Aha, the commanders of the future, huh?” Muscovymon grinned, and elbowed Fornaxmon beside him. “He’s after your job.”

Fornaxmon let out a puff of steam. “He can take it, please. Release me from all the admin.”

Muscovymon honked with mirth, while his angelic companion crouched down, his bright eyes staring down into Coremon’s blue ones as his vast wings billowed around.

“You have a great potential here. The Fire Kingdom needs young, strong minds like yours. New ideas and great changes.”

Coremon swallowed. “Thank you sir...um...mister-“

“Hasdielmon.”

“One of the Spokes...oh, uh...I’m so...hrhm...your majesty.”

The angel burst out into chuckles, shaking his head as his wings rippled like shining water. “Please, it’s just a title. Just address us naturally, we don’t mind.”

Muscovymon raised a hand. “Hamadryamon does.”

“Hamadryamon can have her own opinions. The rest of us can actually do the work.”

“I’m telling her you said that.”

“...I’d rather you didn’t.”

Coremon felt Muspelmon nudge him again, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you, uh...your eminence, but I’m just doing what I can to make the Fire Kingdom proud. That’s my role here, and I hope I can do it to the best standard I can.”

The grand angel looked back at him, a shine behind his mask. He nodded.

“Of course, young commander. That’s all we can do.”

He straightened up, and beckoned Muscovymon to his side. “We should go. We have things to prepare for later today as well. We’ll see you at the ceremony.”

Muspelmon bowed his head. “It’s an honour as always. Fornaxmon, will you guide them?”

The commander raised a hand in salute, before walking along with the two sovereigns, back to their own lodgings. Muspelmon leant forwards as they turned the corner, with Coremon stood slightly awkwardly beside him. He was about to say something, when the old general gave a scoffing, croaking sound.

“Geh, bloody royals.”

“Sir?” Coremon tilted his head, curling and uncurling his tail. “Don’t you like them?”

General Muspelmon leant forwards. “I like a good many of them. But they do not know how to lead a nation. Too much time leaning on titles and statuses and not enough time actually doing the work for their people. No wonder the Spokes is in so much turmoil at the minute.”

The little manticore rubbed beneath his chin. While he was in no way an expert on the soft power dealt with by his mentor and the other higher ups, it had been hard to miss the rumblings going round about the state of the Spokes these days.

“I’m sure they can sort it out. They’re good people, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. Mostly. The jury’s still out on the good lady Hamadryamon.” Muspelmon leant forwards, rolling his armoured shoulders. “Perhaps I’m just out of touch. Or it’s the soldier in me. But if you want change for the better then you need to grab it with your own hands.” He looked down at the manticore, and smiled. “Much like you have.”

Coremon groaned, covering his muzzle with his paw. “Please sir...I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Nonsense and poppycock.”

Muspelmon trotted around, and crouched down before his pupil, his bright yellow eyes shining.

“I remember when I first saw you. So small and tenacious out there. You’ve worked from near nothing and you’ve come out here, standing with the best of us. An Elite. The next generation of the finest Fire soldiers we’ve ever had.” He reached out with a gauntlet, brushing a knuckle against the manticore’s chest. “All from this. From the drive and passion you carried that first day I met you.”

Coremon wasn’t sure if it was quite the drive and passion that his mentor of three years was talking about, but there was certainly something in his chest going more haywire by the second. His eyes darted around, not making his mentor’s gaze, and they focused instead on the right of his chest, and the ornate brooch fastened there. It was an exquisite specimen; ebony so dark it almost shone, and studded with topaz stones that glistened in the sigyl of the element of Fire.

Muspelmon caught his gaze, and gently brushed below it, chuckling quietly.

“I’ve travelled that same road myself. This is only one of my treasures from the destination.” He winked. “Of course, someday it’ll be yours.”

“Oh, General, I couldn’t-“

“Easy now. I said someday. You still have a long way to go to earn everything I have.” Muspelmon straightened up. “But you have the strength to carry a legacy within you. That’s why they’re all here today. To watch you take those steps.”

“ You’re making me very nervous, sir.”

Coremon’s voice came out squeakier than he intended, to the point where even the old general seemed taken aback. He cleared his throat. “My apologies. I do ramble.” He opened a palm towards the side entrance. “Go on then; I’ve kept you long enough. Meet up with the other two. I’m sure I’ll see you later at your very best.”

He gave a salute, to which Coremon replied in the best way he was able. He trotted off, wanting to get out of sight before anybody else collared him, but he paused at the entrance, looking back over his shoulder and grinning.

“Thank you, sir. For everything.”

Muspelmon nodded his head sagely, and when he raised it again, his pupil had already gone. Gingerly, the former general reached up, tapping the gems of his brooch as it sparked with his touch.

“The future of this nation’s in good hands. I can make certain of it.”

