Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Light in Dark ❯ One ( Chapter 1 )

Author's Note and Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure 02, or any of the characters depicted. However, the storyline is completely mine and I do not want to see it replicated without my expressed permission. The characters, as they exist within my storyline, are also mine and I do not want to see them replicated permission as well.

Throughout the entire fanfiction there are references to stories written by another author, a good friend of mine known as M.C. Zarrella. She also helped me edit the final product before it was posted on this website. I highly suggest you go and read her stories, as they are far better than mine. Her story, "Impromptu," is an almost direct prequel. Sit back and enjoy.

Please leave a review.

DEDICATED TO: M.C. ZARRELLA

without whom this fic would have never taken flight;

without whom this fic would have never gotten height.

* * * * * *

LIGHT IN DARK

* * * * * *

Bellicose screams drowned into small whimpers of defeat and death. Victorious figures stood and watched as the crumpled heap of the once proud Dark God broke up into bits. Digital makeup spiraled into the air, racing toward the clouds like evaporating water droplets just begging to be reformed and shed again."

A sky blue reptile, Veemon, ran up to and hugged a forest green worm; he even went so far as to throw the insect creature into the air in celebration. Two others, these ones human, stood solemnly; the tallest had his fists still clenched at his sides. Was it over? Was it done? Hope-laced questions raced through his mind like a train. The smaller human was happy; he wore a genuine smile.

"We did it, Ryo-sama," he said.

"Yeah, Ken, it's finally finished. We can go home." Ryo tried to sound pleased; he even forced on a supercilious grin as he stared out at the dull desert, eyes wandering over the fallen creature's melting form. "Let's go."

Ken refused to take his eyes off it, fearful that what little still remained could rise up again to kill them all.

Ryo turned away from the body; Veemon and Wormmon followed like loyal foot soldiers. The Ichijouji's gaze lingered a bit longer, like a fragnance fighting not to leave a room; he then fell into rank and brought up the rear.

A shadow eclipsed the leaving party; a defiant roar echoed.

Millenniumon screamed his last breath, and exploded into fragments. Little black objects, the maybe the size of pennies, flew from his former body. The spores headed straight for Ryo. Ken saw his chance: his one chance to save Ryo instead of the other way around. His one chance to be the hero. He took it.

"Ryo-sama, watch out!"

*

NO!

*

It had been a week since they had last inhabited the Digital World - seven days since they had been scoured by hot sand blown around by the wind. Sand got into everything, up to and including their eyes. Ken never forgot how Ryo marched through it all with little to no thought about his own pain. The only time he had stopped was when Ken was hurt or in trouble.

The little Ichijouji watched his brother and Ryo through an expanding soap bubble. They were playing soccer together. He had wanted to join in, but they always worked together to keep him from participating, so he only pouted and found a place to sit in the shade.

"I only want to play worthy opponents, Ken," Ryo said before, wearing an arrogant sort of grin on his face.

Osamu then scoffed at Ryo's ego and mumbled something about how Ken would probably play better than his current opponent; Ken hadn't paid attention, for as soon as Ryo said no, he started looking for a place to sit and watch.

Ken basked under the three, glad to be in the shade and away from the sun. He was happy to see green grass since it was so different from the Digital Desert's sand that he and Ryo had wandered across for months. The only thing he missed about the Digital World was Ryo's attention: the older boy had begun to play with him less and less since returning to the real world.

Through his soapy sphere Ken watched the deformed figures of Ryo and Osamu, their heads appearing far too big to fit on their bodies, run around chasing a little speck of a ball. His mommy had taught them both how to play, but Osamu seemed to pick it up faster and with more skill than Ken ever had - just as he did with everything else.

Osamu was good, as said, but Ryo was eating him alive. Ken had never seen Ryo move so swiftly, had never seen him exercise so much precision until every step seemed carefully planned out far in advance. Osamu scrambled around the field wildly like a headless chicken on a panicked rampage. Ken giggled and enjoyed watching his brother finally lose at something.

Ryo dribbled the ball and feinted to the left. Osamu fell for it and shifted his balance that way. Ryo tore right and laughed as Osamu's feet slid once he understood the trick and tried to change direction. Osamu kept himself from falling by planting his hand on the ground; he stayed that way for a moment, glaring, and then stood again.

"When did… you... learn to play so well?" Osamu demanded, hunched over with his hands atop his knees. He breathed deeply as he tried to steady himself.

Ryo shrugged nonchalantly with a vainglorious smile. He wasn't winded even the slightest bit and juggled the ball as he waited patiently for Osamu to be ready again.

His pride wounded, Osamu's face erupted with fury - a fury that Ken had never seen before. Osamu charged at Ryo once the ball hit the ground again; he went in for a slide tackle, but to both his and Ken's amazement, Ryo acted as if he had predicted it. Ryo rolled the ball up onto the top of his foot and gave it a little lift as Osamu came at him.

The black-and-white checkered sphere slammed into Osamu's forehead. His forward motion stopped and he fell flat on his back, undoubtedly seeing little tweeting birdies fly around his head. After the ball rebounded into the air, it landed on Osamu's chest.

Ryo laughed at him. "Good job, Osamu! You finally got the ball."

Osamu coughed and rolled over; his head throbbed and spun. His breath was hard to catch again. When he tried to reply to Ryo's laughter, he managed only to produce grumbles as he rolled around on the ground. He then tried to stand, but only made it onto one knee.

