FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In the infinite vastness of the Digital World, there are an infinite number of possibilities. We all know the stories of the Digidestined – the children who became the partners of Digimon and saved their worlds. There have been many tales of humans and Digimon coming together.

But time is an ever-flowing river, even in the world of the Digimon. Entire days in their world are mere moments in the world of humans. In the years between the various adventures of the Digidestined, the Tamers, the Frontiers, the Data Squad and the Xros Wars, how many times has a crisis arisen? How many times did the residents of the Digital World have to fend for themselves without humans to help them?

In the various adventures of the Digidestined, there have been ambitious Digimon who sought power, dominance, or even oblivion, and always humans and Digimon stood together to face them. But in this story, the Digimon will find their own champions… Their own destiny. Even their own identity.

This is the tale of the Digimon Brotherhood.

DISCLAIMERS:

I am taking some creative liberties with this fanfiction project. Things that would normally not be canonical to the Digimon franchise, but also keeping some elements, such as the multiple types and attributes, and some of their canon mythos such as the Thirteen Holy Knights.

There will also be names given to the characters in this story; like Pokemon, Digimon are not one-of-a-kind characters – save for major figures that serve in their Mythos, such as the above-mentioned Holy Knights and the Four Guardian Digimon such as Azoolongmon; other Digimon can take these forms, but they will be few.

There are also some elements I intend to use from the Japanese original content, such as maybe one or two Digimon names like ‘Vamdemon’ instead of Myotismon (I always thought that name was stupid, really).

In the Tamers series, Renamon commented that Digimon don’t have genders. I personally don’t follow that mythos, so there will be those referred to as ‘He’ or ‘She’. I mean, think of Digimon like Angewomon or LadyDevimon – it’s right there in their names. In turn this will affect their evolution trees; male Digimon will not be able to become Female-only Digimon and vice-versa.

~~~~~~

High in the mountains of the Folder Continent, on a cliff overlooking their home, the brothers sparred. An ExVeemon, named Maximus, and his younger sibling, a Veedramon, named Maverick, traded blows, clenched fists striking scaled flesh as the two bobbed and weaved around one another.

Yet the two were all smiles and laughter, even as they took blow after blow. Maverick, despite taking on the form that was bigger and physically superior, found himself struggling to keep up with his quick-footed elder sibling. Even though Maximus had held to his promise to refrain from using his wings to fly, he was still lighter on his feet and more graceful.

“Come on, Maverick; is that the best you can do?” the ExVeemon taunted his more bull-headed sibling.

“Oh, shut up!” Maverick retorted, coming in with another punch.

Maximus ducked out of the way, whooping as he delivered a kick to his brother’s knee, catching his other leg as he tried to take a step. Maverick yelped and flailed his arms as he went down, barely managing to put them between him and the ground as he was tripped.

“You know if you keep eating dirt like that, you could pretend to be a Drimogemon,” Maximus teased again.

This time, though, Maverick didn’t take the joke well. With a snarl, he swung his hindquarters to the side and sent his long, thick tail swinging into his laughing brother’s side. Maximus failed to see the tail coming until it was too late; it struck his back. Maximus yelped in pain as he was launched off his feet, hitting the ground hard and knocking the wind out of him.

“Ow… Maverick, what’re you trying to-”

As Maximus rolled onto his back to look at his brother, he was alarmed when Maverick suddenly landed on top of him, teeth bared and snarling, mouth open wide to reveal the many razor-sharp teeth in his maw. “Whoa, whoa, Maverick, stop!” Maximus cried, hands raised to try to stop his brother’s attack.

Then… Maverick smiled.

“Got you.”

Maximus’s expression flattened… “You are a Numemon’s arse!” he said, pushing Maverick sharply and knocking him onto his backside even as he laughed. “I thought you were going to eat me or something!”

“I only look like a monster, bro,” Maverick countered. “Nothing says I can’t pretend to be one every now and then, especially if it means serving you a helping of humble pie.”

“Oh, shut up,” Maximus countered, but found himself chuckling even as he stood and dusted himself off. “But, you’re right – I probably deserved that.”

“Oh, you definitely did,” Maverick retorted.

Maximus scoffed and shook his head. “Alright, we only had time for one sparring session today. We better get to work before we’re late; last thing I want is Xavier chewing our tails off.”

Maverick nodded. “Yeah, agreed. Let’s go.”

Having concluded their sparring sessions for the day, Maximus and Maverick returned to the village below – the village of the Vee clan. They headed to their work for the day, at the lumber mill, retrieving their axes and saws before heading into the woods. They were greeted by others of their kind, before the foreman – an ExVeemon called Xavier, directed them to their workplace for the day.

The two picked their first tree to cut down and used their two-man saw to begin cutting it down. “Back… Forth… Back… Forth,” Maximus mumbled as they cut into the tree.

“We picked a big one here,” said Maverick, grunting with effort as he pulled and pushed through his share of the work. “Think we can even finish this before losing too much day?”

“We can certainly try,” Maximus replied between cuts, having to pause when it was his turn to pull.

“Got a lot of… Orders this week. What’re… They all for?” Maverick asked.

“Well, too early in the season for firewood,” Maximus replied. “Winter’s not for another two months… But there’s been a lot of construction… At the Citadel, so I’ve heard.”

“The Holy Citadel, out east?”

“That’s the one.”

“What do you suppose is… Going on there?”

“Your guess… Is as good as mine, Maverick,” said Maximus before he heard the creaking of the tree and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Timber!” he shouted, jumping away to give the tree plenty of room as it came down.

The massive pine tree fell with a crash, and the brothers picked up their axes and hand saws. They got to work cutting off the tree’s branches, shearing the canopy off and depositing the excess into wheelbarrows. They shook pine needles into bags, broke up the branches for kindling, and hacked the trunk into two halves.

It was impressive, seeing the number of Veemon swarming the tree like a colony of ants, pruning and dressing it for conversion into lumber, armed with pruners, axes and saws to do their work, and humming in tandem with each other.

But, all of a sudden, as one Veemon continued working, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye and stopped swinging his axe to look, seeing a withered tree stump. He had noticed it earlier, of course, but he could have worn it had been further away before… Shrugging and chalking it up to his imagination, he raised his hatchet to get back to work…

“Branch…” he heard a whisper, and paused. “Drain!” the voice said again, louder this time.

The stump suddenly lunged at him. He had little time to cry out before it raised an arm and struck him, piercing his body in multiple places with the multiple points on the end of its limb, knocking the wind out of him. Almost immediately, he felt his energy being sapped by the stump.

Not a stump, he realized… A Woodmon.

Another Veemon saw the assailant and cried out for help. Maximus and Maverick, having begun moving to the next tree they were due to cut, froze in their tracks and turned sharply in the direction of the cry, and saw the unfolding scene.

“Crap!” Maximus shouted, dropping the saw and breaking into a run without a second thought.

“Where the heck did that thing come from?!” Maverick demanded as he followed his brother.

Without answering his brother, Maximus jumped into the air, spreading his wings wide and gliding at the Woodmon, leading with his shoulder as he fell into a dive and tackled the nature Digimon. The force of being tackled successfully dislodged the Veemon who had been attacked, the smaller, blue dragonoid falling limp to the ground as several of his cohorts rushed to get him.

The Woodmon threw Maximus off himself, rounding on him with a sharp glare from its blue eyes that the ExVeemon matched. Raising its arms, it aimed both fists at him, and attacked. “Leaf Slider!” it growled, launching several sharp, leaf-like projectiles at him.

Maximus hastily jumped to the side, avoiding the leaves, and used a mental command to summon his counterattack. ‘Hearty Shatter!’ he thought, forming a fireball in his mouth and shooting it at the Woodmon. Startled by the fireball, the Woodmon put up its arms in defense, the hot flames exploding against its arms and leaving its wooden limbs scorched.

The Woodmon swung out its arms, and was about to attack Maximus again when Maverick joined the fight, ramming into the Woodmon with his massive form and sending it hurtling into another tree, crashing noisily into the large pine. “Surprise, bark brain!” Maverick growled, wearing a monstrous grin on his face.

The Woodmon, still refusing to surrender, rounded on the younger sibling now, and rushed at him, carried on its four root-like legs with surprising speed. Maverick’s hands cause the Woodmon’s spiky fists, the two struggling to overpower the other. But, Maverick proved the stronger, successfully holding back… And revealed the folly of the Woodmon as Maximus suddenly appeared above his sibling.

“Vee Laser!” Maximus shouted, the V-shaped crest on his torso glowing and emitting a beam of light matching the shape of his crest, and striking the Woodmon directly, pushing him back from Maverick and giving the Veedramon his opening.

“V-Nova Blast!” Maverick growled before he opened his mouth to release a powerful ray of concentrated heat – not quite fire, but more than a laser like his brother.

Within seconds, the struggling Woodmon was blackened by the heat of the ray, and the moment its struggles ceased it seemed to shatter, exploding into a cloud of particles. Unlike creatures of the living world, inhabitants of Digital World did not bleed; they were code, not flesh and blood, but they could think, feel and learn just like any organic entity.

As was expected when a Digimon ‘died’, its conqueror would absorb its data, which Maximus watched as Maverick did just that, holding out his arms and taking the particles of data into his body. From there, he would gain its experience and a marginal increase in his strength. True, Maximus had helped him, but it had been Maverick who had scored the kill, and so he let his brother take the power.

Woodmon would be reformatted and born anew as a completely different Digimon. As was their nature, when Digimon returned, they came back as Baby Digimon, and when they achieved evolution, their path was never pre-determined; it was nearly impossible for them to follow the same path as they did in their prior life. Therefore, by definition, this Woodmon, whoever he was or whatever he did in his life, or where he intended to go, was truly gone forever.

A tragedy, thought Maximus. But, this was the nature of the Digital World; Digimon sought strength to achieve evolution, and sometimes, they failed… Only the strongest and wisest would go on to reach their peak. Ones like the Thirteen Knights, like the Four Guardians, or the Holy Trinity at the Citadel. Few could ever achieve their ultimate power… But the path was always there.

Then, of course, some preferred the peaceful life, like these Veemon, getting by as foresters and horticulturists, selling lumber and replanting the trees they cut down, following their own cycle of life. Unfortunately, such being were often easy targets for other Digimon, such as that Woodmon… It was a vicious cycle… But it was life.

“Hope that guy was alone,” said Maverick. “What’s a Woodmon doing so close to a populated area anyway?”

“Don’t know,” admitted Maximus. “Perhaps got a little too ambitious and decided to target Digimon where it knew they lived. Hardly the first time we’ve heard of such a thing.”

“True,” agreed Maverick, resting one hand against his hip before turning to regard his brother. “Let’s get back, see what the damage is, then. Hopefully that poor Veemon that got hit will make it.”

Maximus grimaced. He hadn’t seen the extent of the damage to the Veemon that had been attacked, but there was always a chance…

When Maximus and Maverick emerged from the woods, hurrying back to their village to determine the aftermath of the attack, the scene they came upon was like nothing that they had expected. The Veemon were gathered around something, and as the brothers came closer, they saw two strangers in the ring of Veemon, being watched cautiously by a Veedramon who stood over her smaller counterparts.

At first, the brother’s minds raced with suspicion, and they halted at the edge of the circle. They studied the two strangers in the circle, and the wounded Veemon that lay at the center of the activity, lying between the pair. Their presence brought about an otherworldly calm to the Veemon and kinfolk, rarely seeing any visitors to their village on this side of the Folder Continent.

The strangers themselves were striking, their appearance unlike any the Veemon had seen. The first wore a tattered purple cape that fluttered lightly in the breeze, a pointed hat perched atop his head. His suit, a patchwork of yellow, clung to him as though it had been stitched together from countless different pieces. In his hand, he carried a staff, tipped by a multi-pointed shape, resembling the sun in artistic depictions.

The second stranger, in stark contrast, was draped in a white outfit with green markings, his clothes equally worn but no less strange. He, too, carried a staff, but his was crowned with a crystal-shaped snowflake that shimmered with icy brilliance. As he knelt beside the injured Veemon, his vacant palm glowed with a soft green energy, radiating warmth that seemed to bend the very air around them.

The Veemon gathered nearby gasped in awe, their eyes wide. They had heard stories of magicians and mystics, but to see them in person, in their quiet little village. It was like watching the very elements dance around these strange figures. There was magic here, alive and real, something that felt far beyond their understanding.

Maximus stood frozen, eyes wide as he recognized the figures for what they were. He had seen their kind only in fleeting tales, heard their names whispered in the wind. The stranger with the sun-tipped staff was a Wizardmon, and the other was a Sorcerimon.

For a moment, it felt as though time had stopped—nothing but the soft hum of the air and the energy swirling between these two strangers and the wounded Veemon, as Maximus and his brother – as well as the many Veemon nearby, watched real magic at work, healing the wounds of the Veemon lumberjack.

“When the heck did these two get here?” Maverick asked suddenly, breaking his elder brother out of his reverie.

“I don’t know… Never seen them before,” admitted Maximus.

“What do you think they want?” Maverick asked, suspiciously.

Maximus didn’t answer, watching the scene unfold instead, as the Veemon’s injuries slowly vanished under the gentle healing of the Sorcerimon. Eventually, the glow faded, and the two wizard Digimon moved away.

The Veemon’s eyes opened slowly, and he began to sit up, one of his friends rushing to his side to help him. “What happened?” he asked, and then jerked as he remembered. “The Woodmon! Where-?”

“It’s okay, little Vee,” the female Veedramon stated, giving a calming wave of her hand. “Maximus and Maverick already took care of him. Then these two,” she gestured to the wizards, “happened and offered their help.”

The previously injured Veemon looked at the two wizards, blinking as he took them in. Clearly, he didn’t know what to make of them; not even able to thank them for their help. Maximus, sensing he needed to step in, cleared his throat as he approached, getting the attention of the two.

“Thank you,” he said, speaking on behalf of the villagers. “Sorry for the lukewarm reception; we aren’t used to having visitors here, so far from the main road.”

“That is understandable,” the Wizardmon stated, using his staff to tip his hat. “I’m just glad we happened to be passing through”

“Indeed. It was a most opportune time,” said the Sorcerimon.

“Not for nothing, but, what are you guys doing here?” Maverick asked. “Nobody comes to this town; there’s nothing here anybody could want.”

“Just passing through,” the Wizardmon replied. “We were on our way back to our master after an errand. We thought we could take a shortcut going directly over the hills. We nearly missed your village entirely, until we heard someone crying for help.”

“I see,” said Maverick. “And who’s your master?”

“Master Nagata,” replied the Sorcerimon, in a tone that suggested he didn’t expect them to know who he was talking about.

The Wizardmon was about to add his piece when Maximus spoke. “That hermit from down in the Mirelands?” he asked, curiously.

The Wizardmon blinked in surprise. “You know him?”

“He comes to town on occasion,” replied Maximus. “Buys charcoal and occasionally stuff from the gatherers. I’d never heard of him having any students though,” he added, curiously eyeing the pair.

“We just started, a week ago – maybe more,” the Sorcerimon offered. “We used to be students at the academy in the Holy Citadel, to the east. You know it?”

“We do,” Maximus replied with a nod.

“One of our instructors told us to seek out a… Taomon, I think he called them? Yes, one in the Mirelands, who could teach us, help us master our spellcraft,” the Sorcerimon continued.

But to the dismay of the two wizards, Maverick laughed, and even Maximus cracked a smile. “What is so funny?” the Wizardmon inquired.

“Nagata’s not a _Tao_mon,” Maverick stated. “He’s a _Dou_mon; the dark counterpart.”

The Sorcerimon looked embarrassed, a faint blush visible over the folds of his turtleneck. “Oh…” he said.

“So… When did he start taking apprentices?” Maximus asked. “He always struck me as something of a recluse.”

The two mages glanced at each other briefly before the Wizardmon spoke. “We… Had a recommendation from one of our professors,” he replied. “An old friend of his, from his academy days.”

“That curse-weaver served in the academy?” Maverick asked.

“Maverick!” Maximus scolded him.

“What? It’s true,” Maverick returned.

“The academy does still have dark-type Digimon studying there, as students,” the Sorcerimon stated. “Would it not stand to reason that another dark attribute Digimon would be better suited for teaching them?”

“Exactly,” stated Maximus, chiding his brother for his lack of tact.

“Hey, that doesn’t change that what I said is fact,” Maverick retorted, crossing his arms and glaring at his brother.

“Yes, well,” said Maximus, clearing his throat. “Getting back on topic, thank you for your assistance,” he directed his gratitude to the brothers. “Might we know your names?”

“I am Caram,” the Wizardmon said, “and this is my twin brother, Raist.”

“A pleasure,” the Sorcerimon said, tipping his hat with his free hand.

‘Twins, huh?’ thought Maximus, intrigued.

Digimon twins were an uncommon occurrence, usually brought about by two Digimon emerging from the same Digitama – or, Digi-Egg, to some. Such occurrences were exceedingly rare. Even he and Maverick had emerged from separate eggs, but their eggs had formed and hatched from the same nest at the village of beginnings, hence their becoming siblings. For Caram and Raist though, they would’ve had to not only come from the same nest, but the same egg. The connection between them would run deeper than Maximus could fathom.

“Nice to meet you, Caram and Raist,” said Maximus. “Thank you again for assisting us. Woodmon attacks happen frequently in this region; I guess they think of us as some sort of invaders, when we’re cutting down their non-sentient cousins.”

“I suppose I can understand the confusion,” Caram remarked.

At that, Maximus frowned, turning on his heel to look into the woods where they had come from. “Still… This was unusual,” he said. “Maverick and I discussed this back in the woods, and it’s still troubling me.”

“What’s that?” Caram asked.

“The fact that one came this close to the village,” Maverick added. “We clear-cut our usual area to the east, and just started on this side while the old site regrows. Woodmon, though, never come this close to the village; we’re only a few minutes away from the edge of town, where the sentries could have heard the struggle and come running. My brother and I being here was just good luck for the foresters.”

Caram and Raist glanced at each other, and shrugged simultaneously before Raise offered his thoughts. “Maybe this one was just a little bolder than the others,” he said.

“Maybe… Or something chased it toward us,” Maximus suggested, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “I’m more concerned about what that something could be for now.

He looked over his shoulder. “Maverick. I’ll be right back,” he said, spreading his wings and jogging ahead to gain some momentum before taking to the air.

Maverick, cupping his hands around his mouth, called after him. “Where you going, bro?”

“Hopefully, nowhere! I won’t be long!” Maximus called back as he started flying west, soaring over the trees until he was gone from sight.

Maximus knew something was amiss the moment he saw the first fallen tree. Fallen trees weren’t uncommon; nature still ran its course, even in the Digital World. But Maximus had almost missed this one in the fading light; with sundown only minutes away, the dimming sky had played tricks on his vision. Still, something about the tree caught his attention: despite being on its side, it still carried a full canopy of green leaves...

With that thought, Maximus landed and crouched beside the tree, squinting into the deepening shadows pooling along its trunk. Running his fingers along the bark, he felt the first of the slash marks—straight cuts, narrow on one side where something sharp had first pierced the surface. Some narrowed again as they passed through, others left blunt ends where the blades had stopped and fallen or been pulled out. He ran his fingernails through the grooves, feeling a sense of unease as he wondered what could make such indentations in tree bark.

Except, there were no fragments or discarded blades lying on the ground… The tree had been hacked apart, close to the base of the trunk, but it didn’t look like the work had been the result of an axe. The cuts across the trunk were surgical—too clean for any axe. But the collapse itself...

Running his hand over the trunk, Maximus found several long, deep cuts in the wood, crossing where the same blades had made a second cut, bringing the tree down. Again, the cuts were clean and even, but not consistent with the cuts on the trunk; these had been inflicted by much larger blades.

Standing from his examination of the tree, Maximus paced slowly through the grove, eyes scanning deeper into the forest. More slashes, some gouged high in the trees—too high for most ground-based Digimon that might live in this region, cut through the bark in chaotic patterns. In one spot, he noticed claw marks that stopped abruptly halfway down a trunk, like the attacker had simply vanished mid-lunge.

The air had grown colder. Not in the usual nightfall way, but like stepping into a place the sun couldn’t touch. Even the wind had died. The birds, the insects—gone. Only the faint creak of swaying branches remained.

Maximus frowned, glancing skyward. The canopy overhead was still tinged with the fading hue of dusk, but the forest below was sinking fast into shadows.

"...No scorch marks. No debris. Woodie ran, but he didn’t look like he’d even fought back." His voice came out low now, cautious. “Whatever was here, it wasn’t fighting—it was hunting.”

A low gust brushed past him. Cold. Wrong. The silence pressed in tighter. No birds. No insects. Just the faint creak of swaying branches—like something holding its breath.

And then, the howl.

It rolled through the trees—not loud, but piercing. Measured. Like it didn’t need to roar to be terrifying. The kind of sound that didn’t just echo—it crept.

Maximus tensed, every muscle going still.

He knew now that was no longer alone.

He raised his fists, partially opening his wings in preparation for a quick escape if he needed it. He heard a stick breaking nearby, followed by a deep, animalistic growl. Fixing his gaze in that direction, he watched, waiting, as a canid form slowly stepped into view.

The first thing he saw was a leg stretching out from the darkness beneath the trees—a long, sinewy forelimb, built for speed and silence. But what froze him in place wasn’t the shape, but the way it ended: not in claws, not in a paw, but in blades.

Each digit tapered into a long, hooked knife—metallic, cruel-looking, and curved like a raptor’s talon. As the creature stepped forward, the blades dragged faint grooves into the forest floor. Around the paw, crescent-shaped razors jutted outward from the sides, and one long spike rose between the toes like a central fang. Maximus couldn’t even tell where the flesh ended and the weaponry began—it was as if the limb was a weapon.

Then, it raised its head.

A lupine face emerged from the gloom—angular, sharp, and entirely focused forward. Its eyes were hidden behind a pair of bat-like wings that fanned out from the sides of its head, veiling its vision like a hunter wearing a ritual mask. Another set of smaller wings wrapped around its neck like a mantle, partially pressing down the pale ruff of fur that bristled there.

The rest of its body was sheathed in soft purple fur marked with crimson symbols, the patterns stylized like bats mid-flight. Both front and hind limbs ended in those same deadly blade-like claws. Its tail swayed behind it, bushy and tipped in pale white, like a quiet signal against the dark.

Maximus felt a name crawl out from his memory, half-whispered like a warning: Sangloupmon—a vampiric Dark Animal Digimon known for stalking its prey in silence... and striking before it could scream.

No wonder that Woodmon was running, Maximus thought grimly.

In the back of his mind, the pieces fell into place. Sangloupmon hadn’t been chasing that Woodmon—it had been fighting someone else. Another Woodmon, maybe. Or some other poor soul who’d stumbled into its territory. That explained the slash marks, the torn trees, the eerily silent clearing. Whatever Digimon had faced this thing… hadn’t walked away.

The Sangloupmon growled. The wings shielding its face twitched—and then parted.

Twin red eyes stared out at him, glowing faintly, devoid of pupils or mercy. Hunger radiated from them like heat off metal. It fixed its gaze on Maximus for a single, chilling heartbeat—then the wings snapped shut again, masking its expression. Its head lowered. A line of drool traced down one fang as it stepped forward, blades crunching softly into the forest floor.

Maximus tensed. This thing wasn’t just a wild Digimon—it was a predator, a shadow with fangs. He couldn’t let it vanish back into the woods. If it found another village... another child...

No.

His fists clenched. Even without Maverick here, he couldn’t turn away.

“This ends now,” he muttered, grounding his stance.

The Sangloupmon, sensing his intent, let out a low snarl. Then, without raising its voice, it whispered its first attack—“Sticker Blade . ”

With a flick of its forepaws, hundreds of razor-thin blades exploded outward, whirling through the air like a storm of needles.

“Spinning Lariat!” Maximus shouted, launching into a rapid spin. Wind spiralled around him as his body blurred, hardened skin deflecting the incoming blades. One by one, the metal shards sparked and disintegrated against the force of his rotation, falling to the forest floor as harmless flecks.

So that’s why I didn’t find any earlier, Maximus realized. They don’t last after impact.

As the last blade clattered away, Maximus halted his spin, wobbling slightly as the dizziness caught up with him. He clenched his jaw, pushed through it—and the crest on his chest lit up with energy.

“Vee Laser!” he roared, unleashing a focused beam of light straight at his target.

“Black Mind.” The voice was a whisper in the dark—and then the wolf was gone. Sangloupmon vanished into the trees, its body swallowed by the shadows.

Maximus’ laser tore through the clearing, lighting up the darkness—but hit only bark and moss as it struck a tree behind where the predator had been. The flash faded, leaving nothing but scorched bark... and silence.

“Where the—?” Maximus muttered, spinning on his heel, expecting the attack to come from behind. Nothing. He pivoted again, scanning the treeline, trying to stay ahead of the next strike.

Then came the voice. Low. Raspy. From above.

“Drain Slash.”

His head snapped up.

The Sangloupmon was descending like a falling star, forepaws outstretched, the blade-gauntlets on its legs glowing with sinister light.

Maximus let out a startled yelp and dove sideways, just as the wolf’s claws slashed through the space he’d been standing in. The ground cracked where the attack landed.

“Hearty Shatter!” Flames gathered in Maximus’s mouth, and with a roar, he spat a fireball straight at the predator. The Sangloupmon tried to twist away—but the blast clipped its side, exploding in a burst of fire.

The dark Digimon yelped, tumbling sideways and hitting the ground hard.

“Got you!” Maximus grinned, bracing for a follow-up—

“Sticker Blade!”

Maximus froze. That voice… It hadn’t come from the Sangloupmon in front of him. His eyes widened.

There’s another one.

Maximus barely had time to turn before pain erupted across his back—

A swarm of tiny blades struck him from behind, embedding themselves in his skin. He stumbled forward, teeth clenched against a howl of agony as it felt like the shards were burrowing deeper with every step.

“Nngh—!”

The second Sangloupmon lunged. Fangs bared. It slammed into him, knocking him onto his already wounded back. This time, the scream broke loose—raw, primal, and loud enough to echo for miles.

Then came the bite, and he screamed again – louder than he ever had in his life.

Burning pain flared through his neck as the creature’s fangs pierced deep. Maximus thrashed beneath it, slamming fists into the predator’s side, but the Sangloupmon didn’t budge. Its weight pinned him down, cold and relentless.

He could feel it—his data being siphoned, drawn out of him like breath in winter. For a Digimon, it was more than just pain. It was essence. His vision blurred. His blows weakened, but he could still see the creature’s form grow heavier, denser, as if absorbing not just strength, but mass. Maximus’s limbs flailed, then faltered. He tried to summon another attack, but no energy answered the call.

And then—another presence.

The first Sangloupmon returned. Without a word, it sank its fangs into his arm.

Maximus gasped, body jerking. He could feel his data unraveling between their teeth, threads of himself torn loose. Weakness overtook him like a rising tide.

He tried to cry out again—

But the voice was gone.

‘Maverick…’ he thought, feeling a tear in his eye as he silently apologized to his brother, whom he would never see again, nor would he ever know what happened to him…

He began to fade, his vision darkening…

The roar seemed to split the air, as suddenly Maximus felt the weight of the two Sangloupmon pulled from him, their fangs nearly breaking as something lifted them both off him. The roar came again, followed by the yelps of the two canid Digimon, as they were thrown into the trees.

Bleary-eyed and weakened, Maximus summoned all of the strength he could muster to roll onto his side, lifting his head to try to see what was happening. He could only make out blurry shapes, recognizing the purple blobs as likely being the Sangloupmon – both of them, fighting with a third, larger form… A blur of blue and white.

“Maverick?” Maximus rasped, blinking repeatedly until his vision finally cleared, and he saw he was right. “Bro! It’s you!”

Maverick – as indeed it was, didn’t answer, focused on the battle. One of the Sangloupmon tried to attack him with Sticker Blades, but the tough hide of the Veedramon withstood the relatively weak attack easily. In retaliation, Maverick lunged at the offending beast, and delivered an uppercut that send it airborne, wheezing in pain and flailing its limbs.

The other lunged, calling out a Drain Slash as it tried to attack Maverick from behind. The Veedramon looked behind him, and swung his hips to lash out with his tail, the thick appendage striking the pouncing hound like a swinging log, and sending it hurtling through the air with a yelp.

“Stay away from my bro, you data-sucking dingos!” the Veedramon growled, smoke trailing from the corners of his mouth.

Both of the Sangloupmon, despite how battered Maverick’s attack had left them, rose to their feet. With the strength that they had managed to steal from Maximus, they were still able to fight. Maverick bared his teeth at them, slapping the ground with his tail and hunching as he stood his ground, keeping himself between the two vampiric hounds and his brother.

The two of them whispered Drain Blade as they rushed at the Veedramon. In response, Maverick prepared a V-Nova Blast, letting the two hounds rush him before firing the heat beam in a semicircle in front of them, forcing them to stop their charge to avoid the attack. With that, Maverick turned and ran over to Maximus, quickly picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder before he started to run.

“If those wings of yours are still working, bro, now might be the time to start flying!” Maverick cried.

Maximus tried to extend his wings, but the limbs shook and fell over his shoulders uselessly. “C-Can’t,” he rasped. “Too weak… They… Drained me…”

“Well, crap!” Maverick growled. “Can you see them – are they behind us?”

As though in response, Maverick saw movement ahead of him, as one of the Sangloupmon suddenly sprang out of the shadows of the trees, lunging at him. Maverick skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding the lunging hound and nearly losing his balance.

“They can… move through shadows,” Maximus warned.

“Now he tells me!” Maverick growled, turning on the Sangloupmon and lifting one of his arms from Maximus’ leg. “Cutting Shoot!” he yelled as he swung his large claws at the air, sending four cresent blades of sharp, condensed air at the Sangloupmon.

The vampiric hound ducked, barely avoiding the attack. Behind it, a tree was rent by the condensed air blades, creaking ominously as it fell onto the oblivious hound who howled in pain as the tree fell on him.

Hearing its kin cry out, the other Sangloupmon emerged, snarling as it ran at Maverick, successfully flanking him and pouncing him, where it sank its teeth into his left shoulder. Maverick snarled and dropped Maximus, the ExVeemon falling unceremoniously to the ground in a heap while Maverick struggled with his attacker.

Pulling the Sangloupmon off, Maverick threw it to the ground and discharged another V-Nova Blast from his mouth, searing the creature’s flank while also sending it hurtling through the woods, a howl of agony the last sound they heard from it before it was hurled out of sight.

“Did you… Kill it?” Maximus asked, having managed to push himself up on his hands.

“Not hardly; I’d be absorbing its data by now if I had,” replied Maverick, moving to help his brother again. “Come on; those two mage bros are still in the village – if I get you to them, maybe they can-”

“Kaiser Nail!”

Maverick looked up as he heard the attack being called, and saw a red, glowing shape arcing toward him; an X-shape, like two crescent blades forming into a single entity, cutting through foliage as it approached. Maverick lunged, grabbing Maximus and rolling out of the way – almost. He felt lightning arcing up his back, and tumbled with his elder brother hugged tightly against his chest before coming to a stop.

Maverick released Maximus, who coughed from being hugged so tight, and looked up as Maverick stepped over him. It was there he saw what the Veedramon had snarled about just a moment before, when he saw the stump at the end of his tail; it had been sliced clean through by the attack, particles of data leaking from it and the lost tip in question, slowly dissolving into code where it had fallen.

“M-Maverick!” Maximus rasped, his voice conveying his fear despite his weakened state.

Maverick didn’t look back, his attention focused solely on the figure emerging from the trees ahead of them. The figure was bipedal, lithe, standing taller than Maverick. Two disproportionately long arms swung at its sides as it walked, slowly coming into view. Like the Sangloupmon, it was canid, but covered in black fur with white highlights and lacking any bat-like motifs.

The creature wore spiked knuckles over it left hand, and was clad in a leather harness with a shoulder pauldron, and a pair of camo trousers on its legs, with an imprint resembling a skull and crossbones over his left thigh.

Maximus lifted himself enough to look at and study the newcomer… A WereGarurumon? No, a Black WereGarurumon – the Virus-type counterpart. Just like the Data-type lupine it resembled, when it had evolved to its Ultimate level, it had sacrificed speed for fighting prowess. Of course, the loss of speed paled in comparison to the sheer strength of the new body…

The black-furred werewolf wore a savage smile as he approached Maverick, walking with its head held high and no concern for the snarling Veedramon ahead of him. Maximus knew his brother didn’t have a chance against an Ultimate-level Digimon in a straight-up fight; not alone… But try as he might, his body was still too weak to stand.

“Maverick… Get out of here!” Maximus pleaded with his younger sibling.

“Not without you, Max!” Maverick defiantly refused, glaring at the Black WereGarurumon. “Come another step, and we’re going to have problems, hairball!”

The Black WereGarurumon stopped walking, but never lost its grin as it regarded Maverick, lifting a paw and making a beckoning motion at him. “By all means,” they said in a deep, gravelly voice. “Show me what you’ve got, Veedramon.”

Ever the one to have more strength than sense, Maverick took the invitation despite his brother’s protests, rushing at the werewolf with a roar. “Magnum Punch!” he bellowed as he drew back his arm and swung.

“Baldy Blow!” the Black WereGarurumon responded in kind, swinging its large, spike-clad fist in turn.

The two fists met in full swing, colliding with an audible report. A shockwave erupted from where the two punches met, causing the leaves above to shudder from the explosive wave. But it was Maverick who recoiled, clutching his hand painfully, multiple lacerations having opened in his knuckles. His opponent came at him again, snarling gleefully as he punched Maverick across the cheek with his other hand, and then drove the spiked knuckles into his stomach.

Maverick wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs. Then, the Black WereGarurumon sprang into the air, and spun himself with his leg outstretched, delivering a spin-kick to Maverick’s face and sending him careening and tumbling into a tree, miraculously managing to stay on his feet.

The Black WereGarurumon let out a chuckle. “Tougher than you look, I’ll give you that,” he said in a mocking tone.

“Just getting started, pal,” Maverick returned defiantly.

Maximus desperately tried to get to his feet, his heart thundering in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. Damn it, Maverick, why didn’t you listen?!’ he demanded in his mind, knowing his brother was doomed against an Ultimate-level Digimon by himself.

Maximus looked up as he heard Maverick grunting in pain again, and saw – to his horror, the Black WereGarurumon was beating the Veedramon to a pulp, having forced him against a tree and repeatedly punching him, every swing the strike of a hammer, bruises flowering across Maverick’s body as the Veedramon defiantly stayed on his feet, occasionally managing to make a swing of his own only to miss and receive another muck or kick.

Finally, his opponent jumped away, and then sprang into the air in a somersault, stretching out his leg. “Full Moon Kick!” he howled as the leg came down on Maverick like the swing of a sledgehammer, striking hard on top of his head and sending the Veedramon face-first into the ground in a plume of dust.

Maximus’ eyes widened in horror, the name of his brother dying on his lips as he tried to call out to him. As the dust cleared, he saw the Black WereGarurumon standing on Maverick’s back, the Veedramon finally unable to fight on.

“Should’ve listened to your brother, scales,” the werewolf growled, raising his paw and flexing the long claws. “Not that you could’ve outrun me anyway.”

A surge of power, wrought of desperation, seemed to burst forth from Maximus core, the crest on his torso glowing brightly as he conjured the most powerful Vee Laser he could muster. The Black WereGarurumon saw the glow from Maximus out of the corner of his eye, and started to turn to look at him…

Only to be forced off Maverick as the beam struck, letting out a howl that was a mix of both surprise and pain as he was blown off the Veedramon, and sent slamming into a tree back-first, winding him.

With teeth bared, the Black WereGarurumon raised his head, his attention now on the ExVeemon that he had thought to be removed from the fight. “Why you…” he growled, stepping away from the tree and brushing himself off.

Maximus felt his strength leaving him again; his knees wobbled, losing his footing and causing him to sink to them, catching himself on his hands and panting heavily. His body felt as though it had gained a hundred kilos, struggling to keep himself upright.

At the corner of his vision, he saw the large footpaws of the Black WereGarurumon, shakily lifting his head to look up at him. Behind him, the moon shone brightly in the sky, silhouetting him in darkness as he leered down at the ExVeemon. He lunged at him, grabbing him by the throat and picking him up off the ground.

“That… Hurt!” he growled before he turned and threw Maximus. The ExVeemon was sent careening into Maverick, who was just getting to his feet when his brother collided with him, knocking them both down again.

The werewolf Digimon advanced again, but this time not alone. Out of the trees came the pair of Sangloupmon from before, flanking him on either side. “I should let my boys here feed on you,” he said coldly, “but you know… I think I’d rather take your data for myself.”

The two Sangloupmon looked up the Black WereGarurumon, both barking in protest, but a snarl from him silenced both of them, both taking a frightened step back from him. With that, he turned his attention back to the brothers, eyeing both of them menacingly as he took another step close to them.

“I’ll make it quick and painless,” he said, in a tone that suggested he had no intention of doing either…

“C-Come on… Bro, we have to…” Maverick struggled to say, trying to lift himself and Maximus to their feet.

“Too… Drained,” Maximus rasped.

He had put everything he’d had into that last attack… As it was, Maximus was only remaining conscious due to adrenaline, but it wasn’t enough to keep him fighting. Maverick was in better shape, but still battered by the beating he’d taken from the Ultimate-level Digimon before them.

Just as they saw the Black WereGarurumon raising his claws to attack, beginning to utter ‘Kaiser Nail’ again, another voice rose from the darkness, drowning out his voice and catching his attention.

“Drowning Aquarius!”

A rumbling suddenly filled the woods… The sound of rushing water. To the complete surprise of everyone, a wave of rushing water erupted from the darkness, cascading between the tree trunks and crushing foliage as it rushed toward the three hounds.

“What the-?!” the Black WereGarurumon shouted, before he and the Sangloupmon turned to try to run.

They weren’t fast enough; the wave caught them; the three hounds howled in surprise as the wave picked them up and carried them further into the woods. Yet Maverick and Maximus could only look on in dismay; the wave, somehow, had completely missed them, seemingly steered around the two entirely.

As the wave receded, and the roar of rushing water at last abated. “Oye! What just happened?” Maverick demanded.

“Hey!” someone called out. “Over here!”

The brothers turned to see a figure waving at them. It took them a moment to recognized the figure in the darkness, barely making out the outline of a pointed hat and cape.

“Over here!” Caram repeated. “This way; hurry!”

“It’s one of those two wizards again,” said Maverick.

“Let’s… Go to him,” Maximus urged.

“Can we trust him? We never saw those hounds before those two showed up.”

“Do we have a choice? Besides, who do you think made that wave that just saved our scales?”

Maverick huffed, having no refute to Maximus’ words. “Alright, but looks like you can’t walk, so…”

Without another word, he hoisted Maximus over his shoulder once again. The ExVeemon had to suppress his indignity at being handled in such a way, knowing that it was necessary. He grunted as Maverick began to run, feeling his shoulder thumping into his gut whenever he bounced.

“Take it easy, bro!”

“Suck it up, Max!” Maverick returned.

The two reached Caram, just in time to see Raist stumbling into view, leaning on his snowflake-tipped staff. Caram cast a concerned look at his twin, but Raist hastily waved it off, before Caram addressed the brothers again.

“You two okay?” he asked.

“We’ll be fine. How’d you guys find us?” Maverick demanded, suspiciously.

“Maybe better we discuss that later,” Caram stated, “those hounds will be back.”

“B-Back to the village,” Maximus forced the words out. “Hurry…”

Maverick looked like he wanted to argue, casting a glance at Maximus, but thought better of it when he saw the state Maximus was in. “Okay, bro,” he said, and then addressed the twins. “Follow me!”

With that, the three were off, running through the woods as quickly as they could manage…

Meanwhile, three Digimon – drenched from the wave that had carried them away, lifted themselves from the ground at the edge of the woods. The two Sangloupmon shook themselves, flinging water from their furred forms, while the Black WereGarurumon sat up and ran a paw down his face, flinging away pine needles and dirt that had been caught in his fur.

He let out a low growl as he looked back in the direction of their quarry, faintly seeing the fleeing forms as they fled. “Run as far as you want, meat,” he growled as he stood. “No one escapes from me…”

Looking over his shoulder, he addressed the two Sangloupmon. “Basker, Barghest!” he barked at them. “Pick yourselves up, you dirty dogs.”

He ignored the collective glare of the pair, made easy by their eyes still being concealed by the bat-like wing protrusions that covered them, while the Black WereGarurumon looked back up the way they had been cast again. “We got a hunt to get to,” he concluded. “I think, for this, we ought to bring a few others in on the fun, too,” he added with a dark chuckle.

~~~~~

“…ax… Max!”

He could hear his name being called, but his eyes refused to open, however much he tried to do so. The voice sounded distant, but despite its familiarity he couldn’t make it out… Just let him rest, he thought… He was so tired.

“Maximus!”

WHAM!

A brutal smack across the cheek woke Maximus, sent reeling by the force of the blow. He was fairly sure a tooth had been dislodged by the blow, feeling something falling down his throat when he gasped and reflexively swallowed.

“Ow!” Maximus growled, rubbing his cheek and looking up sharply at Maverick. “What the hell, Mav?!”

The Veedramon glared back, his hand raised and clenched into a fist, ready to smack him again. Maximus shook his head and lifted a hand to rub his cheek, groaning.

“Wh-What happened?” he asked.

“You passed out.”

Maximus lifted his head again and looked at the owner of the voice, seeing the familiar Wizardmon – Caram, standing beside Maverick – easily overshadowed by the much larger Veedramon, hence why he hadn’t noticed him at first.

“While we carried you back here, you fainted,” Caram went on. “You’ve been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past hour.” He cast a disapproving look at Maverick. “Although slapping him was not the best way to wake him up.”

“He’s tough; he can take it,” said Maverick, dismissive. Beneath the tone though, his voice carried a note of concern, and Maximus could read it in his eyes, even if his face didn’t show it.

Maximus groaned and rubbed his cheek, trying to think back to what had been happening before he had blacked out. “I fainted… And we-Argh!” he was cut off when he suddenly felt pain rippling through him – not from Maverick hitting him again. The pain was coming from his back, and he toppled over as he clutched his shoulder, where the source of the pain was.

“Bro! What’s wrong?” Maverick asked, hands raised to catch his brother if he fell.

“My shoulder feels like it’s on fire,” he replied.

Caram moved beside him, climbing onto the bed and standing over him to look at his shoulder. “The bite; you’re still bleeding data,” he said, alarmed, and turned. “Raist!”

“I tried to heal it, but I’m too weak right now to do much,” came the strained voice of the Wizardmon’s twin. “J-Just give me another minute.”

“My brother might not have a minute!” Maverick retorted. “I have to get him to the village doctor!”

“This isn’t just some injury,” Caram said. “One of those Sangloupmon did something to him.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Maverick retorted as he moved to pick up Maximus. “Come on, bro.”

“Wait; Raist can do far more for him here!” Caram argued.

“Your bro can barely stand after that wave trick; Maximus needs help now,” Maverick retorted.

“Maverick, hold on,” Maximus tried to reason, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

“No. We’re going,” Maverick stated firmly, scooping up the ExVeemon in his arms. “You two can come along if you want, though I’m still not convinced that your arrival and that of those hounds isn’t connected somehow.”

Caram’s eyes went wide, and then contorted into a deep scowl; even behind his turtleneck they could hear his teeth grinding. “How dare you!” he exclaimed. “Raist and I risked our lives to save you two!”

“We can handle ourselves,” Maverick returned.

“Getting the tar kicked out of you by an Ultimate-level Digimon counts as ‘handling yourself’?” Caram countered.

At that, Maverick snarled, and unceremoniously dropped Maximus back onto his bed before rounding on Caram. “You wanna say that again to my face, half-pint?!” he growled, baring his teeth. “I could chomp you in half right now!”

Caram held out his hand, a sphere of condensed electricity forming in his open palm. “We’ll just see about-!”

“Knock it off!” Maximus roared, startling the two with the power in his voice, slamming his hands on the bed to either side of him. “Maverick, step back, now.”

Maverick looked like he wanted to protest, but another sharp glare from Maximus seemed to steal any argument from him. With a growl, Maverick did as he was told, stepping back from Caram. The Wizardmon, for his part, clenched his hand around the sphere in his hand, and it vanished in a cloud of smoke. For his part, Caram didn’t lose his scowl…

“I am certain that Caram and Raist,” Maximus reasoned, “have nothing to do with what we just saw out in the woods. It may seem like too much of a coincidence, but think about it, bro. They just saved our tails out there.”

“But Maximus, they-”

“That Black WereGarurumon was going to destroy us both,” Maximus interrupted. “Or worse,” he lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. “Let those two hounds of his do it… Either way, I think Caram’s right. Our village doctor uses natural remedies and surgical techniques – whatever is happening to me is outside of his scope.”

“Then what do we do?” Maverick asked. “You’re still leaking data; if it keeps on like that, you’re gonna delete!”

“Let’s let Raist regain some of his energy, and then we’ll see what he can do. For the moment, I’ll just take it easy,” he said, and breathed a deep sigh before turning to Caram. “Still, I do share one thing about my brother’s suspicions; your guy’s arrival here was very coincidental.”

“I assure you, that’s all it was,” Caram reasoned. “I know I only have my word to give you, but Raist and I were just passing through. We know nothing about those hounds or even that Woodmon you were fighting when we arrived.”

“I suspect that Woodmon was running from them,” Maximus reasoned, “I saw signs of another fight there in the woods. It’s only a guess, but that Woodie probably saw those guys attacking someone else; no way to know who or what, but the damage signs were everywhere.”

“Must’ve been quite a fight,” Maverick put in.

Maximus leaned forward, still watching Caram, listening attentively as he voiced his next question. “What about last night, when you showed up to help us?” he asked. “How did you know we needed help?”

Caram held up a hand with an outstretched finger. “That is easy to explain,” he began. “After you left, just as the sun was going down, we heard a howl. We didn’t think much of it, until we saw your brother,” he gestured to the Veedramon, “running in the direction it had come from. Then, Raist deduced it was the same direction you had gone before, and we started to think something might be wrong.”

“So, you followed me,” Maverick stated, coolly.

“Yes,” Caram admitted. “At first, we lost you, until we heard the sound of fighting. When we got there, we saw the two of you with that Black WereGarurumon standing over you and knew you needed help. Raist put everything he had into conjuring that wave to carry those hounds away.”

At that, Maximus turned his gaze toward the Sorcerimon, sitting quietly in one of their chairs, leaning partially on his staff. Indeed, the wizard Digimon looked exhausted; he had said nothing throughout the conversation, and his tipped neck caused his hat to obscure his face – Maximus couldn’t even be sure he was awake or not.

“I guess, with that in mind, we owe you thanks,” said Maximus. “You and your brother saved us out there. The least we can do,” he added pointedly, looking at Maverick, “is give them the benefit of the doubt, and be willing to chalk their arrival up to a coincidence.”

“I like to think fate leads everyone where they’re meant to be,” Caram offered, shrugging. “How else could Raist and I gain a teacher like Nagata, long retired from his academy days, willing to take us on as his students?”

Maximus smiled wryly. “With all due respect, I’m not one to believe in fate,” he said.

“Me neither,” added Maverick. “Luck, yes, fate or destiny or all that mumbo jumbo. Ha. Leave that crap for the human world and their spiritualist junk.”

“Like cults or faiths have never existed here?” Caram asked pointedly.

“Stay on topic,” Maximus cut in. “The next issue is, what do we do now? Those hounds are still out there.”

“We definitely need to warn the village,” Caram offered. “Those howls could be heard all the way from the mill. If they’re bold enough to come that close… It’s only a matter of time.”

“You think they’re going to come here?” Maverick asked, suddenly losing his suspicion of Caram as he focused on the Wizardmon’s words.

“Maybe, but even if they don’t, they’re close enough to be a problem,” Caram replied.

“Yeah, Caram’s right,” Maximus agreed. “Those guys are lurking out there, preying on any Digimon they can catch in the woods. Unless they move on after our fight with them, they’ll just wait for the next unfortunate Digimon to wander into their clutches.”

“Exactly,” Caram concurred.

“Then the first guy we need to talk to is Xavier,” said Maverick.

“Who’s that?” Caram asked.

“Another ExVeemon like me,” Maximus said. “He’s the foreman for the foresters; our boss, to put it another way. He can get the word out.”

“Good idea,” agreed Caram, nodding. “We’d better get-”

A blood-curdling howl pierced the walls of the cottage, causing Caram’s words to die in his throat as the sound reached their ears. From his seat behind Caram, Raist’s head shot up, his pallid face growing paler as his eyes widened – a terror shared by the Veemon brothers, who looked at each other with horrified recognition.

That howl… They knew it.

No one spoke a word before Maximus – ignoring the pain in his shoulder, stood up from the bed and started to run for the door. He barely made it four steps before his vision swam and he lost his balance, nearly falling to the floor before Maverick caught him.

“Max! You shouldn’t be getting up yet!” Maverick argued.

“But the village…!” Maximus argued, even as Maverick pulled him back to the bed and forced him to sit down.

“I’ll go warn them!” Maverick replied. “You just stay here; I’ll be back!”

Ignoring his brother’s protests, Maverick turned and went to the door, his bulky form shaking the house with each step and more so as he bulled through the double doors, running out into the night even as Maximus called after him.

“I have to… Help him…!” Maximus rasped, trying to stand.

“You’re still injured!” Caram argued. “Just hold on a minute!”

Maximus snarled at him. “I can’t wait for your brother to get his strength back!”

“Then you won’t have to,” Caram replied, setting his staff aside. “Just sit still – give me five seconds.”

“What are you-?” Maximus started to ask as Caram put his hands together, then went silent when he saw the green glow encompassing his hands.

As Maximus watched, Caram parted his hands, a sphere of green energy appearing between them. With a slight push, he cast the green sphere over Maximus, who went still as a cooling sensation suddenly covered his shoulder, the pain lessening under the effects of the Wizardmon’s spell.

Turning his head and trying to see what was happening, he felt the wound on his shoulder closing. There was still a slight burning pain beneath the surface, but it became considerably less as the spell took effect, and he could feel some of his strength returning as well.

“There… That’s the best I can do,” said Caram. “I’ve at least stopped the data bleed, but I can’t speak for any internal damage. I’m sorry…”

Maximus looked at him curiously. “I thought you said your brother was the healer?”

“I never said he was the only one with some healing power,” Caram clarified. “He’s just… Much better at it than I am.”

Maximus rolled his shoulder to test it, feeling a minor pull but no flaring pain from the wound itself. With that he gave a nod of approval and stood. “Thank you,” he said to Caram. “I won’t ask you to help us protect the village, but your help has been welcome, and still would be.”

“I have to look after Raist until he recovers,” said Caram, looking at his twin.

Raist gave Maximus and apologetic look. “Sorry…”

Maximus shook his head. “Don’t be. You’ve done plenty for me,” he said. “Stay here and hide for now; kill all the lights. Make this place look deserted. If the hounds should get the better of us, that should keep them from coming this way.”

Caram nodded. “Be careful out there,” he said, offering his hand to Maximus.

Maximus grasped Caram’s hand – gently, as his hand was much larger than that of the Wizardmon’s, and shook it. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised, before he released Caram’s hand, turned and ran out the door the same way his brother had gone.

Once he was outside, Maximus spread his wings and took to the air, the bat-like wings on his back beating hard to carry him aloft as he made a beeline toward the village, passing over the trees to quicken the journey.

But it was there he saw the fires blazing; from its position, he judged it to be the location of the community hall, where the town meetings and events were usually held. It was the largest building in the village – easily recognized even from his current distance.

Pushing aside the question of what could’ve started the fire, he continued on, falling into a short dive for a burst of speed until he was over the village. There, he saw them… Not just the Black WereGarurumon or his two vampiric hound companions, but a whole pack of other canid, dark beast Digimon.

Loogamon – a dozen of them at least, making up the bulk of the invaders, ran through the village streets. Wolf-like Digimon, with dark blue fur; small, but vicious. But they paled in comparison to their evolved form – the Champion-level Loogarmon, that ran at the head of the pack. It had similar dark blue fur to its smaller packmates, but stood apart due to the dark red highlights – tufts of fur rising like pillars from the elbows of its forelegs and the tip of its tail.

With its massive forepaws clawing the earth, the Loogarmon carried itself along. Ahead, around the corner of one of the houses, came a Veedramon, roaring as the ran to meet the massive hound head on. At first, Maximus thought the Veedramon was his brother, but on closer inspection he realized that it was Avanita – the head of the village school, one of the oldest Digimon in the village…

And not a female to back down from a challenge, as the Loogarmon found as he leapt to meet her charge, only to be violently thrown back by her headbutt, sending him tumbling into the pack of the smaller Loogamon behind him. Those that avoided their leader’s fall rushed at Avanita, swarming her. Maximus could hardly believe when he saw the Veedramon fall, remembering all the times she had put rowdy students in their place with a single slap – not the least of which being him and Maverick when they were still Veemon.

“Hang on, Avanita!” he called as he dove toward the ongoing fight.

But he was too late; even as he plunged toward the throng, Avanita soon succumbed to the feverish bites and flaming breath of the Loogamon. Her body dispersed into particles of data. Feeling a surge of anger shooting through him, Maximus roared as he formed a Hearty Shatter in his mouth, and spat a barrage of fireballs at the Loogamon.

Those that took direct hits from the attacks shared Avanita’s fate, exploding into data particles. Maximus had no time to absorb the data, though, as he fell into the throng with bestial fury, landing on his feet and bursting into a Spinning Lariat, smacking aside every one of the Loogamon as they lunged at him.

He almost missed the one that hadn’t joined the group, as their body glowed brightly and began to grow… The Loogamon that had scored the killing blow on Avanita had absorbed the Veedramon’s data, and it had apparently been enough to trigger its Digivolution; even as Maximus fought off the pack, the the Loogamon evolved into another Loogarmon, howling in triumph as it emerged.

To make matters worse, the other Loogarmon was back up, and rushing to join its new comrade as their pack closed in on Maximus – even with those that he’d managed to destroy, their numbers far exceeded his own, and they had him surrounded.

‘Crap, crap, crap!’ Maximus screamed in his head, trying to force an opening in the swarming wolves to take to the air again. He’d been foolish; in his rush to help Avanita – and failing to do so, he’d put himself into a deathtrap.

Fortunately, he didn’t face it alone for long; as one of the Loogamon leapt at him, jaws wide, it was intercepted by another blue form dropping from above, landing on it with both feet and utterly crushing the wolf Digimon beneath the attack, deleting it as Maximus had done to the others. It took him only a second to recognize the other ExVeemon, particularly by the scars on his right arm and the brown sash he wore across his chest – the foreman’s sash.

“Xavier!” Maximus exclaimed.

“Getting yourself into trouble again, Max?” he asked.

Ignoring the question, Maximus saw the pack closing in again, and fired a Vee Laser from his chest, blasting one of the Loogarmon as they tried to attack Xavier from behind.

“Questions for later, boss,” Maximus offered. “Have you seen my brother?”

“No, not since this attack started,” Xavier replied, turning and facing the incoming pack with Maximus.

The pack of Loogamon seemed less eager to attack the two now, even with the pair of Loogarmon that now stood with them. Maximus allowed himself a small grin, thinking that between him and Xavier they might be able to chase off this group of invaders and give the village a chance…

That thought died though as he realized the wolves weren’t looking at him or Xavier.

“Boss, move-!”

Once again, Maximus was too late…

“Half-Moon Kick!”

From above, came the somersaulting Black WereGarurumon, falling upon Xavier like a hammer with his outstretched leg. Xavier, unprepared for the attack, had no time to defend himself as the werewolf Digimon fell upon him, knocking him to the ground and standing on him, the back of his foot on the ExVeemon’s face and pressing it into the pavement.

“Found you,” the Black WereGarurumon growled, his eyes on Maximus.

Without thinking, Maximus charged another Vee Laser, but was blindsided by one of the Loogarmon before he could discharge it, the massive wolf Digimon tackling him to the ground and biting his shoulder as they pinned him – the same shoulder that had already been hurt before. Maximus roared in agony, trying to force the creature off him to no avail.

“Hold him just for a sec,” the Black WereGarurumon commanded. “I want that one personally.”

At that, the Loogarmon released Maximus’ shoulder and looked up at the other Digimon. “You promised us equal opportunities, Talbot,” he growled. “If you get this one,” he looked at Xavier. “Then I want that one.”

The Black WereGarurumon – apparently called Talbot, shrugged. “Fair’s fair,” he said, stomping once more on Xavier’s back to wind him before he stopped off. “Dig in.”

The weight disappeared from Maximus’s back as the Loogarmon leapt off him, and fell upon the helpless Xavier as he screamed, struggling with the other wolf Digimon as Talbot casually walked away, making his way over to Maximus, who could only watch in horror, feeling sickness rising from the pit of his stomach.

In a surge of anger, Maximus scrambled to his feet. “You filthy-!” he growled as he stood before Talbot, bringing his arm up in an uppercut.

The punch never landed, as Talbot leaned out of the way, and struck back with his spiked fist, the spikes piercing Maximus’ chest in multiple places as he was knocked off his feet, growling in pain as he held himself, feeling more of his data leaking out of him.

“Now, if only that Veedramon you were with was here too,” Talbot said.

Almost as if on cue, the wall of the house behind Maximus exploded. Maverick – recognized by his severed tail as he leapt over Maximus, charged through the boards like a runaway vehicle, catching Talbot off guard from the unexpected appearance of the Veedramon. He barely managed to catch Maverick’s open jaws as he tried to bite the Black WereGarurumon’s head off, his feet skidding over the pavement.

Suddenly, the inside of Maverick’s open mouth glowed; Talbot’s eyes widened in horrified realization. He had no time to get out of the way as the V-Nova Blast exploded from Maverick’s mouth, the large beam of concentrated heat burning into Talbot’s chest and sending him skidding backward even as he tried to plant his feet.

Talbot howled in pain as the heat beam burned into his chest, his harness burning away and sending the leather pauldron on his shoulder tumbling to the ground, its severed harness smouldering. By the time Maverick ran out of breath and had to stop his attack, a visible scar was left on Talbot’s chest; the fur had burned away to bare skin around his pectrorals, leaving a blackened scorch mark, and filling the air with the stench of burning hair.

Talbot’s head was lowered as he clutched his chest, growling first in pain… Then, in vengeful fury as he raised his head and glared at Maverick. His eyes seemed to glow with murder as he glared at the Veedramon, standing between him and Maximus as he had only an hour before, when they first met.

This time, though, nothing could save Maverick from Talbot’s wrath. He held out his arms as his claws glowed with power. Maximus recognized the attack, and tried to warn his brother to run, even as he struggled to stand, reaching for Maverick, intending to pull him out of the way.

For the last time… He was too late…

“Kaiser. NAIL!” Talbot roared, slashing both claws outward. Twin trails of crimson light burst forth, crossing in midair to form a blazing red X.

Maverick didn’t flinch. Whether or not he knew Maximus was behind him, he planted his feet and crossed his arms to brace for impact. The Kaiser Nail struck him dead-on, searing into his scales and hurling him backward—straight into Maximus.

The two brothers were launched like ragdolls, crashing through the outer wall of the nearby house. Maximus felt the air driven from his lungs as Maverick’s weight slammed into him, sandwiching him against the wooden wall - just before it gave way with a splintering crack.

Darkness and chaos followed. Maximus tumbled through dust and broken beams, his back slamming into something solid—furniture? No, the central support column. A heartbeat later, the ceiling groaned and came down. He barely had time to throw up his arms before heavy rafters and debris rained onto him, crushing him into the floor.

When the thunder of the collapse faded, Maximus was pinned. A massive beam lay across his chest, grinding pain into his ribs with every breath. He coughed, tasting copper – Digimon didn’t bleed, but the same sensations felt by living beings were shared by them. He knew then that something inside had broken.

Still, his first thought wasn’t for himself. “Maverick!” he rasped, straining to lift the beam. “Talk to me, bro! Are you okay?”

No answer. Gritting his teeth, Maximus stretched out a leg and found his brother—scaly shoulder, unmoving. Fear twisted in his gut.

Then came the creak of shifting wood. Roof tiles crunched under heavy feet. Maximus froze. He didn’t need to see who it was. He felt Talbot’s presence like a shadow falling over his soul.

But then, he did see him, rising from the wreckage, his large paw curled around something limp. Maverick seemed the scene of a bad motor vehicle accident, dangling from Talbot’s paw with data leaking from torn wounds – especially on his arms that had been mangled by Talbot’s attack before. His limbs barely twitched, and he couldn’t manage much more than a groan.

Talbot raised his other claw, eyes glowing with malice. “And this time,” he growled, voice like gravel, “you’re deleted.”

Maximus tried to cry out in defiance before he saw Talbot’s claws pierce into Maverick’s chest, twisting sharply. Maverick tensed, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream before his body burst into a shower of particles. Maximus felt something rupture inside him—not just grief, but a sickening hollowness that spread through his chest like ice water. He could only stare as Maverick's form dissolved into motes of light.

And then—even worse—those scattered data particles were pulled into Talbot’s waiting body, absorbed like stolen breath. Maximus watched, numb, as his brother’s essence was devoured.

Talbot’s face twisted into something obscene: a slow, satisfied smile, eyes half-lidded like someone savoring a rich meal. “Ah,” he sighed, almost dreamily. “Now that’s the stuff.”

Then came the grin. Wide. Sharp. Cruel. His laughter was low and content, echoing softly through the debris.

“Now… where’s that other one?”

Terror gripped Maximus like a vice, clamping down harder than the beam across his chest. His breath caught in his throat. The pain that burned through his ribs became secondary—distant. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t even dare breathe.

Please… don’t see me.

The thought stunned him the moment it surfaced. He didn’t know why he felt that way—when he’d started to feel that way. Until now, even knowing Talbot was far stronger, an Ultimate while he was only a Champion, Maximus had stood his ground. He’d been ready to fight. Even ready to die.

But watching Maverick perish had broken something deep inside him.

Now, fear gripped him completely. Not for someone else. For himself.

Every creak of the shattered beams beneath Talbot’s feet made Maximus flinch inwardly, his pulse pounding in his throat. Each slow inhale the Black WereGarurumon took—sniffing the air for a trace of his scent—was torture. He held his breath, certain that this would be the moment Talbot found him.

The moment he died.

“Hm… Can’t smell him over the smoke,” Talbot muttered, wiping his nose. “Must’ve slipped away, or got crushed under the house… In which case, I’ll never get his data now.” He huffed. “Whatever. There’s plenty more where he came from. Let’s see if there’s anyone else in this miserable hamlet worth my time.”

With that, Talbot departed, leaving the pinned Maximus where he lay, helpless… But alive, for the moment.

Maximus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief was fleeting—his body lit up with pain the moment tension left it. The broken ribs screamed again, sharp and suffocating. He bit down on the cry that threatened to escape, terrified that if he made a sound, Talbot would return to finish what he’d started.

Hands trembling, he gripped the beam across his chest and pushed with everything he had left.

It didn’t move. He tried again. Nothing—except a fresh jolt of agony that forced a choked moan from his throat. Tears welled up and spilled down his face as the truth crashed in on him.

Maverick was gone. His brother… dead. Xavier, his employer, was almost certainly the same. And Avanita—he hadn’t reached her in time. He’d tried. And failed.

Even if he did manage to free himself… what then? Talbot would hunt down and execute everyone in the village; every Veemon, ExVeemon and Veedramon, no matter how hard they fought, he’d kill them all… There was no one left…

He was alone.

His arms gave out. The beam remained, unmoved. Maximus let them fall limp at his sides. His breath trembled. Then, slowly, he closed his eyes… and let the dark take him as the data – the lifeblood of Digimon, flowed out of his body…

For a long time, Maximus felt nothing.