Pop

Mollumon made a face as the obnoxious sound echoed around the decorative armoury, settling down after a second. He rolled his shoulders, brushing the parchment sideways and muttering under his breath.

Pop

Another sound. Another twinge in Mollumon’s forehead, sufficient for him to roll his head back and send an astute glare across the room.

“Serpemon, will you stop that?”

His colleague spun round, fixing the Rookie with innocent eyes. Mollumon didn’t take his eyes away, watching as the serpent slowly puffed his cheeks out once more. He raised his hands, holding them just inches away from both his cheeks, as the octopus raised a pointing tentacle.

“Don’t you even-“

Pop

“GACK!”

Mollumon yelled so abruptly that it caused him to gurgle, sending Serpemon into fits of mirth. He rubbed the end of his nose, swaying back and forth. “Am I annoying you?”

“Yes.”

“Am I annoying you enough to put that book down?”

“No.”

“Aw.”

Mollumon gave a quiet, if satisfied harrumph at his minor victory, and went back to scrolling through the manuscript. He posed a bit of an odd sight, a mass of purple-spotted tentacles seemingly haphazardly stuffed into a barrel, which was currently resting against one of the display cabinets. His head was amorphous, with two wing-like flaps on either side and a small hooked beak in front, which was currently stuffed just below the rim of his barrel, engaging in further mutterings.

Serpemon, clearly unsatisfied by the non-response of his colleague, shuffled forwards a little, making a big show of a sneaky exit in pure and plain sight of the octopus. He was nearly as tall, should he choose to be travelling as he did only on a scaly tail, with a hollow ball on the end that sparked with spurts of green flame. He wore black gloves on the ends of his two sinuous arms, and he too had a frill on both sides of his head, the flaps flicking up and down on either side of his insidiously cheeky expression.

Mollumon’s eyes followed him around, watching with disdain as he got closer and closer, until the serpent all but threw his arms over the top of the barrel, sticking his snout over Mollumon’s shoulder.

“Watcha reading, anyway?”

Mollumon didn’t answer directly, resorting instead to ejecting a couple of glowing bubbles from the rim of the barrel. Serpemon pulled a face.

“Oh my god...are you actually doing work right now?”

“I’m behind on my accounts.”

“...dude...we’re getting medals in less than an hour...why are you working? ” He let out a comically loud sigh and slithered back, placing his hands behind his head. “You are a colossal hyper-nerd, you know that?”

Mollumon poked his head out again, adjusting the rim around his shoulders. “The word you’re after is dedicated. It’s what gets me recognised, rather than getting recognised for hanging upside-down on the flagpole throwing beans at people.”

“What else am I supposed to do on Bean Tuesday?”

“I rest my case.” Mollumon snorted. “Some of us are saving districts in Grid Central from Kodokugomon infestations and the like.”

Serpemon nodded sagely, his arms folded. “Ah yes. Of course. I heard about that. You taught them hand-washing.”

“......I helped the lead scientists introduce a non-lethal repellent into the service pipes and pointed out the most effective distribution networks.”

“Ah yes. Of course. You taught them hand-washing with soap.”

“ Grlkck.”

Mollumon twitched again, more lines popping out on his forehead as he turned around towards the serpent, when they both heard another voice chuckling in the entrance to the armoury, and glanced up as Coremon trotted in.

“Sorry mate, he’s got you there.”

Mollumon puffed his own cheeks out, while Serpemon pulled himself back, a twinkle in his eye. “Well now, look who finally decided to make an appearance.”

“Hey now, I’m not late,” mused Coremon, brushing off the outside ash from his shoulders. “Besides, I was busy giving my wards the right send-off. They’re gonna miss me.”

Mollumon huffed. “A good soldier should always be prompter than requested.”

“Serpemon woke you up early again, didn’t he.”

“Of course.” Serpemon grinned, running a finger over the octopus’s forehead. “Wouldn’t want my favourite roomie to miss out on the biggest day of his life now, would I?”

Coremon grinned. “You need better hobbies. Leave the big man alone once in a while; he gets grumpy.”

“Don’t you talk smack about my big man!”

“What, you starting?”

“Maybe, maybe we don’t take kind to latecomers here talking smack.”

“Don’t bring latecomers into this; you skived off for two years while we were going through the rough leagues.”

“Yeah, sure, try and hit the non-moving target with this My First Flamethrower.”

“You managed it yet?”

“None of your business.”

The serpent and the manticore got closer and closer, their grins widening ever further and their jabs growing louder and more obnoxious, until they were right in each other’s faces just in front of Mollumon, who was now banging his tentacles on the ground, until all of a sudden he stood up to his full height, the manuscript clattering against the ground.

“RIGHT.”

His voice was loud, and reverberating, silencing both his colleagues as he towered over them. He held his tentacles wide, grappling both of them by the shoulders and pulling them in close.

“You two...”