"What's the matter, Osamu? I thought you were the best." Ryo's laughter had stopped and an audacious smile was back on his face. "Look at you - on the ground like a little INSECT. I'm ashamed to call you my friend. Get up." Osamu tried to stand again, and fell. His balance had not yet recovered from the soccer ball's blow. "Oi, Ken! Come pick up the broken pieces of your brother. He's of no more use to me."

Ken had to use a hand to close his jaw, which hung open far enough to catch even a bird. The spectacle he had just witnessed between his brother and Ryo… did that actually happen? He couldn't believe it. The once-proud Osamu had been reduced to nothing before Ryo's feet. On unsteady knobby knees, Ken stood up and lumbered his way over to his older brother. He tried to help, but Osamu shoved him away; Ken fell down heavily.

"What's the big idea, Ryo?!" Osamu had regained his voice and the most of his sense of balance. Back on his feet, he only had to take a few small steps to remain steady. His glare pierced Ryo's uppity stare and alighted upon Ryo's infuriating little smile.

"You really shouldn't try to head a ball when you're doing a slide tackle," Ryo said and shook his head, speaking to Osamu as though he were some disobedient child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"You know as well as I do that you hit me on purpose!" Osamu's angry shout grew louder when Ryo insinuated that there was no room for pointing fingers. His knuckles were white and his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. Ken briefly worried over Osamu growing angry enough to attempt striking Ryo.

"Why would I want to do something like that, my friend?" Innocence dripped from Ryo's words like honey. Ken looked from Osamu to Ryo and back again; his little mind frantically searched for what he thought needed to be said to stop their quarreling. He didn't want Ryo to get hurt - he'd save him.

"Ryo, you -!"

"Onii-san, can we go get some ice cream now?" Ken spoke up, still seated where Osamu had pushed him down.

Osamu turned his attention away from Ryo and glared at his little brother, daring him to ask again. Ken's speaking had had the opposite effect than was hoped for; it only seemed to make Osamu angrier.

"Might as well take him, Osamu. That's all your good for: a little errand boy. I have things I have to go do. See ya, Ken. Be good." Ryo gave Ken a two-finger wave as turned and walked off. That soccer ball that had been instrumental moments before rested like a forgotten, fallen soldier.

*

... RYO-SAMA! ... the taste of sand in his mouth... it was bitter... like the taste of...

*

Osamu mumbled insults and refused to look at Ken on the walk home. Ken decided it better not to ask him about the ice cream again while he was in a bad mood. He would just have to get some from Mom, so long as Dad hadn't eaten it all already.

The apartment's door opened and then slammed shut several times until the catch caught; each bang was louder than the last and reverberated throughout the household.

Mom and Dad weren't home; otherwise they would ask why Osamu was stomping through the house, shoving things away until he got to his room. That door suffered the same fate as the one in the front room. He shouted something at Ken about not wanting to be disturbed before disappearing like a troll into its cave.

Ken took a seat on his couch; little legs stretched out in an attempt to rest them on the coffee table between his seat and the TV, just like he had seen Osamu and Dad do. In his imagination, he watched Ryo do the same mature thing at home.

Odd sounds came from their room; it sounded as though Osamu were wrecking the place. Ken tried to ignore that by turning on the television. He flipped through the channels, pausing on the cartoons he liked before moving on again.

One particularly loud slam against the wall made him jump. He set down the remote, climbed off of the couch, and moved towards his room. There he pressed his ear against the door, struggling to hear what was going on inside. What if Osamu was under attack or something bad had happened to him?

He didn't hear any more sounds. Ken took a deep breath; he would have to risk opening the door in order to know. He worried about Osamu. His small fingers curled around the knob and the door opened a fraction of an inch. He tried to peer inside, but the room was too dark.

Osamu filled his vision as the barrier was thrown completely open.

"I said that I didn't want to be disturbed! What part of that didn't get through your brain?!"

His angry face was incredibly tomato red. Ken neither dared to say that nor laugh.

"I just... need to get my books. I have homework," Ken lied, but it was believable. Unconsciously he took a backward step, possibly two, away from his brother.

But Osamu didn't seem to believe him.

"Homework!? Homework, huh?" Osamu's voice took on a more sinister than aggravated tone.

He melted into the darkness and reappeared with Ken's notebook, the one he had all his assignments written in it, and glared hatefully at his brother.

"You mean this?" He started ripping the pages out and then the pieces of paper themselves.

Ken cried out for him to stop.

"You should have thought about that before!"

He let the crumpled and dismembered pieces of paper fall to the floor, fluttering to the ground like droplets of blood. He was killing Ken's homework - Ken's future. Osamu swung the notebook and it caught Ken's cheek; he fell onto his rear.

"You were laughing at me earlier; I know you were!"

"No, Onii-san -!"

Ken didn't get a chance to finish his sentence:

Osamu's open hand slapped him across the face again and hit on the returning sweep as well. Pain ripped through Ken's world like a hot knife through butter; tears welled up in his eyes and streamed down his face.

"Crying again! You're always crying! You're such an embarrassment! I wish I had never had a brother!"

Osamu struck him again. And again. It felt good: the power he had over his brother. Was this what Ryo felt when Osamu was at his feet? The thought only made Osamu hit harder. Ken curled up into a ball; arms wrapped protectively around his head.