Then… warmth. And cold. A strange contrast, like waking in a cold sweat under heavy blankets. The pain was gone—but the exhaustion remained. He was so tired. Yet slowly, awareness crept back in, like sunlight through fog.

His eyes opened.

Above him: familiar wooden rafters. Hanging from one, the brass idol of Magnamon, its shine dulled by dust but still comforting. He’d owned it for years. It had always been the first thing he liked to see when he woke up.

Realization sank in—home. He was in his bed. In his house.

Was it all a dream? The hounds. The attack. Talbot. Maverick…

A wave of relief flooded him, unearned but overwhelming. Heart racing, he sat up—weakly, but driven by hope—and turned toward Maverick’s bed.

It was empty.

“He must’ve already got up,” he muttered.

Then froze.

His voice. It was… off. Higher. Younger. Like it had been before his Digivolution. Had his throat been injured?

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a voice from nearby. Not Maverick.

Maximus turned, squinting. A tall figure stood beside him—familiar robes, veiled face.

“Caram?” he croaked. “What… What happened?”

The Wizardmon’s eyes widened, as if he’d seen a ghost. Silence stretched between them until Maximus broke it.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Caram’s voice faltered. “W-Wait. Are you… Maverick?”

“No,” Maximus said, frowning. “The other one. I’m Maximus.”

He raised a hand to point at himself—and stopped.

Five fingers. No claws. Smooth blue skin where the heavy knuckle spikes used to be.

His breath caught.

Frantically, he touched his face—no horn, just a tiny nub on the tip of his nose. His wings… gone. He reached back. His tail—short. Useless. The long, heavy appendage he’d once used to strike and balance had vanished into something stunted.

“No,” he whispered, heart sinking. “No… It can’t be…”

He’d devolved.

He was… a Veemon.

The realization struck like a slap. His breathing quickened—shallow, erratic. His limbs trembled beneath the covers, he felt his eye twitching and his hands shaking.

No. No, no, no…!

He threw off the blanket and scrambled to the edge of the bed, his hands fumbling at his chest, arms, back—desperate to find proof it wasn’t true. But the familiar weight of his wings, the strength in his limbs, even the curve of his tail—gone.

“What’s happening to me?” he gasped, voice cracking.

Caram stepped forward, holding up his hands in a gesture for calm. “Maximus, wait—don’t panic—”

His efforts proved futile, though, as the ExVeemon – or rather, Vee_mon, blurted out. “_I’ve devolved!” His voice was teetering on the edge of a sob. “Why? How?!”

And then, like ice water down his spine, the memories returned.

The house. The beam. The crushing weight. Talbot.

Talbot. His brother’s voice. The data. The—

He staggered, catching himself on the bedframe. His knees buckled beneath him, not just from weakness, but from the sudden weight of truth.

It wasn’t a dream.

Maverick was dead. Xavier. Avanita.

Gone.

His breath left him in a single, broken exhale… He lost all feeling in his legs, falling to his knees, and before he knew it, tears streamed from his eyes as he stared at his hands… The small, weak hands of a Rookie Digimon…

“It all happened,” he said, his voice breaking. “Maverick… My brother…”

Caram lowered his hands, his voice sympathetic as he spoke. “Maximus… I’m so sorry,” he said.

Any resolve Maximus had left vanished in that moment… He threw back his head and wailed, feeling the tears flowing freely down his face, down his neck and to his chest, shuddering with every sob.

It had all been real... Every moment of it… The village, and all of his kind, had perished…

Maverick was gone.

His brother was gone.

He was alone…

FOOTNOTE : I know in the Digimon Wiki it says Sorcerimon can’t learn healing moves like Magic Heal, which Wizardmon does learn naturally. However, in the game Digimon: Cyber Sleuth, Sorcerimon is capable of learning an attack called X-Heal, and Wizardmon can learn no healing moves in that game. So, for this setup they both can learn some healing moves and it shall come down to user skill.

Also, has anyone picked up on the naming conventions of the cast? Do let me know in the comments, please!

A troubled sleep awaited Maximus that night…

Throughout the entirety of the day, he recalled the attack on the village. He failed attempt to save Avanita – the Veedramon who had once been his teacher, helping him and his brother learn how to fight. Xavier, his employer, who paid his wages and managed his schedule. These were people who had helped him – and many others in the village, find their way to a prosperous life…

But worst of all, was the death of Maverick… His brother – nest mates when they were born, growing up together when they had both become DemiVeemon, raised in the Veemon Village. They had been inseparable, facing every challenge together.

Time and again he saw it… Talbot’s claws impaling Maverick’s chest. He saw Maverick’s eyes looking at him desperately in his nightmares, pleading him to save him and failing to do so every time – he knew that this wasn’t what happened, but his mind conjured the images in his sleep, seeming intent on torturing him.

To top it off, when he snapped awake from his haunting dreams, he found himself in an alien body… He was still unsure how it happened – what had turned him back into a Veemon, reverting from his Champion stage back to a Rookie-level Digimon.

He had hoped, when he woke up this time, that he might be back to normal – that he’d be an ExVeemon again. But seeing he was still lying in an oversized bed told him otherwise.

As Maximus stared at his hands, he felt tears burning his eyes again. He had thought by now that he’d have had no more to cry but continued to surface. He didn’t care when Caram and Raist walked in, nor that they saw him in such a weakened state.

Caram approached cautiously, carrying a bucket between his hands. “We… Brought you some water,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Maximus lied, wiping his eyes. In truth, he hadn’t eaten or drank anything since he’d woken up the day before, thinking he’d be unable to stomach anything.

Caram, wisely, didn’t press him, setting the bucket aside. “Maximus… I’m not going to say I understand what you’re going through,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Raist. I-”

“It’s not just my brother I lost!” Maximus snapped. “I lost everyone! My whole village is gone – everyone I knew for my entire life is deleted! I watched two of the people who practically raised me get consumed by those wolves; I even saw one of them achieve Digivolution with my former teacher’s data!”

He slammed his fists on the bed. “Don’t you get it? Everything is gone… My brother is dead, and he’s never coming back, and that wretched creep, Talbot… It’s all his doing!”

“Talbot?” Caram asked. “The Black WereGarurumon?”

“I heard one of the Loogarmon refer to him by name,” replied Maximus. “I’m never going to forget it…” he added through clenched teeth. “Because someday, somehow… I’m going to get my original body back… I’m going to find him…”

He threw back his head and screamed. “ _AND I’M GOING TO KILL HIM_!”

Caram and Raist left Maximus alone for a while, giving him time to calm himself before they would attempt to talk to him again. When the re-entered the house, the found him sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.

His expression was dark… No joy remained behind those red eyes; his brow was contorted into a deep scowl. But his tears had dried…

As Caram and Raist approached, Maximus didn’t look at them, but he still acknowledged their presence by voicing a question. “Why are you still here? There’s nothing left for you guys… There’s nothing left for anyone.”

“We… Don’t want you to be alone,” the normally quiet Raist answered.

“…Everyone’s gone. How much more ‘alone’ could I be?” Maximus asked, bitterly.

“We want to help you,” Caram added.

That earned Maximus’ look, turning his head to regard the twins. They could see the seething hatred behind his eyes; they both felt a sense of apprehension as that rage-filled gaze settled on them.

“And how exactly would you do that?”

“Our master might know something – some way that could help you get your body back,” Caram offered. “He is wise and powerful, and he… Well…”

“He’s seen this phenomenon before, when a Digimon suffers such extensive harm that they’re forced to revert back to a previous stage,” Raist added.

“Raist!” Caram scolded him. “I don’t think we have any right to share that information! That is between Nagata and his sister!”

“Sister?” Maximus asked, arching an eyebrow this time. “Explain… What could they know about why I’ve turned back into a Veemon?”

At Caram’s glare, Raist stayed silent. “It’s not our story to tell,” said Caram. “But yes, Master Nagata has a sister, and she suffered the same ailment that has befallen you. That’s all I will say for now.”

“How exactly does this help me?” Maximus asked, the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes were equally intense.

“Maybe Master Nagata knows how to reverse it,” Caram offered. “That’s why we’d like to offer to let you join us, to go see him.”

Maximus’ gaze fell to the floor, considering the proposal. For a moment, he wanted to refuse, to tell the brothers to leave without him, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood… What did he have to lose?

“Fine,” he said finally.

He turned his attention to the bucket of water sitting on the floor where Caram had left it, considering it for a moment before he picked it up, brought it to his lips, and began to drink, swallowing one mouthful after another until he drained the entire bucket, and then let it fall to the floor.

With that, he stood, holding his head high as he regarded the twins. “Lead the way.”

”You… Don’t want time to think about it?” Raist asked, cautiously.

“There is nothing to think about,” Maximus returned. “There’s nothing here for me now… If Nagata can help me, and there’s a way to return to my original form, then I have to take the chance.”

He looked at his hands, scowling as he considered how weak he must be by now, reduced to this tiny, insignificant form as he was. He’d never get his revenge like this; if he attempted to confront Talbot in this body the Black WereGarurumon would effortlessly crush him.

If it was vengeance he wanted – and he knew he did, then this was the only way to achieve it.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning and walking toward the door, passing between the brothers as he did.

From outside the cottage door, Maximus moved with purpose, heading toward the main road. The twins hurried to catch up, falling into step beside him. Though he was smaller in this form, his stride was unwavering, each step driven by something deeper than strength.

Their path took them past the village ruins. What had once been a thriving home was now a graveyard of memories — shattered timbers, collapsed roofs, and the charred skeletons of homes still smouldering in places. Not a flicker of life remained.

Maximus kept his gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge the destruction. He said nothing as Caram and Raist murmured behind him, taking in the scene with quiet horror. The Veemon pushed onward, jaw tight.

But as they passed the last ruined house and the road began to rise, something inside him faltered.

He stopped.

His feet rooted themselves to the earth, as if the land itself wouldn’t let him go. Caram and Raist, several steps ahead, only noticed when silence fell behind them. They turned, finding Maximus still as stone, staring at the grass beneath his feet.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

His eyes turned back to the village. And for the first time since they’d left the cottage, his hardened expression softened — not with peace, but with something like mourning.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. He simply stood there, letting the wind pass through him as he looked back… knowing it might be the last time he ever saw his home.

Caram and Raist said nothing, letting him take as long as he needed to say his final goodbyes to his home and everyone he’d known. But when he finally turned and stepped over to rejoin him, they didn’t miss that a tear had found its way to his eye once again…

~~~~~

Maximus smelled the mirelands long before he saw them. The thick stench of stagnant water, algae, and peat moss clung to the air like a wet blanket, reeking of spoiled fruit rotting in a flooded field.

He rubbed his nose, trying not to gag as the odour grew stronger. When the bogs finally came into view; hazy shapes through a veil of fog and towering reed that made his stomach turn. Algae-choked pools dotted the mossy terrain, and beyond them, he could just make out the drooping silhouettes of weeping willows.

“Disgusting,” Maximus muttered, rubbing his nose again. “Why in the world does Nagata live out here?”

“I think he likes the solitude,” Raist offered with a shrug.

Maximus shook his head. “Hope he’s worth it,” he grumbled. “How far is it?”

“About a mile. Straight ahead,” said Caram.

Maximus eyed the path ahead. The broken patches of dry land between the murky pools looked uneven at best, seeing no clear way to cross. “How do we get across? Do you guys just… float over?”

“Well… yeah,” Caram admitted. “We do. You, uh... might have a harder time.”

Maximus gave him a flat look, raising the brow of one of his eyes at the Wizardmon. “You didn’t plan for this, did you?”

Caram winced, looking embarassed. “Guess I didn’t.”

“Not to worry,” Raist cut in. “I’ll freeze the pools. You can walk across.”

Caram brightened at the suggestion. “Hey, good idea, brother!”

Maximus sighed. “Better than nothing,” he said. “Any chance we’re going to run into something out here? Anything that bites?”

“Maybe a few Insectoid Digimon. A couple Mushroomon get territorial,” Caram said. “But most out here keep to themselves. Stick close and you’ll be fine.”

Maximus rolled his eyes. He wasn’t used to relying on others—not since he’d Digivolved into ExVeemon. But now...

He glanced at his smaller hands, his stubby tail. No wings. No claws. Just the rookie form he’d worked so hard to grow out of. It stung his pride, admitting he needed help again.

“Alright… Let’s get over there before we lose too much light,” Maximus suggested, noting the position of the sun, gauging they had two hours, maybe less, before dusk.

“Good idea,” agreed Caram.

Raist stepped forward and gripped his staff with both hands, holding it upright and planting the base into the ground. With that, he called, “Crystal Cloud!” and summoned a small blizzard, summoning a flurry of snow, ice, and shiver-inducing wind that made Maximus hold and rub himself in an attempt to keep warm.

He heard the ice forming as it froze the pools, creating sheets of shining crystal across the marshes, forming atop the many stagnant pools. It didn’t reach all the way to the trees, but it covered a respectable distance.

When the ice shower stopped, Raist stepped onto the nearest frozen patch, testing it with his weight. It creaked ominously, but held firm. He gave a small nod to Maximus.

“It should be safe for you to cross now.”

Maximus nodded and stepped forward, murmuring a quick thanks. His foot met the ice with caution. Behind him, Raist lifted into the air, hovering just above the path, joined a moment later by Caram. The twins floated ahead, gliding easily, their robes billowing like sails as they cleared the route at a leisurely pace.

Maximus took another step—and nearly wiped out.

His feet skidded out from under him, arms flailing. Only by planting one foot sideways did he catch himself, heart thudding. He let out a breath and set off again, much slower now, planting each step with deliberate care.

The gap between him and the twins widened.

They drifted on, engaged in quiet conversation, their voices indistinct over the squelch and creak of the swamp. Maximus scowled, his arms slightly out to keep balance, the chill seeping through his feet with every step.

This is humiliating, he thought, darkly. He glanced up at the brothers, flying so effortlessly. “Damn, I miss my wings,” he muttered, his voice low and bitter.

There was a sudden splash to his right.

Before Maximus could react, something hurled itself at him from the water, slamming into his side and coiling two slick, leathery arms around his torso. The impact knocked the wind from him. Whatever it was, it matched his size and weight—and it stank, a sickly, rotting stench like mouldy compost and spoiled fruit.

“Hungry hand,” a voice rasped against his ear.

A sickly green glow pulsed from the creature’s arms, and Maximus felt it at once—his strength bleeding away in faint streams of energy drawn from his body and into theirs. His muscles sagged, his breath caught.

No—

He thrashed instinctively, slamming an elbow backward. It connected with something solid and soft—flesh or bark, he couldn’t tell—and the grip loosened just enough for him to break free.

The attacker stumbled back onto the ice, and Maximus got a good look.

For a heartbeat, it looked like a Palmon: a bipedal plant Digimon with lanky limbs and a blooming flower atop its head. But something was wrong. The flower was a wilted violet, not pink, its eyes were hollow and dark, and its whole body had a slimy sheen. It reeked of decay.

Maximus didn’t know what Digimon this was, but he immediately moved to attack, reflexively calling up the Vee Laser, arms out and chest forward as he had done many times before…

Nothing.

The realization hit him like a stone: he couldn’t use it anymore.

That moment of hesitation was all the creature needed. “Entangling Ivy!”

With a snap of its limbs, the Aruraumon launched tendrils from its fingers. They lashed out, fast as snakes, wrapping around Maximus’ arms and chest. The vines constricted with cruel precision, locking him in place before he could dodge or break free.

He growled and slammed his fists against them, but the vines held fast. The creature began reeling him in, its feet skimming across the ice as it dragged him closer, inch by inch.

Maximus strained, heels slipping, panic starting to claw its way up his spine.

“Thunder Ball!” Caram’s voice rang out, followed by a flash of light. A crackling orb of electricity arced through the fog and struck the unusual Palmon square in the chest.

The plant Digimon screeched and stumbled backward, losing its balance and tumbling into the water with a splash. But the vines didn’t release.

Instead, they tightened, pulling Maximus toward the edge. He skidded across the slick ice, grasping for anything—reeds, roots, something—but they broke in his hands, and the ice gave no grip. His feet slid out from under him as the murky swamp loomed ever closer.

Another hand seized his wrist—and at last, Maximus stopped sliding.

“I’ve got you!” Raist shouted, bracing himself.

Maximus looked up and grunted as the vines around his torso constricted again. He couldn’t tell if the Aruraumon was still pulling or if its dead weight was dragging him under. Either way, he wasn’t safe yet.

Caram descended in a swift motion and slashed at the vines with the sun-shaped head of his staff. The sharp edges cut through the tendrils one by one until Maximus finally broke free. The severed vines recoiled like worms, slithering back across the ice and disappearing beneath the surface.

“Are you alright?” Caram asked, moving to stand beside him.

“Y-Yeah,” Maximus said, panting. “What was that? It looked like a Palmon, but…”

“That was an Aruraumon,” Raist said grimly. “A sister-species to Palmon. But this one’s Virus-type - and a predator. It feeds on the energy of anything it can snare.”

Noticed that, Maximus thought bitterly. He shot the twins a glare. “You didn’t say there were things like that out here.”

“We didn’t know,” Caram said quickly. “We always use our magic to levitate over the swamp; we’ve never had to walk it before. How were we supposed to know something like that was hiding under the surface?”

Maximus growled, frustration boiling over. “Well, that little oversight nearly got me turned into plant food!”

“Don’t take it out on us!” Caram snapped back, eyes flashing. “If we’d known, we would’ve warned you!”

Maximus clenched his fists, ready to fire back—but then stopped. He exhaled through gritted teeth, realizing he was being unfair. “You’re right…” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I just… I lost my temper.”

Raist stepped in calmly, casting a side glance at his brother to stop any further retort. “You’re still recovering. It’s natural. And I know you’ve only just met us, Maximus, but believe me - we’re trying to help you.”

Maximus nodded slowly. “I know,” he said. “…Thank you. That’s twice now you’ve saved my life.”

Caram smirked, his irritation already fading. “We’ll collect on all those debts later.” He looked warily around the mist-choked bog. “For now, let’s move before that thing - or something worse - comes crawling out of the muck.”

Maximus and Raist both nodded in agreement. This time, when the brothers levitated, they stayed directly above Maximus and did not rush ahead, in case they had any other unwelcome encounters.

~~~~~

Once the trio entered the trees, the air grew even stiller—and far more humid. The warmth clung to Maximus like a wet shroud, coating his scales with a constant, clammy film. He grimaced, wiping his brow.

“Ugh. I feel like my skin’s slimy,” he muttered. He glanced at Raist and Caram, both draped in thick robes and capes, somehow looking unbothered. “How are you two not melting in those jumpsuits?”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” Caram grumbled, rolling his shoulders. “Raist cheats. He’s cooling himself off with magic.”

Raist gave a lazy twirl of his finger in the air. “Not cheating if it’s a skill I’ve earned.”

Caram scoffed. “And yet you never offer to share.”

“I’m not a ceiling fan, Caram. Making a bubble of cool air around all of us would take serious energy—and I am trying to stay alert in case something else jumps out of the water.”

“So you could help. You just don’t want to.”

“Oh, come on,” Raist said, exasperated. “That’s not fair. If I could do it without exhausting myself, I would.”

“You haven’t even tried.”

The familiar rhythm of their bickering brought a small smile to Maximus’s face. He said nothing, letting their voices wash over him. It reminded him of sparring matches with Maverick—how they’d argue over tactics, insults flying between blows, but never without a thread of affection under it all.

His chest tightened at the thought of his brother… The weight of the swamp lingered; the stink of rot, the thick air pressing against him. But for a moment, the banter gave him a strange sort of comfort. Maybe not all bonds had to be left behind…

‘I miss you, little bro,’ he thought – not for the first time, feeling the sting of a tear in his eye again.

“Wait…” Raist suddenly held out his arm, halting the others. His eyes locked onto a tree off to the left, staring so intently it was as if he expected it to move.

“What is it?” Caram asked, his voice low.

“I’m not sure,” Raist replied, his gaze unwavering. “I saw… something.”

All three turned their eyes to the spot, watching the shadows beneath the twisted branches. For a moment, nothing moved—then Maximus heard a faint rustle from the opposite direction. He spun around, just in time to glimpse a flicker of green slipping behind another tree.

“We’re not alone,” he said grimly.

A heavy silence fell. Every snapping twig, every shifting leaf now felt like it could mean danger. Maximus glanced back at the tree he'd spotted earlier—and this time, he saw it clearly: one of the vines twitched. It wasn’t the wind.

“How far to Nagata’s place?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

“About another twenty minutes if we walked,” Caram replied. “There’s a cottage on an islet ahead. Straight through.”

“Then we need to move. Fast,” said Maximus. “Something’s following us—I can feel it.”

“Agreed,” Raist said quickly. “This way—go!”

The twins turned and took off, their capes fluttering behind them as they darted through the foggy path. Maximus ran after them, feet slapping against damp roots and slick patches of moss, pushing himself to keep up despite the limitations of his small body.

Then the swamp behind them came alive. Branches rattled. Leaves shook. And from the corner of his eye, Maximus saw a green figure swing through the canopy—long limbs, plant-like form.

Another Aruraumon? No time to be sure. He didn’t dare stop to find out. He just ran. He also had the sense it wasn’t the only one; he could hear more movement in the trees behind them. If it was another one – or even the same one that had attacked him in the marches, it had come with friends this time.

Fortunately for Maximus, reverting to a lesser form hadn’t sapped his stamina. In fact, as he ran, he felt every bit as strong as he remembered being the last time he was a Veemon. All those years of training—of pushing his limits—still echoed in this body, unchanged.

But that was exactly what troubled him.

It had taken that strength to Digivolve in the first place. If he hadn’t grown weaker… why had he devolved at all?

He had little time to think about it. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Aruraumon had caught up, and saw it swinging at an angle, ready to throw itself out at him. This time, when he felt his instincts flaring – adrenaline pumping through his veins, he mistook it for the prompt to keep running, faster; he did so, narrowly avoiding the plant Digimon as it swung out at him, trying to grab him with its vines, but missing as he kept going.

‘Damn it, I can’t keep running forever!’ he growled. ‘But how can I fight like this, in this tiny, useless body?!’

“Up ahead!” Caram shouted. “We’re almost there!”

Following where the Wizardmon pointed, Maximus spotted it—a structure, shadowed and still, resting on a tiny island wedged between two gnarled trees. It sat at the heart of a dark, unmoving lake.

With a surge of hope, Maximus pushed harder, his feet pounding across the sodden earth. That had to be it—the sanctuary for which they’d been racing. Relief built in his chest.

He darted for the shoreline.

“Wait, Max—don’t!” Raist’s voice sliced through the air. “It’s not water!”

Too late.

Maximus was already mid-step, legs pumping toward the lake’s edge. He tried to halt—skidding in the mud—but his momentum betrayed him. He stumbled, pitched forward, and vanished into the surface with a sickening splat.

Not water.

He came up choking on mud, thick and choking, as the foul taste hit his tongue. The surface that had shimmered like water was a lie—only a thin veil. Beneath it, a sucking, sticky pit of mire clung to him like claws.

Quicksand.

Eyes stinging, Maximus struggled to clear the sludge plastered across his face. The mud licked up his legs and tail, greedy and fast. By the time he could blink clearly, it was already around his abdomen.

“Not good, not good!” he muttered, forcing himself to go still—remembering, somewhere in the back of his mind, not to fight it. Panic would only make it worse.

“Hang on, Maximus!” Caram called, already in the air and moving toward him. “If I can just—agh!”

Something lashed out, interrupting the Wizardmon. A thick, dark-green vine-like appendage whipped down from above, striking hard and fast. It coiled tight around Caram’s waist and yanked, the Wizardmon vanishing from sight in an instant, yelping as he was pulled away from the horrified Veemon.

Maximus gasped. “Caram?!” He twisted instinctively to look—but the shift made the quicksand suck tighter, pulling him in another inch. Gritting his teeth, he froze.

Above the squelching of the muck came another sound—shouts, movement, the snap of magic colliding with something living.

“Brother!” Raist’s voice cried out, filled with alarm—but Maximus couldn’t see him. Only the trees, shadows moving between the branches… and something else watching them.

A trap. They had walked straight into a trap.

Maximus could feel the mire climbing—thick and unrelenting, sucking him down by degrees. His arms twitched instinctively, but every motion only hastened the pull of the swamp. The illusion of water was gone now, replaced by the harsh reality of the cold, viscous muck inching higher and higher.

It was at his chest now. Heavy. Clinging. The chill of it seeped into his skin and bones, a biting cold that made his muscles lock and his breathing shallow. The filmy layer of water skimmed just beneath his chin, rippling slightly with each shuddering breath.

“Raist… Caram…” he whispered. But he already knew they were still fighting, their cries echoing faintly above the swamp; they couldn’t help him now…

He tilted his head back, trying to keep his mouth above the waterline as it lapped at his lips. His eyes stung with sweat and muck, but he dared not close them. If he did… if he let go…

No. Not like this.

He gritted his teeth. The urge to thrash, to scream, to do something pulsed through him—but that would only bury him faster. He had seconds left. Maybe less.

His next breath came out a sputter. Mud filled his ears. The waterline reached his jaw. He was sure that this would soon be his end…

Then, a sound. Behind him; a splash.

For an instant, he hoped that maybe one of the brothers were coming to his aid. Until he felt them—tendrils, slick and cold as death, curling around his arms and his chest.

He barely had time to brace before they yanked. The strength of the pull was immense; his legs tore free of the suction with a squelch so loud it popped in his ears. He gasped as air rushed back into his lungs, just in time for the impact as he hit solid ground to drive it from him once again. His back struck the shore with a bruising thud, stars bursting behind his eyelids.

He tried to rise, but something was already climbing onto him. Another Araraumon – or, for all he knew it was the same one that had ambushed him in the marshes. Its weight pinned him down, and its reeking breath curled across his face as it grinned down at him with sick delight. Before he could fight back, he heard it hiss its attack:

“Hungry hands,” it said, with sadistic glee.

It came; the same sickening sensation from before—like his life was being siphoned out of him through every nerve. He could feel the strength leaving his limbs His breath came short. The vines tightened, the plant Digimon’s long fingers wrapping and coiling like a vice. He snarled and tried to push the creature off, but its limbs had latched onto him like anchors.

The Araraumon only smiled wider, savouring the moment. Its eyes gleamed as it watched him weaken.

His muscles twitched. His vision blurred. Rage flared in his gut.

No. He would not let this happen.

“I am not dying here,” he growled through clenched teeth.

With a burst of fury, he snapped his arms up and grabbed it by the head. The Araraumon blinked, its smile faltering—confusion blooming across its face.

Then Maximus pulled himself up, his core muscles straining, and slammed his forehead into the Digimon’s face with a crack that echoed through the trees. If it had a nose, he was certain it had just been flattened.

The Araraumon reeled back, stunned—and the draining stopped. Maximus didn’t.

He lunged, teeth bared, wrapping his arms around its throat and rolling them over, planting the Araraumon beneath him. With a savage snarl, he drew back his fist—and struck.

Once. Twice. Three times. Each punch tore loose petals and bits of plant matter. The Araraumon shrieked, trying to escape, but Maximus kept going, fists hammering down like thunder.

Then, he stood, ignoring the weakness of his legs to force himself back onto his feet. The vines still clung to him, twitching. With a growl, he grabbed them, all of them clutched between his hands, heaved, and swung.

The Araraumon became a blur, whipping through the air like a spiked flail. Round and round—faster—until the vines snapped, and the plant Digimon was launched high, flailing, before vanishing into the muck of the lake with a distant splat.

Maximus panted, chest heaving. His arms were trembling, not from fear, but from the surge of battle energy crackling through him.

A snarl. He spun. Another Araraumon rushed him with vines already flaring out to snatch him, arms wide open, all but announcing its intention to take him into its grasp and drain him like the previous one.

Maximus didn’t hesitate. He dropped low, bent his knees, and leapt, fist drawing back, glowing faintly with power.

“Vee Knockout!”

His punch met the creature’s face like a freight train. The momentum stopped cold, and then reversed. With a strangled cry, the Araraumon flew backward, vines flailing, before slamming into a tree trunk with a crack, where it crumpled and slid to the base, dazed.

Maximus landed hard, fists clenched, breath burning in his chest. But his eyes were sharp and blazing with instinct; he already scanning the battlefield, searching for his next opponent.

He spotted them.

Two more of the plant Digimon. At first glance, he thought they were Vegiemon; they had the same gnarled, leafy bodies and dangling vine arms. But these were darker, more twisted. Their eyes weren’t red, but a sickly, gleaming yellow. There was something meaner about them. Something worse.

One had its vines coiled around Caram, wrestling the Wizardmon to the ground, trying to wrap a length around his throat to strangle him. Meanwhile in his hands was his staff, currently pushed against the creature, trying to force it off him, unable to concentrate on an attack over its constricting vines around his chest and neck.

Maximus didn’t hesitate.

He charged. “Vee Headbutt!” he roared, his head glowing faintly as he threw all his weight behind the lunge.

Crack! He struck the creature squarely in the side, sending it toppling and breaking its grip on Caram. The Wizardmon rolled free with a gasp, coughing, but alive.

Maximus turned to face the plant Digimon he’d knocked away. It snarled at him—low and guttural, like a reptile—and raised its long, green tendrils, waving them threateningly as it glared at the Veemon with feral hunger.

He spat in the dirt and raised his fists. It looked like a Champion-level. Probably was stronger than him.

It didn’t matter; so what if he didn’t stand a chance? “Bring it on!” he growled, ready to fight.

The creature lunged first, one vine cracking through the air like a whip. Maximus ducked and rolled, narrowly dodging, then sprang up into a leaping punch.

“Vee Knockout!”

His fist struck true, right between the eyes. The Digimon staggered, skidding back—but didn’t fall. Its yellow eyes narrowed. It struck back.

Before Maximus could dodge again, vines coiled around him—tight. His left arm was pinned. Then his chest. His neck. He tried to swing his free arm, but the grip only tightened. The plant Digimon yanked him in, snarling, its breath hot and foul. Maximus gritted his teeth as the coils cinched harder.

He couldn’t breathe. And worse—he felt it again . That horrible draining sensation. His strength leaking away. The same sickening pull he’d felt from the Araraumon.

“Not... again…” he choked, straining against the binds.

He punched it in the face—once, twice, again—but each strike was weaker than the last. The creature only laughed. A low, evil chuckle that vibrated through its body.

It was winning.

The vine tightened again. Maximus's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the ground slipping out from under him, or maybe it was just the strength bleeding from his limbs. His vision blurred. The sounds of the battle around him dulled, like they were being smothered by the vines closing in.

A sound.

Sharp. Clean. Like paper slicing air.

The pressure around his chest loosened slightly. A second sound followed, like wind catching fire.

Maximus gasped as the vines uncoiled, retreating with a suddenness that nearly toppled him. The plant Digimon screeched—not in pain, but in shock. The air turned still. Unnaturally still. The swamp fell silent, as if holding its breath.

Red talismans fluttered through the trees like falling leaves—each one glowing faintly, burning with strange, angular script. They landed without touching the ground, hovering just above the earth.

And then he saw him.

A figure standing at the edge of the lake-like mire, half-shrouded in shadow and mist. Long, flowing robes trailed from his form, and from his waist hung a ceremonial cloth inscribed with sacred markings. A sharp, tall hat crowned his head, casting his face in shadow—save for the gleam of piercing eyes beneath it.

The creature didn't move. He didn't have to.

One of the talismans ignited, and with a flash of light, the second Vegiemon-like Digimon was sent flying, hurled backward by an unseen force and slammed into a tree with a crunch.

Maximus stared.

Raist coughed in surprise. “M-Master…?”

The figure stepped forward, slow and measured. The red seals followed him like loyal servants. Ahead, the plant-Digimon – more than Maximus had seen before. Thee of the Vegiemon-like creatures, and four more Araraumon, thrown haphazardly into an awkward pile, staring fearfully at the Doumon.

With a wave of his hands, the red scrolls flew at the plant Digimon like arrows, each of them sticking to one of them; they froze in unified horror while Nagata put his paws together.

“Jugonsatsu , ” the word left Nagata's mouth like a solemn bell toll, quiet and cold.

The response was anything but.

The scrolls ignited with a sudden crack, detonating with the force of precision-placed charges. Thunderous blasts split the air, and a wall of dust erupted outward like a volcanic plume. The ground trembled beneath the force of the explosion, a concussive shockwave rippling through the earth and rushing over Maximus like a gale. He turned away, shielding his face as grit and heat tore past him.

And then—silence. When the dust began to clear, Maximus opened his eyes and froze.

Nothing remained of the twisted, snarling plant Digimon. After having almost killed him, Caram, and Raist, they were simply gone. Erased. Vaporized. The scorched crater that remained wasn’t even deep—just a shallow, smoking wound in the soil, like the earth itself had flinched from the blow.

Maximus stared, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart thudded faster, from the sheer awe settling over him like a weight. He had seen the power of an Ultimate-level Digimon before – even fought against one himself, quite recently…

But this? This was final. Cold. Effortless. Nagata hadn’t just won; he’d permanently ended the fight.

‘So glad we never got on this guy’s bad side…’ Maximus thought, pulse still pounding. And he meant every word.

Nagata’s hands fell to his sides, and he turned his stoic gaze upon Caram and Raist. “Are you well, my students?” he asked.

“Y-Yes, Master. Your timing was perfect,” said Caram.

“Thank you for saving us,” added Raist.

Then, Nagata turned his emotionless gaze upon Maximus. There was no aggression in his posture, no flare of energy, yet Maximus still felt something coil in his chest—a thread of unease that pulled taut under the weight of that silent stare. After what he’d just witnessed, the sheer scale of the Doumon’s power, even standing near him felt like straying too close to a wild storm.

He was painfully aware of how he must have looked: caked in mud from head to toe, his body marked by the bruising coils of vines, the grime of battle still clinging to him like a second skin. Yet he squared his shoulders and stood his ground. He met Nagata’s eyes, not with arrogance, but a flicker of defiance—an unwillingness to be cowed.

“I know you,” Nagata said, his eyes narrowing. “You were one of the foresters at the Vee Clan Village.”

“One of being the operative word,” Maximus replied, arching a brow. “It was the village’s primary trade, after all; I was-” He stopped, frowning. “Wait, how would you even know me? I was an ExVeemon the last time you were there, and we never even spoke!”

“I see more than just the physical body,” Nagata replied, his tone unreadable.

He lowered himself to one knee, bringing his masked face level with Maximus, as though inspecting a strange artifact. His stare, while still devoid of visible emotion, held a weight that made Maximus feel small, as though the Doumon was peering through him, layer by layer, until there was nowhere left to hide.

Maximus felt frozen. He couldn’t explain why. The memory of the blast Nagata had unleashed moments earlier was still seared into his mind, but this was different. The way he was being looked at, studied... judged. It made his limbs feel heavy and the air around him grow thicker.

“…You are incomplete,” Nagata said, finally.

From behind, Caram and Raist emerged at their master’s sides, casting uncertain glances at one another before focusing on Maximus, confusion in their eyes.

“What do you mean, master?” Raist asked.

“There is a part of this one that is missing,” Nagata said, calmly, factually, as if stating the weather.

Maximus scoffed, trying to shake off the creeping tension. “Yeah… I lost my brother; the only family I’ve ever had,” he said. “So, I feel a bit incomplete.”

“My condolences for your loss, but that is not what I am referring to,” Nagata answered.

He raised a hand, reaching toward Maximus with deliberate calm.

The Veemon flinched and tried to step back, but the hand found the crown of his head, resting there with surprising gentleness. Then, everything stilled. Maximus felt a strange sensation surge through him—like ripples through still water, passing across his skin and sinking deeper. It moved with intent, searching… probing.

Then it found something.

The moment it reached his left shoulder, a searing pain ignited - sharp and bright like fire pressed to nerve. Maximus’s eyes flew wide, his jaw clenched against a cry, and finally his instincts surged back into motion. He slapped the hand away and stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder as though it had been branded.

Nagata remained still, unshaken by Maximus’ actions. His arm lowered without resistance, and there was no trace of insult or displeasure in his demeanour. Behind him, Caram and Raist had tensed, clearly expecting a reprimand; possibly worse, but their teacher only rose to his feet in silence.

“Come,” he said simply. “We will talk in my house.”

Without waiting for a response, Nagata turned and began walking toward the lake, his long sleeves trailing slightly through the damp air as he made his way across the swampy ground, heading straight for the islet and its quiet, weathered cabin.

Caram and Raist hesitated only briefly, each glancing back at Maximus before falling into step behind their master.

Maximus lingered, his hand still pressed to his shoulder where the pain had struck deepest. The spot throbbed—not just from the burn, but from the implications of Nagata’s words. Incomplete. What had he seen?

After a moment, he took a breath and followed, his steps slow, every one weighted with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answered…

Crossing the mire was easy with the three wizards at his side. Maximus watched in awe as Nagata walked ahead, his feet gliding atop the swampy water without sinking—an impossible feat that made Maximus pause until his own foot struck something firm, though invisible. He blinked. A bridge. Another marvel of the Doumon’s magic.

Inside the cabin, the air was warm and dimly lit by the hearth’s glow. Nagata set a kettle over the fire with practiced ease, and at his word, Raist retrieved a moist towel from a basin. The Sorcerimon returned quickly, offering it to Maximus with a wordless nod.

Maximus accepted it gratefully, wiping thick streaks of dried mud from his arms and face. The heat and moisture were a balm on his aching body. When he had done all he could, Raist quietly stepped behind him and continued, dabbing away the grime from his back and tail with quiet care.

The scent of steeping tea soon filled the room—earthy and rich, like crushed leaves and damp moss. Maximus caught hints of fresh-cut grass and petrichor, that faint, nostalgic smell that came with rain on dry earth. He exhaled slowly, letting the tension ebb from his shoulders.

When the tea was ready, Nagata passed him a ceramic cup. Maximus inhaled its steam before sipping. The taste matched the scent: grounded, bitter, and oddly soothing. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he looked across at Nagata.

The Doumon sat motionless on a floor cushion, his cup cradled in his hands. Caram and Raist flanked him, each mirroring their master in posture and silence. None spoke—but Maximus could feel it. Nagata was waiting.

So, he began.

He told them everything: how the Woodmon had attacked one of the workers at the edge of the forest; how he'd tracked its trail into the deeper woods. Then came the Sangloupmon.

At the mention of the vampiric Digimon, Maximus noticed the smallest shift in Nagata’s posture—a subtle lift of the eyes, a sharpening of his focus. Maximus pressed on, recounting the vicious fight, the unexpected second Sangloupmon, and Maverick’s timely arrival to rescue him from the hounds who had been draining him of his life data.

It hurt to speak about his brother. A tightness gripped his chest as he described Maverick’s final moments. A tear welled in his eye, but he breathed in the scent of the tea again—anchoring himself—and continued.

Then came the name; Talbot – the Black WereGarurumon.

The moment it left his mouth, he noticed Nagata lower his cup, setting it on his lap with great care. His hands didn’t shake, but the intensity in his gaze deepened. He said nothing, but listened closely.

“After he attacked the village, and… killed my brother, and everyone I knew,” Maximus continued, voice thick, “he moved on. I was pinned under debris. I thought I was done for. But I woke up in my house—rescued by Caram and Raist. And…” he glanced down at himself. “Looking like this.”

Nagata’s eyes narrowed. “And you said you were an ExVeemon before?”

“Until I woke up, yeah,” Maximus said. “Your students thought you might know what happened to me. So…” He gestured loosely at the quiet, lamp-lit room around them. “Here we are.”

Nagata shut his eyes briefly, processing the tale in silence. Maximus, growing impatient, scowled. “You reacted to the name Talbot,” he said. “You know something, don’t you?”

“I cannot speak to the name,” Nagata replied evenly. “But a Black WereGarurumon... that is another matter entirely. Such a form suggests the emergence of an Oblivion Bloom — a deeply troubling sign.”

“Master, what is an Oblivion Bloom?” Caram asked, brow furrowed.

“No one truly knows,” Nagata said, taking another sip of tea. “Some claim it originates in the human world — when their ‘internet’ delves into forbidden data. Others believe it surfaces from corrupted zones deep within our own — fragments of decaying code that infect the layers above.”

“Whatever the source,” he continued, “an Oblivion Bloom is always followed by instability. If Talbot emerged from one, we may soon face others twisted by the same corruption.”

Maximus frowned. “What does that have to do with me being stuck like this?” he asked, gesturing to his smaller Veemon form. “Why can’t I Digivolve back?”

Nagata turned his eyes toward him — calm, but grave. “That may be a separate, yet equally tragic consequence,” he said. “From what you’ve described, the Sangloupmon didn’t merely drain your energy - it fed on your biodata. And more than it should have.”

Maximus blinked. “My what?”

“Digimon, like humans, are structured by code; what humans might call DNA,” Nagata explained. “But unlike them, our code — our biodata, also contains our evolutionary potential. What we are, and what we can become.”

He continued, his expression remaining unchanged. “When that Sangloupmon fed on you… it took more than data. It tore away a piece of your evolutionary blueprint. And what was lost… was the part of you that was ExVeemon.”

Maximus clenched a fist. “Then what are you saying? That I’ve… lost it?”

Nagata nodded solemnly. “You haven’t reverted to your original form,” he said quietly, “because the path forward — the code that once allowed you to Digivolve — is no longer within you.”

The words struck Maximus like a blow, harder than any Sangloupmon's fangs or Talbot’s fists. It wasn’t pain in his body — it was something deeper, something breaking inside him. His hand went slack. The tea cup slipped from his fingers, hit the wooden floor with a dull clatter, and spilled its contents across the boards.

He stared at Nagata, horror creeping into his voice. “I… can’t evolve… ever again?” He swallowed. “I’m… a Veemon… forever?”

Nagata’s eyes softened with a quiet sorrow. “I am sorry, young one,” he said, shaking his head. “I cannot say with certainty that your ability to Digivolve is gone… but I can say this with confidence: your days as an ExVeemon are over. That path, that form… has been lost to you.”

Maximus sat frozen, his expression carved in horror — eyes locked on Nagata, yet seeing something far beyond him. His life played across his mind’s eye like a film on fast-forward:

The first time he Digivolved into ExVeemon… the sudden surge of power, like lightning in his veins. The rush of air under newly formed wings, and the freedom of flight. The moment he unleashed his first Vee Laser — the buildup of energy, the crackling release, the thrill of raw strength under his command.

All of it… gone.

Memories now, nothing more.

Feelings he would never know again.

Raist finally broke the silence. “Master… is there nothing we can do?” His voice was soft, sincere — his eyes on Maximus, full of empathy, though unable to grasp the depth of that loss.

Nagata closed his eyes, the motion slow and solemn. When he opened them again, he merely shook his head. “No, my student… It is beyond our control. Beyond our power to heal.”

Maximus remained frozen, the silence stretching into what felt like an eternity. His mind reeled, struggling to accept the truth:

He would never Digivolve into ExVeemon again. Not for the rest of his life.

The only possible reversal would be through rebirth — the cycle of deletion and reincarnation. But if that happened… he wouldn’t be him anymore. He wouldn’t be Maximus. He might not even be a Veemon at all. He’d come back as someone else entirely. Someone who didn’t remember.

His hands began to tremble. Slowly, he lifted them into view, staring down at the five-fingered shape — familiar, yet wrong. These hands, once powerful in a different form, now looked small. Alien.

They were his now. Forever.

There would be no going back. No return to the strength he once had.

And with that, the crushing weight of the truth settled in: His revenge… would never come.

Talbot — that vile, monstrous Black WereGarurumon who had destroyed his home, taken his friends, his family — would remain unpunished… Or at least, if justice were ever done, it would not be by Maximus’ hands…

No… No, he couldn’t accept that – he would not accept that!

Talbot was his… Talbot would die by his hands alone! No one else had to right to see justice done upon that werewolf but him!

Somehow, he would find another way… Somehow…

As if reading his thoughts, Nagata spoke suddenly, his calm voice striking Maximus like a bolt of lightning.

“But it need not be the end for you if you still wish to be strong. There is another way.”

Maximus looked up, barely aware that his claws had curled so tightly into his palms that they might’ve drawn blood — if Digimon had any. “There is?” he asked, a fragile hope rising in his voice.

“Go to the Holy Citadel,” Nagata said. “Speak with the Sacred Tribunal. They cannot restore your former form… but perhaps, under their tutelage, you can find a new path — one that leads not only to the strength you lost… but something greater still.”

Maximus’s hope dimmed almost immediately. “The Holy Citadel?” he echoed, skeptical. “You want me to go beg the Angel-folk for help? What could they possibly do for me?”

“The same thing they are doing now… for my sister,” Nagata said quietly.

That gave Maximus pause. He recalled what Caram and Raist had let slip back in the swamp — that Nagata’s sister had suffered a fate similar to his own.

“Your sister?” he asked, leaning in, desperate to know more.

“She, too, was defeated by a powerful enemy. Her Digivolution path was shattered — just as yours has been. She once evolved into Youkomon… but after that battle, she was forced back… all the way to her In-Training stage of Viximon.”

Maximus’s eyes widened, recounting the evolutionary lineage of Doumon. “Back to her In-Training form?” he breathed; to be sent that far back in the evolution line, she had practically turned into a baby! “What happened to her?”

Nagata’s gaze lowered. “I wasn’t there,” he said bitterly. “I couldn’t be. The Citadel was under attack — rogue Digimon had breached the inner walls. I stayed behind to defend the younger students. She… she faced the enemy alone.”

He paused, visibly burdened by the memory, then continued with a shake of his head.

“In the aftermath, she remained at the Citadel. Slowly, she regained her Rookie form, and she continues to train there every day… rebuilding what was lost, step by step. By the time I left, she had managed to become a Renamon again.”

Maximus’s expression darkened. “So… she didn’t lose her evolution path like I did.”

“No,” Nagata said, meeting his gaze. “But she found another way forward. And so can you.”

He gestured to Maximus with a rare note of insistence. “Veemon like yourself have vast potential. Your kind, like mine, are capable of multiple evolutionary paths. Having heard you talking about your brother, you, of all Digimon, should know that.”

The words echoed in Maximus’s mind — and he knew Nagata was right.

Growing up together with Maverick, Maximus had become an ExVeemon — fast, agile, sharp — while Maverick had taken a different route, evolving into a Veedramon: powerful, durable, a juggernaut in battle. Where Maximus had soared with wings, Maverick had bulldozed through obstacles with brute force. There were others, too. Red Veedramon — a more volatile evolution, fuelled by rage instead of strength. Dangerous, but powerful.

Nagata had said he could never be ExVeemon again. But that wasn’t the only path. If Maverick had found his way, so could he.

Perhaps he would follow his brother’s footsteps… Or perhaps the fire in his heart — the hate, the pain — would give rise to something more fearsome; a Red Veedramon. The cost would be high, but to have that power…

Either way… he would be strong again.

And when that day came — Talbot would pay.

Slowly, Maximus looked at Nagata again and nodded. “I’ll do it,” he said. Then added with a shrug, “What’s left for me to lose if I try?”

Nagata inclined his head. “Very well. My students will show you the way out of the bog and back to the main road — it will lead you to the Holy Citadel. You may rest here tonight if you need, and set out when you’re ready.”

Maximus nodded and began to rise, intending to find a quiet corner where he could be alone with his thoughts. But Nagata’s voice stopped him. “And… there is one more thing. A small favour.”

Maximus turned back. “Yes?”

Nagata lifted his paw and waved it. “It can wait,” he said, simply. “Rest. We’ll speak in the morning.”

With that, the old Digimon turned and crossed the room, sliding open a wooden door and stepping through. He left Maximus alone with the twins.

Maximus glanced at Caram and Raist. “Do you two know anything about what happened to his sister?”

“We… didn’t really talk to her,” Caram said. “She kept to herself when we were at the Citadel. Always training. She didn’t care for distractions — just strength.”

Raist hesitated, then added with a visible shiver, “I was once scheduled to spar with her. I thought I’d have the upper hand — I was the only one in my Champion form.”

Maximus frowned. “So, what happened? You thought she was scared of you?”

Raist shook his head. “No. I thought I’d win.” His tone darkened. “I didn’t.”

“She doesn’t fight to lose,” Caram said quietly. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

Maximus looked between them, confused. They were both Champion-level Digimon; seasoned, disciplined, trained by Nagata himself. And yet… they spoke of his sister with something close to fear.

A Rookie-level Digimon who could terrify two Champions?

He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought lingered as he settled into a quiet corner. The fire inside him had not gone out — it had simply changed. Revenge, strength, evolution… he didn’t know what path lay ahead. Only that it would be different from the one he’d always imagined.

Little did he know that he would soon meet someone already walking that path…

Sleeping in Nagata’s home proved no more restful to Maximus than sleeping in own bed… His dreams remained troubled with the memories of the attack on his home, hearing the howls of the pack of wolf Digimon, descending upon his home.

Even if he had not been there to see it, he could still picture it in his mind; the snarling, howling, biting predators running out of the woods upon an unsuspecting community… He could almost hear the cries of unsuspecting Veemon as they became prey to a horde of ravenous wolf Digimon…

But the nightmare always ended the same… With the death of his brother, Maverick, at the claws of Talbot.

That moment, Maximus was sure he would never forget.

He awoke, feeling his cheeks moist and his eyes stinging… Sniffing, he rubbed his eyes and sat up from the roll-out bed he had slept on. He sat there, staring at the blanket covering his knees in silence, before he caught a smell…

Miso soup?

His stomach let out the loudest growl he had ever heard it make in his life. He became acutely aware of the deep, empty feeling, and he couldn’t keep himself from groaning as he rested his hands on his abdomen, remembering that he hadn’t eaten anything the day before…

In fact, he hadn’t even eaten anything the day before that either. He thought back, and recalled the last meal he’d eaten had been with Maverick on their lunch break, the day before the attack…

That, he realized, had been almost three days ago.

“Good grief, I’m starving…” he said to himself…

The smell was torture to him… He turned in the direction of the smell, and saw Caram sitting by the fire, absent his hat – which was hanging on the wall nearby. Before him, a pot hung over the flames, and he stirred the contents with a ladle.

Hearing Maximus stirring, he turned to look over his shoulder at the Veemon. “Good morning,” he said.

“Hey,” Maximus returned flatly, hesitating to ask before another growl sounded from his stomach.

Apparently, loud enough for Caram to hear this time. The Wizardmon’s eyes widened in surprise, looking down at Maximus’ abdomen before elevating to his face again.

“Hungry?”

Maximus swallowed nervously, his mouth dry, but nodded. “Yes… And, thirsty too,” he said.

Without another word, Caram retrieved a bowl and a cup from the shelf by the fire place, holding it in one hand while manipulating the ladle with the other, pouring three large helpings of soup into the bowl before leaving the ladle in the pot and standing from the stool.

Bringing the steaming bowl of soup over to Maximus, he offered it with both hands to the Veemon. Maximus took it gingerly, thanking the Wizardmon, and held the bowl close to his face, inhaling the appetizing smell of the Miso soup.

His stomach growled again – stronger this time, like it was telling him to eat it. He didn’t care that there was no spoon; he blew on the bowl’s contents, lifting it to his lips before tilting his head back, and letting the hot soup trickle into his mouth, flowing across his tongue and down his throat.

It was the most delicious soup he’d ever had… Even knowing he might scald his tongue, he drank more of the soup, almost forgetting to breathe as he emptied the bowl. When it was gone, he let out a breath, holding the bowl delicately between his hands.

Looking up, he saw Caram offering him half of a loaf of bread. He didn’t need the Wizardmon to explain, accepting the bread with another nod of thanks, and using it to scoop up the remnants of the soup in the bowl, eating the loaf a piece at a time, until it was gone.

The food settled into his stomach with a satisfying weight, and he offered the bowl back to Caram. “Thank you,” he said, once again. “I really needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Caram, accepting the bowl. “If you want more, help yourself. I made plenty.”

Maximus nodded and took a moment to bask in the warmth from the soup before looking around the house. “Where’s…” he hesitantly, before getting the words out. “Where’s your brother, and Nagata?”

“Nagata is in deep meditation in his room,” replied Caram as he poured water from the kettle into a cup and brought it over to Maximus, who accepted it with another nod. “Best not to disturb him. As for Raist, he went out to gather some herbs.”

“After that fight we had yesterday, are you sure it’s wise to be travelling alone right now?” Maximus asked, holding the cup between his hands.

“He’s not far,” Caram assured the Veemon, setting the used bowl into a wash basin, and crossed the room to retrieve his hat. “I’m heading out to join him now. I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat first. You hadn’t eaten anything at all yesterday or day before.”

So, Maximus wasn’t the only one that had noticed, and he gave Caram another nod of thanks as the Wizardmon departed. He felt embarrassed; he had never failed to take care of himself before…

He spent some time sipping the tea Caram had given him, thinking about his plans… He wanted to follow Nagata’s suggestion to travel to the Holy Citadel; having had the night to think it over, he was fairly sure that if anyone could help him, it would likely be them.

While he still came to terms with having been reverted to a Veemon again… One thought remained firmly at the forefront of his mind… The thought of Talbot, the Black WereGarurumon who had taken his brother from him, and what he would do if he ever managed to achieve Digivolution again…

If it was the last thing he did, he would avenge his brother’s death… That was a promise he would keep making until it was done.

Maverick…

It was roughly ten o’clock by the time Nagata emerged from the back room of his home – or at least Maximus guessed it was. There was not a clock in the house, and the foggy weather outside made it difficult for him to note the position of the sun to gauge the time of day.

The Doumon gave Maximus a cursory nod before pouring himself a cup of tea, seating himself on one of the floor cushions before he spoke.

“I hope you rested well,” he said.

Maximus grimaced. “My dreams are… Troubled,” he admitted. “I keep seeing it… That attack, and Maverick-” he choked on the name of his brother.

“It is natural,” Nagata assured him. “You must have loved him dearly.”

“I’d have died right beside him if I could’ve,” Maximus stated without hesitation. “Now…” he sighed. “Now I’ll never see him again…”

“You two,” began Nagata, “were you twins, like Raist and Caram?”

Maximus shook his head. “Just nest mates. We could’ve been separated. Sure, but, we hatched and grew up together,” he explained. “I became a DemiVeemon before he did, and they were going to send me to the Vee Clan Village ahead of him. I refused to go without him. So, he, still a Botamon, went with me. He Digivolved enroute, and we were placed in Avanita’s school.”

“She taught us, trained us,” he recounted. “He actually became a Veemon before I did,” he chuckled at that. “After that, he was committed to strength training… So much so that he was knocking trees down himself for the foresters before I was even ready to join him. As a team, though, we did amazing work.”

He thought fondly back to their greatest moment – the day they both achieved their Digivolution. “When we finally changed, we thought’d we take on the same form. But, didn’t work out that way. He became a bigass Veedramon, and I became an ExVeemon. I think,” he lost his smile. “I think that caused a short friction between us.”

“Why’s that?” Nagata asked, arching an eyebrow.

“He hated the fact that I could fly, and he couldn’t,” replied Maximus. “Not like I didn’t have things to be jealous of, too. I mean, he was strong. Really strong. Ever seen a Digimon ram a tree with his head and knock it over?”

“I cannot say that I have,” Nagata remarked, sipping his tea.

Maximus chuckled again. “Eventually, we buried that hatchet – no pun intended, and when we did, we were brothers again.”

Nagata, his expression never changing – not even cracking a smirk at Maximus’ unintended pun, nodded. Maximus stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge the Doumon’s mood, and failing to get any sense of what he might be feeling during Maximus’ story – if he felt anything at all.

Then, Maximus understood… Nagata had asked, just to give Maximus something to think about, besides his bad dreams. Prompting him for a recollection had been purely for the Veemon’s own sake…

And he’d been right… Maximus felt better.

With a smile — the first genuine one he’d managed since that night — Maximus nodded gratefully at Nagata. “Thanks… I needed that,” he said.

Nagata inclined his head in response, his expression calm. “I am glad it is bringing you some solace,” he replied. Then, his tone shifted slightly; more direct now, businesslike. “Have you given any thought to my suggestion?”

Maximus sighed, his shoulders sagging. He rolled his head to the side with a grimace. “I don’t see many other good options for me,” he said. “I… already said this to the twins, though they might’ve chalked it up to a moment of fury when I said it… I don’t think they understand.”

His expression darkened as his thoughts lingered on Talbot; the one who had ruined his life, his hands clenching into tight fists as he voiced his thoughts. “I want payback… I want to find Talbot, and make him pay for what he did to Maverick and my people.”

Nagata lowered the tea cup to his lap, eyes narrowing slightly. “Revenge,” he said, the word spoken with care.

Maximus gave a small nod, but didn’t meet his gaze.

“Revenge is a dangerous path, Maximus,” Nagata said, evenly. “You need to understand that… it won’t bring your brother back.”

“I know it won’t,” Maximus admitted quietly. “But still… Talbot’s still out there. I’ll never rest easy knowing that one day he’ll do this again - hurt someone else like he did me. He may already have done so since that night… There’s no way for me to know.”

He finally looked up, meeting Nagata’s gaze. The firelight caught his eyes, making them seem to glow. “Be it for revenge, or justice… the world will be better off without someone like that. You can’t tell me I’m wrong about that, at least.”

Nagata closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath through his nose. “Nothing more that I say is likely to change your mind,” he said. “Just please, hear this warning, if nothing else.”

Maximus remained still, waiting, silently granting him the space to speak.

“There will always be a void left in your heart where your brother once was,” Nagata said softly. “Talbot’s death… will not change that. That space cannot be filled by emotional gains. And yet, the pursuit to fill it… it could consume you.”

Maximus didn’t want to hear that. Part of him burned to snap back — to tell Nagata he didn’t understand. But something kept him quiet… Was it respect? Or decency? He couldn’t say.

With a slow breath, he drained the rest of his tea and rose to his feet.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, dipping his head to the Doumon. “I think it’s time I start moving on.”

Nagata nodded, his expression unreadable. “As you wish,” he said.

As Maximus turned to leave, he stopped, his leg outstretched to take a step before he recalled something. With the thought, he turned to look at Nagata again.

“Last night, you said you had a favour to ask me,” he said. “What was it?”

At that, Nagata’s expression turned solemn… Or… Sad, even. He closed his eyes, seeming to take a moment to gather his courage for what he was about to say.

“…If you are able to,” the Doumon spoke slowly, sadly, “be for my sister what I failed to be — supportive, and a pillar of strength when she needs it.”

Maximus blinked, recalling his conversation with Caram and Raist the night before. The two wizards had seemed genuinely uneasy when speaking of her — a Renamon, still only at her Rookie stage, yet described as a razor-focused, relentless fighter.

Yet here was her elder brother — a reclusive seal master and curse-weaver, hidden away in a bog in the middle of nowhere, speaking not with fear, awe, or even respect, but with quiet regret.

Somehow, Maximus sensed that the words weren’t only meant for her. Nagata was speaking to him, too. He didn’t understand it — not fully. And something told him the Doumon wasn’t going to explain it any further.

“I will… Keep it in mind,” Maximus promised, berating himself for the lacking answer. But he didn’t know what else to say.

With that, Maximus left the house, nearly reeling at the stink of the bog again, previously covered by the smell of incense and herbs in the house only to make itself known to him again when he stepped out. With an annoyed groan, he covered his nose and walked away from the house, looking around for any sign of the Wizardmon twins – while eyeing the surrounding woods warily, his memory of yesterday’s attack still fresh in his mind.

He had no way to cross the mire surrounding the islet without help from the brothers. All he could do was wait until they returned; a few times, he thought he saw them, but he never did, chalking it up to the shadows cast by the fog.

Finally, he saw them stepping out of the fog – or, rather, levitating over it, floating across the mire and landing on the islet. They were carrying wicker baskets in their hands, filled with various herbs and flora that Maximus couldn’t identify. When they found Maximus waiting for them, they touched back to ground to greet him.

“Were you ready to depart already?” Raist asked.

Maximus nodded. “I don’t really have any reason to wait around here,” he said simply. “Nagata said one of you could show me the way to the Holy Citadel?”

“I will,” Raist offered quickly. “I’ll take you all the way; there are a few old friends I wish to check in with.”

Maximus nodded again. “Okay,” he said.

With that, as Raist handed his basket to Caram, Maximus turned to him. “Before I go,” he said, “thank you, for all of your help. And, I’m sorry if I was ever harsh or treated you guys poorly.”

Caram shook his head. “You were in pain,” he said, understanding. “I know I got defensive a few times… But, you had every reason to be upset. Let’s just let bygones be bygones,” he set down the basket, and offered his hand to Maximus. “Deal?”

Maximus allowed himself a small smile before taking the Wizardmon’s hand and shaking it. “Deal,” he said. “Maybe, if I do decide to stay at the Citadel, I’ll see you around sometime?”

"Maybe so," the Wizardmon replied, the lifting of his eyes showing that he too was smiling.

Maximus was relieved when they finally left the swamp behind. They had to cross the marshes again; rather than use an ice bridge again, Raist opted to carry Maximus over the marshes instead of making him cross again.

Levitating with a passenger was difficult for the Sorcerimon, but he managed, and they crossed without incident. They had a tense moment when a Yanmamon passed under them, but to their relief the dragonfly Digimon flew by, ignoring them.

Back on land again, the pair continued eastward until they found the road – not just a travel-worn, dirt path, but an actual paved road, running parallel to a train track, both of them stretching as far as his eyes could see in both directions.

“A Locomon line?” Maximus asked.

Raist looked at him curiously. “You didn’t know this was out here?” he asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Maximus admitted. “The road, I think I did; I could see it sometimes when flying over the forest, but I guess I never noticed the rail.”

He followed the railing, noticing where it curved eastward, heading toward the mountains. “Does this go all the way to the Citadel?”

“It does,” Raist replied, nodding. “The Locomon Service travels to most of the municipalities across the Folder Continent. If you ever want to go somewhere, chances are you can ride there with them.”

Maximus huffed. “Yanno, that could’ve made shipping our lumber out so much easier.”

“What did you use?”

“Hand carts, mostly. We usually rolled the logs down the hill past the village to get them to the road where the carts were waiting.”

Raist laughed. “Oh, that must’ve made a terrible racket.”

“You have no idea,” Maximus replied with a roll of his eyes. “So… Do we just follow the tracks and that’ll take us there?”

Raist nodded. “Yes. There is a ways to go, though, unless you want to go that way first,” he pointed north, “to a town and board a Locomon.”

“Would it save us any time?”

“It would,” Raist replied. “The town is a few hours away, and by Locomon we’d travel in comfort and reach the Citadel in a few hours.”

Maximus spotted a hole in the plan easily. “I’m assuming that’s not free, though?”

Raist stood frozen as those words sank in. His wandering eyes were answer enough.

“I didn’t bring any money,” Maximus reiterated.

“Well, that would be a problem. I don’t have any either,” Raist admitted, shrugging.

Maximus sighed, deciding it was hardly worth it to consider walking back to his house to find some money – if he even had any. In either case, in the time it’d take to return to the Veemon village ruins, and then head to the town Raist had indicated, it’d surely double their travel time.

“Guess we’re walking then,” said the Veemon, putting one foot in front of the other and crossing the road, wanting to walk alongside the rail tracks.

