The Infernal Fortress hummed, the slow creaking of an opening door resonating through the internal structure. It glowed with the motion, ancient energies and messages making their way through the walls – so archaic in language that only a select few could even guess their meaning.

The glow passed further, tracing the edge around a large chamber. Meant for titans, and monsters, and the giant fire kings of yore. Now, sealed, and barred, with only a single large occupant.

Hasdielmon’s hands were clasped in front of him, as if he were meditating, but there was nothing in his mind now. The pain blocked out all attempts for quiet. The scars in his back. The hollow drain that was the dagger, now grey against his chest. No armaments, no adornments. Only his own, towering, slender form, with his hair draped down his front like an ashen waterfall.

He didn’t move, even as the great footsteps came closer down the hallway towards him. But his eyes glowed faintly, the chronic aching reforming before him into the same, dark wall that had been his companion for weeks now.

“General Surtremon?”

The great knight looked down on the fallen angel, crouched in his solitude. He said nothing either, his arms held still by his sides. Eventually Hasdielmon moved only slightly, turning his head.

“Is it time yet? It’s felt like aeons.”

“I’ve been with the Elites, Hasdielmon. They’ve told me everything.”

The angel waited expectantly, as Surtremon shuffled closer still. His head was lowered, the fire in his chest growing dim. And the angel raised his head fully.

“Aah...I see. So you’ve confirmed it for yourself.”

He stood up, his body almost skeletal in the dim light, and walked right up to the bars, looking the general in the eye.

“The actions of your predecessor. His crimes and his values. His greatest soldier. The darkness that dwells within your own element.”

He reached out tenderly, his hand slipping through the barrier, and reaching out towards Surtremon’s chest.

“How much of it did he pass down to you, I wonder…”

His hand clamped over the knight’s seal, pressing against the cold metal. Surtremon didn’t move a muscle. He just stared at the angel with burning eyes. Eventually Hasdielmon pulled back.

“I’d have expected you to hit back at me for something like that.”

“I’m not Muspelmon. The element is mine. I command it now, along with his fortress.”

Hasdielmon laughed bitterly. “Don’t be naive. You can’t escape your legacy any more than I can.”

“I’m not like him. I here to do what’s right-”

“It’s pointless, General. Your flame is already tainted with the crimes of those before you. No matter how strong you are, you can’t erase those. The Fire Kingdom blights the digital world with its very existence. You can’t fix it. There is no fixing it. The bravest thing you could do would be to tear it all down.”

He looked up, his eyes humming with pulsing light.

“But you won’t do that, will you. You have your pride as a Fire soldier. Whatever that means.”

Surtremon took a single step back, his tail swinging behind him. “You’re right. I do have my pride. And also my duty. Regardless of Muspelmon’s actions, you are still responsible for the death of an elder general, attempted murder of my soldiers, mass murder of your own citizens and intent of genocide against my people.”

“Am I now.”

Surtremon gripped one of the bars around Hasdielmon’s prison, leaning in close. “Whatever your reasoning or your morals, your crimes are clear, as spoken by your tribunal. The former Sovereigns have not come to your defense, leaving your fate in my hands. And I will not put my, nor any other nation at risk by letting you live.”

Hasdielmon leant back against the wall, having no response to the General’s declaration. Eventually Surtremon straightened up, his expression unreadable behind his new, impassive mask.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the suffering that Musp – that...my predecessor inflicted upon you.”

“Hch.”

Hasdielmon turned his back, the great wounds that were once his wings shining against the knight’s flame.

“Just go. Spare me your empty apologies.”

He didn’t look back, even as Surtremon stepped back and began to walk up the hallway. The knight paused, his tail curling back and forth.

“You won’t have long to wait. Your judgement is coming.”

Hasdielmon stared into darkness, as the footsteps faded into nothing. And he let out a thin, relieved sigh.

“Thank you, General. I couldn’t bear it any other way.”

“It’s not like you to be so morose.”

Fornaxmon turned his head, his visor humming slightly. “An experience like that will shake anybody. You must be aware of that.”

“Never let anything run you down. That’s always been my stance on anything like this. I wouldn’t have made it to where I did if I let them.”

The golem chuckled, though there was no mirth in his voice. “Even after the beating you got, you still haven’t changed.”

He stood up straight, his right arm clanking nastily with the movement. He rolled it back, the joint grinding momentarily, before clicking back into place. His body looked a mess; patched with metal plate and woven tape, covering cracks and holes and great shears in the Digizoid globe. It looked worse than it was; the Commander’s body was nothing if not durable, but Crocottamon’s ferocious attacks had certainly left their marks.

Still, Fornaxmon was aware as he looked across the chamber that he’d gotten off luckily. Bombardimon’s chipper tone did little to dispel his own brutal wounds from the fight. Five of his limbs ripped clean away, punctures in his fuel tanks, his body scorched and cracked from the inside out. He sat upright, unable to move anything but his head as the metal struts held him in place. Even his head was scarred, with one eye having been blown clean out from the final impact.

The other one rolled smartly, as a rough static noise came from Bombardimon’s throat. “You’ve been in this game longer than I have. You have to know how to recover from a few knocks.”

Fornaxmon didn’t reply straight away, raising a wrapped arm and planting it against the wall in front of him.

“We very nearly didn’t make it out of that, Bombardimon. Santelmon didn’t. I’m not even certain if the general could have beaten that thing if Coremon hadn’t stopped it when he did.” He turned his head. “And...it’s difficult. Knowing what we do now. Knowing that that…that monster came from one of our own.”

Bombardimon lowered his head. “Are they still clearing out Muspelmon’s quarters?”

Fornaxmon nodded, only slightly. “Mollumon and Serpemon are taking charge of that. Most of it’s being incinerated. Too much sensitive information.”

“Sensitive?” Bombardimon remarked, staring with his one remaining eye at the Commander. “Or...dangerous?”

Fornaxmon’s hand clenched, only slightly, against the wall. His chest burned with a deep-red flame.

“There’s a lot we never knew about Muspelmon. I...couldn’t stay to help them. Not with the amount coming to light there.”