When Osamu's arm was exhausted, he slammed the door shut again and left Ken to lie on the ground, sniffling and crying. Later Ken dragged himself back onto the couch where he fell asleep. Saline droplets dried on his face.

*

... there he stood untouched... frozen like a statue... YOU CAN'T!

*

Ken awoke with a jerk. He swallowed; the distinct taste of copper ball bearings filled his mouth. It reminded him of the familiar taste of blood.

A squirming warmth between his hands rasped something about not being able to breathe.

"Sorry, Wormmon."

He relaxed his grip: palm and fingertips left dark spots on the green insect's skin. Wormmon's sigh of relief was almost as loud as a scream.

The boy became vaguely aware of the cold sweat he had broken into during the night. A single droplet fell from the blue tendrils of his hair; the wet texture made it appear black. Wormmon crawled back into the safety of his cavern of blankets. He was asleep again within minutes while Ken stared at nothing in particular.

Ken tried to carefully slide out of the bed, not wanting to disturb his partner's sleep again. He winced when his foot touched the ground and weight was applied to it: he favored his right leg in a limp to the bathroom. A switch clicked and light brought life to the room that smelled strongly of bleach. Gingerly, he lifted the top of his black and white pajamas - checkered like a soccer ball - and flinched due to the fresh wounds that marked his chest and stomach.

New purple-blue bruises replaced the ones that had tried to fade. A three-inch gash by his lower rib cage, stitched up with uncanny surgical precision, caught most of his attention.

"Another scar," he muttered.

It was still early. Ken let the thin material fall back down. He lumbered back into his bedroom; he quietly pulled drawers open to avoid the squeaking that could alert the other occupants in the room. Gray uniforms sat in neatly folded and compressed squares. Ken chose one without debate - each was dull and devoid of color - and headed to the bathroom again.

With the door closed, he relieved himself of the pajamas entirely. He stepped into the shower and pulled the drapes around him. To avoid any sort of noise from escaping when the water hit and stung his battered body, he bit his bottom lip and accidentally drew the taste of blood again. He was in and out as fast possible: it was a spit-shower, really. While drying and clothing himself, he tried to prevent any more pain from ravaging his tender nerves.

Ken's eyes almost met a pair exactly like his in the mirror, but he draped a wash towel over it. He didn't want to see his own reflection. The steam from the shower started to subside; it filtered out through a gap at the bottom of the bathroom door.

He switched off the light and let darkness envelop the room; he stood there quietly. It was a moment or two before his hands fumbled for the knob and the door came open. He stepped outside into the hallway. Osamu was still asleep, he noticed, sneaking a peek into his room. Wormmon must be too. He waited for them in the living room, the sun's long armed rays reaching out over the horizon and through the windows.

Sometime during Ken's watching of the sunrise, Osamu had aroused himself and washed up in the bathroom. He was grumbling rather loudly and obscenely about how early in the morning their school day began. There was even a random curse directed at Ken for not having woken him up in the first place.

When Osamu finished, the sun was fully visible in the sky, though dew on the ground had yet to evaporate. They left their cozy little apartment, washed and dressed: Osamu's uniform was perfectly pressed and buttoned completely up to the neck; Ken's was equally as straight though his hung open at the top.

Ken carried his school supplies on his back in a tattered, old, orange bag. It had a name on the strap that fell across his chest, but it had since been worn and scratched out.

"Why do you still use that thing? It's filthy. Get a new one." Osamu said the same thing to him just about every morning.

Ken had given up trying to give Osamu a coherent reply and just settled on shrugging, staring off into the sky. A butterfly caught his eye and he briefly wondered if it knew that it would be tacked to the bottom of his four-sectioned pinning board one day. Of course, he didn't have time for such trivial hobbies anymore; the regret hadn't been so bad after the first year.

Abruptly, Ken's shoulder bumped into someone. This someone had been running just seconds before and expected people to get out of the way; the ones that didn't he had been able to dodge around while still going at full speed, but he clipped Ken this time much to his disappointment.

"Hey, watch where you're going, buddy!" His square goggles reflected light off of the glass and silver plastic.

He was gone again; Ken rubbed his shoulder and thought he could have been a figment of his imagination since Osamu didn't seem to notice anything had happened.

The schoolyard came into sight and they made it in through the gates. Osamu lead the way as he always did: he didn't like following other people; he refused to follow other people; they could only fall in line behind him - never in front. Students avoided his path as he marched along with smug grin on his face. Ken brought up the rear.

Whispering mouths were pressed to intrigued ears as rumors and gossip flew like ravens to the stench of death. Ken walked, hands tucked inside his pockets, behind Osamu. They split off once they entered the main hall of the Tamachi school building.

Doors slid open and then closed again; the mumbling mass of students dissolved into streams that flowed into this classroom or the next. Ken entered his own. It was rather drab as were the majority of Tamachi's educational facilities. The wall at the front was covered by a chalkboard; a large table for the teacher was only a few feet away from it. The rest of the space was filled by row after row of desks.

Ken found his desk, one off in the far right corner of the room. He sat in the same one every day, as required. One by one, not-so-familiar faces filed in and took their seats. A bell rung and the teacher made his grand entrance; he carried with him a stack of papers, each marked with the student's scores; he went up and down the aisles, passing them out to their respective owners.