Raist sighed and followed him, matching his steps and resting his staff over his shoulder as they walked.

~~~~~

The two didn’t have much to do to pass the time for their journey. Raist tried humming a tune every now and then. Maximus passed the time by studying their surroundings, hoping that they might see a Locomon pass by sometime, but so far the rail was quiet.

As they walked, something occurred to him. “Say… Nagata never mentioned his sister’s name,” he said. “Do you know it?”

Raist looked at him. “Oh. It’s Ashira,” he replied.

“Ashira,” Maximus repeated the name, testing it on his tongue. “You and Caram talked about how she’s much more… Hostile, than her brother?”

Raist lowered his head. “Well… Maybe we made her sound worse than she really is,” he said. “Hostile may be a strong word. She disassociates with others, keeping to herself, but when she fights with someone – even if it’s only a sparring match… Well, let’s just say she doesn’t share any of her brother’s restraint.”

‘Restraint?’ Maximus thought, appalled. Last night, he had watched Nagata utterly destroy half a dozen plant Digimon with the same amount of effort it took Maximus to break a twig. If that had been Nagata when he was holding back, he dreaded to think what the Doumon would be capable of if he was being serious.

Yet, his sister – Ashira, was even more ruthless than him? What was the Doumon thinking, then, asking Maximus to try to befriend her and making it sound like she needed one? It sounded to him like she preferred to be alone, and resented any sort of social interaction.

Nagata’s request echoed in his mind repeatedly, remembering what he had asked of Maximus. He still had no idea what that the Doumon meant… He had said to be a supporter and pillar of strength, but it sounded like that’s exactly what Ashira didn’t need.

‘Does Nagata just not understand his own sister?’ he wondered, ‘Could that have something to do with him asking me to be for her, what he couldn’t?’

As Maximus mulled over this puzzling conundrum, Raist spoke again – a sudden delight in his voice. “Ah! There it is,” he crowed.

Maximus shook his head, breaking himself out of his contemplation, and looked at the Sorcerimon, seeing him pointing at something. Following his arm, Maximus’ gaze found a great, white-walled structure built into the mountainside, surrounded on all sides by protective walls. From this distance, it almost looked like a castle keep, but he saw the walls bending over the crest of the hill upon which it rested, leading him to suspect there was more to it than he could see.

“That’s the Holy Citadel?” Maximus asked.

“Part of it,” Raist replied. “That is the White Tower, the home of the Citadel Knights.”

Maximus looked at Raist quizzically. “Wait, the Thirteen Holy Knights live here?”

Raist shook his head. “No, no, the Citadel knights,” he repeated. “They’re peacekeepers, formed from the best performing students of the Citadel and dedicated to the cause of peacekeeping and law enforcement in this region.”

Maximus gave the white tower a skeptical look. “Why have I never heard of them before?”

Raist shrugged. “They are… Relatively new,” he said. “And, they don’t actually have very many members yet. But, they’re growing, and they’ve had great success in their efforts throughout this region.”

Maximus frowned and let out a scoff. “Not as much as some of us would like,” he said, quietly.

“Sorry, what was that, Maximus?” Raist asked.

“Nothing,” Maximus lied. “How much longer?”

“A few hours. But it’ll be dark before we get there,” said Raist, “We won’t be able to see the road once the sun goes down.”

“Anything unfriendly around here that we should be concerned about?”

“Not since I was last here,” Raist replied. “But, that was a month or so ago now.”

“Could we reach the Citadel before dark if we go faster?”

“Unlikely, but, we can try.”

With that, Maximus increased his walk into a jog, pulling ahead of Raist before the Sorcerimon followed his example. Together, they ran up the path, the setting sun at their backs as they made their way up the road.

Despite doubling their pace, the sun had set before the pair reached the gate. The road curved around the mountain upon which the White Tower stood, and the castle keep remained ever in sight as a result, outlined by the glow of lamplight exiting the windows.

Unfortunately, the moon did not make an appearance that night, leaving the road so dark that neither Maximus nor Raist could see where they were going, forcing them to slow their pace or risk stumbling into unseen obstacles. Maximus nearly tripped on a fallen branch as they passed under a tree, and he took slower, measured steps to avoid doing so again.

The path around them had become lightly forested, with trees lining either side of the road and the rail line that still ran parallel. Maximus had to squint his eyes to look at the trees, noting the absence of branches below their canopies; pruned, he guessed, to avoid any accidents.

As they walked, a long, shrill whistle pierced the night behind them—a strange, alien sound to Maximus, though Raist turned toward it with recognition.

“Oh. A Locomon is approaching,” he said.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all, so long as we’re safely away from the tracks,” Raist replied. “It’ll just pass us right by.”

Curious, Maximus turned and peered down the tracks, back the way they had come. He could already see a singular, bright light cutting through the dark, casting its glow upon the rails as it hurtled forward. The ground trembled beneath his feet, and the rhythmic chuffing and hissing of escaping steam grew steadily louder.

He squinted, trying to look past the mounted light to get a clearer view. The Locomon’s body was made of steel, torpedo-shaped, its surface sleek and braced for power. Two clawed hands—yes, hands—rested at its sides, partially obscuring the wheels that propelled it forward. Behind the main engine, Maximus could just make out two passenger cars and a trailing car Raist had called the “caboose.”

It was Maximus’ first time ever seeing one of the massive transport Digimon, though he’d heard them multiple times. They were the epicentre of trade and travel across the Folder Continent, carrying goods or passengers as required – not so unlike actual trains in the human world.

He wondered what it’d be like to ride in one… Maybe someday, he could find out.

“Okay, back to it then,” said the Veemon. “Keep following the road, right?”

Raist nodded. “Yep. It goes straight to it. We just need to-”

“You there!”

The sharp, powerful voice cut the Sorcerimon off, and both he and Maximus turned sharply in the direction of the voice as a tall, lithe figure emerged from the darkness of the path ahead. They were outlined by pallid armour, white and a light purple in colour, their steps announced my large, clawed boots – or, maybe they were their feet covered in armour; Maixmus couldn’t really tell in the dim light.

What he could see however was that the stranger was clutching something in their right hand; something that looked like the handle of a sword, but lacking a blade. Either way, it was clearly some kind of weapon, making Maximus feel immediately apprehensive.

“A Lobomon?” Raist asked, tilting his head as though he were trying to recall something.

“What’re you doing out here at this hour?” the figure – a Lobomon, according to Raist, demanded. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is out here?”

“We were on our way to the Holy Citadel,” Maximus answered for both of them. “We didn’t manage to get there before the sun went down.”

The Lobomon looked between them, and then he snapped to attention as he focused on Raist, eyeing him with clear recognition. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Raist? Is that you?”

“Yes,” Raist replied. “And… Could you possibly be… Fenric?”

“I am. You remember me?”

“I do! You were one of the top students in the combat regiment,” Raist replied, holding out his arms as he stepped forward to greet his old classmate. “I see you managed to Digivolve too; I seem to recall you were still a Strabimon when I was here.”

“Part of why I’m surprised you recognized me,” Fenric said, moving the weapon hilt he carried to his belt, where it attached itself as if by magnetism.

“Your voice hasn’t changed very much,” Raist explained with a shrug.

The Lobomon shrugged. “I guess that’s fair,” he said.

“What’re you doing out here, anyway?” Raist asked. “I don’t recall there being a night patrol when I was last here.”

“It’s something we had to implement fairly recently,” Fenric explained. “You know about those catacombs below the citadel, right?”

“I do. What about them?”

At that, Maximus noticed a shift in Fenric’s posture. “Well,” he began, “apparently, this goes back to before you and your brother left. There’s a Dokugumon in the catacombs; she made a nest down there a while back, and apparently, she’s been spawning.”

Raist jerked as if he’d been hit. “Spawning?” he repeated, an edge to his voice.

Maximus though, didn’t understand. “Wait, how does that work?” he asked, coming to stand beside Raist. “Digimon don’t reproduce the way creatures in the human world do, even through intercourse; that’s why Digimon don’t have parents. We’re digital, not flesh and blood, so how can a Dokugumon have any spawn?”

“Some insect – or in this case, arachnoid Digimon are special cases in that regard,” Fenric stated.

“Indeed,” added Raist, “Dokugumon are one of the few Digimon who are capable of reproduction, creating hordes of little spiderlings called KoDokugumon, and can often spawn up to a hundred of them at a time. If those KoDokugumon manage to feed on enough living data, they’ll Digivolve into more Dokugumon, and continue to spread, as per their Virus-type nature.”

Maximus shuddered at that. “An infestation,” he said.

“Yes,” replied Fenric. “They’ve been attacking people out here on the road at night, so I took it upon myself to patrol for them, and eliminate any that I find.”

“How have they been getting out here?” Raist asked. “The only way out of the catacombs is the cave mouth near the observatory, isn’t it?”

“That’s what we thought,” said Fenric, “and if that was their only way out we could’ve contained the problem easily when we blocked it off. But it seems they found or maybe dug out another exit.”

Fenric turned, pointing up the road with his hand. “The most recent attack happened in sight of the walls; some pilgrims were almost to the gate before they were swarmed. Surtan ran out to try to save them, but he was too late; by the time he got there, the KoDokugumon had already fed on them and dragged away the rest.”

“He couldn’t find where they went?” Raist asked.

“No. It was too dark; he didn’t see where they ran,” replied Fenric.

“And you’re out here by yourself, when there’s a spider horde waiting to jump out?” Maximus asked, “What’s to stop them from getting you too?”

“While I do move faster on my own and I can see in the dark and hear better than most,” Fenric stated with confidence. Then, he lifted a hand to point up. “I’m not alone.”

Maximus and Raist looked up, following where Fenric was pointing; Raist had to lift the rim of his hat to see. Overhead, they saw a cat-like figure circling the forest above, too far away for them to see clearly, but enough to make out the wings sprouting from their back, and the large, clawed feet that hung below them.

“Who is that?” Raist asked.

At that, Fenric chuckled. “If I told you now, you’d probably lose your mind,” he said. “For now, we probably shouldn’t stay here. There’s no telling when the KoDokugumon might start coming out here. Come; I’ll escort you two to the gate.”

Raist nodded, adjusting his hat. “Agreed,” he said. “Lead the way, Fenric.”

With that, the Lobomon turned on his heel and started walking up the path, followed closely by Raist and Maximus. They walked quickly to keep past with Fenric, who was walking with a long stride, heavy boots eliciting metallic steps as he went.

The gate to the Holy Citadel was an imposing sight. Lined with torches that flickered like stars from the vantage where Maximus and Raist stood, the towering doors loomed high—large enough, it seemed, to accommodate a Whamon, if such a creature could walk on land. The gate was set into a massive wall that spanned the entire mountain pass, anchored on the left side by the looming White Tower they had seen for hours as they approached.

As they neared the gate, Maximus spotted the outline of smaller doors set into the grand entrance—normal-sized double doors built within the larger structure. Fenric led them toward these, and from the other side, a Digimon opened one to admit them.

The doorman was a Gladimon, identifiable by his spherical body and the knightly helmet with a lowered visor. As Maximus followed Raist and Fenric through, he caught sight of another Gladimon standing opposite the first, and a third leading a patrol of the smaller form of Kotemon. The group marched in a disciplined line along the interior wall, and Maximus watched them pass with quiet interest before continuing onward.

Given that the Holy Citadel was founded and ruled by Angel Digimon—specifically the Holy Tribunal—Maximus wasn’t surprised that most of its standing forces were comprised of Virus Buster family members. It reminded him of his own village, where every resident belonged to the Veemon line—part of the Dragon’s Roar family. They had seen each other as kin, and from that, a monocultural settlement had formed.

That thought led him to consider Fenric. Maximus had never seen a Lobomon before—hadn't even heard of them. Was he a Virus Buster too? He didn’t seem like one of the Beastfolk, despite the wolf-like name and his lupine-themed attire. His build was humanoid, and in the glow of a nearby torch held by one of the Gladimon, Maximus caught a glimpse of a human-like face beneath the helmet.

All in all, he seemed… unique.

“Raist!”

The cry came from overhead. All eyes turned skyward as a winged, feline-like form descended swiftly, landing with a solid thud before racing toward the Sorcerimon. Raist stumbled back instinctively, thrown off by the sudden approach - and especially by the sight of the creature’s large, gloved claws.

The winged Digimon was feline in structure, but only partially. Her face was hidden behind a mask that resembled a human visage, framed by jaw-length hair and marked with a cobra-shaped adornment at the brow. Her upper body was humanlike as well, clad in gleaming armour shaped to a feminine form. But below the abdomen, her figure shifted back to a more bestial build—digitigrade legs, a long tail, and sleek fur.

“Ah - easy now!” Raist warned, chuckling nervously. “I’ve had a long journey, you know.”

“So long you couldn’t even send a letter ahead, to say you were coming?” the Digimon replied. Her voice, distinctly feminine, carried the amused sharpness of someone well within her right to tease.

Raist blinked, still bewildered. “L–Lotfia? Is that you?”

“It is indeed,” she said, wings settling behind her.

“You’re a… Nefertimon,” Raist said, his voice filled with awe as he looked her over. “But that would mean-” his expression lit up. “You did it. You inherited the Mantle of Light!”

“I did,” Lotfia said proudly. Though her mask concealed her expression, Maximus, watching silently nearby, imagined she wore a wide, Cheshire-like grin. But the metallic covering gave nothing away, and her body language was all they had to read.

Maximus frowned slightly, the term Mantle of Light catching in his thoughts. He didn’t speak—but the phrase settled in his mind like a puzzle piece whose place had yet to be revealed, deciding he’d ask about it later.

Seemingly forgotten about in the reunion Raist was sharing, the Veemon stood watching, feeling a pang of envy as he saw Raist enjoying the company of old friends, speaking to Lotfia and Fenric. In his mind’s eye, he saw the three replaced by people he knew from his village… Xavier… Avanita… Maverick…

He felt his heart beating faster, and his hands tightening into fists at his sides as he continued to watch the three with growing resentment that he knew they didn’t deserve. Laughing, sharing past events, recounting happier times… All things he would never get to do any more.

From some darker corner of his mind, came thoughts that Maximus had never considered before now… ‘Any one of these self-righteous scum could’ve stopped Talbot,’ it said. ‘Or at least, could’ve helped me stop him…’

He shook his head, clearing the alien thoughts that he knew was the product of his anger from his mind. No, that was unfair, he told himself… They hadn’t known about Talbot; surely they would’ve done something if they had. They wouldn’t just let someone like that run wild if they knew about him…

“Maximus?” Raist asked, alerting the Veemon.

“Huh? What?” Maximus asked, looking up and realizing that all three of the Digimon were watching him now.

“Are you alright?” Raist asked. “I said your name three times and you didn’t move…”

Maximus, flustered, forced a weak smile. “Sorry, I… I guess my mind was wandering,” he said. “I must just be tired from the trip.”

Lotfia tilted her head as she regarded Maximus, seeing him – somehow, through that mask that hid her face, including her eyes. “You must come from the Vee Clan Village to the west, yes?”

Maximus, feeling a pit in his stomach, nodded. “I… Did, yes.”

“Did?”

“It’s gone,” Maximus replied, keeping the edge out of his voice, his anger threatening to boil over as the memories flashed through his mind. “Destroyed… And everyone with it.”

Even with her face hidden, Maximus could sense Lotfia’s horrified reaction to the news. Beside her, Fenric tensed, unfolding his arms and looking at Maximus with horror present on his face.

“How did this happen?” he demanded.

“A Black WereGarurumon called Talbot led an attack on the village,” Maximus explained, struggling to hold himself together as he recounted that terrible night again. “He led a pack of Loogamon, with two Loogarmon leading them, and a pair of Sangloupmon accompanying him as well.”

“Damn it all,” growled Fenric, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

“Did anyone else make it out?” Lotfia asked.

She regretted the question the moment she said it, as Maximus’ fists clenched tighter, and she could see from his shaking shoulders that he was trying not to explode at her for the query. “Oh dear… I’m so sorry,” she said; he imagined her frowning behind her mask.

“How did you escape?” Fenric asked, taking his hand from his eyes.

“My brother and I were there, and managed to rescue him,” Raist answered, giving Maximus some reprieve. “Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to get anyone else out…”

Fenric turned to Raist, his gaze firm as he voiced his next question. “Where is this Talbot now?” he demanded. “We must find him and bring him to justice for this heinous crime.”

Raist shook his head. “We don’t know,” he said. “After Caram and I rescued Maximus, he and his pack moved on. We have no idea where they went.”

“Perhaps if we travel to the village, we can pick up their trail,” stated Lotfia, “they can’t not have left any traces if the group was as big as you’ve said.”

Finally, Maximus couldn’t take it anymore. “No one,” he growled, “is to touch Talbot… But me,” he said, firmly. “The rest of that pack has much to answer for, but Talbot himself is mine.”

He must have spoke the words with a sharp edge, because the other three Digimon were suddenly eyeing him as though he had suddenly transformed into something horrible. Especially Raist, who – having travelled with Maximus for the entirety of the day, hadn’t seen this side of him before now.

The silence carried on for several, uncomfortable moments, before Raist cleared his throat. “Uh… Pardon me, Fenric, Lotfia, but might there be somewhere Maximus can sleep?” he asked. “We’ve had a long journey and… Well, he needs a place to stay.”

Maximus looked up, startled. “I thought I was supposed to meet with the Holy Tribunal?” he asked. “Nagata said they could help me find my strength again.”

“The Tribunal won’t meet with anyone at this hour,” Lotfia replied gently. “Even they must rest.”

“We can put your name forward for the morning,” Fenric added. “Until then, you’re welcome to stay the night. We can offer food and—”

“I don’t have time to rest!” Maximus snapped, his voice cracking with emotion. “Didn’t you hear what we said? Talbot’s still out there. He’s going to hurt someone else; destroy more lives like he did mine! We have to find him before that happens!”

Fenric remained unfazed. “We’re not going to chase after a bandit in the dark,” he said coolly. “Especially not one who overpowered a dragonoid clan. We need a plan before we go rushing into unknown danger—”

Something in Maximus snapped as the Lobomon spoke. He felt his anger reaging a boiling point, rage overtaking reason. He launched himself into a Vee Headbutt, aiming straight for Fenric’s chest. Raist shouted in alarm, but it was already too late.

Fenric didn’t flinch. He caught Maximus mid-air with a single hand, his large fingers locking around the Veemon’s head with infuriating ease. Then, with a simple movement, he tossed Maximus into the air, as easily as the Veemon himself might have thrown a cloth doll; Maximus waved his arms frantically for purchase, seeing Fenric drawing back his other arm.

The punch came like a hammer, faster than thought. Maximus saw a blur, felt the impact, and the world spun. He hit the ground hard, skidding several meters before finally coming to a breathless stop, pain radiating from his ribs.

Distantly, he heard Raist shouting, but the words didn’t register. His mind reeled, body limp, barely perceiving everything as it happened. He felt someone lift him— Lotfia’s warm paws cradled him, picking him up from the ground, and then the soothing pulse of healing magic.

When his vision cleared, he saw Raist standing over him, his hands glowing as he cast a healing spell over the Veemon. Fenric stood behind him, arms crossed, eyes impassive.

“…Nice hit,” Maximus rasped, blinking up at the looming form.

“Are you done now?” Fenric asked.

Maximus hesitated, then nodded. “Y-Yeah… I think so.”

“Fenric, that was unnecessary!” Raist growled.

“He attacked me,” Fenric said simply.

“He’s right, Raist,” Maximus interjected, voice strained, as he stopped the Sorcerimon from berating the Lobomon further “I lost control. He was defending himself. I was the one who lashed out; that was my fault.”

Raist scowled, but didn’t argue further.

Lotfia leaned in. “Why did you attack him?”

“I don’t know…” Maximus muttered. “Something about what he said just… set me off. It was like… everything boiled up at once.”

Fenric sighed and uncrossed his arms. “I may have spoken too coldly,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. But what I said is true—we can’t just run into this blindly. We’ll speak to the Tribunal in the morning. It has to wait.”

Maximus felt his frustration rise again… but this time, he reined it in. He took a long, deliberate breath, letting it cool the fire in his chest.

“Understood,” he said at last, voice calmer.

A beat passed.

“This Talbot… he took more than just your home, didn’t he?” Fenric asked.

Maximus didn’t answer immediately. His fingers curled inward as he looked down at his hand. “…My brother. Maverick,” he said quietly. “Talbot killed him. I couldn’t stop him…”

He closed his hand into a trembling fist. “And… he took something else, too.”

“What do you mean?” Lotfia asked.

Maximus couldn’t meet her gaze. His voice failed him. Raist spoke in his place.

“He wasn’t always a Veemon,” the Sorcerimon said. “Maximus was an ExVeemon before the attack. But something happened; something that broke him. He devolved… and hasn’t been able to Digivolve since. Nagata believes his biodata may have been damaged during the fight.”

Fenric and Lotfia exchanged a solemn look.

“…Just like Ashira,” Lotfia murmured.

“Not the same, but… close,” Raist agreed.

Fenric stepped forward and knelt, placing a careful hand on Maximus’ shoulder. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture, given the power that the Lobomon had displayed not a moment before.

“We’ll do everything we can to help you,” he said. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. I know the Tribunal will say the same.”

Maximus nodded, quietly grateful — though his ribs still throbbed.

“We’ve plenty of rooms,” Lotfia added. “I can show you to one.”

Maximus hesitated. He wasn’t sure he deserved comfort yet… but he nodded again. “Yes, please.”

The inside of the Cathedral’s main hub – a palace if ever Maximus had ever seen one, felt gloomy and confined to the Veemon, accustomed to being outdoors most of the time. The corridors were dimly lit by wall-hanging lanterns, and the few windows they passed were tall, offering little to see in the night beyond the lights carried by the patrollers on the walls.

Out of curiosity, Maximus stopped at one of the windows to peer outside, remembering the conversation Fenric had with Raist when they met them in the woods.

“Which of the buildings out there is the Observatory?” Maximus asked.

Lotfia stepped up beside him, peering out the window. The Citadel grounds were cloaked in deep shadow, the darkness beyond the walls near-total. The valley outside the gate was an inky void—vast enough to hide any number of Digimon, and no one would be the wiser.

Still, Lotfia pointed toward a distant peak, barely distinguishable against the night, off to the left from where they stood. Maximus couldn’t tell which direction that was—he’d lost his sense of orientation the moment they entered the valley.

“Perched on one of the peaks overlooking the valley,” she said. “It’s accessed by an elevator near the storehouses.”

“Fenric mentioned something about a spider infestation over there,” Maximus noted.

“Ah, you mean the entrance to the catacombs beneath the Citadel,” Lotfia said, following his line of thought. “Yes, it’s nearby. We sealed that passage with a boulder to prevent the Dokugumon and its spawn from reaching the grounds.”

“But they’ve found another way out.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she admitted, frowning. “We’re still trying to locate it… without much luck.”

“Why not?”

“Searching from the air has proven useless. Whatever path they’re using, it can’t be seen from above. As for those on foot…” Her voice lowered. “They’re often attacked before they get close.”

Maximus nodded slowly, the unease creeping in but tempered by her frankness. At least he wouldn’t wake up with something crawling on him. He turned to move on—then paused, catching sight of someone approaching down the hall.

To his own surprise, he knew immediately who it was.

A Renamon—tall and lithe, with pale yellow fur and a white pattern running from her neck down her front. Violet sleeves covered her forearms to the elbows. Her piercing blue eyes, set against stark black sclera, were locked forward, sharp and focused.

She didn’t acknowledge him or Lotfia as she passed, moving with silent precision.

“Ashira?” Maximus asked, remembering the name Raist had mentioned for Nagata’s sister.

The Renamon froze mid-step.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. Her expression was blank—utterly unreadable. She didn’t speak.

“I… met your brother,” Maximus said, unsure of what else to say. “He says hi—”

The change in her eyes was immediate.

At the mention of Nagata, the cold neutrality in her stare ignited, becoming white-hot and venomous. Her eyes narrowed, and Maximus felt like the temperature in the hallway had plummeted for a beat. Instinctively, he took a step back, his throat tightening. For a second, he genuinely thought she might attack him.

But Ashira didn’t say a word.

She simply turned away and continued walking, her footsteps now heavier, more forceful.

Geez, if looks could kill… Maximus thought.

Lotfia leaned toward him and murmured, “I wouldn’t try that again… Not with her at least.”

Maximus watched the Renamon disappear into the gloom of the corridor.

“Agreed,” he murmured. “Let’s… move on.”

He walked, but his thoughts lagged behind. Raist and Caram had warned him about Ashira—describing her as cold, sharp-edged, and distant—but seeing it for himself was something else entirely. That one moment, just the mention of Nagata, and she’d looked at him like she meant to drive him through the wall.

Nagata’s words echoed again in his head, asking him to be for her what he had failed to be. Maximus hadn’t understood what that meant before—and now, he understood it even less.

Does she hate her brother? he wondered. Why? And… Is that why he left?’

He heard Lotfia call his name, realizing that he had fallen behind and raced to catch up with her, though she was sitting by a door. Pushing it open, Maximus was greeted by a small room, narrow but long, ending with a window on the wall opposite the door. The window sat above a single bed with a nightstand, and a desk sat halfway across the room toward the door.

“This room’s yours for as long as you need it,” Lotfia offered. “If you are hungry, follow this corridor back the way we came, all the way to the end and you’ll be in the dining hall. The kitchens will be in the next room.”

Maximus nodded to Lotfia. “Thank you,” he said.

“We will let the Tribunal know you are here,” Lotfia said, “someone will come for you as soon as they’re ready to see you. For now, please, try to be patient. I hope your dreams are peaceful.”

She inclined her head and excused herself, walking back up the hallway and leaving Maximus alone to settle in. He waited until she was gone before letting out a dry scoff—‘pleasant dreams’ hardly described the last few nights.

Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room to the bed, running his hand across the covers. The fabric was soft beneath his fingers, a small comfort that felt out of place.

Without ceremony, he turned and dropped onto the mattress, lying on his back with his head sinking into the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling in silence, thoughts drifting in slow, dull spirals.

Through the small window above his bed, the clouds had broken just enough to let the moonlight in. Its pale glow spilled across the floor, cool and indifferent. Maximus’s heart thudded a little faster at the sight. The moon was waning now—but he remembered it full, blazing in the sky the night Talbot came.

He wondered if he’d ever be able to see the full moon again, and not think of that night…

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that—lying still, his body bathed in moonlight, his eyes tracing the lines of the ceiling’s stonework. He was tired… but sleep felt distant. Unwelcome.

He let his fingers curl over his heart, focusing on the faint rhythm within his chest, as though hoping it might remind him who he was. The silence did not answer his questions, the ceiling did not offer him any insight. The bed was warm, the moonlight was gentle… yet Maximus felt completely numb.

The moon shifted position in the sky, moving the shadows around his room without him noticing. He never moved… Seeing the moon out of the corner of his eye, dark thoughts found their way into his mind. Somewhere out there – somewhere, in that dark world, Talbot was still out there… Waiting to wet his claws on another helpless victim.

Eventually, Maximus turned his gaze away from the ceiling, rolling onto his side and watching the light slowly drift across the floor as the night progressed, too slowly for him to notice but he knew it was occurring just the same. At last, he closed his eyes, letting the silent darkness and stillness of the room be his blanket. It didn’t offer him any comfort…

But at least, unlike his dreams… It didn’t hurt.

‘Brother…’

The voice was distant, but not so far that Maximus didn’t recognize it. He opened his eyes, finding himself standing in the familiar forest of his home. He knew it… he’d grown up here…

But the moment of elation vanished. As he took in his surroundings, he blinked—then gasped in horror. His village was burning. He heard howls, saw the shadows of hound Digimon running just out of sight.

‘Brother…’ came the call again.

“Maverick!” Maximus cried, racing toward the voice. He felt weightless, like he was running on the moon—every step carried him too far, yet not fast enough.

Another blink, and he was outside the village now, deeper in the forest. Someone stood ahead of him. He recognized the broad form, the muscular frame, the horned nose—a Veedramon.

“Maverick!” he shouted, sprinting toward the figure.

Then something whipped out from the trees, snaking around his waist and yanking him back. He looked down—some kind of vine or green tendril had wrapped around him. He grabbed at it, struggling to pry it loose, but more slithered in, coiling around his arms, legs, his body.

The dark-green, plantlike Digimon tumbled from the underbrush—Weedmon. Just like the ones he’d encountered before. This time, there were three, their vines lashing around him, stopping him from taking another step.

“No! Maverick, help!” Maximus cried, thrashing against the binds.

Maverick—because it had to be him, turned toward him. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring, completely apathetic to his brother’s plight.

“Maverick!”

“How could I help you, brother?” came the reply. “You failed to save me.”

Then, a red slash of light—blinding, sudden—cut through the Veedramon. His body dissolved into smoke, gone in an instant. Standing in his place… was Talbot.

The Black WereGarurumon grinned wickedly.

The Weedmon's vines hoisted Maximus off the ground, holding him closer to Talbot as though offering him up. Talbot’s paw reached out, claws gleaming, that same demonic smile still stretching across his face as Maximus struggled, helpless in the trap…

Maximus woke with a start, gasping sharply as he sat upright, his breaths coming fast and shallow. He dropped to his knees on the bed, staring at the floor, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. His entire body felt cold, like he’d just climbed out of an ice bath…

Another nightmare, he thought, trying to collect himself.

His eyes stung. The tears were already there. He clenched them shut, willing the flood to stop—but it was no use. They spilled down his cheeks as he wept silently, his small frame trembling in the moonlight.

When he opened his eyes again, something else caught his attention—a shadow on the wall. Cast by the moonlight streaming in through the window, it should have just been his own silhouette. But there was more.

Something bigger.

Something moving.

Maximus whirled around, gasping horrified when he saw it. A spider-like creature was crawling in through the window. Its eight, glowing blue eyes locked onto him. Seeing that he was awake and that its easy meal had been lost, it lunged.

He cried out in surprise and threw himself off the bed, landing hard on the floor before rolling and landing on his hands and knees. As he faced the intruder, his mind raced.

Dokugumon? No—it was too small. The last Dokugumon he’d seen had been as large as a handcart; this one could fit through the window. One of its spawn, he realized grimly.

The spider hissed and launched itself again, jaws wide open in a humanoid mouth lined with dagger-like teeth. Maximus scrambled backward, trying to stand, but the room was too cramped. His head hit the wall by the door—then the creature was on him.

He barely managed to raise his arms, one hand pressing against the spider’s helmeted face, the other braced against its neck. Its jaws snapped inches from his own, blue eyes glowing with hunger. He gritted his teeth and kicked feebly, trying to push it off. It wasn’t enough.

Then—a knock. A shout from the hallway. Maximus barely heard it over the struggle, a hopeful elation rising withing him. “Help!” he yelled instinctively, without thinking.

The door exploded inward, lamplight from out in the hallway spilling into the room, illuminating the spider Digimon on top of Maximus.

A red blur crashed into the spider, knocking it off him. Maximus hit the floor, dazed, as his saviour landed atop the spider’s back with a savage growl, biting deep into the base of its head.

The spawnling screeched, flailing wildly to throw off the attacker. Maximus, driven by adrenaline, leapt to his feet and squared up, glaring at the spider that had tried to make a meal of him. “Incoming!” he shouted.

The newcomer sprang away from the spider, diving onto the bed just as Maximus drew back a glowing fist. “Vee Knockout!” he cried, punching the creature with full force.

The impact hurled it into the wall with a sickening thud. It landed on its back, twitching.

His rescuer stepped forward—now clearly visible in the light from the window and that coming in from the hallway; a red reptilian form with sharp claws and determined eyes. He opened his jaws wide, a crimson sphere forming between his teeth.

“Pyro Sphere!” he growled, spitting the condensed fireball at the stunned spider Digimon.

The spawnling screeched as the fireball struck, its limbs curling inward as flames engulfed it. Within seconds, it disintegrated into a shimmering cloud of data. Maximus instinctively reached out for it with his mind—but stopped.

I didn’t make the kill, he reminded himself. He left it alone, letting the data hang for his rescuer instead.

To his surprise, the figure didn’t absorb it.

Instead, the red Digimon turned toward him, two amber-yellow eyes locking onto the Veemon before he hopped down from the bed.

Maximus took a cautious step back as he got a good look at him. The creature stood hunched like a raptor, walking on two sturdy legs, his arms curled back slightly against his chest. A pale white underbelly covered his torso and stomach, and on his round belly was a black emblem—the mark of a Virus-type.

‘Is… is this guy a Virus-type?’ Maximus thought, puzzled.

Despite the ferocity he’d just witnessed—the brutal knockdown, the bite to the skull—there was none of it left in the red reptile’s eyes now. Only curiosity. There was something almost… innocent in the way he tilted his head, sniffing the air like a confused puppy. He didn’t look or act like any Virus-type Maximus had ever encountered before – least of all for his refusal to absorb the data from his kill.

Then the stranger spoke. “Are you okay?”

Maximus almost jumped. The voice was disarmingly friendly. He gave his head a sharp shake to clear it before answering.

“Y-Yeah. I’m okay,” he said. “Thanks. You saved me.”

The red lizard drew his head back and grinned—wide and goofy. “No problem!”

The cheeriness hit Maximus like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. It was so sudden, so sincere, that for a moment he just stood there, blinking. It was as if the fight had never happened.

Behind the red lizard, the cloud of shimmering data had already dispersed, fading into nothingness to be carried off to the After. Maximus, having already decided he didn’t deserve to enjoy it, brushed aside the flicker of disappointment.

His focus remained on his rescuer—the red lizard who now stood grinning at him like they’d been friends for years. That goofy, friendly demeanour was disarming in a way Maximus wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t just the smile… It was the feel of him.

There was a warmth there. An openness. Like at any moment, this stranger might throw his arms around him and hug him just because he wanted to.

A word came to Maximus then, unbidden; extrovert. An extreme case of that it seemed.

Maximus shifted slightly, lowering his arms as if he’d only now remembered they were still raised. “Uh… right,” he said, quietly. “Thanks again. I… I didn’t catch your name.”

Even as he said it, he felt that old reflex stirring—the instinct to keep his distance. To stay guarded. Trust wasn’t something he gave freely. Not anymore.

The red lizard didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care. “Rilo!” he said cheerfully, puffing up with pride like he was announcing a royal title. He tilted his head, still smiling. “Are you new here? I know just about everybody, but I don’t remember you.”

“Uh… Yes, I… Just arrived today,” Maximus replied, unsure whether to match the lizard’s energy or shrink from it.

Rilo’s eyes lit up. “A new classmate!” he exclaimed—and without warning, he lunged forward and hugged Maximus, rearing back and managing to even pick him up.

Maximus stiffened. Every muscle locked. He stood there, arms hovering awkwardly as the other Digimon clung to him like a long-lost friend, while for his part Maximus could only stare at the wall, blankly. His mind scrambled for what the proper response was to this.

Part of him wanted to recoil. To push Rilo off and reestablish the boundary he hadn’t meant to drop. But another part—a smaller, quieter part—hesitated. Rilo wasn’t threatening. He wasn’t doing this to invade or challenge. He just… was like this; friendly, open, and warm.

Maximus didn’t know how to take it. He glanced down at the Virus-type now squeezing him with such reckless affection and thought, not for the first time: What the hell is happening right now?

As Rilo held him, Maximus caught a glimpse of the scorch marks still smoking on the floor—the aftermath of the spawnling they had just killed. His blood ran cold again. The danger wasn’t over.

He pulled himself free from Rilo’s hug, landing back on the floor with a small thud. Rilo blinked, momentarily puzzled—and maybe a little hurt—by the Veemon’s abrupt retreat.

“We need to tell someone about that spider,” Maximus said, trying to redirect them back to the matter at hand.

At that, Rilo perked up like someone flicking a switch. “Oh! Right!” he exclaimed. “We should tell Surtan!”

“You know where to find him?”

“Yeah! His room’s three doors up this way,” Rilo said, pointing confidently with a claw. “But if he’s not there, he’s probably out on the grounds somewhere, trying to find that spider nest, and—”

He cut off suddenly, eyes widening. He looked over his shoulder, back at the scorched floor where the spawnling’s data had dissipated. “Wait a second… How did that thing get up here? The elders sealed the cave!”

Maximus narrowed his eyes. “Worry about that later,” he said. “Let’s find this Surtan guy and let him know. Other students could be in danger.”

“Right!” Rilo agreed. “I’m with you… uh… Sorry, what was your name?”

Maximus blushed with realization. “Ah, how rude of me,” he said. “It’s Maximus.”

“Okay! I’m with you, Max!”

Maximus raised an eyebrow, but shook his head, deciding to let it go before he and Rilo ran out of the room, sprinting up the hallway in search of help…

~~~~~

The two didn’t find Surtan in his room—knocking only disturbed his neighbors, who angrily barked at them to keep quiet. That earned an awkward apology from Rilo and a silent vow from Maximus to let the Guilmon lead the way from now on.

They moved into the citadel’s yard, which was mostly empty at this hour—except for one figure standing alone beneath the watchlights. Rilo made a beeline toward him.

Maximus trailed behind, his curiosity piqued. He’d heard the name ‘Surtan’ earlier that evening when Fenric had mentioned him in passing, but he hadn’t thought to ask. Now, faced with the mystery, he didn’t have to.

The yard of the citadel was mostly empty, save for one figure standing alone beneath the watchlights. Rilo made a beeline toward him, leaving Maximus to trail behind, unsure of what—or who—he was looking at.

The figure was tall and broad-shouldered, humanoid like Fenric, but clad head to toe in crimson armor that gleamed in the low light. A mane of golden hair spilled from the back of his helmet like a cascade of fire, and as he turned, Maximus caught a glimpse of his face—or what wasn’t hidden.

Like Fenric, he had a human visage, but it was masked—his features concealed behind a sleek, red helm with curved horns sweeping out to either side in a regal, symmetrical arch. The mask gave nothing away, but it didn’t have to. His stance said it all: still, but alert. Calm, but undeniably powerful.

“Surtan!” Rilo called out.

The horned figure turned toward them, his presence solid as stone.

“Rilo?” Surtan asked, speaking with a rough voice. “What’re you doing out of bed?”

Maximus slowed his pace, a knot of caution forming in his gut. Whoever this was, he didn’t look like someone you visited. He looked like someone you reported to.

He was just as tall as Fenric, and just as lithe—but the weight of him wasn’t in his size. It was in the heat of him, the way his armour seemed to hum with banked flame. He wasn’t moving, but Maximus could feel it: coiled speed, raw force, the kind that didn’t hesitate.

He found himself staring—then quickly looked away, uneasy at the thought that the mask might be staring back.

An Agunimon, he thought. A warrior Digimon with power over fire.

He’d never seen an Agunimon before, but somehow, he still knew what Surtan was. The name, the type, even some vague idea of his capabilities—like half-remembered facts from a book he’d never read. Just like with Fenric and like with so many others he’d seen on this journey of his…

Most Digimon had that; a kind of inherited database, stitched together from absorbed data and battle-won fragments. Bits of other lives tucked away in their own code. Maximus had learned to trust it… mostly. It came in flashes, like intuition, or déjà vu.

But it didn’t come with understanding; he hadn’t known what Lotfia was until Raist had said it. He hadn’t known Dokugumon could spawn offspring until Fenric had said so – and when they were crawling up the walls to attack him in his room.

The knowledge was there, but without the context, without the why, it was just static in his head. Like having the wisdom of someone older and wiser echoing inside him—but without the maturity to make sense of it all.

The knowledge had gaps. Holes. Places where instinct failed and experience had to fill in the blanks.

Maximus was starting to realize his understanding of his world outside of his little village of lumberjack dragonoids was far from complete…

Surtan wasn’t like Fenric, who carried himself with a relaxed, confident grace. The Agunimon felt... intense; like a bonfire that hadn’t been stoked yet, but only the bravest would dare to approach that fire…

Rilo showed none of the intimidation Maximus felt as he answered. “I got up for a snack, and I heard Max here in trouble,” he explained, quickly. “A KoDokugumon got into his room and tried to attack him.”

Surtan’s blue eyes widened, surprised. “What?!” he demanded, turning sharply to look north, in the direction of the observatory – indicated previously by Lotfia to Maximus.

Without another word, Surtan was off in a sprint, his long strides carrying him ahead of Rilo and Maximus as they struggled to keep up. It was no use, however; they could not match Surtan’s speed, following him to a set of stairs heading up the hill, the observatory’s silhouette looming above.

Ascending the stairs, they came to a paved road, leading along the hill to another stairwell, leading up to the observatory. But that was not where they were going, as their trek took them to the side, down another small incline, into a shallow crater. Most of the crater, filled by a massive boulder, partially underground like a giant plug.

They saw Surtan running around from behind the boulder, his eyes scouring the base extensively, the frustration evident in his voice as he spoke.

“Nothing… The entrance is still sealed,” he growled. “So how did one of the blasted things get out?”

He turned on the two as they approached. “You’re sure it was a KoDokugumon?” he asked.

“Hey, it’s hard to mistake a big spider crawling through my window, trying to turn me into a snack,” Maximus retorted defensively.

“Same!” Rilo added, speaking in Maximus’ favour. “I saw it with my own eyes; it was definitely a KoDokugumon.”

“They must’ve found another way out,” Maximus added.

Surtan scowled, looking away from the two to take in the citadel, his eyes scanning the structure rapidly. “Alright… The question is where, then?” he asked.

Then, he lifted his head as he had a thought. “Max, right?” he asked, looking at the Veemon.

“Max_imus_,” the Veemon corrected.

“Right. Where was your room; can you see it from here?” he asked, pointing back towards the manse area of the citadel where the sleeping quarters were.

Maximus followed Surtan’s finger toward the manse, squinting his eyes as he tried to pierce the darkness to see where he was pointing. He recounted the number of stairs he’d climbed and descended to get to his room, and mentally counted the windows, based on the rooms he’d passed.

Finally, he was able to pick it out. “Fifth one from the end,” he said, pointing. “Just before that bigger building – I was told that’s where the dining hall was.”

Surtan nodded. “They must be coming out somewhere down there,” he said. “Alright, you two—get back inside and start moving everyone to the dining hall. It should be safe.”

Maximus bristled. “Hang on. I’m not one of the students here.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Surtan shot back, glaring down at him. “You’re still sleeping in our rooms. If you don’t intend to mooch off our hospitality, then do as I say. We need to make sure the students are—”

An ear-splitting screech cut through the night air like a blade.

All three turned just in time to see something—eight-legged and writhing—go flying from one of the upper windows. Not a leap. It had been thrown, kicked out into the open, tumbling through the darkness.

For a heartbeat, it was swallowed by shadow—then struck the ground and burst into a brief but blinding cloud of data particles, the glowing fragments lingering like sparks.

A second figure vaulted through the same window, sleek and fast. They dropped three stories without hesitation, rolled with the impact, and rose fluidly—pulling the data into themselves like smoke drawn to a flame.

“Ashira?” Rilo breathed.

“That girl…” Surtan muttered, clearly annoyed. “Up to her usual again.”

“What does that mean?” Maximus asked, frowning.

But Surtan didn’t answer. He broke into a run, vaulting the low mound at the yard’s edge and plunging down the hillside. Arms out for balance, he descended the slope with reckless speed—no rope, no footholds, just raw instinct. In seconds, he vanished into the darkness below, sprinting straight toward Ashira.

Maximus jogged for the stairs. “What did he mean?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Huh?” Rilo called, following after him.

“About Ashira. ‘Up to her usual again’—what’s that supposed to mean?”

Rilo hesitated. “Oh… Ashira’s not really the type to wait around. If there’s a fight, she’s in it. It’s gotten her in trouble before.”

Maximus paused, then asked, “Including when she lost her evolved form?”

Rilo nearly tripped mid-step. “H-How do you know about that?”

“I’ve been asking around,” Maximus said, evasive as he kept moving. The two of them descended the stairs, hurrying toward the lower yard.

Circling around the manse, they arrived just in time to catch the tail end of an argument—Surtan, unmistakable, facing off with someone else. Maximus didn’t need to guess who it was.

“—not a threat to me, Surtan. I can handle a few miserable little spiders.”

The speaker was female, defiant, and furious.

“You’re a Data-type,” Surtan shot back. “They’re Virus-types. If they swarm you, they’ll tear you to pieces.”

“Then I won’t let them catch me,” she snapped. “Or are you implying I’m not fast enough anymore?”

“Damn it, Ashira—will you listen for once?” Surtan growled, clearly at his limit. “No one here doubts you, no matter what you think. It’s not about your strength—any Digimon can be overwhelmed. That’s why we don’t fight alone when we’re outnumbered.”

Ashira flicked her paw in a sharp backhanded motion. “I don’t need anyone’s help,” she growled, low and bitter. “Waiting for ‘help’ is what got me in trouble last time. What I need is for people like you and my brother to stop getting in my way!”

Maximus felt a twinge of something at the sound of Ashira’s voice—sharp, bitter, laced with something deeper than just frustration. Her words echoed in his head as the argument dragged on. He wasn’t sure what it was he felt exactly… sympathy? Guilt? Recognition?

Whatever it was, it stuck with him.

It only added to the stack of questions building in his mind about her—Ashira, this fiery, stubborn Renamon who seemed determined to stand alone. He remembered how her brother had spoken about her when they’d met, the worry in his tone… and now it made more sense.

There was history here; deep, tangled, and still mostly hidden. Maximus found he didn’t like how much he wanted to know; though, it wasn’t like Ashira was going to tell him, recalling that death glare she had given him in the hallway just for the mention of her brother…

Then, Maximus stopped listening to the argument as Surtan continued trying to reason with the Renamon. Something else had caught his eye—a shape, faint and irregular, lurking just at the edge of the torchlight.

He squinted and took a few steps forward, drifting past the two arguing Digimon without a word.

“Max?” Rilo whispered. “Where are you going?”

But Maximus didn’t answer. He was already moving, drawn toward the shadows… toward whatever it was he’d seen.

As he approached, the shape came into clearer view. A cellar door—wide open, like a mouth yawning toward the night sky.

Closer now, Maximus saw more: the wood had splintered outward, jagged and broken. A dull metallic glint on the ground caught his eye. He knelt and picked it up—an iron padlock, its shank snapped clean through.

Something had either ripped it open from the outside… or forced its way out from within.

Heart hammering, Maximus turned sharply, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted:

“Surtan! Over here!”

The argument stopped cold. Both Surtan and Ashira turned at once, looking toward Maximus.

With a huff, Surtan pointed an accusing finger at her. “We will talk about this,” he warned. “Your recklessness is going to get you killed one of these days—like it nearly did before.”

Ashira gritted her teeth, clearly biting back whatever sharp retort was on her tongue. But Surtan had already turned and jogged over to Maximus, following the Veemon’s outstretched hand.

He stared at the open cellar door—and his eyes widened.

“The cellar,” he breathed. “That’s how they got out… The catacombs must run beneath the manse too.”

“Is there any other way out besides this door?” Maximus asked.

Surtan rubbed his plated chin thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers. “The kitchen! There’s another door to the cellar through there.”

“We need to block them off somehow,” Maximus said. “We should split up—one group heads to—”

“Hang on a minute there,” Surtan interrupted. “I’m the senior instructor here, little one.”

“And despite my appearance,” Maximus countered, “I’m probably the same age as you. I’m no stranger to combat— I’m not a rookie, at least not in the literal sense.”

Surtan started to reply—but Ashira’s voice cut in before he could.

“You ought to listen to him, Surtan,” she said, stepping over with the air of someone who definitely wasn’t done being difficult. “He seems to know what he’s talking about.”

“This is none of your business, Ashira,” Surtan growled, eyes narrowing.

She ignored him. “You were going to suggest one of us checks the kitchen door while the others guard this one, right?” she asked Maximus.

“Y-Yeah,” he said, caught off guard by how quickly she’d picked up on it.

“Then the three of us should be one group,” she continued, gesturing between herself, Maximus, and Rilo. “We’re more than enough to handle any more spiders that crawl out of that hole.”

Surtan blinked. Then narrowed his eyes in deep suspicion. “All that talk about not needing help just a minute ago,” he said slowly, crossing his arms. “Do you take me for an idiot, Ashira?”

She arched a brow at him, saying nothing—but the look on her face said everything. Do you really want me to answer that?

Before the fire could spread, Rilo jumped in between them, raising his claws. “I agree with Ashira!” he blurted out. “Me, Max, and she can guard this exit. You’ll reach the kitchen faster anyway!”

“Speak for yourself,” Ashira muttered, folding her arms.

Surtan growled low in his throat, glancing from the broken cellar door to the trio in front of him. Finally, he jabbed a finger toward the ground.

“Alright. But only to guard it,” he said. “You three stay right here.” His tone brooked no argument. “You don’t move from this spot until I—or Fenric—comes for you.”

He paused, glancing once more into the darkness of the open cellar.

“After that,” he continued, “we’re going down there to seal up whatever hole they’re crawling out of. But you three”, he pointed at each of them in turn, “are not to set one foot into that cellar. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Rilo nodded quickly.

“Fine,” Ashira muttered.

Maximus nodded silently. That had been his idea, after all.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” said the Agunimon. He fixed one last sharp look on Ashira, holding her gaze for a moment before turning and striding off, rounding the corner of the manse and disappearing from sight.

Ashira huffed. “Finally,” she muttered, and stepped toward the open cellar door.

Rilo’s head crests shot up in alarm. “W-Wait! Ashira, he said not to—”

“Shut up, Rilo,” she snapped. “Those spiders have been a problem for too long. It’s time someone dealt with them—properly.”

She moved to pass him, but Maximus stepped in front of her.

“You want to march straight into their nest?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you insane?”

Ashira moved to shove him aside, but Maximus held his ground. He pushed back—palms to her abdomen—stumbling her a step. Her eyes flared, blue light simmering behind them as she glared.

Maximus met her glare, unwavering.

“Get out of my way, you little punk,” she growled.

“If you think I’m going to stand here and let you get killed, you really are crazy,” he shot back.

While they squared off, Rilo had wandered closer to the cellar door, peering inside with growing unease.

Ashira scoffed again. “Oh, let me guess… My brother asked you to protect me?” she sneered, not even waiting for a reply. “That’d be just like him, leaving it to someone else instead of doing it himself.”

Her voice cracked with bitterness now. “And instead of showing up himself, he sends some puny Veemon to do it for him? Because that’s so much easier than swallowing his pride and coming back to the academy.”

“Uh, guys?” Rilo said.

The Guilmon was ignored.

“He never asked me to protect you,” Maximus stated firmly.

Ashira’s expression didn’t change. “Good. Because I don’t need you,” she snapped. “Now get out of my way before I—”

“Guys, I think there’s—!” Rilo tried again, louder now.

He never got the chance to finish.

From the darkness of the cellar, a pair of three-clawed hands shot out—covered in red gloves marked with skull symbols—and clamped around Rilo’s head.

The Guilmon barely had time to cry out before he was yanked violently into the shadows. His scream echoed through the open cellar door, then vanished.

“Rilo ! ” Maximus shouted, already bolting for the door.

He didn’t hesitate. He dropped into the dark after him, a blur of motion. Ashira followed right behind, but Maximus didn’t care—his focus was on one thing only. Finding Rilo. Before the spiders could tear him apart.

The cellar was pitch-black. Unlike the dormitory halls above, no oil lamps lit the way. Maximus squinted, forcing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Somewhere ahead, he could hear it—grunting, scuffling, claws against stone. Rilo was still fighting. Still alive.

For now.

A blue glow suddenly filled the space, pushing back the darkness to reveal the room around them. Maximus turned—and saw the source. Ashira stood a few steps behind him, both of her paws wreathed in ghostly blue fire that matched the glow in her eyes. She wasn’t looking at him; her gaze was darting rapidly around the cellar, scanning the shadows.

Maximus turned away again, trying to see beyond the edge of her flickering light.

Then he spotted it. A bulky form shifting in the far corner. Rilo’s cries had quieted to weak, ragged grunts—barely audible—but they were coming from that direction. From that thing.

Knowing what he was seeing, Maximus raised his voice. “Hey! Eight-eyes!”

The spidery creature turned toward him, and Maximus got a clear look.

It wasn’t what he’d expected.

It resembled the KoDokugumon that had attacked him in his room, but this one was bigger. Its forelimbs were more flexible, jointed like arms ending in paw-like hands and clawed fingers. Its face was hidden behind a horned helmet, not the smooth, featureless mask of the other.

“This one’s already in its Rookie form,” Ashira said, her voice calm but focused. The flames on her paws flared brighter as she closed her fists.

“I’ll go head-on—you flank it!” Maximus called.

Whether she heard him or not, Ashira was already in motion. The sphere of light followed as she sprinted forward, her yellow-furred form a blur in the gloom. Before Maximus could so much as take a step, she had already reached the creature—banking hard to its side and driving a glowing fist into its flank.

No longer the point-man, Maximus sprinted forward. The spider seemed to grow larger with every step, utterly dwarfing both him and Ashira.

He didn’t know much about Dokugumon—or their spawn—but something told him this one was different. Bigger. Meaner. Stronger than the one that had crawled through his window.

No time to think about that now! he told himself. Rilo needs me.

He acted on instinct. Like a blue bullet, he launched himself straight at the KoDokugumon. “Vee Headbutt!” he shouted mid-leap.

He collided head-first with the spider, the impact slamming into its armoured body. The KoDokugumon reeled from the blow—just long enough for Ashira to follow up.

“Power Paw!” she growled, slamming her glowing fists into its side again and again. With a final turn-and-kick, she sent the creature crashing into a shelf. The wood splintered, contents spilling everywhere as it collapsed in a heap.

Maximus turned away from the downed spider and ran to Rilo. The Guilmon was half-cocooned in webbing, wrapped tightly from the chest down. Even his mouth was sealed shut, reducing his screams to muffled grunts and pained moans.

“Hang on, Rilo!” Maximus said, dropping to his knees and clawing at the webbing.

But the silk was like iron—strong and unyielding, barely giving under his fingers. Rilo’s eyes were wide, pupils tiny, his gaze flicking wildly from side to side. As Maximus tugged harder, Rilo’s entire body tensed—he gave a muffled cry and instinctively tried to pull away. The silk tightened with his movements, digging deeper into his limbs.

Maximus froze. The more he pulled, the more it hurt.

Ashira stormed over with a sharp groan. “Move over, you dimwit!” she snapped, shoving Maximus aside without ceremony.

She knelt beside Rilo, lifting one paw. “Souzan,” she muttered—and flexed her fingers.

Three claws extended from her digits, gleaming in the blue glow. With a single swipe, she sliced through the sticky threads binding the Guilmon.

Rilo let out a choked gasp as the tension snapped. He clawed the remaining strands off his mouth, stumbling upright and dragging in sharp breaths.

“Thanks,” he wheezed, looking at Ashira.

“Don’t mention it,” she said flatly, already turning away. Then she froze. “Wait… Where’d it go?”

Maximus followed her gaze—and felt his heart skip a beat. The KoDokugumon was gone.

A trail of crushed debris led toward the far wall, where a jagged shape emerged from the gloom—low, rough-edged, and just barely visible.

“Is that the hole?” he asked.

“Let’s find out,” Ashira replied, reigniting her Power Paw to cast light as she stepped forward.

Maximus and Rilo exchanged a glance, then moved with her—flanking her sides as they crossed the cellar. Slowly, Ashira’s light illuminated the wall, revealing the passage clearly now.

It was a ragged hole, wide at the base, narrowing as it curved downward into the earth. Like a gaping black mouth, it opened into a tunnel that led deeper… far deeper than her light could reach.

“Well, now we know where they’re getting in,” Rilo said quietly.

“And where to find the rest of them,” Ashira added, taking a step forward.

On instinct, Maximus lunged and grabbed her paw, yanking her back. “Don’t!”

“Let go of me!” she snarled, jerking free. In one swift motion, she turned and backhanded him across the face.

White-hot pain exploded across Maximus’s cheek. More out of shock than anything, he stumbled back, gaze dropping to the floor as he tried to process what had just happened.

Then he looked up.

His eyes locked on Ashira, and the heat behind them flared. Fury overtook reason.

Before he could think, he launched himself at her, ramming her in the chest with his head. The impact sent her reeling, staggering into a nearby shelf, barely catching herself in time to stop it from toppling. A jar tumbled from the top, hitting the floor with a sharp crash and releasing; the sharp, acidic scent of wine filled the cellar.

She turned, paws up, eyes glowing with cold fury. Her tail lashed from side to side behind her, the ghostly fire of her Power Paw igniting again. Maximus squared up, fists clenched.

But before either of them could make another move, a door slammed open above them.

“What’s going on down there?!” came a familiar voice.

Surtan’s voice boomed down the steps, followed immediately by the sound of boots—and Fenric, already descending, his light-sword ignited and slicing through the dark. The Lobomon swept the cellar with a sharp, practiced glance before his eyes landed on the three Digimon—especially Maximus and Ashira, still poised, still glaring.

Surtan’s fury hit like a hammer.

“I told you three not to come down here!” he roared, his voice snapping Maximus and Ashira out of their battle trance. “What in the hell were you thinking?!”

Maximus recovered first, turning quickly to answer. “Rilo got grabbed by one of the spiders,” he said, breathless. “We had to come down—or they might’ve killed him.”

“It’s true, Surtan,” Rilo added, stepping in beside him. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I let my guard down. They had to save me.”

Surtan glowered, but a hand on his shoulder from Fenric pulled his focus. The Agunimon hesitated, then exhaled hard, forcing himself to calm. When he looked back at Rilo, his expression had softened.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Rilo shook his head. “No. Thanks to Max and Ashira, I’m okay.”

Surtan turned to the Veemon and Renamon next. Both stood their ground, eyes locked on his. He studied them for a moment, then gave a short snort—but his voice was quieter now.

“Well done,” he said. “It takes courage to dive into danger to save a friend.”

Maximus shook his head. “I did—” He paused, then glanced toward Ashira… and looked back to Surtan. “We did what was right.”

He didn’t see the way Ashira looked at him then. A brief flicker of surprise. Not guilt. Not gratitude. Just… curiosity.

Then her ears twitched. She spun to face the hole in the wall. “They’re coming!” she said sharply.

The others froze, listening.

At first it was faint—just the light skitter of limbs, the wet click of mandibles echoing up through the tunnel. Then it grew, quickly, swelling into a rising cacophony of chittering, scraping, and anger.

The swarm was coming.

“Sounds like a lot of them!” Rilo exclaimed.

“Everyone, behind me, now,” Surtan commanded, turning to face the hole.

Ashira moved to stand beside him, but Fenric stepped up behind her and lightly tapped her shoulder.

“You’re going to want to move back,” he said.

“Why?” she demanded, shooting him a glare. Her tone wasn’t just questioning—it was daring him to explain.

Fenric’s answer was calm. Immediate. “Because the inside of that hole is about to get very hot.”

He stepped away, letting the choice be hers.

She held her ground for half a second longer—then retreated without another word as Surtan slammed his fists together.

With a resounding clang, pillars of fire erupted from his gauntlets, wrapping his arms in roaring flame. “Pyro_…_” Surtan growled, drawing his fists apart, each one wreathed in searing red heat.

“Punch!” He snapped both arms forward, launching twin blasts of fire into the darkness.

A heartbeat passed. Then the tunnel lit up from within, the flames turning the passage into a blazing furnace. Agonized screeches echoed out, the shadows of writhing limbs dancing against the cellar walls.

Surtan repeated the motion—fists together, then drawn apart. Another pair of fireballs exploded from his arms, plunging into the depths. The glow deepened. The screams rose—and then began to fade along with the crackle of the flames, as the last of the bodies burned away.

An eerie silence settled over the group. No more chittering. No flickering light. No crackle of fire. Just stillness.

“I think you got them,” Rilo said flatly.

Maximus’s thoughts nearly slipped out. No shit. Fortunately, he managed to keep that one to himself.

“Good thing your bite is just as big as your bark,” Ashira commented, crossing her arms.

Surtan looked over his shoulder at her, but he didn’t answer her directly. “Fenric. See if you can find someone to seal that hole,” he said. “I’ll stand guard until then.”

“I’m on it,” the Lobomon replied, his beam sword going out before he returned the handle to his belt.

“The rest of you,” Surtan began, “Good job tonight. Head back to your rooms, and let me know if you see any more spiders.”

Maximus expected to Ashira to give a biting retorted and refuse to follow Surtan’s instructions. But to his surprise, she didn’t, shrugging and starting toward the stairs. “If anyone needs me,” she said, “I won’t be in the steaming murder hole of barbequed bugs.”

“Actually, spiders aren’t-” Rilo started to say, but a flat look from Ashira silenced him. “Oh. You were being sarcastic,” he said, sheepishly.

Ashira let out a breath. “You’re lucky that hating you is like kicking a Fusamon, scaleback; some things, even I’m not enough of a bitch to do,” she muttered, running a paw down her face.

With that, Maximus and Rilo followed the Renamon out. At the top of the stairs, Fenric was waiting—holding the door open for them.

“Good night,” he said politely, giving each of them a nod before stepping aside and moving on his way, disappearing into the halls beyond.

The three were left alone in the kitchen, to find their way back to their rooms. Maximus followed Ashira and Rilo out, matching steps with them as they left the kitchen and entered a corridor.

“I don’t actually know the way back to my room,” Maximus admitted. “Though... technically, my door’s kind of destroyed.” He shot a wry glance at Rilo.

If the Guilmon’s skin hadn’t already been red, Maximus was certain he’d be blushing.

“Oh. Yeah… I did do that, didn’t I?” Rilo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“Hey, you saved me from becoming spider chow,” Maximus said with a shrug. “Not like it was my door anyway.”

Ashira suddenly stopped walking. She turned on her heel, fixing Maximus with a stare. “So… why?”

Maximus blinked. “Why what?”

“You didn’t tell them I started that fight – the one they interrupted, or that I was trying to go into the cellar against Surtan’s orders,” she said. “So, why not?”

Maximus let out a short breath. “We may both be back at Rookie level,” he said, “but that doesn’t make us children. We don’t need someone else solving our problems for us.”

Ashira arched a brow, clearly searching for a retort—and coming up short.

Until her ears twitched. “Wait a minute,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Both back at Rookie level?” she demanded, glowering at him.

Maximus hesitated for half a second. “I did say I met your brother earlier,” he replied. “I also—”

“He told you that?!” she exploded, eyes flaring as her teeth bared. “That was not his story to share!”

Maximus opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance as Rilo stepped in, waving his arms as he tried to get Ashira’s attention.

“W-Wait, maybe he didn’t mean—” Rilo stammered. “I mean… maybe your brother just wanted to help? You know, like... in a supportive way?”

Ashira turned her burning glare on him. He shrank back immediately.

“Or maybe not,” he mumbled.

Maximus let out a slow breath, his expression tight. “If you’d just let me finish—”

But Ashira had already turned away, arms rigid at her sides, tail twitching with every step as she stormed off toward the nearby stairway, disappearing up the steps before either of the males could think of any more to say.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” grumbled Maximus, slapping his forehead.

“Instead of building a bridge, I guess I dug a canyon,” Rilo remarked, sounding guilty.

“Not your fault, Rilo,” Maximus waved it off. “She overreacted, and jumped to conclusions. That’s on her, not you. Besides, she seemed to skim over the fact I said ‘both’ of us were back at Rookie level.”

That seemed to placate the Guilmon, his expression softening as he nodded to Maximus. Then, his smile faded, and he studied the Veemon curiously.

“But that does beg the question,” he said, “how do you know about Ashira being devolved? Did you meet her before, when she was still a Youkomon?”

Maximus shook his head. “Actually, Caram and Raist let it slip first, and Nagata confirmed it,” he explained. “They didn’t tell me everything. Only that she devolved because of a fight with a powerful enemy that got the better of her, and they only told me that because it happened to me too.”

Rilo raised his head, his head crests standing fully upright, looking at Maximus with alarm. “Wait, for real?” he asked.

Maximus nodded. “I was an ExVeemon, previously,” he said. “Long story short, I got into a fight – a bad one… Lost of piece of myself,” he looked at his hand with quiet reverence, remembering the less dextrous but much stronger hand he’d had before. As an Exveemon he’d only had two fingers and a thumb, rather than the more human four-fingers he had now.

“After that… I devolved back into a Veemon,” he said. “The rest is history.”

“So you…” Rilo said, and then looked at the stairs where Ashira and gone, “And her… You’re alike?”

“In that at least, yes,” Maximus confirmed, simplifying it. “I know Ashira was a Youkomon, I know she got hurt. I don’t know who she fought, and I certainly don’t know why the heck she’s so mad at her brother.”