Serpemon gave a brief nervous laugh, while Coremon just continued grinning inanely in the octopus’s face. It spread, the beak turning upwards, and soon he was laughing as well, the barrel juddering up and down.

“You two are absolutely never going to change, are you.”

Serpemon curled inwards, looking up at his old roommate with doe eyes. “You’d miss us if we did, big guy.”

“For my sins, you’re absolutely right.”

With a heaving grunt, he dragged the two together, rubbing their heads together as they squirmed and laughed, before parting again, throwing their hands together in weird and wonderful ways; ways developed from years of working together, fighting together, fighting each other, and returning as the closest friends any of them had ever known.

Coremon sat back, stroking the fluff behind his ear.

“This...is gonna be amazing.”

“Excuse me?”

The three froze, and turned slowly towards the entrance to the armoury, where a pair of Digimon were watching with amusement. Mollumon gave a nervous gurgle, and raised a tentacle.

“Erm...hi Commanders.”

One of the two onlookers gave a buzz which could have been annoyance or could have been mirth. “Look at that, Santelmon. It’s the three upstarts who are after our jobs.”

“Our jobs? Bombardimon, you’ve only had your job for a few months.”

His colleague looked put out, rolling his shoulders in an irritated fashion while the three Rookies before them sorted themselves out. Along with Fornaxmon they formed the current Royal Commanders of the Fire Forces; the three most powerful soldiers and leaders of all tactical endeavours.

The newest addition, Commander Bombardimon, was also the far broadest of the three, with a great armoured girth that nearly filled up the archway designed for generals of yore. In fairness, a lot of that was due to the large tanks taking up much of his back, leading to cannons mounted on his insectoid forelegs and shoulders. His six rear legs were splayed like a platform, segmented in black and yellow. His eyes were twitching robotically, the only part of his face really visible, the rest concealed behind something between an aviator’s faceplate and a welding mask.

Commander Santelmon, his companion, was significantly smaller, and almost looked too light and fragile for his role, though any who knew him knew his experience was well-worthy of respect. His form was odd; entirely mineral, levitating above three curved platform feet that held him upright. His body was sculpted in the shape of an incandescent torch, and seemed completely hollow, with vents across his torso revealing the bright power within. He had no arms nor head as such; only controlled white flames that whipped around where they would have been, giving him an ethereal angelic appearance.

His flames coiled upwards in intrigue as the three Rookies lined themselves up before the two, giving the Fire Kingdom salute. “Sirs; we’re ready.”

Santelmon hummed. “You’ll get tired of calling us that before too long. We are going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

He wisped himself away without another word, leaving Bombardimon to stand awkwardly in the corridor, reaching out a hand, before clutching his forehead. “That absent-minded old...heh.” He turned back. “They’re still knocking things together in the hall, but General Surtremon wants your portraits finalised first. There’s a lot you’ll need to be caught up on after the ceremony. Come with.”

The three Rookies filed out, having to slow a bit for Bombardimon to rotate himself ninety-degrees, before following along after them, keeping his shoulders as far in as possible so as not to damage the artefacts lining the walls. Coremon just found himself in awe of the history and legacy surrounding him; swords, cannons, crests, helms, the stuff of heroes.

Santelmon was walking (in a way, given his disassembled structure) just a few metres ahead, and he seemed to sense the young soldier’s wonder.

“You haven’t been in here much, have you?”

Coremon puffed his cheeks out. “Maybe once or twice. A long time ago though. It still feels as big as it ever was.”

There was a mechanical grunt from behind him as Bombardimon edged forwards. “Trust me, that feeling changes quick.”

“You just lack a sense of culture.”

“I’m a tank. I don’t deal with ceremony.”

“ You’ll get used to it.” Santelmon whistled, as he turned them out into a thankfully larger chamber, with yet more memorabilia lining the walls and a great flaming torch hovering overhead. There was another Digimon inside, one smaller than even Coremon, with a squat black body and an oversized head and right gauntlet, adorned with a myriad of lenses and tubes.

“ Cameramon will get you sorted. Make sure you represent us well.”

The commander just continued floating onwards, with Bombardimon muttering after him, the sounds of pipes and clacking legs echoing down the corridor. The three Rookies were left with the Cameramon, who looked among them with one bright red eye. Serpemon stuck his tongue out to one side. “So, did we get bundled with the student photographer?”

“Serpemon, be polite,” grumbled Mollumon, before addressing the Digimon before him. “So...where do you want us?”

Cameramon didn’t answer so much as release a string of electronic noises and whistles, as he walked around the three in a circle, the lenses pushing in and out constantly. It didn’t take him long to start moving them around, his actions far more direct and energised than any of his words. Serpemon, Coremon and Mollumon soon found themselves lined up in front of an ancient set of armour, staring ahead at the Cameramon as he stood up on a box, his head pointing forwards. Coremon swallowed. “I wonder if all the old Commanders had weird days like this.”