“And here’s me thinking you came to visit me out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Bombardimon, I-”

Fornaxmon spurted, a little tuft of smoke coming from the top of his chimney. Then he turned around, folding his arms. Bombardimon shifted sideways, the wreckage of his limbs clanking upwards it what could have been a shrug.

“It’s not for me to say what you do. I fought for the Fire Kingdom. Not a person, but an ideal.”

“I don’t really know what that means right now. If the people creating those ideals are as twisted as Muspelmon was.”

“And yet fighting for those ideals meant we won, right?”

Fornaxmon looked up, the beetle’s eye burning into his gaze.

“We fought for the right thing. And we succeeded. We can deal with the fallout only because the fire itself has died away.”

Fornaxmon looked at him, at the shine still held within Bombardimon’s eye.

“It’s not right. It should have been me before you. Santelmon still had fight in him as well.”

“That’s just the way it lands sometimes.”

He sighed, and turned towards the exit of Bombardimon’s chamber, when the beetle raised his head. “Fornaxmon?”

The golem paused, looking back at the pile of wreckage that housed his friend.

“You know...you do realise I can’t return to my duties as Commander after this, right?”

Fornaxmon’s visor flared up. “You know nobody thinks less of you for that, don’t you.”

“I appreciate it. But I’m thinking about you. And the future.” Bombardimon’s eye pushed sideways. “The Elites. Coremon, Serpemon and Mollumon. They’re going to be up against it and they need guidance. It’s on you now, friend.”

Fornaxmon’s gauntlet came up, running underneath the metal of his visor. Bombardimon lay back.

“You know more than any of us what we need to fight for. All you need to do is teach them. That’s how we can undo the damage that Muspelmon did. So they can shape this kingdom into what it needs to be.” He lowered his gaze. “You can do that, right?”

Fornaxmon’s hand ran down his chest, and he held it firm in the Fire Kingdom salute.

“You have my word.”

Bombardimon nodded, and said no more, watching as the golem turned and left the chamber. And he sat there – alone, and immobile, and with nothing around him but his thoughts and his pain.

And he closed his eye, waiting for Santelmon to berate him as usual.

Hasdielmon stood upright, unmoving and unfeeling, within the crimson chamber. His arms were held before him, still bound, and the stumps of his wings moved accordingly as he breathed slowly. His eyes were half-illuminated, staring ahead into the murk as the great flame of the Infernal Fortress swirled around above his head.

He could hear Surtremon’s voice before him; loud and commanding as usual, but seeming to blend into the stifling atmosphere of the chamber.

“...chances for appeal were requested from your former jurisdiction. From Muscovymon, rejection. From Hamadryamon, abstention. No response from Gryllimon. As such the accountability falls upon myself as the holding authority to pass sentence upon you.”

Surtremon’s voice was unwavering, stood to attention behind the fallen angel. There were a selection of Fire soldiers standing at arms along the side of the chamber, and looking aside, Hasdielmon could see Fornaxmon on one of the balconies, looking very solitary for his post as Commander.

No, not solitary. Hasdielmon moved his head just slightly, making out the small figures of the three Elites, stood solemnly in a row beside the Commander.

“For your many crimes, and your safety of the digital world, this decision of your immediate execution is final. May my consort and the powers that dwell within this fortress act as my record in this act.”

Surtremon’s voice ground to a stop, the last words echoing around the small chamber. Coremon felt small, so small, as the great knight stepped forwards from the shadows, the glow emanating from the gaps in his armour.

Fornaxmon could sense the trepidation beside him, and turned his head ever so slightly. “You don’t need to see this, you know.”

Coremon’s eyes flicked up, but it was Mollumon who answered, “Yes, we do, Commander.”

The octopus held his arms straight beside him, the ends curling. “It’s because of us that he’s here. It’s our responsibility to act as witness.”

Serpemon closed and opened his hands, his lips pressed tightly together. Coremon just stared, his eyes briefly making contact with the angel’s.

Hasdielmon looked ahead, feeling the presence of Surtremon behind him. The knight paused, his hands on the great handle of Logi. He pulled the sword up, and turned it in his hands. “Do you have any last comments.”

“I’ve said all I need to. Please continue.”

“Understood.”

Logi faced straight up, and the flame of the Infernal Fortress reached down. A raw power – an ancient power – tracing across the edge of the blade as it glowed. Orange, yellow, white – a blazing light of immense and incredible heat, searing the very air within the chamber. Surtremon’s gauntlets were steadfast, his will over the element total and unwavering.

“You’ve raised some fine soldiers, General.”

Surtremon paused, waiting as Hasdielmon stayed looking the other way. The angel paused, then turned his head slightly, the glow in his eyes flickering.

“Don’t break them.”

Surtremon pulled his arms back, the incandescent silhouette of Logi lighting up the chamber behind him, as he stood poised.

“You have my word.”

The seconds hung in the air, everyone present watching completely. Coremon’s eyes were wide and unblinking, focused on Hasdielmon, his only movement being the furious beating of his own heart.

Surtremon gripped Logi’s handle. And he swung.

A feeling. A sudden burning – no, a carving – erupting between his shoulder blades. Sharp and sudden enough to make even Muscovymon flinch. And as he did, so the rest of his body spasmed in pain as well. He stumble forwards, reaching out with his one remaining arm and bracing himself against the wall.

It creaked, but held, the new fastenings keeping it steady. For a moment he leant forwards, trying to steady his breath. Then he stood up straight again, and turned around to see what had caused it.

Nobody close to him, certainly. But the squat body of Caesiumon stood at the end of the bridge, holding his arms in front of him. He rustled, and bowed his head.

“Your maje-”

“Don’t.”

Caesiumon flinched, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Force of habit, you know.”

Muscovymon turned to face him fully, no expression on his face. Caesiumon looked down.

“I’ve brought the latest message from the Fire Kingdom. They’ve...after receiving your reports they’ve asked me to confirm that the sentencing was to be carried out as planned.”

Muscovymon raised his hand to his shoulder, placing pressure where he’d felt the pang earlier. “So that’s it then. He’s gone.”

“I couldn’t say myself.”

“I can. I know Surtremon.” Muscovymon sighed, his hand curling back round to underneath his cracked beak. “You can leave it with me. I won’t ask you to deliver this news to Hamadryamon; I’ll do it myself.”

