[tri OOM] A chance encounter, a witch, and an angry little brother

[angry_friendship_wolf]

“Infected! Infected!”

Yamato’s knee deep in a growled conversation with a town official when the cry rings out, and the Digimon milling about the town square scatter, giving a wide berth to the snarling Digimon being dragged down the road.

It’s a Gorimon, its white fur stained violet by the Infection, its frame flickering and buzzing with static, its eyes blank and empty. Even the Digimon escorting it aren’t getting too close, dragging it along by chains attached to its neck and limbs.

“Gabumon, into the quarantine program,” Yamato mutters. Gabumon gives a short nod, diving into the window as Yamato opens it on his wrist computer.

“Yamato-san!”

Koushiro’s voice. Yamato tilts his head to see the boy running towards him, with Takeru, Mimi, and Miyako just behind him. No Digimon partners in sight -- they must have entered the quarantine program too.

“What’s going on?” Takeru asks warily, drawing up alongside him. “Is that -- …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Yamato sees him go white as a sheet, shoulders trembling just slightly. It makes sense: The others saw and felt their partners succumb to Infection quickly, but Takeru had it happen over weeks. Wordlessly, Yamato curls an arm around his brother’s shoulders, tugging him in close.

“This is awful,” Mimi says, as the restrained Gorimon lets out a sharp bellow, thrashing in his chains. “He must be in so much pain.”

“Yamato-san …” Koushiro murmurs.

“I know,” Yamato says, fixing his eyes on the Gorimon. “This is our chance.”

If this Warudamon really can cure the Infection, they won’t be able to ignore this. That’s probably the whole reason the guards brought this Infected Digimon right into the centre of town anyway, instead of just killing it.

He’s proven right a moment later, when a pink-clad figure enters the town square.

“Warudamon!” Someone yells.

She reminds him of Wizarmon, almost. A bleached-grey rag doll dressed as some kind of witch, with a pink cape flowing behind her and a pointed hat on her head.

The Analyzer Program on his computer opens as soon as he sees her, a display flashing up as it speaks.

“Warudamon.
Perfect-level Virus-attribute Demon Man Digimon.”

“Poor soul,” she murmurs as she reaches the Gorimon. Her voice is high and shrill, but not, Yamato thinks, unkind. When she speaks to the guards, her tone is far more imperious. “Hold him steady. This will hurt greatly.”

Seemingly from thin air, she conjures a chalice of some kind of glowing liquid, holding it up to Gorimon’s lips. Yamato can smell the concoction even from this far away -- it reeks of sulphur, burning copper, and spices thick enough to make his eyes water.

“It’s a tracer,” Koushiro says, squinting, and Yamato knows better to ask how he knows that. “If a crude one.”

“It smells horrible,” Mimi complains, turning her face away.

Warudamon takes advantage of one of Gorimon’s screams to pour the concoction down his throat, then vanishes the chalice as quickly as she summoned it.

“Be calm. This will be over soon,” Warudamon says, taking a step back and raising her hand. “Satan Mund.”

Yamato watches with mounting horror as her hand splits into rows upon rows of sharp teeth, opening up like some kind of flower before clamping down on Gorimon’s face with a noise like nails in wet meat. He sees her arm gulp, as if it’s a throat forcing down a too-large chunk of food, before the purple starts to fade from Gorimon’s fur, turning it white again, the static dimming and fizzling out as he seems to calm down.

“This is grotesque,” Miyako says, sounding nauseated. “But … is it actually working?”

With an unpleasantly wet noise, Warudamon pulls her arm back, the flower-like structure folding in on itself to form a hand once again, and Gorimon blinks at her.

“Holy …” Takeru whispers, eyes widening. “Is he actually cured?”

Yamato can barely believe what he’s seeing either.

“Do you feel well, my friend?” Warudamon asks, settling a hand on Gorimon’s shoulder.

“I -- I hurt everywhere,” Gorimon admits, just a little wryly. “But yes, I feel … I feel like myself.”

“Then my work here is done,” Warudamon says, turning away as the guards slowly and carefully start to undo the chains on Gorimon’s arms.

Yamato needs to know more. They can’t miss this chance.