Serpemon hissed thoughtfully. “Given how those two are? I don’t think the weird days ever stop.”

“Ssh you two, he’s starting.”

A pointed glare from Cameramon confirmed Mollumon’s hushing, and the three friends stood still, smiling at the display as lights and mirrors flashed all in an instant. They backed away, blinking, as Cameramon looked down at his right arm, nodded with an approving squeak, before clambering down. He waddled over, knocking the side of his head and printing out three small photos, handing it to each one of them in turn. Coremon looked up to thank him, but he was already waddling away, nodding at his job well done.

The manticore looked down, and there they were. Three in a line, surrounded by the legacy that had shaped them and would do for decades to come. Mollumon remaining stoic and professional, Serpemon turning to give his best side, and himself in the centre, saluting proudly with his own signature grin.

Serpemon whistled beside him. “We look good.”

Mollumon nodded his approval, as Coremon tucked the photo away, safe within his fluff. From further down the corridor, there was the sound of hubbub as the dignitaries and representatives from across the digital world made their way into the Fire Kingdom’s great hall. Coremon swallowed, and nudged both his companions in turn.

“Here we go then. Time to go make this world a better place.”

“Are we going on yet?”

“Not yet; they’re still introducing the new head gunners.”

“Haven’t they been on them for fifty minutes already?”

“Ssh, don’t be disrespectful. And get your finger out your ear.”

Coremon edged around, trying to get a better view of the hall beyond, as Bombardimon’s gravelly voice rang out, delivering his accolades with all the gravitas and performance of a brick wrapped in tinsel. He was certainly thorough with it, though from their back-end view the three Rookies could see his rearmost legs tapping at the ground, the Commander clearly less than enthused to be there.

It was hard to fault him on that. For all the pomp and circumstance, the graduation and re-committal ceremony did seem to involve an awful lot of...standing around.

Presently though, the great beetle stepped back, and the three Rookies crowded further round, looking down the podium. Coremon heard the familiar click-clack of hooves on stone, and curled his tail excitedly. “Ooh, it’s General Muspelmon.”

“Elder General, you mean.” Mollumon tilted his head, trying to see near the back of the stage. “I wonder why Surtremon hasn’t said anything yet.”

“Maybe he’s nervous?”

The octopus groaned. “He’s the head of the Fire Kingdom now; he doesn’t have time to be nervous.”

“Are you nervous, Wiggles?”

“Eff off, you.”

Mollumon jostled sideways as Serpemon found himself looking through the gap out towards the crowd. He squinted, before pulling a face. “Darn...some of our guests really don’t look the happiest.”

“You mean Lady Hamadryamon?”

“She’s a given.” Serpemon pressed sideways. “Honestly though, all the Spokes representatives look a little on the tense side.”

Coremon puffed his lips out. “You’re not trying to cause an incident, are you?”

“Not at all.” Serpemon flickered his ears back and forth. “I just have good eyes.”

“Guys.”

The two smaller Rookies received a nudge from behind, as Mollumon shuffled just a little further towards the entrance, Muspelmon’s voice getting clearer.

“...the legacy of the Fire Kingdom has been a varied and a proud one, and through all its guises it has strove to protect the peace and the integrity of this one Digital World we all share. Our grand general, and the the many faction leaders of the Fire Forces have been recommitted today. But as with always, we look to the next generation to take us into the future.”

Muspelmon cleared his throat, his black armour shimmering in the torchlight as he glanced sideways. Taking the cue, Mollumon stepped into the general’s view, followed by Coremon, and finally Serpemon behind. All of them lined up, just out of sight of the main hall.

“It is with the neverending efforts of the Royal Commanders that the Fire Forces remain at their greatest strength. And it must be with the efforts of current and previous holders that the role remains at its peak. That knowledge, skill and passion are passed down to worthy candidates. It is my greatest privilege to introduce to you three who are so worthy; who have excelled and gone above and beyond in their duties to their comrades, and to the Kingdom itself.”

He stepped back, and swung his battle axe down, resting on the handle as the top of the blade rang out against the floor.

“I offer to you: Mollumon of the 1 ^st interior ballistics, Coremon of the 2 ^nd auxiliary barracks, and Serpemon of the western strategic division. Please come forward and present yourselves to the Digital World.”

The three walked forwards, Muspelmon’s words ringing in their ears as the light hit them. Mollumon could feel his tentacles shivering more than usual, Coremon walked utterly robotically, staring straight ahead into nothing, and even the usually unflappable Serpemon was struggling to suppress a nervous grin as he shuffled along at the end.

But they were all three of them here for a reason, and they knew how to perform. One by one, they lined up on the centre stage, facing out into the main crowds of the great hall itself.