“Th...thanks.” Caesiumon tapped his feet, clenching his hand. “Their offer still stands, they said. If you need any support or resource in rebuilding-”

“I told you before, no!”

The duck pulled himself back, aware of his outbursts even as he was making it. Caesiumon stayed quiet, not meeting his gaze. Muscovymon held his beak, his eyes closed as his head pounded.

“My...answer’s still the same. Surtremon’s done what he needed to. I can’t ask more of him, and it’s not right for the Spokes that I do.”

“I’ll pass that on.”

Caesiumon turned, when Muscovymon held a hand out, stopping him momentarily.

“I...don’t suppose you’ve found any trace of Gryllimon yet, have you?”

The pilot shook his head solemnly. “We’re looking as hard as we can. I promise, if we find anything-”

Muscovymon’s arm fell, and he closed his eyes. “I see. Thank you anyway.”

He held his head down for a few moments, seeing the bright spots swimming behind his eyelid. When he opened them again, Caesiumon had already gone.

He leant sideways again, the fatigue hitting him. It seemed to do so more with every movement or every conversation these days. Still, he gripped the metal, and pushed himself up straight.

“It’s not going to get any easier the longer I leave it.”

He turned on his heel, and set off, trying to clear his head with a renewed briskness to his footsteps.

He passed broken arches and snapped spires, ancient monuments that had yet to be uncovered, and pyramid lattices that were still being assembled. All around, near and far, the citizens of the Spokes, all doing their bit to raise their bit of their home back up. Many of them parted in front of him. Didn’t want to meet his eye, just as he avoided theirs. The Spokes had always been a quiet place for as long as he’d been there, the citizenry doing their best to get along on their own accord.

The voices were starting to come back. But it would take a very long time. And the damage would never truly go away.

Not everybody avoided him. Tobiumon turned her head, as he approached her, slowing his pace. She slid back, her face flat.

“Do you need help?”

“Hamadryamon. She was supposed to be with you?”

Tobiumon gestured behind her. “Walked away about ten minutes ago. Something spooked her again.”

Muscovymon pressed his beak together, fairly sure he knew what it was. He nodded in acknowledgement, and climbed his way up the lattice of jagged steps.

He saw her first, staring out across the broken Spokes. Her body seemed elongated in the low light, difficult to tell where her body ended and the vines began, coiling their way around the pillar that she clutched onto. Her claws were trembling, ever so slightly, the hooked talons digging into the metal.

Muscovymon made his way carefully over the wreckage, until he was level with her, seeing the far-away look beneath her angelic mask.

“Hasdielmon’s dead, isn’t he.”

Muscovymon held his arm over his waist. “I got the news from Caesiumon. Most likely.”

“Did you feel it?”

“I suppose I did. We shared the command of the Spokes for long enough.” He raised his head. “Are you okay?”

Hamadryamon shuffled down, and crossed her arms in front of her crouched form. From where he was stood, Muscovymon could only see the scarred side of her face, the once pale flesh now torn and grey, making her look skeletal.

“I loved him. I thought...he’d loved me. I genuinely couldn’t comprehend otherwise.”

Her face lowered forwards, burying itself above her knees. “It’s all gone. Everything I had. Everything I was.”

The vines rippled around her, rolling back and forth as if she were an island surrounded by waves. Muscovymon looked all around, trying to think of something to say, but failing. He turned, his own head swimming, when a vine coiled around his hand. He turned back, her form still crouched before him.

“Please don’t leave me, Muscovymon. I...I beg you. You’re all I have left.”

The former commander turned, and moved up close to her, holding his arm around her form. For someone once so strong willed, she now felt utterly frail, as if she might snap in his grip. But grip her he did, holding her tear-streaked head against his broad chest.

“Whatever happens, whatever needs to happen...I promise, I won’t leave you. No more.”

They stayed together for several minutes, neither saying a word. Eventually Hamadryamon pushed back, gently unfolding him.

“You should go. They need you.”

“They need both of us.”

She didn’t move. Muscovymon turned slowly, making his way back down the ruined steps of the capital, back towards the citizens still doing their best.

He slowed, his head still pounding and swimming, until he was forced to stop, turning into a roof dome that had been half-buried in the debris. There he stood, facing the smooth metal as he swayed.

The pain was flaring up once again. Pain in his legs and arm, and in the stump where his cannon had been. And coiling up, through his chest and throat, and coiling around his head. He gritted his teeth, his vision flooding with black and white and that same burning...burning…

He leant forwards, his hand splaying out against the smooth chrome, and all at once he felt it flooding in. Anger. Complete, burning rage. At Hasdielmon, and Muspelmon, and the Fire Kingdom and the Elites and Gryllimon and Hamadryamon and himself, all piling in at once; a storm of rage pulsing through his body so mightily and ferociously that he felt he could break-

CRACK

The noise snapped in his head, and he looked up before him into the shattered chrome, seeing the deep blackness of his mechanical eye...and the white flames encircling his other one, licking all around his face. Spurts of fire, from his shoulder, from his beak...all over him...all-consuming...ready to erupt…

He brought his hand back, holding it over his face. It burned. He let it, his breathing slowing, growing more steady, more controlled.

“It’s fine...it’s going t-...t-to be fine...”

And eventually, he relaxed, looking at himself once again. Broken. Beaten. Scarred and filthy. But still alive. And still himself.

“Hamadryamon, I...I-I...promise...I’m not going to leave you…”

Surtremon pushed the doorway open, the fortress illuminating the inside of his chamber as he did so. He stared inwards for a moment, completely still, looking at the ornate decoration. Generations of kings and generals before him, their legacy all belonging to him.

He walked forwards, one step at a time, and placed Logi against the nearest wall. It was still glowing, the element of Fire burning bright within it.

Surtremon kept walking, running a hand over the back of the seat before him. His eyes were dark, hollow within his solid mask. Slowly, ever so slowly, he made his way around, and sat down, his legs apart and his hands clasped in front of him.

There he stayed. The light dimming around him, as if the fortress and the flame itself was responding to the storm going on inside him. Even as he held them together, he could feel his hands shaking. Hands that had held Logi firm, precise and deadly, just an hour before...now trembling, the gauntlets scraping against each other.