“Koushiro, Miyako, follow Gorimon and do a full analysis of him, now,” he growls. Koushiro gives a quick nod. “Takeru, Mimi, you’re both with me.”

He beckons them along, stepping forward into the town square, lifting his chin up and projecting his voice to carry. “Warudamon. Wait.”

Warudamon looks visibly surprised, but she does turn towards them, yellow eyes giving the three of them a slow, thoughtful once over.

“Humans? Or -- ah, perhaps not quite,” she says, and the sewn-in smile on her face widens as some, something like recognition seems to pass over her face. “It’s been a very long time.”


---


Warudamon’s laboratory is surprisingly cosy. There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace as soon as they enter, armchairs of comfortable leather packed with cushions, and even tea brewing for them. Since Yamato can’t see anybody to brew the tea or start the fire, he assumes magic is somehow involved.

The broom that sweeps by on its own accord a second later confirms that theory.

“Tea?” Warudamon asks, gesturing to the teapot. “It’s not every day -- or any day, until now -- that the King of Beasts stops by my laboratory.”

Her tone is more teasing than anything else, which isn’t so bad. Yamato will take teasing over reverence any day.

“Don’t … call me that,” Yamato says with a grimace. “I’m Yamato. Yamato Ishida. This is my brother, Takeru Takaishi, and my friend, Mimi Tachikawa.”

“How peculiar,” Warudamon says, almost dismissively. “I fear I shall never get the knack of human names. Not in my old age.”

“The Reboot didn’t affect you, then?” Takeru asks.

“Not at all. You must know that one of that old fool’s sheltered zones is near here. I hid there, and while the Reboot tore the rest of the world up around me, I remained safe,” Warudamon says. “It isn’t the first Reboot I’ve avoided, either. My knowledge is far too important to be lost.”

“How old are you? You don’t look a day over twenty, really!” Mimi chirps.

“Aha, a lady must keep her -- …”

“You were one of the first, right? One of the Digimon who were given life directly, back at the start of the world,” Yamato says flatly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Like Centalmon or Elecmon.”

“You’re no fun,” Warudamon says sulkily. “But yes, I was. And just as Elecmon was given the task of being a babysitter, and Centalmon was tasked with guarding the Temple of the Chosen, I was tasked with being a healer. So that is what I do.”

“And you can cure the Infection?” Takeru asks, his voice suddenly urgent. “Completely?”

Warudamon hesitates at that. Yamato narrows his eyes a fraction as she seems to mull the question over, as if deciding what to say.

“My treatment isn’t perfect, but it ensures that no trace of the Infection is left in the patients’ system,” she says eventually. “They are rendered completely free of it, with no risk of succumbing to it, or others being Infected.”

“A treatment?” Yamato asks. “Not a cure?”

“What’s the difference?” Takeru cuts in, almost angrily. “It doesn’t matter what it’s called, so long as it works, right?”

“It was called a cure on the signs,” Mimi points out.

“Well, it is functionally a cure,” Warudamon says. “I suppose that much is true. I shouldn’t want to bore any of you with the long and turgid scientific details, however, so I should ask you again: Tea?”

No amount of questioning after that seems to work. Every time Yamato finds a way to ask a question, Warudamon finds a way to evade, and so it continues until the sun sets and she shoos them out of her laboratory, imploring them to return tomorrow.


---

“How’d the scan go?” Yamato asks when they get back to their room at the tavern.

Koushiro and Miyako are hunched around Koushiro’s laptop, their faces lit up by the screen. While Miyako looks up to acknowledge Yamato, Koushiro barely seems to react.

“We’ve got all the data, but it’s going to take a while to pick through it, y’know?” Miyako says. “Once we find something, we’ll tell you.”

“I don’t see why you’re so suspicious, aniki,” Takeru says irritably. “This is a good thing. Can’t you just accept that?”

“No,” Yamato replies. “And you wouldn’t either, if this was any other situation.”

Takeru gives a harsh snort at that, crossing over to his bed and flopping down in it without another word, turning away from Yamato.

“Keep analysing the data, and get some rest when you can, okay?” Yamato says to Miyako and Koushiro. Miyako gives him a quick nod, flashing a thumbs up, then returns her attention to the data on screen.

There’s something wrong with Warudamon’s treatment, Yamato knows there is.