He glanced at Rilo. “I don’t suppose you know that last part?”

Rilo shrugged. “Nagata wasn’t my teacher,” he said. “He was an instructor for an advanced class; I never reached it before he left.”

“So you don’t know why he left, either?” Maximus asked. Rilo shook his head. “Any idea who would?”

“Well… Surtan was one of his students, before he became an instructor himself,” Rilo said, rubbing his chin in thought. “There’s also Aslanor, but good luck catching him when he’s here.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s one of the founders of the Citadel Knights and their regular field man, so he’s almost always away on a mission somewhere,” Rilo went on. Then, he seemed to have an idea. “Wait! Artemeia! She might know!”

“Where would I find her?”

“Like Aslanor, she’s a member of the Citadel Knights. The head of them, actually,” explained Rilo. “She was advanced combat instructor once, and was here the same time as Nagata – if anyone knows why he left, she might. Maybe even her little sister would know something too.”

“Who’s her sister?”

“Thalassa. She’s really sweet,” remarked Rilo, smiling with clear fondness. “She volunteers at the infirmary when she’s not in class, but she participates in the same combat class I do. I see her all the time.”

Maximus nodded. “Sounds like she’d be easier to approach than her sister,” he said.

“Does this mean you’re going to stick around?” Rilo asked, hopeful.

“Well…” Maximus began slowly. “Nagata did send me here with hopes they might be able to help me, make me strong again. I suppose that means I’m here to stay for the time being.”

“Does that mean then you’ll be joining the combat classes too?”

Maximus chuckled. “I’m probably a tad beyond the classes here,” he said. “But, I’ll think about it.”

Rilo nodded eagerly. “Please do,” he said.

Maximus lost his smile, eyeing Rilo curiously. “You really seem to want to keep me around,” he said. “Did I make that good of an impression?”

“Well, yes, but that’s not all,” he said. “I just really like making new friends. Especially since we had quite an adventure tonight. And,” he smiled sheepishly. “You saved my skin today.”

The smile returned to Maximus’ face. “We could call that returning the favour,” he pointed out. “After all, you saved me first.”

“Maybe so,” admitted Rilo, shrugging. “Still… If you’re going to stay here, I would like the chance to get to know you better.”

Maximus nodded. “We’ll see,” he said. “Anyway, best we get ourselves back to our rooms and get some rest.”

“Right! Follow me.”

Fatigue caught up with Maximus the moment his room came into view.

With the crisis finally over, the adrenaline had faded, leaving only weariness in its place. He was ready—desperate—for sleep.

After bidding Rilo a quiet goodnight, he trudged into the small, dim room. It looked just as he’d left it—bed unmade, blankets tangled from his earlier scramble. He didn’t even care that he no longer had a door; didn’t care that the hallway was exposed and he had no privacy. He crossed to the bed, climbed up, and collapsed onto it, landing face-down with a soft grunt. His head sank into the pillow, facing the wall.

He let out a long, contented sigh. The kind that only came when someone finally stopped moving…

He was already halfway to sleep when noticed a shift in weight across his back. Something soft. Light. It took a second to register what he felt being draped over him.

His blanket.

A shadow flickered across the wall. Maximus pushed himself up and turned his head, just in time to glimpse a red, scaly tail slipping out of view around the empty doorway.

“Rilo?” he mouthed the name, too stunned to say it aloud.

He stared after him for a moment, unmoving. A familiar warmth bloomed in his chest—gentle and deep. A feeling he hadn’t expected to feel again. One that he’d buried alongside someone else.

His brother. Maverick…

The sting in his eyes returned, swift and merciless. He sniffed, rubbing at the corner of his eye as a tear slipped out, unwelcome but unstoppable.

He didn’t want to cry. Not again. He was tired of crying. But the tears came just the same.

He let his head fall back into the pillow, clutched the blanket close, and wept—silently—his thoughts tangled in memories of a brother lost, and the kindness of someone who didn’t know how much it mattered.

~~~~~

“Maximus?”

The Veemon jerked awake, pushing himself up on his hands, his heart pounding. The voice had come from close by. He glanced up, blinking sleep from his eyes. The figure standing over him took a small step back, but their posture remained calm and unthreatening.

Eventually, the blur in his vision cleared, and he recognized the lupine armor framing a humanoid form. “Oh… uh… Fenric, right?” he asked, his voice thick with grogginess.

“That’s right,” the Lobomon replied. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

Maximus rolled onto his back, yawning into one arm as he stretched out his legs with a groan. “It’s fine,” he said, voice clearer now. “What’s up?”

“I came to inform you the Tribunal has agreed to see you,” Fenric said. “They’re waiting for you now.”

Maximus bolted upright on his elbows, his eyes widening. “Seriously?”

“They had planned to wait until tomorrow,” Fenric admitted. “But Surtan and I gave our accounts of what happened last night. That seems to have encouraged a more immediate response. You’re welcome to proceed to the Grand Chapel at your earliest convenience.”

The covers flew off as Maximus swung himself out of bed, landing with purpose. “Let’s go,” he said, almost bouncing on the spot.

“You don’t want breakfast first?”

“I’ll eat later,” Maximus replied, already shaking his head. He was starving, but the excitement burned away his hunger—for now. “Just show me the way.”

Fenric paused a moment, then offered a faint nod. “As you wish,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to the door. “Follow me.”

FOOTNOTE: Disclaimers

Thanks again to everyone who is checking out this series; I hope you’ve been enjoying it! I feel the need to make a note here about some of the places where I’m taking creative liberty, particularly in regards to Maximus’ knowledge and understanding of what Lobomon and Agunimon are – despite never seeing either before, this comes to an idea I’m applying to this canon

We’ve seen Digimon do this several times in the shows. In the original adventure, Agumon knew what Skullmeramon and Mojomon were the moment he saw them, and likewise Tentomon knew what Kiwimon and Vademon were despite the latter living in an alternate dimension and very unlikely to have been seen by him or anyone he knew before, and there are even more examples of this throughout the show, plus the 2nd Adventure series as well.

Yet this is inconsistent, as we saw some Digimon be identified by others, such as Izzy when they first encountered Puppetmon and no one in the group knew what he was until he outright showed them by inputting his own entry on Izzy’s laptop. I theorize that this is because Digimon that have achieved Ultimate and especially Mega level are much less common and therefore, far less known than Rookie or Champion-level Digimon.

So, I’ve summarized this into the idea that when Digimon defeat each other, and the winner absorbs the data from their defeated opponent (Source: Digimon Tamers) to build their own internal encyclopaedia of their world, they can also also inherit some of the knowledge and experience of the defeated Digimon – in some instances, even use their attacks. (Source, also Tamers; Beelzemon using Leomon’s attack, Jouken/Fist of the Beast King, when trying to save Jeri.)

This also explains how Digimon do not retain memories or knowledge when they die and reformat into new Digimon, because that data was taken from them upon their death, leaving only the core intact to be remade into another Digimon; one that will not have the memories of its past life – though this evidently does not apply to human partner Digimon as we saw Wormmon and Cocomon (in the movie) retain memories of their respective partners when they returned as Digitama (eggs).

In summary , Maximus knew what Fenric and Surtan were based on experience he has inherited from defeated opponents which can go back entire generations depending on who he or his opponents have fought. Also, when Digimon are reborn, they don’t possess any of this data or experience from their previous lives, because it was taken from them by the opponent who beat them, like a hard reset or running out of lives in a really annoying video game that puts you back at the beginning when you lose.

Probably better the Digimon don’t remember their old lives, actually!

This all of course being how Digimon evolve ‘naturally’; by gaining strength in battle, and so many of them achieve higher evolutions without the help of a human – we see this across all of the shows and probably several games.

Seeing the Holy Citadel in the daylight was a different experience than seeing it at night. The hallways of the manse, filled with natural light through the windows, seemed warmer and much more inviting than the gloomy, lantern-lit interiors he’d walked through the night before.

Through the windows, he could see just how vast the grounds within the Citadel were. Outside the manse, he could see a long, oval-shaped track; a travel worn circuit, stretching four hundred some meters by his estimation. Even now, he could see various Digimon running the course, including a familiar, red-scaled saurian he was certain he recognized. At the edge of the field, far from the practicing Digimon, a lone, conical structure, with smoke trailing out of the chimney resting on its pointed top, sat alone near the travel-warn path that cut its way through the grounds.

He could also see the Observatory and the two-tiered plateau previously pointed out to him by Lotfia, before the spiderling had invaded his room. The observatory itself, now in perfect clarity from the daylight, was an impressive structure; dome-shaped, with a long telescope protruding from its bulky mass, able to see beyond the valley – he was even certain that its position had changed, suggesting the structure was even capable of rotation.

To the south, he saw the ridge upon which sat the White Tower, surrounded by low, crenellated walls, overlooking the walled pass of the east gate. At the end of the ridge, he saw a tall, narrow tower that reached up to the top of the rise where the keep stood, creating an immediate access point between the lower walls of the East Gate, and the impressive castle keep above.

“I never knew the Holy Citadel was anything like this,” the Veemon remarked, stopping to take in the sights for just a moment, marveling at the beauty of what felt to him like the beginning of a walled city.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Fenric asked, coming to stand beside him and look out the window with him.

“That’s one word for it,” Maximus replied dryly. “How long has this place been here?”

“I could not tell you,” Fenric admitted. “I’ve been here for twelve years; seen instructors and students come and go. It’s been standing here like this for as long as I can remember, aside from a few newer additions, such as,” he pointed to the lone conical structure that Maximus had noticed earlier, “that; a blacksmith. We didn’t have that until two years after I arrived.”

“A blacksmith?” Maximus asked. “Why do you need that?”

In answer, Fenric raised his hand and rapped his fist against his armour. “Even though this formed around me when I Digivolved, this armour can still be damaged. It requires maintenance, repair, and I’ve even made a few custom additions to the fitting, to make it more comfortable.”

“And that goes for the Gladimon and Surtan as well?” Maximus asked, recounting all of the armour-clad Digimon he had seen so far.

“Indubitably, and others like the Citadel Knights. They also make many of the tools we provide to the farmers, to the west.”

“This place has its own farm?” Maximus asked, looking up at Fenric. He certainly hadn’t seen or smelled anything like that…

“Well, no, not technically. The closest town to us is an agricultural community,” explained Fenric. “We are their most frequent customers. We trade them tools and offer them protection in exchange for food for the kitchens. It is a symbiotic relationship.”

“I take it the Locomon I saw pass Raist and I last night comes from there as well?”

“Not exclusively, but yes; they are the ones who freight goods between the towns and the Citadel as well. The one you would’ve seen was bringing passengers – a few new students coming in, some graduates departing, and even a few visitors.”

Maximus nodded, satisfied with the information. It seemed a peaceful, well-established community here at the Citadel. The tragic night he’d suffered at his home village seemed so distant to him now, seeing this place…

But he couldn’t forget… He would never forget…

Shaking his head before he could fall into melancholy against, he stepped back from the window and addressed Fenric again. “Right… Better keep moving,” he said, hearing the sadness in his voice.

Fenric’s eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat, but he said nothing, and turned from the windows to continue leading him up the corridor.

Down the stairs they went to the ground floor and crossed another corridor to the double doors leading outside. They followed the road south, around the manse, past the field, and to a fork where Fenric led him right. At first, Maximus thought they might be heading to the White Tower, seeing another fork coming where the road curved left, and led toward the ridge.

But Fenric passed the left turn and continued on, the road leading out to open ground. The path ahead led back toward the mountain walls of the north; Maximus had to squint his eyes to see where it led, and all he could make out at the end was a rising staircase that led up the mountainside.

“Where are we going?” Maximus asked. “The Tribunal isn’t over here, in the manse or tower?”

“No,” Fenric replied. “The Tribunal felt it necessary to keep their accommodations and place of work away from the training field, lest the students fear they were constantly being watched and judged by them all hours of the day.”

Maximus hummed as he considered the idea. “I guess that makes sense,” he said. “So… That’s where we’re going then? To… Whatever is at the top of those stairs over there?”

“Correct.”

“…I don’t suppose there’s an elevator?”

There wasn’t an elevator…

By the time the building at the crest of the staircase came in sight, Maximus was muttering every curse he knew and silently berating the architect who had thought it a brilliant idea to place a sacred structure so high up a mountain side. ‘Probably just being dramatic,’ he thought darkly.

After rising for what seemed like another kilometer, they finally reached the top of the stairs. Maximus put his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Fenric, by contrast, did not seem bothered, as though he’d taken that climb multiple times. His breathing was heavier, but barely noticeable.

“All that way…” wheezed Maximus, “and under all that armour… And you’re not… Exhausted?”

“I went up and down those stairs a thousand times before I Digivolved,” Fenric clarified. “It was part of my training regiment. After my Digivolution, I continued to train in my armour as well.”

He grimaced as he went on. “I confess… It was much more difficult, weighed down by this. But eventually, I acclimated.”

Maximus took one more deep breath before rising back to his full height, and looked at Fenric again. “So… The Tribunal is in… This… Place?”

His words slowed as he beheld the Grand Chapel in full… From a distance it had looked large, but seeing it up close he now understood just how massive it was. It was not simply a chapel; it was so big it may as well have been a cathedral, built into the peak of the mountain itself. The front of it, symmetrical, lined by Greco-Roman styled columns that held up the structure’s overhanging front, and topped by a domed roof.

“This is where we shall find the headmasters of the Holy Citadel and guardians of the world,” said Fenric, “the Holy Tribunal.”

‘Guardians of the world that are awfully slow to respond to trouble,’ Maximus thought darkly. “Alright,” he said, keeping the pessimism out of his voice. “Let’s do this, then.”

They approached the large double doors of the Grand Chapel, passing into the shadow over the overhang, crossing a large veranda or porch – Maximus wasn’t sure what the term for a building like this would be. The doors were guarded by a pair of Angemon, standing at attention, hands on their holy staves and faces half-hidden behind their rounded helmets.

Fenric led the way to the door, addressing the two Angemon. “I bring the visitor requested by the Holy Tribunal,” he explained. “I humbly request that we be allowed to pass, that I bring him to them.”

The two Angemon said nothing. They raised their staves and tapped them on the ground, and the double doors swung open. At first, Maximus thought that there might be someone behind the door, but he saw no one as Fenric led him through the doors.

Inside, the symmetrical layout of the building he had gauged from outside continued, with a wide-open entry hall. The floor was made of the same white stone – either marble or plastered granite, lined with a gold and silver carpet that made a path from one end to the other.

A few other angel Digimon could be seen here, including on the second level catwalk, to which Maximus couldn’t see any stairs – not that Angemon needed stairs; they had wings.

Fenric ushered Maximus along, leading him across the room. Maximus could feel the eyes of several of the angel Digimon on him, and tried to ignore it, until they made it to the second set of doors at the other end of the room. As before, the doors were guarded, but not by a mere Angemon. A _Magna_Angemon; an ultimate-level Digimon…

While MagnaAngemon had the same body-type as its Champion-level predecessor — tall, humanoid, clad in white — there was no mistaking the difference. His frame was bulkier now, armoured in plates of gleaming silver clad around his legs and an elongated, purple pauldron over his left arm – more of a shield than a piece of armour.

He was adorned with inscribed holy sashes that shimmered faintly in the chapel light, formed in an X across his torso. Eight wings arched from his back in a radiant fan, giving the impression not of a soldier, but of a celestial warden. A helmet concealed half of his face, much like the Angemon, he seemed to have no difficulty seeing the pair.

The MagnaAngemon spoke with a voice that seemed to echo off the walls as he addressed Maximus’ escort. “Sir Fenric,” he began, “he said. “We have been expecting you.”

‘We?’ Maximus echoed in his mind. ‘Is this guy a member of the Tribunal?’

“Indeed, Lord Valefor,” Fenric replied, placing a hand on his chest and bowing respectfully.

“Proceed,” Valefor stated, stepping aside as the doors behind him began to open, once again seeming to be of their own volition just like at the entrance.

With that, Fenric began walking again, and Maximus followed, casting a wary glance at Valefor before he looked ahead again, focusing on what was in front of him.

They stepped into a chamber that echoed the sacred design of the chapel — white stone walls, polished floors, and towering columns — but here, the architecture reached its full crescendo. Unlike the previous hall, there was no upper level; the ceiling soared overhead in a vast, uninterrupted dome. Maximus tilted his head back as far as it would go, breath catching as he took in the bronze-plated ceiling. The sunlight pouring in from the tiered windows below shimmered upward, bathing the room in a soft, brass-golden glow that felt less like reflected light… and more like the presence of something divine.

Opposite them rose a six-tiered dais — a holy throne, stepped like a ziggurat — each level home to a different celestial figure.

At the base stood a MagnaAngemon in priestly robes, distinct from the battle-armored guardian outside. This one bore only two wings, and the soft white of his garb lent him a serene stillness, like a candle in deep sanctuary.

To his left stood an Angewomon — tall, serene, and radiant. Her elegance wasn’t ornamental; it was inherent, woven into the tilt of her head, the way the golden light clung to the curve of her armor.

Beside her loomed an ArkhaiAngemon — garbed in flowing robes, accented by ceremonial crimson armour at the shoulders and chest. He gripped a tall, rune-marked staff tipped with smouldering flame, its base resting on the marble like a sceptre of judgment.

And above them all — at the apex — stood a single, resplendent figure.

Maximus froze, awe washing over him like a tide. The Seraphimon seemed colossal to him – even though he wasn’t any taller than his compatriots, wrapped in engraved blue armor that shimmered with ancient power. Ten golden wings arched from behind him in radiant symmetry, forming a divine halo that defied earthly scale or comprehension.

He didn’t merely stand above the others — he was above them. Not just in stature, but in presence.

Maximus suddenly felt very small before the Tribunal….

It wasn’t just that the Seraphimon towered over him, nor that the angels around him radiated such otherworldly calm. It was the feeling that he stood in the presence of something timeless — beings who had watched the world turn for centuries, perhaps eons. He was not simply out of place here… he was mortal among the eternal.

With that also came a sense that he did not belong there… These beings – these Angelic Digimon, were altogether made for greater things than himself. Suddenly, he felt like an intruder in a place that he was never meant to be…

When the Seraphimon spoke, his voice seemed to descend from the very heavens, and Maximus felt as though he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. “Welcome to you, Maximus of the Vee Clan,” he began. “You stand now before the Holy Tribunal. Allow me to begin by thanking you, for your selfless actions the night before, when you rescued one of our treasured students from the clutches of the Dokugumon infestation currently threatening our home.”

Maximus, unable to feel his pessimism anymore, could only answer with unexpected humility, rubbing the back of his head as he spoke. “Well… I wasn’t alone,” he said. “I had help…”

“Indeed. The younger sister of Master Nagata who left our service some time ago,” the ArkhaiAngemon spoke. “Nevertheless, you took action, without any incentive to do so. For that, you have our gratitude, and thus we determined you more than earned the right to stand before us today.”

‘How generous of you,’ came Maximus’ pessimistic thoughts again, but wisely he kept it to himself. “I only did what I thought was right,” he said aloud, deciding to keep up an appearance.

“Please, explain something to us,” the Angewomon began. “We understand you come from the Vee Clan village to the west, and that it suffered a terrible attack recently. We are to understand that you were there, and witnessed this attack firsthand.”

Maximus summoned his courage, and held back the darkness in his heart, before answering. “I was,” he said. “I faced the attackers myself, meeting them in the woods before they launched their assault. I had no chance to warn the village before they came.”

“Tell us,” the priestly MagnaAngemon said, “who committed this terrible crime?”

“A Black WereGarurumon,” Maximus said, “The others in his pack called him Talbot.”

The four archangel Digimon fell silent, sharing looks with each other. Maximus’ eyes darted over each of them, studying the faces of the three in the front; Seraphimon’s face was completely concealed behind his helmet, but he could still make out any change to the facial expressions of his three cohorts.

Or rather… The lacking thereof.

Maximus felt his anger rising again. “Did you-?” he stated to ask, before the answer came to him. “You all knew!” he exclaimed, his voice rising. “You know about him, don’t you?!”

“Maximus!” Fenric hissed from beside him. “You cannot speak out turn to the Tribunal!”

It was the Seraphimon who answered. “We were made aware, some time ago,” he began, “that an Oblivion Bloom event has recently occurred. Two of our number have already been dispatched to look into it. It appears that the Black WereGarurumon you encountered may have been a product of this calamity, in which case there will most certainly be others like him.”

Maximus recalled his conversation with Nagata, remembering the Doumon’s mention of an Oblivion Bloom as well… He had also speculated that Talbot might be a product of that event, and that others like him would certainly follow.

The Angewomon continued then. “Your tragic tale has given us another clue to this catastrophe, and may yet provide us a lead to the source. If the Oblivion Bloom has indeed occurred, then we must find it, and purge it at the source, or more just like Talbot will appear before long.”

Maximus’ hands tightened into fists. “And what about Talbot himself?!” he demanded. “He’s still out there! He’s going to do this again!”

“Maximus!” Fenric tried to interrupt, but Maximus ignored him.

“I saw that beastman kill everyone I’ve ever known!” Maximus went on, descending into a tirade. “I watched my brother die by his hand and his data consumed by him! He’s going to do this again, and the longer he’s left to run wild, the stronger he’s going to get! He has to be stopped!”

“Talbot’s justice will come in time,” the MagnaAngemon stated. “However, that must not be our priority for now. The Oblivion Bloom will create more just like Talbot, if we do not find it and destroy it.”

“And what happens to the Digimon he slaughters in the meantime?!” Maximus demanded. “By the time you go after him he’ll probably have gained enough power to Digivolve to a Mega himself! Where’s that going to leave all of you when he’s powerful enough to pose a threat even to you?”

“That shall not happen,” the Seraphimon stated. “You have done well to bring us this information, young Maximus. We shall take matters from here.”

That wasn’t good enough.

The words echoed in Maximus’s head like a mockery. His fists clenched so tight, he felt the sharp dig of his claws against his palms. Rage swelled in his chest like a furnace—hot, suffocating, relentless. He could feel it behind his eyes too, burning so fiercely it was almost a glow. His vision tunneled.

They were just standing there. Watching. Judging.

Doing nothing.

He was ready to lunge—ready to scream, to demand they listen, to force them to do something—when a hand like a steel trap seized his shoulder from behind.

He wheeled around, expecting to see Fenric.

He was wrong.

Valefor towered over him, his expression unreadable behind the sealed helm. But Maximus didn’t need to see his eyes to feel the weight of his glare—icy and ancient, like the judgment of a winter storm.

His anger vanished. In its place, a sick twist of terror clawed its way into Maximus’s gut. His knees nearly buckled.

“It is time for you to leave,” Valefor said, his voice colder than the marble floor.

Before Maximus could react, the world flipped sideways.

He was airborne.

A blur of motion—then impact. His back slammed into the carpeted stone and he tumbled, limbs flailing until gravity anchored him again. He skidded across the floor until finally coming to a stop, dazed and breathless.

“Valefor!” a woman’s voice snapped behind him. “That was highly excessive!”

“He should remember his place as a guest,” Valefor replied, flat and unrepentant.

The great double doors slammed shut as Maximus lay sprawled on the floor, stunned, seething, and aching in places he hadn’t known could ache. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head—and his ego.

Heavy footsteps approached. A moment later, Fenric knelt beside him, offering support.

“Are you alright?”

Maximus scowled. “I’ll be fine,” he said. Then, his eyes turned to the double doors, and he sprang to his feet, teeth clenched. “That sanctimonious son of-!”

“Don’t,” Fenric said sharply, blocking him with a single raised hand. “Don’t even think about it. Last night I knocked you down when you tried this with me. Valefor is three times my strength. Every angel in that room is just as powerful, and Lord Seraph is stronger still.”

Maximus’s fists clenched again. “So what? I just let it go?” he barked. “He threw me out like some ragdoll! And those pompous saints didn’t even listen! Talbot’s still out there. What if he gets stronger? What if he becomes a Mega Digimon? If that happens, then not even Valefor can stop him!”

Fenric’s stare turned icy. “Do not presume to understand the Tribunal’s judgment.”

“They’re not doing anything!” Maximus shouted.

Fenric lifted his hand and pointed accusingly at Maximus. “They’re doing what you are not; they are thinking long-term!”

Maximus blinked, startled by the force behind Fenric’s words.

“If Talbot was created by the Oblivion Bloom,” Fenric continued, “then even if someone stops him, another will rise to take his place. Some other Gabumon… or any Digimon close enough in data composition. Do you want there to be more Talbots?”

Maximus opened his mouth—but the answer caught in his throat, and silence fell over the two as they stood, staring, Maximus with his mouth hanging open stupidly, and Fenric remaining silent and stoic…

The fire in his chest hadn’t gone out… but something in Fenric’s voice—measured, logical, grieving in its own way, smothered it. The truth hurt more than when he’d hit the floor a moment ago…

“I…” Maximus started, then trailed off. His gaze dropped to the floor.

When Maximus didn’t continue, Fenric stood, crossing his arms and keeping a disapproving glare on the Veemon. “You came here to a sacred place – a place of miracles, and all you did was pick a fight. Your anger is rapidly becoming a liability – for you, especially.”

Maximus scowled again, looking at Fenric. “This anger’s all I’ve got left,” he bit back, “Until Talbot pays for what he did, I-”

He choked on his words, the scowl fading as his gaze to the floor… What would he do? He’d declared that he’d make Talbot answer for his crimes, somehow, some day… But to this day, he still didn’t know how he would…

Again, Nagata’s warning echoed in his mind. “There will always be a void left in your heart where your brother once was,” he had said. “Talbot’s death… will not change that. That space cannot be filled by emotional gains.”

“And yet, the pursuit to fill it… it could consume you.”

Was it already too late, he wondered… Was his desire for vengeance already consuming him?

He had come to the Holy Citadel for help. He’d been promised that they could help him become stronger again… Yet not once had that even come up in his conversation with the Tribunal. He hadn’t even asked if he could stay in the Citadel—to train, to become a student, to find a new future; one that might eventually allow him to take his revenge.

But if he approached Talbot now—even if he did manage to Digivolve again, become a Veedramon—in this state of mind, the Black WereGarurumon would make short work of him. All he would accomplish was his own death… and in doing so, ensure Talbot grew stronger.

Perhaps Maximus would even be that final touch—the last push that made him Digivolve to Mega. Then it would be his fault—his failure, that let Talbot raise hell beyond anything they could stop…

Fenric seemed to sense the inner conflict within Maximus. He sighed and chose to move the conversation forward. “We can discuss this more later,” he said. “For now, there’s nothing more to do here. But I promise you one thing, Maximus; don’t mistake the Tribunal’s decision as disregard for your plight. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Maximus lifted his gaze, frowning. “What?”

“They will ensure this cannot happen again. Also, the Citadel Knights have already been made aware of the situation,” Fenric explained. “Even if the Tribunal won’t pursue him, Talbot is being hunted. Lady Artemeia and Sir Aslanor will see to it that he is punished.”

Maximus blinked, startled. “How do you know this?”

“Because I informed them myself,” Fenric replied.

Maximus’s scowl returned. “And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“I didn’t want to raise your hopes too high,” Fenric said calmly. “It may be some time before they can find him-”

“It’s not about hope,” Maximus growled, interrupting Fenric. “If Talbot is being hunted… then I want to be there when he’s found.”

Fenric’s expression darkened with concern. “You cannot even Digivolve,” he reminded him. “At your current level, Talbot would crush you.”

“Then I need to be here,” Maximus answered firmly, “to train. To get stronger. Nagata said that even if I can’t become an ExVeemon again, I’m not without options. If I have to become a Veedramon—or discover a new Digivolution entirely—I’ll do it. I won’t let Talbot get away with what he’s done. And I won’t let him do it to anyone else.”

He looked at his hands. “There’s a way… and I will find it.”

Then—he felt something.

His voice faltered, his posture shifted. A strange sensation crept over him—like a tiny hand had grasped his, gently tugging him forward. At the same time, a whisper—soft, childlike—brushed his ear.

Maximus turned sharply, expecting to see someone beside him. But there was no one. No one held his hand. No one spoke.

And yet the pull remained. So did the whisper.

His eyes were drawn down one of the side corridors flanking the main hallway. A few Digimon wandered out of the corridor, unaware of anything unusual; the sensation seemed to be for him alone Even Fenric, following his gaze, looked confused.

“Maximus?” he asked. “What is it?”

“I… don’t know,” Maximus murmured, his voice low, distant. “What’s down that hall?”

Fenric looked, following his line of sight. “Uh… the trophy room, living quarters, the mantle chamb—” he stopped himself, pausing a beat. “...Chamber.”

Maximus took a step forward, and stopped, before looking at Fenric again. “Can we…?” He pointed toward the hallway.

“Of course,” Fenric replied. “The Chapel is open to all, with the exception of the living quarters and the Tribunal Courtroom.”

Maximus nodded and turned back to the hall. He walked slowly, almost in a trance as he followed the invisible string that pulled him along. His eyes shifted from side to side, ignoring the others passing by and the looks being cast his way, drawn only to the call… Unseen, yet unmistakable.

Something was calling him.

He passed two doors on the left before he stopped… The pull had shifted, returning to his left, leading him back to the second door; unlike the other rooms, this one had a guard. An Angemon stood watch, blocking any access to the room behind him, his staff held across his hands in a ready position for any fight – though Maximus couldn’t tell if he’d done that before or after he’d noticed the Veemon coming.

Fenric stepped forward. “Excuse me,” he said, cordially. “I wish to enter the Mantle Chambers.”

“Your friend there,” the Angemon began, not looking away from Fenric, “can he be trusted?”

“Yes,” Fenric replied with a nod.

“Very well,” the Angemon replied. “Remember not to let him touch the Mantles. None but the worthy may do undergo the trials.”

“Understood.”

The Angemon flipped his staff to an upright position, and stepped aside, revealing the door he’d been guarding. Maximus, without another word, stepped up to the door and opened it with a turn of the knob.

The room he stepped into was bathed in natural light, streaming through a tall, barred window on the far side of the chamber. Dust motes danced gently in the golden beam, yet none seemed to settle on what lay within.

At the center stood a half-circle of stone pedestals—nine in total. Each one held an object no larger than a Digimon’s helmet: some rounded, others more angular, but all distinct in shape and hue. Their arrangement was precise, deliberate… almost sacred.

Maximus stepped closer. Despite their age, the pedestals bore no sign of wear. Not a speck of dust clung to them. The air around them felt still… weighty.

Each ornament was different. Not just in color, but in essence. Some were smooth and egg-shaped, others jagged or crowned with protrusions. Strange, archaic runes shimmered faintly on their surfaces—etched into the metal or polished stone like language from a time long gone.

Maximus didn’t need to guess what they were. He knew. Somehow, instinctively, he felt it.

“These are…” Maximus said.

“The Digi-Mantles,” Fenric stated. “The keys to a method of Digivolution known as Armour Digivolution.” He looked at Maximus. “You know of these?”

“I… think so,” Maximus admitted. “Though I don’t know how. I’ve never seen them before, but… they feel familiar.”

“They often do,” Fenric replied. “Even those who don’t know their purpose tend to feel their pull if they may be worthy of them.”

Maximus stepped closer, his gaze drifting across each pedestal — until he noticed one was empty. “Why is this one missing?” he asked.

“That would be the Mantle of Light,” said Fenric. “It was claimed not long ago.”

Maximus furrowed his brow. “By who?”

“You met her last night. Lotfia — the Nerfertimon who greeted Raist when you arrived.”

Maximus blinked, recalling Raist’s words to Lotfia during their reunion. “Huh… So that’s what they were talking about.”

Fenric nodded. “She trained long and hard for it. The Mantle of Light only answers to those whose hearts are untainted by darkness. She underwent years of discipline and meditation to meet its standards.”

Maximus looked back to the other mantles. “So, no one else has claimed the rest?”

Fenric shook his head. “To claim a Mantle is to embody the virtue it represents. That’s not something most Digimon can achieve — not completely. And the trials…” He paused. “Even I’ve never seen one.”

“You haven’t?”

“They’re personal,” Fenric explained. “Invisible to all but the one being tested. If you took one of them right now, I wouldn’t witness a thing.”

Maximus hesitated. He felt the pull again, stronger now that he stood among them. He was startled out of his reverie, then, when Fenric spoke again, voicing his question suddenly.

“Why did you want to come in here?”

Maximus didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the empty pedestal before drifting across the others again. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “It’s like… something wanted me to be here.”

“Like you were drawn in?” Fenric asked. “Pulled by an unseen force?”

“Yeah. Exactly,” Maximus replied, turning from the Mantles to look at him. “But what does that mean?”

Fenric regarded him more intently now. “It means,” he said, “that one of the Mantles may have called to you. They see you as a potential candidate for the virtues they embody.”

Maximus’ eyes widened. “You mean… I might be worthy to use one of these too?” he asked, almost hopeful.

“It’s possible.”

Maximus looked back to the Mantles. “But… which one? How do I know which one called to me?”

“That is harder to say,” Fenric replied, rubbing his chin. “I haven’t known you long enough to judge which virtue you embody, and if you cannot feel which of the mantles it was, it could be you are not yet strong enough to carry them – or, it could be multiple ones are calling to you.”

He paused, then added, “I’ve seen your anger… but I’ve also seen your courage. You risked yourself to save Rilo — someone you barely know. And you stood your ground with Ashira, even when she didn’t want your help. Because you didn’t want her to get hurt. Those actions point to your courage.”

“You are also motivated by revenge, itself born of love,” Fenric went on. “You also have some sense of honour – you are willing to do what’s right, and become infuriated when you feel justice is perverted or not being carried out. To put it into words, you are righteous to a fault.”

His gaze drifted to the Mantles. “But moments like that don’t always point to just one path. A Digimon can carry many virtues in their heart — sometimes even conflicting ones.”

Maximus glanced sideways at him. “So… it could be any of them?”

“It could be several,” Fenric replied. “Or none. That’s the thing about virtue, Maximus — you don’t choose it. You just live it. The answer comes when you’re ready.”

Maximus exhaled slowly, his red eyes sweeping the Mantles one by one. Hope… Courage… Friendship… Love… Purity… Knowledge… Truth… Kindness… Still, that subtle pull lingered — quiet, insistent — and yet he couldn’t name the source.

“I… I think we should go,” he murmured, unease creeping into his voice.

Fenric gave a simple nod and turned without protest. Maximus followed close behind, resisting the urge to look back. The Angemon at the door closed it gently behind them — and the pull, just like that, was gone.

He kept pace with Fenric as they exited the Grand Chapel, never once turning around. The weight of the Mantles remained behind that door… but somehow, part of it followed him still.

~~~~~

Maximus' anger toward the Holy Tribunal simmered just beneath the surface as he and Fenric descended the stairs from the Grand Chapel. He kept replaying the conversation in his mind, each loop stirring the same frustration.

He understood their reasoning — at least, in theory. The Oblivion Bloom had to be found and destroyed. So long as it remained, others like Talbot could appear… Digimon twisted into monsters, spreading chaos across the Digital World. The Tribunal was focused on prevention, not retribution.

And yet… it gnawed at him. They hadn’t even discussed going after Talbot directly. If Fenric hadn’t told him the Citadel Knights were already on the move, Maximus wasn’t sure he would’ve stayed. He might’ve walked away from the Holy Citadel in disgust. To go where; to do what? He had no idea.

But now… He knew better.

If he had any chance of stopping Talbot — or others like him — this was where he needed to be.

It’s not like I have anywhere else to go, anyway, he thought grimly.

As if reading his mind, Fenric glanced back. “So… what will you do now?”

Maximus gave a half-hearted shrug. “I guess… I stay here. If you guys will have me.”

“You are welcome,” Fenric replied with a nod. “The Holy Citadel is open to all who seek refuge. You’ll be accepted like anyone else.”

Maximus arched a brow. “Even after I tried to deck you and seriously considered throwing hands with the Tribunal?”

Fenric didn’t even flinch. “You weren’t a threat. Not to me… and certainly not to them.”

Maximus scowled at the Lobomon, his eye twitching. “Gee, thank you, Mr. Motivational speaker,” he said flatly. “How about I trip over my ego next and go tumbling down these stairs? I’m sure a concussion will be a nice distraction from the pain of my wounded pride.”

Fenric looked back at him, confused. “Excuse me?”

Maximus’ arms fell to his sides, losing his scowl to be replaced by a blank expression. “Does that helmet cut you off from hearing ‘sarcasm’?” he asked.

“Oh,” the Lobomon replied cluelessly, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. “Forgive me; I did not realize.”

Maximus sighed. “Right… Let’s keep going then,” he said, wanting to keep moving before the conversation could become awkward.

They descended a few steps further before Fenric spoke again. “If you are going to stay, though,” he stated, “we need to help you get control of your rage. You cannot keep attacking everyone who disagrees with you, or whenever you feel that they aren’t taking action as quickly as you prefer.”

Maximus opened his mouth to retort, only to clamp it shut again when he realized that he had almost walked into a trap. “Okay… What would you suggest?”

“Perhaps we should start by attending the morning training regiment,” suggested Fenric. “Maybe what you need is an expressive outlet; a place to vent your frustration through physical exercise. Your friends will certainly be there too.”

Maximus looked at Fenric quizzically. “Uh… Friends?” he asked.

Fenric blinked. “Rilo and Ashira,” he said. “Are you not friends?”

“We just met last night; I can hardly say I’m their friend yet,” Maximus replied.

Fenric tilted his head. “Even though the three of you fought together in that cellar, against the spiders?”

“A mutual cooperation,” Maximus shrugged, but the edge in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Thinking of it, Rilo had been very friendly that night, being the most welcoming Digimon he’d met so far, on top of rushing to his assistance without any worry for his own safety. A sharp contrast to Ashira who, on their first meeting, seemed like she’d readily pulverize him with his own dismembered limbs before consuming his data…

“Well… Maybe Rilo, I could call a friend,” he admitted, considering. “But, not Ashira… I don’t think she’s interested in getting chummy.”

Fenric rolled his eyes. “I cannot say I disagree,” he said.

During the walk across the grounds, Maximus kept mostly silent, letting his thoughts spiral inward. After everything that had happened—everything he’d lost—he needed direction. And as much as he hated to admit it, Fenric was right: he needed an outlet. Something to help him burn off the pressure building inside his chest like a volcano sealed tight.

Training was the obvious answer. He knew this place, the Citadel’s academy, might be his best chance to grow stronger. To claw his way toward something better. Maybe even toward Veedramon. If the other path was no longer an option—if that door had been slammed shut; then he’d force open another.

He had done it before, after all. Years ago, he’d fought tooth and claw to become ExVeemon. Back then, the climb to Digivolution had felt like he was scaling a mountain. He thought he’d already reached the peak; that he’d evolved beyond needing to prove himself like that again. But here he was—standing at the bottom of the mountain once more.

And this time, the stakes were personal.

His thoughts drifted to the Digimon he’d met since his arrival—especially Fenric, still walking ahead with quiet confidence. The Lobomon was strong. Stronger than Maximus had expected. Maybe stronger than anyone he’d ever faced. Even at his best, Maximus wasn’t sure how he would’ve stacked up.

Fenric had brought him down in one clean move during his outburst. No struggle. No hesitation. Just precision and control.

A bitter taste rose in Maximus’ throat at the memory. Not because he resented Fenric—but because it had reminded him how far he had fallen, and how great the climb back up the mountain would be again; especially if he wanted to stop Talbot.

Then there was Ashira…

He’d seen what she was capable of in the cellar, beating down the KoDokugumon they had fought with terrifying ease. She barely needed his help at all. Even Caram and Raist had admitted they were wary of her, and they were no slouches themselves. She might be Rookie in form, but like him, she carried the power and instincts of a Champion-level Digimon – she was a Rookie in form and name only.

Maybe Ashira and I are about the same level, he thought.

Little did he know, he would regret that thought soon…

Coming around the manse, they arrived at the training field.

Maximus scanned the grounds, noting several Digimon already hard at work—some sparring, others hurling attacks at stationary targets, and a few running laps around the track. Most appeared to be Rookie-levels, varied in both type and attribute—Data, Vaccine, even a few Virus-types—all training together without incident.

Three figures, however, clearly stood out from the rest. Surtan, the Agunimon, was impossible to miss—his fiery form rising like a blazing sentinel as he watched over the students with a stern but attentive gaze.

Not far from him was Lotfia, the Nefertimon they’d met the night before. She hovered near the aerial trainees, offering soft encouragement as a Biyomon and Hawkmon struggled to lift off the ground.

And then, there was someone new.

A Lekismon—lapine in form, covered in pale pink fur with sleek muscle definition from the waist up and the unmistakable power of a Digimon built for agile strikes and rapid movements. Her body bore several crescent moon markings, all positioned with the kind of intentional symmetry that made them feel more like sacred emblems than ornamentation.

A short poncho was draped around her shoulders, fastened at the chest with a medallion. Her face was obscured by a smooth metallic mask, save for her twin pink-red eyes—and a third opening at the forehead that revealed a crescent moon and a single lock of hair. Six translucent tendrils flowed from beneath the poncho, curling like resting limbs, barely shifting in the breeze.

She knelt beside a wounded student—a small Armadillomon whose foreleg was clearly twisted. The Lekismon cradled the limb gently between her hands, a soft glow blooming from her palms. It cast a calming light over the injury, visibly dulling the pain.

Maximus’ gaze lingered.

There was something faintly familiar about her, even though he was sure they hadn’t met before...

Then it clicked. Is that Thalassa? he wondered, remembering what Rilo had said the night before—how she volunteered in the infirmary, always tending to others.

She felt different than the other mentors. She didn’t project Surtan’s commanding heat, Fenric’s razor-edged stillness or even Lotfia’s angelic majesty. Her presence was soft. Steady. Like moonlight dancing on still water.

“Max!”

Maximus jolted with a startled yelp, nearly leaping half his height off the ground. He spun around, claws half-raised in surprise—only to find himself face to face with a Guilmon just a little taller than him, blinking in confusion.

“Geez, don’t do that,” Maximus wheezed, patting his chest.

“Do what?” Rilo asked, tilting his head.

“Sneak up on someone like that!”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” the Guilmon replied innocently. “You just didn’t hear me.”

Maximus rubbed his neck. “I was… distracted,” he admitted, casting a glance back toward the Lekismon. “You told me about Thalassa last night. Is that her?”

Rilo followed his gaze and nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s her! Did you wanna meet her?”

“She’s busy right now,” Fenric cut in before Maximus could answer. His voice was calm, but with that same underlying firmness. “Let her work.”

He then pointed to the track. “The runners are just finishing their circuit. Why don’t you go join them, Maximus?”

Maximus eyed the course, shoulders rolling in a stretch. “A sprint, huh?” he said. “Sure. I could use a good run.”

He hadn’t realized how much he missed it. As much as he longed to feel the wind under wings again, there was something grounding about pushing himself on solid earth. Nothing like a hard sprint to wake up the legs and clear the mind.

“I’ll come too!” Rilo piped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I mean, there’s no way I can beat Ashira—but I’m pretty fast too!”

Maximus smirked. “Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Making their way over to the track—currently overseen by Surtan—the Agunimon stood with a stopwatch in hand, his eyes locked on the lead runner as they approached the finish line.

That runner was Ashira.

The Renamon outpaced the others effortlessly, her stride long and fluid, each motion powered by an unrelenting focus. As she crossed the line, Surtan tapped the stopwatch with his thumb.

“Good job, Ashira,” he said. “You just beat your previous rec—”

He stopped mid-sentence. Ashira hadn’t slowed down.

Unlike the other runners who staggered to a halt, gasping for breath, Ashira kept going—her expression unreadable, her pace undiminished as she rounded the bend and began another lap.

Surtan let out a groan and lowered his arm. “Alright… everyone else, take a water break,” he called, waving the winded students off the track. “Who’s next?”

“Us, Surtan!” Rilo chirped, bounding forward.

The Agunimon glanced over and smiled warmly. “Ah, good morning, Rilo,” he said, then turned to Maximus. “And your name was… Maximus, right? Welcome. Here to train?”

“That’s right,” Maximus said with a nod. “Room on the track for two more?”

“Well, even with Ashira still running, the three of you won’t crowd it,” said Surtan. “One lap. I’ll time you.”

Maximus and Rilo stepped forward and took their places at the starting line. Maximus gave himself a quick stretch—shoulders, legs, neck—and let out a slow breath. He glanced at Ashira in the distance, still a golden blur against the field.

Surtan raised the stopwatch. “Go!”

They launched forward.

Rilo moved with a raptor’s rhythm—low to the ground, bounding in long strides beside Maximus. The Veemon kept pace with a steady jog, his breath controlled, his focus on the track ahead.

They were just reaching the first bend when Maximus heard it: rhythmic footsteps behind them, fast and closing in. He looked back.

Ashira.

She was already on her third lap. And she was gaining.

Maximus faced forward again, just as she pulled up alongside them. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were focused, sharp, distant.

But something in Maximus pushed back—a flicker of pride, or maybe defiance. He picked up his pace, matching her stride for stride. Rilo began to fall behind.

Ashira glanced at him from the corner of her eye. A side-eye. A challenge.

Maximus met the look, jaw tight.

Then, without a word, she looked forward again…

…And vanished.

Maximus choked on his own breath as Ashira surged forward like she’d been shot from a cannon. In seconds, she blurred around the bend and launched into the straightaway, already shrinking in the distance.

His mouth hung open. ‘Damn, she’s fast!’

Rilo caught up beside him, panting. “She… She always does this,” he wheezed, pausing to breath as he spoke. “She’s been told… that it’s not a race… but it’s always a race… For her…”

Maximus didn’t answer. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

By the time they reached the halfway point, Ashira had already passed Surtan again. Before they reached the next bend, she’d passed them too—faster than before. She cut through the track like a blade through silk.

Maximus didn’t slow down. But really… what else could he do?

When they neared Surtan again, Ashira rounded behind them once more, passing them and crossing the line. Finally, she skidded to a halt with a final burst of dirt, her paws digging into the ground as she ended her run.

Moments later, Maximus and Rilo crossed the line.

Maximus doubled over, hands braced on his knees, gasping. Rilo dropped to the ground beside him with a dramatic wheeze, clutching his chest like he was dying.

“Twenty-one point two seconds, Maximus,” Surtan announced. “Rilo, you were just behind at twenty-one point seven. Not bad for your first lap.”

“And what about me?” Ashira asked coolly. She was breathing hard, but stood upright—barely winded compared to the others.

“I wasn’t timing that run,” Surtan said, frowning. “You already broke your record on the lap before.”

“My old record was seventeen seconds,” she replied flatly. “That was at my normal speed. I want to know what it was at full speed.”

Surtan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask. Then he raised the stopwatch, checking the data. “Let’s see… three laps in the time it took Maximus and Rilo to do one. Divide that... about seven seconds per lap.”

Ashira gave a short, satisfied nod. Then she turned to Maximus. Her expression was calm. Confident. Bordering on smug.

Maximus stood upright and met her eyes. His scowl came without effort.

‘This furball is starting to vex me, greatly,’ he thought bitterly.

“Alright, that’s enough running,” Surtan called out. “On to combat practice. Let’s go.”

Perfect, Maximus thought darkly, thinking that this might be his chance.

The students began regrouping, some stretching while others paired off for matches. Rilo was quickly claimed by an eager Agumon, and the two jogged off toward one of the open sparring spaces where Fenric stood watch, serving as referee.

Maximus, however, had his eye on someone else.

An Angoramon approached him. “Want to spar?”

Maximus shook his head politely. “Thanks, but no.” His gaze remained fixed on Ashira.

As expected, no one moved to partner with her. She didn’t seem bothered. If anything, she looked like she expected it. Her eyes drifted toward a heavy punching bag, already resigning herself to solo practice.

Until Maximus approached. “Need a partner?” Maximus asked, stepping up with confidence.

Ashira looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. Her face said it all. You can’t be serious. “You? Against me?”

“You saw for yourself last night; I can handle myself,” he replied, standing tall – or at least as tall as he could; the top of his head barely reached Ashira’s chest level. “And I don’t see anyone else stepping up.”

“That’s because they’re all afraid of me,” she said flatly, glancing away. “And they should be. I’m better than all of them.”

“But you’ve never fought me,” Maximus said, tone firm; part challenge, part dare, all meant to push the buttons of a competitive side he knew she had. “Maybe you should see what you’re really up against.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her weight shifting. Then she smirked — not warmly, but with the confidence of someone who thought they already knew how this would end.

“Alright,” she said, her tail swaying slowly behind her. “I could use a little entertainment, and the class ought to see what they’re up against.

Maximus squared his shoulders, matching her gaze with steely resolve. ‘You’re about to sing a different tune, lady,’ he thought. ‘Sorry, Nagata… but your sister’s about to get a well-deserved dose of humility, and I’m the one delivering it.’

Surtan’s voice rang out. “Next!”

Four more bouts came and went. Then finally, it was their turn.

Ashira stepped into the ring like she was punching in for work—casual, composed, poised. Maximus rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, trying to stay loose. His muscles hummed, tense and ready.

He could feel the eyes on them. Curious stares. Quiet murmurs. Even a few grimaces.

He didn’t need to hear the whispers to know what they were thinking. “Is he serious? Does he have a death wish? Is he—? Nope. He’s just lost his damn mind.”

A defiant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Let ‘em watch.

“Fighters prepared?” Surtan asked, arms folded. He looked between them.

They both nodded.

“Begin when you are ready,” he said, stepping back.

Ashira fell into a slouched, almost lazy stance—one leg forward, the other behind, her left arm held across her body, the right curled at her side. To Maximus, it looked like an opening.

But he wasn’t reckless. She was nearly twice his height. A direct charge would get him smacked before he even got in range.

He cycled through his moves in his head. ‘Headbutt… Knockout… She’s seen those.’ He needed something she wouldn’t expect; something she hadn’t seen yet.

He lunged—feinted to the right, then to the left—before launching into a Repeated Kick: two rapid spin-kicks.

Ashira blocked the first and caught his leg on the second. His momentum vanished. She held him by the ankle for a beat—then kicked him square in the back, sending him tumbling.

He hit the dirt hard, gritting his teeth against the jolt of pain, but rolled back to his feet and launched into a Vee Headbutt. She looked off-balance, weight on one foot. He had her.

Or so he thought.

With dancer’s grace, she pivoted aside. He flew past her like a cannonball gone wide, tumbling into the dirt, then spun back to his feet. He turned just in time, heart skipping a beat when he found that she was already mid-lunge, claws alight with Power Paw.

Instinct answered for him. “Victory Rush!”

Their blows met—her glowing paws against his flaring fists. For a moment, it was a blur of motion, a storm of dodges, parries, and glancing blows.

Neither could land a clean hit.

Then Maximus broke the clash—sprang back—then launched forward again. This time, she couldn’t dodge in time.

She managed only to form a cross over her chest with her arms just as his Vee Headbutt struck. The impact rocked her. She grunted as her feet left the ground and hit the dirt, flat on her back.

“He… He got her!”

“Unbelievable!”

Maximus didn’t celebrate. He knew better. Sure enough, she sprang back to her feet in one fluid kick-up, shook out her arms, and reset her stance like nothing had happened.

This time, she moved first.

She blurred toward him, snapping out a roundhouse kick. He planted his feet just in time—only for the follow-up to catch him clean across the face. Her opposite foot cracked into his forehead, staggering him.

He stumbled, tried to catch his balance—too late. She dropped low and drove a punch straight into his gut.

“Hkk—!” Maximus wheezed, breath bursting from his lungs.

Ashira took a few steps back from him, giving him a few seconds to collect himself. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that,” she said, her tone as cool as her stare. “But really… did you think just because I lost my Champion form, I’m somehow weaker than you?”

He coughed, eyes narrowing.

“Newsflash, lady,” he rasped, forcing himself upright. “I’m the same way.”

Ashira blinked. “What?”

“You only heard half of what I said last night,” he said, planting his feet. “I said that we both got knocked back to Rookie. You… and me.”

Her ears twitched. “You mean you were—?”

“An ExVeemon,” Maximus said. “Less than a week ago. I had a fight… and it cost me more than just a win.”

He stood tall despite the ache in his chest. “In other words, sister…” He tapped his chest. “I’m just like you.”

But the moment the words left his mouth, he knew something had gone wrong.

Ashira’s eyes widened—then narrowed. Her fists curled.

“You are nothing like me!” she snarled before she launched herself at him, paws blazing with energy.

He barely got his arms up. She was faster now—furious. Every strike was precise, merciless, overwhelming. He twisted left, right, trying to guard, but she gave him no chance.

Then one blow got through. A fist caught the side of his head. His vision spun. He hit the dirt, hard.

“Don’t act like you know me!” Ashira spat. “I’ve spent my whole life proving myself—and it was never enough! Always in someone else’s shadow! Only known for his legacy! Always just Nagata’s sister!”

Maximus rose on shaking elbows—then, in one breath, the words erupted from him: “At least you still have a brother!”

Ashira flinched. Just for a moment. Then her voice rose. “At times, I wish I didn’t!”

And that… broke something.

The world blurred. Maximus saw red. Felt the surge.

He didn’t remember moving.

One second she was across from him…

The next, he was lunging; the distance vanished in the blink of an eye, and through darkening vision all he saw was her, his hands scrambling for her face.

The look on her face had lost its smugness and superiority, to be replaced by something else; something that was a sharp contrast.

Fear…

Suddenly, another force hit him—hard. He was airborne.

And then, he hit the ground. It hit like stone, and all the air left his lungs.

Groaning, Maximus tried to push himself up. His arms screamed. His vision swam. The haze in his head dulled to static.

He blinked toward the track. How… did I get over here?

He turned. Surtan was helping Ashira up. He rose to his feet as he turned, rubbing his chest as he spoke. “Hey… did we—?” Maximus croaked.

But Surtan spun toward him, arm outstretched, claws pointed like daggers. “You stay where you are!” he barked.

Maximus froze. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the voice. Maybe the fire in Surtan’s eyes. He just… stopped.

“I’m fine!” Ashira snapped, shoving off the Digimon rushing to her side. “He didn’t do any real damage!”

“Ashira,” said the Angoramon from earlier, voice tight. “He tried to rip your head off!”

“But he didn’t!” she snapped. “So don’t make a thing of it!”

Maximus stared, heart hammering. Rip her head off? That didn’t make any sense…

He looked around, suddenly aware of the number of eyes on him. They were all watching him.

Fear.

Caution.

Distrust.

Maximus’s pulse slowed. His blood ran cold, swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat. “…What did I do?” he whispered.

The crowd began to back away—cautiously, like animals giving a predator space. Still, Maximus didn’t move. Surtan’s words echoed in his head.

From the corner of his eye, a shape stepped forward. Rilo.

“Max…” the Guilmon said softly. “Are you… okay?”

Maximus didn’t answer. He lifted his hands. They shook. His arms ached. The pain returned—and with it, the memory.

Ashira’s face. Frozen. Wide-eyed. Not angry. Not smug. Afraid.

Afraid of him.

He swallowed hard. “Did I… hurt her?”

Rilo said nothing.

Then three shapes approached. Surtan. Fenric. Thalassa.

They said nothing. Maximus met their eyes, and felt small before them. Surtan’s gaze was judgemental, Fenric’s was apologetic. Thalassa’s expression, though, betrayed no emotion, unreadable behind her mask.

Finally, like a tree falling in the woods to break the stillness, Surtan spoke. “Come with us.”

Maximus didn’t argue. His legs moved on their own, almost mechanically so, like they were following some pre-determined course, rather than anything of his own choosing.

Rilo started to follow—Fenric stopped him. Rilo protested. It didn’t matter.

They walked. Surtan on his left. Thalassa on his right.

He didn’t know where they were going. What would happen.

All he could see, every step he too, was Ashira’s face. That moment was etched in his mind like a brand.

