FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

What a Horrible Night to Have a Curse

It was late, close to midnight, when Rika heard her window open. Renamon had always had a habit of scouting until very late or all night at times, so Rika expected it to be her. She barely moved her head, just laid there.

"Uhhh. Not so loud Renamon." She said before she drifted back to sleep. The form that entered through the window walked to the base of her bed and cracked a sinister grin. A disoriented shriek was near-instantly muffled by a paw as Rika was pulled from her bed by one foot. Her eyes snapped open as quick as they could and she instantly knew what was wrong. This wasn't Renamon.

Renamon was out enjoying the night air as she scouted the city, following her usual route. She'd return home around 3 am, as per usual. Everything was following the usual pattern until about midnight. Renamon usually kept her mental link to Rika open in the event of an emergency. But there was no call out. In fact, there was nothing. The link shut down, which meant one of two things. Rika was unconscious, and unable to maintain that level of brain activity... or dead. Renamon raced home, phase shifting from rooftop to rooftop. She hoped and _pleaded_that she would get home and nothing would be wrong. She arrived at Rika's window, just after midnight, to find it shut. She thought for a moment it had all been for nothing, but she saw a mark of bright red on the otherwise white wall opposite the window. Caution was quickly thrown to the wind as Renamon ripped the window open and darted inside.

She was greeted with a nice welcome home by the image of Rika, dismembered and hung from the walls, her head hanging from a blade of the ceiling fan causing blood to drip a small circle on the floor. Her limbs were strung up to anything they could hang from by short lengths of twine or intestines, which came from Rika's own stomach, which lay with the rest of her torso, right in the middle of her bed, the ribs cracked apart and the organs removed or pulled out and left on the bed. Her heart was noticeably gone and her lungs were pulled out and laid over the skin flaps which had covered her chest.

Renamon took in all she could before she fainted. Emotions so overloaded her mind that she had no time to scream or shed a single tear before she fell.

In Hell is Where She Waits for Me...

Winds blew gently, the sun shined brightly over the clouds, and a mass of black surrounded a closed casket. Rika was receiving a sendoff no one had foreseen, nor wanted for her. 'A bright future,' the leader of the congregation said, 'Has been silenced. Let us never forget the loss of this girl, Rika Nonaka.' Renamon was hidden high in a tree in the nearby park forest, tears having stained her facial fur for hours now. The crowd sung a short hymn, unusual practice, to be sure, but this was an unusual exception. The event went on for some time, with several family members coming up and saying a few words. Notable appearances included Rika's mother, who was in such a torrent of tears that she was almost entirely unintelligible. Rika's grandmother spoke as well, although she was much more collected than her daughter. She spoke of how if any person could achieve vengeance, it wouldn't truly be worth the trouble, for they might lose themselves in the midst of the rage, or even worse, become enraptured with the power bestowed upon the mind by the theft of another's life. Renamon shook her head, trying to follow the words, but her heart refused to. Revenge was a necessity, that was certain to her, and if she had the chance, she would take it, by any means necessary.

The last person to speak was also the most notable, if only for the spectacle he created. It was Rika's father, and people in the front row could tell how the speech would go by the light scent of alcohol on his breath. He gripped the podium with a hint of hateful anger and leered at Rika's mother. He spoke briefly about the feeling of losing a daughter, how he'd experienced it twice. Rika's mother flinched at the harsh tone of his voice and began to tear up again. He moved on to the idea of revenge, how he would go through with it, if given the chance. How he would make the bastard who robbed him of her suffer, like he wished to do to the last person who'd stolen her. He wanted to make one point clear, he said with an ironic slur in his voice. He was not a monster, no matter what you hear. The piece of shit that killed his daughter was not a monster either. Rather, that person was beyond monstrous, and death was too sweet for them. They deserved to be killed in a fashion worse than the way Rika had died. Entrails ripped from the stomach, innumerable slashes made only to cause pain and make the killer bleed. He wanted to continue, talk about how it would take hours and seem to never end, but the minister and a couple assistants asked him to kindly step down before the police were called. He leered at them, but complied, surprisingly cognizant enough to know where he was, and how he should act, a change in behavior that baffled the crowd.

Renamon cried several times, and felt horrible for her urge to follow through with the atrocities Rika's father had described, despite how horrible and wrong she knew them to be. Renamon clutched to the trunk of the tree she was perched in, looking for comfort from anything willing to give it. She silently cursed the thought of not being able to join her partner, her friend, as she was eternally sent off, but as her thoughts became intense, a short, sharp, shriek of a laugh disrupted her.

"I really wish I could have attended," came a voice from behind her, "My own black dahlia! Oh, I'd cherish the thought." Renamon's gaze shot to the origin of the sound, but nothing was there. "You know what they say about these delicate flowers?" Her vision darted to the new would-be source, but she was again greeted with an empty space. "'A rose must remain with the sun and the rain, or its lovely promise won't come true." As Renamon's vision came to rest on a third spot, she finally saw it. A dark blue Renamon with a black undercoat, and eyes as wide and wild as chaos itself. "So true, wouldn't you say?"