When he reached Ken's desk, he paused.

"Ichijouji, if you do not start improving on the next test, I will have to remove you from this class. It is becoming obvious that you are not learning, and therefore, you are wasting my time," he said and placed the paper down.

Ken glanced at it, though his mind was elsewhere. A bright red, encircled "D" - a color that reminded him of freshly oxygenized blood - sat right next to his name.

The teacher moved on and incessant whispering started again; but they were louder this time, and no matter how much he tried to block them out, Ken caught phrases of what conversations were being held about him:

"Isn't he Osamu's brother?"

"Nah, no way... Osamu wouldn't make such low scores."

"... Maybe he's retarded or something - you think?"

"Such a waste of talent and space..."

"Why can't he be more like Osamu?"

"... He looks like a girl! ... Seriously, look at him!"

"Ha ha, I bet he even dresses up like a girl sometimes."

"I hear he still sleeps with a stuffed worm."

That last jest caused a rippled of laughter to spread through the room. It started here; then it erupted there. Ken felt the rage build within him. He had to control it and not let it out here. Bottle it up; push it down; use it to fight later.

More words floated through his ears.

"Look, he won't even stand up for himself! Or is he just so stupid that he doesn't even know we're talking about him?"

The teacher was the only one that didn't seem to notice that this rude talk was happening. Ken growled; his wrath leaked out.

"I think he's going to cry, Hiroshi. Osamu says he always cries."

Something snapped and Ken overturned his desk. A more beast-like than human explosion erupted from his vocal chords. He attacked.

*

... Why... what... why are you looking at me like that? Ryo-sama? RYO-SAMA?!

*

"They suspended ME for YOUR problem, Ken!"

Osamu was very disgruntled, standing in front of the television. Ken sat on the couch, idly twirling a pencil through his fingers. He had a fat bottom lip to show for his time in class. It stung, but he did not mind. It was a thankful reminder that he was still alive and quite capable of feeling.

"What the HELL were you thinking? You attacked at least a dozen students!"

"... Pity there weren't more of them," Ken said with a nonchalant shrug.

"You stabbed that fat kid's hand with a pen!"

"He should be thanking me. I was aiming for his throat."

Osamu's anger rose again; his voice became more erratic each time he attempted to speak. He just shook his head and turned his back on Ken.

"I just... I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

Wormmon had since heard the commotion from his safety in their room and now came out to investigate. He crawled to Ken's side.

"I'M even starting to get called into meetings with the administrators now."

"Funny. I could've sworn you weren't Mom or Dad," Ken replied. He affectionately rubbed the top of Wormmon's head.

"I'm your older brother, jackass. And now you've become a problem enough for ME to be asked to handle it."

"I never wanted to go to Tamachi anyway, Osamu." Wormmon gave a little squeak as Ken found a sensitive spot between his antennae where a yellow symbol took up most of his forehead; his eyes closed with the scratching.

"I didn't either. I guess we finally have something in common. But regardless, I don't know what to do -"

"A prodigy without a clue. The irony is kind of delicious," Ken said, cutting him off before he had a chance to finish.

The reaction on Osamu's face was just as Ken had expected it to be: sheer fury. Osamu hated to be cut short when he was speaking - almost as much as he hated following behind someone he thought was inferior (which was pretty much everyone).

Silence fell between them; the only connection they had was with each other's glares. Ken had let his hand fall back into his lap. Wormmon glanced between the two and decided that he was not going to be needed. His energy reserves were always running so low anyway; he needed to eat and sleep, but sleep sounded better, so he started off back towards the bedroom.

"... I'm just going to have to punish you," Osamu declared, just as Wormmon was starting to cross his path. That poor worm never saw Osamu's boot coming. It caught the side of his exoskeleton and he flew into the wall. "By taking away your precious pet -"

Ken's scream overruled Osamu's taunt.

He flung himself off of the couch and was now standing just inches away from Osamu.

"How dare you stand up to me!" Osamu yelled; his fists curled.

He took a high swing, aiming to strike Ken across his temple. Ken's glare never left his brother's as he ducked underneath the punch and then slammed his shoulder into Osamu's chest.

Osamu stumbled backwards and yelled something. Ken smiled; his own reply was drowned in that bright-toothed smirk. Osamu tried a straight jab intended to break Ken's nose, but it never got far; his fist became enclosed inside his opponent's hand. His eyes widened as he looked from his appendage to Ken; he realized his mistake very quickly.

Ken twisted the arm downward, forcing Osamu to bend at his waist towards the ground. Osamu grunted in pain until Ken dropped his weight onto the caught elbow; Osamu's arm turned at a queer angle and his screams were soon lost in a sea of pain. Ken almost seemed to revel in it before he kneed Osamu's face, whose body then fell limp with unconsciousness.

Ken let him fall to the ground.

"Don't touch Wormmon."

He carefully stepped over Osamu's fallen form. Wormmon winced and crawled towards him; his partner took a knee and let the Digimon crawl into his outstretch arms. The worm again took his usual perch on Ken's right shoulder. He quietly questioned about Osamu's well-being.

"He'll be alright… they'll have to reset the bone, but he'll live."

He made his way back into their bedroom, hands already stuffed deep inside his pockets. His right hand emerged again, holding a black device. He pointed it at the computer monitor. It blinked to life and a peculiar program, one that would no doubt intrigue Osamu if he were ever to become aware of it, filled the screen. Strong white light jettisoned from the computer and then Ken was no longer standing in the room.

