“I was there when the last Fire King fell.”

A city in orange. Bright, and blazing, and cutting through the dark of the night. Reflected in the round, black eyes of the tiny Digimon, as he stared at the disintegrating skyline.

“I did my part. Kept the doors bolted and the civilians away as the imperial guards stormed the high palace. I heard the cries of anger and betrayal, and I stood my ground as the guards fell to his mighty strength.”

That voice. Deep, powerful, comforting. Burning through the Fresh level with the same ferocity as the city before him.

“But eventually I felt the flashfire as he was beheaded. And I thought it was over.”

The hand holding the tiny Digimon moved, pulling him closer to the great beating heart of the vast beast that held him. The armour so dark and the burning grounds so bright that he couldn’t make out any detail.

“We all did. We’d vanquished a bloodline of despots and heretics; the coup should have brought it to an end. But as the years went on, the guards turned on one another. Blinded by power and greed and corrupt thoughts. I saw that as well. I watched as they died one by one, as young as I was.”

The Digimon was so young too. All he recognised was the hand that held him. Feeling every callus, and every scar etched into the gauntlet. It was almost cold. But he could feel the deep heat from within.

“Every new general, starting with such hope. And ending up the same. A failure. A traitor to their lineage. And their fates befitting their weakness.”

The hand held him high, and he saw the full breadth of the skyline before him. Grand palaces and arches, spires that reached the sky, ornate arenas and magnificent forums. All now empty, and bathed in the same glow.

“None of them understood the responsibility we’ve been granted. The one true power in this world. A respect that’s been lost to time, throughout this crippled world. Even to the so-called holy and righteous. They think they can defy us? None can stand against it; not the devils in their catacombs, nor these angels in their divine sanctums. Look at them. See where their divinity lies now.”

The tiny Digimon watched as embers floated upwards, as if picking the remainder of the city apart piece by piece. Here and there was movement; embers rushing to the sides, letting off screams instead of silence. Embers? Or eyes? He didn’t know the difference.

“They’re all subject to the flame’s decision, every one of them. There is no force more pure in this world. The Fire Kingdom? None of them know what that means anymore. But they will.”

The baby Digimon felt himself move again, being held ever closer to the voice. The grand antlers that framed the burning city before him, and the black-shining battleaxe that marked the headland like a gravestone for the falling city.

“Look at it. Remember what it feels like. Remember the gift you’ve been given. And keep remembering it as you grow, and become this world’s saviour. A truly pure being to unify this world. I will teach you. And you will surpass me.”

“General Muspelmon.”

The voice paused. The Digimon listened, but it seemed far away now. Louder and commanding, yet somehow quieter and more distant. Only he had heard the true voice. His calling. His duty.

He stared, the skyline etched into his mind as the last of the embers pulled into the night.

And all was right.

The courthouse was silent, as Coremon’s words sunk into everyone present. It seemed to take hours, the implications growing stronger, and yet more muddled still.

“General...Muspelmon?”

The question didn’t come from the Sovereigns. Coremon could tell that much. It came from behind him. The low, lilting voice of the serpent whom he called one of his best friends. He didn’t turn around, staring instead ahead at the haunting eyes of the entrapped beast.

He couldn’t bear to look back. But he kept listening, as Serpemon continued.

“This...I don’t…...Muspelmon made this creature?”

“I can’t give you the details.”

Coremon stepped back, his stance widening as he approached the entire room. “Not myself, at any rate. I’ve only just found them out. But as a soldier of the Fire Kingdom, I have been raised to take the words of the senior soldiers as truth. Particularly those of the elder General. I believe that is the integrity with which we were raised.”

He turned around, his gaze still lowered to the pedestal on which he stood. “Therefore we have to take his word as truth, or at least I must. And if we are in agreement that this journal is his, then we have to take the journal as truth as well. I’ve seen what’s inside. It’ll explain where...no, who...this beast is. And I feel it’ll open up some new truths about these events.”

Coremon looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting the bejewelled ones of Hasdielmon. “With the permission of the Sovereignty, I would like the contents of the journal to be read out in a summary form for the ears of everyone present.”

Hasdielmon was still, just for a few moments. He shifted his head sideways; left, then right. The shine on his eyes flickering over the other three present, as they all waited on him expectantly.

The angel leant forwards, his bandaged hands pressing against the podium.

“I will permit it.”

Coremon bowed his head slightly, before turning back to the defence podium. His heart tightened as he focused his eyes on his two companions; on Serpemon, who had his hand over his mouth, and on Mollumon, who was frozen stiff, the journal held in his tentacles. It was all Coremon could do to look apologetic, and he knew that that would be nowhere near enough.

“Mollumon, you haven’t seen this before, agreed?”

The octopus nodded, his head fins pulled tautly back. “You’ve had possession of it until now. We’ve been on the run.”

“Then your voice at least is unbiased.”

Coremon straightened up, backing up against the cage that held Crocottamon, but his eyes never leaving the defence.

“Please read the journal through to the court, summarising if needed but giving a complete picture. We all need to know what’s happened.”

Serpemon looked with concern at the octopus, as his tentacles coiled against the edges of the book. But he stayed as straight and true as normal, and firmly raised the journal to to podium, his voice and demeanour taking on the sturdy, informative tone that the other two knew him well for.

“Digital year 7122. I begin this new entry due to the formation of a new unit within the Fire Forces. While the overall work of the Forces continues to strengthen our standing on a superficial level, there are still many tasks which require a less open approach. I record this information to be passed on solely to the one who will inherit my will as General of the Fire Kingdom, as it is by his integrity that the nation will continue to thrive and prosper. The members of this covert unit are as thus...”

Golden eyes peered out the window, watching as the lines of young soldiers went back and forth, staying in formation on their little paws and webs. The beast watching them raised his own arm, and using two fingers he made his own footsteps along the windowsill, following after the miniature formations.

“Clearly you’re busy, aren’t you.”

The beast grinned, and rolled backwards, nodding at the new arrival. “Normally people just say hello.”