"Who the hell are you!?" Renamon practically screamed at the creature. "What business do you have here?"

"Oh, isn't it so obvious? Really? And I thought you perceptive."

Realization dawned on Renamon. Of course, how could she be so dense? "You killed her?" She half-asked, half-stated. He nodded and cracked a cocky grin, as if to say 'Whatcha gonna do?' "Bastard!" She shrieked, launching at him. He chuckled and blinked away, reappearing behind him.

"Twice you've proven not as perceptive as I'd expected." Another sickening laugh. He found Renamon, at least in action, to be quite the cut up. "May I sing you a song about your little digimon queen? ~Dead and famous~" She rushed him again, and he blinked away. "At last, she's made it!" A second rush, an inevitable blink. "Her mangled face" A third and final rush led him to blink behind her once more, take her by the back of the throat, and force her to the ground. "Haunting shameless."

"I'll kill you." She said, with an inextinguishable rage. "I will, damn it."

"I'm sure you'll try, but we'll see how it ends, hmm?" He chuckled again, a sound Renamon had already grown to hate. "I love a good thriller, be sure to make it fun. Until then though," He blinked away, and then again after each word of the next phrase. "The. Chase. Is. On." And he was gone.

(Break)

Renamon decided to try to raid what few cards she could from Rika's room. That bastard wouldn't be around the real world for long, of that she was certain. He was at too much of a disadvantage here, but she knew he'd also stick around long enough to give her a trail; he was cocky enough to toy with her. She scouted everywhere, looking for him and trying to detect a portal through which to give chase when he fled to the digital world. In the meantime, she questioned his strength. He was faster, by far, and from what she'd felt when he had her down, as strong, if not stronger, than her. A deadly combination when combined with such a lack of restraint toward violence. He could have killed me at any time. I was a damned toy to him. She reached Rika's room late into the night, and silently entered. The room had been professionally cleaned, probably by request of Rika's mother. Nevertheless, Renamon could still smell the rank stench of death permeating every inch of the room. In her mind's eye, she saw when Rika's various parts had been strung up, even when she attempted to shake the thoughts.

She decided to move as quick as she could and took all the cards she could grasp. Without a digivice or tamer, they were useless; here that is. Perhaps, Renamon had thought, There's a way for me to utilize some of these on the digital plane. It was worth a shot, so she took all the weapon cards she could and ignored the ability modify cards. She needed tools. Tools of death. Tools of vengeance. The window was re-opened and she darted through it, into the black night. She leapt to a nearby roof and began reviewing her findings, now free of the horrid memories and terrible smell. These cards, although not the best, would have to be sufficient. One in particular, a large blade, was of favor to her.

She needed sleep. The day had drained her dramatically and she'd never survive a trek to the digital world without resting first. Renamon sat on a fairly level rooftop and gazed upwards, towards the heavens. Digimon, not likely to understand concepts not presented directly to them, much like the engineers who created them, didn't partake much in thoughts of the existential sort. Philosophy, religion, these were foreign concepts. The sovereigns, the "gods" of the digital world existed, to be sure, although they were not gods in the religious sense, but rather just nigh omnipotent beings that ruled the digital plane. Even still, Renamon gazed upon the stars and, for the first and doubtless not the last time, pondered if Rika had gone to what the humans called heaven. Digimon were recycled, a reincarnation of sorts, but humans, despite undergoing a similar cycle, refused to believe that they would just pass on through the chemical, physical elements of which they were composed, rather passing on to a higher plane mentally. Renamon shook her head, nonsense. And yet, was Rika really to be lost forever in the form that she had been? Ennui began to set in as Renamon experienced an internal conflict; would her tamer live on in any way? She wouldn't know, not this night at least.

The darkness overpowered her vision and, though not fatigued, she fell back onto the roof, passing from consciousness quickly. A pair of bright eyes peered at her lying form, watching close as she curled up for warmth and a sense of safety, and, upon knowing her to be sound asleep, the owner drew close to her. A paw ran the length of her form, taking in the feel of her gentle curves. Yes, she would be a great prize, once broken. A light chuckle was made, although the sound was practically inaudible. An address was written on a piece of cardstock, along with a comment, then the card was placed in the crook of her arm. Another chuckle, then the dark Renamon dashed away, leading the way, so to speak.

The card stated a street address and a short phrase in a scrawl of calligraphy. Renamon would wake at the crack of dawn to find this short message, along with a name, although not owned by the dark Renamon, it was sufficient to be borrowed. The dark Renamon was spirited away into the night, seemingly his natural domain, as he blended into the shadows as if he were born and raised in them, which wasn't too far from the truth, to be honest. Renamon awoke at the break of dawn and read the cardstock placed in her elbow. The calligraphy was near perfect and she had no trouble reading it, and though she didn't recognize the name, she immediately knew who it belonged to. She discarded the card and quickly begun again her search for a portal, this time with more frantic purpose than she had had with any other task she ever taken.

Give chase, into binary. - Vermilious