He landed on hard, barren rock with the gracefulness of a tumbling centipede whose legs had been all tied together; ironically, Wormmon emerged on top of Ken unscathed. Ken frowned, watching as the only standing tree around them burst into flame. Off in the distance another flame appeared, then another, and another. The signal fires around the Digital World were alerting him - someone Ken didn't want to think about right now - to their presence.

Ken felt nothing from his wounds. Even if he had checked for them, they would not appear to him: the Digital World healed him when he became digitized. (It only worked when coming from the real world into the Digital; the opposite way left him with the bruises in injuries he had received.)

Sunlight fought hard to filter through the organic-looking devices that hung just above the lowest cloud formations. Walkways and tunnels connected the huge rotating islands in the sky together. Spires jetted out from every imaginable point, both top and bottom, of the fleshy-looking substance they were made out of.

Wormmon hopped off of Ken, who then got to his feet. His Tamachi grays had disappeared; a long-sleeved red shirt worn beneath an open, white-collared shirt replaced it. The fabric that covered his arms was wrapped in elaborate-looking, dark velvet cords that ran from his wrists to underneath his shirt. A buckled choker leashed his neck. His long blue hair was pulled back into a ponytail, if only to get it out of his eyes when he tried to look around. To complete his transformation were only black pants with matching boots.

Ken took several long glances in no particular direction, turning in a small circle. It was as though he were a hawk on the lookout for a straying rat to swoop down upon and devour. Wormmon's shifty eyes watched vigilantly as well. But then Ken shook his head. If they were going to be attacked, it would have happened already. He stuffed his hands inside his pockets and started walking; Wormmon followed obediently.

Ken's mind boiled over with thoughts of the past day he had spent in the real world. Going to school, the fight, his confrontation with Osamu - it all swirled in his head like a draining toilet; sometimes he wished he could just flush it all out. The pair walked in almost absolute silence, saying nothing to each other while trying to make as little sound as possible. The crunching of brittle rocks and the subsequent footprints that trailed in their wake were the only evidence that they had ever been there.

The ground changed as they neared their destination. No longer was it made of dark, jagged rocked poised to rip open a reckless person's shoe; their feet walked now on top of an old patchwork quilt that was shredded and pulled up in various places. The colors might have once been bright and lovely, but now they were just shades of gray. Long scorch marks crisscrossed what areas weren't completely destroyed yet.

Material that had once made up baby baskets lay scattered and broken; the smaller pieces orbited the wreckage, suspended by an unknown force. Trees still stood there, but their bark was darkened by fire and all branches bore no leaves. Strange blood red fruit hung from the limbs; these bruised and infected berries housed little creatures; they poked their heads out to watch as Ken passed.

They were forced to alter their path when they ran into the small, unfinished fences that extended around them for various distances. None of them were connected together since each had been so hastily constructed. In the center stood the only green-leaved plant that still existed in the Digital World. The large oak towered above everything by at least a hundred feet and its skin bore signs of attack. Two creatures moved around cautiously in the shade, tending to brightly colored eggs that rested in the fallen leaves.

As Ken neared, they turned their full attentions on him. One Digimon, smaller and lower to the ground like a little animal, growled something about not coming closer. Ken chose not to heed his warning; he had heard it thousands of times before. A larger, more human-like figure swept in his direction, hands pressed behind his back. The small balls of digital data hung back and watched frightfully.

"Hello, Ken," he said in an irritated greeting.

Ken said nothing and walked past. He sat down by the tree, resting his back against it and closing his eyes. The babies and their guardian stayed far on the other side. The pseudo-human went back to tending for them as well with a deep sigh.

Ken could hear the whisperings of the other little ones, not unlike those from the classroom:

"I hear he delete his own partner if he fails him..."

"... He's a monster!"

"Why does Mother Elecmon let him stay?"

"He's killed more Digimon than even the Czar!"

"... He sucks! STINKY STINKY!"

Several of the Fresh-level Digimon banded together, led by a particularly brave Koromon, and dared to approach him.

"Get out of our home, you vile... thing!" It spat a little bubble at Ken, which he batted away lazily.

Ken stood up slowly, glaring at the struggling group of defenders. He often wondered why they lasted so long, with what pitiful defense they could put up against a full-scale attack.

"I am Ichijouji Ken, the Terror Shinigami. You've crossed my path." He smirked, playing his role - the one that had been painted for him by another. It wasn't a part he wanted to play, but he knew it would help soothe his anger for Osamu - anger that still raged underneath the calm deceit of his exterior. The little Digimon slinked out of his shadow. "And you've held my gaze. For that, you must die."

Ken charged forward and they were then in full retreat. They ran screaming their heads off for Elecmon and reinforcements. Ken chased them through the rows of eggs, dodging the little bubbles blown at him from other Digimon.

The little ones finally hid behind their red Guardian, who rumbled, "Stay away from my babies!"

"The next time they look at me, I'll delete them," Ken replied easily.

He walked back to where he had been sitting before and rested up against the tree. Wormmon found himself a perch high in the branches that swayed gently with the wind; he seemed relaxed, though his eyes still had the same alertness that had existed there when they had first arrived.