“You don’t need my approval for that, Hyaemon.”

Hyaemon blushed, and splayed his shoulders back against the windowsill. He was a short, reasonably heavy-set hyena, with broad shoulders and longer arms than seemed normal, on which he wore bulky gauntlets on his wrists. He had a braided mane over his back, and his mouth was wide and toothy, often wearing his standard inane grin.

He rolled his head back, staring at the window again. “Look at them, Molekmon. Just a thin sheet of glass between us and them. Do you think they’ll ever appreciate us?”

Molekmon, a tall cow with forward-curved horns and a woven purple poncho, leant sideways and rested the flat of her massive hammer on the ground. “Absolutely not. But then it’s not our job to be appreciated.” She nodded her head. “We’re just here to make sure their lives are simpler. They’re the future, and we pave the way.”

Presently there was a kerfuffle from outside as one of the formations rolled to a halt. The two Rookies peered out, watching as one of the In-Trainings – a KoCoremon with his mane in his eyes – got to his stubby paws and rubbed his forehead with a grumpy expression on his face. Both Molekmon and Hyaemon pulled a face.

“The glorious future of the Fire Kingdom, huh?”

“Don’t be patronizing. I’ve seen your footwork when training with the General. You can be on the floppy side as well.”

Hyaemon gritted his teeth. “Yowch. Harsh.”

Molekmon punched him playfully on the shoulder, before straightening up and stretching. “Talking of the man himself, he’s expecting you. Told me to go and fetch you.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Hyaemon pushed himself upwards, stealing one last look behind him out the window, into the world of the Fire Forces that he was separated from. That he was more important than.

It seemed pointless, sometimes. Comical even. But he knew in his heart how desperately important his job was.

“Thermal Fissure!”

The ground split beneath Hyaemon’s feet as he ran forwards, his arms hanging behind him as he did so. As his eyes scanned the ground, he saw the patches of brilliant glowing red where the spikes were going to come up next.

With a quick movement he leapt, bringing his flaming feet down in a stepping motion. The precision was perfect; a spike of semi-molten magma shot up from the ground, connecting with the hardened claw on Hyaemon’s paw. He pressed down, propelling himself skywards.

In front of him he could see the great, hulking figure of his mentor, battleaxe pressed into the ground of the colosseum. Muspelmon bent his head, and pressed further.

“Do you think that’s the only one?”

More spikes shot towards Hyaemon, but the little hyena was as quick with his feet as with his eyes. He air-stepped each one, growing in height even as the fur of his heels caught fire from the contact. With a quick one-two-three, he cleared the last of them, propelling himself off at an angle towards an area of flat ground.

He moved fast, but Muspelmon’s eyes were faster, and he twisted the head of the axe in the ground.

“Too slow. Remember, nowhere’s safe.”

Hyaemon raised his head as the fissures travelled towards the clear patch of land he was heading towards, the whole area turning brittle and red-hot. But the hyena grinned.

“I don’t need anywhere safe. I just need enough room to put my hands.”

He twisted in a split second, his gauntlets pointing outwards as the sand began to liquify. He pressed down with a flash, spinning his body like a top as the silvery claws formed ripples in the surface. Only for a split second did he dance there, before momentum and circular motion carried him away, and he rolled through the air onto a rougher, yet still solid patch of ground, not ten metres away from his mentor.

His eyes flashed as his arms came forwards, white sparks bursting out from between his claws.

“Flintlock Blizzard!”

The momentum and stored heat manifested in his palms, bursting outwards in a remarkable shower of shimmering ash, igniting in the very air before him. The display was glorious; crackling and flashing and leaving thousands of scorch pock marks in the surrounding area.

But none in Muspelmon, for he was no longer there. Hyaemon looked over his shoulder, catching just a microsecond glimpse of the titan’s inscrutable blue eyes.

Then the flat of the battleaxe caught him square in the side, and he went flying. Spinning out of control over the rugged terrain, bouncing four times, before finally skidding to a stop, lying staring at the sun above.

Muspelmon rolled his shoulder, and placed the axe blade on the ground once again. “That’s the fifth time I’ve killed you now, Hyaemon.”

The hyena’s body racked a couple of times with short laughter, before he sat up, holding his gauntlets between his legs. “You’re not doing such a great job of it, General.”

“Be thankful you get multiple chances to die with me. On the battlefield you only get one.”

The black knight walked forwards, scanning the hyena’s body before him. The bare patches over his arms and legs where the flames had caught him, the scuffs in his gauntlets and the dark circles around his eyes. But the grin was still as wide as ever, even as he rocked back and forth a little.

“Can you stand?”

Hyaemon did so, throwing his arms and legs out once each. “Ready for another hour, General.”

“That’s good.”

Hyaemon raised his arm in salute, but Muspelmon shook his head, pushing it down. “We’ll make it two.”

“Digital year 7124. Hyaemon’s resilience is improving as expected, almost enough to keep up with his stamina. It won’t be long before we can spar for twenty hours straight, and I can throw harder and faster attacks at him every day. It’s a promising performance, especially considering his status as a Rookie. Certainly he’s far surpassing the others in his unit, who expectedly are deferring to him for leadership decisions.

I do have my concerns about his emotional centre though. Not having been exposed to real warfare, it does strike me like he’s as yet unable to separate his own wellbeing with that of those around him. Occasionally I have my doubts as to whether the team aspect is causing more weakness than it is supporting his development. I shall keep my eye on his relationship with them.

In the meantime though, I shall continue his private lessons. Surtremon has returned from his latest campaign, so I can use the information he’s gleaned from the Grassbridge Blockade as fodder for Hyaemon. Yggdrasil knows it won’t be put to any use otherwise.”

“You’d think that someone who’s house is made of literal twigs would be less mouthy to the Fire Kingdom.”

Hyaemon rolled his head back, looking upside-down at Molekmon as she buffed at the end of her hammer with a bristled cloth. “They did seem a bit confident, didn’t they?”