She was afraid of me…

“…What am I becoming?” he whispered.

~~~~~

Maximus sat in his room in silence, his gaze fixed on the floor as the events of the day replayed in his mind on an endless loop. He didn’t know how much time had passed.

He couldn’t remember when he’d sat down. Couldn’t tell how long he’d been sitting there like that — unmoving, in that tiny, lonely room.

The only light came from the window, and even that was fading. The sun had already dipped behind the mountains, leaving only a faint dusk-glow creeping in through the glass.

An oil lamp sat unlit on the table beside his bed. The door — thankfully replaced after Rilo had smashed through it during the KoDokugumon fight — stood shut.

The hallway beyond was quiet. Too quiet. He could just barely detect the scent of food wafting in from beyond the manse — something being cooked. Dinner, probably. The other students must’ve gone to eat by now.

The thought made his stomach twist. He hadn’t eaten since that bowl of soup at Nagata’s house. That had been… what? Over a day ago? Longer since he’d had anything solid.

How was he still standing? He didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He blinked. “Uh… Come in,” he called, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The door opened with a quiet creak. A Lekismon stepped into the room.

It took him a moment to recognize her — Thalassa. He’d seen her earlier that day, masked and poised with that medallion on her chest. Now, she wore only her poncho, the soft fabric draped over her shoulders and back.

“Hello,” she said.

Her voice was… soothing. Serene. Like the sound of running water over smooth stones. Just hearing it brought a faint warmth to his chest — a kind of peace he hadn’t felt all day.

He remembered what Rilo had told him: she worked with the medics at the Citadel. Maybe that calming presence was part of why she was good at her job, calming her patients before tending to them.

“Hi,” Maximus replied, though his voice lacked life.

“My name’s Thalassa,” she said gently, pulling a chair over and sitting down without ceremony. “You’re Maximus, correct?”

“That’s right.” He tried to meet her gaze, but found himself faltering, eyes drifting away.

It was hard… harder than he expected to look her in the eye. Hard to face anyone right now.

Thalassa didn’t press him. She allowed the silence to speak for them both, as Maximus sat, hesitant, staring at the floor between the legs of her chair. The quiet stretched for what felt like an eternity, each moment deepening the pit of disgust in his chest.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I lost control,” he said softly. “I don’t remember what happened… All I remember is… rage.”

Thalassa nodded slowly. “That’s why I’m here,” she replied.

Another silence followed. Maximus didn’t answer, and Thalassa still didn’t push. She simply sat, hands folded in her lap, her pink-red eyes fixed gently on him. Patient. Present.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Seeing the opening, Thalassa leaned forward, her voice flowing with the same serene calm that had followed her into the room.

“You’re hurting,” she said. “Not just physically… something deeper. The pain of a wounded heart.”

She paused, letting the words settle.

“You… know about me?” Maximus asked, voice hollow.

“A little,” she admitted. “I know you arrived here recently. And that you suffered something terrible before you did.” She tilted her head slightly. “But I’d rather hear it from you — and only if you want to. If talking about it would help, I’m here to lend an ear…”

She smiled gently, brushing one of her long ears aside. “No pun intended.”

Maximus didn’t laugh. But the faint twitch in his cheek suggested he almost did. Still, he couldn’t meet her eyes. He wrestled with the decision inside himself, torn between the need to let it out and the fear of reliving it.

“I… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

“I understand,” she said. “And I know I can’t fix it. But I can sit with you in it… if you’ll let me.”

The internal conflict intensified, emotions colliding like waves against a cliff.

Maximus clenched his fists.

He wanted to speak — to pour it all out. To scream, to cry, to make someone understand. But his pride kept latching onto him like shackles, whispering that showing pain meant showing weakness. And he couldn’t be weak. Not again. Not after what happened.

But beneath that pride, rage boiled.

The anger at Talbot — that hateful creature. The fury that still smouldered behind his eyes, threatening to burst from his chest. But worst of all… was the anger at himself. His failure. His helplessness. The awful truth that, when it had mattered most, he hadn’t been strong enough to protect the one who needed him; Maverick was gone, because he hadn’t been able to protect him…

His breath hitched.

“I should’ve stopped him,” he whispered.

Thalassa’s expression didn’t change — no shock, no judgment. Just quiet presence.

“I saw what he was going to do… I knew what he was capable of… and I still couldn’t stop him…” His voice cracked. “I was too slow… too weak…”

His eyes burned, but no tears came yet.

“And then they tell me I scared her,” he went on, voice rising. “They think I tried to hurt her… But I can’t even remember what I did!”

He slammed his fists against his thighs, his whole body trembling now. “What if I’m becoming – no… What if I already am?” he rasped. “What if I’m no better than Talbot?!”

The words echoed, bouncing around the little room like shrapnel.

Then… silence. His breathing was ragged. His arms hung limply at his sides, knuckles white, body shaking. Finally… finally… his eyes brimmed with tears… This time, their sting was welcome, slowly letting the pain out.

Thalassa remained silent and motionless for a time, allowing Maximus to let out all of his pain. Her expression remained passive… No judgement, no malice, no disdain. Just patient sentry, remaining the pillar of strength and soothing presence he needed.

Finally, she rose, moving from the chair to sit beside him on his bed. He felt her hand on his back; a light touch, to remind him that she was there, but she didn’t force him to look at her.

“You are in no danger of becoming what you fear, Maximus,” she said softly.

“How can you be sure?” he asked, his eyes opening, but still not looking at her.

“Because Digimon like Talbot don’t regret the harm they cause,” she said. “You do. You might be a Digimon, as I am… But ‘monsters’ by their definition, do not cry for those they hurt.”

Then, she pulled back from him, hands on his shoulders. “You are lost… You are wounded… And most of all, you are grieving,” she recounted, and finally he did raise his gaze to look at her. “You have lost so much, and you are still trying to find a reason to continue, especially if it means doing so on your own.”

“But,” she added, her hands holding his shoulders tighter, “you are not alone, and you never have to be. You fear becoming something terrible… But you will never be like Talbot.”

Maximus sniffed, rubbing his eye. “How can you be sure?” he asked for the second time. “You don’t know me…”

“No… But I know hearts just like yours,” she said, taking a hand from his shoulder to rest it against his chest.

“I know what pain sounds like,” she continued, “But more than that, I’ve seen what it does to those who try to carry it alone. You’re right; I don’t know everything about you, Maximus, but I know this…”

Her hand returned to his shoulder again, and she looked squarely into his eyes as she continued. “Just because your heart has been shattered… Doesn’t mean you have to put the pieces back together on your own.”

She let her words linger, her hands remaining on his shoulders, and never removing her gaze from his.

Something shifted in Maximus then… Like a weight being lifted from his shoulders, he felt himself sitting upright more easily. Not all the way, but he felt stronger… Lighter…

Thalassa seemed to see something in her eyes that made her smile. Not wide, not triumphant… Just quietly, like someone recognizing the first light after a long night…

Maximus spoke. Thalassa listened.

He recalled the entire story, as he had with Nagata only days before. But this time, the words came easier, even as he felt tears in his eyes again. By now, though, he was done trying to make them stop anymore.

He could almost feel the scars of his broken heart beginning to fade…

“And then… He was just gone,” Maximus finished, his voice barely higher than a whisper. “My brother… By my side since the day I emerged from my Digitama…” he rubbed his eye again. “I never even got to say goodbye…”

Thalassa’s words came slow, giving Maximus his moment before she reached out her hand, gently holding his. He squeezed her hand absently, not looking at her, but glad to have her be present.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “It takes more strength than you can imagine to do that, especially with someone you just met.”

“It still hurts,” Maximus said, putting his free hand over his chest. “So much...”

“It will,” she said softly. “But grief doesn’t make you weak, Maximus. It means you loved someone enough that losing them has left a mark on you.”

He looked at her then – really looked, this time. For the first time since that awful night, he didn’t feel like he was drowning… He felt as though he were floating, the light of the moon beaming down upon him, bathing him in its soft, pallid glow.

Floating… Held up by something steadier than himself. The pain of the shackles remained… But the chains that had once pulled him down into that lake of sadness were finally gone…

He realized then that his gaze had lingered for too long, and he snapped his gaze away, blushing. “S-Sorry… I…” he said.

“You may,” she said, knowingly.

He looked at her again. “Huh?”

“You’re wondering if it’s appropriate to hug me,” she said. “It may not be a standard practice… But, I’m here, if you need it.”

Maximus moved slowly, as though fearing she’d vanish if he moved too quickly, sidling up to her, and laying his head against her chest as he slid his arms around her. He felt his breath catching when she reciprocated, slowly wrapping him in her embrace, and held him, as steady and still as the moonlight she embodied.

He let out a choked hiccup… And then he shut his eyes, shedding one more tear as he listened to the Lekismon’s heart beating. The quiet sob that escaped him now wasn’t like the others, as though this time he was releasing a held breath from swimming underwater.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“It is what I do,” she replied softly.

They stayed like that for a while, until Maximus reluctantly released Thalassa from his embrace. He wanted to keep it, but, a sensible part of him knew it’d become awkward if he let it carry on for much longer.

“So… What’s going to happen now?” he asked. “Am I… Well, is Surtan going to kick me out?”

“No, of course not,” Thalassa replied, shaking her head. “If he was going to do that he’d have done so by now. He asked me to meet with you, counsel you, to help you manage that anger.”

Maximus grimaced. “Fenric said much the same,” he admitted. “And… I think he’s right. I’ve lost control of myself at least twice since that night. It’s like there’s this… pressure inside me now, ready to snap at the nearest thing, like when sparred with Ashira.”

“This session may help ease some of that pressure for now,” Thalassa offered. “However, I would still like to recommend some exercises, to help you better manage your stress.”

Maximus was about to answer, before his words were immediately stolen by a loud, almost animalistic growl filling the room, coming from his core. At the same time, he felt a rumble in his stomach, and knew immediately that the sound had come from him.

He looked uneasily at Thalassa, who just stared blankly back.

“Well… an empty stomach probably isn’t helping either,” he said, feeling sheepish. “Raincheck on the yoga class?”

Thalassa smiled at his joke. “Of course. If you wish to continue our discussion or require anything else, you can find me downstairs in the infirmary,” she said as she stood from the bed and made her way over to the door. “I’m usually there until midnight.”

Maximus nodded. “Thanks again, Thalassa.”

“Anytime,” she said, opening the door.

She was barely outside before he noticed her head turn sharply to the left, and her expression shifted from surprise, to immediately defensive. “Ashira!” she exclaimed sharply.

‘Ashira?!’ Maximus repeated mentally.

Of all the Digimon to show up now, why her? Was she there to apologize? To gloat? To pick another fight? Maximus wasn’t sure he was ready for any of those yet…

“I can explain,” the Renamon spoke slowly.

“Were you eavesdropping on a private conversation?” Thalassa demanded.

Ashira’s answer came quickly, but not very convincingly “N-No! Of course not!” she said; Maximus couldn’t see her, and yet was nonetheless surprised to hear the same Renamon he’d raced and fought that day suddenly so flustered. “I mean, yes – I heard you speaking but I wasn’t listening, I swear.”

“Then why are you standing here outside his door?” Thalassa demanded, her hands on her hips.

“I wanted to talk to him too,” Ashira replied. “And I… I brought a peace offering.”

Thalassa’s gaze flicked down to something Ashira was holding in her paws – whatever it was; Maximus couldn’t see yet. Then, she looked back at Ashira, suspicion undeterred.

Finally, she turned to look back into Maximus’ room, meeting the Veemon’s eyes, seeking his permission.

“I… I’ll talk to her,” Maximus replied, hesitantly.

Thalassa huffed, and moved aside. “Then I’m staying here,” she said, folding her arms.

“W-What?! Why?” Ashira asked, indignant.

“Because you provoked him once today and I’m not letting you do it again,” Thalassa replied. Her voice didn’t rise, but the warning in her tone was unmistakable.

“Oh, come on Thalassa; I didn’t bring snacks to throw them at him. Even I’m not that much of a bitch.”

Thalassa arched an eyebrow at the Renamon. “Very reassuring,” she said. “I’m still not leaving. Not unless Maximus asks me to.”

Slowly, Ashira stepped through the door, casting another sour look at Thalassa. The Lekismon remained steadfast, following her into the room and closing the door for privacy again, remaining by the door to let the two speak.

Ashira stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, carrying a covered platter between her paws as she met Maximus’ gaze, the two staring at each other in silence for a moment.

She hesitated a beat too long before she spoke. “Okay, so…” she began, then groaned, clearly annoyed with herself already. “Damn it, this sounded so much easier in my head.”

Maximus blinked, but remained silent, his grip tightening on the edge of the bed. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet. Ashira, apparently expecting him to say something, just stared.

Finally, she cleared her throat, and stepped forward, offering the platter to him.

“I saw you didn’t come for dinner,” she said. “So…I brought you something. Meat buns, from the kitchen. They… May not be the freshest, but… They’re warm.”

Maximus accepted the platter, and the Renamon awkwardly continued. “I figured… You know… After that whole thing…”

Finally, Ashira gave up, her arms falling to her sides, groaning. She shot a dirty look at Thalassa. “This would be a lot easier if you weren’t listening, you know.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Thalassa reaffirmed, the tone of her voice leaving no room for debate.

Ashira grumbled, looking at the ceiling before addressing Maximus. “I’m terrible at apologizing,” she said, “But… I… I heard it from Surtan and…” she groaned again. “I know… I was… Out of line,” she finally said, the words staggered as she finally managed to get them out. “I… Never meant to… Provoke you like that. I didn’t…”

She sighed, and finally spoke easier. “I didn’t understand just how much you were hurting,” she said.

Maximus blinked again. “You know?”

“Fenric filled me in – a bit,” she clarified. “He told me about your town… And, your brother.”

Maximus frowned, resting the platter on his lap. A silence hung over the two of them for a moment, before he spoke.

“Did you… Mean it?”

“What?” she asked.

“About your brother, Nagata,” said Maximus. “Did you… Really mean it when you said you wish he wasn’t around?”

Ashira flinched like she had stepped on a trap, her expression turning to shock. “W-What? No wait, that’s no-!” she shook her head, and stared again. “You actually thought I meant that?”

“You said it yourself,” Maximus said quietly, though his expression had hardened. “‘At times, I wish I didn’t.’” His voice was quiet, but carried something beneath it – something that made the words hit harder than they should have.

Ashira groaned. “Crap,” she said. “Okay… Hearing it for myself, that does sound awful,” she admitted. “What I meant was, sometimes I wished I wasn’t his sister.”

Maximus arched a brow, his voice tinged with skepticism as he replied. “I don’t see how that’s any better, Ashira.”

Ashira’s expression shifted, hardening again. “Have you ever felt overshadowed by someone?” she asked, “Felt as though there’s heavy expectations of you, because of your family? Or worse yet, you accomplish something, but that somebody gets the credit anyway?”

Maximus caught on. “You think that your brother’s the only reason your accomplishments were ever recognized?”

“I know that’s why,” she said, rising annoyance in her voice. “I heard them say it. ‘Look what Ashira did here,’ followed immediately by ‘her brother taught her well’ or, ‘it’s all thanks to his guiding hand’. I could move mountains, and they’d still say Nagata showed me where to dig.”

She let out a bitter breath and shook her head. “Aside from that, several students here have also claimed that I only excelled in my classes because Nagata was going easy on me,” she continued. “Even for the classes he wasn’t even teaching. This went on for years.”

Behind Ashira, Maximus saw Thalassa shifting, her expression turning to one of incredulity as she looked at Ashira. But she remained silent, knowing that she wasn’t part of this conversation.

“Does this have something to do with when you Digivolved, and how you lost your evolution?” Maximus asked.

Ashira frowned. “It’s… part of it,” she replied, evasively. Then she waved a paw, dismissively. “Look, I’m not ready to have that conversation right now. I came to apologize. So…” she looked at Maximus expectantly.

Maximus sighed and nodded. “I accept it,” he said. “I owe you one too… I overreacted. When I thought you were saying you wished your brother was gone, it… broke something in me. It’s just… losing Maverick is still so fresh. And hearing what I thought you said…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Ashira folded her arms and exhaled. “I meant it when I said there are times I wish I wasn’t his sister,” she said. “But I have never wished Nagata was gone. Not for a second; I may be stuck in his shadow, but he’s still my brother and I love him. I just… wanted people to see me. Not just a reflection of him.”

Maximus nodded slowly. “I get it. Maverick and I had moments like that too — a bit of rivalry, some competition, but it was never the center of our bond. Not like it sounds with you two.”

Ashira’s ears drooped slightly. “Sometimes, it also felt like he couldn’t separate being a teacher from being my brother,” she muttered. “And I get it — he couldn’t play favourites. He had to see me as a student first. But outside the classroom… there were times I think he forgot I was family.”

Maximus was silent. A memory stirred; not for the first time since he’d heard them… But he was beginning to understand them.

‘Be for my sister what I failed to be…’

Nagata had known. He knew Ashira felt overshadowed. But his role demanded discipline and fairness. In the end, his duty created distance… and when Ashira Digivolved into Youkomon — a dark-path evolution and the same one he himself had followed, she’d only felt more like she was being shaped into his successor, not into herself.

Not Ashira. Just the next Nagata.

“I think I get it now,” Maximus muttered aloud.

“Huh?” Ashira blinked.

“Nothing,” he lied, brushing it off, and glanced down at the platter, lifting off the lid. The scent hit him first, then the sight of those meat buns — warm, golden, slightly uneven in shape. His stomach growled again in response, and this time, he didn’t fight it.

He looked up at Ashira with a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she replied — then added with a smirk, “Seriously. Don’t. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Thalassa stepped to the door and opened it, offering a gentle nod. “We’ll leave you to your meal, Maximus. Coming, Ashira?”

“Right behind you,” the Renamon replied. But as she stepped out, Maximus called out one last time.

“Oh — before you go,” he said, one bun already in hand despite his stomach’s continued protests.

Ashira paused and looked back. “Yeah?”

“You owe me a rematch,” Maximus said with a crooked grin. “And next time, let’s skip the trash-talk. One misunderstanding is enough.”

Ashira arched a brow. “Agreed,” she said — then levelled a challenging look his way. “But just so we’re clear… I’m still going to beat you.”

Maximus chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

With a final flick of her tail, Ashira stepped out after Thalassa — and for the first time in days, Maximus sat alone… not in despair, but in quiet, well-earned peace. He turned his attention to his food and took a deep breath, letting it out as he finally took his first bite.

Warm. Savory. Solid…

His first real meal in days – and to his starving stomach, it might as well have been a feast. He didn’t even care that they were a little uneven; they were perfect…

FOOTNOTE: Clarification

The Digi-Mantels (or mantles here) were known as the Digi Eggs in Digimon Adventure 02 that allowed the partner Digimon to Armour Digivolve throughout the series; I thought mantles sounded cooler, so I decided to keep that. I am also using two of their Japanese names.

The Mantle of Purity was known as the DigiEgg of Sincerity in the show, which is what created Shurimon. The Mantle of Truth was known as the DigiEgg of Reliability in the show, which created Submarimon. Because these two kind of meshed with their definitions I couldn’t change one to their eastern name without changing the other; to be Sincere is to also be Truthful.

Being reliable doesn’t strike me as virtuous – at least not in the sense that it’s unique to a character. People who are reliable are typically those who are simply responsible, and nearly the entire cast of the shows could all be considered that, since they’re willing to shoulder these burdens themselves.

In summary, I had to change the Mantle of Sincerity to the Mantle of Purity, its Japanese name, due to the Mantle of Reliability being the Mantle of Truth, to keep things simple.

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden warmth blanketing the open field. Light glinted off Maximus’s scales as he knelt in stillness, tail curled neatly around his heels. His hands rested on his thighs, palms down, fingers relaxed. Eyes closed. Breathing steady.

Deep breathing, he reminded himself—Thalassa’s voice echoing gently in his memory. In through the nose…

Maximus inhaled slowly, feeling his chest expand, the air cool as it filled his lungs. He held it, counted the beats of his heart, and then released it through his mouth, warm and slow.

Another breath. And another. With each exhale, tension eased from his body. He pictured the sea - open and boundless, under a calm sky. Gentle waves lapping at a distant shore.

His thoughts - sharp, loud, and jagged as they often were lately, he gathered like driftwood. Each one floated on the water’s surface. The rage he couldn’t explain, the nightmares he couldn’t forget, the doubts he didn’t know how to voice.

One by one, he approached them. In his mind’s eye, he tied each to a stone, and let them sink, watching them descend into the darkness below. All except for the thoughts that brought him peace. The warmth of the sun, the challenges of the day, his goals in regards to those challenges.

One more breath. In. Hold. And—

“Hey Max!”

“GAH!”

The cry burst from his throat as he jolted upright, completely losing balance. He tumbled sideways and hit the grass with a thud, landing on his side and rolling to his back. Heart hammering, eyes wide, he glared at the red shape now looming over him.

“Geez, Rilo!” he snapped. “You scared me half to death!”

“Uh… sorry?” Rilo replied, blinking innocently. “You looked like you were sleeping or something?”

“Sleeping? Upright? Sitting cross-legged?”

Rilo shrugged, utterly unfazed. “I mean… Unimon sleeps standing up, right?”

Maximus opened his mouth, floundered for a response, then groaned and flopped back onto the grass. “You know what—never mind.”

He slowly pushed himself upright again, resuming his seated posture. Eyes closed. Hands on thighs.

Focus, he thought. Just… try again.

Rilo, seeing this, watched for a moment before he tried to mimic the Veemon. Lacking the humanoid anatomy that Maximus possessed, Rilo couldn’t quite do the same posture, and had to settle with squatting, only to fall backward onto his tail.

Giving up, he looked at Maximus. “So… What are you doing?”

Maximus opened one eye to look at him. “I’m trying to do the meditative practices that Thalassa’s been teaching me,” he said, his voice calmer than before. “It’s to help me keep my anger under control.”

“Oh…” Rilo said softly, finally understanding. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s alright,” assured Maximus, shutting his eye again. “So… Was there something you needed?”

“I was going to ask if you were coming to training today,” said Rilo.

Over the last few days, after his previous episode with Ashira the Renamon, Maximus had not felt safe returning to training until he managed to get his anger under control. He still remembered that day, when Ashira’s words had pushed just the right button, and made him completely snap, throwing himself upon her and attempting to maim her for words that, at the time, he had interpreted as callous and vile.

But more than that, the fear on everyone’s face when they saw him, the distrust on the face of Surtan – the chief instructor, brought to him feelings he did not like having – he had never considered himself a social Digimon but he certainly did not want others to be scared of him either. So when Thalassa had offered to teach him how to better manage his anger, to keep himself centered and in control, he had taken it.

“Maybe,” was the only answer Maximus could give Rilo. “After I’m done with this, I can try. But…” He opened his eyes to look at Rilo. “Would the other students even want me there?”

Rilo looked at him as if he had spoken blasphemy. “Of course they would!”

“Are you only saying that because you want me there?” Maximus asked with a wry smile.

Rilo’s lips drew as tight of a line as he could around the multiple jutting teeth from his upper and lower jaw. It was funny to see a saurian Digimon looking so embarrassed, and Maximus couldn’t help but snicker.

“I mean, yeah, I do want you there,” Rilo confessed.

Maximus smiled. “Okay. For you, I’ll come,” he said. “Just give me a few minutes to – oof!”

Maximus grunted when Rilo suddenly hugged him, rumbling with delight as he squeezed the Veemon in his arms. “Awesome!” he crowed cheerfully, before setting Maximus down again and jumping to his feet. “I’ll see you there!”

Maximus gently rubbed his shoulder where Rilo had squeezed him, watching as the Guilmon walked away until he was a distant red shape in the group at the training field.

He still didn’t understand it—why Rilo had latched onto him so quickly. They had only just met that first night, when a KoDokugumon had slipped in through Maximus’s window. Rilo, hearing his cry for help from the hall, had burst in without hesitation and they defeated the spider together.

Later that same night, Maximus had returned the favour, rescuing Rilo from a nest of the same spider Digimon, with Ashira’s help. Since then, Rilo had stuck to him like glue. It was as if the Guilmon had imprinted on him, like a hatchling convinced it had found its clutch mate.

Maximus sighed softly, resting his hands on his knees again.

“I just do not get extroverts,” he muttered.

When Maximus was satisfied with his meditation for the day, he stood, brushing the grass off his knees and started walking toward the training field. The closer he came to it, though, the more trepidation he felt, unable to keep it out of his mind what had happened the last time he’d come.

Wanting to keep it out of his mind, he recalled his earlier meditation, and remembered sinking those intrusive thoughts to the bottom of the sea, concentrating solely on his goals. Strength, stamina, sparring… These were his goals; these were want he wanted to focus on.

Be stronger. Be faster. Become a better fighter.

And when the day came that he became strong enough to Digivolve – to become a Veedramon as his brother, Maverick had, he could finally go to avenge him. He could hunt down, and defeat Talbot – the one who had killed him…

Maximus shook his head briskly, trying to force those thoughts out of his head. ‘Damn it!’ he mentally cursed. ‘I forced those thoughts down, but they keep coming back up!’

Looking around, he spotted a pale pink figure nearby, recognizing her and changing his course in her direction. Thalassa was in the middle of a sparring match with another trainee, holding her own effectively; it was the first time Maximus had actually seen Thalassa fighting, and he marvelled at how light on her feet she was.

Her opponent was another Champion-level Digimon like herself; another lapine Digimon known as Turuimon. In terms of agility, they seemed evenly matched, each one responding to the other’s movements in a synchronized dance. The Turuiemon was slightly taller than Thalassa, giving her a small reach advantage over the Lekismon.

Ultimately, that reach won out, and the Turuiemon managed to land a decisive blow, punching Thalassa across the cheek and sending her reeling. Surtan put up his hand and called an end to fight. “Done!” he called, and declared the Turuiemon the winner.

Thalassa rubbed her cheek and turned to address the other rabbit. “Well done, Joanne. You’re getting faster.”

“I try,” the Turuiemon replied. “Thanks for sparring, Thalassa.”

“Anytime,” Thalassa replied, and the two moved aside to let the next combatants spar.

Seeing his chance, Maximus approached Thalassa, calling out her name to get her attention. Hearing him, she turned, and peered down at him softly, reminding him of how short he was now as a Veemon, barely reaching the height of her shoulder.

She seemed to sense something was amiss the moment she saw him. “Everything okay, Maximus?” she asked.

“Just… can I talk to you for a second?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied, nodding.

Moving out of the throng, the two moved out of earshot of the rest of the students before Thalassa, lifting off her helmet, addressed Maximus again. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I’ve been trying those meditation tricks you’ve been teaching me over the last few days,” Maximus began. “And… Well, I don’t know if they’re working.”

“You’ve only done them for three days, Max,” Thalassa pointed out.

“Well, yeah,” agreed Maximus. “But after I did them today, as I was coming over to join training… it bubbled up to the surface again. I started thinking about my goals, about training, getting stronger, and then came Talbot and my thoughts for getting back at him.”

He put a hand on his head, shaking it. “I don’t know if I can keep them down,” he said, “and if I can’t, don’t I run the risk of flipping out all over again, like I did with Ashira days ago?”

Thalassa shook her head. “The techniques are only intended to help you control your pain, Maximus, not to forget it entirely,” she explained. “The meditation I’ve been teaching you will help you keep your anger in check, and not let it boil over – that’s what caused you to snap before.”

“I don’t understand…” said Maximus, “if I’m still thinking about that night, doesn’t that mean they’re not working?”

Thalassa, not missing a beat, asked, “How do you feel right now?” she asked.

“Right now?” Maximus repeated, taking a moment to consider it. “Well… I don’t know… Normal, I suppose?”

“No tension, no anger?” Thalassa continued, “no urge to attack or break something?”

Maximus’ answer came hesitantly. “…No,” he replied. “Nothing like that.”

Thalassa nodded. “You’ve taken the first step,” she said. “You have the anger under control for now. If you feel it starting to bubble up again, remember the deep breathing – remove yourself if you have to. Don’t feel the need to continue just out of pride; Surtan won’t fault you for it. If anything, he’ll praise your control.”

“Why would he do that?” Maximus asked.

“You’d be surprised how much you have in common with him,” Thalassa replied, smiling.

‘Me, and Surtan, alike?’ Maximus thought, looking over his shoulder at the Agunimon, supervising the ongoing sparring matches.

Attentive, stern, but calm; he stood with his arms crossed, but ever prepared to move to step in. From where Maximus stood, Surtan was the very picture of control and discipline…

“I’m not so sure about that…” Maximus remarked, his voice carrying his skepticism.

“One day, perhaps you’ll find out what I mean,” said Thalassa. “For now… were you looking for a sparring partner?”

Hearing the implied offer in her voice, Maximus turned to look at her, aghast. “Wait, me against you?” he asked.

“Why not?” she asked, arching a brow at him.

“I just… you’ve been helping me, and… I don’t want to hurt you,” Maximus replied.

“Implying you can hurt me?” Thalassa asked, crossing her arms.

“Wait, no, that’s not what I mean!” Maximus babbled, waving his hands. “I mean it’s just, anything can happen in a fight, even a spar – people get hurt sometimes. And you, well, you’re more a healer than a war- er, that is… uh…”

Thalassa retained her raised eyebrow, and Maximus felt himself stumbling over his words, realizing that he was treading on dangerous ground. He stopped talking, pursing his lips, staring up at Thalassa.

Her eyes suddenly flicked over him, and seconds later, Maximus felt a hand slapping him on the head, pushing him down and squeezing his cranium with three digits.

“Old saying from the human world, shorty,” came the voice of another female Digimon. “When you find yourself in a hole… quit digging.”

“Oh, get off!” growled Maximus, pushing the hand off his head and rounding on the Renamon standing behind him, glowering at her.

“Well, you going to spar with her or not?” Ashira asked.

Maximus narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s you I still owe a rematch.”

“Then you can consider her your opening round,” said Ashira. “You beat her, and I got first dibs on you. But if she wins, I spar with her.”

Maximus grunted. “Trying to turn this into a contest or something?” he asked. “Who will you fight then?”

“Consider me the reigning champion you’re trying to earn the right to face,” the Renamon replied.

“Reigning champion. Boy, you’re just the picture of humble, aren’t you?”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Thalassa cut in. “Ashira, don’t you think you provoked Maximus enough for one week?”

“I find a few barbs gets boys working,” replied Ashira. “Besides, the way I see it, you and I haven’t sparred in a while either, Thalassa. This way I get to take on whichever of you is the stronger one, which is all I care about.”

“And what if I decide to just forfeit to Max just so I get the pleasure of watching him kick your furry hindquarters?” Thalassa replied.

“Implying you can’t?” the Renamon returned.

Thalassa growled in her throat, and then looked at Maximus, waiting for him to weigh in. To her delight – and maybe Ashira’s shock, the Veemon grinned, and took a step back.

“I forfeit,” he said. “The match goes to Thalassa, and she will be your opponent.”

Ashira blinked. “Wait, what? Hang on, that’s-!”

“A forfeit is still a loss, Ashira,” Thalassa cut her off. “So, by your rules, you have to fight me now. Think you can handle it… Rookie?”

Ashira’s eyes seemed to light up with fury as she turned her glare on Thalassa. “Oh, now you’re asking for it,” she said. “Fine, let’s do this then.”

Maximus didn’t lose his smile, mentally applauding Thalassa’s brilliant turnabout in provoking Ashira. A small part of him was also relieved that he didn’t have to fight Thalassa – not because she was a Champion-level Digimon and probably stronger than him anyway, but because he felt hesitant to fight someone who had been kind to him – a total stranger, a few nights ago.

For Ashira, however… ‘If Thalassa wins, she’ll get no sympathy from me,’ he thought. As much as he wanted to fight Ashira himself, he relished the idea of seeing her get served as well.

The three waited until the current sparring session was over, and Thalassa and Ashira stepped up to take their turn. Already, Maximus could hear the whispers – even recognized some familiar voices from days ago when he had taken on Ashira as well.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Maximus noticed Rilo coming through the crowd. “What’s going on?” he asked as he came to stand beside Maximus.

“Thalassa and I were going to spar, but Ashira butted in and Thalassa challenged her instead,” Maximus replied.

“Thalassa against Ashira?” Rilo asked, aghast. “Oh, this is going to be something…”

“You know Thalassa better than I do,” said Maximus. “I know she’s a Champion-level Digimon but Ashira’s pretty tough. Can she win?”

“I… Well, I’m not sure, really,” said Rilo. “Last time I fought Ashira she clobbered me. Thalassa though, last time I fought her she was still a Lunamon, so I have no idea how strong she is now.”

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

Finishing her stretches, Thalassa faced the Renamon in front of her, both females meeting the gaze of the other. If Ashira had any reservations about fighting a Digimon that was a level above her, she did not show it. Thalassa, for her part, showed only apathy, adjusting her helmet with nonchalance.

Thalassa’s calm seemed only to annoy Ashira further. The Renamon’s scowl grew deeper as time passed.

“I know that look,” Thalassa said suddenly. “You think I’m looking down on you, don’t you?”

“No,” Ashira retorted, but the answer came too quickly.

“When are you going to learn, Ashira?” Thalassa asked, shaking her head. “No one here thinks less of you for any reason, especially not me.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ashira shot back.

“Oh, don’t I?” Thalassa asked.

When the Lekismon did not enunciate further, the time for words came to an end. Surtan gave the signal to begin, and not a heartbeat later, Ashira was racing toward Thalassa, and the two flew into motion, trading blows; they were both swift and difficult to follow at first.

“Geez, Rilo; I thought you said Thalassa was sweet,” Maximus commented. “Up until that fight started, there was some venom there.”

“In my experience, the ones who are nice are usually the ones you don’t want to mess with,” the Guilmon commented. “What happens when they stop having a reason to be nice?”

Indeed, that question came to a head as Thalassa turned the fight to her advantage, forcing an opening in Ashira’s guard and landing a flurry of well-placed punches on the Renamon before finishing her off with a kick. Ashira went down – hard, practically bouncing off the grass before flipping back onto her feet.

“Enough!” Surtan stepped in. “The match goes to Thalassa.”

“I’m not done yet!” Ashira snapped.

The Agunimon cast a scathing look her way. “I said,” he growled, “enough. Back to training.”

With that, he called for the next match, and Ashira was left glaring at him as she stepped off the field alongside Thalassa. The Lekismon, to her credit, retained her apathetic composure, not allowing herself to show any sense of triumph over Ashira. Maximus and Rilo stood up from where they sat to go over to the two – Maximus wanting to resume his chat with Thalassa, and Rilo… probably just following him.

“If you want,” Thalassa said to her, “I could help you train some more…”

Ashira glared at her. “I don’t need your help!” she spat. “Where do you get off, acting like you know anything about me?”

“You refer to what I said before the fight started,” Thalassa said – it was not a question.

“Of course! What do you think you even know?”

“Only what I heard you admit to a few nights ago,” Thalassa replied. “You admitted you feel overshadowed by Nagata – your big brother. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Ashira hesitated to answer. Then, Thalassa looked past her, at Maximus and Rilo. “Pardon me, boys,” she said, “but may Ashira and I talk alone for a moment?”

Maximus nodded. “Sure. We’ll just head over to the track for now.”

In truth, Maximus wanted to hear more, but Thalassa – in a manner befitting a doctor, was trying to protect her patient’s confidentiality. True, Thalassa wasn’t a real doctor – at least not yet, but she certainly thought like one, and Maximus respected that.

But just as they started to leave, Ashira regained some of her bluster. “So, I feel overshadowed by Nagata – what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to continue this privately?” Thalassa asked.

Ashira waved it off. “Rilo’s a cinnamon roll – what’s he going to do with this info?” she asked. “As for Maximus, nobody cares what he thinks – he just got here.”

Maximus glared at Ashira, a stare that could’ve burned holes in the Renamon’s back. She ignored him.

Thalassa sighed. “Ever since you lost your evolved form,” she said, “you act like everybody thinks you’re weak. I know you do; the way you talk to Surtan and Fenric especially. You think they’re trying to hold you back, because they don’t think you’re strong enough to protect yourself anymore.”

“So, I resent them being overbearing,” Ashira retorted, crossing her arms. “They have no reason to be – I can take either of them even now.”

Thalassa frowned. “If you actually believe that, you’re fooling yourself,” she said.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Ashira challenged.

Thalassa shook her head. “Regardless of why you think they do that, Ashira, tell me one thing, and it’s a yes or no question” she said. “You could have returned to a Youkomon by now if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”

Maximus tensed. “Wait, what?”

Ashira’s hesitance to reply was enough. Eventually, she tore her gaze away and stormed off, her tail flicking madly as she walked away, the others staring after her.

“I thought so,” Maximus heard Thalassa whisper.

The Veemon stepped up to the Lekismon. “She can already evolve again?” he asked. “Then… Why hasn’t she?”

“That’s a question for her to answer, not me,” replied Thalassa.

“I think I know,” Rilo replied, “she’s trying to become a Kyubimon, right?”

“Again, Rilo, that’s not a question for me to answer,” Thalassa returned, firmer this time. “What Ashira does is still her business, and her reasons are her own.”

“Can I take a guess?” Maximus asked.

This time, Thalassa’s scowl fell on him. “Maximus, this is hardly proper,” she scolded him.

“I was there, don’t forget, when she admitted to feeling overshadowed by Nagata, so I’ve already heard that,” Maximus reminded her. “Furthermore, I seem to recall her also avoiding the topic of her evolved form, because Youkomon Digivolves into a Doumon, doesn’t it?”

Thalassa didn’t answer. But Rilo did.

“Yeah, it does!” the Guilmon replied.

Thalassa glared at him. Rilo lowered his head, shyly.

“She won’t evolve again, because she doesn’t want to be accused of just imitating her brother, right?” Maximus asked, feeling like he was on the right track; he’d wanted to know this since his first night arriving at the citadel.

Thalassa groaned, rubbing her forehead with her paw. “You’ve figured it out,” she said. “Yes, I think that’s her reason too. She’s trying to open a separate evolutionary path by becoming a Kyubimon, so that she no longer seems to just be following in her brother’s footsteps.”

“So, she’s doing it out of pride, and her need to stand out,” said Maximus, “to be her own Digimon, and not just the next Nagata.”

Thalassa gestured to him with her paw. “You have it,” she said. “She’s going to be mad when she finds out you’ve figured it out.”

“Mad at you?” Rilo asked.

“Probably. She’s going to assume I told you, even though I didn’t.”

“The admission that she can already Digivolve again, but hasn’t, filled the last blank spot of the puzzle for me,” said Maximus. “My chat with her the other night told me how much she wants to stand out. She wants to be Ashira, to be remembered as Ashira, and not just the next Nagata.”

Thalassa sighed and crossed her arms. “Yeah, that definitely sounds like her,” she said.

Maximus studied Thalassa’s face for a moment, seeing the faraway look on her face as she seemed to be recalling something long past. “Have you known Ashira long?” he asked.

Thalassa nodded. “She and I started here around the same time,” she said. “Nagata came with her, and rose through the ranks to become an instructor himself. We even attended a few of his classes, after Ashira and I both Digivolved. He was a genius, befitting his species. But then… came that incident.”

“Incident?” Maximus asked. “You mean the attack, where Ashira lost her Digivolved form?”

“Yes.”

“What happened that night – who did she fight?” Maximus asked.

“A Devimon, leading an attack on the Citadel. I didn’t catch his name, but he kept calling out for one of the Holy Warriors by name – their top enforcer, Valefor.”

“I’ve met him,” Maximus replied, nodding as he recalled the Magna-Angemon at the High Chapel – who had thrown him out of the Tribunal when he started to get angry.

“I think they had a history of some kind; truly, I don’t know,” Thalassa continued. "In any case, Nagata and other senior students – including me – were getting the newer students into the manse to protect them. Ashira argued with Nagata, claiming that the two of them could stopped that Devimon themselves, rather than waiting for Lord Valefor to come down.”

“Could they?” Maximus asked.

“Probably. Master Nagata was very powerful,” replied Thalassa, nodding. “But Nagata refused to leave the students all alone; he was responsible for them. So, she went after the Devimon herself. He proved to be too much for her, especially when she spent so much energy just trying to get to him.”

“Overwhelmed by his minions and struck down by him, she was rescued by Lord Valefor, who brought her immediately to me and Nagata,” Thalassa went on. “I was holding her when she devolved, her body so overtaxed by strain and injury, it couldn’t handle the stress anymore, so it reverted itself all the way to her In-training stage to protect itself.”

“How long did it take her to Digivolve back to Rookie again?” Maximus asked.

“Once all of her wounds were healed and her energy was back, it happened in days,” said Thalassa. “I learned later that if Digimon are not killed outright and their data absorbed they can be forced back to earlier evolutions but the strength they had in those later forms is not completely removed, which is to allow for them to return to those forms again.”

“Probably what happened to me too, then,” said Maximus, sourly.

“So that’s why she’s so strong!” Rilo exclaimed. “She’s still got all of the power of a Youkomon even though she’s a Renamon?”

“Not all of it, but, certainly some of it,” Thalassa corrected. “Even now, she’s almost as strong as I am, and I’m a level above her.” She looked at Maximus. “Likely, the same applies to you too. I’m sure you’ve noticed you’re stronger than the average Veemon, too.”

Maximus nodded. “It’s slowly been revealing itself to me,” he said. “Getting used to being this short again has certainly taken a while, but…” he looked at his hand, and rolled the shoulder of the other arm before letting it drop to his side again. “If I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’t actually feel that much weaker, even in this form. I definitely miss my wings though.”

“I never asked before, did you ever figure out why you can’t Digivolve back?” Thalassa asked.

Maximus lifted a hand to rub his shoulder, remembering the injury he had suffered there, the night his home had been destroyed. All too well, he remembered the Sangloupmon’s bite, its fangs sinking into his body, and his data – the lifeblood of Digimon, being absorbed.

“Nagata said it had something to do with my biodata being damaged in my fight with Talbot’s cronies,” he said. “One of the Sangloupmon managed to get the better of me that night, before the attack. It drained some data from me and by freak accident it managed to steal a portion of my biodata – the one that lets me Digivolve into ExVeemon; I probably devolved because of how injured I was, but I can’t become an ExVeemon anymore. Otherwise, like with Ashira, it probably would’ve happened by now.”

“Did he say if there was a way to get it back?”

“If he knew, he didn’t tell me,” replied Maximus. “If he did know, he wouldn’t withhold that, would he?”

“No, he wouldn’t; Master Nagata was strict, but he was never unkind,” replied Thalassa as she put a hand to her chin and thought. “Theory only, but maybe if you defeated the Sangloupmon that took your data, and absorbed it… Maybe you could restore your lost biodata fragment, and that would let you become an ExVeemon again.”

“While I appreciate the thought, Thalassa, that’s easier said than done,” Maximus pointed out. “Besides Sangloupmon being a Champion-level Digimon itself, it had a partner backing it up; I’d be facing two of them, not to mention Talbot himself would probably be close by.”

“Yes, that is true,” said Thalassa, sighing. “Sorry, Maximus. That’s the best I could offer.”

“Appreciate the thought,” Maximus returned.

A heavy silence hung over the three of them… Though soon it was broken by a deep, guttural roaring sound filling the air. At first, Maximus thought it belonged to some beast that had infiltrated the Citadel, and was immediately alert, hands up and turning sharply as he sought the source of the sound.

But to his dismay, neither Thalassa or Rilo looked alarmed, both of them looking in the direction of the main road. Maximus followed their gaze, and saw three figures coming swiftly down the road, racing toward the main gate out of the Citadel.

At the head of the group, he saw someone who looked like a larger, older version of Thalassa, garbed in dark steel armour and a large weapon attached to their back. The machine she rode was three-wheeled, like a motorized tricycle, as opposed to the two-wheels ridden by those coming up behind her – a Leomon, and a Strikedramon.

The machines they rode, Maximus noticed, had faces between the handlebars. Each of them was grinning like a madman, but no two were exactly alike. The one ridden by the Strikedramon was sleek, red, and narrower than the other two, while the Leomon road one with high and wide handlebars to accommodate his broader shoulders.

Maximus watched in wonder as the three vehicles, riders in tow, sped away toward the gate, until they were out of sight. He blinked, awestruck, mouth agape as he watched until the three were out of sight.

“Who… what was that?” he asked.

“Those were the Citadel Knights,” replied Thalassa.

Maximus rounded on her, still shocked. “Them? Then that one at the front was-”

“Yep,” Thalassa nodded, smiling and nodding. “My big sister, Artemeia.”

“And Aslanor and Gigo!” Rilo chimed in. “Along with Highride, Thristeel and Riptorque!”

“Wait, who?” Maximus asked. “I only saw three-” Then, he caught on. “The machines? Those were Digimon too?”

“They were Machmon,” replied Thalassa. “A machine-type, motorcycle Digimon.”

“Motor… cycle?” Maximus repeated. “What’s a motorcycle?”

This time, it was Thalassa and Rilo who looked surprised. “You’ve never heard of a motorcycle before?” Rilo asked.

“Should I have?”

“It’s a motorized vehicle, two wheels usually, runs on petroleum. Super-fast and apparently fun to ride!” Rilo replied. “Always wanted to ride one myself.”

“And Machmon are… these things?” Maximus asked. “But all three of them looked different…”

“You’ve not met many machine-type Digimon, have you?” Thalassa asked. “You saw a Locomon when you arrived here, right?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, Machmon – like them, are vehicular Digimon – some take on their own appearances when they Digivolve, others can modify themselves – become something more fitted to their preferences,” explained Thalassa. “Those three Machmon are such examples. Thristeel, the three-wheeler my sister was riding, chose to add an additional wheel for more propulsion and balance, once he’d picked his rider.”

“Picked his rider?” Maximus asked.

“In their base form, Machmon by nature are driven to find riders, but they can’t actually have any because their anatomy doesn’t make them suitable for riding,” Thalassa explained. “When they do find someone they want as their rider, they subject themselves to modifications to change their body to accommodate their rider. Thristeel chose to become a motor-trike, to accommodate my sister’s heavy gear.”

Maximus hummed, intrigued. “How did they meet?”

“Well, actually, she was originally out to take him down,” replied Thalassa.

For the second time that morning, Maximus asked, “Wait, what?”

“Thristeel – before he called himself that, was in a gang that ran across the folder continent selling, let’s say, ‘nasty things’ found in the human world,” replied Thalassa. “Things that get digitized and form here, in the Digital World. The kinds of stuff most societies don’t want their citizens exposed to. The word for them is ‘narcotics’.”

“And how did he and Artemeia end up bonding?”

“He hated every minute of it, but he had no way out,” replied Thalassa. “She gave him one. Then, he decided he wanted her to be his rider, and when she agreed, he had himself modified to suit her.”

“He went that far just for a partner?” Maximus asked.

“That’s what they do,” Thalassa replied, shrugging. “I don’t fully understand it myself, but I respect it.”

Maximus nodded. “So, where do you think they’re going in such a hurry?”

Thalassa looked hesitant to answer, pursing her lips and avoiding Maximus’ gaze. As soon as Maximus saw this, his demeanour changed, and he looked at Thalassa more intently.

“…What?” he asked.

She shook her head, coming back to herself. “It’s nothing. They keep the peace around here – they’re probably just heading out for a mission,” she said, changing the subject. “I should get back to my volunteering. There’s more sparring still going on.”

Maximus tried to step in front of her, but the quick-footed Lekismon easily dodged around him and started walking back to the gathered trainees. Maximus watched her go, avoiding his gaze until she was back to the others.

“Uh… What was that about?” Rilo asked, cluelessly.

Maximus’ brow furrowed, and slowly, his gaze drifted in the direction of the White Tower – the keep, at the southern end of the citadel grounds, and the home base of the Citadel Knights.

A thought crossed his mind, considering walking over to the tower to find out for himself. But that thought was quickly dashed, with self-derision accompanying the foolish idea. ‘Like finding out would be just as simple as walking in the door,’ he thought.

“Guess I’ll never know,” he said, shaking his head. But, he had his suspicions…

“So… want to go get a snack?” Rilo asked.

“Thanks, but, I’m not very hungry,” replied Maximus. “I think maybe I should get back to training.” He turned to Rilo. “So… Feel like a spar?”

Rilo seemed to light up at that. “Sure!” he exclaimed happily.

After a short sparring match with the Guilmon – in which Maximus was pleasantly surprised by Rilo’s skills - they went on to strength training, supervised by Surtan as always. After a hundred push-ups, and some rounds of lifting weights, Maximus’ arms felt like gelatine, and he spent the last hour before suppertime stretching his tired muscles.

Dinner that night was enjoyable, at least. They were serving roast and potatoes – a simple, but comforting dish that made for a good end to the day. Afterwards, Maximus topped it off by taking a banana from a fruit bowl, and ate it while he and Rilo walked back to their rooms together. At their doors, they bid each other goodnight before retiring.

Maximus sat cross-legged on his bed, resuming the meditative posture he’d had that morning, and seeking to clear his mind before he would try to sleep. He once again imagined the ocean and flotsam, each piece of floating debris carrying the thoughts in his mind, and going through the process of sending each one to the bottom of the sea, leaving only the thoughts he wanted to focus on to remain.

Unfortunately, one of those thoughts was of the departing Citadel Knights, when they had left earlier that day. He recalled them speeding out of the Citadel grounds, atop their Machmon vehicles, and Thalassa avoiding any discussion about where they were going. If she had said she didn’t know, that would have been enough, but her hesitation told him she did know…

There’s only one reason she would withhold that from him. They were looking for Talbot, and perhaps, they had found him…

It was for that reason that Maximus did not remain seated for long. His eyes opened, and he stood up, leaving his room to look out one of the hallway windows, toward the White Tower. Even in the darkness of night, the white-plastered stone of the structure, combined with the lit torches across it, allowed him to see it quite easily.

Maybe… If he quietly made his way over there, and slipped past the guards, he could sneak in, and try to find out… No one would have to know…

‘Oh, for the love of… why am I thinking about this?’ he thought, self-derisive. ‘I’m not a kid.’

Making his way back into his room, he laid down on his bed, hands behind his head and making himself comfortable. He continued to try to clear his mind, to push away the immature idea of sneaking into the white tower to find answers. ‘I blame this stupid devolution,’ he thought. ‘It’s making me think like a kid again; I’m twenty-five years old, for crying out loud – I’m too grown-up for crap like this.’

Even as he lay there thinking, however, he heard it; three motor vehicles, rapidly approaching. Sharply, he opened his eyes and sat up; he couldn’t see anything out his window, so he hopped out of bed and ran out into the hallway, peering out the window there.

Though they were barely visible in the darkness, he could make out three silhouettes crossing the citadel grounds, approaching the White Tower. They were back… But had they found anything?

‘I still blame this devolution,’ he thought, as he closed his bedroom door and started jogging up the hallway toward the stairs…

As he expected, Maximus found the gate was guarded. Two Gladimon stood to either side of the double doors, which had been left open. They stirred as he approached, spotting him coming out of the darkness; they looked at each other before looking at him.

“You there,” one said. “What’re you doing out here this time of night?”

“I was hoping to speak with one of the citadel knights before they retired for the night,” Maximus answered, deciding honesty was the best policy.

“Anyone in particular?”

Maximus shrugged. “Just one of the three who were out today,” he replied.

“Wait here for a moment,” they said, before one stepped away from his post and headed through the gate, making his way to the keep.

‘Huh. Kind of expected them to chase me off,’ Maximus thought, grateful that they did not.

He waited patiently, until the Gladimon returned, accompanied by another individual. The figure was a towering lion-like humanoid – a Leomon, he saw, remembering seeing him as one of the three who left that morning. He tried to remember his name, certain he’d heard it from Rilo, but couldn’t remember it…

Fortunately, the Leomon opened with an introduction. “Good evening, young sir. I am Aslanor,” he said. “You wished to speak to me?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, sir,” Maximus replied, politely. “I was wondering if I could inquire about your… expedition, earlier today.”

The Leomon’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “What interest is it to you?” he asked.

“I understand that you are looking for a certain renegade, named Talbot,” Maximus replied.

The Leomon’s eyes seemed to light up with realization. “You’re Maximus, aren’t you?” he asked.

Maximus felt a sudden chill. They knew about him? “Y-Yes,” he replied.

Aslanor sighed. “Fenric told me this might happen,” he said, turning away and beckoning the Veemon follow. “Come in.”

“Wha… Really?”

“Do you want to know what we’ve found, or don’t you?” Aslanor replied, his earlier cordiality gone, strictly business, as he started walking toward the tower. “Better you hear it from all of us. Sadly, we may not know as much as you hope.”

Aslanor was clearly trying to dissuade him; it was obvious to Maximus… but he carried on regardless, following Aslanor into the tower.

Maximus hadn’t even guessed what the White Tower would look like on the inside. To say he was blown away by the sheer size of the main hall would be putting it mildly, walking between the supporting pillars as he followed Aslanor to the stairway. He was led up to the second floor, where they entered another room similar to the great hall, but smaller and with furnishings.

On the other side of the room, as massive fireplace burned brightly, bringing light and heat to the chamber. Two other figures were talking on the other side of the room, but their conversation stopped as the door opened.

The two figures were a Crescemon, and a Strikedramon – the first time he had seen either of them up close. As Maximus had previously gauged, the Crescemon was like a larger, stronger version of Thalassa, sharing many of her features including the pallid, pink skin tone and yellow, crescent moon markings, but with stronger, thicker legs, silvery armour including a shield, and a massive weapon shaped like a half-moon resting against a pillar beside her. She had also taken off her helmet, showing her face – looking even more like an older Thalassa.

While Lekismon such as Thalassa had six watery tendrils growing from her back, Crescemon did not have them; six stiff rods of the same colour stood in their place, rising from the lower back of her armour like skeletal wings, and instead of gloves over her fists, she wore gauntlets, sleek and shiny like the rest of her armour.

‘So, this is Artemeia,’ Maximus thought, remembering the first time Rilo had mentioned her. Even now, he could tell she was strong – not just because she was an Ultimate-level Digimon, either. The way she carried herself made him really feel like he was in the presence of a mighty warrior.

The other one – the Strikedramon, seemed a sharp contrast to Artemeia, carrying none of the regality or poise she presented. He stood with a slouch, claws shifting and twitching even as he watched Aslanor and the Veemon approached. The upper half of his face was hidden behind a mask, yet Maximus could see the Strikedramon was watching him in particular, his legs – encased in dark green, baggy trousers, were bent as if ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

“Who is this?” the Strikedramon demanded.

Maximus felt oddly defensive in the reptilian’s presence, and that sharp-edged, raspy voice did nothing to relax him.

“This is Maximus,” Aslanor introduced him.

Artemeia turned to look at Maximus. “This?” she asked. “The Veemon who survived the destruction of the Vee Clan village?”

Maximus felt a sting at the reminder, but he nodded to her. “I am,” he said. “I saw you leaving this morning, and Thalassa seemed reluctant to tell me where you guys were going, so I thought-”

The Strikedramon let out a hiss, hopping onto the bench he stood near, looking straight at Maximus despite his eyes not being visible. “What business is it of yours what we are doing, whelp?” he growled.

“Ease off, Gigo,” Aslanor said, making a calming motion with his large hands. “He wants to know about the one who attacked his home, nothing more.”

Aslanor had already guessed Maximus’ purpose for being here, apparently… He remembered what Aslanor had said before he’d invited Maximus inside, wondering if Fenric had somehow known this would happen. ‘Geez, am I that predictable?’ Maximus mused.

Gigo, however, had not calmed. “I do not care what he’s looking for; our business is our own,” he growled. “The more Digimon know of our activities, the more likely word will spread; when we find the criminal, he’ll already know we’re looking for him, and be on guard.”

“Aren’t you being a bit paranoid?” Artemeia chided the Strikedramon. “Who is he going to tell, and who would warn Talbot of our actions?”

“Evil is everywhere, Artemeia,” Gigo returned, not missing a beat, and not looking away from Maximus. “Everywhere, it spies…”

‘Geez, this guy really is paranoid,’ Maximus thought. ‘He’s flagged me as an enemy the moment he laid eyes on me, and I haven’t even done anything yet.’

“Alright, stand down,” the Crescemon commanded, her voice taking on an air of authority.

With reluctance, Gigo complied, finally tearing his ‘gaze’ away from Maximus and turning on his heels, remaining squat over the bench as his tail curled around his legs, growling in his throat.

“He’s not always like that,” Aslanor whispered.

“For the sake of my own tail, I hope not,” Maximus muttered, intending to think the words, but they slipped out.

“Let us start over, Maximus,” Artemeia said, suddenly. “Welcome to the White Tower. I apologize for the poor reception,” she said venomously, casting a withering look at Gigo, who ignored her. “Tell us, what brings you here this time of night?”

“Well, as Aslanor suggested,” Maximus answered, “I wanted to know if you had found anything… about Talbot. The Black WereGarurumon who destroyed my home.”

Artemeia frowned. “Regrettably, we have found little,” she replied, shaking her head. “As my sister was reluctant to share with you, we were following what we thought was a lead on him. Unfortunately, it proved to be false. We were following a report of a Shadow Digimon causing terror in the north-west, but it turned out to be a DarkTyrannomon. We dealt with him, but we found no leads on Talbot.”

“So… you’ve found nothing about him?”

Artemeia shook her head. “Only one other place he’s hit, which we believe he committed after his raid on your village. I am sorry, but he’s proving to be a slippery one. Rest assured, though, we will not rest until we find him. On that, you have my word.”

Maximus sighed, disappointed. “Well… I guess I got my hopes up for nothing, then,” he said.

Artemeia’s gaze lingered on him for a time, studying him, before she spoke again. “I give you my word, Maximus, we will keep looking for him. He will not escape justice forever.”

Maximus almost asked – no, demanded, that he be there when they did find Talbot, so that he could be part of the operation to take him down. But no sooner did that thought enter his head, that he recalled his earlier discussions on that very subject with Thalassa, and Nagata as well.

He managed to rein in his anger before he could let it blurt out, and said. “Understood,” he replied, hesitantly. “Please… Keep me apprised.”

“We will,” replied Artemeia. Then, she looked at Maximus with a firmer stare. “Is there anything else about him you can tell us?”

Maximus shook his head. “Nothing I haven’t already told Fenric and the Tribunal,” he said. “A Black WereGarurumon, accompanied by by two Sangloupmon and a pack of Loogamon with two Loogarmon alphas – assuming nothing has changed since then. I didn’t catch any other names.”

“All good information,” said Artemeia. “We’ll let you know if the situation changes. I promise you.” She laid a hand over his chest and inclined her head, in a show of her honesty.

Maximus nodded, and was escorted out by Aslanor. He declined the invitation to be escorted back to the manse, making his way out of the keep on his own and allowing Aslanor to return to his cohorts.

Gigo, for his part, seemed to have calmed with Maximus’ absence, but his next question conveyed that he remained skeptical. “Are we certain we can trust him at his word?” he asked.

“Will you lay off?” Aslanor growled, losing patience. “He has done nothing to warrant your suspicion, and you heard what Fenric told us. His words are also backed by the Wizardmon twins who are apprentices to Master Nagata. Do you doubt them as well?”

Gigo huffed. “No,” he admitted. “Fine. We believe him. But if so, then we know now that our target is a larger group than we initially thought,” he said.

“Perhaps too many for just the three of us on our own,” Aslanor concurred, looking at Artemeia. “Especially with an Ultimate-level Digimon among them.”

“Strength in numbers,” the Crescemon agreed. And then, she let out a defeated sigh. “We need more help… Between the Dokugumon infestation threatening the Citadel and the danger posed by Talbot, we’re being spread too thin.”

“Which do we prioritize?” Gigo asked. “I know you probably didn’t want to say it in front of the Veemon, but the Dokugumon are the more immediate threat.”

“Indeed,” agreed Aslanor. “We thought we had them contained but they’ve apparently found another way out, and even with help from the Nefertimon – what was her name… Lotfia? Even with her help, Fenric hasn’t been able to find how they’re getting out.”

“We must put our faith in them,” said Artemeia, “and be ready to assist if the spiders should find a way out. It is only a matter of time before Fenric locates their exit.”

“Why can we not just smash the boulder and get in that way?” Gigo asked, “That way, we can take the fight to them and end their threat completely.”

“Think, Gigo; if we do that, they could rush out behind us and put countless Digimon at risk,” Artemeia chided him. “We’re trying to find a way to do this without endangering the Citadel, remember?”

“I hate to say it, but Gigo may have a point,” Aslanor chimed in. “Every day we delay, those spiders grow in number. By the time we get in there, there may be too many to deal with, and underground they’ll have a tremendous advantage.”

Artemeia frowned, seeing the point. She was playing it cautious, trying to find a way to quell the threat without endangering the Citadel… but Aslanor and Gigo were right – the Dokugumon would only keep growing in number. They could not afford to wait forever.

“Very well,” she said. “We change our approach. Tomorrow, we’ll join Fenric and Lotfia’s search for another entrance. If we find it, we go in. If we don’t… then the next day, we will open the way into and go in that way. But before we do that,” she added, pointedly, “we will need a plan to contain them, and avoid endangering the students of the Citadel. Perhaps we can enlist aid from the Holy Guard in the Grand Chapel as well. We make the preparations starting tonight.”

“Agreed,” said Aslanor.

“As you say,” added Gigo.

“We should bring Surtan in on this as well,” suggested Aslanor. “He lives in the manse; he’s better positioned to coordinate a defense. Not to mention, Dokugumon don’t like fire, so he’s a good choice either way.”

“I concur,” said Artemeia. “I’ll go see him and Fenric in the morning, and share the plan with them.”

~~~~~

In the catacombs beneath the Citadel…

The sickening crunch as the Dokugumon bit down on the Unimon’s neck echoed through the cave. The equine Digimon barely had the chance to scream before the fatal blow, and his body dissipated into a scatter of code. With that, the Dokugumon raised her head, and inhaled deeply, drawing the floating particles of Digital code into her open mouth.

She had done it so many times before… It wasn’t necessary to take it into her mouth – it was just something she preferred doing. Code had no flavour – no taste, no aftertaste… It was just data, after all… but the act itself just felt so right…

But something did feel different this me. Something deep inside… A sense of pressure, deep within, growing, coming from her very core… It had been so long since she felt this, but familiarity soon gave way to realization. She knew what it was, and if her face was capable of showing emotion she would have been smiling.

“Dokugumon… Digivolution…” she whispered, in a raspy voice that would never be heard again.

She glowed, brighter and brighter, filling the entire cavern with pale light. The multitudes of KoDokugumon and two other full Dokugumon turned to look in her direction, recognizing the light of Digivolution, and seeing the oldest and strongest of their number becoming even stronger.

The Dokugumon’s shape changed. Her six legs remained firmly planted, but began to transform, becoming tipped with sharp points instead of large feet. The upper half of her body seemed to change position, moving to the upper middle of her body. Her forelimbs – functional hands, grew longer and with sharper-tipped fingers.

When the light finally faded, a humanid upper body now rested upon a spider-like lower body, with six pointed legs ending in sharp points, like talons, supporting the weight of the bulky new body. Her colours had changed to a deep, blood red with highlights of purple, and her arms now ended in five-fingered hands, with pointed claws at the tip of each finger.

With a malicious grin, she whispered the name of her new form. “Arukenimon…” Her voice was as smooth as silk, yet as sharp and cold as a steel blade.

“Gather now, my children,” she growled, never losing her smile. “Our time has come… For soon, we shall have our greatest feast.”

For clarification, I do not know if Machmon is actually capable of modifying itself. But there is one thing that supports this; the train Digimon, Locomon – when they appeared on Digimon Frontiers, every one of them sports a completely unique appearance, yet they’re all supposed to technically be the same Digimon.

So based on that I came up with the ideas that Machine Digimon in particular could modify themselves, on the principle that many machines – especially vehicles, can be modified extensively to have aftermarket features. So, why not for a Digimon who’s basically a living motorcycle? It is canonical that Machmon seeks a rider, but in their base form, well, obviously you can’t sit on them, so the only way they could do this is by modifying themselves to be able to accommodate a rider; why not take it a step further that they modify themselves to suit their rider?

Always remember, this is strictly artistic freedom under the laws of fair use and should not be considered canon unless Bandai Namco explicitly states that it is in one of their current or upcoming media.

_Maximus’ eyes opened to haze of dull gray. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the haze, only to find that it was not his eyes that were hazy… He was standing in the middle of a fog bank… so thick, that he could not see what lay beyond it.

He soon realized… he wasn’t simply standing... he was in full sprint, running through the fog… Why? What was he running toward?_

The ground beneath him felt uneven, shifting from stone to dirt to something wet and slick. Each step echoed strangely, as though the world itself hadn’t decided what it was made of. His lungs burned, but his legs moved as if pulled forward by some unseen hand.

He strained his eyes, searching for shapes in the mist. Once, he thought he saw the outline of a door… then it dissolved into the fog. Another time, a figure—tall, sharp, watching—vanished when he blinked.

A sound followed him. At first, the steady rhythm of his own feet, then heavier footsteps, lagging just behind. The fog thickened. His chest tightened. He didn’t know if he was chasing something… or being chased.

Then, he heard it. The screams—raw, desperate—splintering the silence. And above them, a howl. That howl… He knew it…

It clawed at his ears, wrapping around him from every direction at once. His pulse spiked, though he could not tell if it was terror driving him faster, or anger. A chill raced up his back, but in his chest something blazed—heat, pressure, as though fire long held back was breaking free.

Was he running toward the source? Or trying to flee? Even he could no longer tell.

Then, he shouted a name… a name that felt like poison on his tongue, just to say it.

“Talbot! Talbot! Show yourself!” he called, his voice echoing, like he were standing in a cave. “Murderer! I’ll find you! There’s nowhere you can hide from me!”

Suddenly, a silhouette materialized in front of Maximus. He tried to stop, but his body did not obey his commands… he kept running… Then, out of the darkness, a large hand emerged, and seized him by the neck, picking him up. He pounded his fists against the arm to no avail… his blows might as well have been the bite of an insect to the owner the hand.

Then, he appeared… the Black WereGarurumon, grinning wickedly as the shadows seemed to retreat from him and expose his face. “And why would I need to run from you, Maximus?” he growled.

“I don’t fear you…!” Maximus growled, still thrashing.

Again, Talbot laughed. “Lying to yourself won’t help you…”

It’s not enough…

Ashira stalked down the corridor, paws clenched so tight her claws dug into her palms, her footsteps heavy, dulled by the carpet rolled over the floor in the hall, her tired mind reeling as she tried to make sense of it.

‘What could it be? What am I missing?’

She halted abruptly, staring down at the floor, her sharp blue eyes burning holes into the stone as if the answers might be hiding there. None came.

It doesn’t make sense… She grit her teeth, tail lashing once behind her. I should be strong enough to Digivolve by now!

In truth, she knew she could. Thalassa had reminded her that morning—yes, she could still become Youkomon. She could reclaim the Champion form she had lost that night. Every time she thought of that, other voices rose unbidden in her mind. Mocking. Condemning.

She’s going to be just like her brother…

Nagata has taught her well…

Following in her brother’s footsteps…

Another product of Nagata’s teachings…

He really is a great teacher…

Each phrase cut deep, the words cycling like a refrain she couldn’t silence. They weren’t wrong. It had been Nagata who unlocked that path for her—the only way forward had been the dark knowledge he pressed upon her. By wielding it, she had Digivolved.

And yet, in everyone else’s eyes, that wasn’t strength. It wasn’t her.

It was just… the next Nagata.

Ashira exhaled sharply, picturing a can on the floor and kicking it to vent her frustrations – though it brought her little comfort, hearing no clatter or crunch from the kick. She reared back her head, and stood stock still, her tail swaying absently behind her.

But in that tense silence, she heard it… a voice, muttering, and growing steadily louder. At first, she ignored it, thinking it was probably just someone talking in their sleep… until the words became clear to her.

“Talbot… No… Maverick… Leave him be…”

She opened her eyes, ears twitching, and turned in the direction of the voice, coming from a door a few steps ahead of her. Curious, she stepped closer, and leaned over to press her ear to the door.

“Maverick…”

‘Maverick? Who’s Maverick?’ she thought, until she took a step back, and got her bearings. It was Maximus’ room she was standing outside of… it was him she could hear

Leaning forward again and putting her ear to the door once more, she heard Maximus continuing to talk in his sleep, and the squeak of the bed as he tossed and turned. She was so invested in listening that she failed to notice another form coming up behind her.

“Ashira?”

The Renamon turned so sharply that it made Rilo jump back in fright, claws up defensively when those piercing blue eyes were glaring daggers at him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, it’s just me!” he exclaimed.

“Kuso! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she snapped at him.

Rilo rolled his eyes. “Why does it seem like I keep doing that today?”

Ashira considered asking him what he meant, when she heard Maximus stirring again, turning her attention back to the door, and hearing the Veemon continuing to talk in his sleep.

She turned back to Rilo. “I’m guessing you’re here because of the sleep-talker in there?”

Rilo nodded. “Yeah… I could hear him from my room, next door,” he said.

“Is this a normal occurrence for him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Rilo replied, looking at the door sadly. “He has… nightmares, I think.”

“I heard a name… Maverick. Who’s that?” Ashira asked. Then, realizing she was sounding too interested, she tried to save face. “Not like I care, just… wondering.”

Rilo’s earfins drooped. “I… I think it’s his brother’s name,” he said, “or… was his brother’s name.”

Ashira’s tail stopped swaying. “His… brother?” she asked.

“Yeah... he dreams about him,” replied Rilo, “but mostly about… Talbot.”

Ashira hesitated, her words coming slowly as she voiced her next question. “I’m going to guess Talbot’s the one who…?” she trailed off.

Rilo nodded. “Yeah… It still haunts Max,” replied the Guilmon. “I hear him talking in his sleep… sometimes, crying in the night too.”

Ashira frowned, crossing her arms as she usually did when she was thinking. “It… sounds like he really misses him,” she said, the unbidden sympathy accompanied by a touch of envy as she considered the bond Maximus had with his sibling…

“Don’t you miss Nagata too?” Rilo asked.

She gave him a look. “Nagata’s not dead, and it’s not like I don’t know where to find him if I needed to,” she replied. “Besides, he and I…” she trailed off again, and shook her head. “Forget it… I should get to bed. I-”

The door clicked. Ashira and Rilo tensed; neither one of them had noticed that the sounds from the room had stopped. They both turned to the door as it opened, and there stood Maximus, eyes half-lidded, staring…

“Uh… Max… um…” Rilo tried to explain himself.

Ashira was quicker. “Just passing by. Ran into Rilo. We were just-”

She stopped, and her eyes settled on Maximus, her mouth hanging open mid-word as she noticed. He wasn’t looking at her or at Rilo. His gaze was distant, like a thousand-yard stare, seeing something that wasn’t there.

Then, he stepped out. He nearly walked into Ashira before she hastily moved out of the way, watching him.

“Max?” Rilo asked. “Where are you going? Did we say something wrong?”

“Quiet,” Ashira whispered, softly. “I think he’s sleepwalking…”

Rilo looked at her, and then back to Maximus, seeing the mechanical way he walked, tail dragging on the floor behind him, his steps slow and uneven

“Should we wake him up?” Rilo asked.

“You’re not supposed to wake sleepwalkers, dummy,” Ashira replied.

“Then… should we go get Thalassa?”

“Let’s just try to guide him back to bed,” Ashira replied, moving in front of the Veemon and lifting her paws, gently grasping Maximus by the shoulders.

When Ashira tried to turn him, though, he wouldn’t turn. He didn’t fight her, but he was like a rock – unyielding to her touch. Eventually, he stepped out of her grip, and walked into her, his head butting against her chest, and he continued to try to push forward, nearly bowling her over before she moved out of the way again.

“What happened?” Rilo asked.

“He’s like a statue – I couldn’t move him,” Ashira replied, puzzled, watching as the Veemon walked mechanically up the hallway.

“What do we do?” Rilo asked.

Ashira grimaced. “Okay… now we probably need Thalassa,” she reluctantly admitted. “You go get her; I’ll stay with him – just in case he walks off the balcony or something.”

