Yamato Ishida (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2019-11-15 09:35 pm
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2019-11-15 09:35 pm
[tri OOM] Gennai does Mystery Man things, which are bad
Aw, he looks so innocent when he’s sleeping.
Gennai crouches by Yamato, shifting the shape he’s wearing from Sora’s to Taichi’s, reaching forward to sift his fingers through the boy’s hair. Without the scowling and the gruffness, and the almost regal bearing, he looks like … an eighteen year old kid.
The desire to stamp on the boy’s face until it’s an unrecognisable mess of bone and blood rises up in Gennai like a tidal wave. He has to clench his hands into fists and bite his lip to force it back down.
He hates him. He hates him so much that he feels like he’s going to combust, like all the vitriol and fury stored up inside him is going to split his skin open at the seams and burst out. He wants to wake the boy up, make him watch as a Dark Master rips his brother to shreds, and then the rest of his friends, and see what’s left of his vaunted pride after that.
He brushes his fingers back through Yamato’s hair, drifting over his temple, forcing back the mental image of driving his fingers straight through the sensitive flesh.
But then Yamato stirs in his sleep, and he flinches back so hard he almost trips over his own feet. His breath comes fast, so fast he thinks he’s going to suffocate, and he has to concentrate to calm the rush of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. It takes him several seconds to still his breathing, to calm himself down, and Yamato shows no more signs of waking.
Gennai bites down on a wry laugh, swinging himself unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, hey, Jureimon,” he says, angling his gaze towards the tree Digimon. It doesn’t acknowledge him at all, but that much is to be expected. “Take him to the Tower, with Daisuke Motomiya. Weave for him a pleasant little dream. One he won’t want to wake up from.”
This isn’t just violence, this is revenge, after all. Revenge is a far more complex proposition.
“The boy’s always been his own worst enemy,” Gennai says softly. “We should make good use of that. And while you’re giving him everything his heart desires, good sir, I have another matter to attend to.”
He turns his attention back towards the town, shifting his shape from Taichi’s to Ken’s in a hiss of static. “It’s high time someone else faced up to the consequences of her actions. Inevitability is such an ugly thing.”
---
The town is so unsuspecting, so naively vulnerable.
Gennai walks straight in, wearing Ken’s face, and they just let him. They don’t even seem more than mildly curious when he reaches the town square, rolls out his shoulders, cracks his neck, and spreads his hands.
Infection arcs from his fingers like black wires, crackling with violet lightning, and nobody has time to move away before he skewers them. This isn’t the slow, gentle Infection that robs its victims of their mind over weeks or months -- this is concentrated, harsh, winding its way directly to their Kernels. A dozen Digimon, two dozen, thirty, thirty-two -- they start showing symptoms immediately, their texture graphics shifting and distorting, their movements becoming jerky.
What a terrible outbreak.
If only, if only, there were a doctor in town.
“Oh, Warudamon!” Gennai calls, cupping a hand around his mouth. “I’ve brought you some patients!”
It isn’t Warudamon who hurries out first, but it is the kids -- Koushiro and Miyako from the laboratory first, then Mimi and Takeru from the inn, the Digimon -- including Gabumon, Gennai notes with a wry smile -- behind them. Gennai feels that swell of hatred bubbling up in him again, clawing at his throat, before he shoves it as far down as he can.
Takeru clutches Patamon to his chest, trying to keep him as far away from the screeching, slavering Infected Digimon as possible. Gennai can’t help smirking just a little.
“Where’s Yamato-san?” Koushiro asks Mimi. She looks entirely bewildered by the question.
“I don’t -- …”
“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Gennai says. “That one’s my bad. We had an altercation. A friendly disagreement, if you will.”
Takeru’s expression passes from shock to panic to anger in a second. “What did you do?!”
“I left him in the care of another old friend of his,” Gennai replies airily. “Dear old Jureimon. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s having a whale of a time -- but he won’t be interfering in this little experiment of ours.”
He expects to see fear, but instead Takeru’s expression turns coldly furious, mouth setting into a thin line as his eyes widen and his pupils narrow to nearly pinpricks. Gennai feels a spike of fear deep in his gut, and has to force himself to stay where he is, peeling his lips back into a defiant grin.
“If you or any of your puppets hurt my brother,” Takeru says, very calmly and very coldly, “I’ll kill you myself.”
The boy really is his brother’s brother.