“Maybe if it weren’t for Surtremon’s inability to follow through they wouldn’t be. Dude keeps making a big song and dance and then bailing halfway.” Molekmon pushed the warhammer back, focusing on a small blackened stain on the flattened side. “At least we’re around to do his job for him.”

There came a brief bundle of flashing from the corner of the mercenary team’s barracks, as a lithe Flamon rolled down into a crouching position. “Look who’s talking a big game now. I bet you couldn’t last one-on-one with him.”

The cow scoffed, throwing her head back. “Give me a year and all the double-shifts that Hyaemon’s getting, and I can up him round the pointy head, no problem.” She smirked. “Probably with less battle scars as well.”

“Hey!” yelled Hyaemon playfully, opening his arms out. “These aren’t battle scars, they’re warpaint.”

He opened his stance to emphasize his point, showing the patches of thin whitening fur amongst what was once deep blue-grey, and the criss-cross of red and black lines following his musculature.

From beneath the one-way window, a Baromon shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. “At least you look the part.”

“I know right,” chimed in Flamon. “Nobody will expect a thing if some halfling messed-up bundle of rags comes wandering into the warzone.”

Hyaemon blinked, pointing a finger between him and Baromon in a questioning fashion. When Molekmon and Flamon kept looking at him, he folded his arms in a flouncing fashion.

“You’re all arseholes and I hate you.”

Baromon gave a low chuckle, before tilting his head, his feathers twitching from under his mask. “Speak of the devil; I think Coronamon’s finished getting his own lessons for today.”

As if right on cue, the door opened as the little lion beast stumbled in, falling directly to his knees. He winced, and reached up, pressing out the flames that were still smouldering on the tips of his ears.

“I am not an ‘endurance’ kind of guy.”

Hyaemon and Flamon shared a look. “What was that about stumbling onto the battlefield looking half-dead?”

“I didn’t quite hear that but I’m only going to assume it was insulting so screw you anyway.”

A murmur of laughter worked its way around the mercenary barracks, as the band of five fell into their usual friendly jibes and jeers. Hyaemon sat back, hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, and the bright emblem of the Fire Kingdom emblazoned on the wall; a constant reminder of their core.

“I think we’re all messed up a bit. But so long as we get the job done, who’s gonna take an issue with it?”

“This one.”

“Aggressive. Destroy on sight.”

Bright orange, burning in his retinas. It was all Hyaemon could see. Hear. Experience. The distant memory of a skyline, the same shade that he was watching right now.

“This one.”

“Potentially lying. Destroy on resistance.”

“Very good.”

Occasionally Muspelmon’s voice cut through the haze, the deep timbre and instruction clear in Hyaemon’s head. He didn’t look aside. He didn’t need to, and he couldn’t even if he desired it, his head bound in the brace as it was. The pain in his unblinking eyes had long since abated, as the flames hovered around the sockets, focusing the next of Muspelmon’s images; a Piddomon with an outstretched arm.

“Again.”

“Gone rogue. Destroy on sight.”

Muspelmon turned his axe in the wall, the image changing once again. He waited for a second, before raising his armoured head.

“Hyaemon? No hesitation.”

“This is...you, General.”

“And what is your recourse?”

No answer. Muspelmon let out a long breath, before holding his hand up. The glow abated in Hyaemon’s vision, the dim décor of the laboratory slowly coming back into focus. And the great silhouette of his mentor, staring down at him.

“Why did you hesitate?”

Hyaemon bit his lip. “I can’t kill you, General. I trust you.”

“And what if I’ve turned on you? Are you going to let your life decay out of a sense of friendship? You don’t know my reasons.”

“But...but sir, still, I…”

Muspelmon bowed down, causing Hyaemon to flinch back instinctively. But the elder general moved slowly, gently bringing his hand up towards his own eyes.

“Your life is not your own to give away so easily. That is the truth of all who call themselves Fire Forces, whether they understand or not. And if they do understand, they would not resent their destruction. Be it me, or your team, or Surtremon, or anybody.”

Hyaemon’s eyes fell momentarily, but Muspelmon reached out, raising the Rookie’s chin up towards the blazing brooch at his chest; the sigyl of the Fire Kingdom.

“This is the one thing you can trust. To the expense of all else. All others. So long as you trust this heritage, you will survive. And you will bring change. Do you understand?”

Hyaemon’s eyes never left the symbol. After several seconds, he nodded, never having blinked even once as the haze still kept his eyes wide.

“Very good, my apprentice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Muspelmon straightened up again, placing a hand on the axe as the power coarsed beneath his armour.

Hyaemon held his breath, staring into the distance as the lab fell away, and the same skyline returned.

“Digital year 7125. The team is improving all the time, becoming more co-ordinated and needing less supervision to the point I can allow them to take on minor clear-up tasks themselves. I do have to be careful with my allocation; neither Surtremon or the upstarts he calls commanders can be allowed to know of their existence.

Another one of them left this week. Muscovymon handing in his tenure. He chose to do that. He was permitted to do that. Leave the force which shaped him and provided him with everything, with nothing more than a form and a pat on the back. How have we fallen into such an unrecognisable state.

I plead that some day I will be able to explain to Surtremon the need for a new unified Fire Forces, but I have more doubts every time we speak. I felt much promise from him when he was younger, but he’s only gotten more distracted as he has gained more power. It is his word and ward that will shape the future of the Fire Kingdom, and that scares me.

I only hope that the seeds I am instilling within Hyaemon will set the course of this nation straight again, for otherwise the essence of the element of Fire will be lost to this world.”

“Pyro Influx!”

Molekmon’s grin was wide as the grand hammer swung in an arc around her head. Once, twice, and then down on the granite pillar before her, causing it to get swallowed up in a melting pot of shards and flames. She cracked her neck, turning to her companion, before wincing a second later.

“Oof...didn’t move properly this morning.”

“I wondered that,” said Hyaemon brightly, scraping the claws of his gauntlets off as dust and data fell away. “You’ve been seeming slow all afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

The hyena stuck his tongue out, hopping backwards out of the way of the swinging mallet. Molekmon snorted, flicking it one-handedly as her biceps bulged beneath her torn skin. “I’m doing all the work here you know, levelling the border wall for you.”