Even on its own merits, the hall was an impressive piece of architecture. Originally a throne room, with crimson and gold lined marbled walls and a stone floor etched with ancient languages. There were windows lining either side, but with the grey skies outside they were covered, silken drapes and linings pulled across. But the hall itself was far from dark, as high up in the curved arches there were torches. Ancient flames, lining the corners and blazing like a beacon across the centre. A legacy of the Fire Kingdom, so integral that they had been burning for centuries; a testament to the eternal power of the Element of Fire that they wielded.

And the grand hall itself was packed, with a far larger crowd than any of the three soldiers had ever witnessed. Dignitaries and representatives in the wings, from all across the digital world. Coremon recognised the Spokes Sovereignty on the right, but there were so many more of all shapes and sizes; the leaders of Silicon City, matriarchs of the Northern Tribes, the twin vigil of the Tartarean Labyrinth and Elysian Courts, all with their own guards and attendants.

But they were dwarfed in number by the soldiers; soldiers like they were, stood in the same places they had stood many years prior, looking up in wonder and awe at the titans that addressed them. Every barracks, every division, every squadron, lined up in perfect formation and watching. The full scale of the Fire Forces, all staring right at them. All waiting for them.

It was a humbling moment.

Coremon took a breath, glancing either side, before raising his hand in salute to the crowd beyond, Mollumon and Serpemon doing the same. They stood still, a perfect five seconds, before lowering their hands again. Muspelmon’s voice carried over from behind them once again.

“For the coming years, these three will be recognised as Elites, and trained to serve this nation; by myself, by Commanders Santelmon, Fornaxmon and Bombardimon, and by the expertise of the Fire Forces. And in time, they will stand in our places, as Commanders in their own right. About face.”

The three Rookies turned, so precise as to almost be mechanical, and faced the elder General behind them. Coremon caught his eye, and Muspelmon winked; only subtly, but almost enough to throw the manticore off balance.

“The accession of the Elites will now be affirmed by the head of the Fire Kingdom, General Surtremon. Please kneel.”

They did so, as Muspelmon backed away to the side, revealing the old throne in full view. Well, nearly full view, as stood in front of it for the entire ceremony was another Digimon. Far taller than any of his Commanders, and most of the inhabitants of the hall, save for a few of the dignitaries. He stepped forwards, cloven hooves and a swinging diamond tail covered in armour of purple, russet and gold. For a moment he was too tall, his presence simply dominating the tiny Rookies before him.

And then he knelt himself, and the Commanders and Elder General followed his movements. And the three soldiers could hear the shuffling from behind them as thousands upon thousands of soldiers did the same. They raised their heads, looking up at the great General. His chest was broad, the breastplate smooth and unblemished, with the Element of Fire burning brightly in the centre; the central power of all generals of his kin. His face was completely covered in the mask of a ram; stony and unapproachable, with curved black horns, and yet the glowing eyes that stared out from behind it had a gentleness to them; commanding trust and yet offering respect.

He held his arms low against the ground, the gauntlets pressing against the stone.

“Mollumon. Coremon. Serpemon.”

The voice was direct. Maybe rehearsed, but certainly performed to a tee. The three stood up, but kept their heads down low.

“As per the counsel of those who currently serve as my Commanders, and the guidance of the Elder Generals, you have recommended to work under them, and in time to take their place in commandment of the Fire Forces.”

He straightened up, placing his hands on his knees. His eyes flicked up just a little; a momentary scan of the room, particularly to the wings. Only Muspelmon caught the movement, but he didn’t react, keeping his body folded. General Surtremon refocused in a trice, and spoke again.

“Will you dedicate yourselves to the learning and diligence required and provided by your forebears, that you may preserve that legacy that raised you?”

The three Rookies hit the stone ground. “Yes, General.”

“Will you commit yourselves to the servitude of those you command; to being their protector and pillar, that you may preserve that community that supports you?”

“Yes, General.”

“And will you hold yourselves to face the demands and challenges of the Digital World, be they near or far, ally or stranger; to serve the oppressed and bring justice where it remains silent, that you may preserve this very world and home that we all share?”

“Yes, General.”

Surtremon’s eyes flashed, and he reached over his shoulder, raising high the great broadsword from his holster; the living fire known as Logi.

“Let this affirmation be sealed and remembered in the fire that supports and lives through us all. My Forces, bear your flames.”

Muspelmon drew his battleaxe, holding it high. Fornaxmon held his right arm at a right angle, his cleaver glowing white-hot. Bombardimon arched his back, the tanks humming more readily, and Santelmon simply rose further into the air, his white flames grasping and curling.

And across the hall, soldiers of all kinds did the same. Those who had arms rose them high, those who had cannons made them glow, and those who had none simply reached their full heights, inner flames growing. Off to one side, Gryllimon glanced up at Muscovymon, who held his cannon arm in his other, tilted up just slightly as the barrel shone.