“I completely believe you,” Gennai says. He flicks a hand at the Infected Digimon, and they start surging forward, a stampede that will flatten every building they come across.
Predictably enough, the kids’ digivices are in their hands immediately, their Digimon leaping forward.
“Tentomon, evolution! Kabuterimon!”
“Palmon, evolution! Togemon!”
“Hawkmon, armor evolution! Piercing Sincerity, Shurimon!”
A spray of needles and shuriken, and a blast of lightning, and the Infected Digimon are forced back for a few seconds, skidding across the ground.
“Koushiro-senpai, what do we do?” Miyako asks, glancing over at him. Gennai sees Koushiro’s eyes widen, a momentary flicker of anxiety across his features. “If Yamato-san isn’t here, you’re the ranking Chosen, right?”
“R-right,” Koushiro says. “We -- Yamato-san would order us to lure them out of the town to a safe area and then take them out.”
“What?” Takeru growls, whirling on him. “We don’t need to take them out. Warudamon can cure them, right?”
Miyako grimaces. “Takeru …”
Mimi’s brow furrows. Gennai can’t help but smile at that -- the girl always did know how to read the mood. “You figured out what’s wrong with Warudamon’s cure, didn’t you?”
“She’s …” Koushiro shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Takeru-kun, I know you wanted it to be a miracle cure, but it’s not. Warudamon is taking the Infection into herself -- and she’s already taken on more than she can handle. If she takes any more, she’ll …”
“If she takes any more she’ll what?!” Takeru demands.
The Infected Digimon surge forward again, and another wave of attacks wards them back. Kabuterimon swoops around, raking lightning across the ground behind them, trying to corral them onto the road out of town.
“If she takes any more, she won’t be able to suppress it any more,” Gennai says gleefully. The look of pain that crosses Takeru’s face is a delight. “If she’s lucky, she’ll die. If she’s unlucky, she’ll mutate into something truly, truly horrible. Either way, no more miracle cure.”
Takeru grips Patamon closer to him. Gennai can see he’s starting to tremble now. He’s so close to breaking apart -- maybe Gennai won’t need the boy’s brother after all.
“That’s a lie,” Takeru says. “You’re lying just like you always do.”
“Believe me, I’m not. She even asked your dear, sweet brother to put her out of her misery,” he continues. “He agreed with barely an argu -- …”
“Enough,” Gabumon snarls, lunging for him.
Gennai snaps his fingers. “No.”
A pillar of red light crackles down from the heavens, and Devimon -- well, Gennai’s obedient puppet of him, at least, Apocalymon’s forces are so much more bearable when they’re dancing on strings -- bursts forth from it, one sinewy arm slapping Gabumon away. The little Digimon practically bounces as he hits the ground.
Takeru is shaking now, eyes wide and staring at Devimon, because he never was good at coping with Devimon, was he? Seeing the Digimon that must have haunted his nightmares for so many years looming over him, the boy can’t seem to even speak, just gaping and trembling.
“Takeru?” Patamon asks, straining against his arms.
Takeru doesn’t reply, just shaking his head. Mimi takes him by the shoulders, trying to tug him in for a hug, but he shoves her away, balling his hands into fists so hard that Gennai’s sure he’s going to break the skin and start bleeding.
“Koushiro-senpai?” Miyako asks.
Koushiro shakes his head. “The plan hasn’t changed. Warudamon can’t cure all of them, we have to -- …”
“The plan really has changed,” Gennai says. “Devimon!”
Devimon responds to his command immediately, stretching out one hand and emitting a beam of darkness, sweeping it about in an arc. Kabuterimon goes flying first, then Togemon, then Shurimon, all of them crashing through buildings on their way back.
Devimon settles behind Gennai, hand still raised in case he needs to fire off another blast.
“Koushiro-kun!” Mimi yells. “We need to think of something else, or -- …”
“It is quite all right.”
Ah. Yes. There’s the one Gennai has been waiting to see.
How dignified Warudamon looks, as she strides out of her laboratory, robes trailing through the snow, head held high. Gennai actually thinks he admires that: Such defiance in the face of her own imminent demise. Or worse.
She tips her hat, circling one foot behind her as she bows low. “Good day to you, old man.”
He gives a chuckle, pressing his fingers to his collarbone as he bows equally low. “And to you, doctor. Shall we see how many of your patients you can cure before your own body gives out? Or would you rather let them die?”
“This is rather inelegant for you,” Warudamon says, straightening up. “As schemes go, it’s hardly your most intricate.”