“Just you, huh?”

Molekmon looked over her shoulder, watching as Baromon’s meteors slammed down on his end of the former outpost, decimating the stonework at a much increased rate. The cow pulled a face.

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“So long as the job gets done, it doesn’t matter who, that’s what I say,” came a chipper voice from above, as Flamon swung down off a scorched branch. Hyaemon gave a curt nod, as Flamon stood effortlessly on his perch, pointing outwards.

“Muspelmon’s moving further in. I didn’t see anyone going off ahead of him so you probably managed to catch them all in time.”

Molekmon brushed her hands off. “Good thing. We can turn in-”

Flamon’s ears twitched, and he pointed behind them and to the left. “Except for them. Maybe.”

Hyaemon was shooting off like a rocket, leaving only a cloud of ash and smoke where his form had been seconds before. Only seconds later he was back, holding the Prairiemon by the scruff of the collar as his blistered hands burned its fur. The hyena was just shaking his head, looking almost disappointed.

“What did you have to show up for, huh? Now we’ve got to spend time searching under all these damned bushes.”

The Prairiemon managed to twist itself around, grasping at the metal of Hyaemon’s gauntlet with a venomous glare. Hyaemon didn’t even return the favour, as he swung his other claw around with a white-hot shimmer.

“Ashen Arm.”

The creature’s scream lasted only a millisecond, before it was silenced for good; a mere husk of white and grey that crumbled away from Hyaemon’s grip. He grimaced, opening and closing his claw and shaking it in the air.

“So inconsiderate…”

He grunted, before signalling the other two to follow him.

“Come on. Let’s have another look round for anyone we missed.”

“Digital year 7128.

This morning I received word of the passing of Karatenmon the watcher. His apprentice came to the fortress with his personal possessions, and has informed us of his disappearance into the void.

Surtremon has asked for my presence, but I haven’t found it within me to address him. Karatenmon had a deep respect and knowledge for the bones of this broken world; the legacy that forged the very earth we stand on. Surtremon could never even comprehend the loss this means to the world. I only hope Karatenmon’s apprentice can find a worthwhile path, although I have more doubts every day.

He’d arrived here only a few months ago, back when my handing over command to Surtremon was still in full flux. He said he had concerns about the structure of the fortress itself; I’m aware that it used to be alive, or possibly still is, but the true depths of its connection to the world and the element of Fire – I’ll admit, they still elude me.

His words did spark a curiosity in me though, so I did investigate within the old dungeons and laboratories. I may not hold the full power of the Element within me these days, and even if I wrested it from Surtremon’s chest myself I doubt I could hold it again. But still, there was something in there that resonated with the echo it left behind. The fortress is close to the wall between worlds, and when I delved right deep into the depths, I could have sworn I could hear something. Something beyond, calling out. Leaving its fingerprints on our world.

I’d like to investigate this further on my own terms, as perhaps the means to truly eking out Hyaemon’s latent power lie right at the source of the element itself. His development has stagnated as of late. Too much time around the other four. The failures.

Perhaps I should have told Karatenmon earlier. Perhaps his passing is my divine penance. But I won’t stop now. I cannot.”

“This may cause you a little discomfort.”

Muspelmon’s hunched figure turned around, illuminated by the deep orange and blue of the surrounding chamber. At least, Hyaemon was sure it was Muspelmon. The darkness of the laboratory made it difficult to see, as did the bindings that held him in place. He tried to stay still, already feeling the tightness of his own musculature. And he grinned all the while.

“I’m sure it’ll grow back, sir. It usually does.”

“You can never be too sure.”

Muspelmon stepped forwards, uncharacteristically gently, as he held the small casket between his fingers. Bright blue against the surrounding orange. Hyaemon could hear it. His hearing had improved tenfold since Muspelmon had begun these new strengthening sessions. All his senses had, in fact; a brand new connection to the element of Fire. Every single node and vein in his body crying out. Wanting to be one. A singularity.

A part of him wished it wouldn’t hurt quite this much, but he knew it was unavoidable.

He had to stick by it for the good of Muspelmon.

No...for the good of the Fire Kingdom.

The elder general reached forwards, gently cracking the casket against Hyaemon’s chest. The blue glow dissipated in an instant, swallowed up by the ashen white and deep red that coursed through Hyaemon’s flesh. His muscles rippled, the skin peeling away at their joints like paper, any bleeding stopped in its tracks as the wounds cauterised. Hyaemon could feel the intense heat, coming through to his senses as the entire world blazed with light. Even Muspelmon’s kindly gaze was lost in the miasma of flame, and he realised that he was spasming and jerking, pulling at the protective straps that held him in place.

He grinned, a thin trickle of embers falling from his gums in place of blood.

“Thank you, general.”

“Flame Dive!”

“Meteor Dance!”

“Volcano Morph!”

The circle of conflagration roared inwards amongst the hapless soldiers; tearing into crystal shields and scaled hides. Bodies that had survived the horrors of many a battle before, and come out stronger; lattices of diamond and stone. Bodies that had kept the Diamond Depths strong, and impenetrable, and a perfect resistance against the onslaught of the ones from the sky.

Now many of those bodies lay prone, and the ones remaining stayed in a circle as they could only watch the flames surrounding them even closer. Those who were able to escape were picked off; a fiery spike from Flamon, a carpet of explosions from Firamon. They had no escape. No way out to aid in their battle. The order was elimination.

The strongest of them, Gogmamon, rushed forwards, her arms held wide as she attempted to push back the advancing flames as one. They ate into her skin and tore at her muscles, but she remained standing, using her very bulk to charge forwards.

Several others ran behind her, Golemon and Icemon and Coredramon, even as they were mowed down by Molekmon’s hammer and Baromon’s projectiles. But for a moment the earth warriors seemed to have an opening. They pushed forwards, through towards the light.

A light that was blotted out by the cascade of ash, and the dark sun of the elder Fire general.