Rilo nodded and turned, running up the hallway in the other direction, while Ashira followed Maximus, jogging to catch up with him and walking at his side. His red eyes were dim, lifeless, staring straight ahead as though staring at something a thousand yards away, but focusing on nothing. When he reached the stairs, he stopped, turned to them, and began to descend.

Ashira, tentatively, descended behind him, paws up to grab him if he misplaced a step and started to fall. Fortunately, he didn’t; he made it to the first landing, crossed to the second flight, and descended them to the ground floor, before continuing on.

As they moved away from the stairs and stepped into the first-floor corridor, Ashira’s puzzlement only grew… something about this seemed odd to her. Maximus made a right turn, crossing into the dining hall, and made his way across, toward the side exit on the other side.

Ashira heard someone call her name in a hushed voice, and she looked down the hallway to her left; she briefly looked in that direction, seeing a Lekismon striding toward her, followed by Rilo.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, as they followed Maximus.

“He’s sleepwalking, I think, but something about it seems… odd,” Ashira replied.

“How so?”

“He seems like he knows exactly where he’s going,” the Renamon answered as the three of them followed Maximus, keeping him in sight. “What’s your take?”

“Sleepwalking is not my speciality,” the Lekismon admitted. “Did he make it all the way down the stairs without any problem?”

“Not a single slip or anything,” Ashira replied. “Like I said, it’s like he knows exactly where he’s going, but he’s completely out of it.”

“And Rilo said you tried to guide him back to bed?”

Ashira nodded. “It was like trying to bend a solid rock; he wouldn’t turn around,” she replied.

Thalassa hummed. “That’s not typical sleepwalking… it sounds more like he’s in a trance,” she said, thinking out loud.

“He was having a nightmare before this,” Rilo pointed out, “I heard him calling his brother’s name, and so I went to check on him – that’s when I bumped into Ashira. Then he just came out of his room, and, well, here we are.”

Thalassa frowned, suddenly worried. “That’s not good… if he was having a nightmare before this, there’s no telling what he’s dreaming about now,” she said. “If he wakes up, he’ll be confused – possibly aggressive; he could hurt himself, or one of us.”

“Is he dreaming about his brother?” Ashira asked.

“Hard to say,” Thalassa replied, half-lying; she suspected she knew who Maximus was likely dreaming about, and it was a large part of why she was concerned. ‘If he’s dreaming about Talbot, he might think he’s in a fight,’ she thought, knowing the danger if he were to be awoken now.

Following Maximus had led the three of them outside, and it was only there that the Veemon finally stopped walking. It was a clear night, the sky dotted with stars, and a Digital Aurora was present in the north, dancing across the night sky with a multitude of colours, mostly variations of blue with occasional cascades of green, pink or white.

But Maximus’ eyes were not on the aurora… though his head was tilted back, his half-lidded gaze was fixed in the direction of one of the mountains, on the northern side of the Citadel’s grounds. Curious, Thalassa moved quietly behind him, peering over the top of his head and angling her gaze to be aligned with his. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see what he was looking at.

“The Grand Chapel?” Ashira wondered aloud.

“What?” Thalassa asked, looking at the Renamon, noticing for the first time that her eyes were shining, seemingly reflecting the light of the aurora even though she wasn’t looking at it.

“He’s looking at the Grand Chapel,” she repeated.

Rilo tried to follow her gaze, but like Thalassa he couldn’t see much. “You can see that far? It’s pitch black out there.”

“I can see in the dark,” Ashira said simply. “Question remains, why’s he looking there?”

Thalassa offered no answer, not understanding the reasoning herself. She hadn’t been up to the Chapel very often, and of the few times she visited she had only entered main hall or the Tribunal once, but never explored the whole building.

As they stood in contemplation, Maximus’ head suddenly dipped, and then shot up. Immediately, he was alert, his head turning sharply to the left and right as he took in his bearings. “What? Wha-?” he asked. “Where am I?!”

“Stay back guys!” Thalassa whispered, motioning for Ashira and Rilo to keep their distance.

Maximus heard her though, suddenly whirling to face her. His eyes were wide, alert, and lacked any recognition; he wasn’t yet fully awake, unsure of what he was seeing.

“Where am I?!” he asked again, more aggressively this time. “Why’d you bring me here?!”

“Maximus, please, listen!” Thalassa urged, paws up, and the watery tendrils growing from her back curled tight against her back, doing her best not to appear threatening. “Take a moment… just take it easy,” she said gently.

Maximus stared, blinking several times, until he slowly came back to himself, his expression relaxing, and looking at Thalassa more closely, until he seemed to recognize her. “Thalassa? What are…?” he looked around again, the confusion returning. “Am I… outside? How did…”

“You were sleepwalking,” Thalassa informed him, taking a tentative step closer.

“I was… what?” Maximus asked, appalled. “I don’t sleepwalk.”

“You were tonight,” Ashira chimed in, alerting Maximus to her and Rilo’s presence.

“Do you remember what you were dreaming about?” Thalassa asked.

“I… think so,” Maximus replied slowly, lifting a hand to his head, gently rubbing his temple. “I was dreaming about Talbot, again… we were in this dark place, surrounded by fog… I couldn’t tell where, exactly, but he was there. Then he…”

He shook his head again. “He suddenly vanished… and then I heard this voice calling me. It sounded kind of familiar, but it also sounded like it was far away, and I was running toward it… then I…” he held out his hands, “then I was here.”

“You were looking up toward the Grand Chapel,” Ashira pointed out, “where all of the Angel Digimon live. Did you dream about anything regarding them?”

“Not that I can recall, but… wait,” he perked up, realization dawning on his face. “I have felt that pull before…”

“Pull?” Thalassa asked.

“When Fenric and I went to meet the Tribunal a few days ago,” Maximus replied. “I felt a strange pull, toward this room in the side corridor. We went in there, and that’s when I saw the Digi Mantles.”

Thalassa’s ears stood up in alarm as her eyes widened. “The Mantles?” she asked.

“Like the one Lotfia has?” Rilo piped up. “The one that Digivolved her into a Nefertimon?”

“Yeah, those,” Maximus replied, nodding.

“You think one of those was calling to you that day?” Thalassa asked.

“That’s what Fenric said, when I was drawn to that room,” replied Maximus, nodding. “But we couldn’t tell which one I was hearing, or if maybe I was hearing more than one of them.”

“Have you been thinking about those Mantles since that night we talked?” Thalassa asked.

“I…” Maximus hesitated. “Maybe? The first few nights I wondered which one I might’ve been hearing, but I put it out of my mind once I started training and the meditation exercises you-” he trailed off, suddenly interrupted by a yawn, eyes dropping as the shock of waking up faded, and fatigue began to set in again.

Thalassa touched his shoulder. “Maybe we should discuss this further in the morning,” she said, and then looked at Rilo. “Do you mind helping Maximus back to bed?”

“Sure,” Rilo replied, coming to stand beside the Veemon.

“I better bolt my door this time,” Maximus thought aloud, allowing Rilo to lead him back inside.

Thalassa and Ashira watched them until they were out of sight, and then the Renamon spoke up. “I’ve never heard of these ‘Digi Mantles’ before,” she said. “What are they?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about them either,” Thalassa admitted. “Each of them are key to a process called ‘Armour Digivolution’, and are tied to specific virtues. I’ve never laid eyes on them, or met anyone who used one - well, besides Lotfia anyway.”

“What do you mean ‘virtues’?” Ashira asked. “Like… strength? Speed? Power?”

“Those are not virtues, Ashira, those are individual traits,” Thalassa gently chided her. “I only know four of them; Light – the one Lotfia has, Courage, Love, and Truth. I’m not familiar with the rest, but supposedly they can only be wielded by someone who embodies those virtues.”

Ashira grimaced. “Sounds like a bunch of drivel,” she said. “What’s so special about Armour Digivolution beyond that?”

“Supposedly, most Armour Digimon sit at level between Champion and Ultimate-level Digimon,” Thalassa replied. “While they can’t Digivolve any further, they’re capable of contending with either level, depending on the strength of the Digimon, and it can be attained without reaching a necessary level of power in advance, unlike you or me who have to reach certain levels before we Digivolve.”

Ashira blinked. “You mean that if somebody takes up one of those mantles, even if they started out weak, they get bumped up to be even stronger than a Champion?”

“In theory, yes,” Thalassa replied, “but again, they have to embody the associated virtue, or the mantle won’t accept them. If Lotfia hadn’t been eligible for the Mantle of Light… it would’ve deleted her.”

Ashira felt her tail twitch involuntarily, betraying how much that idea unsettled her. “Risky…” she said, “and now one of those things is trying to pull Maximus toward it?”

“It sounds like it,” replied Thalassa. “It could be they see him as an eligible candidate for them, and want him to take their test, to find out for certain.”

“Have they ever called out to someone like this before?” Ashira asked.

Thalassa shrugged. “You know about as much as I do now,” she replied. “I’ve never even seen them; most of what I know is hearsay.”

Ashira looked over her shoulder, peering back into the manse; Maximus and Rilo were already out of sight. “So, if he takes it, he’ll Digivolve into an Armour Digimon,” she said.

“If he passes their test,” corrected Thalassa.

“And if he doesn’t pass… he’s history.”

“Yes…”

A short pause, before Ashira spoke again. “Do you think he will?”

Thalassa sighed. “Vengeance is a powerful motivator,” she admitted, but didn’t want to say more on the subject. Changing it, she feigned a yawn. “Alright… I think it’s time I call it a night,” she said.

“Yeah. Me too,” agreed Ashira. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ashira,” Thalassa replied before she turned and walked back into the manse, making her way back to the clinic to finish her work there before going to bed.

Ashira followed her until reaching the stairs, and then ascended them, two at a time, before reaching her floor. She walked past Maximus’ room, stopping briefly to listen. When she didn’t hear anything, she continued on, walking past the room, and continued to her own.

~~~~~

The events the night before still bothered Maximus… he did not sleep much, after Rilo returned him to his room. By the time breakfast was served, he had to force himself to eat something. He settled for a bowl of oatmeal, picking it at slowly until he finally finished the bowl, though by then it had turned into a cold mush…

With that, he headed outside for his morning meditations, returning to the spot that had become his favourite place to relax, far from the training grounds where he wouldn’t be disturbed. But when he got there, he found that there was someone else there; a trio of Digimon, in hushed conversation. A DemiDevimon, an Impmon and a Dracmon.

Maximus had seen these three around a few times. He had never interacted with them, but they were always together. He always had a feeling the three were troublemakers, and he’d avoided them; why they were here in his usual favourite spot he didn’t know, but he kept walking, paying them no mind. The Citadel was a big place; plenty of room for him to find another spot.

He settled for a small mound behind the manse. A pleasant, warm breeze blew over the area, and he sighed contently as he sat down, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes, starting with the deep breathing exercises, and clearing his mind, picturing the lake, and the floating objects that made up the contents of his mind.

One deep breath… several of the objects sank toward the bottom of the lake. Another… more sank… a third, and all that remained were what he wanted to focus on. Running, strength training… sparring, perhaps? Yes… he did still owe Ashira that rematch. Fourth deep breath, contemplating a strategy if he were the face the Renamon.

“Contemplating…” a voice whispered in he ear. His eyes opened, and just as he turned toward the voice, another one boomed in his opposite ear. “LIFE?!”

He jumped, shooting to his feet and leaping away before spinning on the offenders. Sure enough, it was the three dark Rookie-types he’d been trying to avoid, sharing a guffaw of laughter between them.

“Oh man, that was good,” the Impmon said.

The DemiDevimon, winged folded and rolling on the ground hugging himself, cackled like a madman. “You should’ve seen your face!” he added.

The Dracmon made a motion of wiping a tear from his eye – or one of the eyes of his mask, anyway; Dracmon was an odd Digimon, in that its eyes were in its hands, not on its face. “Priceless,” he said.

Maximus glared, but didn’t rise to their teasing, turning and walking away. That, however, seemed only to bother them. “Hey, what, you got no sense of humour, blue boy?” the Impmon demanded.

“Not even gonna tell us off or something?” added the DemiDevimon.

“I’m too old for such childishness,” Maximus returned.

The Impmon scoffed. “I thought you said this is the same guy who scrapped with Ashira just under a week ago?”

“It is!” the DemiDevimon replied. “I thought he had more spine than this.”

“Well, nobody ignores me!” the Impmon declared. “Bada boom, punk; Fire Shot!”

Maximus stopped, sensing the attack as it came; he spun around in time to see the flurry of fireballs coming at him. Deftly, he jumped to the side, and let the fireballs strike the ground where he had been standing.

At that, he glared at the trio. “Don’t you kids have anything better to do than bother someone who you don’t even know?”

“Who you calling kids?” the DemiDevimon demanded, indignantly.

“You think you’re too good to pay us any mind, pal?” the Impmon added.

Maximus growled. “I don’t have time to play with you,” he said, “so back off.”

“Or what?” the Dracmon asked, raising his hands and exposing the eyes on his palms. “Think you can make us, blue?”

“I have nothing to prove to any of you.”

“So, he does think he’s too good for us,” the Impmon said. “I think we need to teach him a lesson about who’s top dog around here, huh boys?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” agreed the DemiDevimon.

Maximus fists tightened. There was no talking these three down… they wanted a fight, and he just had the misfortune of being their choice… “Last warning,” he said.

“Get ‘im!” the Impmon called.

But just as the trio took a step forward, a voice boomed and brought them to a stop. “What is going on here?!”

The volume of the voice made even Maximus jump, and the three miscreants ahead of him stopped in their tracks. The Impmon and DemiDevimon looked horrified, while the Dracmon just scowled, following his companion’s lead as they frantically turned away from Maximus to face the owner of the voice.

Two Digimon approached. One of them was Fenric, fists balled and swinging like maces at his sides as he stormed toward them. Behind him marched the winged cat-like form of Lotfia, the Nefertimon that Maximus had met when he first arrived at the Citadel. If she was angry, he couldn’t tell behind her stone mask, hiding her face.

Fenric approached the four with his fists balled at his side, his sharp gaze drifting over the four studiously, with a glare that could have melted solid steel.

“Well? Who wants to explain themselves first?” he demanded.

“W-We were just playing around,” the Impmon, suddenly very frightful despite his earlier bravado, tried to reason. “But then this guy,” he pointed at Maximus, “started punking us and throwing insults.”

“I don’t know about insults,” Lotfia spoke up, “but from what I saw, it was you, Saleos, who threw the first attack, while Maximus was trying to go his own way.”

“He’s still the one who started it!” the DemiDevimon shot back.

“Not from what I saw, Vassago,” returned Lotfia.

“All three of you, get back to the training field, now,” Fenric commanded, “Maximus, you stay put. I want to talk to you.”

Maximus didn’t argue, knowing he had to make his case first. The other three, casting a hateful glare his way, turned and hurried away without another word of complaint. Maximus remained where he was as Fenric approached.

“So, what really happened?” Fenric asked.

“You’ll take my word over the three of them?” Maximus asked.

“The eldest among them is seventeen,” Fenric replied. “They’re kids, you are an adult. I expect you’ll be the responsible one. Besides, Saleos and Vassago have always been troublemakers, and ever since Nos – the Dracmon – joined up with them, they’ve only gotten worse.”

Maximus huffed. “I was coming out here to do my daily meditation,” he said. “Those three were in my usual spot so I went somewhere else. I was into the routine when they snuck up on me, screamed in my ears to scare me, and tried to pick a fight. I tried to ignore them, but they wouldn’t back off.”

“Lotfia saw Saleos take the first attack,” Fenric added, nodding in confirmation. Then, he added with a smirk. “To be honest, I cut in to prevent them from getting hurt, not the other way around.”

Maximus allowed himself a smile at that, but wisely stayed silent, so as not to come across as arrogant.

Lotfia sighed. “Fenric and I have been out all night,” she said, “watching for those Dokugumon again. So far, thankfully, it’s been quiet – at least out there, but I am weary.”

“As am I,” agreed Fenric. “If those three start to bother you again, Maximus, just find Surtan. He’ll set them straight.”

Maximus sighed, feeling like he was a kid back in school again and feeling sour about it. But, he nodded in agreement… until he then had a thought.

“Actually… I did want to speak to you, Lotfia,” the Veemon said.

The Nefertimon tilted her head; the only way to show how puzzled she was, with her face concealed behind a mask. “To me?”

“About the Digi Mantles,” Maximus replied, pointing to her, “like the one you have.”

Lotfia shared a look with Fenric, their eyes meeting for a moment before Fenric turned his attention back to Maximus, eyeing him studiously. “What brought this on?” the Lobomon inquired.

“I… think one of them was reaching out to me again last night,” he said, and began to explain his sleepwalking episode to the two, from his nightmares that evening to his meeting with Rilo, Ashira and Thalassa outside.

Fenric put a hand to his chin, chewing on Maximus’ words, but given his lack of experience on the matter he wisely deferred to Lotfia. “What do you think?”

“I think he might be right,” she said, having sat down during Maximus’ explanation. “The Mantle of Light called to me, much the same way he is describing. The difference being, though, I knew it was the Mantle of Light. It was showing itself to me in my dream.”

Fenric looked at Maximus again. “But you can’t see which one it is?” he asked.

Maximus shook his head. “No… just these mixed feelings. Fear and rage, melancholy and anger – everything I’ve felt since Maverick died,” he replied.

Again, Fenric let Lotfia answer. “That may be the Mantle of Love, calling to you,” she said. “It would make sense. The loss of your brother, whom you loved dearly, was the trigger point… it could be that the Mantle senses your loss and the void it has left you with.”

Maximus frowned, unsure if he understood. “So… what do I do now?” he asked.

“I suppose,” said Fenric, “we can take you up to the Grand Chapel this afternoon, and you take the trial of the Mantle. If you pass, you will attain Armour Digivolution with the Mantle of Love; I don’t know what form you will take, but you will be an Armour Digimon.”

Maximus couldn’t hold back the question that flew into his mind. “Will that make me strong enough to-” he caught himself before finishing the question.

But Fenric, ever attentive, had heard all he needed to. “To defeat Talbot?” he asked, noting the shameful look on Maximus’ face. “I can only say… maybe,” he replied.

“Make no mistake, Maximus,” Lotfia chimed in, “while you will be stronger – much stronger, as an Armour Digimon… there are risks. If you take the test, and you fail… the Mantle will destroy you.”

Maximus’ gaze drifted, suddenly filled with uncertainty. He hadn’t thought of that… how unforgiving the Digi Mantles really were… the power they offered was certain, but if someone failed to live up to their expectations – to embody the virtues they represented… there was no second chance.

“Take some time to think about it,” Fenric urged him. “Lotfia and I must get some rest, now. That is, if you want us there when you try it.”

Maximus nodded. “I… think so,” he said. “And… maybe Rilo and Thalassa too.” The words left his mouth, yet he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d suddenly wanted to include them too.

Fenric nodded. “That can be arranged,” he said, “just be sure to ask them first, to make sure they are available.”

Maximus nodded again. With that, Fenric and Lotfia bid him good day and started toward the manse to retire. He watched them for a while, before he sat on the grass to resume his meditative posture again, taking some time to clear his mind.

An hour or two later, Maximus’ encounter with those three stooges was barely a footnote in his mind, but the thought of his conversation with Fenric and Lotfia, and the events the night before, remained. He went to training sprint around the track, and later sparred with an Angoramon, whom he soundly defeated.

Wanting more of a challenge, he sought out Ashira. To his surprise, he arrived to find her actually sparring with another student – a Biyomon, who was utilizing their air advantage over the Renamon to attack her from afar. But Ashira was implacable, staying ahead of Biyomon’s attacks until she was able to get underneath them, and with a mighty jump, delivered a punishing uppercut, winding Biyomon and sending them careening down to the ground.

“Winner!” Surtan called, motioning to Ashira. “Clear for the next!”

Maximus saw Thalassa move to help the Biyomon while Ashira stepped aside, interlacing the digits of her paws and raising them above her head to stretch, like the battle with the Biyomon had been nothing more than a warmup for her.

“Nice job,” Maximus said, approaching her.

Ashira looked at him. “Oh, hey,” she said, nonchalant. “You saw that fight, huh?”

“I did. I thought you said the other students were afraid to fight you?” Maximus reminded.

“They were, but it seems like our sparring match the other day emboldened a few others to try their luck too,” she said. “Not that it changed anything,” she added with a shrug.

“How about me then?” Maximus asked. “I promised you a rematch, after all.”

At that, Ashira seemed to smile, but the hard look never left her eyes. “You’re on,” she said, “I was wondering when we’d get the chance to finish that fight we had before.”

“Just remember what we agreed to,” Maximus added, pointedly, “no trash-talking, least of all on subjects that could set us off – like our brothers.”

“Deal.”

When their turn came, the two stepped out onto the training field for their spar. Maximus heard a few hushed whispers – some of which were directed at him, others were still about Ashira. There were some disgruntled voices among the spectators that he recognized as belonging to the three stooges – as he’d already begun calling them in his mind, directed his way. He ignored them, focusing solely on his opponent.

Ashira, for her part, did a few quick stretches to warm up before shifting her posture, standing partly sideways with her feet spread apart and her paws up. Maximus rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles before putting up his fists and facing her.

At Surtan’s call, they began, and clashed in the span of a heartbeat before exploding into motion, trading multiple blows with one another. Ashira was taller and faster than Maximus, but he used his smaller size to his advantage, forcing his way inside of her reach to strike her where her guard was weakest – though not without price, taking repeated hits from the Renamon in the process.

Overtime, it became apparent that Maximus was also slightly more durable than her, as the exchange of blows seemed to wear her down much faster than it did him. After managing to force open her guard again, she faltered, and he landed a solid, finishing attack.

“Vee Headbutt!” he called before launching himself at her.

Ashira could not dodge in time, resorting instead to throwing her arms over her chest in an X, letting them take the impact of Maximus’ headbutt, knocking her off her feet. He fell on top of her, tumbling over her shoulder before landing on his feet again.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t done; Surtan hadn’t even started counting before she sprang back to her feet, throwing her legs into the air and flipping around to face Maximus again, once again surprising her with her agility.

“Toukakken!” she growled, as her hands and footpaws both ignited with ghostly blue flames, and she rushed at Maximus again.

This time, it was he who failed to avoid, attempting to retreat, but even battered as she was, Ashira was simply too fast. She closed in and landed the first strike across his cheek before he could block, and the second to his stomach before she finished with a roundhouse kick to his head that sent him into a cartwheel, landing on his face.

Maximus tried to push himself up again, but he took too long to do so, dazed by the triple combo. “Winner!” Surtan called, hand toward Ashira.

Despite the victory, Ashira was panting heavily. Her legs wobbled, and she fell to one knee, resting one paw on the ground to support herself. The students gasped at the sight, shocked to see the Renamon brought low despite winning the fight.

Or maybe it was the fact that she was grinning…

Maximus groaned as he sat up, rubbing his aching face. “Ouch,” he said, “I’m going to feel that one tomorrow.”

To his side, Ashira picked herself up and walked over to him, calling out to get his attention before offering him her hand. Tentatively he took it, and she helped him stand up.

“Good fight,” she said, “I look forward to the next one.”

Maximus smiled and nodded. “Same to you,” he said. “That was a killer combo there.”

“Last move I had,” she said. “I’m not supposed to use Diamond Storm in a sparring match.”

“Why not?”

“Too destructive,” she replied, shaking her head, “not just to the target but whatever or whoever they’re standing near when I use it. It’s not really what you’d call a ‘precision’ attack.”

Maximus opened his mouth to respond, when Rilo suddenly popped up between them, carrying bottles of water in each claw. “Hey guys!” he crowed, sounding excited as always. “You thirsty?”

“Yes, actually,” replied Maximus. He accepted the bottle from Rilo and took a long drink, enjoying the cool liquid as it flowed along his tongue and quenched his parched throat.

With a sigh, he lowered the bottle and thanked Rilo. Following his example, Ashira took the other bottle the Guilmon was offering to her, and took a drink, draining half of the glass bottle before she addressed him again.

“Thanks, red,” she said.

“No problem!” he chimed, tucking the bottles under his arm. “You looked like you were having fun there too.”

At that, Ashira allowed herself a smile. “It feels good when someone new can give me a challenge, I guess,” she said.

“Thalassa seemed to give you a challenge yesterday,” Maximus reminded.

“Thalassa and I started here together; I’ve fought her lots of times,” Ashira replied, shrugging. “Besides, she doesn’t like fighting that much; doesn’t have the same enthusiasm for it that you do,” she gestured to the Veemon.

“I guess it’s a dragon thing,” Maximus replied, shrugging as well. “You should have met my brother. If you think I like fighting, Maverick lived for it.”

“What was the tally between you two?” she asked.

“Oh, I lost count years ago,” Maximus replied with a wave of his hand, “but I’m pretty sure he was ahead. Having wings didn’t really do me much good in the long run, because I still had to get close to attack, and when I did…”

He slapped his clenched fist into his open palm. “Whammo!” and then he made a show of toppling over, tilting his head back as though someone had just knocked him out, and he comically fell onto his back.

Rilo burst out laughing, almost dropping the water bottles. Ashira held in her laughter, but a small snicker still managed to escape. Maximus sat up and joined in the laughter, feeling good to talk about Maverick without slipping into melancholic depression again.

‘Maybe Lotfia is right,’ he thought to himself. ‘Maybe it is the Mantle of Love calling to me… I mean, it makes sense. Maverick meant the world to me; we were born from the same nest, the same pair of Digitama. We were born together, raised together, fought together…’

In that moment… he had made up his mind. “Hey, Rilo?” he asked, and added, “Ashira?”

“What’s up, Max?” the Guilmon asked. Ashira remained silent, listening.

“I’ve decided to undergo a trial… for one of the Digi Mantles we talked about last night,” he said. “I’m going to try this afternoon.”

Rilo lost his smile, and even Ashira’s expression turned serious. “I… hope you know the risk that comes with that,” the Renamon stated, remembering her discussion with Thalassa the night before. “If you take the test, and you fail… that thing will kill you.”

Maximus nodded. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “But… I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to try it. And,” he smiled at them. “I was hoping you two would come along too… and Thalassa as well, if she wants to.”

Rilo didn’t hesitate. “Well, I’m all for it! I’ve always wanted to see one of those trials in action, ever since Lotfia Digivolved into that new form!”

Ashira, standing arms crossed, drummed her arm with her fingers. “I guess I’m curious too,” she said, “and I have no plans today so… sure, I’ll come along.”

Maximus smiled gratefully. “Thanks,” he said.

“But you’re sure you want to do this?” Ashira asked. “I’d hate to lose a worthy sparring partner the same day I find him.”

Maximus nodded again. “I’m sure,” he said.

~~~~~

That night, Maximus met with Fenric and Lotfia at dinner, and announced his intention to undergo the trial for the Mantle of Love. He was certain that was the one that was calling to him, as Lotfia had suggested earlier that very day. They agreed to accompany him to the Grand Chapel, to undergo the trial.

They had also spoken to Thalassa about it, and though the Lekismon was clearly fearful of the prospect, she agreed to go as well. With that, and accompanied by Rilo and Ashira as well, the six of them made their way across the citadel grounds to the Great Stairs, that led up to the Grand Chapel.

With the question nagging at his mind, Maximus looked at Lotfia as they began ascending the stairs; she remained walking with them, even though she could fly up ahead of them all, but for their benefit she remained.

“So… what was your trial like?” Maximus asked.

She turned her head slightly, and through the eyes of her mask he could imagine she was looking squarely at him. “Nothing I tell you will prepare you,” she said. “Every trial is unique to the trial-goer, and to the Mantles themselves. If you try for the Mantle of Love, I promise you, it won’t be anything like when I tried for the Mantle of Light.”

“I’d still like to know.”

Lotfia sighed. “I was tested, confronted by the seven vices,” she said. “I was promised wealth. I was promised pleasure. I was promised luxury, all the food I could want, the doom of everyone who wronged me and power greater than those who had been my rivals – everything I could possibly desire in life. I was promised the power to indulge in everything any Digimon could ever want.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Ashira, overhearing the conversation, said.

Lotfia stopped walking, rounding on Ashira. “It was a trap, Ashira,” she said. “If I had taken a single coin, I’d have failed. If I’d indulged in carnal pleasures, with the most desirable partner I could ever want, I’d have failed. The food, the luxury, the doom to my enemies – it was all part of the trap… I had to refuse it all.”

“Because the Mantle of Light embodies the absences of vices,” added Fenric. “The virtues, represented by the other Mantles, have opposites – vices, and the Mantle of Light will only give itself to those who do not have or are able to resist those vices. I too possess the power of Light – I’m not an Armour Digimon like Lotfia, but even for me it’s at its strongest when I do not give in to temptation.”

“Some virtues and vices are not depicted by the Mantles at all,” added Lotfia. “It is only a guess… but perhaps the tests offered by the other mantles are their vices.”

“The opposite of love… would be hate, right?” Maximus asked.

“Yes,” replied Lotfia.

‘At least that’s something,’ Maximus thought, believing that he might know what to expect… everyone he ever loved was gone – all he had left now was the one he hated… Talbot. He could imagine the trial he underwent would involve him, somehow…

But he had to be ready for that…

They reached the top of the stairs, and approached the doors to the Grand Chapel. Fenric gained them entry, announcing their intentions to visit the Mantle Chamber; one of the Angemon told him that once Maximus had chosen a Mantle, he was come back out to the front – correlated by Lotfia, as she had been required to do the same.

“Some of the transformations can be intense,” she said, “they use this open plateau out here to avoid damage to the Chapel.”

Maximus rolled his eyes, but nodded in understanding. With that, the doors were opened for them, and they stepped inside, two-by-two, with Fenric and Lotfia in the lead.

“Maximus,” Thalassa, standing beside him, said suddenly. “Are you really sure you want to do this? This is extremely dangerous…”

“I’ve come too far to turn back now, Thalassa,” Maximus replied, shaking his head. “The Mantle’s never going to stop calling for me until I try.”

“I know, but… if you fail… you’ll die,” she said.

Maximus looked at her sadly. “Do I really have anything left to lose, Thalassa?”

That question set the Lekismon back on her heels… she looked hurt by it, but she kept walking when Rilo bumped into her – both of them apologizing. Still, her gaze lingered on Maximus, saddened by his words…

They reached the room, and the guard let them through – just two of them. Lotfia stepped forward, and Maximus followed her into the room, while the others remained out in the hallway to wait.

Inside, the pedestals bearing the Mantles revealed themselves, housing the mantles – Hope, Courage, Friendship, Love, Purity, Knowledge, Truth, Kindness, with one vacant pedestal adjacent to the Mantle of Hope – the one that once held the Mantle of Light, now born by Lotfia.

Maximus’ eyes glazed over as he looked longingly across the Mantles, until his eyes settled on one… not initially the Mantle of Love, but the Mantle of Courage… he felt a small pull toward it. But, the same pull was leading him toward the Mantle of Love as well, and this one, he obeyed.

He reached for the Mantle, hesitating as his fingers hovered closer to the metallic object, silvery and conical. He wondered if he’d even have the chance to take it outside before it put him under the trial; if it would happen the moment he touched it.

Pushing aside his doubt, he grasped it. Nothing… he lifted. It came away easily from the pedestal, and he saw Lotfia nod. “It has acknowledged you,” she said.

“Wait, what?” Maximus asked. “That’s the test? But I didn’t do anything yet.”

She shook her head. “No, it recognizes you as a potential candidate,” she said, “if it didn’t, you would not be able to lift it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Set it back down for a moment,” she said, and then pointed to the Mantle of Knowledge. “Try lifting that one.”

Maximus shrugged, and did as she asked, setting the Mantle of Love back on its pedestal before he moved over to the golden, egg-shaped one indicated by Lotfia. Since nothing happened when he’d grabbed the Mantle of Love, he was less hesitant to touch this one, wrapping his fingers around it and pulling.

It did not move a single inch, as though it were glued to the pedestal. Gritting his teeth, he pulled harder, but still the Mantle didn’t move so much as a hair’s breadth. After a moment, he stopped, shaking his aching hands and eyeing it in disbelief.

“Geez, is that thing actually made of solid gold?” he asked. “It weighs a ton!”

“It doesn’t recognize you as a potential candidate,” replied Lotfia, “therefore, it is refusing you, and will not let you pick it up.”

Maximus looked closely at the Mantle, studying its crest and remembering how it represented knowledge. He frowned, and turned his head to look at her, wearing a blank expression. “Is that your way of telling me I’m dumb?”

Lotfia laughed. “No, Maximus, I am not calling you ‘dumb’,” she replied. “The Mantle of Knowledge gives itself to those who seek to advance their own; the studious, academic type. It answers to those. It does not refuse you due to a lack of intelligence, more of a lack of the desire to learn more about the world, beyond what you feel you need to know.”

“Oh,” Maximus replied, feeling humbled. Now he did feel dumb.

“Shall we be on our way, then?” she asked.

“Right,” Maximus replied simply, returning to the Mantle of Love to pick it up, holding it gingerly between his hands. “Here goes nothing…”

Outside, Maximus stood in the middle of the plateau, his friends watching. Between his hands, he still held the Mantle of Love. For several moments, he simply stared at it.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he asked, looking at Lotfia.

“You must open yourself to it,” she replied. “You’ve felt its pull; it is trying to talk to you.”

“How do I do that?”

“Only you can determine that,” Lotfia said, shaking her head.

‘Well, that’s just maddeningly unhelpful,’ Maximus thought, arching an eyebrow at the Nefertimon before looking back at the Mantle. “Okay… I’m here… can you hear me?” he asked, feeling stupid. ‘I’m talking to a silver cone with wings…’ he lamented.

“I can!” Rilo called.

Ashira smacked him on the back of the head. “Not you, airhead!” she growled.

“We must be silent,” Lotfia scolded them. “If Maximus cannot hear the Mantle’s voice, we’ll be here all day.”

Maximus tried to ignore them, focusing wholly on the object between his hands. He watched. He listened. Yet it remained nothing more than what it seemed—a lifeless relic.

What am I missing? he wondered. I feel its pull but… it’s not responding.

He thought back to his exercises earlier that day, to the meditation. Lotfia had said he needed to open his mind. Perhaps the first step was clearing it. He shut his eyes, holding the Mantle against his chest, close to his heart, and thought of the ocean again—this time, letting everything sink to the bottom, leaving his mind as clear and still as a windless sea.

For a while, nothing happened. Only silence. Only stillness.

A groan escaped him as he opened his eyes—then the world was no longer the plateau. He was sitting on a bed, in a room he knew.

“…Wha… is this…?” he whispered, blinking at the rafters overhead, the wall decorations, the wood-burning stove in the corner, the tiny kitchen opposite it.

His breath caught as recognition set in.

“It’s… it’s my house!” he exclaimed, shooting to his feet. “I’m home? But how?”

Then he noticed the rafters seemed oddly closer than he remembered. His balance felt strange, a weight dragging from behind his shoulders, something jutting from his nose. He crossed his eyes—and froze at the sight of the blade-like horn at its tip.

He yelped, springing upward on instinct—then kept rising, bashing his head into the rafters. “Yeow!” he growled, dropping back to the floor and grabbing his head. “Damnation, what—?!”

“Max?”

The single word froze him, the voice striking him like a thunderclap. His heart skipped, then slammed in his chest. That voice… it couldn’t be. Not after all this time. Not here.

Slowly, he turned toward the doorway. A large, muscular silhouette filled it—a Veedramon, regarding him with an odd look.

“You hit your head?” asked Maverick, voice laced with sarcasm. “It’s like you forgot you have wings or something.”

~~~~~

“Max? Max!” Rilo called.

A strange glow had enveloped Maximus, covering his body in a soft, red light. The glow had stared with the heart-shaped crest on the Mantle, held between his hands, before expanding to cover him as well. Since then, he had become absolutely still, and silent…

“He can’t hear you, Rilo,” said Lotfia, “he’s in his trial now.”

“So, we just wait?” Ashira asked.

“Nothing else we can do,” replied Lotfia. “But it should not be long. The time of his trial will seem longer to him, but only moments to-”

Her voice was drowned out, when Maximus suddenly let out a deafening roar – greater volume than his small size seemed capable of doing. In alarm, everyone looked at him again; his eyes were open again, glowing brightly – deeper, darker than the glow that had been covering him. His mouth was open, showing his teeth… which had grown noticeably sharper.

“W-What’s happening to him?!” Rilo demanded, alarmed.

“Lotfia?” Thalassa asked.

“I-I don’t know!” the Nefertimon replied, aghast. “Something must have gone wrong in his trial!”

Then, two long, drawn out words left Maximus’ mouth – spoken in a tone as cold as ice. “Armour… Digivolve,” he said, before the red glow in his eyes seemed to cover his entire body.

He became a single form, crimson in colour, expanding rapidly. As they watched, his bipedal form turned dropped to all fours, shifting to a quadrupedal body, with this, muscular legs and a short, hairy tail. The light began to fade, revealing scarlet flesh, covered in orange stripes, like a tiger, with a line of green hair down his back – including the aforementioned tail.

But around his head, a silvery helmet formed, long and sleek, covering his head and neck. Two wing-like fins grew from the sides, curving upward until they were almost like horns, but their shape closely resembled bat-like wings. Finally, a pair of sharp, pointed tusks, electric blue in colour, grew out from underneath the helmet, aligned with his jaw.

The creature that once was Maximus lowered its head, growling deeply, before forming words with a mouth that hung open, barely moving to form the words at all… yet speaking with a voice filled with pure, unbridled fury.

“Sethmon…” it growled, “The Tusks… of…” his eyes opened, that red glow still lingering around the red orbs of his eyes, pupils shrunk to beads. “_ Hatred. _ ”

** ~~~~~ **

Before the evolution, in Maximus’ mind…

“M-Maverick?” Maximus asked, scarcely believing what his eyes were seeing. “I-I-I don’t… Can it really be… you?”

The Veedramon tilted his head. “Uh. Who else?” he asked.

Maximus gaped, struggling to form words. “B-But… I don’t… This can’t… I saw…”

“Uh… okay, now you’re worrying me,” said Maverick, “Did I hit you too hard on our last sparring match or something?”

It really was him… Maximus’ heart thundered, stepping closing to the Veedramon. His face… his voice… even his smell… it really was him. His brother!

Maximus lunged forward, throwing his arms around the Veedramon, hugging him tightly. Maverick stiffened, blinking in confusion. “Am I missing something?” he asked, eyes crossed.

“I thought I’d lost you forever…” Maximus sobbed, crying into the Veedramon’s shoulder. “But I don’t understand… Talbot killed you. I saw it!”

Maverick pushed him back, holding him at arm’s length. “What’re you talking about?” he asked. “Who’s Talbot? And what do you mean killed me? I’m scales and bone, aren’t I? Unless you just hugged a ghost, it’s me, bro.”

Maximus blinked, his mind still reeling, struggling to comprehend everything that was happening. He gently pulled back from Maverick, lifting a hand to his head – and realizing he had three fingers again.

“And I’m… an ExVeemon again?” he asked.

“Uh… you’ve been one for years,” Maverick replied. “Okay, you’re really scaring me now – what is going on with you?”

Maximus felt light-headed, backing away from the Veedramon and settling himself into a chair. “Ugh,” he said, holding his head in his hands.

“Whoa, hey, you okay, bro?” Maverick asked.

“I… I think I’m just… tired,” Maximus replied, shaking his head. He was so confused…

‘Had it all been a dream?’ he wondered, ‘or am I… in the dream? Is this… the Mantle’s doing? But why – why show me this?’

“Maybe we should get you to the healer, bro,” Maverick suggested. “You might be coming down with something.”

“Y-Yeah… maybe,” Maximus replied. ‘It doesn’t matter… Maverick’s here… I could feel him. I can hear and smell him. My senses can’t all be lying to me… I’m home! And he’s back!’ he thought, delighted.

He started to rise, when he noticed it… Maverick, still standing where he had been, had gone still… and… the room had grown darker, like it was nightfall outside… but how? He looked out the window, only to realize he couldn’t see anything. Their house had been surrounded by trees, and the sun had been up – just seconds ago…

“Maverick? Are you seeing thi-” Maximus stopped when he looked at Maverick again… or at least, where he had been.

In front of him, stood a Black WereGarurumon, with two dissolving pieces of a Digimon held in each of his massive paws… Maximus felt his heart skipping several beats when he saw the shape clutched in their right paw… the head of a Veedramon, rapidly dissolving into code that was being absorbed into the arm.

Seeing the shocked look on Maximus’ face, Talbot just smiled. “You’re next,” he said.

Shock turned immediately to fury, and Maximus’ face contorted with rage. “YOU!” he bellowed, launching himself at Talbot, slamming into him with his shoulder and sending both of them hurtling through the door, falling into an inky darkness while the house behind them vanished.

“That’s right… show me!” Talbot growled, as he smacked Maximus across the head with his left hand. “Show me your passion, Maximus… show me that anger… show me that hatred!”

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Maximus roared, feeling his body suddenly transforming – not reverting to a Veemon, but into something else.

He had dropped to all fours, feeling his body reform into a quadrupedal shape. His horn vanished, replaced by a pair of sharp, blue tusks that he saw through the eyeholes of a helmet that formed over his skull, throwing himself at Talbot. The werewolf Digimon made no attempt to move, even as the horns gored right through his chest, impaling him as they went hurtling through the void.

Yet still… he kept smiling… infuriating Maximus even more…

“You… pass,” Talbot said, his voice as clear and smooth as water.

~~~~~

“Wha—what’s happened to him?!” Rilo cried. “What form is that?!”

“‘Tusks of… Hatred?’” Fenric repeated, brow furrowed. “Is that what he said?”

“I thought that was the Mantle of Love, not hate!” Ashira snapped.

“It was,” Lotfia said gravely. “But the line between love and hate is thin indeed. They are two sides of the same coin… It may be that the Mantle of Love has a darker face, and Maximus has fallen into it.”

“W-what do we do?” Rilo asked, voice trembling.

“We can’t do anything,” Fenric answered, his tone grim. “The trial has been completed. The form is chosen. This… Sethmon… is Maximus now.”

At the sound of his name, the beast’s head snapped toward them. His burning gaze locked not on the group as a whole, but on Fenric alone. Sethmon’s body lowered, shoulders tense, claws tearing furrows into the stone beneath him as a low growl vibrated in his chest.

“Uh… why is he looking at me like that?” Fenric asked, unease creeping into his voice.

“Maximus?” Ashira called out. “Hey, is that still you in there?”

No response. Only another animalistic growl…

“Max! Come on—you’re scaring us!” Rilo cried.

“Rilo…” Thalassa whispered at last, her voice brittle with terror. “He doesn’t see us… he doesn’t hear us…”

“What’s that mean?” Rilo demanded.

“Wait… Talbot!” Lotfia exclaimed suddenly. “Fenric—what species is Talbot?”

“Maximus said… he was a Black WereGarurumon. A beastkin Digimon, just like—”

Fenric froze. The words died in his throat as he looked down at himself, realization striking him cold, remembering the wolf-like appearance of his armour. His breath caught. “…Like me.”

Sethmon’s growl deepened, his tusks glinting as his body tensed to spring.

“He thinks I’m Talbot!” Fenric shouted.

The Sethmon roared, and began to charge, thundering steps shaking the plateau as he rushed at Fenric. The Lobomon shouted for everyone to scatter before he jumped as high as he could, arching over Maximus.

“Maximus, stop!” Fenric called as the Sethmon turned around. “It’s me, Fenric!” He received only a growl in response. “I’m not your enemy, Maximus; try to think!”

Maximus did not seem to hear him, rounding on the Lobomon again and growling loudly. Fenric instinctively reached for his beam sabers, but stopped, his hands hovering over them.

‘Damn it; I can’t just fight him! He’s not himself!’

“Fenric, move!” Ashira shouted as Maximus charged again.

Coming back to himself, Fenric hastily banked to the side, narrowly avoiding the Sethmon’s tusks, but not getting out of his way; Fenric was bulled aside by Maximus’ shoulder, and even that glancing blow was enough to knock him off balance, sending him crashing to the ground, his armour clamouring against the stones.

As Fenric scrambled to his feet, the Sethmon rounded on him again, tusks gleaming. His steps cracked the stones beneath him with each pounding stride.

“Hey!” Ashira’s voice cut across the roar, her golden form darting into his line of sight. “Over here!”

“Ashira, what’re you doing?!” Fenric shouted.

“Saving your hide, you idiot!” she shot back, never slowing.

Maximus’ gaze snapped to her. For a moment his burning eyes narrowed, weighing her — then a fresh growl rumbled up from his chest, and he lowered his head.

“…Uh oh,” Ashira muttered.

He roared and lunged. Tusks gouged the stone where she had stood a heartbeat earlier as she leapt back, then bolted, the Sethmon right on her heels.

“Great!” she cried over her shoulder, breath ragged. “Now you think I’m Talbot?! That’s just stupid – I’m not even a wolf!”

“Why does he keep going after them?” Rilo asked, sounding like he was on the verge of panic.

“He’s so blinded by rage, he seeing Talbot everywhere, even from those who barely resemble him!” Lotfia replied.

“We have to calm him down, somehow,” stated Thalassa.

With Maximus hot on her tail, Ashira kept running, spotting the face of the cliff ahead. She deliberately slowed down, letting Maximus get closer, until she gave another burst of speed, surging ahead and jumping at the wall. She somersaulted, landing on the vertical cliff face feet-first, and jumped, arching over Maximus’ hunched back as momentum carried him to crash into the cliff with an explosion of dust.

“Olé!” Ashira barked as she flipped and landed on her feet again.

“Ashira!” Thalassa called. “Try not to hurt him; it’s not his fault!”

“Tell that to him!” Ashira shot back,

Maximus roared again, emerging from the dust cloud once more. He lowered his head, preparing to charge again. But just as he started to move, a pair of voices called out in unison.

“Hand of Fate!”

Two golden beams of light struck Maximus’ flank; this time, his roar was of pain, reeling from the combined attack and sending him hurtling onto his opposite side. Shocked, Ashira and the others looked in the direction the beams had come from, seeing the two Angemon guards from the chapel flying toward them, their fists ignited with holy power as they prepared to attack again.

“Stop!” Thalassa called, running forward and waving her arms, trying to get their attention. “Don’t hurt him!”

“He is out of control!” one of them retorted to her, not looking her way.

“He’s confused; it’s not his fault!” Thalassa pleased.

While Thalassa argued with the Angemon, Maximus rose again, getting back to his feet and glaring angrily at the two Angemon that had assaulted him, and stood tall as he bellowed. “Heat Storm!”

A hot wind erupted from around him, and the two Angemon – unprepared for the attack, were blown out of the air. Even Thalassa – only on the edge of the blast, was suddenly thrown off her feet, landing hard on her side, breathing heavily from the heat wave.

“Hey!” Ashira shouted. “She’s not the one trying to hurt you, you idiot!”

Maximus rounded on her again, that glare returning to his eyes. But as he started to charge toward her, Fenric suddenly leapt into his path, angling his left arm toward him, aiming the laser emitter mounted on his wrist.

“Howling Laser!” he called, before a beam of white light erupted from the barrel of the weapon, striking the Sethmon’s helmet; the impact slowed him, giving him and Ashira the chance to jump out of the way.

“Fenric!” Thalassa called.

“I held back!” he returned. “But if we don’t subdue him, Lord Valefor will come out here and he will kill him!”

Thalassa scrambled to her feet, looking over at Lotfia. The Nefertimon had taken to the air, circling overhead as she waited for a chance to help. Having an idea, Thalassa waved to her.

“Lotfia! I need a lift!”

Not question it, the Nefertimon dove toward her, landing on all fours and running beside the Lekismon who leapt onto her back, holding tight to her shoulder as they flew into the air again.

“Get me onto his back!”

“What’re you planning?”

“There’s no time to explain, just get me over him!”

Below, Maximus was on the run again, chasing Fenric and Ashira; the two were both fast enough to avoid him, but he showed no signs of slowing down. Thalassa covered her mouth as she gasped in horror, hardly able to believe that this rage-filled monster was the same Veemon she’d been trying to help for days now… she knew Maximus was angry, but this form seemed to have caused all of that rage to boil over, beyond comprehension or Maximus’ ability to control.

‘I hope this works,’ she thought, grimly.

“I have to slow him down!” Lotfia called over the wind rushing around them. “Curse of Queen!”

From the eyes of serpentine figurine on her mask, twin beams fired down at Maximus, cutting across his path like twin lasers. The Sethmon instinctively stopped before he could run into the lasers, and Lotfia dropped into another dive; Thalassa held onto her shoulders for dear life so as not to be pulled off by the rushing wind, until they passed over the arched back of Maximus.

From there, Thalassa jumped, and dropped onto Maximus back. She barely managed to get ahold of the wings of his mask before he began thrashing, roaring furiously as he tried to throw her off.

‘Please let this be enough!’ she thought, before she leapt over him, and made her move. “Moon… Night…!” The crescent moon symbols on her gloves glowed brightly as she held out her paws, facing them toward the rampaging Sethmon. “Bomb!”

Bubbles of moisture formed around her, each of them glowing with a pale, pallid light that would have been more visible if it were night time. But the bubbles fell toward Maximus, showering him as each of them burst against his hide. The impacts must have hurt, for he reeled away from them, but he began to slow, as the second effect of Thalassa’s power began to take ahold.

Maximus grew slower and slower, his roaring stopped, replaced by groaning, and even a wide yawn before he dropped onto his stomach. His breathing came in long, laboured gasps, and the fluttering of his eyes showed he was struggling to stay awake.

“You got him!” Rilo called, delighted. “He finally stopped!”

Thalassa had landed a few paces from Maximus, directly ahead of him. His eyes followed her lazily, still carrying hostility, but he was too tired to move. She took a cautious step forward, ignoring the cries of protest from Fenric and Lotfia – or the accusations from Ashira that she was insane, and stepped closer.

Maximus growled as she closed in. She held up her hands, trying not to appear threatening. “Maximus… it’s me, Thalassa,” she said, softly. “Can you hear me?”

No answer… only another growl.

“Maximus, please, you have to try to settle down,” she said. “You’re not yourself. You’re confused, and angry… I want to help. Just as I’ve been trying to do since you came to us.”

Maximus didn’t stop growling, but he didn’t move, not even when the Lekismon was well within reach of his tusks… if he moved now, he could impale her upon them before she had any chance to get away. But whether he was too tired to move, or because her voice was reaching them, he stayed where he was.

“Please…” she said, softer, reaching out her paw to touch his head. “Come back to us…”

Silence… Maximus stopped growling… blinking several times until some focus seemed fill his eyes again. Thalassa motioned with her other paw carefully, trying to tell the others to stay out of his sight. She heard the doors to the Grand Chapel opening, fearing that Valefor was coming out now in response to the commotion.

“Valefor’s coming!” she heard Fenric say. “I’ll try to stall him!”

She heard the Lobomon running by; Maximus’ eyes rolled, following the noise, but Thalassa put both paws on his helmet now. “Hey, hey, eyes on me,” she said, regaining his attention. “Remember what I taught you, to quell that anger?” She made a show of taking a deep breath, holding it, and then letting it out. “Can you do that for me, right now?”

She hadn’t expected him to do it on the first request… but sure enough, Maximus did as she said, taking in a deep breath, lifted slightly as his lungs took in air, held it, and released, just as Thalassa had done. He did this three times, before – with a final blink, his eyes widened, focused on the Lekismon, as if seeing her after being apart for years.

“Tha… Thalassa?” he said. His voice was deep, guttural, and bearing no semblance to how he used to sound. “Is…Is that you?”

“Yes! Yes, Maximus, it’s me,” she said. “Everything’s okay now; you’re alright.”

“What was…” his eyes rolled again, and then he lifted his head; she stepped back, so as not to be hit by his tusks, as he looked around and saw the damage that had been done to the plateau…

Then, his eyes found the two fallen Angemon, and he gasped in horror. “What did I do?” he asked, horrified. “What happened?!”

“It’s okay Maximus. It wasn’t your fault,” Thalassa tried to calm him.

But Maximus wasn’t listening. “The rage! Talbot… I was seeing him everywhere but… where is he?”

“Talbot isn’t here, Maximus! You were just confused, but it’s passed now.”

“This thing… this Mantle! What’d it do to me?!” he looked down at himself, his tusks scraping the stone, but he managed to turn his head enough to see his body, and took in more of the damage he’d caused. “All that anger… what have I done?!”

This time, Thalassa couldn’t answer him, unable to come up with any sort of explanation… Not that Maximus gave her much time to think, suddenly shaking his head.

“Get it off…!” he said, shaking his head – forcing her to retreat so as not to be bludgeoned by his head – or worse, hit by his tusks. “Get this thing off of me!”

“Maximus, you can’t get it off now! You Armour Digivolved; it can’t be undone!” Thalassa tried to explain. “Please, stop! You’re going to hurt-”

But she was cut off when Maximus suddenly turned and ran at the nearby cliff face. “GET-!” he yelled, throwing himself head-first into the stone, utterly demolishing it with the force of his impact. “IT-!” Another hit. “OFF!”

Again and again, he slammed his head against the stone, breaking away more and more of it with his helmet and tusks, and ignoring all pleas from Thalassa to stop, fearing he was going to hurt himself. Again, and again, he struck the wall, until with a final roar of anguish, he threw back his head…

And disappeared into a red glow… the same kind that had engulfed him before he had Digivolved. Thalassa’s words died in her throat, staring in astonishment and not noticing Ashira, Lotfia and Rilo coming to stand beside her, awestruck.

“What’s happening?” Ashira demanded.

“I…I don’t know!” Lotfia admitted.

The glow brightened… and the form of Maximus began to shrink. The mammoth-sized form he had before rapidly decreased back to the size and shape of a Veemon once again, and when the glow faded, he was still screaming, the Mantle of Love clutched in his hands, held away from him like he had just physically pulled it off.

His eyes were wild again when they opened, glaring hatefully at the relic held in his hands. He turned, arm reared back, and threw the Mantle as hard as he could, sending it hurtling across the plateau, striking the stones, bouncing several times, before finally coming to rest at the feet of Valefor, who stood some distance away.

Maximus’ eyes blazed, staring after the discarded mantle with murder in his eyes, until with a few breaths he managed to collect himself again. Rage gave way to despair, tears streamed from his eyes, and he fell to his knees and wailed, slamming his fists on the ground.

“Max!” Rilo cried, moving quickly to his side and wrapping the Veemon in his arms.

At first, Maximus tried to pull away from him, saying it wasn’t safe, but his attempts to fight his way out of Rilo’s arms failed as the Guilmon held on, unrelenting. Finally, he stopped fighting, and slumped, arms hanging at his sides as he stared at the paved earth below him, and the cracked cobblestones he had caused in his rampage.

Letting Rilo comfort the Veemon, Ashira turned to Lotfia, furious. “What happened?” she demanded. “How’d he devolve like that?”

“I already said, I do not know,” Lotfia replied, patiently. “I have never seen nor heard of this happening before.”

“Did the Mantle… reject him?” Thalassa asked.

“If that were the case he’d have been deleted,” Lotfia replied. “No… the opposite must have happened. He rejected it, and turned himself back.”

“Is that actually possible?” Ashira asked. “You can will yourself back to your previous forms?”

“It’s a process called Echo Evolution, sometimes Echo Devolution,” a new voice spoke up, the three females spinning around in alarm as their eyes found the MagnaAngemon, Lord Valefor, approaching. Under his arm, was the discarded Mantle of Love, undamaged from when Maximus had thrown it away.

“Echo?” Ashira repeated.

“It’s not uncommon, but it’s possible to willfully revert oneself to a previous evolution if one desires,” he explained. “One of my fellow Tribunal members does it, when she wishes to return to the form of a Gatomon, for the convenience offered by a smaller form.”

“And… that’s what Maximus did?” Thalassa asked.

“It would appear so,” replied Valefor. “I admit, it is remarkable he was able to do that by sheer instinct. Evolution for Digimon is usually final – aside from those who have had human partners in the past; only they could return to previous forms. But even then, there are exceptions.”

“Echo Evolution is one of them, and there is also Slide Evolution, of which a Digimon can alternate from one form to another, so long as it is the same level as the one they are currently using. This, however, is far more difficult to master.”

“Wait,” Ashira spoke up. “You’re saying that if I became a Youkomon, I could do this… Slide Evolution and become the other form – a Kyubimon?”

“It is not so simple as that,” Valefor chided her. “It must be a form you have used before. If you have not previously been a Kyubimon, then you cannot become one through that method; that is why it is difficult to master, and few Digimon ever do so, because it involves them achieving more than one evolutionary path. At the very least, it would require them to know how to Echo Devolve first.”

Ashira scowled, but said nothing more.

“What happens to Maximus now?” Thalassa asked, fearing that he would be punished for what he had done as a Sethmon.

“The two Angemon guards he attacked suffered only minor injuries from his attack, and no real damage was done to the Chapel, nor endangered anyone inside,” he said. “For that, I will spare him from punishment.”

Thalassa breathed a sigh of relief. But, the MagnaAngemon continued, his voice turning cold and hard as spoke. “However,” he said, “after his disrespectful attitude in the face of the Tribunal before, and this incident,” he gestured behind him with his shield-covered arm, “the damage he could have caused, and others he could have hurt, show me that he cannot, as he is, be trusted so long as he cannot control his rage.”

“Therefore,” Valefor finished, “I hereby banish him from setting foot near the Grand Chapel again, unless he is summoned by the Tribunal.”

Fenric spoke up. “But one of the other Mantles could be reaching out to him!” he reasoned. “He said he heard more than one! We cannot-“

“I will not tolerate another incident like this one again!” Valefor exploded, silencing the Lobomon, before he continued in a calmer voice. “And I do not give third chances, Fenric. He is no longer welcome here at the Grand Chapel. Any further transgressions from him… and I will see to it he is removed from the Citadel entirely. Now get him out of my sight.”

Valefor turned away, and stormed toward the Grand Chapel, bearing the Mantle of Love in his hand as he left the six behind, five of them staring after him with mixed expression of dismay, and defeat.

All, except for Maximus, having not moved an inch from where he had fallen to his knees, nor said a word – not even when he had stopped crying. He stared at nothing… his gaze was faraway, his mind lost in his a whirling void…

“Come on,” Fenric said gently, coming over and kneeling beside Maximus. “It’s time to go.”

Rilo looked up at him, growling. “Can’t you give him even a moment? He’s been through enough!”

“Valefor will not let him stay here; we must be gone before he decides to come back,” Fenric reasoned. “Come on, Maximus.”

The Veemon didn’t look up at him, nor resist when Fenric hoisted him to his feet despite Rilo’s disapproving glare. He was gently urged to walk, and his movements were mechanical, much the same way they had been the night he had been sleepwalking. But this time, he was awake- simply absent at that moment, his body seeming to move on its own without any direction from him…

At the back of the group walked Rilo, his gaze lingering on Maximus, feeling his heart aching to see how unhappy was… ‘Poor Max…’ he thought, wishing he could do more for him…

No one said much, as they descended the stairs from the Grand Chapel and made their way back toward the Citadel grounds. Rilo walked at Maximus’ side, his arm gently wrapped around the Veemon’s shoulders, leading him onward as the Veemon seemed too lost in his own head to control his own movements.

As they crossed the grounds back to the dormitory manse, Ashira finally couldn’t take the silence anymore, an edge to her voice as the Renamon spoke up.

“So, are none of us going to talk about what happened up there?” she asked.

“What is there to discuss, Ashira?” Thalassa chided her. “The Mantle of Love was the wrong choice. For now, we should just be thankful that we didn’t lose him to it.” She looked at Maximus as she spoke.

“I know all that… but still!” Ashira pressed. “Lotfia, you said those Mantles were supposed to represent virtues. What we saw up there did not really seem ‘virtuous’ by any definition to me!”

“As I said before,” the Nefertimon explained, “the line between love and hate is thinner than one might expect. Both of them are derived from passion, but they can change so suddenly it can be alarming. One can love someone dearly one day, and hate them the next, because of something they have done, such as a betrayal.”

Ashira fell silent at that, Lotfia’s explanation apparently striking a chord with her regarding her relationship with her brother…

“Can they really be that similar?” Rilo asked. “To love someone you want to protect them, care for them, be with them. But if you hate them, it’s all the opposite, right?”

Lotfia sighed. “I’m afraid I cannot explain it any better than I have, Rilo,” she said, defeated. “The last one who wielded the Mantle of Love was far before my time, and what differentiated them from Maximus, I don’t know.”

“And how was Mr. Sourpuss able to pick it up after the fact?” Ashira asked, jerking her thumb over her shoulder absently. “Maximus said he wasn’t able to pick up any other Mantles, right? Because he didn’t embody their virtues.”

“He didn’t embody the virtue of Knowledge,” Lotfia corrected, “that one he couldn’t pick up. The rest, I don’t know. We did not try.”

“So… he could be eligible for a different one?” Thalassa asked.

“That does not matter,” Fenric cut in. “He will not be allowed back to the Grand Chapel for the time being. Even if there is another he can use, he will not have the opportunity to try.”

“But that’s unfair!” Rilo protested. “It wasn’t his fault!”

“I will try my best to convince Lord Valefor of that,” Fenric promised, “but as it is, he does not trust Maximus, and he is not forgiving.”

“What about one of the other Tribunal members – could they overturn his rule?” Thalassa asked.

“Lord Seraph could, and maybe Lord Archibald,” replied Fenric, “but they entrust Lord Valefor with the safety of the Citadel. All of the Gladimon guards were trained by him; ultimately they answer to him. If I push him too hard, and anger him, he may decide to throw Maximus – maybe one of us, out of here entirely.”

Ashira scoffed. “Before today, I never met Valefor,” she said, crossing her arms. “The more I hear about him, the less I like him.”

“Believe me, you are not alone in that,” said Lotfia, “I’ve never liked him either…”

“Lotfia, you must not speak of him so harshly,” said Fenric.

“Why not?” she asked, spiteful. “He treats everyone, even other Angel Digimon – including me, with such apathy it’s a wonder he has a heart at all. Which makes it all the more confounding he was able to pick up the Mantle of Love, as Ashira mentioned.”

Rilo was not partaking in the conversation, largely ignoring the banter between Fenric, Ashira and Lotfia. He tightened his hold around Maximus slightly and cast a pleading look at Thalassa. No words were shared between them, but they were both thinking the same thing, lamenting the suffering that Maximus had to endure - a lifetime of tragedy had followed the poor Veemon, yet it had all taken place over the course of a single week…

Rilo moved up beside Thalassa, brushing his head against her hip. In response, she laid her left hand over his neck and gently stroked him, as much for her own comfort as for his.

“Why, Thalassa?” Rilo asked, sounding ready to cry. “Why him?”

Thalassa couldn’t offer Rilo an answer… and Maximus seemed dead to the world around him – even to the conversations about him, happening at that very moment. He didn’t seem to acknowledge any of it. He simply gazed on to the ground ahead, with that thousand-yard stare…

They left Maximus in his room, closing the door and leaving him to rest. Rilo, for his part, didn’t want to leave the Veemon alone, but with some convincing, he retired next door to his dorm room instead, while the others went their own way. Thalassa went back to her part-time work at the dorm clinic, and Fenric and Lotfia went to dinner before intending to start their night patrol outside the gate.

Ashira decided to vent some of her frustrations down in the training field, her clenched paws and feet striking a reinforced punching bag repeatedly. Her mind continued to recount everything that had occurred that day, from the moment that they had gone to the Chapel, from the moment that Maximus had become a Sethmon and lost control of his rage, all the way to willingly forcing himself to devolve, and separate from the Mantle.

Ashira’s fists pounded into the heavy bag until her arms trembled, each blow duller than the last. The sand inside shifted and groaned, but it wasn’t enough to quell her frustration... Nothing was enough.

