Yamato Ishida (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2022-04-24 02:42 am
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2022-04-24 02:42 am
[tri OOM] Finishing Up The Fog Problem
That evening, at sunset, the fog settles over the city once again, and skeletal Digimon start appearing.
This time, though, they’re ready. Yamato, Koushiro, and Luminamon settle at the top of Odaiba’s Broadcast Centre before nightfall, getting the small pink Digimon hooked up to the broadcast machinery.
“Fog’s at maximum density,” Koushiro remarks. “But once we do this, we’ll be broadcasting our location to whoever’s after Luminamon. And we don’t know for sure that they’ll fall for the copy. Not to mention that we’ll still have to fight UndeadChimairamon once it appears.”
“We don’t have much other choice,” Yamato replies. To Luminamon, he adds: “You ready? We only get one shot at this.”
Luminamon hesitates, but gives a short nod all the same, one ear twitching – and nearly dragging half the cables they’ve hooked up to her out in the process.
“Okay. It’s go time, then.”
Luminamon sucks in a breath, shuts her eyes, and reaches up towards the halo around her ears, the light growing more intense, turning from yellow to white. “Lumen Flash.”
It’s dazzling. An explosion of light rippling out from Luminamon and, a second later as it travels through the broadcast equipment, from multiple points across the city, expanding until it engulfs the fog entirely. Yamato can hear the fog roaring, a bellowing, guttural sound that makes the entire city shake.
Then, slowly, it starts to gather in front of the broadcast station, coagulating in one spot, then solidifying into a solid shape.
True to its name, UndeadChimairamon isn’t just one Digimon, it’s many. The wings of Velgrmon, the tail of Scorpiomon, the arms of MadLeomon as its front legs, the back legs of SkullBaluchimon as its rear legs, the rotting-wood head of Entmon emerging from the necrotised meat body of RareRaremon, and sat atop that head, the pointed hat of Soulmon. Yamato would almost say it looks ridiculous. It certainly looks mismatched.
“UndeadChimairamon,” the Analyser chirps. “Perfect-level Virus-attribute Undead Digimon.”
“Everyone except Koushiro mobilise,” Yamato says, tapping his earpiece. “We’re taking this thing out.”
***
It doesn’t take long for UndeadChimairamon’s creators to arrive.
The Odaiba Gate splits open above them, and a ball of rock, ringed with glowing code and adorned with a dragon’s face, comes bursting through, making a beeline towards the broadcast centre.
“Ready?” Koushiro asks Luminamon, then taps a key on his keyboard.
Bit by bit, the copy starts to appear. A blank-eyed, glowing facsimile in the shape of Luminamon. A copy of her data, but without a soul or consciousness to drive it.
Down below, UndeadChimairamon stumbles as a fireball hits it, careening backwards, trampling trees and cars as it goes.
“Finish it off,” Yamato calls, flicking a hand, and seven Digimon fling themselves forwards.
“Giga Destroyer.”
“Engetsugeri.”
“Shadow Wing.”
“Flower Cannon.”
“Hammer Spark.”
“Heaven’s Fist.”
“Holy Arrow.”
It barely looks like any attack at all when it strikes, a swirl of energy in rainbow colours, but it tears through UndeadChimairamon, ripping through the head first, then the bones of its legs, then burning through the gelatinous mass of its body. With a harsh flash, it shatters into red cubes of data, drifting up.
And the floating sphere of rock sucks that data up immediately. Atop the broadcast centre, Koushiro sees the copy of Luminamon fade away, draining into a stream of cubes drifting upwards, mingling with UndeadChimairamon’s data as it floats into the sphere.
Then, with a burst of fire from the rings of code around it, it zooms away, retreating back into the Gate, and as the sky closes after it, it’s gone.
Yamato taps his earpiece. “Koushiro, is Luminamon okay?”
“She is.”
“Then we’ll call this one a success, for now. When we get back home, contact our allies in the Digital World. Tell them to keep an eye out for that sphere.”
***
Aboard Cometmon, Gennai watches as two more of the tanks fill up with data.
Five are filled now. MarinChimairamon, Revivemon, and Mephistomon in three, and now UndeadChimairamon and Luminamon – or enough of her data, at least – in two more.
“Five of eight,” he remarks. “Not bad progress.”
“Six of eight,” one of the Vademon replies. “Begin data collection of FloralChimairamon.”
As a central hologram pops up, he sees the same jungle he saw before, the mission to the Digital World that Daisuke’s team had been dispatched on, and the rapidly fading body of some mass of wood, flowers, and vines. And slowly, bit by bit, a sixth tank fills up with a screaming, writhing ghost of a Digimon.