And the mercenaries watched in wonder, and the new mounting fear, as the leader of the squad fell forwards, waves of embers cascading from his body as he spun. His claws tearing into skin and stone alike, leaving only white crevasses where they touched. And he laughed while he ran, blessing the power that drove him.

“Ashen Implosion!”

Gogmamon knew she had no more escape. Her leg staggered beside her, half taken into white ash. Her right arm was split up its length, the heat eating her very insides.

She looked up, crying tears of crystal, unable and unwilling to look back at the demise of her warriors – her family. She only looked forwards at the dark knight as he walked forwards, his armour unmarred from the hail of bodies around him.

All she could do was open her mouth to curse him and his lineage. And pray that her curse would join those of others who had met this same fate. That one day, they could bring this madman to his knees, and make him pay his dues.

“Obsidian Cleave.”

One day.

“Digital year 7130.

The digital world has blessed me with its fortune. Karatenmon’s warning, the depths of the fortress; those were the missing pieces I needed to save this nation. Hyaemon’s power has increased ten – maybe one hundred fold. He’s not evolved, but he’s not had to, able to match power with the most skilled soldiers I ever knew. It was never my power to wield, but in my lifetime I have been able to witness it.

How must the royal guards have felt, that day of the last Fire King’s demise. That hope for a new age. Perhaps this is what I’m feeling now, but I have seen the skill and promise of my apprentice firsthand.

There is only one thing left to do. He has gained the ability to speak for himself, and to present, and will make a fine leader. But a leader must stand alone. For his own protection, and those of his best interests.

The mercenaries he believes are his friends have served their purpose. They are secondary. And they need to go.”

“It’s always nice when the mission goes according to plan.”

Flamon sat back, holding his feet out against the flame as the sky began to dim in front of him. “And hey, you only fell over twice, Firamon.”

The winged lion hissed, gesturing sideways. “Please not in front of the elder general. I’m trying to work on it.”

“There’s no need to apologise,” said Muspelmon, gently staring at the flame as it increased in intensity before him. “You work incredibly well together. I barely need to take part these days.”

Firamon nodded gratefully, but he still flushed beneath his fur. The six Digimon sat loosely around the circle, chatting amiably and casually, and all thoughts of the most recent job drifting away into nothing, in a similar manner to the old temple site that had been the target of their latest purge.

Molekmon pulled her knee up, resting her mechanical arm over her hammer as she yawned. “Not even like there’s much for us to do these days, now that we have the leader of the charge taking on all the work.”

She rolled her head back, squinting as she nodded at Hyaemon. “Aren’t you getting a little bit warm there, boss?”

Hyaemon looked around dazed for a moment, before looking down at where his feet were practically touching the edge of the fire.

“Oh. Sorry. I can move back a bit if you want.”

“Doesn’t bother me. I’m just worried we might not have enough left of you if you get too close.” She grinned, planting a thumb against her chest. “I’ve only got me own interests at heart.”

Hyaemon chuckled, and obliged, shuffling backwards on the ground so his feet were clear. There was no further damage on them from the proximity; if anything the flame had only hardened them further, the cracked skin and tempered muscle practically indistinguishable from stone at this point. The whole of Hyaemon’s body was similar; grey ash and white cast, with mere scrawlings of the vibrant red marks he’d once had, traced over his defined musculature like tattoos. He turned back, and smiled, his skin cracking around his cheeks and emphasizing the pale flame around his eyes.

Muspelmon pulled himself further down to his knees, his battleaxe laid down before him. “It’s sadly the curse that we bear as Fire Forces, Molekmon. We give ourselves to the sacred flame, and that will be our purpose and our end.”

Baromon’s hood twitched from where he stood to the side, and he turned his head slightly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, general.”

“Not at all. It’s only truth.” Muspelmon laughed inwardly. “I’m not a general anymore and yet it still drives me. I only want the best for our nation.”

“As do we,” said Baromon, as he bowed his masked head. “I only hope we can serve our purpose as needed.”

“I get it, but don’t you think we need to have something to aim for?”

Muspelmon turned back to Molekmon as she stretched, her own muscles rippling. “Isn’t this enough?”

“Sure thing, it keeps me in the prime of life.” The cow crouched forwards. “But at somepoint when we’ve brought about that peace, there’s just gonna be a bunch of us wandering around a field with no purpose any more. Surely we can’t need to remove everything slightly different from us? It’s a big digital world, after all.”

Hyaemon tilted his head, pushing his lips out. “Maybe we just stop at that point. Let somebody else take over.”

Muspelmon’s flaming eyes shrank slightly in the depths of his helmet. “It needs to be somebody we can trust. The Fire Kingdom has had its fair share of best intentions gone awry.”

“I know, sir,” said Molekmon, curling her hooves before her. “I really want the best for us all. But at some point we need a goal in life, rather than just sole ‘existence’, you get me?”

She held her arms wide. “It’s what keeps us this strong. Just that connection. I’m more than happy to keep fighting so long as I have my buddies along side.”

There came a ripple of acknowledgement from around the campfire; Flamon nodding his head, Firamon murmuring slowly, and Baromon staying quiet and straight. Hyaemon didn’t respond, his pale eyes staring ahead into the campfire.

Muspelmon did the same, a long sigh racking his body. “It’s not a way of life I’ve ever been able to understand. The unifying position of the Fire Kingdom is a lonely one. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody if I didn’t have to.”

“It’s never too late, sir,” said Molekmon, and she gently pushed herself to her feet, rocking back and forth. She wandered to the edge of the woods, beginning to collect more firewood as she called over her shoulder.

“Always an opportunity to make a change. That’s what keeps this world moving, after all.”

Flamon stuck his tongue out. “What made you an expert, huh? Lecturing the old Fire general like that.”

Firamon placed his paw over his muzzle. “Oh god...I’m sorry sir...you know she gets full of herself.”

“I heard that!”

Muspelmon laughed. Only twice, low and subdued. His body didn’t move, just staring into the flame alongside Hyaemon.