The human figure sat down next to Ken with another heavy sigh. "You should know that he's making a move in the western quadrant near the old desert. I think you know the place. You killed me there."

Ken's eyes shifted towards the voice, but he did not turn his head. This creature was very manipulative; he had to be careful.

"Why don't you stop hiding here and go fight him?" Ken asked, harshly.

"You know that I can't. I am stuck here babysitting these infants," he growled. "Stripped of my former power and glory, stuck forever to watch over the young. I should have chosen nonexistence." The anger in his voice threatened to bubble over. Like a deep roaring fire, the words' searing heat Ken could feel on his skin.

"This is all your fault. Ironic, isn't it? You turned him and he turned on you. How delicious."

*

I AM NOT HIM! ... a monster wearing his skin. He laughed. Millenniumon was his pet.

*

Ken landed with a thud; Wormmon followed with a soft crash. They were home again, back in their room. Ken could hear shuffling in the next room, but did not know if it was from Osamu or his parents. Perhaps both. He didn't have time to care, either.

He stood and pointed his dark device at the screen again; they were gone.

They arrived back in the Digital World, far from the village they had visited moments before. Black sand blew around their feet; the clouds hung darkly above their heads. Ken never liked to visit this place. But he had to; he was forced to. This was one of the few places that had yet to be touched by the vile hand of his enemy. Wormmon quivered and climbed to his perch on Ken's shoulder.

"Ichijouji, we meet again."

Ken turned around.

Days blurred into weeks since that day. Osamu never apologized. He acted like it had never happened - neither the beating during soccer nor the beating of Ken. Ryo started to appear at their door less and less, and any time Ken inquired about his whereabouts, Osamu lost his temper and shouted at him.

Ken learned not to ask. He stared dreamily at the door sometimes, and quickly focused on a corner of the room if he fathomed Osamu to possibly be looking in his direction. He wanted Ryo to come and visit them again, but the time between his visits grew longer and longer. Ill thoughts crossed Ken's mind: maybe Ryo had forgot about him?

No, Ryo-sama wouldn't do that.

Three knocks came from the front door and breached Ken's mind. He called for Osamu to answer the door and the angry boy came stomping out of his room, declaring loudly that Ken shouldn't bother him with such trivial matters. He was halfway through telling the person on the other side that they weren't interested in whatever they had come to sell when he opened the door.

"Hi, Osamu." It was Ryo's voice!

As if launched from a catapult, Ken flew off the couch. He rushed for the door. The largest, happiest smile that could be made was plastered on his face. Ken waved frantically for attention.

"Hi, Ken."

"What do you want, Akiyama?" Osamu spat hatefully.

"Aww… you're not still mad at me for that day I beat you at soccer, are you?" Ryo sounded puzzled, then apologetic, but his grin was ever so arrogant. "Listen, I'm really sorry. I'll go easy on you next time."

"I don't need your pity!" Osamu stormed away from the door in anger, each footstep like a miniature earthquake until the door to his room was finally slammed shut. The monster had locked himself away in his room and would not appear again for some time. Ken was glad.

"Ryo-sama!"

Ken invited Ryo into the apartment and so he stepped in. He sauntered into the living area and sneered at the couch; he instead settled down in the large, cushioned chair. Ken closed the door carefully, shutting the locks that he could reach; then his stubbly legs carried him back to his seat and he climbed onto it.

"Oi, Ryo-sama, you know that's Father's chair. He won't like it if you sit in it."

"Who cares what that old buffoon likes? It's MY chair now." Ryo's supercilious tone was loud enough for Osamu to hear in his room. Not even Ken's older brother had dared to take a seat where Ryo did just then. Ken shrugged his shoulders and settled into the couch, happy to have his friend once again visit him. "Hey Ken, do you ever think about the Digital World?"

"Sure I do! All the time! I hope we can see Wormmon and Veemon again real soon. I miss them." Ken nodded his head, nostalgic about his former comrades. He really did wish to see them again and wanted to bring them home. Osamu wouldn't allow him to have a pet - not even Wormmon, a little voice in the back of his head told him.

"I think I've found a way to go back," Ryo responded. "Wouldn't it be great to go and visit them? I bet they've missed you just as much as you've missed them."

"It would be awesome!"

Standing behind him was someone that his eyes barely recognized. This someone stood alone, though Ken had long since given up hope of ever catching him by himself. He wore an arrogant smirk and stared right into Ken's heart and soul. Wormmon hopped to the ground and tried to look intimidating as he stood between the two.

"Ryo-sama..."

Spiked brown hair, rather long and wildly done back, sat on top of a head whose face would have once brightened at the mention of his name. Two bangs rebelled and fell across his forehead. A crimson coat, buttoned down to his midriff and ripped to be sleeveless, fell to his knees and blew gently in his wake. White velvet sleeves ran from his biceps to his hands, tied up around his thumbs. Black pants with straps of lighter-colored material running along his legs turned into boots at mid-calf. Small glasses, tinted blue, were just barely large enough to hide his eyes and instead held Ken's reflection.

"How many times must I tell you? I am the Digimon Czar. You always were such a slow learner."

"You will always be Ryo-sama to me!"

"Heh." His right hand pulled free a braided leather whip, one formerly coiled in a loop and attached to his hip. He cracked it against the ground once as a threat; then he grinned and pulled it back high over his head. Its tan length came snapping at Ken.