Minutes he sat still, and silent. Leading into hours. He couldn’t tell how long. The only thing that took him out of it was the single, sharp sound of a rapping at the door. And still he stayed, not moving an inch.

Coremon held his breath as he knocked on the door of his general's chamber, once again. There was no reply.

The manticore peered back, but Mollumon and Serpemon merely fidgeted, not saying anything. Coremon sighed, and pushed the door open, revealing the darkened room, and Surtremon inside, still crouched as he faced away. He coughed. "Sir…?"

Finally, a response. Slowly, the General raised his head, staring into nothing. With nothing else to go on, the three Elites walked in one at a time, saluting as they did so. The silence was as oppressive as the dim light, but they remained firm, slowly edging into Surtremon’s peripheral vision. Coremon bit his lip, and spoke again.

"We were wondering…is there anything we can…I don't know…"

Surtremon turned to face them, his expression hidden by the great mask. He shook his head, the weariness evident by his action.

"You've done more than enough. It was wrong of me to get you mixed up in all this. You shouldn't have seen any of it."

“We’re soldiers, sir. Elite soldiers. Your best.”

Coremon gritted his teeth, but held firm as he stared up into the general’s eyes. "We knew what we were getting into going into the Spokes. We need to protect the world from harm. You taught us that. There's nothing we regret."

Surtremon looked down, looking more vulnerable than the Elites had ever seen him. And suddenly Coremon felt impossibly small, lost in the giant’s great gaze. Warmth and fear and cruelty at once, swirling around inside those old eyes.

Surtremon's head lowered. "You don't have to lie to me. I know this business hurt you. It hurt me as well."

"Sir…"

"I killed somebody today. A maniac, true, but somebody I trusted and somebody I respected. And the worst thing is – hand on my heart – I don't even think he was wrong in what he did. Or at least...in his intentions...after what Muspelmon did to him..."

Mollumon folded his tentacles before him, his expression flat. “Who else knows about Muspelmon now?”

“Just you, the Commanders and myself. Nobody else.” Surtremon sighed. “It appears everyone who was ever involved with his work was killed off.”

“Do...do we need to tell people?”

“And break the trust we’ve been trying to build up? Due to the actions of the one before me?”

Mollumon pursed his beak. “Surely...I feel...wouldn’t we be breaking that trust by hiding the truth?”

“I don’t know, Mollumon!”

The giant's immense, armoured hand went up to his face, clawing at his mask.

"Every time I think I've fixed it the world breaks yet again. Peace is always just out of reach, and the road is blocked by tyrants and dictators. All that work to build bridges, to form connections, and build a better world, and...a single selfish Digimon can ruin it all. And that pain then gets passed on. It spreads, and grows, and where a problem could be solved with a talk suddenly there’s an all-out war.”

Serpemon swayed back and forth. "You're still here. You're still fighting for the right cause. And you're stronger than any of them."

"Not for much longer." Surtremon looked up. "What's the point of protecting the Digital World if we can't ever finish the job?"

Nobody answered. The giant’s outburst still rang in their ears, and they shuffled, staying close to each other.

Surtremon turned away again. "You may go. I need to think things through." He paused. "Again, I'm…I'm so sorry about all this…"

Slowly, the Elites turned to leave the chamber. Mollumon first, straight and emotionless. Then Serpemon, swaying gently as he moved, his arms held behind him.

Coremon was the last to go, when he stopped at the entrance to the chamber, and turned to face his General.

"Whatever you do, we will follow you, sir. We want to see that better world."

There was no answer. Only Surtremon’s great, hunched form, sitting in the dim light. Coremon stepped back, and the light of the corridor faded away, leaving Surtremon completely alone, as his most loyal soldier left the room.

But beneath his mask, Surtremon smiled. Only faint, and only a little.

"Thanks, Coremon."

“Our lives are only borrowed. Forged as they are from the fabric of the digital world in which we live. Be we new or old, the smallest Rookie to the mightiest Mega, that is an inevitable truth that one day the dust which forms us shall return to that very world.”

“We as soldiers must fight, knowing this, accepting this. That is the path we take, and it is the noblest of us that strive for a world where so many others may live their lives to the fullest.”

Those same words. Burned into Coremon’s mind from the first time, so much so that he could talk along with them along with Surtremon. He’d stayed quiet though, just staring ahead during Santelmon’s funeral. So much feeling the same as the first time; the altar, the sword, the grasping flame. Perhaps some different memories, or a different hue from the fortress. As if it knew as well. It knew far more than it would ever let him know.

He was aware of the platoons to the right of him. Mere months ago, he would have been among them. The leader of his garrison, waiting for his promotion up the ranks. They seemed formless now. Just a sea of faces, staring at the flame before them, as Surtremon turned his broadsword.

As he did so, it reflected on the two figures behind him. Fornaxmon, standing to attention as always, steadfast and immoveable. And beside him, the dead-eyed shell of Bombardimon, supported on a wheeled podium to move himself around with his remaining limbs. He’d said nothing.

The sword made contact, the flame dispersing once again. It reached out, caressing Coremon’s face, and he suddenly found himself falling into it, the truth of the fortress and the Fire Kingdom surrounding him and wrapping around him. Running through him. A part of him, as much as it was a part of Santelmon...and of Muspelmon.

It was over now. He didn’t remember the hours in between, the seniors paying their respects and grieving and celebrating, until they too had gone away. Back to their own lives within the great machine.

He was alone, sat before the altar. The torches burning around as usual, the eternal flame still lighting the great hall. He felt within his robe, his hand clutching onto the same thing he’d been holding onto for weeks now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled it out, and looked at the carved metal and shining jewels. A symbol of pride for him, once. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t let it go. Even if looking at the brooch now sickened him.

“Santelmon gave everything he had to bring justice to this world.”

“You’re here for the same reason, huh?”

The manticore turned around, his gaze meeting Mollumon’s as the other Elite slid forwards. He was carrying something in his tentacles. A book, or a manuscript, like always.

No, not any book.

“I’m surprised they let you keep that.”

“They needed to go through it. Make sure there were no other projects that were described in here. Same with all the rest of his journals.”