“So we have to wait for the world to change around us now, do we…”

His head shifted sideways a little, his gaze falling upon Hyaemon, who sat peacefully, a faint smile on his face.

“Hyaemon?”

“Sir?”

Muspelmon raised his head up. “These four soldiers are antithetical to the wellbeing and safety of the Fire Kingdom, and cannot be allowed to keep poisoning our heritage.”

Hyaemon tilted his head, his expression blank. Baromon remained still, removing his hand from his cloak, as Muspelmon continued as flat as ever.

“Kill them.”

“Oof, harsh,” came Molekmon’s voice, as she wandered back towards the group with logs under one arm and her hammer swinging in the other. “Make a few jokey statements here and there and someone always has to take it too fa-”

CRACK

Molekmon stopped, her words taken out of her mouth. In an instant she looked furious, then aghast, then only puzzled, as her arms fell down beside her. As the logs fell away, her head fell down towards the splayed ashen claws spreading out from the front of her chest, parting her flesh like paper.

Her head fell backwards, causing her eyes to widen as their gaze fell upon Hyaemon stood behind her. His eyes met hers, but there was no connection. Just a vacant stare as she gazed into the flaming rings with her own darkening vision.

“Wh-”

Hyaemon thrust his arms apart, the minotaur’s body falling down with the movement; not even into to data, but into tiny scraps of ash, the flesh and bone decaying in an instant. The wind picked up, causing a storm of fragments as Hyaemon turned towards the others.

“MOLEKMON!”

Firamon had gotten to his feet, and his outburst caused Hyaemon’s head to snap right towards him. The lion splayed his paws, fiery orbs dancing along his mane as he opened his jaws.

“Fi-”

His jaw parted from his head mid-call, the orbs of fire snuffed out in an instant. Hyaemon kept running forwards, the ashen flames parting the lion’s body lengthways, as bone and fur and armour clattered to the ground. Hyaemon looked up to the sound of Flamon’s bone-curdling scream, the scout scrambling at the ground and running for his life, past the campfire, past Muspelmon, past Baromon-

A hand clamped around his tail and he crashed to the ground shoulder first, and rolled upwards to see Baromon’s mask staring down at him, the spirit’s hand clasped firmly around his tail. He shook his head, a melancholy in his movements.

And then Hyaemon was there as well, and Flamon’s vision was engulfed by white flame. Then red. Then darkness. And his body fell limp, opened up from the ribcage, and his head a mere stain on the ground.

Baromon pulled up, feeling nothing where his arm had been a mere second ago. And he turned, his voice low and resigned.

“I hope I was of service, my friend.”

And he too was lost. Torn and scattered into mere fragments, as shards of his mask clattered against the ground.

The whole horrific process took only a few seconds. Muspelmon watched in silence, the campfire flickering alongside him, as Hyaemon stood sturdy on the ground. Already any signs of any other Digimon were burning away, armaments and clothing disappearing into grey dust.

Muspelmon slowly got to his feet, and strode forwards, circling Hyaemon and standing in front of him. The hyena looked up, his expression unreadable.

“Do you know why they had to go?”

“Sir. They were an enemy of the Fire Kingdom, sir. Intentionally or not.”

“Do you have any regrets?”

“I’m grateful for the time I had.”

“Very good.”

Hyaemon’s head bowed forward, almost mechanically, and he looked at his palms and the grey dust stains that marred them, and then looked around at the barren field. Muspelmon placed a palm down over the campfire, extinguishing it in a moment. Darkness fell, leaving only the flames of Muspelmon’s and Hyaemon’s eyes to light up the area. Muspelmon straightened up, his shadow large and imposing against the dark sky, as Hyaemon spoke again.

“It’s all over now, isn’t it…”

“Are you okay?”

Muspelmon’s shadow bore over him, as Hyaemon turned around, and smiled a learned smile up at the old general.

“Yes sir.”

“Digital year 7130.

I didn’t expect it to be so sudden.

I’m not sure if it was a whim on my part. Perhaps me testing the waters. My own arrogance. But within seconds the mercenaries I had spent time training and cultivating were gone. Only Hyaemon there to graduate to a full Fire Soldier.

He’s said nothing of the incident. Part of me doubts if he even remembers, despite it only being a few days prior. Truly the will of flame personified; destruction and erasure to zero, and possibly something new, stronger and more terrifying left in its place.

There are words of a coup in the Floating Islands; some segments breaking off and preparing to surround the main fleet. Looking at the currents I believe I have some leeway to bring it to an end. Dangerous currents and dashing rocks can claim many a reckless life.

Of course Hyaemon will come with me, though it is good for him to be isolated for now. Even with all the work I’ve put into him I have no idea how he will react, though I have no doubt that he will be able to end this purely single-handedly.

These are new waters for me. No advancement in science nor nation was made without large sacrifice. It is now the onus on myself to ensure that their sacrifice was not wasted.”

“Hyaemon?”

Muspelmon stepped forwards, expertly winding his way through the maze of pillars beneath the fortress as he had done so many times before. He turned his head, his eyes glowing dimly in the red haze.

“I know you’re down here. You’re not supposed to be here without my supervision.”

Yes Sir

The elder general turned his head, and pushed forwards, deeper into the alcove. He could hear Hyaemon now. Not his speech, for he didn’t talk much these days. But the audible crackling beneath his skin, and the roaring white flames within him, begging to come out.

The general turned again, and there his ward was. Sitting down, his legs spread apart before him, and his great arms bent down in front of him, supporting his upper half. He pushed himself up briefly, and turned his head as best as he could through the muscle, staring ahead with glowing white eyes.

“Did you hear me? We need to return to your quarters. What are you doing down here?”

I can hear it

Muspelmon paused, and edged closer forwards, as Hyaemon stayed in position. He raised an arm forwards, pressing the ashen hand against the splitting wall.

He’s talking to me

The general watched, his keen eyes seeing the faint blue glow through the cracks of the fortress. They seemed to ripple beneath his touch, and as they did so his white flames glowed brighter. Muspelmon stayed deathly quiet, as Hyaemon ran his hand down, flakes of stone coming from the wall.