Pulled from behind Ken's back, a silver blade glinted as it sliced through the whip's thin hide. This weapon was unique: a skull emblem with swept back eagle wings and three red jewels from the two tips and center made up the decorative cross guard. The long dagger itself was serrated closer to its hilt, but smoothed out into a lethal double-cutting edge. Ken held it with one hand and waited.

The Czar pulled his whip back; he laughed as the dismembered piece disintegrated and a new section in its place.

His arrogant smirk returned and a quasi-serious tone came imbedded in his voice as he said, "Aw, Ken, I'm hurt. I thought you would take a whip as a weapon, just like me. After all, it was I who taught you how to use it. I thought I was your idol?"

"You used to be my idol, Ryo-sama." Ken's words were steady and he fought for them to remain that way. "… But not anymore. You're not my Ryo-sama, but I will get you back. You used to save me; now it's my turn to save you. You're only a monster right now!" Ken pointed the tip of the blade at the Czar's heart.

"I'm a monster?" His rage was overwhelming. "Do you know what a monster is? A monster wears your father's skin; the only clue of his true identity is a smell you can't quite place. He struts into your home; he smacks around your mother and you. That's a monster, Ken, THAT IS A MONSTER."

"What do you call what you've done to the Digital World?!"

The dictator responded by lashing out his whip again. Ken held his blade up defensively and the leather bonds wrapped around it harmlessly until they were cut by the une-ven edges near the cross guard. They exchanged glares as weapons were lowered at their sides once more.

"It's peaceful now. No more evils to fight - no more need for heroes that didn't want to be there but were forced to play their parts. Everything is under my control," the Czar said, acting as though he had accomplished the impossible. Maybe he had.

"You're wrong! It used to be a beautiful place, but now it's ruined!"

"Do you remember that day? How you failed me, Ken?"

"What does that have to do with anything?!"

"NO!"

Ken felt a hand grab his foot and he fell face-first onto the sand. Sand got in his mouth: it was bitter, like the taste of defeat. He climbed to his feet again. Ryo had fallen to the ground, gripping his head with both hands.

"Ryo-sama! Are you okay?"

He carefully placed slender digits on Ryo's shoulder, who didn't respond.

Then Ryo shook his head and slowly stood up. Sand was plastered onto his forehead, held there by the heavy sweat that had leaked from his skin. Ken couldn't help but giggle when Ryo turned around; Ryo glared at him like Osamu did, but then his face softened. And he laughed too.

"It's done."

"Millenniumon kept me from getting to you. He planned this all, Ryo-sama. He planned for you to become what you are today. He's the one to blame for all of this! And once you are you again, I will kill him," Ken said with determination.

The Digimon Czar's laughter rang out again, loud and true. Ken couldn't help looking bewildered.

"Did you ever stop to think that I might have chosen this path for myself? Think about it, fool."

"YOU CAN'T!" Ken pleaded.

"Why not? Why can't I? I can attach my D-3 to any Digimon I want; and he is a Digimon just like any other! He'll be reborn, and then he'll be under my control. Don't worry, Ken, everything will be alright."

Ryo patted the top of Ken's head. They both stood in Primary Village in front of a rather rough-looking egg sitting within a worn basket; Ryo rubbed the egg gently.

It cracked and light emitted from the interior. Out flooded a little yellow worm; its red eyes recognized the pair of humans and glared. It hissed. The Pagumon tried desperately to escape from his prison, and then from the set of hands that held him. Ryo pressed his blue device with white trimmings against the little Digimon. A spark erupted between the two and the Pagumon fell limp.

"He's mine now."

"Because I know you, Ryo-sama. You never wanted any of this to happen. You wouldn't do this!"

"Idiot. Thick-headed idiot. Look at the facts! Analyze them; dwell in them! They slap you in the face even now!"

But nothing was alright.

Ryo had withdrawn completely into the Digital World. Ken risked a visit late one night; what he saw he would never forget. Wormmon laid, battered, near the TV Ken was ejected from. Explosions roared in his ears and bright lights wrecked havoc on his eyes.

His eyes finally managed to focus on Ryo: there he stood, untouched. Frozen like a statue, Ryo watched as his Millenniumon attacked and deleted a seemingly endless supply of Digimon. Data was so thick in the air that it gave pea soup a run for its money. Ken couldn't believe this was happening.

Veemon tried to stand up to his partner, but Ryo waved him away.

An orange light engulfed Veemon, and then he was gone. Sealed away, Wormmon told Ken later.

"RYO-SAMA!"

"That's not true! Millenniumon is the cause of all of this and I will save you, Ryo-sama. I will. I WILL! I will use whatever means I have to do that. I will have you back. I WILL!"

"Who are you trying to convince?"

It happened all over the world. Ryo kept attacking village after village. He started creating the sky bases and had Digimon following behind him. His army and Millenniumon destroyed any opposition they came across. Ryo had heard the rumors of eight Digimon that had the powers to evolve, the Chosen's Digimon, and tried to seek them out, but they were all well hidden.

He conquered the world in a month. Ken came one last time to try and reason with him.

"Ryo-sama, this is wrong. Stop it! ... Why... what... why are you looking at me like that?"

Ryo laughed and took a step towards him. His eyes were hidden behind tinted glasses and his ever-represent smirk haunted Ken's dreams that night and every night to come.