“Shit…”

The octopus’s gaze was low, his pupils shimmering in the torchlight. “It’s my duty. I have the knowledge to help.”

“But still...that must have been hard...”

Mollumon didn’t reply. He merely turned towards the torch, the book curling in his arms.

“All that knowledge and experience from an elder general. It would be wasteful if it wasn’t so terrible.”

“I notice Fornaxmon took his axe down from the armoury. Any reason given to the soldiers?”

“The same one as always. ‘The situation changed.’”

“And that’s good enough for them?”

Mollumon let out a long sigh. “To be completely honest with you? I don’t think a majority of them even care.”

Coremon gave a harsh laugh, and curled his hand over his face. “What a legacy for Muspelmon, huh? Give it a few months, and nobody even remembers him.”

“That’s probably for the best for some things,” said Mollumon, and he held up the journal before him. “Together?”

“Now.”

They threw as one, the journal and the brooch tumbling into the altar before them.

They waited, half expecting the artefacts to let off blue sparks or toxic ash, or the fortress itself to cry out at their action.

But they only burned. A brief light, as the sigyl grew white hot, the symbol lighting up the back of Coremon’s eyes. It shimmered, and waved, and became amorphous as the metal curled up in the ashes of the book.

By the time the two Elites turned away, heading off in opposite directions, there was already nothing left.

The spectre of the Spokes incident hung low over the Infernal Fortress. Piercing into every conversation, every action, every hidden thought. Almost nobody knew the details, but that didn’t stop them from talking. Eventually though, there was nothing left to say. The loss of an Elder, and the loss of a Commander, and the telling silence from the three newest Elites.

But as much as it lingered, it couldn’t stop the operations of the Fire Kingdom for good. Tasks still had to be performed. Orders still had to be followed. The Fire Kingdom was going from strength to strength as it always had, and at the end of the day, life went on for a majority of them.

It hadn’t gotten better. It had just become bearable.

Coremon was pausing, resting his arms on the balcony overlooking his old barracks, as he tried to catch his breath. It had been a slog of a morning. Broken artillery, followed by three hours of stationing requirements. His eyes were still spinning, and he was barely still staying standing.

“Soldier.”

That voice. He’d become so familiar with it now. He turned, and saluted as Surtremon walked up towards him. The general raised a palm, flanked by Fornaxmon and Mollumon, who returned the gesture. Coremon nodded, still not entirely used to the fact that he was expected to salute his longtime friend now as well.

“You’re on schedule for this morning?”

“Ahead of it, for my sins, sir.”

“Very good. I was hoping I’d catch you in the meantime.”

Coremon swallowed, discretely, hoping the thoughts of dread that went through his mind weren’t too evident on his face. He snuck a glance at Mollumon, but the octopus was looking away, engrossed in his own manuscripts as usual.

“What do you need, General?”

“I was hoping things would stay settled for a bit longer, but we’ve started getting messages from across the continent.”

Mollumon was about to reach out, when a shrill whistle caught everyone’s attention. Serpemon was poking his head around the corner, his ear flaps flickering. “Are you all having a board meeting without me? I’m hurt.”

Coremon hissed beneath his lips, just as Serpemon became looked up and saw the General staring at him. He held his head down, his chipperness slightly subdued.

“I apologise.”

“Don’t. It concerns your...joint experiences. Best that you’re aware.”

Coremon took the manuscript from the silent Mollumon, holding it to one side so Serpemon could see as well. “They’re not happy, are they.”

“We killed a foreign power on our soil. Despite the recognition and acceptance we got from the Spokes, we’ve made some other leaders unhappy.”

“The Marquise of the Tartarean Labyrinths...Echo Remnants...Grassbridge…”

Serpemon pulled a face. “That’s hardly surprising. Grassbridge will pick a fight with anyone.”

“When you’ve finished joking.”

“Sorry, General.”

Surtremon held a hand behind his helmet. “This is going to need delicacy and decorum. We need to regain the world’s trust. Show them what we truly stand for and the values we exhibit within the Fire Kingdom.” He looked down. “I hate to ask this of you so soon after the Spokes incident, but...you’re aware the loss of two of my Commanders has made things difficult, aren’t you.”

The wide eyes greeting him were more of an answer than he needed. He lowered his head. “I’ll teach you as much as I can, of course I will. As will Fornaxmon. I trust him to guide you right.”

Fornaxmon pulled his arms in. “Of course, sir. Anything I can do.”

Coremon’s hands clenched against the floor, unable to stop himself from looking away. Serpemon shot a glance towards him, but it was Mollumon who raised his tentacle in salute.

“We’ll support you, General. Whatever you need.”

“Very good.” Surtremon nodded. “You can come with me across the sea to the labyrinths. Fornaxmon and Coremon, see to the remnants. I’m hoping they will see sense. Serpemon, you handled Grassbridge before; I’ll leave them to you.”

“Ooh, goodie. A personal project.”

Fornaxmon rolled his shoulder. “We’re still waiting on permissions and access for the areas in question, so we’ve got some time to prepare.” He shifted his visor, the flame flashing briefly towards Coremon. “Prepare ourselves, as well.”

The Elite said nothing. None of the three of them did. Surtremon let out a breath, and looked out over the barracks. There was a bustle of activity beneath; soldiers and artillery, vehicles and support. And beyond it, beyond the great wall of the fortress, the rolling landscape of the digital world itself.

“I still believe in it, you know.”

Fornaxmon turned, looking up at the general, as the knight held a hand out towards the horizon.

“Setbacks and scandals be damned. There’s a better world out there, for the whole digital world. We’re a part of that. We have to be.”

His hand closed, grasping the low afternoon sun and blocking out the light in his vision.

“I’ll bring that world into being. I swear it.”

A slight image, flickering in his memory. Clear as day, just for a second. Bright orange hair and an infectious smile. The sun glinting off her goggles.

And then it was gone, the red world in front of him coming back into focus.

He lowered his arm, his tail swinging behind him as he set off. “At ease, Elites. Make sure you’re ready. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

He walked away, with Fornaxmon just following in his footsteps, ever so slightly slower and ever so slightly less certain. But Coremon’s eyes were transfixed on the figure of the general – the giant among them, walking back into the fortress. A confidence in his step and a determination in his figure.