Slowly, Surtremon brought Logi down to the ground, holding it flat before the three Rookies, with one hand on the pommel and one on the blade. Even from here they could feel the searing heat of the cutting edge, its power channelling Surtremon’s own. And yet the gesture was a symbolic one. The laying down of one’s most mighty power, before those who serve you. One mighty flame wielded by ten thousand souls.

The three stepped forwards in unison, and reached out, pressing their hands against the metal. It was blisteringly hot. And yet, it also wasn’t. It coursed through them and burned into their very beings, reaching out behind them through the waves of soldiers, and up into the burning flame of the fortress itself, cascading above in hues of white and purple, orange and deep red.

Surtremon nodded, as the glow of the sword subsided.

“May the flame of the digital world guide you as it does us all.” He stood up, sheathing the sword in a single, elaborate motion, before pressing his gauntlets together and bowing his head.

“Welcome, Elites.”

Serpemon, Mollumon and Coremon turned around, as they were greeted by the cascade of applause, thundering through the entire hall directly towards them.

They looked at one another, not one of them able to utter a single word. So they just reached out, and pulled one another closer, kneeling before the forces that had brought them here.

Just once, once in a while, hope reigns above all.

“That was deftly done.” Muspelmon leant forwards, resting his hands on his battleaxe as he whistled in a cheery manner. “Congratulations on your first affirmation ceremony on your own.”

Surtremon didn’t answer straight away, but he did shift his position against the wall of the grand hall, watching the many soldiers below him as they crowded around their accolade brethren.

“It’s still not as impressive as when you did it for me.”

“How many decades ago was that though?” Muspelmon chuckled. “All those memories. I remember when you were beside me as a Commander, as we picked out those three for the first time.”

“It still sticks out in my mind.” Surtremon glanced sideways at his own general from before. “You chose well. I just hope I can do right by them.”

Muspelmon clicked, running a hand over his helm. “You could always start by introducing yourself properly. Less of the aloofness.”

Surtremon didn’t respond as such. But Muspelmon, keen-eared as usual, did pick up a gentle sheepish bleat from within the Fire General’s great mask.

“You’re not much one for socialising, are you.”

“I used to be. It’s rather hard to be involved these days without either worrying about kicking people or slav-squatting awkwardly around them.”

“Think of it as being blessed with a mighty form.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a blessing.”

Muspelmon leant back. “Don’t deny yourself though. This hall, this very fortress was created to house giants. Vast power and size, towering over the digital world.” He smirked. “You’re relatively average compared to some I’ve met over the years.”

Surtremon laughed. “I suppose it means we’re not short for space here.”

The general scanned the hall, at some of the other titans of the digital world, but a good many had already left for their own duties. It wasn’t unexpected; a ceremony is a commitment but life goes on. Some of the more outgoing of the dignitaries were engaging between themselves at the edges, but there were also some notable absences.

Muspelmon noticed his descendant grip the hilt of his sword slightly, and shuffled up a bit closer.

“I saw that look, you know. Back then, during the address.”

“You would. You always did.”

Surtremon bowed his head ever so slightly, and whispered a reply, surprisingly quiet for someone so large.

“It’s hard not to notice when people reject you. Even without a word.”

“It’s always going to be the way with us, sadly.” Muspelmon leant forwards, peering out over the hall. “The Fire Kingdom is a martial entity. There are others across the digital world who don’t take kindly to our existence.”

“I’ve noticed the Spokes Sovereignty have left without much fanfare.”

“They would be problematic. It’s hardly surprising.”

Surtremon heard the diplomatic disdain in the old general’s voice, but he didn’t feel like sharing in it. With a slow movement he opened his palm, pressing it against the flame embedded within his chest.

“I want to unite this world. I’ve seen tyrants in my time and I want to quell that mindset. But to bring so many people together like this...it feels impossible.”

He looked sideways, aware of Muspelmon staring intently at him. The titan closed up a little, still nervous of that gaze.

“I learnt so much from you, at least I thought I had. But even now I wonder if I can really pull this off. If you chose the right Digimon to lead after you.”

“You have a drive that equals mine. It was impossible for me to ignore that.”

Muspelmon looked out, his eyes glowing against the red light from above.

“What you’re worrying about is the burden of leadership. I can’t change that. I can’t guide you any more than I already have. You’ve already extended that hand today; calling for unity.” He bowed his head. “For those who will not take it, that same hand may have to carry a sword. That, also, is a universal truth of ours. Unity cannot be wrought from those whose very philosophy denies it.”

Surtremon blinked, staring up at the flame as it dipped in and out of the archways above.

“The onus must still be on me to try though, right? I wouldn’t feel comfortable otherwise.”

He waited, still feeling Muspelmon’s gaze firmly on him. Finally the elder straightened up, rolling his shoulders.