"Ichijouji. Call me the Digimon Czar."

Ken took several steps forward, holding his dagger inversely. The flat part of the blade pressed firmly against the inside of his arm. "We were once friends, Ryo-sama, but we aren't anymore. You aren't him, but you wear his face. In order to save him, I have to defeat you! And so I will."

"Does the word redundancy mean anything to you?"

Millenniumon was his pet; but the pet had outlived its usefulness. He laughed. The Digimon tried to prove its usefulness. One spark left the Dark God completely powerless: Ryo withdrew his Digivice's power - and with it, Millenniumon's. The remaining life force provided only for little Pagumon, who was deleted without a second thought.

Ken stood on the battlefield; Wormmon had healed and crawled to his side

"Are you going to attack me, Ken? I thought I was your Ryo-sama, your idol." His voice carried the same sort of mock seriousness that Ken had found hilarious when he was younger; but Ken knew that it wasn't his friend anymore; it was just a monster wearing his skin.

"YOU ARE NOT HIM!"

"Ryo-sa -" He was interrupted before he could speak any more.

"Before you start again, Ken, I want you to know that I located one of those so-called Chosen Children's Digimon: an Agumon, I think it was. He should be under my control soon. He'll be my new pet until I'm done with him. Much more useful than that pathetic Wormmon you have. Your pitiful resistance will be over soon." Laughter.

"I AM NOT HIM!"

Digimon cowered at the sight of Ken. He had spent several weeks trying to convince what few free Digimon still remained to join him. (Some had since they knew what the Czar really looked like, but most steered clear.) It was difficult to start an organized resistance when your reputation worked against you. Any human in the Digital World had the stigma and was mistaken for the dictator.

Ken gathered enough strength and launched his first attack on Ryo's stronghold. He was determined. His anger was deep and assimilated with the fury of battle. Digimon - his or Ryo's; he didn't care - fell to his newly created blade. Wormmon provided Ken with defense: his Sticky Net immobilized incoming threats; he resolved to protect his Chosen until death.

His attack failed.

Ryo won.

As punishment for Ken's failure, Ryo deleted Wormmon. He did it right in front of Ken, who held his partner in his arms as he fragmented into data.

The newest, most dreaded nickname for Ken - "Terror Shinigami" - spread throughout the Digital World, carried by Ryo's messengers. What little remained of Ken's former army refused to ever have anything to do with him again.

He fought lonely battles with only Wormmon as his ally.

"Why are you going to get them involved?!" Ken demanded.

"They have always been involved from the very beginning. They - including that Agumon - are the reason why I was pulled here in the first place! If it weren't for them, I would have never known of the Digital World or Digimon! If you want someone to blame, blame him."

* * * * * *

He ran hard. Dinosaur-like feet pounded the wet ground. Several dozen dark Digimon followed him; they launched random attacks whenever they thought they could hit him. Most attacks missed, but every now and then a few came too close for comfort. Even more rare were the direct hits that caused him to stumble.

If only Taichi were here, he could evolve! He would be able to beat them all easily as WarGreymon!

He ducked under a log. They were closing in, hunting him like packs of wolves. It wouldn't be much longer before they could slap a collar around his neck and drag him off to see the Digimon Czar.

He had to reach the spot Mille had spoken about. The Primary Village guardian sent him on a quest, telling him that he could see Taichi if he went there. So he came up out of hiding and now ran for it. He was almost there. He could almost smell that big-haired partner of his.

There! The television set. It had Taichi's picture on it.

Agumon dove for it.

* * * * * *

Taichi sat at his computer, writing out an e-mail.

"S... o... r--" he read his letters out loud as he typed… until Agumon fell into his lap.

He yelled in surprise and the chair tipped over backwards. His Digimon partner rolled away over the ground and Taichi rushed to his side as soon as he realized who it was. "Agumon! What's the big idea, surprising me like that?!" He then noticed the injuries: "Agumon?"

"I'm... alright, Taichi."

But Agumon didn't sound okay and hardly looked it; he didn't have the strength to sit up and remained as he had fallen. Taichi picked him up and gently cradled him in his arms.

"There's... he's evil," Agumon said. "He's taken over the Digital World; he's destroyed it. I... was finally able to come here and tell you, Taichi! We have to go back."

Taichi rocked him, trying to soothe the panicked digital creature. "Who is it? The Dark Masters? Have they come back?" Agumon managed to shake his head, though the movement was barely detectable. "Devimon? Apoclymon? Don't tell me that it's Etemon!"

Again, Agumon said no.

"Then what the hell is it?" Taichi's impatience started to ebb into anger. He quickly willed it away once he realized that it would not do him any good to speak to Agumon like that.

The Digimon grimaced from being yelled at, but he took a deep breath.

"The enemy... is a kid. Like you - but not like you. He's evil. Taichi... it's Ryo," Agumon finally spit out.

Taichi blinked, confused. This name was familiar to him but he did not know it well. He shook his head, stood, and gently placed Agumon on his bed where he pulled up the blankets.

"Rest, little buddy. I'll take care of everything."

He went into the living room. Telephone in hand, he dialed a certain number he did know, and pressed the receiver to his ear tightly as he waited for the rings to be replaced by a human voice.

Click. Call answered.

"Hey, Yamato? We've got a problem."

* * * * * *

* * * * * *

EDITED BY:

M.C. Zarrella.