And then he was gone, leaving the three of them on their own. They turned back towards each other, sharing awkward glances.

Coremon was the first to clear his throat. “It’s...been a while since we met up like this...hasn’t it…”

Serpemon leant back against the balcony, sticking his tongue out. “What, y’all need my inspiration to be sociable still?”

“We’ve been busy,” said Mollumon flatly. “It can’t be helped.”

He sighed, his posture loosening a little. Only a little though, noted Coremon. He turned his head, fiddling his tentacles together.

“Going to get even busier with what Surtremon’s planning.”

“Ah yes. Unifying the world. Making everything alright again.” Serpemon reached up towards the sky. “A new Eden for one and all, and for the good of all Digimonkind.”

Coremon looked over the balcony, at the barracks below. “If anyone can do it, he can. I’ll back him to the hilt.”

“I’m sure we all will, won’t we?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation faded away again. They avoided each others’ gazes, not sure where to start. Too much time together in the Spokes had dried a lot up between them, and it was difficult to know what to refill it with. But still, they paused, just appreciating each others’ presence, amidst the waning light and distant noise of the fortress.

Serpemon moved first, the sunlight catching his face and making his eyes glow a bright orange. “I’ve got to shoot. Overloaded as always.” He gave a two-finger wave at the two companions. “Corey, Wiggles, toodles. Don’t be a stranger, a’ight?”

He was gone in an instant, back into the bowels of the fortress. Coremon held his shoulders up.

“He’s right, Mollumon. We have to make time for this. If only for our own sake.”

Mollumon sighed, and looked directly at his best friend for the first time. Coremon could see the bags beneath his eyes, and the droop of his head fins.

“I’m...I just...I...don’t think I can…”

Many sentences. Many words. All spluttering to a halt, landing messily between the two Elites. Mollumon put the manuscript back into his barrel, turning half away.

“Things have changed, Coremon. I can’t pretend they haven’t. I want to see Surtremon’s dream, of course I do. But that’s a hell of a lot of work.” He clutched his tentacles closer to him. “I’m gonna be doing a lot of that work.”

“I can help, Mollumon. We can all help each other. Look at what we managed to do-”

Coremon trailed off himself, unsure what exactly he was going to answer that question with. Mollumon smiled flatly, turning away fully.

“Sorry, Coremon. I just...need some time by myself these days.”

He looked back. “We’ll see each other around though. Don’t worry.”

“Sure.”

One word. One flat word, as Coremon watched the octopus pull away as well. He scowled, and put his hand up to his chest – a muscle memory to grasp a brooch that was no longer there. He clenched his fist instead, looking back towards the sun. The wind blew against his fur, making his ears move back and forth. And he felt the warmth on his skin, as fresh now as it always was.

“Look out world. We’re gonna make things right.”

The world didn’t answer. He was still so small, still so powerless in the grand scheme of things. But he smiled, feeling it was at least listening.

And he turned on his heel, heading solitarily back into the fortress again, a renewed spring in his step.

“It’s so hard to find somewhere quiet these days.”

Serpemon hummed to himself, gently and absent-mindedly rolling a vial against the desk before him. There were similar trinkets all around, along with sketches and pads, little orbs and containers. A map or two, perhaps. The place was quiet, and dark, with only a few dim glowing lamps across the walls. A perfect little hidey hole in the base of the Infernal Fortress. Far away from the busyness of the barracks above.

The snake leant his head back, staring at the patterns in the ceiling as he hummed along further to the rhythmic tapping.

“Muspelmon would have liked places like this. No prying eyes. Nobody to find his work.” He gave a short laugh. “Didn’t save him in the end though. Killed by Hasdielmon’s power of will made manifest, without even needing to lay a hand on him. Quite a genius little move.”

His lips curled, his eyes following the pattern on the ceiling above him.

“That’s one thing that does strike me as odd though. Hasdielmon hated Muspelmon, no doubt. But he wanted to hurt his legacy. Everything he’d worked for, crumbling before his eyes.”

Tap

Tap

Serpemon sat up, pressing his palms against the desk as he tilted his head.

“Surely then...the last thing Hasdielmon would want to do would be to kill him so suddenly. He’d want to see him suffer. Take everything from him before the end. Not give him an easy way out. For someone so driven for vengeance that seems like an oversight.”

His words reached out into nothing, dying down around the chamber. Serpemon’s tail rolled back and forth on the desk in front of him.

Tap

Tap

“Unless...of course...there was someone else who wanted Muspelmon dead as well. Someone who knew what was going on.”

His eyes narrowed, his pupils thinning in the darkness.

“And someone else who could kill from a distance. Given time, of course. A chance to study. Or maybe...a chance to resonate.”

Tap

Tap

Tap

Slowly, ever so slowly, the snake turned his head, looking towards the entrance of the laboratory, where the slow tapping had now come to a stop.

“Hello again, Gryllimon.”

The shadows moved; only a tiny bit, but enough to make out the figure inside. Gingerly, silently, she stepped forwards, the orange glow of the lights reflecting off her hood.

“Did you know I’d come here?”

“I suspected we weren’t quite finished yet.” Serpemon tilted his head. “I’m more surprised you managed to infiltrate this far.”

“I’ve spent a lot of my life in the bounds of an Obelimon. I know how they work.”

Gryllimon’s blindfold was glowing slightly, and her hands were clasped in front of her. Same as they had been on the day of their graduation. Tap, tap, tap. Innocuous, and unnoticeable. But Serpemon could see her antennae twitching with each tap, the former Sovereign’s hearing sensitive to the tiniest movement.

Or the most hidden of heartbeats.

Serpemon flicked his tongue out. “Remarkably clever, isn’t it, your sonic power? Given focus, given time, you can resonate with a Digimon’s very core. Influence it. Empower it. Or maybe even snuff it out.” He bent his head back, looking at her over his shoulder.

“And you had time. You had a whole ceremony, in fact. All the time you needed to only focus on him. Front and centre in front of the whole Fire Kingdom. Figuring out how his heart worked. Figuring out how to stop it.”

He pushed back, coiling up before the desk as he leant against it.