“We are declaring that two more components remain, and Meicoomon to act as the Core,” one of the Vademon says, “and then we will have everything we need for the resurrection of the perfect Digimon. We are celebrating this.”
This time, though, they’re ready. Yamato, Koushiro, and Luminamon settle at the top of Odaiba’s Broadcast Centre before nightfall, getting the small pink Digimon hooked up to the broadcast machinery.
“Fog’s at maximum density,” Koushiro remarks. “But once we do this, we’ll be broadcasting our location to whoever’s after Luminamon. And we don’t know for sure that they’ll fall for the copy. Not to mention that we’ll still have to fight UndeadChimairamon once it appears.”
“We don’t have much other choice,” Yamato replies. To Luminamon, he adds: “You ready? We only get one shot at this.”
Luminamon hesitates, but gives a short nod all the same, one ear twitching – and nearly dragging half the cables they’ve hooked up to her out in the process.
“Okay. It’s go time, then.”
Luminamon sucks in a breath, shuts her eyes, and reaches up towards the halo around her ears, the light growing more intense, turning from yellow to white. “Lumen Flash.”
It’s dazzling. An explosion of light rippling out from Luminamon and, a second later as it travels through the broadcast equipment, from multiple points across the city, expanding until it engulfs the fog entirely. Yamato can hear the fog roaring, a bellowing, guttural sound that makes the entire city shake.
Then, slowly, it starts to gather in front of the broadcast station, coagulating in one spot, then solidifying into a solid shape.
True to its name, UndeadChimairamon isn’t just one Digimon, it’s many. The wings of Velgrmon, the tail of Scorpiomon, the arms of MadLeomon as its front legs, the back legs of SkullBaluchimon as its rear legs, the rotting-wood head of Entmon emerging from the necrotised meat body of RareRaremon, and sat atop that head, the pointed hat of Soulmon. Yamato would almost say it looks ridiculous. It certainly looks mismatched.
“UndeadChimairamon,” the Analyser chirps. “Perfect-level Virus-attribute Undead Digimon.”
“Everyone except Koushiro mobilise,” Yamato says, tapping his earpiece. “We’re taking this thing out.”
***
It doesn’t take long for UndeadChimairamon’s creators to arrive.
The Odaiba Gate splits open above them, and a ball of rock, ringed with glowing code and adorned with a dragon’s face, comes bursting through, making a beeline towards the broadcast centre.
“Ready?” Koushiro asks Luminamon, then taps a key on his keyboard.
Bit by bit, the copy starts to appear. A blank-eyed, glowing facsimile in the shape of Luminamon. A copy of her data, but without a soul or consciousness to drive it.
Down below, UndeadChimairamon stumbles as a fireball hits it, careening backwards, trampling trees and cars as it goes.
“Finish it off,” Yamato calls, flicking a hand, and seven Digimon fling themselves forwards.
“Giga Destroyer.”
“Engetsugeri.”
“Shadow Wing.”
“Flower Cannon.”
“Hammer Spark.”
“Heaven’s Fist.”
“Holy Arrow.”
It barely looks like any attack at all when it strikes, a swirl of energy in rainbow colours, but it tears through UndeadChimairamon, ripping through the head first, then the bones of its legs, then burning through the gelatinous mass of its body. With a harsh flash, it shatters into red cubes of data, drifting up.
And the floating sphere of rock sucks that data up immediately. Atop the broadcast centre, Koushiro sees the copy of Luminamon fade away, draining into a stream of cubes drifting upwards, mingling with UndeadChimairamon’s data as it floats into the sphere.
Then, with a burst of fire from the rings of code around it, it zooms away, retreating back into the Gate, and as the sky closes after it, it’s gone.
Yamato taps his earpiece. “Koushiro, is Luminamon okay?”
“She is.”
“Then we’ll call this one a success, for now. When we get back home, contact our allies in the Digital World. Tell them to keep an eye out for that sphere.”
***
Aboard Cometmon, Gennai watches as two more of the tanks fill up with data.
Five are filled now. MarinChimairamon, Revivemon, and Mephistomon in three, and now UndeadChimairamon and Luminamon – or enough of her data, at least – in two more.
“Five of eight,” he remarks. “Not bad progress.”
“Six of eight,” one of the Vademon replies. “Begin data collection of FloralChimairamon.”
As a central hologram pops up, he sees the same jungle he saw before, the mission to the Digital World that Daisuke’s team had been dispatched on, and the rapidly fading body of some mass of wood, flowers, and vines. And slowly, bit by bit, a sixth tank fills up with a screaming, writhing ghost of a Digimon.
“We are declaring that two more components remain, and Meicoomon to act as the Core,” one of the Vademon says, “and then we will have everything we need for the resurrection of the perfect Digimon. We are celebrating this.”