“As I said; that is your burden. If you want a last lesson from me, it’s just to lead. Shape these forces and this world to the vision you believe in.” He reached out, holding a black gauntlet against Surtremon’s far larger shoulder. “You’ve more than earned that right. Just be confident and true.”

He turned, his four legs tapping against the stone as Surtremon shifted around. “Are you leaving? I thought you were one for socialising.”

“In good time, General.” Muspelmon raised a hand, not even looking back. “I just have some affairs to see to. Our new Elites are going to need a lot of training now, aren’t they...”

He trotted off down the corridor, whistling as he did so. Surtremon was left standing in the grand hall, looking out amongst the forces he had sworn his own fealty to. He crouched down, resting his arm on his knees and listening to the excitement and chatter, all alone with his own thoughts.

Down the corridor, the noise was petering out, leaving just the quiet trit-trot of Muspelmon’s feet on stone. He paused, staring ahead with his eyes two bright beacons in the low light.

For a second he stayed, stock still, the muffled sounds blurring around him. His ears picking out individual movements. The shuffling of leather on metal. Dust dislodging itself.

He coughed, and arched his back, before carrying on his way, muttering about his failing hearing under his breath as he did so.

It was a long and eventful day, and it was finally drawing in. The sun pulled low, beneath the permanent purple haze above the fortress, and leaving grand illuminated patterns across the fortress as it did so. It glinted off the armour and weaponry of the soldiers below, many of them back to their own duties and manoeuvres. Oblivious to the larger world, and the hidden world within the minds we meet.

Muscovymon stood out on the balcony of the Sovereignty’s lodgings, staring down at the familiar movements and sporadic blasts within the grand courtyard. A gust of wind blew up, catching his cloak and making it billow behind him, revealing a chest of tarnished medals, and the full scarring of his flesh arm. He leant forwards, the cannon swinging beside him as he gripped the stone balustrade hard enough to crack it.

Gryllimon stood by the door, silent and contemplative as usual, not responding to the sunbeams even as they streamed through the door and onto her face. Her blindfold glistened, and little specks of dust fell from her antenna. But she just stood straight, her arms folded together, tapping out a slow, regular pattern between her two forefingers. Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap. Impossibly quietly, like a pinhead on stone.

Further in, Hasdielmon sat on his own, his rings around him and his arms in his lap, and his head bowed in silent prayer. The great armoured form remained motionless, but the edges of his wings quivered with every distant blast from outside, the feathers curling in like a flower hiding its leaves. He let out a breath, his head bowing down further. If one had looked closely, they may have seen his shoulders hunch.

Hamadryamon sung softly and melodically to herself as she sashayed through the entryway, running her jagged hands down the soft fronds of her hair. She spun on the spot, her ornate dress billowing outwards, but it fell down quickly, heavy from the heat. She turned, catching the eye of the Rinkmon that stood by the main door to their quarters; one of their own personal guard on this venture. Her lip curled, and she sat down, her hand hooking further as she returned her attention to herself.

Muspelmon held a shoulder as he crouched down, rolling it under his fingers and feeling the joints mesh and slip. He gave an irritated little whistle, before returning to the task at hand, finishing the final few lines of digicode on the parchment.

“Dear me, Surtremon...still so confused.”

He sighed, and folded the paper before him, the creases neat and absolutely perfect. He lay the fabric out straight, and slipped the paper inside, before reaching up for the brooch at his chest.

“You’ll do good things, I just know it. Coremon will flourish beneath you. I think it’s about the right time.”

His words were subdued; more just filling the space in the air than actually talking. He hummed, placing the brooch with the paper in the fireproof cloth, and folding it into a tight parcel. He nodded, satisfied with the work as he placed it back inside his armour, patting it into place.

The tap of metal and metal rang out, and then dissipated, swallowed by the shadows. Muspelmon paused, raising his head as the flames dimmed around his mask.

He turned, tiptoeing across the floor of his quarters towards the shelf. It was a gallery of mementos; reports and tomes, medallions and relics, a legacy from a thousand years of war. Gently he ran a finger along the edge, holding his head at an angle. It stopped just before one of the books, third from the left-hand side, and he knocked it with an iron knuckle.

“Is it this one, perhaps?” He leant forwards, his eyes still looking to the side. “’Mindfulness and Awareness.’ It’s a good read. Really allows for clarity. Really allows you to know when you’re being watched!”

In a single, deadly-accurate movement, he spun to one side, plunging one gauntlet deep into the shadows behind his armoury. His fingers closed around fur and fabric, and he pulled it away with an incredible strength, turning round and slamming the intruder against the floor.

The Digimon choked, scrambling and clutching at its neck with sinuous hands, but Muspelmon pressed down, his fingers digging in and releasing black matter into a puddle on the slats. He leant forwards, eyes blazing as he stared into her narrow ones.

“Don’t insult me. I knew you were there all day. I might be old but I’m not stupid, whatever your clients told you.”