Daddy look

“I’m sorry?”

He’s talking

Hyaemon’s arm fell back down, and the wall seemed to come with it. And then didn’t. Something there but not quite, curling around Hyaemon’s hand. He shuffled around, his throat releasing singular forced laughs as he did so, and held it out with a smile on his face.

He gave it to me

Muspelmon watched in fascination as the creature curled in Hyaemon’s grasp, flashing in and out of visibility. It bent back, eyes and teeth and claws there for but a second. And then it was gone, only a silhouette on Hyaemon’s enlarged arm.

Muspelmon crouched down, and reached out himself, brushing his gauntlet down the surface of the wall. Nothing appeared for him, or at least nothing so visible. But he could feel it deep within. The living flame of the fortress he resided in, and behind that...something else. A barrier. A doorway maybe. Possibilities.

“The element has chosen you, Hyaemon. You’ve met its favour.”

He straightened up, and positioned himself in front of the soldier.

“Look at me.”

Hyaemon turned his body again, looking cramped due to his mismatched form. His eyes scanned the general’s face, then his hands, then settled on the brooch at his chest. Muspelmon ran a hand over it, keeping it in view.

“Your duty is to this place. But your place is now to leave it. This must be our haven now. And you shall be its guardian.”

He straightened up, and curled a finger before him.

“Come on, let’s find your new home.”

Yes sir

“Digital year 7131.

I raised Hyaemon to be a symbol for the Fire Kingdom. A unifier for our race. But during this process, these physical and mental enhancements, he’s become something else entirely.

This is no unifier. This is a purge. The fortress runs through his veins and casts judgement on any and all who oppose him. Even down to his very makeup; his victims are not recast into the world, but left as mere dead ash. He eliminates parts of the world.

This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And this is good.

I dare not keep him within the grounds of the fortress now; he is losing direction out of my absence, and if someone else were to find him, I doubt they would be understanding. Thankfully there are options; the rails of the Spokes network are large and all encompassing, and the shuttles travel fast enough that accidentally engaging with him would be unlikely. And if I need to recover him, I know where he will be.

He will be a great asset to the Fire Kingdom, even if not in the way I’d originally intended. Or in his original form. I’d hesitate to call it evolution; more like a blessing. I’m not sure how aware of himself he is anymore, so it falls on me to name him.

So I shall name him Crocottamon.”

“Digital year 7154.

They do say that flying too close to the sun will cause one to get burned. One would think I would be aware of this.

I’ve been seeing Crocottamon less and less of late, still bound within the confines of the Spokes rail terminal. The few times I did try to use his abilities, his behaviour and firepower was too wildly unpredictable. It’s a shame to see the precision of his younger years deteriorate so, though it’s to be expected that endless power comes with a reduced sense of self.

Sometimes he’s not there when I do visit, I’m assuming exploring on his own time. It gives me some peace, that he can still find some meaning in observing the world around him. He recognises me each time we do see one another, and we reminisce, and he pledges his allegiance to the element of Fire. Whatever the bond he has with it has far surpassed by ability to understand or observe now. I’ve studied the substance beneath the fortress as close as I dare, but its nature still eludes me.

I feel less drive now than when Crocottamon was young, back when I held my hand over the fortress. Perhaps I am just old, and my convictions less solid. Decisions which inflamed my wrath ten or twenty years ago now just leave me apathetic. I’ve made my attempts to fix this broken kingdom, and I’m damned if I’m giving up now. But if the fortress and the element no longer sees fit to share its secrets with me, then I am of no position to argue.

Though I still have much to teach, and lessons to learn from. My latest apprentice was passed on from Surtremon himself; already with exposure to the main Fire Forces and the workings within. It’s not a great environment, but it gives him confidence and sociability that Hyaemon lacked. He’s a bright creature as well; a spark in his eyes that I only see in the best, even if he does need to work on his aggression.

I have faith. One day he may see secrets of the Fire Kingdom that I can only dream about. And, in time, he may be able to understand Crocottamon better than I ever can. If he does, well...the Fire Kingdom may just find true strength in its hand once again.

We can only dream.”

“Elder General?”

Muspelmon raised his head, his eyes blinking slightly as the world reappeared around him, revealing Coremon’s bright blue eyes staring into his. The manticore held up two pieces of parchment.

“These seem to be covering the same event. What do I do?”

Muspelmon ran a finger over the side of his mask. “Are there any differences?”

Coremon squinted. “Different angles and list of participants, but nothing that contradicts each other. I think.”

“Keep them both then; they’re going to need copying out into one later.”

“Aaaaaagh,” groaned Coremon, slamming both records in front of him atop the ever growing pile of conflict memorandums. “This is torment .”

Muspelmon shook his head. “A torment we must bear, I’m afraid. I’m happy to give you support but you’re going to have to look after this all yourself one day.”

Coremon puffed his cheeks out. “Surtremon’s always trying to do this. Making us keep track of where we’ve been and what little ash cloud’s broken out in what area.” His eyes wandered up towards Muspelmon’s. “It must have been nicer when you were general. Everyone out in the field all the time. Marches and courses and everything.”

“Everybody at each others throats more like,” replied Muspelmon. “There’s a level of respect here amongst the soldiers that’s been a long time coming. Don’t knock it.”

“But wouldn’t you rather be out theredoingsomething?Being the Fire Kingdom?”

Muspelmon blinked, his head held at an odd angle. Eventually he raised a hand to the side of his mask, looking at the records before him as well.

“I’m not sure what that means anymore.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing to worry about. Come on, there’s not that many left…”

Muspelmon moved his arm, revealing the digicode benath. A couple of words caught his eye.

White flame. Ash shell. Distant laughing.

He revealed it a little more, scanning his eyes over the contents as he went to archive it. There were only a few sheets, but all covering similar events. Pockets of dead land found across the north of the continent; the Northern Tribes, and even the top side of the Spokes. A couple showing signs of being inhabited, while others were just wild area. But all now in a similar, deadened state, as if all data had been torn away.