“Is it true?” Takeru manages to choke out. “There was never … I need you. I need you to make sure Patamon doesn’t get Infected again, I can’t … I can’t do it all again, I can’t lose him, you were supposed to -- …”
Warudamon turns a slight smile on him. “I know. I wasn’t completely honest with you, was I? This cure was never going to last,” she says. “Sometimes all you can do is the best you can for as long as you can.”
Those will do for last words. Gennai gives another flick of his hand, and the Infected Digimon charge again, bearing down on Warudamon.
She pushes off the ground, spreading her arms as she rises into the air. “Satan Mund!”
Her claws burst into masses of fanged tentacles, snapping out like whips, tightening their jaws on each Infected Digimon and holding them all steady. Gennai sees the Infection being torn free, gulped down those tentacles and into Warudamon, and their symptoms slowly fade, purple and static-ridden textures turning back to their normal shades, the mad light in their eyes fading to leave them blinking and awake.
Slowly, the tentacles draw back, retracting back into Warudamon’s body.
“Well, what do you know,” Gennai says, as Warudamon droops and slumps, static flickering across her textures, purple lightning crackling around her. “You really did cure them. And now … five, four, three, two, one …”
Warudamon’s body suddenly blazes with violet fire, her mouths -- every one of them, practically covering her whole body -- opening in a cacophony of screams. She thrashes about, clawing at her arms and back, hunching in on herself, and Gennai can see her starting to lose her shape, her form decaying and melting around her kernel.
“Warudamon!” Mimi cries, starting forward towards her. Miyako is in her path in a flash, keeping her back.
Koushiro shuts his eyes, looking away. Takeru chokes back a sob.
Gennai grins. Which one is it going to be, death or change?
“Warudamon, ultimate evolution,” Warudamon rasps, her voice entirely not her own as the Infection overwhelms her, takes shape, and speaks through her. Her body hatches like a chrysalis, releasing something humanoid, robed in black and jewel shades, hoisted up by fluttering butterfly wings. “X-Lilithmon.”
Gennai has to laugh. It’s a shrill, hysterical laugh, and not for the first time a part of his mind reminds him that there’s something wrong, that he’s not meant to be like this.
“Good! Good, good!” He laughs, raising his hands. “Now kill them. Kill them all, starting with the smallest child.”
Gennai crouches by Yamato, shifting the shape he’s wearing from Sora’s to Taichi’s, reaching forward to sift his fingers through the boy’s hair. Without the scowling and the gruffness, and the almost regal bearing, he looks like … an eighteen year old kid.
The desire to stamp on the boy’s face until it’s an unrecognisable mess of bone and blood rises up in Gennai like a tidal wave. He has to clench his hands into fists and bite his lip to force it back down.
He hates him. He hates him so much that he feels like he’s going to combust, like all the vitriol and fury stored up inside him is going to split his skin open at the seams and burst out. He wants to wake the boy up, make him watch as a Dark Master rips his brother to shreds, and then the rest of his friends, and see what’s left of his vaunted pride after that.
He brushes his fingers back through Yamato’s hair, drifting over his temple, forcing back the mental image of driving his fingers straight through the sensitive flesh.
But then Yamato stirs in his sleep, and he flinches back so hard he almost trips over his own feet. His breath comes fast, so fast he thinks he’s going to suffocate, and he has to concentrate to calm the rush of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. It takes him several seconds to still his breathing, to calm himself down, and Yamato shows no more signs of waking.
Gennai bites down on a wry laugh, swinging himself unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, hey, Jureimon,” he says, angling his gaze towards the tree Digimon. It doesn’t acknowledge him at all, but that much is to be expected. “Take him to the Tower, with Daisuke Motomiya. Weave for him a pleasant little dream. One he won’t want to wake up from.”
This isn’t just violence, this is revenge, after all. Revenge is a far more complex proposition.
“The boy’s always been his own worst enemy,” Gennai says softly. “We should make good use of that. And while you’re giving him everything his heart desires, good sir, I have another matter to attend to.”
He turns his attention back towards the town, shifting his shape from Taichi’s to Ken’s in a hiss of static. “It’s high time someone else faced up to the consequences of her actions. Inevitability is such an ugly thing.”
The town is so unsuspecting, so naively vulnerable.
Gennai walks straight in, wearing Ken’s face, and they just let him. They don’t even seem more than mildly curious when he reaches the town square, rolls out his shoulders, cracks his neck, and spreads his hands.