She stepped back, chest heaving. Her thoughts refused to settle, replaying the day in jagged fragments… Maximus’s fury, the monster that had taken his place. Sethmon. And then him forcing himself back, tearing away from the Mantle with sheer will; something Ashira didn’t even know was possible.

“It wasn’t just the Mantle that drove him mad,” she muttered bitterly. “It was him. He couldn’t let go of the hate; the Mantle amplified it... beyond his control.”

She wiped her brow, pacing in a tight circle. The Mantles embodied virtue, yes—but virtue wasn’t power. Power didn’t care about right or wrong. Power didn’t care about love or hate. Power was the ultimate apathy; what mattered was only the hands that wielded it, and in the hands of someone who was angry… it was dangerous.

But if Maximus could be twisted, what did that mean for her? Was that the reason she couldn’t Digivolve again? Why it seemed like only Youkomon was available to her – did her rejection of the dark evolution hold her back?

Accepting that form would have the other Digimon whispering again that she was just following her brother’s path; she refused to be accused of that. Yet so far, even though she knew she was strong enough… she was still just a Renamon. Trapped…

‘There must be something I’m still missing…’ she thought.

Boom!

Her ears stood up straight, her head snapping up at the sound, listening attentively. ‘What was that?’

Boom!

It was louder this time… it sounded far, yet, close enough to be concerning.

BOOM!

That time had been even louder. Ashira felt herself becoming anxious, wondering again what was making that sound – what could make such a sound…

Then…

KA-BOOM!

The explosion made Ashira spin around, her gaze darting immediately in the direction of the observatory, to a column of dust rising from the cliff below. Her mind reeled, horrified, as she recalled what had lain in that area…

‘The boulder, plugging access to the catacombs!’

As she thought, stones cascaded from the sky above, falling like rain across the ground surrounding the cliff. When the last of them settled, she saw them; the multitudes of moving forms surging out from the hole – dozens, hundred… maybe even thousands, swarming the entire cliff in a matter of seconds.

“The Dokugumon… they’re loose!” she exclaimed.

Turning, she started to run toward the manse, but stopped, noting out of the corner of her eye the number of Digimon still outside, staring dumbfounded at the distant swarm as they revealed themselves. Furious, Ashira moved toward them, shouting.

“What’re you all standing around for, you idiots?!” she demanded. “Get inside! All of you, get inside! Move!”

It took a few seconds, but some complied, prompting the others to follow their example. Across the crowd, Ashira saw Surtan running toward them out of the corner of her eye, his gaze following the fleeing Digimon before finding her, seeing her ushering them toward the dormitory.

“Ashira!” he called. “The Dokugumon!”

“I saw!” she snapped; to her it had been pretty obvious.

“You need to get inside!” the Agunimon urged her. “Get everyone to close and barricade all of the doors and windows, hurry – I’ll try to buy you some time!”

“I can-!” she was about to say she could fight, but she knew better than to argue; yes, she could fight, but so could Surtan, and he had an advantage over the Dokugumon. Something she didn’t possess…

Who was she kidding anyway? Just because she wouldn’t be on the front lines didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight; the Dokugumon would be coming. There would be fighting…

“Alright!” she said, and strode toward the manse with the other Digimon.

She caught a hushed word from the Agunimon, who probably thought she was far enough away that he’d go unheard. Yet, his voice carried a note of approval in his words, and she could imagine him smiling.

“She can be taught.”

Indignant, she considered turning around to berate him, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the horde of KoDokugumon, accompanied by their much larger brood mothers, getting closer. Despite a flurry of flaming projectiles from Surtan they were mostly ignoring him; they were intent on the dorms, drawn to the promise of a feast in the form of the students that lay within.

“Doors!” Ashira shouted, rushing through the doorway and turning to shut them. “Close the doors! Get the tables and benches from the dining hall and use them to cover the windows! Move it, you dolts – we don’t have much time!”

“Ashira, catch!”

She didn’t recognize the voice, but she did recognize the form of a spear thrown toward her, sideways, letting her catch it by the handle. It wasn’t a real weapon – just a decorative spear from a suit of armour in the great hall. But it would do; she snapped it over her knee, and slid both pieces of wood through the door handles before also dropping the locking bolt.

She moved aside as a pair ran by, carrying a table over their shoulders. Most of the upper floor windows were barred, particularly in the corridors overlooking the yard, but the bottom floor windows and the dorm rooms were not. She watched as the tables, turned on their sides, were put against the windows – and just in the nick of time, as a KoDokugumon threw itself at the glass, cracking it, but with the table in place, not breaking through.

Except for further down; one window, not covered, exploded inward as one of the spiders threw themselves through, and immediately dashed toward the nearest target – a Gabumon who was busy putting up one of the tables. He gaped in horror as the spider lunged at him.

Ashira was quicker, racing down the hallway with her paws ignited, and lunged to intercept the KoDokugumon, delivering a punishing blow right to its face, caving in its head and sending it hurtling back, where it burst into a cloud of data particles.

‘Good thing they’re weak,’ she thought. “Get another table down here!” she called, standing before the shattered window.

More spiders were surging toward the opening – especially when they saw the Renamon there. They had no idea what awaited them as they raced toward what they thought was their next meal…

Ashira crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes glowing brightly as she summoned her most powerful attack. “Diamond Storm!”

Around her, dozens of pointed objects appeared, angling point-first toward the window. When she swung outward with her arms, they flew out like a flurry of pointed spikes, ripping into the dozens of KoDokugumon – and even their much larger adult forms, like buckshot, tearing them asunder. By the score, the KoDokugumon disintegrated into particles of data, and even the single, full-sized Dokugumon retreated from the onslaught, unable to bear it.

“This is not your feeding ground!” Ashira declared, her voice climbing an octave as she absorbed the data from the destroyed spiders, feeling the particles of code flowing into her, “not one of you is getting in here… and not one of you is feeding on these Digimon!”

She needed more power… she needed it! It was the only way they would survive this. She had to let go; had to stop holding back. Even if it meant becoming Youkomon again. Her body glowed brightly as she released her restraint, and let it take place.

“Digivolve!” she called, feeling the transformation begin, and her body beginning to change shape. She felt the vaguely familiar sensation of her body reforming from bipedal to quadrupedal, dropping to all fours and feeling her tail segregating into multiple appendages, separating into nine instead of one.

When she reappeared, she glared sharply through the window, summoning her powers but… wait… something had changed. It hadn’t been so long since she had been a Youkomon that she could have forgotten how to use its attacks, could she?

Following her instincts, she splayed out her tails, feeling flames igniting at the tips of each one. “Onbidama!” she called, feeling the words forming on her tongue, even though she hadn’t intended to say them that way…

But the intended effect was the same, as ghostly, pale flames erupted from her tails, and bombarded the spiders outside, multiple spiders becoming immolated by the flames. Those ignited panicked, turning and running into their cohorts, and soon the swarm erupted into absolute chaos.

At that moment, two students arrived, carrying a table, and pushing it against the window, before they hurried to nail it to the wall. Ashira stepped aside to give them space, sighing in annoyance.

‘Well, here we are,’ she thought, ‘I wonder how long it’ll take them to start comparing me to Nagata again… Maybe someone can teach me to do that Echo Devolution Valefor mentioned, so I can turn back into a Renamon and try again?’

“Thanks for the save there!”

It was Thalassa’s voice; Ashira turned to the Lekismon, nodding. “Couldn’t well let those damn spiders in here, could I? We’re not running a buffet here.”

In an instant, the Lekismon seemed to deflate, staring dumbfounded at Ashira. “Wait… are you…?” she asked, blinking.

Ashira rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me, Thalassa. Go ahead; you can say it. I spent all this time refusing to become a Youkomon again, but I chose to do so now. Heat of the moment, you know?”

“Ashira?” Thalassa asked in disbelief.

“Do you know any other Youkomon?” Ashira asked, arching a brow at her.

“No. But I know even fewer _Kyubi_mon,” she replied.

“What are you talking about?” Ashira asked, and then lifted her paw to look at it, expecting to see the blue-gray fur she recalled from the last time she had taken this form…

Only to find that her fur retained the same golden yellow colour it had when she was a Renamon. More than that, the flames dancing around her paws were not red… they were a pale blue!

“What the?!” she asked, bending and twisting to look herself over, turning in a circle. Golden yellow fur, all across her body; anatomically, she was identical to a Youkomon, but she didn’t have the colours of one – she had pale fire, and golden fur, just like her previous form…

“I… I’m a Kyubimon!” she exclaimed. “But how? I let go; I was supposed to become Youkomon again! How’d I do it?”

Thalassa shrugged. “I don’t know, but who cares? We’re not done yet,” she said. “We need to get upstairs – some of the students may still be in their rooms and may not know what’s happening.”

“Right… wait!” she looked past Thalassa. “What about the two goobers – where are they?”

“Who?”

“Maximus and Rilo! Are they down here?” Ashira returned.

Thalassa’s ears shot up. “Max… we left him in his room; he didn’t come down for supper! And neither did Rilo!”

“Crap! Come on – we need to get up there!”

~~~~~

“Max! Max! Wake up!”

Maximus wasn’t asleep. His body lay heavy on the mattress, but his mind was still tangled in the chaos of earlier—images of Sethmon, of his friends recoiling in fear, of the destruction he had caused. The pounding at his door jarred him from the spiral, and he groaned, rolling onto his side to glare at the noise.

“It’s not locked, Rilo,” he called hoarsely. “Can’t this wait? I’m really not—”

The door creaked open, and he caught sight of the Guilmon’s face shifting in an instant. The usual softness vanished, replaced by alarm—pupils narrowing to slits, teeth bared.

“Behind you!” Rilo barked.

Maximus twisted, confusion giving way to horror as a shadow lunged from the windowsill. The KoDokugumon’s legs splayed wide, fangs glinting as they fell toward him.

“Not again!” he shouted, hurling himself off the bed. He hit the floor hard, rolling just as the spider slammed into the mattress where he’d been.

“Pyro Sphere!” Rilo roared.

Fire burst from his mouth, a perfect strike that caught the creature mid-turn. It shrieked before it exploded into a cloud of data particles.

Panting, Maximus scrambled upright. “Another one? Don’t tell me they got through the cellar again!”

“No!” Rilo shot back. “They broke out—through the boulder sealing the catacombs!” His voice was sharp, panicked. “There’s a whole swarm around the building!”

“What?” Maximus’ eyes widened. “That boulder was humongous —what did they do, hire a Drimogemon to dig them out?”

“I don’t know,” Rilo replied, shaking his head. “But they’re everywhere. I already saw more climbing the walls, heading for the windows!”

“Then we better hurry. Let’s make sure no one else is cornered in their rooms!” Maximus snapped, vaulting over his bed to slam the window shut. He planted both hands on the frame, then glanced back at Rilo. “Gimme a hand!”

Together, they heaved the bed up and shoved it hard against the shutters. Maximus pressed his shoulder to it, testing. Not perfect, but it would hold, and deny the spiders an easy way in. He spun and bolted into the hallway with Rilo at his heels, the two of them kicking doors open in a rapid rhythm.

On the fifth door, Maximus shoved it wide – only to have another KoDokugumon leaping hungrily toward the door the instant it saw him.

His reaction was as quick as a blink. “Vee Knockout!” he roared. His fist smashed the spider midair, driving it into the far wall with a wet crunch before it burst into fragments of data.

Maximus exhaled through his teeth, eyes blazing. “I’ve had,” he said slowly, “a very long, trying day.”

The tone of his voice, despite the heat of his apparent anger, was as cold and as sharp as steel, and Rilo felt as if the hallway had grown colder after simply hearing him speak...

The Guilmon swallowed nervously, his ear fins flattening. “…Uh. Guess you really needed this, huh?”

Maximus snarled, already storming toward the next door. “Needed it? After what I went through back up at the chapel, I dare say I’m owed it.”

“Now you’re speaking my language, blue!”

Maximus froze and turned. Two figures were coming up the corridor. One he recognized—Thalassa, looking relieved to see them safe. But the other—taller, fur golden, nine tails burning faint blue—made him stop dead. Her voice sounded so… familiar…

Rilo’s jaw dropped first. “Ashira?!”

“Hold it,” Maximus’s eyes narrowed. “That’s really you?”

“The one and only,” the Kyubimon replied.

“When the hell did that happen?”

“I think we better save the stories for later, guys!” Thalassa cut in quickly. “Is anyone else up here?”

“Rilo and I were just checking,” Maximus said, glancing back at the Guilmon, who hurried to keep at it while the others fell in step. “What’s the situation? Rilo said the spiders blew the boulder and got out of the catacombs.”

“They did. I saw it firsthand from the yard,” Ashira said grimly. “I don’t know how, but they smashed straight through and poured out like a flood.”

“How many?” Maximus demanded.

“Way too many,” Ashira replied, shaking her head. “I’ve already burned through a couple dozen myself, and it didn’t even make a dent – there could be a thousand of them out there.”

Ahead, Rilo yelped in alarm as a KoDokugumon leapt from a room he’d opened. He caught it midair, slammed it down with his claws, then hurled a Pyro Sphere into the doorway. The spider shrieked as it dissolved into data.

“Start closing the doors!” Maximus barked. “If they come through the windows, maybe we can at least confine them in the rooms!”

“Good idea!” Thalassa shouted, sprinting back the other way and slamming doors as she went. “We better hope they don’t know how to work door-knobs!”

While Rilo and Thalassa cleared and closed up the rooms, Ashira turned her attention to the outside windows, peering through the bars at something that made her fur stand up in alarm. “Look out there!” she snapped.

Maximus followed her gaze, squinting as he looked between the bars and seeing the spider horde below. Fireballs arced into the mass, exploding among the Dokugumon. At their source he spotted Surtan, his flames hammering down from behind a line of Gladimon holding the swarm back. Beside him, Fenric carved through the spiders with flashing blades of light.

Beyond them, the Citadel Knights fought—Artemeia, Aslanor, and Gigo, their Machmon partners plowing through the swarm like runaway engines in a series of hit-and-run strikes. Overhead, Lotfia swooped low, dropping projectiles into the seething mass.

“They’re holding their own,” Maximus muttered.

“Not them,” Ashira said sharply, missing having a hand to point with. “Left side. Look!”

He scanned the battlefield, eyes straining against the chaos—until he saw it. Larger than the rest, its body grotesquely split between humanoid torso and spider abdomen, six jagged legs propelling it forward. Its face—mocking, human-like—twisted into a cruel smile as it directed the swarm.

The sight made Maximus’s stomach turn. “What in the hell is that thing?”

Thalassa turned, caught sight of it, and paled. “Arukenimon,” she whispered. Then louder: “That’s Arukenimon! The evolved form of Dokugumon—Ultimate level!”

Ashira’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s how they broke out,” she stated.

Maximus’s jaw tightened. “She’s got to be their ringleader. We should get out there—if the knights fall, the horde will overrun the Citadel.”

“Are you insane?!” Thalassa snapped. “There must be a thousand of them out there! Even with our strength added to them, we’d barely tip the scales; we need another plan!”

Maximus growled, but couldn’t argue. She was right. He slammed a fist against the wall. “Damn it! Where the hell are the Angels? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

“They might not even know it’s happening, all the way up there in their sanctum,” Ashira said grimly. “We were caught off guard. Maybe someone’s gone to fetch them—but the fastest Digimon I know of here…” she flicked her muzzle toward the chaos below, “…are the Machmon. And I see all three of them down there, trapped in the chaos.”

Maximus growled, hands gripping the windowsill. His eyes swept the battlefield below. The knights fought well, but the tide was endless. If someone was on their way to the angels, it could still be an hour before they arrived—far too long. By then, the Citadel’s defenders would be overrun.

They needed help faster. Someone who could cover the distance in minutes, not hours. His first thought was a flier—maybe one of the Biyomon students he’d seen earlier that day. Wings could carry the message quickly…

But he shook his head. ‘No. Not quick enough.’

His gaze caught on the Machmon trio plowing through the horde, speed and power in a blur of motion before retreating back to the cleared area, doing their part to maintain a perimeter. Nothing else in the Citadel could match them. They needed to get out, somehow…

That was it! “I have an idea!” Maximus said suddenly, straightening as resolve lit his eyes. “We need to get outside, fast! Where’s the balcony?”

“Maximus—!” Thalassa began sharply, bracing for recklessness.

“There’s one right down the hall, over the dining area,” Ashira cut in. “Why? What’s your plan?”

Maximus turned, eyes blazing with resolve. “We make an opening in that horde. Enough space for one of the Machmon to break free and get away. They’re the fastest Digimon here—they can reach the Grand Chapel in a fraction of the time, and get the angels down here in minutes!”

Thalassa blinked, taken aback. Then, softly, “…That’s… actually a good idea.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we just go ourselves?” Ashira pressed. “We could slip past and take the stairs before the spiders even notice.”

“Are you faster than a Machmon?” Maximus shot back. “We need every second and they are our best chance.”

Ashira huffed, tails lashing. “Fine. Point taken. But if we’re doing it your way, I’m staying in the fight. Those spiders hate fire, and I doubt Arukenimon’s any different; they need me.”

“Leave that one to my sister,” Thalassa countered firmly. “You just Digivolved, Ashira. You don’t even know that form’s limits yet. Taking on an Ultimate now would be suicide.”

Ashira bristled, ready to argue… But at that moment, Rilo came barreling back down the hall, waving his claw. “Rooms are clear!” he reported. “No one else up here. I took out every spider I saw. A lot of damage, but… hopefully nobody else got taken.”

“Good. Rilo, you’re with us. Let’s move!” Maximus barked, already sprinting toward the corridor Ashira had pointed out.

“He’s certainly taking charge, isn’t he?” Ashira muttered, falling in beside him.

Thalassa gave a small smile as she and Rilo followed close behind. “He seems to know what he’s doing.”

Following Ashira, they burst onto the balcony. Maximus didn’t hesitate—he vaulted the railing and dropped to the ground below, his friends at his side.

Friends. The word hit him in midair. Ashira, his rival. Thalassa, the voice of reason. Rilo… maybe he’d always counted as one. But now? They were a team. Standing together. Fighting for the Citadel—his new home.

He hit the ground running, making his way toward the throng but taking a wide berth, looking for an area where their numbers were thinner. When he saw it, he pointed to it, calling out to Ashira.

“Can you make an opening?” he asked.

“I can! Guard my flanks!” the Kyubimon shouted back. Her nine tails flared, fire gathering. “Once I clear the way, one of you get a Machmon moving!”

“I’m on it!” Maximus replied. Aside from Ashira, he was the fastest sprinter here – at least as far as he knew. If anyone could reach them, it was him. “Thalassa, Rilo—get to your sister once it’s clear. Tell her the plan!”

“Got it!” they chorused.

“Here goes!” Ashira leapt high, her whole body igniting in spectral flame. She twisted midair, her silhouette warping into the shape of a burning serpent.

“Koenryu!”

The dragon of fire shrieked as it plunged, scything through the swarm. Spiders screeched and burst into data as Ashira carved a blazing path, the earth beneath her attack remained untouched, the flames hungering only for flesh.

Maximus seized the opening, sprinting with everything he had. The swarm threatened to close, but Ashira wheeled back around, diving for a second pass that widened the gap.

Ahead, one of the Machmon fought near the line. Sleek, red-plated, dragon-headed, horns curving back in streamlined arcs—Maximus recognized him from the day before, though didn’t recall his name…

The Machmon spotted him and scowled. “What the hell are you kids doing out here?! Surtan said you were barricaded in the dorms!”

“No time to explain!” Maximus shouted back. “You need to get to the Grand Chapel—now!”

“To the angels? Backup?” Realization dawned in his mechanical growl. “We couldn’t send anyone. A Gladimon tried, but they were too slow; spiders got him.”

“That’s why you have to go,” Maximus pressed, pointing to the chaos behind them. “If we don’t get the angels, this place falls. You know I’m right.”

The Machmon’s engine revved in frustration. He glanced at the horde, then back at Maximus. “Tch. Fine. Jump on.”

“What? But I—”

“Jump on, dingus!” His rear tire spun as his engine roared, throwing dirt and grass in a cloud behind him and drowning out any further argument from Maximus.

Instinctively the Veemon leapt, clutching at the handlebars just as the Machmon shot forward. The force nearly tore him loose, the world blurring as they rocketed past Thalassa and Rilo, who stared after them in shock.

“I’ll be back!” Maximus called, voice whipped away by the wind. He wasn’t sure they even heard him.

The spiders surged to block them, but Machmon was already moving too fast. One KoDokugumon scuttled into their path, only to be rammed by the blades on his front wheel, rending the spider in two

Another tried to leap onto his side, only to be shredded when Riptorque swerved and dragged the blade across its body in a spray of sparks and code. Maximus yelped, clinging tighter, lest he be hurled off into the horde of hungry spiders.

Machmon barked a laugh, his voice booming over the roar of his engine. “Nice job clearing the way, kid!”

“I’m not a kid!” Maximus shot back, though his protest was lost in the gale whipping past him. His claws dug into the handlebars, every muscle straining to stay on as the Machmon tore through any KoDokugumon foolish enough to get in his way.

The acceleration hit him like a punch to the chest. He squeezed his knees around the seat and tank, not that it helped much—he was far too small for the machine he rode. The world became a blur of shapes and colours streaking past, the wind clawing at his face, making him clench his eyes

He had known Machmon were fast. He’d heard it said several times. But hearing wasn’t the same as this. This was more than speed… it was freedom.

His fear bled away, replaced with something else entirely. His eyes widened, reflecting the rushing lights of the Citadel as the ground streamed beneath them. A sense of elation he had not felt in years – not even when he had first Digivolved into an ExVeemon, spread his wings and flown for the first time.

‘Okay,’ he thought breathlessly. ‘Chaos aside… this is kind of awesome!’

The stairway loomed ahead – they had covered a distance in minutes that had taken Maximus an hour on foot. Maximus braced himself for a sudden stop, certain the Machmon would make him climb the rest on foot.

He was wrong. Machmon didn’t slow. He popped into another wheelie, engine roaring even louder, and veered toward the flat stone lip beside the steps.

“You’re insane!” Maximus shouted—just before the world tilted.

The Machmon hit the incline and rocketed upward, riding the sheer face of the stairway with impossible precision, following the flatter surface of the borders rather than the bumpy steps all the way to the top. His blade shrieked as it scraped against the stone, throwing sparks, but his tires never faltered, chewing into the slope with deadly grace.

Maximus clung for dear life as the Citadel blurred behind them. The climb that usually left his legs aching after half an hour was gone in seconds. Then the incline ended, the plateau opened before them—

And suddenly they were airborne.

Maximus’s stomach lurched into his throat. His small body lifted clear off the seat, legs kicking helplessly in open air. For one wild heartbeat, he thought he was flying.

Then gravity took hold. They landed with a bone-rattling jolt. The Machmon’s tires screeched as he tore across the plateau, but Maximus didn’t land so cleanly. His grip tore loose from the handlebars, and he was suddenly flying over Riptorque’s head, the ground rushing up to meet him.

This is gonna hurt! Maximus mentally screamed. He curled tight, arms over his face, eyes screwed shut.

Impact.

He struck the ground hard, tumbling end over end. Pavement scraped his arms, rocks bit into his side, his body bounced and rolled until at last he sprawled flat on his stomach. The impact knocked every scrap of air from his lungs.

“...Oooouch…” he groaned, his voice muffled against the stone.

Machmon coasted up beside him, engine purring like nothing had happened. “Whoops. Sorry, kid. Thought you had a better grip.”

Maximus’s eyes snapped open. His teeth clenched. He shoved himself up on his hands, coughing raggedly before snarling through grit teeth.

“For the last time—!” he hacked, spat dust, then roared, “I’m not a fucking kid! I’m twenty-five! And you—” he jabbed a claw at the Machmon, eyes blazing— “are fucking crazy!”

Machmon just grinned, revving his engine once. “Crazy gets you places, pal.”

Maximus’ eye twitched, and he shot to his feet. “When this is over, I’m going to sell you for parts you rolling-!”

“What are you doing here?”

The stern, familiar voice, made Maximus bite back his retort, turning sharply toward it, and recognizing the MagnaAngemon stepping out from the Chapel doors, accompanied by two other Angemon – the guards from the entrance, Maximus guessed.

“I distinctly told you that you were not welcome here anymore,” Valefor growled at the Veemon. “How dare you set foot on these sacred grounds again without an invitation.”

Maximus hastily dusted himself off before he spoke. “Look, berate me later - there’s an emergency!” he cried. “The spiders-”

“Silence!” Valefor growled. “You have gone too far, you arrogant little-!”

“Hey, cool it, eight wings!” the Machmon cut in, moving partly in front of Maximus in his defense. “He’s telling the truth; that’s why we’re here! There’s trouble!”

Valefor looked at him, apparently recognizing the Machmon. “You are… Riptorque. You’re the partner to one of the Citadel Knights.”

“Yes! And right now, he’s in deep shit down there!” The Machmon, Riptorque.

“As I was saying, the spiders got free from the catacombs – they’re swarming the grounds!” Maximus added. “They need help!”

“Lord Valefor!”

One of the Angemon had flown over to the edge of the plateau, peering down the mountainside and pointing with his staff.

“He is telling the truth!” the Angemon cried. “The cave is open, and I can see hundreds of creatures coming out!”

“How did this happen?” demanded Valefor, looking at Maximus.

“There’s an Arukenimon with them – we think she broke them out,” Maximus replied. “You have to get down there, fast! They can’t hold them off forever!”

Valefor scoffed, and turned on his heel. “You two, with me!” he shouted as he rose into the air. “And you – Veemon. Go into the Chapel, tell the first Digimon you see what is happening. I shall go on ahead to help with the defense, but go no further than the foyer! You are still not welcome here!”

Maximus nodded to him, saying nothing, as the three angel Digimon took flight, diving over the edge of the plateau and flying down toward the Citadel Grounds.

“I just hope they’re in time,” said Maximus, before turning to look at the Chapel. A thought crossed his mind… even with the Angels joining the fight, would it be enough? They might need more help… and he knew of only one way.

“Riptorque, was it? Wait here a sec; I may need a ride down.”

“I need to get back!” Riptorque protested.

“I won’t be long!” Maximus replied even as he broke into a run, making a beeline for the open chapel doors.

It didn’t take him long to find another Angel Digimon inside. As per Valefor’s instructions, he told him what was happening, and immediately the Angemon flew up to the second level, shouting alarms.

Then, Maximus turned his gaze to the left, down the hallway toward the chamber where the Mantles were kept… he vividly remembered his experience with the Mantle of Love – even those he hadn’t been conscious to experience had revealed themselves to him overtime…

That Mantle had turned him into a monster… but right now, his friends needed him.

Steeling himself, he turned and jogged toward the corridor, spotting the door to the room – as always, guarded by an Angemon. He looked over as Maximus approached, and turned to face him, staff ready.

“This room is off-“

“Sorry, no time to talk!” Maximus barked, tucking and rolling between the angel’s legs before uncurling behind him, jumping, and giving him a light kick to his backside, sending him stumbling. “I’m in a hurry!”

“Stop!” the Angemon shouted as he regained his balance, turning to intercept the Veemon.

But Maximus had already lunged at the door, smashing it open with a Vee Headbutt – though, it turned out it wasn’t locked. He tumbled into the room, his eyes darting across the pedestals housing the Mantles until he saw the Mantle of Love.

‘If it takes me becoming Sethmon again… I’ll do it. Somehow, I just have to control it. Just pick it up, carry it back with me and Digivolve… the damn spiders will never see me coming.’

Maximus bounded forward.

Time slowed. A gentle pressure brushed his shoulder—like a hand, steering him. The tether that had once drawn him to the Mantle of Love tugged again… but not in the same direction.

His course shifted. His body turned on its own toward a red-and-yellow relic, egg-shaped, crowned with a single blade-like horn: the Mantle of Courage. The pull was irresistible. He lunged and seized it with both hands.

The world tore away.

As before, he was ripped from his body, leaving the chamber of Mantles behind. He drifted into a void—endless fog, cold and damp, pressing in from every side. Isolation seeped into his bones.

Then recognition hit him like ice water. The dream. The one from nights ago, where he had fought Talbot in his dreams. This was the same place. Empty. Silent. Drenched in dread…

Where was this? He had expected memory. A figure from his past. Not this.

But the fog shifted. A shape formed. Tall, lupine, standing on hind legs. Camo trousers, spiked knuckles glinting. Gray and black fur, burning amber eyes set in a smiling face.

Talbot.

“You…” Maximus growled.

“Yes,” Talbot said, his voice echoing like it came from all directions. “The shadow that haunts your nightmares. The reminder of your failure, appearing again and again to make you relive it.”

He stepped forward. “So… are you afraid?”

A chill raked Maximus’s spine. ‘This is the Mantle of Courage, he thought. ‘The opposite of courage is fear. If I show fear, it rejects me, and if that happens, I’m a goner. Then I can’t help anyone.’

“No,” Maximus spat. “I don’t fear you, Talbot. Even if it costs me my life, I’ll stop you!”

Talbot’s smile vanished. “You lie.”

Maximus roared, hurling himself forward with a Vee Headbutt aimed at the scar Maverick had left on Talbot’s chest—

But Talbot vanished, a beat before Maximus reached him. Maximus flew through empty air, tumbling to the ground and coughing as the impact knocked the wind from him.

“You lie to yourself!”

The voice came sharp at his side. A kick caught him in the ribs and sent him sprawling across the void’s unseen floor. Pain lanced through him as he skidded to a stop.

“You don’t fear me?” Talbot’s mocking tone followed. “Don’t you, Maximus?”

The Veemon forced himself up, trembling, glaring, not even caring that Talbot shouldn’t have known his name. “N-No… I’ll never stop trying to stop you! Haunt my dreams all you want, but I—”

Talbot appeared above him in a blur. His foot slammed down on Maximus’s chest, crushing the air from his lungs. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision. He couldn’t move.

“I took your home,” Talbot growled. “I took your family and friends before your eyes. And you were powerless to stop it. Even now you’re powerless before me. You scream for vengeance, but you’ll never have it.”

He pressed just enough to make Maximus’s breath rasp. “Tell me. Do you not fear deletion? Do you not fear me? Do you not fear that I will never be stopped?”

Maximus’s body shook. His fists refused to clench. The fire of hatred that always carried him was gone, leaving only the raw cold of dread. His heart pounded, his vision narrowed to peer into those burning orange eyes that carried no empathy within them.

He opened his mouth to deny it again… but nothing came. The mask of bravado crumbled away at last, and only the truth left him now…

“Yes…” The word slipped out, cracked and weak.

Talbot froze.

“Yes,” Maximus said again, louder this time. His eyes screwed shut, but he forced the words out. “I’m afraid. I’ve always been afraid. Afraid of losing. Afraid of being powerless. And most of all…” His voice broke. “…afraid of becoming like you.”

As he had when he’d become Sethmon, he added silently, keeping it to himself. Something inside him loosened. For the first time since his village burned, the truth was out. And it felt—impossibly—like relief.

Talbot leaned close, voice low and sharp. “Would you still fight me… even knowing I terrify you?”

Maximus’s breath shuddered. “I… would,” he rasped. “I’d do anything… to stop you from hurting anyone else.”

Feeling a sudden surge of strength, Maximus brought up his hands and slammed both fists onto Talbot’s foot; the BlackWereGarurumon recoiled, giving Maximus time to jump back to his feet again before he sprang at Talbot and struck him with a Vee Headbutt, striking the burn scar – the last thing Maverick had managed to do before Talbot had slain him, with all of the force he could manage.

Maximus took strength in that reminder…

Talbot stumbled back, and Maximus stood defiantly before him. “No matter what it takes…” he said. “I’ll never stop… no matter how scared I am, I will fight, to stop you from hurting anyone else! It is not just my soul that cries for vengeance anymore – I see that now… everyone you have hurt calls for it! Even if it costs me my life too… I will answer that call!”

He leapt again, intending to deliver another Vee Headbutt, but Talbot caught him between his hands, pinning the Veemon’s arms to his sides as he held him tight. Maximus struggled, kicking his legs to no avail, unable to pry himself free. He bared his teeth, spout curses, but the grip did not lessen.

It took him a while to notice though, that the hands held him now, while firm, they were also… strangely gentle.

Maximus’s breath caught. Was this it? Would Talbot crush him slowly, savouring the life leaving his body? Or hold him in mock pity before letting him dissolve into code?

He forced his eyes open—

And froze.

Talbot was smiling. Not with malice. Not with scorn. But with something closer to… respect. Pride, even. A satisfaction that twisted everything Maximus thought he knew about the beastman Digimon.

“You pass.”

Maximus blinked, stunned. “Wh-what?”

Before he could ask again, Talbot’s form ignited. Flames roared across his body, devouring him in an inferno of searing red light. His hands dissolved, yet Maximus did not fall. He hovered, weightless, the void trembling around him.

Then the world became fire.

Flames erupted in all directions, whirling into a storm that surrounded him. Above, below, behind—nothing but fire. A living tornado of heat and light, surging closer and closer.

Maximus’s heart hammered, but not from fear. Strength flooded into his veins, power radiating through every part of him. There was no pain. Only fire, only force, only resolve.

“Armour… Digivolve!”

The storm closed in. Flames rushed across his body, engulfing him in an inferno of gold and crimson light, yet not once did they even feel hot...

He could feel it… the heat… the power, surging through him like electricity. The flames did not burn – they filled him… he felt the change immediately. His body grew, expanding with the power that filled him…

The flames concentrated across his body, forming around his face, his hands, his chest, his thighs and his feet, taking shape… and solidifying. Fire became metal, encasing his body as the power inside him grew – and himself with it.

In the Mantle Chamber, the Veemon vanished as a column of flame erupted where he stood, roaring upward like a beacon and engulfing Maximus utterly. The Angemon, reaching for Maximus’s shoulder, recoiled in alarm. His staff clattered to the floor as he threw up his arms against the blaze. But the fire did not spread. It remained bound to the pillar, as though caged by unseen walls.

Then, with a rush of heat, the flames dispersed, and figure stood in their place.

Tall. Lithe. Blue-scaled. His frame was as stocky and powerful as the Angemon’s own, wrapped in armour that gleamed in the dim chamber: a breastplate, greaves, knee guards, gauntlets. The gauntlets were rounded, egg-like, but each tipped with three gleaming blades that flexed as the warrior clenched his fists. A horned mask crowned his face, his crimson eyes igniting through the gaps when they opened.

The figure exhaled, smoke curling from his maw. When he spoke, his voice was deeper, resonant, almost mechanical in its edge.

“Flamedramon… the Fire of Courage.”

Maximus felt his mind catch up with his body. The armour clung to him, solid yet light, as though it belonged there all along. He lowered his gaze, studying his gauntleted hands. Inside, he moved his fingers around the grips, the claws reacting to the pressure of his hands, closing when he squeezed and opening when he relaxed his grip.

Curious, he stuck one of his hands under his arm, letting go and pulling his hand out of the gauntlet to study it. He was greeted by a five-digit blue hand, each finger and the thumb tipped by short, sharp claws. It was just like the hand when he was a Veemon… but larger, stronger.

Returning his hand to the gauntlet, Maximus turned. The Angemon still stood there, motionless, helm tilted in stunned silence. His staff lay forgotten at his feet.

Maximus’s crimson eyes glowed as he strode past, his voice dry but steady.

“If you’ll excuse me… I am needed elsewhere.”

The Angemon said nothing. He could only stare, transfixed, as the Veemon – no, Flamedramon - walked out into the corridor.

Riptorque waited impatiently for Maximus to return, several times rolling toward the stairs, only to double back, thinking Maximus would choose that exact moment to come out. It had only been a few minutes, yet to the frantic Machmon it seemed an eternity… More angel Digimon had even flown out from the Chapel to head down to join the battle, but not him…

‘Dammit, every second I spend here, Gigo and the guys are in trouble! I can’t just keep spinning my wheels here!’

Just as he contemplated – for at least the fifth time, leaving and getting back to the others, the doors to the Chapel opened again, and a blue-scaled dragonoid emerged.

Thinking it was the Veemon he spun in place to face him, ready to berate him for taking so long, but the words died in his throat – metaphorically speaking – the moment he saw the Flamedramon…

“Whoa… is that you, blue?” he asked.

“My name is Maximus,” he replied cooly. “And yes, it’s me. Sorry if that took too long.”

“What happened to you?”

“I’ll explain later,” Maximus replied, sliding off his gauntlets and showing them to Riptorque. “Is there some way I can carry these and still hold the grips?”

“Just hold them to the sides of my tank; I’ll magnetize them to me,” Riptorque replied, turning to the side as Maximus approached.

Following his directions, Maximus pressed the gloves to the sides, below the handlebars where they wouldn’t be in the way. An unseen force gripped them, and they clung to the metal frame. Satisfied, he moved his hands to the handlebars instead, taking hold, and shifting his posture in the seat.

As a Veemon, he’d been too small to ride this Machmon, but now – in this new body, he fit into the seat perfectly – like he was made for this, to be a Machmon rider. ‘Maybe I can find a partner of my own,’ he thought.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he addressed Riptorque. “Show me how fast you can get us back to the battle,” he said. “I don’t know what it is… but something about this new body makes me feel like I can take on that entire horde myself.”

“Let’s hope you don’t have to find out,” said Riptorque. “Say, what was your name, again?”

“Maximus. And before I forget it… thanks, for bringing me here.”

“I wish you’d mentioned you intended to do… whatever it is you did, to Digivolve.”

“It was kind of a spur of the moment decision,” Maximus admitted. “Now, let’s ride.”

The Machmon grinned widely. “Don’t go flying off this time,” he said, before his engine roared and he sped toward the stairs, mounting the edge again and racing down the mountainside…

The timely arrival of Valefor and his angelic warriors steadied the Citadel’s defenders. But even with their aid, the spider horde pressed hard. Surtan’s group had been forced back to the wall, cut off from the Citadel Knights.

Artemeia, Gigo, and Aslanor were locked in the thick of it. They had fixed on the Arukenimon, but her brood never let them close. Even Vaccine-types could not cut down the endless tide forever. And the queen herself played keep-away, hurling spiderlings into Artemeia’s path. The Crescemon’s great blade carved them apart in droves, but fatigue gnawed at her arms. She would burn out long before she reached her prey.

Maximus saw all of it as he tore across the field on Riptorque’s back. The tide was wrong. The horde would never break until its queen was broken. His crimson eyes fixed on her.

“Get me to the big one!” he shouted over the roar of the engine.

“What about the others?” Riptorque barked.

“My target is the leader! Once we part, go back them up! Throw me as high as you can, toward her!”

The Machmon didn’t argue. Trusting the Flamedramon, he gunned the engine and ploughed into the horde. At the last second he reared back, and Maximus leapt. The force of their combined motion hurled him skyward while Riptorque cannonballed into the spiderlings, scattering them in pieces of code.

From above, Maximus locked onto Arukenimon. Instinct surged through his armour, attack names burning in his mind. He chose the one that fit.

“Fire Rocket!”

His body ignited, becoming a blazing missile. He plummeted like a meteor, horn-first, and skewered the Arukenimon in her chest before she could see the attack coming and avoid it, as searing-hot steel pierced through her carapace. Her scream ripped the air, shrill as tearing metal. The spiders turned instantly, abandoning Artemeia to rush to their mother’s aid.

Maximus staggered back, his horn dripping smoke. He let them believe he was cornered, then braced.

“Flame Shield!”

A dome of fire enveloped him. The spiderlings hurled themselves at him in blind frenzy—only to burn to cinders on contact. Their distraction gave Artemeia her opening. She cut her way to his side, carving a path through the brood.

“Get the big one!” Maximus shouted. “I’ll cover you!”

She nodded once. Together, they turned on the queen.

“Flaming Fist!” Maximus roared. Flames surged around his gauntlets as he hurled volleys of fireballs, bombarding the spiderlings that dared bar Artemeia’s charge.

“Spider Thread!” Arukenimon shrieked, launching silken cords to ensnare Artemeia.

The Crescemon’s massive blade spun in her hands, whirring like a saw as she hacked through the bindings. Maximus scorched more spiderlings back with columns of flame, driving the swarm into chaos.

The queen spat one last gambit. “Acid Mist!” A cloud of searing green fog billowed from her mouth. Artemeia hissed as her skin burned, instinct dragging her back—only for a thread to snap around her leg and yank her tight. She managed to stay upright, but she was pinned, unable to pull away from the acid fog and feeling the burn continue.

Maximus reacted instantly. He darted across Arukenimon’s sightline and hurled a Flaming Fist wide, fire bursting across her vision. She reeled, startled, and Artemeia seized the moment, severing the thread and leaping high.

“Ice Archery!” she cried. A ring of crystalline arrows spun into being around her, then rained down in a volley. The queen never saw them. The shafts struck home, freezing her joints, anchoring her legs to the earth.

Her shriek split the air.

“Lunatic Dance!” Artemeia called as she shot into the air, flying in a circle as though tracing the outline of the moon – though it couldn’t be seen, and then she dove, her blade blurring as she attacked.

One slash — legs on the right severed.

Two — the left.

Three — her upper body, cleaved from the abdomen.

Four — the final, merciless stroke. The blade fell like an executioner’s axe, splitting her in two.

The Arukenimon’s eviscerated body shattered into clouds of data. At once, her spawn dissolved, and countless spawnlings vanished from the army of spiders, noticeably thinning their ranks. Across the battlefield, the Dokugumon lost all resolve with the death of their leader and fled, pouring back toward the catacombs like a receding tide.

“They’re falling back!” Surtan’s voice sounded over the cacophony. “If we hit the catacombs now, we can end this!”

“Everyone, hold your ground!” Artemeia commanded, her voice carrying across the field despite he encompassing mask-helmet.

“But sis!” Thalassa protested. “Surtan’s right, we can—”

“Lord Valefor is about to strike!” Artemeia cut her off, steel in her tone. “Do. Not. Pursue.”

“Now is the time,” Valefor said to himself.

At the top of the hill, where the entrance to the catacombs lay, the horde of spiders raced towards the cave, eager to find their safety in darkness again. But waiting atop the cliff was the MagnaAngemon – Valefor, his holy sword extended from his right arm.

“To oblivion with you all,” he whispered as he began to move his arm in a wide circle around himself, the tip of the blade leaving behind a golden-white trail of holy energy. “Heaven’s Gate,” he uttered, in a voice of finality.

From within the ring of light, a circular doorway appeared, made up of two golden doors that slid open as the gateway materialized, opening the way into a void of infinite whiteness… and a vacuum.

One by one, the Dokugumon horde was pulled toward the gate, their clawed feet failing to resist the pull as they were dragged inside. By tens, by hundreds, they were pulled in, and not a one was spared…

Only when the last of them disappeared did the gate’s doors close, and it began to rotate again as it slowly faded from sight, revealing the MagnaAngemon again, who stood with his sword-arm lain across his chest, as though in salute of the fallen enemy horde…

Down the hill, the battlefield was silent. Every eye turned upward, fixed on the place where the horde had been. Hundreds of spiders—erased in an instant. Not a trace remained.

“Uh… okay,” Ashira said at last, voice flat. “I… guess we’re done.”

Artemeia exhaled through her nose, air whistling as it passed through the vent of her mask, and turned sharply. “Sound off. Anyone wounded?”

“I’m fine,” Aslanor called, “but Gigo was swarmed. He lives, though he’ll need a medic as soon as possible.”

“Let me see him,” Thalassa offered, running over and letting Aslanor show her where Gigo lay.

“At least fifty-one Gladimon gone,” Surtan added grimly. “They fought well.”

More than a quarter of the wall’s garrison. Artemeia’s jaw tightened, having to remind herself that it could have been worse. Far worse.

“Everyone else okay?” Artemeia asked, turning her attention to her sister’s friends – the Kyubimon, Ashira, and the Guilmon, Rilo, who sat on her back. During the chaos, he had clambered onto the Kyubimon’s shoulders and fought from there, like a rider for a war horse.

“More than okay!” Rilo whooped, sticking his claw up. “Did you see us? Ashira and I were like a gallant knight and his noble steed!”

“Speaking of which—get off,” Ashira growled. The Kyubimon gave a sudden buck with her hindquarters, catapulting the Guilmon off of her back.

Rilo flailed, babbling incoherently as he somersaulted through the air before landing flat on his backside with a painful thud. “Ow…” he groaned before turning to look at Ashira, hurt. “Aw, come on! We made a great team!”

“I only let you hitch a ride because you’d have been spider chow otherwise,” Ashira shot back. Her tails flicked. “Even I’m not that much of a bitch.”

Maximus chuckled at the display, pleased to see that everyone had made it. Hearing him laugh, Artemeia turned to him, setting down her weapon and shield approaching them before lifting her hands to lift off her helmet and reveal her race.

“Thanks for your help, stranger,” she said. “Your timing was perfect.”

“Came as fast as I could,” he said. “Fortunately, one of your Machmon pals was willing to give me a lift up to the Grand Chapel. Get us some backup and,” he looked at the gauntlet encasing his right hand. “…A little boost.”

“Boost?” repeated Artemeia, until realization dawned on her as she looked him up and down, focused particularly on his blue skin “Wait a minute… are you… Maximus?”

“I am.”

“Max?” Rilo echoed.

Ashira blinked in confusion, looking studiously at the Flamedramon. “Wait, seriously?”

Fenric, for his part, moved up alongside Maximus, leaning over to peer at him from behind, his eyes on the back of his breastplate. What he saw there made him gasp, alarmed.

“The Star of-!” he said. “You acquired the Digi Mantle of Courage!”

Maximus nodded, letting go of his gauntlets and allowing them to drop to his feet, before he lifted his hands to remove his helmet, showing his face. Without it, he didn’t look too different from a Veemon, beyond being taller and more muscular, packed into a lithe, agile frame. His eyes had retained their red colour. But in them, they carried the same burning resolve they remembered from the Veemon he had once been.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Fenric. “Well done. You not only managed to Armour Digivolve, but your timing to do so couldn’t have been better.”

Thalassa rejoined the others, accompanied by Aslanor who carried Gigo over his shoulder. Thalassa had put the Strikedramon to sleep, and had expertly dressed his injuries; for now, he was in no danger.

“But… how?” the Lekismon asked. “I thought the Mantle of Love was the one that called to you?”

Maximus sighed. “I can’t really explain it. Maybe… both of them were calling to me, but for different reasons. I almost didn’t pass the test for this one,” he lifted his hand to look at it, turning it over to study himself in greater detail than he had before.

“What do you mean?” Thalassa asked. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I’ve never thought you to be a coward.”

“I’m not,” said Maximus. “But that’s not what the test was about… I thought that showing any fear, any at all, would be an automatic failure. But that wasn’t true. It was a little more… nuanced, I think is the word?”

“Courage,” Aslanor piped up, “does not mean you fear nothing. Being brave – true courage, means you are willing to stand anyway, even when you know you’re afraid.”

Maximus nodded. “Yes,” he said.

“But… what were you scared of?” Rilo asked. “The spiders?”

“Or… Talbot?” Thalassa suggested.

Maximus shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Yes—I’m afraid of Talbot. I know that now. I hate him, but I fear him too. And when I took up the Mantle of Love… you all saw what happened when I allowed that hate to take over.”

His claws brushed the edge of his helmet before he put it back into place upon his head “I tried to use my rage as fuel. To make it stronger than fear. But that just twisted the Mantle, turning me into Sethmon. Wrath made me its vessel when I took on that form.”

He exhaled slowly. “The truth is… I didn’t want to admit Talbot scares me. I know exactly what he can do; I remember how close I came to dying the night he destroyed everything I cared about. I can never forget the terror that caused me; I’ve tried all this time to push past it, to let my rage be greater than my fear. But that isn’t what courage is… that’s wrath.”

Silence hung for a beat. Then Maximus’s gaze hardened, his eyes seeming to gleam behind his helmet. “Admitting fear doesn’t change my resolve. I still intend to stop him. Not because I think I’m stronger. Not because of vengeance. Because it’s right. I’m afraid of Talbot, but I’m still going to do whatever I have to, to take him down.”

Everyone stared on, taking in his words and hearing the resolve in his voice. When the silence dragged on too long, Maximus – feeling awkward, rubbed the back of his head, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Was that too much?” he asked.

“Nah,” Ashira called back. “Just wondering if we’re supposed to get wine with all that cheese.”

“Ashira!” Thalassa gasped.

Maximus chuckled despite himself, the tension finally breaking. Even more so when Rilo threw up a claw like he was raising a goblet.

“A toast! To courage, to cheese, and to not getting eaten by spiders tonight!”

Laughter and groans rippled through the group. Maximus was pretty sure he heard Ashira mutter, “Ugh, kill me now,” as she lightly bashed her forehead against the grass.

Leaving with Aslanor, Thalassa took Gigo to the clinic in the dormitory manse, leaving the others to finish assessing the damage and pitch in to take any wounded Gladimon for care too. Maximus moved to assist, when he was intercepted by Fenric, Surtan and Artemeia. Some of the angels pitched in as well, offering their healing abilities to tend to the wounded, stabilizing them for transportation.

“We could use your help, if you’re not otherwise engaged,” Surtan asked.

“What’s going on?” Maximus asked.

“We want to head down into the catacombs to make absolutely certain that none of those spiders are left,” explained Surtan. “If even one Dokugumon is still down there, this whole thing will just repeat before we know it.”

Maximus agreed; during the battle he had counted at least fourteen Dokugumon among the enemy number. He didn’t know how many of their spiderlings they could spawn at a time, or over what time period. Regardless, it was better to be sure.

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “Lead on.”

The four of them made their way across the grounds toward the cave mouth. As they drew closer, Fenric thumbed his saber to life, the pale glow painting the jagged rocks with silver light. He slipped inside first without hesitation, the rest following in a staggered line.

Maximus paused at the threshold. The cavern walls rose up smooth and unnatural, as though carved by careful hands rather than water or time. He stripped off one gauntlet, pressed his palm to the stone, and frowned.

“I’m no geologist, but this doesn’t feel natural. Surely the spiders didn’t do this?”

“No,” Artemeia said from the rear, her heavy steps echoing. “This cave predates the Citadel. We don’t know who or what hollowed it out, or even when. Explorers have come here before, but never gone far.”

“So, you didn’t know about that tunnel into the cellar?” Maximus asked, keeping his voice low, the cavern swallowing sound strangely.

Surtan grunted. “No. That one they we think they dug themselves. We sealed it with cement after the breach. Fenric and Lotfia have searched for other exits, but…”

“With no success,” Fenric admitted grimly. “Whatever paths they used, they were hidden well - well enough to let them feed, and grow one of their number into Arukenimon.”

The memory of her shriek lingered in Maximus’s ears.

Artemeia’s tone was soft when she spoke. “Do not blame yourself, Fenric. You did all you could.”

“Yes… but it wasn’t enough.” His hand tightened on the saber hilt.

“Cut that out,” Surtan snapped. “You were there when it mattered. Nobody could have asked more of you than that.”

The group lapsed into silence, their footsteps and the low hum of Fenric’s blade the only sounds as they pressed deeper into the dark.

Something snagged Maximus’s eye. He froze, gaze dragging upward. “Hey… what’s that?” He pointed to a round bulge clinging to the ceiling.

Fenric lifted his light sword higher, casting light toward the ceiling. Indeead, the bulge wasn’t stone, but a swollen pod wrapped in thick, white silk.

Maximus’s mouth went dry. “That’s not a stalactite, is it?”

“That is a hatching pod,” Artemeia said grimly. “That is where KoDokugumon spawn from. Think of them like a giant Digitama.”

“They come from that?” Maximus asked.

Surtan’s voice rumbled low. “A chrysalis. Spun by a Dokugumon before she lays her eggs inside; if it hasn’t disappeared yet, it means we were right – there’s still at least one left down here.”

His fists clenched, slamming them together and making fire spring to life around his gauntlets. “But this batch isn’t getting a birthday celebration. Pyro Punch!”

He lobbed twin fireballs upward. The silk hissed and curled, catching fast. The pod writhed as the flames ate through it, then tore free of the ceiling and smashed against the cavern floor.

The impact burst it open, spilling a glittering haze of half-formed data. The cloud rushed toward Surtan, threads of light sinking into him as he absorbed it.

Maximus stared. “How many were in there?” he asked.

“About twelve,” Surtan said, flexing his fingers. “If each chrysalis holds that many, then we need to destroy any others we find, fast, as well as the Dokugumon that made them.”

“That’s the plan,” Artemeia said, scanning the walls. She lifted her blade and pointed down a narrow tunnel webbed with silk. “Surtan, take Fenric and clear that passage. Maximus, you’re with me – we go the other way.”

“Understood,” Surtan said. Without another word, he and Fenric slipped into the gloom.

With that, Artemeia led him down the opposite passage. Before they went too far, she swung her blade into the stone, carving an X with an arrow beside it.

“That’s so we don’t get lost, right?” Maximus asked.

“Correct. You’ve been spelunking before?”

“Not really. Just… sounds like common sense.”

She gave a faint nod, her eyes scanning the ceiling as they walked. Stray threads of silk hung from above, brushing Maximus’s shoulder once. He flinched, glaring up at the dangling web before tearing it away. The silence pressed in again, broken only by their footfalls and the faint hum of her weapon.

“You did well today,” Artemeia said at last. “Even against the Arukenimon. Outclassed or not, you didn’t hesitate.”

Maximus shrugged. “I did what needed to be done.”

“And you’re already adapting to that new body of yours,” she added.

He lifted one clawed hand, turning it over to study the gauntlet her wore. “In some ways, it’s not so different than before; the armour fits well and doesn’t weigh me down much. I’m not as big as ExVeemon, but… I think I’m stronger than I was then.”

“Adaptability is a strength,” Artemeia said. “One worth commending.”

“Well… thanks,” Maximus muttered, a little awkward.

Artemeia slowed, eyes narrowing. “Stay sharp. Look there.” She raised her weapon, pointing toward the right-hand wall.

They had entered a wider chamber, faint light filtering down through a crack high above—an opening a spider could easily crawl through. But wedged into the stone below it, half-hidden in shadow, was another chrysalis, its silk layers pulsing faintly.

“Another one,” Maximus growled, stepping forward. He raised his gauntlet, flame building around it. “I’ve got this.”

“Wait a moment,” Artemeia interjected, suddenly setting down her shield.

“What for?” Maximus asked, glancing back in confusion.

The Crescemon didn’t answer at first. She crossed the chamber with measured steps, her blade ready but her free hand extended. She touched the chrysalis lightly, strands of silk clinging to her claws as she pulled them away, glittering faintly in the moonlight from the crack above.

“This one’s fresh,” she said grimly. “Just spun.”

“Then the Dokugumon who made is close,” Maximus said, his gaze snapping upward, scanning the ceiling, shoulders tight. No monstrous spider lurked above him, but the thought clearly gnawed at him. He exhaled slowly, fists flexing.

“Agreed,” Artemeia said, “Stay sharp. If she hears us, she might set an ambush.”

“What about the chrysalis?”

“Better burn it now. We don’t know how quickly the young could hatch,” Artemeia said, retrieving her shield. Then, after a beat, her eyes flicked toward him, weighing his stance, his control. “Do it. Let’s see how precise that fire of yours really is. I’ll keep watch.”

Maximus gave a curt nod. He summoned flame into his gauntlet, focus clear in his crimson eyes. “Flaming Fist!” he shouted, hurling the fire into the pod. The silk went up at once, fire racing through it, devouring it in seconds.

A shrill screech filled the air. Artemeia raised her weapon, ears high and alert as she looked around. Her gaze briefly drifted to Maximus as he moved to put himself at her back.

Back-to-back, neither of them spoke, eyes scanning the cavern around them.

“Which way did that come from?” asked Maximus.

“Can’t tell. It’s an echo chamber in here,” Artemeia replied in a calm voice, never lowering her guard as her eyes darted around the room, searching.

As the two stood, alert and watching, another voice—familiar—suddenly echoed through the tunnels. “Zwei Siegler!” followed by another screech… and then silence.

“That was Fenric,” said Artemeia.

“Sounds like he got her,” Maximus started to relax, until something caught his eye.

The moonlight, streaming through the crack above, had lessened. Immediately, he knew what it was. “Duck!” he shouted, spinning on the ball of his foot.

Artemeia hadn’t seen it yet, but when she noticed the fire kindling on his gauntlets, she didn’t hesitate—she dropped low, and opened the path to his target.

The flames streaked upward, forcing a Dokugumon back through the crack. The spider snarled down at them, but Maximus only matched it with his own.

“Fool me once,” he said, bitterly. ‘Or twice…’ he thought.

“Poison Thread!” the Dokugumon spat, spinning around to launch a glistening strand from its spinneret.

Maximus intercepted with his gauntlet, cutting through the toxic silk with a slash of the claws on his other hand before crouching low, muscles coiling. “Fire Rocket!”

He launched himself like a cannonball, body wreathed in flame. The Dokugumon tried to scuttle away, but too late—the flaming missile that was Maximus slammed it against the wall, flattening it on one side and burning into it on the other. Its screech ended in a burst of code that streamed into Maximus as he landed.

The fire faded. Maximus straightened, exhaling as the absorbed data surged through him. ‘Another step closer…’ he thought.

Artemeia lowered her shield at last, stepping closer to Maximus, her armour clinked with each stride. Behind her mask, her eyes glinted with something close to approval. She wanted to applaud him—he could sense it—but her hands were full of steel.

“Well done,” she said simply. “Even I didn’t see that shadow until you spoke.”

“It’s kind of happened to me twice now. Just alert, I suppose.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Maximus,” Artemeia replied, voice firm but not unkind. “Attention to details like that saves lives. Power won’t save you from a knife in the back—metaphorically or otherwise. But awareness – especially in an unfamiliar environment like this, will.”

Maximus nodded, understanding. “Do you think there are any left?” he asked, back to the matter at hand.

Artemeia hummed, looking around the chamber. “To be honest… it’s hard to say,” she said. “We’ll look around for a little longer, and clear all the tunnels and chambers closest to where we came in, but we’re not prepared to search the entirety of the catacombs as we are.”

Maximus, looking at her oddly, asked, “What do you mean?”

“What we’ve seen so far,” Artemeia began, “is but a sample of just how vast these passages really are. They stretch well beyond the borders of the Citadel; someone can wander down here for weeks on end and still not find another way out. It’s for that reason that my Knights and I did not deal with the spiders sooner; any action we took would only drive them further into the passages, until we lost them… or got lost ourselves and became their prey.”

Maximus blinked. “Wait… so that means you were counting on them coming out to destroy them all?” he asked.

“No. In truth, we hoped we could trap them until we were better prepared,” Artemeia replied. “If Valefor had not single-handedly destroyed the majority of the horde earlier, I’d never have even attempted this… there’s just too few of us to clear this entire network.”

“And why don’t the Angels help?” Maximus asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“They only take action when the Citadel is threatened directly,” Artemeia replied, shaking her head. “They won’t come down here.”

Maximus scoffed. “Figures,” he said, “instead of proactively ensuring that there are no threats they just react to them when they show up.”

“That is something I hope to correct,” Artemeia offered, “at least, where I can.”

Maximus turned to her. “How? You couldn’t take any action until the spiders came out. You said it yourself, you don’t have enough people to be proactive.”

“Not yet,” said Artemeia, and though he couldn’t see her face behind her encompassing helmet, he could hear her smile in how she spoke.

“You have a plan, then?” Maximus asked.

“The makings of one,” she said. “But, back to the matter at hand. Let’s regroup with Fenric and Surtan, and do another sweep before we call it a night.”

Maximus nodded, finding no argument with the idea, and walked with her as they made their way back through the passage from whence they had originally come, leaving the empty chamber behind…

Notes from the author:

I chose to make Armour slightly stronger than Champion level but still not as powerful as Ultimate level – depending on the Digimon. This, based on how we saw Flamedramon beat a champion-level Monochromon in his very first appearance, yet stood no chance against SkullGreymon or the corrupted MetalGreymon in Adventure 02, yet somehow Raidramon – supposedly being the same level as Flamedramon, was able to help the cast win the fight.

This was probably plot-related (plot armour anyone~?) and not really proof that Raidramon is stronger than Flamedramon – especially since later in the same show, Raidramon lost to Starmon, a Champion-level Digimon, while Flamedramon made short work of him just a moment later, and in the English dub of the show Veemon referred to Flamedramon as a ‘better fighter’; I take that to mean that Flamedramon is simply more suited for combat while Raidramon is more suited for speed.

But, to summarize, because they don’t evolve any further anyway, I write that Armour Digimon are generally stronger than Champion-level Digimon, but not typically as strong as Ultimate-level Digimon, unless they develop their strength to stand up to them or possess a counter such as an attribute or typing. We have seen that Digimon can develop their strength through combat experience overtime; this has been consistent across the shows as well as some of the games.

This doesn’t apply to Magnamon or Rapidmon (Gold) as both are stated to be in the next area between Ultimate and Mega-level Digimon; we’ve seen Magnamon contend with that in Adventure 02 and the movie, and in the Story Games he’s even a member of the Royal Knights who, aside from Magnamon, are exclusively Mega Digimon (though as I’m only getting back into Digimon Lore, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong about that).

The group emerged from the caves late in the night, stepping out one after the other to the cliff below the observatory. To their surprise, they weren’t alone when they arrived, as Rilo and Thalassa – the latter carrying a lantern for light, stepped into view.

“Sis,” Thalassa said, walking up to Artemeia to embrace her, the Crescemon dropping her shield to hold her sister with her left arm. “You were down there so long, I was starting to worry.”

“Nothing we could not handle, Thalassa,” Artemeia said.

Maximus’ gaze lingered on the sisters, a pang of wistfulness pulling at him. He would never have that with Maverick again… and the ache gnawed at him, sharper than he expected. Then a pair of claws clamped around his middle. He started, looking down at the red scales pressed against him. The hollowness cracked, replaced by a reluctant warmth.

“Rilo?” he asked.

“What, I’m not allowed to worry about you?” the Guilmon shot back, flashing a toothy grin.

“Well, yes… but—”

Rilo hugged him tighter before he could finish. Maximus let out a long sigh, resigned. He didn’t have the heart to push the Guilmon away. Extroverted dork, he thought, half annoyed, half amused as he removed a gautntlet and used his hand to pat the top of Rilo’s head.

Thalassa’s lanternlight flickered gently as she watched them, her expression softening into a warm smile. A pace behind, Artemeia said nothing, though the way her gaze lingered on the pair made it clear she was weighing something quietly to herself.

Maximus cleared his throat, looking around. “Where are the others?” he asked, noting the absence of Ashira and Aslanor.

Thalassa pointed to the manse. “Aslanor took Gigo to the clinic, and then helped Ashira clear the rest of the dormitory to make sure there weren’t any spiders left.”

“How’s Gigo doing?” Artemeia asked.

“Stable, and sleeping, last time I checked on him,” Thalassa replied. “He should be fine in a few days.”

“And the angels?” Maximus asked.

“Most of them headed back to the Grand Chapel. Only Lord Valefor stayed. He was patrolling the grounds, last I heard.”

‘At least he didn’t just leave us to do everything ourselves,’ Maximus thought, bitterly. “So, that should be the end of the spider threat for now?”

“So, it would seem,” Artemeia said at last. “I think we’ve all earned some rest.”

“Agreed,” Surtan added, glancing at Fenric. The Lobomon gave a weary nod.

“Now that,” Maximus muttered, stretching his arms, “sounds good to me. It’s been a long night for all of us.” ‘And a longer day for me, still,’ he thought to himself.

“Before you go, Maximus,” Artemeia interjected, her tone measured, “there’s something I’d like to discuss with you—if you’re willing.”

He almost refused. His body begged for sleep, and part of him wanted to wave her off until morning. But it was a fair walk back to the dormitory anyway. With a sigh, he relented. “Can we talk on the way?”

“Of course,” she replied with a nod.

“Do you mind company?” Thalassa asked.

But Artemeia shook her head. “This is more something I’d rather discuss with Maximus privately. Everyone go on ahead—we’ll be right behind you.”

Thalassa hesitated, glancing at Maximus. The Flamedramon only shrugged. With a reluctant sigh, the Lekismon joined Rilo, Surtan, and Fenric as they started down the stairs, lantern light bobbing until the group vanished below.

That left Maximus alone with Artemeia, their steps slower, quieter, as they followed behind.

“So… what’s on your mind?” Maximus asked, though his voice carried the edge of weariness. Secretly, he hoped it wouldn’t take long.

He was running on fumes. Two Armour Digivolutions in one day, the berserk storm of Sethmon, the swarm of spiders, the desperate sprint to the Grand Chapel, becoming Flamedramon… and then facing down a horde of a thousand.

All in one day, he mused. No wonder his legs felt like lead. No wonder his chest still burned with every breath… He couldn’t recall a time he had ever been so exhausted, and desperate for his bed.

“Before we start,” Artemeia said, her voice calm but deliberate, “I want to clarify something. I sent the others ahead because what I’m about to ask, I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

Maximus stifled a groan. “And what’s that?” he asked, mentally begging her to get to the point.

As if sensing his impatience, she cut straight to it. “How would you feel,” she said carefully, “about joining the Citadel Knights?”

Maximus froze mid-step. For a heartbeat, it felt as if the night itself had gone silent, time holding its breath. He replayed her words in his head, unsure he’d heard right.

“You want me… to join you?” he asked, blinking at her.

She nodded to confirm. “As you saw yourself last night, we don’t have many members. And now with Gigo down, we’re even more short-handed. You’re a capable fighter, courageous, and have a strong sense of justice. You’d be a good choice.”

Maximus shifted uneasily, gaze dropping to the path. The new weight of his armour suddenly felt heavier than ever. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted.

She smiled and inclined her head. “You don’t have to decide anything now,” she said. “As I said, I didn’t want you to feel pressured. That’s why I wanted the others to go ahead before I asked, so you could think about it in peace.”

Maximus frowned, lifting his hand and rubbing the back of his head with his gauntlet. “Well… I’ll think about it,” he promised.

“That is all I ask.”

As they reached the dorms, Artemeia bid Maximus goodnight and continued on toward the White Tower, letting Maximus turn and head to the manse. Maximus entered the building through the main doors, stepping into the dining hall, and seeing the aftermath of the battle with the spiders.

Several students were still awake, returning furniture to its place and hauling away pieces that had been splintered, and some were sweeping up broken glass from windows that had been lost. The walls bore fresh gouges, the floors stained and scarred from the fight. But to Maximus’ relief, he heard no mourning voices—no cries of grief. Few, if any, students had been lost tonight.

‘Ashira really held it together,’ he thought, recalling how the Renamon—no, Kyubimon now—had organized the dorm’s defense. Speaking of… where is she?

He scanned the room but saw no sign of her. Probably gone to bed already. Briefly, he wondered how she was even going to manage, now that her body had changed so completely. Her old bed must have been far too small.

Hope she figures it out, he thought, trudging toward the stairs. He ignored a few lingering stares from other students—most of them clearly didn’t recognize him.

That changed when a familiar voice called out.

“Yo!” A small form dropped into his path on the stairs. Impmon, carrying a broom. “Aren’t you going to pitch in or something? We’ve got a lot of work here!” He tried to hold out the broom to Maximus. “Unless you want everybody to cut their feet on broken glass, get to it!”

The Flamedramon, though, didn’t take the broom. “…Saleos, right?”

The Impmon blinked. “Wait—how do you know my name?”

“Yesterday morning. You and your buddies were harassing me for no reason, while I was just looking for some quiet time.”

Saleos’ jaw went slack. “W-Wait… you’re that Veemon?!” He jabbed a claw at Maximus. “B-But—when… how… what are you now?”

Maximus exhaled slowly through his nose, the air hot, like vents over a forge. “I don’t have the energy for twenty questions with you,” he growled. “I just helped fight a few hundred spiders in a body I am still getting accustomed to. I am sore. I am tired. And you are standing between me and a well-earned rest, trying to lessen work for yourself by putting it on someone else.”

He leaned forward, eyes burning as he glared down at the smaller Digimon. His voice dropped to a razor’s edge. “So. Move. Aside. Before there is another mess to clean up.”

Saleos stiffened, his smirk faltering. For a moment he looked like he might talk back anyway—but the glare in Maximus’ crimson eyes burned that idea right out of him.

“…Y-Yeah, okay. Sure. No problem,” the Impmon shuffled backward, pressing himself flat against the railing to give Maximus room.

Maximus didn’t spare him another glance as he pushed past. “Smart choice,” he said, ascending the stairs two steps at a time.

Saleos waited until he was halfway up the stairs before muttering under his breath, “Sheesh… and I thought the spiders were nasty.”

Arriving at the door to his room, Maximus pushed it open and slipped inside, shutting it with a weary thud. For a heartbeat, he was ready to collapse straight onto the mattress—then he remembered the armour.

“Right…” he muttered, groaning as he sat on the bed’s edge. Piece by piece, he stripped it away. The helmet lifted easily, the gauntlets slid free with little effort, but the knee guards… those cursed straps had him fumbling until he finally yanked them loose.

Stretching out his legs, he caught himself staring. They weren’t the same anymore. The digitigrade build, the lifted heels, the draconian strength beneath his scales—it all felt alien, yet undeniably his. Less humanoid, more… dragon.

He flexed his claws, turning his arms this way and that, studying the blend of power and strangeness. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, he pushed himself up and padded to the mirror.

Moonlight spilled across the glass, and he squinted against the gloom. His reflection peered back: the same Veemon face he’d always known, yet sharper. The muzzle longer. The angles harsher. But still the same blue hide, the same white jaw, and the golden V blazing defiantly on his forehead.

‘So… this is me now,’ he thought, a pang of melancholy in his chest.

He raised a hand to his chin, tracing the contours and relearning the shape of his own face. Different bones. Different lines. But still him. Still Maximus.

“Flamedramon,” he murmured, testing the name.

It felt… right. He had once accepted he could never return to ExVeemon, that Veedramon would be the only path left to him. Yet now, Armour Digivolution had given him something he’d never known was possible—a form both alien and his own.

Shaking his head, he turned from the mirror and slipped beneath the covers. The mattress groaned under his weight, but the softness was a welcome contrast to stone floors and spider-infested caverns.

The sigh that left him was almost blissful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d welcomed a bed so much… or needed one more. He didn’t even care that it was barely long enough for his new height, or that it was so narrow that his tail was left hanging over the side…

His eyes closed, and a deep, dreamless sleep claimed him within moments…

~~~~~

Maximus wasn’t sure how late in the day he had slept, but his growling stomach finally roused him. With a groan, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before rising and stretching, his joints creaking in protest.