“Even a mighty Mega level is powerless when they don’t realise they’re under attack in the first place. And after a distraction from Sifamon’s attack? His true assassination could be masked by a false one. He could be removed.” He gave a coy smile. “Am I on the right track?”

Gryllimon lowered her hands, her face flat. “ You always did enjoy finding out about how things worked.”

“I just like to know things. It gives me an edge in life, and I desperately need those.” Serpemon raised an eyebrow. “That only leads me to wonder why you wanted him dead. Since I have my doubts that Hasdielmon was aware that you were after Muspelmon as well.”

He waited, half-hidden in the low light as Gryllimon stood stock still before him. Slowly, Serpemon raised a finger to his face, tapping against his cheek.

“Might it have anything to do with why you’ve come to pay me a visit?”

“...I was so sure…”

Serpemon leant back, his tail rolling as Gryllimon looked at the ground before her.

“No, I...I think I always knew. But I didn’t want to believe it.”

She reached up, gently pushing back her hood, and began to unravel the blindfold from around her head. Serpemon bit his lip.

“I certainly had no say in what Muspelmon was doing.”

“There are forces going on in this world far greater than a pathetic little tyrant like him. Hasdielmon wanted personal justice. But I’m looking ahead. To the future of the Digital World, no...of all worlds.”

“You sound just like Dallurmon,” intoned Serpemon, watching as her blindfold fell away in her hands, revealing her full face. “You’re looking like him too.”

Gryllimon raised her head, and opened her eyes, and the chamber was lit up once more. Two large pools of purple and yellow light; a torrent of information within Gryllimon’s head, shining and shimmering in a mesmerising fashion.

“Dallurmon’s the one who did this to me. He forced this onto me. Even though he’s gone, I can see what he saw. Only glimpses, or flashes, but...I can...I can see everything…”

She shivered, and held a palm over her eyes, the power overwhelming her for a second.

“Even when I close my eyes, I can see them. Terrible...horrifying things. Burning lands. The dragon tearing up the roots of Yggdrasil. The serpent bursting forth from the great abyss. The dry-eyed queen and her army of the broken. Humans and Digimon alike, suffering...screaming...never-ending…”

She pulled her hand down, her vision refocusing on the tiny chamber around her, and the tiny serpent sat innocuously before her.

“I thought with Dallurmon gone, it wouldn’t come to pass. Then I saw Muspelmon, and Hasdielmon; wielders of a dark, dangerous power that would rip this world up from the core and set it all in motion. I thought if I stopped them, I could change it all. It had to be their fault. It just...had to be.”

She took a step, her antennae falling before her.

“Maybe Dallurmon did blind me after all. Or maybe I blinded myself. Through it all, always there, always in the centre...the trickster. This one, insignificant little Digimon, driving everything. I desperately hoped it wouldn’t be you. Not you. Not...not my only friend left from a lifetime ago…”

Another step, bringing Serpemon more into her vision even as it swam with terrible futures and tears. “Please, Serpemon...whatever you’re doing...whatever you have to do with any of this...please stop.”

Serpemon hadn’t moved in the slightest. Only now he raised his chin slightly, his expression flat.

“Are you here to kill me, Gryllimon?”

A flinch. Her whole body jolting. Then stiffening once again. Serpemon let out a long, slow breath.

“Just one insignificant little Digimon. Yeah, I know. And all I want is one insignificant little thing in life. And this world won’t even let me have that.”

He straightened up, tapping at his chest. “I’m guessing it takes you a while to resonate with someone, regardless of their level. And I’m built different anyway. You won’t kill me like that.”

Gryllimon lowered her hand, and reached beneath one wing.

“I’m stronger than you. I don’t need to.”

Serpemon saw the sheen of sliver as she brought out a long, thin stiletto dagger, so sharp that it seemed to leave trails in the air. He paused.

“Ah.”

“I prepared myself for the worst. I’ll make sure it’s quick.”

She took a step forward, gingerly, one by one, as Serpemon merely stood up straight.

“They’ll find me, you know. Another loyal Fire Soldier, murdered in cold blood. They’ll come for you.”

“My life doesn’t matter.”

Another step. Serpemon leant back against the desk, his chin raised. “What about Surtremon? You’re going to make him lose someone else? Especially when he finds out that Hasdielmon was innocent of Muspelmon’s murder.” Serpemon half-closed his eyes. “That’ll break him. Can you handle that on your conscience?”

Gryllimon paused. Then carried on, holding the blade up in front of her.

“His life doesn’t matter either.”

She was right in front of Serpemon now, the dagger held before him. It shook in her grasp – age, fear, nerves, anger – it was hard to tell with what. His eyes never left her face, as lights of orange and blue and purple danced across the silvery blade.

“N...nothing is more important than the future. I’ll give up everything I have t...to ensure it. Even if it means giving up on you. Yours, mine; no one life is important enough to jeopardise all worlds.”

“Not even your partner’s?”

Another flinch. Gryllimon fumbled the blade. Then gripped it harder. With a harsh, direct movement, she lunged forwards, her hand around Serpemon’s neck and pressing him into the desk as she glared into him with shining eyes.

“He’s DEAD, Serpemon. Dallurmon SHOT him. I...I saw it...I saw it all, and it...nearly broke me...and it broke you too...but I...I can fix ALL of this...just with...one...motion…”

She brought the knife up to the snake’s extended throat, the blade nicking against his skin as he opened his mouth, just once more.

“What if you could see him again, Jiminymon?”

who’s there?

Gryllimon stayed stock still for a second, the dagger loose in her grasp. Serpemon looked upon her, on the wide purple eyes, and the growing blue glow over one side of her face.

She turned, facing the source of the glow. There, in the corner of the room, where the wall wasn’t quite there, and the light of the fortress rippled over the surface of...something. Something reaching out. Looking out into the darkness.

hello

daddy

are you there

Serpemon pushed himself up a little, taking the pressure of the dagger off his neck.

“Is the future more important than him?”

Gryllimon turned to face the wall, and as she did so, it seemed to shift before her. Extending out into the laboratory, becoming a mound of something ethereal. Becoming more shaped. Humanoid. Childlike. Two round, staring eyes, meeting Gryllimon’s glowing ones.

who are you

She reached out, her hand trembling more than ever towards the presence before her.