The Digimon bent her hips up, sending a long tail snaking around Muspelmon’s forearm, but his grip didn’t let up, slamming her back down against the ground as something cracked within her.

“Who sent you!? Answer me!”

There was no response. No movement, in fact. Muspelmon looked back and forth, pressing further down as the Digimon’s head caved in his grip. The torches flickered all around him, casting shadows over his back.

Muspelmon could feel his heart beating furiously, unused to such activity for so long now. But now he was looking more closely, the Digimon in his grip was no longer alive.

He squeezed the thin neck and black sand fell from between his knuckles. Looking closely, there really was something very artificial about-

Clap

The sound rang through his armour as he reared up, feeling the long spidery-limbs wrapping around him as the assailant latched onto his head. One arm curled around his neck as the decoy crumbled in his grasp, and Muspelmon didn’t even have time to yell before the long hunting blade burst into the side of his skull with a crack.

Coremon slumped, letting out a dramatic breath as his tail bobbed back and forth. There was a sliding sound as Serpemon shuffled up beside him, placing a long arm around his fellow Elite.

“Feeling the pressure already? That can’t be a good sign.”

Coremon rolled his eyes. “There’s only so many times I can get congratulations without it becoming tiring.”

Serpemon stuck his bottom lip out. “I don’t know. Our friend there seems to be taking it in his stride.”

The two looked forwards at Mollumon, still deep in conversation with a gaggle of excited and dedicated soldiers, the octopus not even seeming to break a sweat even after a good hour and a half of this. Serpemon snickered to himself. “I think he enjoys the attention and just likes to pretend he’s being professional.”

“Well, we do need to start being sensible. Maybe possibly. Muspelmon and the others are expecting a lot from us.”

Coremon grinned, before peering up at the edge of the hall, where Surtremon remained on guard, talking along with Fornaxmon and Santelmon. The manticore frowned, and set off towards the wings of the grand hall.

“Where are you off to?”

“To find my mentor. I need to thank him.”

Serpemon reached out a half-hearted hand, but Coremon was already scampering over the stones. The snake sighed, rubbing behind his head as he looked out the window.

“He really needs to learn to work without that guy sometime.”

Unaware of his fellow soldier’s snarky comment, Coremon was weaving his way through the winding ways of the Infernal Fortress, towards the cozy little office that he’d grown to know so well. He felt the spring in his step and the new uplifting feeling in his chest, the smile on his face illuminated by the dying sun outside.

It was a new era. A new chapter. It was all going to

“OBSIDIAN CLEAVE!”

The sound cracked through the corridor like fork lightning, followed instantly by a blast of heat that caused Coremon to skid back several metres. For a micro-second he froze, the voice and the direction processing in his head.

Then he ran as fast as he could.

The sound of the explosion reached out through the fortress, dimming with each turn but still audible for those within the grand hall. Soldiers and dignitaries alike paused, picking up vibrations through the ground.

Bombardimon steadied himself from outside, his body opening up as he strode towards the entrance

The Spokes Sovereignty were thrown from their silence, each of them turning towards the door.

Surtremon turned his head in an instant, with Fornaxmon and Santelmon flaring up beside him.

And Mollumon and Serpemon stopped in their conversations, both of them turning in unison towards the edge of the grand hall. And without a word, they began to run as well.

But Coremon was the closest, scampering down tunnels and kicking off walls as he hurtled towards his mentor’s office. As he got closer he could see the snaking cracks down the wall, orange embers falling out from between them.

He reached the door, grasping the frame to stop himself as he looked inside.

The wall was rent in half; the flaming shockwave from the Elder General’s great battleaxe having split the armour and carved through several walls beyond. That same battleaxe lay beside Muspelmon’s open gauntlet as he lay on his back, knocked by the proximity of the blast himself.

Someone stood over him. A lanky, hunched lemur, with a cowl over her shoulders and a mask covering her face; anklets and bracelets shimmering a deep black, and a ringed tail swinging back and forth, singed by the blast. She held a hand against one shoulder, the wound cauterized in an instant.

But she was still standing over the general, and the dripping molten metal from the hunting knife in her other hand showed Coremon in an instant that she had struck first.

“MUSPELMON!”

His mentor’s head fell sideways, and Coremon saw the extent of the damage; a rend through the entire left side of his helm, split with molten metal. He convulsed, one eye completely dead and one eye flickering chaotically, and when he shouted it was with a throat full of magma.

“ Stop...her...”

Coremon glanced at the lemur at the same moment her head turned towards him, and their eyes locked; wide and blue against narrow and golden. Coremon crouched, flames bristling up his forearms as he snarled like an animal. But she moved quicker, her arm swinging sideways and sending drops of Muspelmon’s blood wide, and without warning and in a blaze of shadows, she sprung.

TO BE CONTINUED...