His gaze fell on the pieces of his armor piled neatly nearby. He considered them, then waved the thought aside. Not today.

Crossing to the door, he ducked beneath the frame—still adjusting to the new height of his body, and stepped into the hall. It was empty, quiet. He pulled the door shut behind him— and he howled in pain as lightning shot up his spine. A string of curses tore out as he jerked forward, and felt a pull at his hindquarters, trying to turn around, he fumbled the latch open and yanked his tail free, clutching it with both hands as he winced.

“Ugh… that’s going to happen a few times, isn’t it?” he muttered, massaging the offended limb. No sooner did he get used to having a short tail as Veemon, now he had a long one again as Flamedramon.

He lingered there for a moment, tail cradled in his hands, breathing through clenched teeth. The ache finally dulled to a throb, and a grumble tugged at his own sense of humour.

His stomach growled again, louder this time. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, food first. Existential crisis later.”

With that, he made his way toward the stairs, gripping the rail as he descended – so as not to self-prophesize his earlier comment, and descended carefully. The stairs actually proved quite easy to navigate, and he reached the bottom without incident.

At the bottom, he stepped into the dining hall, and was surprised to find it vacant. Remembering the clock above the door he had stepped through, he turned and looked up to get the time – and nearly gawked.

It was almost noon!

“Holy crap,” he muttered. He had no idea what time he had gone to bed, but he could not recall a moment in his life where he had ever slept until noon

‘Well, no getting breakfast now. Hopefully they have something for lunch all set,’ he thought, making his way toward the kitchen.

Unfortunately, lunch wasn’t out yet, but the cook on duty took pity on him. A quick sandwich materialized from the remains of breakfast—honey-glazed ham, cheese, scrambled eggs—paired with an onigiri left over from the night before. Maximus accepted the plate gratefully, murmured his thanks, and carried it back to the deserted hall.

The first bite was heavenly. After the chaos of the night, the simple act of eating in peace felt almost alien. But with each mouthful, his thoughts drifted back to Artemeia’s words, back to her offer, back to the weight it carried. By the time he had wolfed down his food and satiated his appetite, his hunger had been replaced with the gnawing question of what came next.

“Almost didn’t recognize you,” came a familiar voice as someone slid into the seat across from him. “Still getting used to the fact you got taller than me, when you were barely up to my chest.”

Maximus glanced up—and nearly choked on his sandwich. He swallowed hard, blinking at the figure before him. A Renamon… and not just any Renamon either.

“…Ashira?”

“Yep.”

“But… why are you…?” His eyes swept over her form in disbelief. “You devolved again? How? Did you get hurt in the fight with the spiders?”

“Nope. I’m fine,” she crossed her arms. “I remembered what Valefor mentioned— Echo Devolution. Ring a bell?”

“Uh… vaguely,” Maximus admitted.

“Not surprised. You were too busy brooding to listen properly,” Ashira said dryly. “Anyway, I asked around. One of the Angels taught me. Turns out, if you’ve reverted once before, it’s not that hard to pick up.”

She spread her arms. “So, here we are. Back to Renamon again.”

“But why?” Maximus set his food aside, frowning. “You worked so hard to become a Kyubimon. Why let it go?”

“I didn’t.”

Before he could ask, she stepped to an open space. Her body lit up in a swirling cocoon of blue-green light, threads of data circling like fireflies. Maximus squinted against the glow. When it faded, Kyubimon stood in her place, tails swishing.

“Kyubimon,” she said, voice cool and mechanical.

Maximus gaped. “You can Digivolve at will?”

She smirked faintly. “Echo Devolution.” Another egg-shaped aura—this one green—wrapped her body. The light collapsed, and she was Renamon again, breathing heavier now as she sank back into her chair.

“It’s… tiring,” she admitted. “But yes. I can shift between the forms now.”

Maximus hummed in thought. “But why go back to Renamon at all, if I might ask?”

Ashira raised her hands, wiggling her thumbs. “Convenience. I’d rather use utensils to eat hot soup than dunk my whole face into the bowl and scald my nose.”

Maximus chuckled, the laugh chasing away some of the tension. “Okay. Granted.”

“Plus, think of it this way,” she said. “I get into a fight, and they underestimate me, boy are they in for a surprise,” she finished with a grin.

“Also true,” said Maximus, pointing at her before picking up his sandwich again to resume eating. “Speaking of which, did you and Aslanor run into anymore trouble while we cleared the caverns?”

“One, maybe two more spiders roaming around,” Ashira replied with a shrug. “Aslanor got ‘em both. That guy is surprisingly fast for someone so big.”

“Well, he is a feline,” Maximus pointed out. “What’s next, then?”

Ashira tilted her head. “Next?”

“You got what you set out to do,” Maximus replied. “You managed to get the Digivolution you wanted. Did you have any plans after the fact?”

Ashira crossed her arms. “You first, blue. You’ve managed to score a new evolution too. Are you going to take off, and hunt down that guy, Talbot?”

Maximus froze, his sandwich halfway to his open mouth when Ashira asked the question. He lowered it, considering how best to answer the question.

“Artemeia asked me,” he began, “if I was interested in joining the Citadel Knights.”

To his dismay, Ashira didn’t look surprised. “Did she now?”

“You… sound like you expected it,” said Maximus.

“You’re exactly the type of candidate she’d want – it’s not hard to guess,” she said, as though it were obvious. “So… will you?”

Maximus huffed. “I’m considering it,” he admitted. “She raised some good points, but I’m still on the fence about whether or not I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“Last night, you didn’t seem to shy away from it,” Ashira stated.

“How do you mean?”

“You were the one who spurred us to action, remember?” Ashira asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “You came up with that plan, got us to join the fight, went to get help and knew exactly how to proceed. You’ve got everything the Knights could want – even leadership skills.”

“Now hold on,” Maximus said sharply “I hardly think I’m leadership material.”

Ashira shrugged. “Just saying what I saw last night,” she said, letting Maximus take another bite of his food before she spoke again. “Anyway, for what it’s worth, I think you’d be a good fit with them.”

“And what about you?” Maximus asked after swallowing his mouthful. “Would you consider joining them?”

Ashira let out a laugh. “Me, running off to save the day like some crime-fighting crusader?” she asked. “Get real.”

“Last night, you didn’t seem to shy away from it,” Maximus said with a grin, turning her earlier words back on her.

This time it was her turn to scowl. “That was not the same thing.”

“Excuse me, but who took it upon herself to protect the students?” Maximus said in a dry tone. “Got them setting up barricades, Digivolved just to keep the spiders out and in turn, keep them all safe? That wasn’t me.”

Ashira huffed. “Okay now you’re just mocking me.”

“Hardly. You did the right thing, and the students here owe you for it,” he said. Having a thought, he had another idea. “And, consider this. Nagata wasn’t a Citadel Knight… It’d show you’re taking a different course than he did.”

Ashira looked as though she wanted to reach across the table and choke him, her eye twitching, irritation palpable. “You…!” she growled, raising her paws before letting them fall to the table in irritation. “Damn it, you had to go there, didn’t you?”

Maximus said nothing, allowing himself a smug smile as he regarded Ashira. She met his gaze for a long, tense moment, her eye twitching, and then she shifted. Maximus felt white-hot pain erupt from his knee, and nearly bashed his face on the table as he reached under to clutch it.

“What was that for?”

“For pissing me off,” she spoke through clenched teeth. “Still, even if I were to consider it, I doubt Artemeia will let me in.”

“Why not?”

“She thinks I’m hot-headed and stubborn.”

“Aren’t you?” Maximus asked, earning himself another kick to his other knee. “Knock it off! I have to walk out of here, you know.”

“Then stop making stupid remarks.”

Maximus muttered in annoyance, sliding his chair back in case the Renamon thought to kick him again, moving out of her reach. With that, he popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking again.

“After what you did last night, I doubt Artemeia will hold it against you now,” he said. “Besides, she said it herself, they need people for their little group. There’s too few of them.”

“That’s not exactly our problem,” Ashira pointed out.

“Maybe not,” admitted Maximus, rising from his chair. “But, she raised a good point with me last night. They’re hunting for Talbot, and working with them could be my chance to get him. Plus, my chance to prevent him from hurting anyone else – to make sure no one has else has to suffer as I did.”

At that, Ashira’s expression softened. “Maximus,” she said, “let me put it this way. Talbot is evil, yes. Will the Digital World be better off without him? Absolutely. But,” she raised a finger as she continued, “he isn’t going to be the last, you know. Not even from whatever made him.”

“I think what you need to ask yourself is, are you ready to fight a hundred Talbots? Or, a hundred Arukenimon, like that one last night? Be the first response to whenever monsters like them appear?”

Maximus weighed her words, considering them for a long, silent moment. She was right, of course… Artemeia hadn’t formed the Citadel Knights for the purpose of pursuing any singular threat, but to respond to threats as they appeared, to be the protectors of Digimon everywhere – their name ‘Citadel’ only referred to where they were based, not confined to where they operated.

These were all things he had pondered the night before, and they remained questions that he could not answer yet. Was he ready to face such odds – a hundred like Talbot, or like Arukenimon?

‘If I join, it won’t just be about Talbot… it’ll be about everything,’ he thought.

He sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly before answering. “I guess I still have more thinking to do,” he said, and then started making his way out of the hall while Ashira stared after him.

When he was gone from sight, her eyes fell to the table, considering their conversation herself, realizing that, in a way, Maximus had turned her own words back on her – about enrolling with the knights herself, showing the same skills that she had shown in her drive to defend the students from the spiders… or, that it’d help her stand out from her brother – be recognized for her own accomplishments, and not have him be credited just because he had trained and schooled her…

She didn’t like how much sense his words made…

“Damn it,” she grumbled, rising to her feet and kicking the chair back under the table, “even my brother never pushed my buttons as much as this blue baka.”

~~~~~

Maximus’ next stop was the clinic. The next person he wanted to talk to was Thalassa, and he hoped she’d be there by that time of the day. To his dismay, however, she wasn’t…

When he opened the door, he was assailed by the smell of the sterilized environment within, making him wrinkle his nose even as he entered. The ‘clinic’ as it was, was by no means a fully equipped medical centre. It had only four beds, and a small variety of equipment that Maximus could not identify; considering the village herbalist back home for him had been versed in old medicine, he had no real experience with the facilities in the clinic.

“Thalassa?” he called, expecting another nurse to answer him.

“She is not here.”

He jumped at the deep, hissing voice, turning sharply toward it, and saw the Strikedramon lying on one of the beds, arms crossed. They had removed his helmet, revealing his full face – elongated and smooth, much like Maximus, but with a longer muzzle, and spiky, red hair that had been combed straight, reaching his collarbone.

Yet, Maximus found he missed the helmet… the look that Gigo gave him was so cold, it left him feeling as though he was standing inside a cold shower. His eyes, reptilian and yellow in colour, carried a suspicious glare.

Hesitantly, Maximus spoke. “Morning – er, afternoon… Gigo, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How are you holding up after last night?”

“I will be fine,” he replied, plainly.

‘Still doesn’t trust me… actually, probably doesn’t even realize he knows me.’ “Glad to hear it,” said Maximus. “Uh… I’ll just be-”

“Hold on for a moment,” Gigo said suddenly. His gaze had shifted, more studious than suspicious. “…You’re that Veemon we met the other night, aren’t you?”

Maximus, seeing no reason to lie, nodded. “Yes, I am,” he said.

“…You got taller,” he said. “Much taller… But, you’re not an ExVeemon – you don’t have wings, and you’re too lithe.”

Maximus nodded again. “I’m a Flamedramon, now,” he said.

That seemed to soften Gigo’s features. “…You Armour Digivolved,” he said. “Which Mantle was it?”

“The Mantle of Courage,” replied Maximus, hiding his surprise that Gigo knew about the Mantles, or that he had deduced that he had armour Digivolved so easily – Maximus wasn’t even wearing his armour.

As if reading Maximus’ mind, Gigo continued. “I saw you taking Riptorque, and given the timely arrival of the Angels after the fact, you went up to the Grand Chapel to get their help. That must also be when you Digivolved; you took up one of the Mantles, and it accepted you.”

Maximus nodded for a third time. “That’s correct,” he said.

Then, to his shock… Gigo actually smiled. “I was wrong about you,” he said.

“Eh-excuse me?” Maximus asked.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Gigo replied, avoiding going into detail. “You won the Mantle of Courage, and indeed true courage is a virtue. You’d make a fine Citadel Knight.”

Seeing a chance, Maximus cleared his throat, and said. “I’ve been invited to join,” he said, slowly, picking his words in hopes that he could avoid offending Gigo – the last thing he wanted was to give the distrustful Strikedramon a reason to think he was being replaced. “Artemeia extended the invitation to me last night, after we quelled the last of the spider threat. I am… still thinking about it.”

To his relief, Gigo’s expression remained unchanged, but his next words surprised Maximus. “Riptorque gets restless if he doesn’t get out,” he said. “Be sure to give him plenty of time on the roads.”

“But I haven’t accepted yet,” replied Maximus.

“No. But I figured I should pass it along.”

‘He thinks I am going to accept,’ thought Maximus. ‘Is he assuming? Or… am I that predictable that it’s obvious?’

With that, Maximus departed, without even a goodbye to Gigo, lost once again the whirlwind of his thoughts…

~~~~~

Suspecting he knew where Thalassa was, Maximus headed out to the training field, easily finding her amidst the recruits. She was currently tending to a young Gammamon among one of the first year students; to Maximus, it looked as though he had taken a pretty big hit, nursing a bruise on his side.

Curious, he came over, kneeling down in front of the Gammamon. “Hey there,” he said. “Who’d you fight that did that to you?”

Thalassa gave him a look, but she allowed the Gammamon to answer. “Him,” he said, pointing to an Agumon.

Maximus glanced at the Agumon, then back at the kid. “What’s your name?”

“Caelus.”

“Caelus.” Maximus repeated the name, then gave the Gammamon a quick piece of practical advice. “If you go a second round with him, remember: Agumon can miss targets right up close because of their eye placement; they can’t see the tip of their nose. Get in tight, duck low—then hit up from underneath.” He mimed an uppercut.

Caelus’s face lit up. “Okay! I’ll try that!”

“Go get ‘im,” said Maximus, waving as the Gammamon ran back to the other trainees, leaving him and Thalassa.

She smiled, looking at him. “Who’d have thought,” she said. “You’re actually good with kids.”

“Only the fighters,” Maximus replied, and then returned her look. “You got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Maximus motioned for her to walk with him, and they began a slow trek away from the trainees, circling them, but out of earshot.

“Your sister offered me a place with the Citadel Knights,” he said.

“Yeah?” she asked. “And, are you taking it?”

“I’m… still thinking,” replied Maximus. “I mean… do they really want me – a vengeful hothead?”

“Max,” she said, chiding. “You are not defined by your anger.”

“It seems to keep coming back on me, though.”

“Not from what I saw last night,” she said. “Look, if my sister offered you a spot, it’s because she sees great potential in you. She’s very strict about who she lets in.”

“Is that why they have so few members?”

“That’s right. Trust me - nobody knows Artemeia better than me. She does not negotiate, and she has a keen eye for talent. She wants you,” she pointed at Maximus, “because she thinks you’ll make an excellent Knight. It’s the same reason she enlisted Aslanor and Gigo, and why she gave Thristeel a second chance even though he was a criminal.”

Maximus considered Thalassa’s words before answering. “So… you really think she picked me, for the right reasons?”

Thalassa’s ears twitched, but her expression stayed steady. “I think my sister knows what she’s doing,” she said carefully. “She doesn’t hand out offers lightly, and if she gave you one, she means it. But whether it’s the right path for you… that’s not for me, or her, to decide.”

She folded her paws behind her back as they walked. “I’ll tell you this much, though. I’ve seen the way you fight, and the way you carry yourself. There’s more to you than anger, Maximus. If you choose to join, it should be because you believe in that part of yourself.”

“How do I do that?”

“For starters, stop comparing yourself to a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse,” Thalassa replied. “Anger isn’t who you are, Maximus — it’s just something you feel. What matters is what you choose to do with it.”

Her ears twitched as she heard Surtan’s voice rising above the cacophony of the sparring students. “I better get back,” she said. “But, think about it; don’t feel pressured. At the end of the day, it’s not mine or my sister’s decision, it’s yours. So, the question you should be asking yourself is, what do you want?”

Without waiting for an answer, Thalassa turned and jogged back over to the training field, with Maximus staring after her, chewing on her words. ‘What do I want?’ he asked himself.

It wasn’t a question he had ever needed to ask before… in his old life, all he’d cared about was getting through the day’s labours, spending time with his brother Maverick, being part of the community… he’d never had any ambitions before.

Again, he asked himself… ‘What do I want?’

An engine’s roar brought him out of his reverie, startling him back to the present. He turned on the sound, and there ‘stood’ Riptorque, balanced on his two wheels, looking up at Maximus.

“Starting to think you were asleep on your feet there,” Riptorque said.

“Just… reflecting,” Maximus answered.

“I find thinking with the wind in my face helps with that,” Riptorque replied. He rolled to the side slightly, as though offering his seat. “You want to go for a ride?”

“Wha–? Me? Why?”

“I’m bored,” Riptorque complained. “I need to get out for a drive. But it’s not as fun alone, and with Gigo stuck in the med ward…” He tilted his head in a way that Maximus supposed passed for a shrug.

“And… why me? Why not one of the other Knights?”

“Artemeia and Aslanor are both too big for me. Besides, they’ve got Thristeel and Highride if they want a ride. And word is, you’ve been invited to join us.”

“She told you?”

“Nah, Thristeel did. Don’t ask how he knew—he and Artemeia must share some psychic link or something.” Riptorque rolled his eyes. “But enough about that.” His engine purred with anticipation. “What do you say? Just for the fun of it?”

Fun… Maximus thought back to the night before. That ride to the Grand Chapel hadn’t been meant for pleasure, but the thrill had been undeniable. Heart pounding, the rush of speed, the wild urge to grin despite everything… it had been fun.

He grinned. “You know? I think I’ll take you up on that.”

“Then climb aboard.” Riptorque locked his wheels as Maximus swung into the seat. “Say, I just remembered… you were wearing that fancy armour yesterday. Where is it?”

“Took it off last night. Had no reason to put it back on.”

“Not like you’ll need safety gear,” Riptorque said with a grin. “I don’t crash.”

Maximus huffed. “For my own sake, I hope not,” he muttered.

“I heard that,” Riptorque growled.

The position on Riptorque came naturally. Even though Maximus had never seen a motorcycle before meeting the Machmon, instinct guided him—hands drifting to the handlebars, feet shifting until they rested securely on the pegs.

The lean of his body kept his tail free from the seat. Considering Riptorque’s usual rider was Gigo - a Strikedramon with a tail just like his, it made sense the Machmon’s frame accounted for it.

As he settled in, the last of his apprehension ebbed away. This was only the third time he had ridden a motorcycle Digimon, yet this time… it felt different. It felt right, as though it had been meant to happen.

“Comfy?” Riptorque asked.

“Yeah,” Maximus replied.

“Then here we go.”

The engine rumbled beneath him as they rolled forward. Maximus startled, tightening his grip and lowering his head to peer between Riptorque’s horns while they coasted toward the main gate.

“We’re… leaving the Citadel?”

“Of course! You think we’ll get any speed in here?” Riptorque snorted. “I can cross this whole place in twelve seconds flat at full throttle. Booooring!”

Maximus hesitated. He hadn’t set foot beyond the Citadel since Raist had first brought him here. A fortnight, maybe? That sounded right. Until now, he’d never even considered leaving the walls; there had always seemed to be plenty of room inside… at least for him.

Before he could speak, Riptorque’s engine roared, and they exploded forward. Maximus yelped, flattening himself low as the gate rushed up to meet them. The Gladimon guards leapt aside, their faces gone in a blur. He caught only a flash of confusion—Gigo’s usual place now filled by a blue stranger.

Then they were free of the Citadel, the cobblestone road unspooling beneath them. To the left, trees blurred into streaks of green climbing toward the mountains. To the right, the station whipped past, a Locomon pulling away, its single eye following them as Riptorque surged ahead—still faster, always faster.

At first, Maximus mistook the rush in his chest for fear. His heart hammered, his spine tingled, the wind tore at his face. But the more Riptorque pushed, the clearer it became - not fear. Elation. A grin split his face before he could even think to stop it, wide and unguarded.

He lifted his head into the gale, the world dissolving into color and speed. In minutes they devoured ground that had once cost him hours. At the fork, Riptorque veered north, tearing across the open plains.

The faster they went, the lighter he felt. The weight of the Mantle. The chains of memory. The ache of loss. One by one, Riptorque left them all behind.

What remained was simple. Pure.

Freedom.

Maximus lost track of time as he and Riptorque sped across the land, the silhouette of the Citadel having faded away in the distance overtime, until even the spires of the White Tower’s battlements were little more than distant, pointed shapes. Eventually, they pulled over to the roadside, rolling up a hill and stopping there, to let Maximus stretch his legs – not yet accustomed to long rides, and let Riptorque cool off his engine.

Even as Maximus stretched his limbs, and sat down on the grassy hilltop to unwind, he couldn’t stop thinking of the feeling he had experienced, riding at Riptorque’s peak speed. As an ExVeemon, he’d enjoyed having the power of flight… but he was moving faster than he had ever managed in the air.

He could no longer think of words to describe the elation that it had given him, and for the first time since… he couldn’t even remember when, he felt just like his old self.

‘It’s official,’ he thought, amused, ‘I love riding.’

He took in the land around him, thankful for the view offered by the hill, when his eyes settled on a distant community, off the main road further north. The railroad that ran to the Citadel reached the town as well; even as he watched, the Locomon they had previously seen leaving the Citadel was enroute to the town, blowing its whistle as it merged with a right turn junction.

“What’s that place down there?” he asked.

Riptorque had to turn himself to see where Maximus was looking. “Ah. They call that place ‘Wheaton’; they’re a farming community, largely inhabited by plant Digimon. Name’s kind of on the nose, I know, but it’s peaceful enough.”

Maximus’ smiled faded as he stared out toward the town, imagining the various Digimon who lived there. He could picture them tending the fields, filling the grain silos, not a care in the world. Their only ambition was to see their fields prosper, give food to other Digimon… so simple.

“Just like my home was…” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Riptorque asked, looking over at him.

But Maximus didn’t answer, imagining himself in that town, taking joy in the labours of every day life, catharsis in giving Digimon food to eat. He’d had such a life before – a life of zero ambitions, chopping wood to be used to build homes, warm hearths, cook food, make charcoal… his way of contributing to every day life, just like the citizens of Wheaton.

Yet, very suddenly, that had changed. When the Vee Clan village had fallen, it had just been another day. Shining sunlight, lumberjacks hard at work, meeting their daily quotas without a care in the world. But that entire existence had been completely turned on its head in a matter of minutes, when Talbot and his pack had descended upon them.

Peaceful in the morning, gone by night. The Vee Clan village erased in hours, leaving him alone with the weight of it, with the guilt of being the only survivor…

In that moment, he remembered what he had said to that phantom of Talbot – when the Mantle of Courage had tested him. That he would fight to stop him from hurting anyone else, even at the cost of his life… and he had meant every word.

He rose to his feet, the wind tugging at his frame. “It could so easily happen to you too,” he murmured to the town no one else could hear. Then louder, to Riptorque: “I’ve made my decision.”

Riptorque’s engine gave a low, approving rumble as he nodded. “Climb on.”

Together, they tore down the hillside, racing south toward the Citadel—and whatever waited next.

~~~~~

Piece by piece, the armour settled onto him—footpads, greaves, breastplate—its weight less a burden than a confirmation. This wasn’t just steel. It was a choice. He left the gauntlets for last, resting them on the bed as though marking an end to his stay in the dorms.

He would probably never be back here again, but that was okay; this room had never been home; it had only been a place to sleep – give him some peace… aside from two intrusions by spider Digimon, it had done that. Absently he glanced at the wall where the first KoDokugumon had perished, eliminated by him and Rilo; not a trace remained of that fight, but he’d always remember.

He went back to focusing on his armour. The final piece was his helmet. He turned it in his hands, remembering how the first time he wore it, it had been out of desperation. Now it would mean commitment. With a steady breath, he turned it around, lifted it to his head and lowered it onto his face. The fit was familiar. The decision final.

“It’s time,” he murmured, fitting on one gauntlet and carrying the other under his arm until he reached the hall.

Each step down the stairwell sounded sharper than usual, drawing eyes before he even reached the dining hall. Conversations faltered. At the edge of the room, students turned to watch him skirt the tables with quiet purpose.

Saleos and his entourage glared daggers at him, but Surtan’s passing presence made them look away. The Agunimon himself studied Maximus with a level, respectful gaze, his arms crossed but a warm smile present on his face, as though he were wishing Maximus the best of luck.

At another table, Ashira paused mid-sip, lowering her cup as her eyes lingered on him. His stride made his intent clear. She drained the last of her tea in one gulp, set down her cup, and then rose to follow.

She wasn’t the only one. A certain Guilmon scrambled after her, nearly knocking over a chair in his hurry.

Outside the Manse, Maximus followed the unpaved road toward the White Tower, his steps slow, his mind heavy with the weight of commitment. He had hesitated before. Now he was certain.

He didn’t notice Ashira until she called his name. He stopped, turning as she came up beside him.

“So—you’ve made up your mind?” she asked.

Maximus nodded. “I have.”

“What changed?” she pressed, matching his pace when he started forward again.

“Riptorque and I went for a ride,” he said. “We came across a town to the north—he called it—”

“Wheaton!”

Both Digimon jolted, spinning on the Guilmon who had popped up behind them.

“Rilo?” Maximus demanded.

“Where the heck did you come from?” Ashira snapped.

“Followed you!” Rilo said, unbothered. He pointed ahead. “This road goes to the White Tower, doesn’t it? Wait—” His eyes widened. “You’re joining the Citadel Knights, aren’t you?!”

Maximus sighed but nodded. “I am. Artemeia asked me last night. I’ve decided to accept.”

Rilo cheered, hopping in place. “That’s amazing! You—a knight! Ha!”

Ashira gave him a sidelong glance. “And?” she prompted Maximus, steering him back on track.

He exhaled, gaze lifting to the horizon. “Wheaton reminded me of home. Quiet. Peaceful. Everyone just living their lives, doing their part. And I realized…” His voice tightened. “That was exactly how my village was before Talbot came. Morning was peaceful. By nightfall, it was gone. Sometimes peace is fragile—so fragile that it only takes one monster to tear it away… and it can happen so quickly, you just never see it coming.”

Rilo tilted his head. “You think Talbot would go after Wheaton?”

“Hard to say. But if he—or anyone like him—did, a little town like that would never stand a chance. So, for that… I want to be there, if it does come to that. Not just for revenge anymore, but because it’s the right thing to do.”

Ashira regarded him quietly, while Rilo grinned wide. Between them, Maximus walked on, his choice no longer in doubt. Rilo hummed, understanding clear on his face. “When you put it that way, it makes me want to join, too.”

“That’s up to Artemeia, not me,” Maximus stated. “She may have a restriction about letting Rookie-level Digimon enter, given how dangerous their missions probably are.” He looked at Ashira. “You probably could, since you can willingly turn yourself into a Kyubimon now.”

Ashira scoffed. “I still don’t think she’d let me in.”

“If you believe that, why are you accompanying me?” Maximus asked, smiling wryly at her.

She leered at him. “I will kick you again,” she warned.

Maximus continued undeterred, even knowing he was pressing his luck. “For what? Asking a question? If you don’t have an answer, then you don’t,” he replied.

Ashira growled in annoyance, but she didn’t retort – either because she didn’t know what to say or because he had her. He walked faster to put some distance between them, half-expecting she was going to try to kick him again, but to her credit, she didn’t, and resumed walking as normal.

As a trio, the three came to the castle doors, and Maximus announced his intention to join the Citadel Knights to the Gladimon guards. As before, one of them turned and marched inside, and came out a moment later – alone, unlike last time, and whispered to his cohort.

With that, the two pushed open the double doors of the gate, and motioned forward. “Enter,” said one of them, “proceed to the hall, with the great hearth, and you will meet with Lady Artemeia. She is expecting you.”

Maximus smirked. “Guess she knew all along I’d be coming,” he said, bemused.

Ashira and Rilo remained quiet, following him in. The guards made no motion to stop either of them as they continued toward the main entrance of the keep, where Maximus pushed open the doors and stepped through, while Rilo and Ashira closed them behind them as they followed.

They paused in the foyer while Maximus recalled the way. When it came back to him, he led them up the stairs to the second floor, and through another set of double doors, entering the hall with the great hearth fire he had been in the last time he was here.

Sure enough, by the roaring fireplace, he saw them. Artemeia and Aslanor, shadowed by the glow of the fire, facing him. They stood with poise, befitting their status; Artemeia had foregone her weapons and even her helmet, but she still wore her armour.

Maximus crossed the hall accompanied by his friends, continuing until he stood a respectful distance from Artemeia. The Crescemon was eyeing him expectantly.

“Have you made your choice, Maximus?” she asked.

“I have,” he replied. “I have decided to accept your offer, Lady Artemeia, and join the Citadel Knights.”

“And what was it that made you decide to accept it?” she asked.

Maximus suspected that how he answered that question would be important. Choosing honestly, and his words very carefully, he did.

“Today, I saw the town of Wheaton, observing it from afar,” he said, remembering his discussion with Ashira and Rilo on their way to the tower. “It was just like my home; peaceful and carefree, probably without even so much as a militia unit to protect it, since they never had such things to threaten them before.”

“But, that’s when it dawned on me; those who live a peaceful life can still be victims of violence. Like it or not, it’s not something you go looking for – on the contrary. It finds you,” he finished. “I want to prevent the tragedy that befell my home from falling on anyone else, whenever I can. That is why I have decided to join you.”

Artemeia’s eyes narrowed, her voice calm yet as piercing as her stare. “And your desire for vengeance?”

Maximus had to swallow a lump that formed in his throat at that question… he refused to lie, knowing that might condemn him, but he suspected there was a chance his answer would have the same effect.

“I cannot promise that desire is gone,” he said. “It’s part of me, now… buried in my heart,” he tapped one of his gauntlets against his chest. “I can no more cut it from myself than I can take back what I lost that night,” he let his arm fall again, “but it is not my reason for coming here today, nor shall it affect the mission of the Citadel Knights should they – you, choose to accept me.”

Silence fell over the room. Artemeia exchanged a long, wordless stare with Aslanor, as if they were sharing some deliberation that only they could hear. Maximus waited, heart pounding, the crackle of the hearth stretching the silence into eternity.

Finally, he saw the ghost of a nod from Aslanor, and Artemeia turned to him again. “I accept,” she said. “Maximus, bearer of the Mantle of Courage, you are now a member of the Citadel Knights. It is my honour and privilege to welcome you into our ranks.”

“There are no great ceremonies or anything for new members,” Aslanor added. “But now that you have joined us, you may now consider this great fortress,” he held out his arms, indicating the whitewashed walls of the keep around them, “your new home. You shall have access to everything it has to offer, including a room of your choice, advanced training with me and Artemeia, and your own claim of the grounds within the walls of the keep to do with as you choose.”

Maximus inclined his head in respect, but inside he felt a surge of elation—acceptance, belonging, and the weight of a vow he knew would shape his future.

“Come. Stand with us,” Artemeia bade Maximus, beckoning him forward. “I see two others have come with you this night. Were you possibly interested in enlisting with the Knights as well?” she addressed the question to Ashira and Rilo, as Maximus compliantly stepped forward to stand at her side.

“I know I would!” Rilo chimed, eagerly. “I fought in the battle against the spiders too, and Maximus is my friend! If he’s in, I want in too!”

Artemeia smiled, endearingly at the Guilmon. “Your courage during the battle last night is not in question, Rilo,” Artemeia said. “But courage alone is not enough. You have not yet reached Champion-level, and sending you into the field would put you in danger—and burden your allies.”

“If I may, Artemeia,” Aslanor spoke up, “I have seen Rilo in action for myself. While it’s true he is still only a Rookie-level Digimon, he fights with his heart, and he is strong. I watched him last night—he stood when others would have faltered. That spark is worth cultivating.”

“What would you suggest then, Aslanor?” she asked the Leomon.

“We take him, as a trainee,” he said.

“Surtan and Fenric already teach the students of the Citadel the ways of combat,” Artemeia reminded him, “with our responsibilities we can be away for days on end. He will be seeking them for instruction in our absence regardless.”

“True. But I still feel like it is worth the attempt, especially since he has already shown what we want in our members,” he said. “I wish to take him on as my personal student.”

Artemeia considered the Leomon, and then Rilo, for a tense moment, until she finally nodded. “Very well. Rilo, consider yourself a trainee under the Citadel Knights,” she said. “You will report to Aslanor from this day forward, as your senior instructor, and as with Maximus you shall also be given your own quarters here in the White Tower. Come stand with Maximus.”

Rilo’s grin nearly split his muzzle. “Yes, ma’am!” he said, chest puffed out. But when he looked at Aslanor, some of the playfulness gave way to awe—he understood what it meant to be chosen by the Leomon himself.

Regaining some of his eagerness, Rilo came forward, coming up beside Maximus and turning to stand beside him, flashing a smile up at the Flamedramon. Maximus met the smile, but inside he wondered why the Guilmon seemed so eager to follow him everywhere… it felt as though Rilo had imprinted on him in some way since their first meeting, and since then he seemed to want to go everywhere that Maximus did, but he didn’t understand why.

‘Does he see in me what I used to see in Maverick?’ the thought came, unbidden, but it didn’t make sense.

He and Maverick had been born from the same nest, raised together; they had been brothers. He had no such ties to Rilo…

“Now , ” Artemeia spoke up, her gaze settling on Ashira.

The Renamon straightened under that look, ears twitching once, but her expression stayed steady. Maximus had felt small beneath Artemeia’s scrutiny—he suspected the same force pressed against Ashira now. If so, she hid it well.

“Ashira,” Artemeia began. “I know of you. You led the defense of the dormitory last night—took command, organized the students, and held against the spider horde at no small risk to yourself. Before all else, I commend such initiative. You even achieved Digivolution… though I do not see it now.”

“I’ve acquired the skill of Echo Devolution,” Ashira clarified evenly. “I can shift between this form and my Champion form at will, depending on the situation and what’s required. I’ve chosen this form to be my standard.”

Artemeia’s brow arched, intrigue flickering in her eyes. “I see. Very well.” She tilted her head slightly. “Then tell me—did you come here only to show support for your friends?”

Ashira’s answer was firm. “No. I came with Maximus, yes—but I am here of my own accord.” She hesitated only a heartbeat before continuing. “You remember my brother, don’t you?”

Artemeia nodded curtly. “I do. Master Nagata. A fine teacher, and a powerful wizard.”

Ashira’s eyes hardened. “And ever since he left, I’ve been held up as his successor. Everything I do, people credit to him—as if I’m just carrying his torch. I resent that. If I’m going to move mountains, it won’t be because he showed me where to dig.”

Artemeia’s intrigue cooled into a frown. “So, you stand here not to uphold his legacy, but to escape it. You wish to be known for your own path, not simply walking in his footsteps.”

Ashira didn’t flinch. “That’s right.”

Artemeia’s frown deepened. “Be careful, Ashira. Pride can blind as surely as despair. If you come to the Knights only to prove you are not your brother, then you may find yourself driven by bitterness rather than purpose. That path burns out quickly, and it can burn those around you, too.”

Ashira did not waiver. “I am not chasing pride,” she said. “I’m tired of being measured using someone else’s yardstick. I want my victories to not be because of my brother’s teachings, but because of my efforts. My mistakes, not blamed on things Nagata missed, but on my own folly. My story is to be my own. If the Knights will give me that chance, then I will take it.”

The hall fell quiet for a moment, firelight casting long shadows across the room. Maximus dared a look at Artemeia, but her expression was an unreadable mask.

Aslanor, however, let out a low growl before he spoke. “You lie to yourself, Ashira,” he said.

Her gaze snapped to him, glowering. “What?”

“You claim you are not chasing pride, yet everything you just said is the very definition of doing so,” he stated. “You seek pleasure or satisfaction for your achievements, and not someone else’s. While that is not a disqualification for joining us, your unwillingness to acknowledge that fact makes me hesitant to counsel Artemeia to accept you.”

Ashira’s ears pinned back, her voice sharp. “And what’s wrong with wanting my own victories? My own name?”

“Nothing,” Aslanor rumbled, his sharp, blue eyes fixed on her. “But call it what it is, Ashira, and recognize it for what it is. Otherwise, it will rule you, and will impede your focus on our mission. First and foremost, our goal is to protect other Digimon from threats like those that took Maximus’ home from him. Everything else is secondary.”

Ashira’s glower faltered. She looked down, the firelight catching the twitch of her tail. For a long breath, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she raised her head again.

“Fine. Then I’ll own it. If I have pride, I’ll wield it. And I’ll prove it doesn’t make me weak.”

“No, Ashira, pride does not make you weak,” Aslanor acknowledge. “But it is a weakness nonetheless. One that your enemies could use against you.”

Artemeia finally spoke, her tone measured. “Aslanor speaks true, Ashira. Pride alone is not disqualifying from our ranks, for without it we would not have the confidence to carry out our mission. However, untempered pride has led even great warriors to ruin. If you would stand with us, you must learn to master it, not let it master you.”

Ashira met her gaze without flinching. “Then teach me. Give me the chance, and I’ll master it,” she said.

Artemeia held her in that scrutinous stare for a long moment. Maximus half-expected her to dismiss Ashira outright. But at last, Artemeia gave a single, firm nod. “Very well. You shall have your chance. But know this—if your pride ever causes you to endanger one of my knights, if you refuse a command because you think you know better, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashira hesitated, then gave a stiff nod. “Yes ma’am,” she replied, her voice flat. Whether it was discipline or defiance that drained her tone, Maximus couldn’t tell.

“Then it is done,” said Artemeia. “From this moment, you three stand with the Citadel Knights—two of you as trainees, and Maximus as a full member.”

Ashira’s ears flicked back. “Wait—why him? I fought just as hard, I—”

“Her decision is final, Ashira,” Aslanor cut in, his voice edged with authority. The Renamon fell silent at once, her jaw tight but words swallowed.

“Use tonight to acclimate yourselves to your new accommodations,” Artemeia bade. “Currently, all members bunk on the top floor, but the level below also has bedrooms. Choose which one you want, inform one of the attendants wandering the halls, and it will be furnished to your liking.”

With a final sweep of her hand, she added, “All of you, dismissed.” Turning back to the fire, she and Aslanor fell into hushed conversation as Maximus and Rilo started for the door.

Ashira, however, spun sharply on her heel, striding past them with clipped steps. Maximus didn’t speak until they were through the doors and he had closed them behind.

“Ashira? What’s—”

“Don’t,” she snapped without slowing. “Not in the mood to talk right now.”

“Well, tough,” Maximus growled, his tone carrying more bite than he’d intended. It made her stop mid-step. “You came here with me. You enlisted, same as I did. Nobody forced you. So, what are you so ticked off about this time?”

For a long moment she stood there, several paces up the corridor. When she finally turned, her eyes betrayed something raw—hurt, familiar, the same wound he’d glimpsed when she spoke of her brother.

“Nothing,” she said at last, her voice tight. “Just… wondering if I didn’t make a mistake.”

She turned away again, but her steps were less aggressive now, her shoulders slumped as if the fire had drained out of her. Maximus and Rilo exchanged a look, the Guilmon’s wide eyes flicking innocently between her and the Flamedramon.

“Is she… okay?” Rilo whispered.

Maximus exhaled through his nose, gaze lingering on Ashira’s retreating back. ‘She’s feeling overshadowed again…’ But aloud he said, steady, “She’ll be fine. Just tension. Nothing else.”

He gave Rilo a reassuring smile. “Come on; let’s go find our rooms,” he said.

“Okay,” Rilo replied, nodding back before falling into step with Maximus, making their way up the corridor the way Ashira had gone.

Finding the stairs, Maximus and Rilo made their way up to the second-last floor. Upon their arrival, Maximus caught a glimpse of a door closing abruptly, and guessed Ashira had picked out her room, before leading the way past the door to head to the next ones.

The first thing he noticed about these particular doors was how big they were… Each of them was at least seven feet tall – much higher than he thought practical. He thought back to Artemeia and Aslanor – both of them certainly tall, but not this much.

‘Must be planning ahead for Digimon who get very big,’ he thought.

Pushing the door open – with some effort, he stepped inside and looked around the room. The furnishings were minimal, in preparation for the occupant’s preferences; a bed with a side table, and an armoire. It was quadruple the size of the room he had stayed in at the dormitories before, with no windows, but a second door.

Curious, Maximus walked over to the door and opened it, stepping out onto a balcony. The view was enough to take his breath away, able to see the entire Citadel from where he stood, from the eastern gate leading to the valley, to the western cliffs overlooking the plains, and the faint silhouettes of the Grand Chapel and the Observatory.

Looking down, he saw the dormitory and training fields. He could see a few Digimon moving around, but from this distance they were too small for him to identify.

Rilo popped up next to him, resting his claws on the railing and peering over. “Wow,” he said. “What a view!”

“Looks like I got a lucky pick,” said Maximus, noticing the absence of a balcony on either of the adjacent rooms.

“I’ll say! I bet you Ashira’s wishing she didn’t just take the first room she found, huh?” he said.

Stepping back from the railing, Maximus returned to the room to take it in again, his mind already coming up with ideas of what furnishings to ask for – perhaps a rack or a mannequin for his armour, tools to clean and maintain it. A desk, perhaps… maybe he’d start keeping a diary.

Not much else came to mind, though… like most non-humanoid Digimon, he didn’t wear clothes, so a dresser – even the armoire already in the room seemed superfluous. Perhaps that could be where he kept his armour, though that still left him with the task of furnishing the rest of the room…

‘Stuff to worry about later, I suppose,’ he thought, taking that opportunity to rake off his gauntlets and helmet, leaving them on the bed. “You taking the next room, Rilo?”

“Yeah,” the Guilmon replied. “Though… I dunno what I’m going to put in it.”

Maximus chuckled. “Yeah, thinking the same thing,” he said. “These may be bigger rooms than we really need.” He rubbed his chin as he considered. “Maybe… a bookshelf?”

“I… can’t read,” Rilo admitted, ashamed.

“You can’t re-” Maximus ed, before looking at Rilo incredulously. “No one taught you how to read?”

“I was in the wilderness at first, after I left the Village of Beginnings,” Rilo replied, mentioning the origin point of all Digimon on the Folder Continent – essentially the ‘birthplace’ of Digimon. “I was still a Gigimon then when I left, since there isn’t a Guilmon community on this continent. But I Digivolved a few months after that, and wandered until I found this small farming village, south of here.”

“I worked there for years,” he said, “pulling their plough, helping with hunting, and I made a friends with everyone there. But, I think I outgrew life there; I wanted to see more. So, I said goodbye to everyone, boarded a Locomon train and came here to enroll in their academy program.”

“How long have you been here?”

“One, maybe two years?” Rilo replied, shrugging. “I’ve kind of lost track.”

“And no one here taught you how to read?” Maximus asked. “What kind of ‘school’ are they running down there?”

“I’m sure you saw for yourself, Max, it’s mostly combat training,” Rilo replied. “The school here is to prepare Digimon for living on their own in the world; most of them come from the Village of Beginnings directly, or from one of the mixed municipalities like Wheaton. Most Digimon go to communities built on their respective species, like the Vee Clan village, but in my case there aren’t any on this continent.”

“But what about you?” Maximus asked. “You said you lived in a village for a while – does that mean you intend to go back there, to be its protector?”

Rilo shook his head. “Nope! I’d rather stay here, really,” he said. “I toyed with the idea of joining the Citadel’s Guard once I was ready; Gladimon are all Vaccine-types, so Data-types can be a problem for them. But Data-types are weak to Virus-types like me, so I thought I could be their secret weapon.”

He chuckled. “But, seems I’m going a step further by enlisting with the Citadel Knights,” he said. “If I can do this, and I know I can, I’ll be everybody’s secret weapon.”

The way Rilo talked, having such innocent aspirations motivated only by being helpful to others, brought a question to Maximus’ mind – something he hadn’t thought about until now.

“Rilo… how old are you?” he asked.

“Sixteen,” Rilo replied.

‘Nearly a decade younger than me,’ thought Maximus.

He and Rilo had more in common than he had ever thought, sharing humble beginnings. Could that be why Rilo was so attached to him – some kind of sense of kinship?

Deciding now was a good time to ask, he said, “Rilo, ever since I came here you seem to… really want to spend a lot of time with me,” he said. “I mean, I do like your company – don’t get me wrong, but surely you have other friends in the Citadel. So… why me?”

At that, Rilo’s face grew serious, looking at Maximus with less of his usual ‘puppy love’ look, and more… sympathetic. “Well… you did save my life the first night we met – you and Ashira,” he said. “But since then, well… I’ve come to know more about you from those bad nights you have.”

Maximus felt a chill run up his back. ‘My dreams…’ he thought, understanding immediately. “I… talk in my sleep?”

Rilo nodded. “I heard you… calling out for your brother, Maverick, from your dreams. I sometimes could even hear you crying when the dreams were too much. I… I didn’t want to say anything – I didn’t want it to sound like I was eavesdropping on you, but through the wall I could hear it. You were just… so sad. So lonely.”

His earfins lowered as he continued. “It… hurt, to hear it… I wanted to help, I just didn’t know how. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like, to lose everyone you know – everyone you care about… but you don’t have to face it by yourself. That’s why I wanted to be there – to maybe… help fill the void.”

The dorkish smile returned, but the sadness in his eyes remained. “I… did always want a brother of my own.”

Whatever Rilo’s intentions in saying that, Maximus felt a knot forming in his stomach. He took a tentative step back from Rilo – an action which the Guilmon repeated, suddenly looking at Maximus worriedly, probably thinking he had offended him.

Maximus felt a stinging sensation in his heart, memories of Maverick flooding through his mind, and then shifting to his vision when he had taken up the Mantle of Love and his transformation into Sethmon, how he had endangered everyone – even Rilo, during the rampage that form had brought on…

“I… I’m sorry, Rilo,” he said, “but… you’re better off with someone else.”

Seeing the hurt on Rilo’s face made Maximus regret the words, the weight of guilt settling on Maximus’ shoulders… but he didn’t take the words back. He meant them…

“Okay,” Rilo said sadly. “I… better go get settled in my room. See you at dinner?”

“Sure,” Maximus replied, unable to stop himself from frowning apologetically at Rilo.

Whether or not Rilo recognized the look, he didn’t say. He left the room without another word, disappearing around the corner and leaving Maximus staring after him for a long, tense silence.

Maximus sat down on the edge of his bed, hearing the springs creaking as his weight settled onto it. He let out a sigh, resting his head in his hands with remorse at the idea he might’ve broken Rilo’s heart…

‘Stop comparing yourself to a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse,’ he recalled Thalassa’s words to him, earlier that day.

But he pushed that thought aside. That wasn’t the reason, he told himself… his anger, he could control now – he was on his way to doing so. But filling that void left by the loss of Maverick… letting someone else into his life like that - especially when Talbot was still out there somewhere…

‘I can’t go through that again…’ he said, taking his hands away from his head and letting his arms lay across his lap, engulfed by the silence of the room…

~~~~~

“Talbot,” came the growling voice of one of the Loogarmon alphas. “You have a visitor.”

Talbot noisily bit into the leg of meat, shredding it with his teeth before tearing it away from the bone, chewing as he turned to look at the Loogarmon. “Who?” he asked through a mouthful of meat.

“He said his name’s Lucien…”

Talbot growled lowly, then turned away from the Loogarmon. “How the hell did he even find me…?” he wondered aloud, shaking his head. “Fine. Send him up. I’ll deal with him.”

He settled back on the couch as he waited, tearing into his dinner ravenously. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Barghest – one of his two Sangloupmon packmates, making his way toward the door. At that, he sat up, watching him.

“Hey Barghest… where’s your buddy?” he asked, not recalling any time he had ever seen the two apart. Come to think of it… he hadn’t seen Basker for days now.

Barghest, though, did not answer him. Growling, Talbot shot to his feet, rounding on the vampiric hound. “Hey! I’m talking to you, fangs! Where’s Basker?”

Suddenly, the double doors leading to the trophy room swung open, revealing a tall, lithe figure wrapped in a cloak with frayed ends on the other side. Talbot stiffened as Lucien made his appearance, looking first at him, and then at Barghest who ignored the Black WereGarurumon, and stepped out standing behind the Vamdemon outside.

“Lest you forget, Talbot,” Lucien said coldly, “Barghest and Basker might be running with your pack, but they come from my circle. You would do well to remember who their true master is, as they do.”

‘Well that answers my question,’ Talbot thought as he snorted. “What do you want, Lucien?” he demanded.

Ignoring the question, though, Lucien looked around the room, taking in the overturned bookshelf, ruined portrait of the previous owner, the dirty couch and carpet tracked with mud. His face twisted in disgust at the sight.

“Do you take any pride in your surroundings whatsoever?” he asked. “Look at this place. It is appalling.”

“Not my house, not my problem,” Talbot returned. “I only came here because it’s getting cold outside and there’s food.” He used a claw to pick a piece of meat from his teeth. “Was food.”

Against, Lucien eyed him with disgust. “Every time we meet, I feel like I’m talking to an uncivilized animal,” he said, not even trying to hide the words.

“What do you want, then?” Talbot repeated his earlier question. “If I’m such an affront to your ‘prim and proper’ nonsense, why are you here?”

“I am here because you,” he revealed one of his hands, pointing at him, “have been making far too much noise as of late, Talbot. Your raids have attracted far too much attention and the Cabal is growing wary of your actions.”

Talbot scoffed. “Nobody has ever survived my raids. As far as any of that livestock out there is concerned, it could be any other bandit causing trouble. How could they be-”

“The Vee Clan village, Talbot," Lucien interrupted him. “One of them survived, and has spoken of you by name, passing it along to curious ears_.”_

Talbot froze, looking at Lucien as though the vampiric Digimon had grown another head. “What’re you talking about?” he demanded. “No one escaped that night – my pack was all over that village! There were no survivors!”

“Except for one,” Lucien returned. “A single Veemon escaped and took refuge at the Holy Citadel. Their little host of vigilantes, the Citadel Knights, are on the move. They are hunting you.”

“Back up a moment,” Talbot cut in. “How do you even know this in the first place? If you’re just wasting my time with rumours-”

“Do you think it coincidental that Basker has been absent for the last few days?” Lucien asked. “I sent him to the Citadel when my followers caught rumours about the Citadel Knights seeking you out, and I sought to figure out how. He has since learned there is a Veemon there – one who arrived shortly before he did, and word is that he is a survivor of that attack.”

“How did one of your bloodhounds get inside the Citadel?” Talbot demanded.

Lucien smirked. “I have my ways,” he replied. “The point remains, though, Talbot… you slipped. And now, you have compromised everything we are trying to achieve.”

“If Basker’s in the Citadel, why not send him to silence that Veemon, then?” Talbot demanded. “Surely it’s within his abilities to take out one little Rookie.”

That question seemed to cause Lucien to lose his patience. He bared his fangs, throwing out his arms and causing his cape to fly behind him. “You impossible fool! It is already too late for that; he has already told them about you! Killing him now would only make the Citadel Knights even more determined – especially since he has joined them!”

Talbot’s eyes widened. “He’s a knight now?” he asked.

“Yes. And more than motivated to join their hunt for you, I’m sure,” Lucien stated. “Draconian Digimon tend to be particularly vengeful when they have been wronged, and I know vengeance to be a powerful motivator.”

Talbot growled, thinking back to that night. How could it be possible? How could one of the inhabitants of that backwater logger’s town have survived? His packmates had been everywhere, the town surrounded! No one could have gotten out…

“It is now the decision of the Cabal,” began Lucien, “that you must be reined in, Talbot, before your foolishness causes further damage to our plans.”

The werewolf Digimon turned upon the vampire again, growling deeply. “What did you just say?” he demanded, his amber eyes blazing with his anger.

“You heard me quite well,” Lucien returned, crossing his arms. “Your actions, left unchecked, will ruin everything; if the Citadel Knights are hunting you then it will only be a matter of time before they trace your origins back to the Bloom. It is already difficult enough keeping the angels of the Tribunal from finding us – if their lackeys in the knights join the hunt it will only be a matter of time before we’re found.”

“Then kill the angels, you idiot! You talk so much about power, yet you’re afraid of a few holy warriors?”

“Again, you prove yourself a short-sighted fool,” Lucien snarled. “The two they have hunting for us are Mega Digimon. We do not have the power to stop two of them at this time; that is why we have been operating in secret.”

“All the more reason I need to keep doing what I have been doing!” Talbot retorted. “If I can become a Mega Digimon myself, then I’ll crush those angels as easily as I crushed the entire Vee Clan!”

At that, Lucien barked out a laugh. “You are not even close to achieving the power you need to ascend to Mega level,” he said, pointing at Talbot’s chest – at ugly, burn-mark scar that was permanently seared into his flesh. “or was it not a Veedramon – a Champion level Digimon, already weaker than you are, who did that to you?”

That barb had the desired effect. Talbot’s eyes flared, and he elicited a feral snarl before he lunged at Lucian, swiping his claws at him. Lucien leaned back, avoiding the swipe; Talbot followed it up with a punch with his spiked knuckles. This time, Lucien caught his fist with his hand – a comically smaller hand with strength that defied its size, stopping the punch dead in its tracks.

Talbot, surprised by Lucien’s strength, hesitated. That pause proved costly, as Lucien moved so sharply that his body became a blur of motion, striking the werewolf Digimon with an uppercut that sent him hurtling into the ceiling, smashing into the rafters before hitting the floor again.

Talbot groaned in pain, trying to stand again, until Lucien’s foot came down, stomping on his back and pushing him back down. “Down, dog,” he growled.

“You filthy, blood-sucking-!” Talbot growled, defiantly trying to push himself up only for Lucien to stomp on him again.

“I said. Down,” the vampiric Digimon snarled, pushing Talbot so hard he feared that he might be pushed through the floor.

Talbot considered trying to resist again, but deep down he knew it was futile… slowly, he relaxed his limbs and stopped trying to push himself up, at which point Lucien stopped pushing, and Talbot could practically hear his smile as he spoke.

“Good dog,” he said, cooly. “Now, listen and listen well, Talbot. Rein in your pack, and hide for the time being until the Cabal summons you. No more raids – none, until we have finished our work at the Bloom.”

Talbot turned his head to look over his shoulder, glaring up at the Vamdemon. “And how long is that going to take?” he demanded, “Do you have any idea how restless my pack is going to become if we stop now? I’ll have desertions before the end of the week!”

“Keeping your pack in line is your problem,” Lucien stated. “Do whatever you have to, but for now, keep a low profile.”

Talbot, feeling the need for one last act of defiance, growled at Lucien, and asked, “And what happens if I don’t keep a low profile?”

Lucien’s eyes flared, his smile disappearing as he stared harder down at Talbot. “Then the next time we meet,” he said, “it shall be me feeding upon your data…”

With one final stamp of Lucien’s foot, Talbot was one again crushed into the floor, dazing him, before the weight disappeared from his back. “By the way. I’m taking Barghest with me. His days with you are done, and Basker will be my ears inside the Citadel from now on…”

Talbot pushed himself up and looked at Lucien. “How did you even get Basker into the Citadel in the first place, and how has nobody found him?”

“Now that, my friend, is my secret,” Lucien returned evasively, not looking back at him.

“Can you at least tell me who that Veemon that got past me was? Did Basker get his name?”

“No. Nor would it be relevant even if I did, because you are not going after him.” Lucien did look over his shoulder at him this time, glaring. “You stay far away from the Citadel, and you stay hidden until the Citadel Knights find something else to be concerned about. When that time comes, we will come for you.”

With that, Lucien – with Barghest walking at his side, vanished into the hallway, leaving Talbot glaring after him. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles cracked and with a snarl he turned and punched the wall, leaving a deep impression in the wood.

“My hunt…” he growled, gripping the desk below, his claws cutting into the wood. “Ruined…”

He looked at the wall he had punched, a deep growl emanating from his throat. Lucien had withheld the Veemon’s name on purpose, knowing Talbot would seek to even the score – especially now that the Veemon’s survival required him and his entire pack to go underground… that was an offense the pack would expect him to see punished.

“Somehow… I’ll get you…” he said. “By the time I’m done, you’ll wish I had killed you that night.”

~~~~~

Note from the author:

First, Disclaimers; there is no canonical evidence of Digimon reverting forms aside from those with Human partners in the shows or games – not counting when they’re reformatted after being killed - so Echo (D)Evolution is exclusive to this fanfiction series as a learnable skill. The ability to change forms with Slide Evolution (source, Digimon Frontiers) must be a form they’ve used before and limited to the same level as the one they’re in. So, Maximus cannot use Slide Evolution to become an ExVeemon again because Armour is a class all its own.

I referred to Lucien as ‘Vamdemon’ and used the Eastern Release versions of his attack names, as I never liked the name ‘Myotismon’, and the source material attack names just sound more fitting to a Vampire Digimon so future appearances of Lucien will have him use those attack names.