“Serpemon...what...what have you done…”

“I’ve saved him, Jiminymon.”

Serpemon pulled his tail up before him, wrapping his arms around it as he sat on the desk.

“I’ve saved him from the void. I can bring him home. And in turn, he can save me.”

His words were lost on her, mere static in her ears. She took a step, and then another, her body crouched down, and as she did so, those eyes followed her, wide with curiosity and fear.

For a moment, she paused. Her body felt like in a vice grip, frozen in place. She turned her head, and looked up at Serpemon. He was looking down at her, the blue light ringing his features. His snout was raised, and his mouth was split into a wide smile, showing dozens of needle-like teeth. He stared at her, his pupil merely the thinnest slit within the burning iris.

And Gryllimon knew, right then and there, that she had lost him.

Her arm fell limp, the dagger clinking to the floor, and her vision blurred as tears started to fall down her face. Serpemon nodded sideways. “Go on then. He’s been waiting.”

She walked forwards, white noise ringing in her ears, until she was in front of the pulsing void – right in front of those wide eyes. Her shoulders shook as she held her arms up, but they merely passed through nothing.

“George? It’s...it’s me…”

who are you?

“Oh god...what happened to you…”

She held her arms up, but they just passed through the air, and her hands screamed in pain as the rift passed over her. But she stayed in place, pulling her face closer.

“George, it’s me! It’s Jiminymon! I’ve...I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here! I can...I can get you out of there...I can save you!”

who

“PLEASE, remember me! I’ve...I’ve waited so long…”

Her legs shook, and she fell to her knees, her body racked with sobs as she pulled her shaking hands to her face.

“I’ve been...so alone…”

Behind her, Serpemon shuffled forwards off the desk, and turned his head sideways as he watched his old friend curled up in front of the void. The air rippled in waves, reaching out, surrounding her, as the ethereal child leant forwards.

J

Jimin

Jiminymon

She looked up, staring into his eyes, and for the first time she felt the spectral arms against her, holding her, pressing into her data. And the tendrils reached out, coiling around her arms and underneath her armour segments. She couldn’t feel a thing. Only joy and relief and anguish flooding out, as she reached out with her arms and embraced the spectre before her.

Serpemon turned away, holding his hands behind his back as the sobs intensified behind him. “I’ll leave you two in in peace.”

He seemed so far away to her now. Everything did. Only one thing mattered now. She held him tight, feeling the tendrils burrowing into her, into her chest and into her eyes and into her very core, and she didn’t let go even as she felt herself just drifting apart, and she laughed and cried and screamed and her screams melded with his as finally, just finally, she could feel the same way once again

that same feeling from those few days when everything was alright

no future

no past

just days with the most important person in the world-

And the child closed his arms entirely, and there was nothing. No presence. No light. No feeling, save for the pain, the neverending pain

where are you

Jiminymon

come back

But there was nobody left to hear him. Nobody, save for one.

Serpemon lay crouched outside the door, holding his arms around his tail. He stared ahead, his eyes sharp in the darkness. He had heard the whole thing.

And as the crying had died down, he raised his trembling hands, and placed them over his eyes, staring into the blackness as all he saw was Jiminymon’s face – the bright young scholar, the first true Digimon friend he’d ever had, those days, those wonderful days so cruelly cut short

He pressed his palms against his eyes, waiting to feel the tears come. Waiting and waiting. He gritted his teeth. His lips curled, trembling, playing up and down, before stretching back as he realised he was shaking, not with sobs, but with laughter.

And he pulled his dry hands away and threw his head back in an almighty, guttural laugh, laughing at the fortress, laughing at the world, laughing until his throat was red raw and his ears were ringing with pain.

The laughter closed in on him, bouncing up and down the corridors, and trickling away into the distance.

“...not...even...her...”

He straightened up, and held his palm out in front of him.

“There’s nobody else more important. Nobody and nothing. Not the future. Not this forsaken world. Not any world. Nothing compares to that one, singular love.”

He curled his fingers into a fist, staring intensely at it.

“And I will find you again, I promise.”

He closed his eyes, and took a couple of deep breaths. Then he turned, and shuffled back down into the darkened fortress, leaving the silent laboratory behind him.

Epilogue

“I wish I could have left you more…”

Chromon wandered slowly down the corridors of silver, his armoured feet tapping against the floor. The only sound for miles around, as here in the depths of the capital, far away from the stragglers and survivors from the catastrophic attack, there was only him.

He closed his eyes, his mind returning back to the conversation – his last conversation with her, right before the fateful trial.

“This is as clear as I’ve seen them. I don’t know how they come to pass, or how to stop them, if we even can. All I can do is record what I see.”

Chromon sighed, looking down at his own feet. Stubby, and tired, and silly looking. One wouldn’t think someone like him had endured hundreds of years already. Already an archive’s worth of memories in his one silly little mind.

“Places change. Buildings are destroyed. But the elements are forever in one guise or another, and Metal the most enduring one of them all. Spend time here, curator. Become one with this element. And then, hopefully, all I’ve seen will not be lost.”

The dinosaur turned a corner, looking up as the scale of the murals overwhelmed him. Vast creatures, armours, battles and cataclysms. Held by the fortress, by the very element of the Spokes itself. Her last testament. And now, his duty.

“This is as far as I can see. I doubt I will ever return here. I leave it in your hands from here on, curator. We have to protect the future of this world, and of all worlds.”

“That’s a lot to p-put upon my shoulders, Gryllimon.”

Chromon gave a small, exasperated breath. Then he dug in his heels, and trotted back, back to the very beginning of the labyrinth, ready to make his way down once more.

“I-I-I’ll do my very b-best.”

The metal murals shone as he moved, the fortress doing its part to preserve them. Spanning great lengths of the catacombs, a written history of the future to come. Of heroes. Of villains. Of victory, and failure, life and death, this world and all worlds.

And at the end, the last and most recent of Gryllimon’s testament. Only newly carved, so faint that it was almost invisible. But with the right light, and the right angle, the last of her visions was there.

Curled up and floating, a tiny serpent, lost in a vast universe.

And a pair of hands – a child’s hands – reaching out towards him.

SEE YOU NEXT STORY