Infection arcs from his fingers like black wires, crackling with violet lightning, and nobody has time to move away before he skewers them. This isn’t the slow, gentle Infection that robs its victims of their mind over weeks or months -- this is concentrated, harsh, winding its way directly to their Kernels. A dozen Digimon, two dozen, thirty, thirty-two -- they start showing symptoms immediately, their texture graphics shifting and distorting, their movements becoming jerky.
What a terrible outbreak.
If only, if only, there were a doctor in town.
“Oh, Warudamon!” Gennai calls, cupping a hand around his mouth. “I’ve brought you some patients!”
It isn’t Warudamon who hurries out first, but it is the kids -- Koushiro and Miyako from the laboratory first, then Mimi and Takeru from the inn, the Digimon -- including Gabumon, Gennai notes with a wry smile -- behind them. Gennai feels that swell of hatred bubbling up in him again, clawing at his throat, before he shoves it as far down as he can.
Takeru clutches Patamon to his chest, trying to keep him as far away from the screeching, slavering Infected Digimon as possible. Gennai can’t help smirking just a little.
“Where’s Yamato-san?” Koushiro asks Mimi. She looks entirely bewildered by the question.
“I don’t -- …”
“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Gennai says. “That one’s my bad. We had an altercation. A friendly disagreement, if you will.”
Takeru’s expression passes from shock to panic to anger in a second. “What did you do?!”
“I left him in the care of another old friend of his,” Gennai replies airily. “Dear old Jureimon. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s having a whale of a time -- but he won’t be interfering in this little experiment of ours.”
He expects to see fear, but instead Takeru’s expression turns coldly furious, mouth setting into a thin line as his eyes widen and his pupils narrow to nearly pinpricks. Gennai feels a spike of fear deep in his gut, and has to force himself to stay where he is, peeling his lips back into a defiant grin.
“If you or any of your puppets hurt my brother,” Takeru says, very calmly and very coldly, “I’ll kill you myself.”
The boy really is his brother’s brother.
“I completely believe you,” Gennai says. He flicks a hand at the Infected Digimon, and they start surging forward, a stampede that will flatten every building they come across.
Predictably enough, the kids’ digivices are in their hands immediately, their Digimon leaping forward.
“Tentomon, evolution! Kabuterimon!”
“Palmon, evolution! Togemon!”
“Hawkmon, armor evolution! Piercing Sincerity, Shurimon!”
A spray of needles and shuriken, and a blast of lightning, and the Infected Digimon are forced back for a few seconds, skidding across the ground.
“Koushiro-senpai, what do we do?” Miyako asks, glancing over at him. Gennai sees Koushiro’s eyes widen, a momentary flicker of anxiety across his features. “If Yamato-san isn’t here, you’re the ranking Chosen, right?”
“R-right,” Koushiro says. “We -- Yamato-san would order us to lure them out of the town to a safe area and then take them out.”
“What?” Takeru growls, whirling on him. “We don’t need to take them out. Warudamon can cure them, right?”
Miyako grimaces. “Takeru …”
Mimi’s brow furrows. Gennai can’t help but smile at that -- the girl always did know how to read the mood. “You figured out what’s wrong with Warudamon’s cure, didn’t you?”
“She’s …” Koushiro shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Takeru-kun, I know you wanted it to be a miracle cure, but it’s not. Warudamon is taking the Infection into herself -- and she’s already taken on more than she can handle. If she takes any more, she’ll …”
“If she takes any more she’ll what?!” Takeru demands.
The Infected Digimon surge forward again, and another wave of attacks wards them back. Kabuterimon swoops around, raking lightning across the ground behind them, trying to corral them onto the road out of town.
“If she takes any more, she won’t be able to suppress it any more,” Gennai says gleefully. The look of pain that crosses Takeru’s face is a delight. “If she’s lucky, she’ll die. If she’s unlucky, she’ll mutate into something truly, truly horrible. Either way, no more miracle cure.”
Takeru grips Patamon closer to him. Gennai can see he’s starting to tremble now. He’s so close to breaking apart -- maybe Gennai won’t need the boy’s brother after all.
“That’s a lie,” Takeru says. “You’re lying just like you always do.”
“Believe me, I’m not. She even asked your dear, sweet brother to put her out of her misery,” he continues. “He agreed with barely an argu -- …”
“Enough,” Gabumon snarls, lunging for him.