Another minor occurance to monitor, possibly. Nothing more unusual than the Fire Kingdom dealt with on a daily basis.

Muspelmon was silent as he filed the records, keeping the code lodged tightly within his mind.

“Digital year 7156.

It took me a while to piece everything together, but on investigating the reports there was no doubt in my mind. Crocottamon is still active, and without my input. While his actions proved to be erratic as of late, his inaction without my presence was something I could fully rely on. Which seems to me that somebody is using him for their own gain.

I’m honestly impressed, given what I know about his volatility. But there are powerful entities even outside the Fire Kingdom, and it’s possible they may be able to glean limited control.

As to who, or what they do hope to gain, I can only speculate. The rail terminal should be an invisible place for all who travel through it, but it is still linked with the Spokes Districts, so that would be my first guess. One of the Sovereignty perhaps, with their own turbulent past and twisted values.

It’s not as if I haven’t made enemies, after all. It is the curse of the superior being to be despised for his birthright.

I have a chance to investigate, coming up very soon. Coremon has excelled in all manners of his training, and he and his two comrades will be receiving the honour of becoming Elites in just a few weeks time. I’ve had some words with Surtremon and the ceremony will be an open one, with dignitaries from across the continent welcome to support the Fire Kingdom. It is an act of diplomacy and transparency from Surtremon, and also allows me a chance to investigate. If whoever is responsible has been able to trace Crocottamon’s origin back to the Fire Kingdom – and it’s quite likely that they have – then it would be foolish for them not to try and glean more information from the source.

It’s not without risk. I have been careful within this record not to mention specific details of Crocottamon’s control, in the event that I am incapacitated or worse. And in that event, I have made the necessary arrangements to pass my legacy onto Coremon. He is young, and has seen little of the world, but I pray he will understand my vision – no, the vision of the element of Fire itself.

This world needs a saving grace. I’ve done my part to provide one, and I only pray that the true age of the Digital World shall still come to pass.”

“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.

“Solar Spikes!”

Coremon’s arms came together instinctively, a barrier of blinding yellow flames erupting and spraying out in a cross-shaped blast. It expanded in a second, the firepower immense for the new Elite’s small body. But still there was a black flash within the yellow, and Coremon’s legs sprang backwards as he was immediately forced onto the defensive.

The lemur spun forwards in a blaze of darkness, her entire body becoming ethereal, and with a single, pinpointed strike she landed a punch right in the middle of Coremon’s forehead.

“Phobos Phantasm.”

In an instant Coremon’s vision was filled by the assailant’s piercing gaze, which blasted through him, over every patch of fur on his body, beneath his feet, under his skin. He flinched, uncontrollably, and the shadow matter slammed into him again, throwing him backwards against the wall with an intense force.

He curled, willing his limbs to take over as he let gravity force him upright, and with a shake and a blast from his forearms he was free, just in time to see the lemur reform herself in front of him. He sprung again, swiping with a flaming claw and slashing her cloak, but her reflexes were easily on par with his, and she leapt up, pulling herself along the walls and ceiling with great leaps as she rushed down the ruined hallway.

“Don’t...let her...get away!”

Muspelmon’s voice was hoarse, but still coherent. Coremon’s eyes flickered sideways just for a brief moment, seeing the titan roll over, holding a hand against the ground as magma dripped down from his head wound. Coremon wanted to stop. He wanted to stay and help. But his soldier’s heart beat back at the panic and worry, and forced him into the moment.

“Yes sir.”

He ran off within a second, leaving the fallen general alone in his ruined quarters.

Muspelmon lay there for a few seconds, his breathing at once ragged and then methodical. Then he pushed himself forwards, bending his neck far more than seemed natural, despite its damaged state.

“I know you’re there! I know what she’s doing!”

There was no response at all. Just the dim flicker of the flames before him. Muspelmon turned his head again, and pressed the side of his mask inwards to keep the worst of the damage contained, before standing to his feet. One arm reached out towards his battleaxe, the blade swinging effortlessly in his grasp. The other one reached back, grasping over the top of the journal.

“Whichever one you are who wants this power, you’ll have to fight me for it. I’ve taken worse hits than this. I’ve slain more worthy enemies than you.”

Muspelmon held the journal close against his chest, making a show of his own weakness as he pressed the battleaxe against the wall. All the while he was watching, and listening, his sense for the battlefield never dulled. Still nothing, save for his heart beating faster than he would have liked.

Several more seconds, and nobody appeared. Muspelmon clicked beneath his mask, his arms relaxing as the weapon fell beside him. All a feint once again. He knew not to let his guard down at any point.

He took a step towards the exit, only to find his arm wasn’t moving with him. He looked back, and saw the battleaxe flat against the ground from where he’d dropped it.

Thunk.

He started, his arm coming forwards and supporting him as one of his front legs gave way. He looked down at his hand, wondering why it was still shaking so much, the gauntlet rattling beneath him. Poison? Unlikely, given the lemur’s element, and he wasn’t one to be affected by it anyway. He held the journal closer to his chest again as his heart roared within-

His heart. It felt like it was being constricted.

“I have you now, you tyrant.”

Muspelmon tried to lunge forwards, but two more legs gave way at the same time, all feeling and fire within them dissipating in a minute. He looked up, trying to make out anything in the room around him, but his entire sensory network was shutting down; black patches in his vision, white noise in his ears, and just cold static in the old bones beneath his armour. And in the midst of it all a clear, ringing, beating pain as his heartbeat was crushed down into smaller and smaller pulses, his very digital core in danger of being snuffed out.

And he lay there, only a few thoughts going through his mind. Confusion. Surprise. And refusal. Not like this. Not now. Not while there was still...so much...he needed to accomplish…

His remaining eye flickered, lighting up the looming shadow in front of him. And the heartbeat resonated with the calm voice that roared in his ears.

“Your legacy ends tonight.”

A final grasp, enveloping his core, smothering it, collapsing it into nothing.

And Muspelmon was dead.