Gennai snaps his fingers. “No.”
A pillar of red light crackles down from the heavens, and Devimon -- well, Gennai’s obedient puppet of him, at least, Apocalymon’s forces are so much more bearable when they’re dancing on strings -- bursts forth from it, one sinewy arm slapping Gabumon away. The little Digimon practically bounces as he hits the ground.
Takeru is shaking now, eyes wide and staring at Devimon, because he never was good at coping with Devimon, was he? Seeing the Digimon that must have haunted his nightmares for so many years looming over him, the boy can’t seem to even speak, just gaping and trembling.
“Takeru?” Patamon asks, straining against his arms.
Takeru doesn’t reply, just shaking his head. Mimi takes him by the shoulders, trying to tug him in for a hug, but he shoves her away, balling his hands into fists so hard that Gennai’s sure he’s going to break the skin and start bleeding.
“Koushiro-senpai?” Miyako asks.
Koushiro shakes his head. “The plan hasn’t changed. Warudamon can’t cure all of them, we have to -- …”
“The plan really has changed,” Gennai says. “Devimon!”
Devimon responds to his command immediately, stretching out one hand and emitting a beam of darkness, sweeping it about in an arc. Kabuterimon goes flying first, then Togemon, then Shurimon, all of them crashing through buildings on their way back.
Devimon settles behind Gennai, hand still raised in case he needs to fire off another blast.
“Koushiro-kun!” Mimi yells. “We need to think of something else, or -- …”
“It is quite all right.”
Ah. Yes. There’s the one Gennai has been waiting to see.
How dignified Warudamon looks, as she strides out of her laboratory, robes trailing through the snow, head held high. Gennai actually thinks he admires that: Such defiance in the face of her own imminent demise. Or worse.
She tips her hat, circling one foot behind her as she bows low. “Good day to you, old man.”
He gives a chuckle, pressing his fingers to his collarbone as he bows equally low. “And to you, doctor. Shall we see how many of your patients you can cure before your own body gives out? Or would you rather let them die?”
“This is rather inelegant for you,” Warudamon says, straightening up. “As schemes go, it’s hardly your most intricate.”
“Is it true?” Takeru manages to choke out. “There was never … I need you. I need you to make sure Patamon doesn’t get Infected again, I can’t … I can’t do it all again, I can’t lose him, you were supposed to -- …”
Warudamon turns a slight smile on him. “I know. I wasn’t completely honest with you, was I? This cure was never going to last,” she says. “Sometimes all you can do is the best you can for as long as you can.”
Those will do for last words. Gennai gives another flick of his hand, and the Infected Digimon charge again, bearing down on Warudamon.
She pushes off the ground, spreading her arms as she rises into the air. “Satan Mund!”
Her claws burst into masses of fanged tentacles, snapping out like whips, tightening their jaws on each Infected Digimon and holding them all steady. Gennai sees the Infection being torn free, gulped down those tentacles and into Warudamon, and their symptoms slowly fade, purple and static-ridden textures turning back to their normal shades, the mad light in their eyes fading to leave them blinking and awake.
Slowly, the tentacles draw back, retracting back into Warudamon’s body.
“Well, what do you know,” Gennai says, as Warudamon droops and slumps, static flickering across her textures, purple lightning crackling around her. “You really did cure them. And now … five, four, three, two, one …”
Warudamon’s body suddenly blazes with violet fire, her mouths -- every one of them, practically covering her whole body -- opening in a cacophony of screams. She thrashes about, clawing at her arms and back, hunching in on herself, and Gennai can see her starting to lose her shape, her form decaying and melting around her kernel.
“Warudamon!” Mimi cries, starting forward towards her. Miyako is in her path in a flash, keeping her back.
Koushiro shuts his eyes, looking away. Takeru chokes back a sob.
Gennai grins. Which one is it going to be, death or change?
“Warudamon, ultimate evolution,” Warudamon rasps, her voice entirely not her own as the Infection overwhelms her, takes shape, and speaks through her. Her body hatches like a chrysalis, releasing something humanoid, robed in black and jewel shades, hoisted up by fluttering butterfly wings. “X-Lilithmon.”
Gennai has to laugh. It’s a shrill, hysterical laugh, and not for the first time a part of his mind reminds him that there’s something wrong, that he’s not meant to be like this.
“Good! Good, good!” He laughs, raising his hands. “Now kill them. Kill them all, starting with the smallest child.”