Alright, I finished chapter 2 of that long omake series I'm writing.
Chapter 2
After some yelling and a couple of executions, the remaining few hundred residents submit to Marsmon's rule, and are allowed to resettle in their old home. The walk back home is rather awkward but things run fairly smoothly. Flyers detailing Ryeville's new laws are passed around and posted on buildings., as well as large banners being posted in certain places with those same laws on them.
It's about what one might expect; extremely high taxes in the form of both money and supplies, strict rules of mandatory military service for 50% of the population, censorship laws regarding what kind of media, fictional or otherwise, can be produced and distributed(it mainly just bans anything which paints Marsmon, his empire, his military and so on in a negative light). Those who read the banners and flyers come to realize that life in Ryeville will go on; it will just get a lot harder than before.
"I have to say, it's quite strange of you to show up out of the blue and pull me away to talk like this, Thresh." The two walk side by side though the MetalMamemon needing to take eight strides for each of Thresh's makes it somewhat awkward. "This tells me that something very urgent is happening."
"You're correct, Flint." says the knight. "There's a rebellion brewing in Darude. There have already been a few attacks on transports." The other general scoffs. "So what's the issue? Little rebellion like that, just send out three or four times their estimated number in troops and grind them down, bish bash bosh." Flint replies dismissively.
"This is a special case." Thresh replies. "Supposedly, this new crop of rebels have been preparing some kind of powerful 'secret weapon'. If this is true, it could be a problem. An investigation is needed." The Royal Knight stops walking and places a hand on his chest. "On Lord Marsmon's orders, I, General Thresh, will be assuming command of this front while you lead a team to handle it."
Flint wheels on his fellow general in shock. "I'm being assigned to an investigation? Honestly, aren't I a bit overqualified for all this?"
Thresh holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I, General Thresh, completely agree, but apparently this is a very specific kind of job requiring your abilities. I, General Thresh, wanted to handle it by myself, but should this secret weapon be a real thing it will need to immediately be wiped out with extreme force in order to leave a message etched into the very land to any aspiring future rebels, and my Judecca Prison runs the risk of rendering said land permanently worthless and ruined."
"And I can make big explosions without ruining the land, so that's why I'm being sent?" the small ultimate mutters bitterly. "Tch, being pulled from the front lines and sent out to handle some cleanup job, how humiliating…" Flint grumbles. "Well, I do suppose it'd be a nice change of pace compared to the last couple of months… and it's not like I'd just refuse an order from the boss, of course!" he quickly adds with a bit of nervousness.
"It's not like it's incredibly time-sensitive", the Royal Knight shrugs, nonplussed. "Take all the time you need to prepare." Flint scratches his chin in thought. "Hmm… If we're talking about a team for infiltrating and investigating, I do have some guys in mind…"
It turns out that the destination is not some grand capital city or even a mere town; it's a camp. A very large one to be sure, built to hold a hundred of more soldiers, but a camp nonetheless.
"L-Lord Marsmon!?" "Lord Marsmon is here, everyone get out!" "I can't believe he'd come visit us himself!" with surprising quickness and much commotion, what Kenna assumes to be the entirety of the camp emerges from their various lodgings and assembles before her large companion. As one, they salute him and shout "Hail Marsmon!"
Shockingly, even the injured mon are there in attendance, with bandages and casts and even in one case a missing arm.
The Koemon turns to the panther-man and nervously speaks up after a bit. "Y-you really are a huge deal, huh? To be honest, I assumed you were bragging and exaggerating a bit." She smiles nervously. "Who are you?"
The mega chuckles at her words. "Such casual insolence. You really are amusing." He straightens his back and thumps his chest with a fist. "Well, you heard them! I am the great god Marsmon! I have come to conquer the world with unparalleled strength and bring it into a new era of peace and civilization!" He says this just as much to his men as to her, and they cheer in response.
The panther-man orders the men back to their posts and puts his hand on Kenna's shoulder. "So, now that I've told you what we're all about, would you be willing to join this garrison here? They could provide you with the food and training that you need. And honestly, I'd love to see you again someday, hopefully not too far-off from now."
"Yes, definitely, I will definitely fight for you!" Kenna clumsily kneels at the mon's feet and bows her head. "But… why would you ever care so much about me? I just don't get it." Marsmon chuckles to himself. "Honestly, I just like talking to you. And also… you remind me of someone I knew a very long time ago." She gives a rather limp "Ah, I see" in response.
How stupid of him to even ask when the offer's so good. Of course I'll join him. What else would I ever do, live in the wild? No, definitely not. Doing that when you don't have to is just stupid!
Although what the Koemon doesn't admit to herself is that it's also because she's been genuinely won over. Where once she didn't care about much at all, there is now a burning passion and enthusiasm, built up over the course of a single day, such is Marsmon's charisma.
Marsmon turns to leave, but Kenna realizes something and calls out to him one last time. "I don't understand though… why was someone like you just walking around alone in the woods?"
"I don't like staying in one place constantly." He returns casually without turning around. "Besides, if I stayed in one location for too long that place would become a valuable target for my enemies." The god casually waves goodbye as he walks away.
Out in the desert, beaten down by the unforgiving heat and surrounded by sand in all directions, lies a city named Darude. It is this city, taken by Marsmon a little over three months ago, where the intrepid general and several handpicked troops arrive on motorcycles. As one, they pull into an empty lot, park their bikes and dismount.
Darude is a large city, the largest in Marsmon's domain at this time. It has a high population due to being the only major settlement in the area for many miles. This, naturally, makes it a target for a large amount of corruption, crime, and worst of all, rebellion. The task assigned to this group of five is simple; case the city, learn who's who, learn about the rebels, where to find them and what this 'secret weapon' is, and finally, destroy it all.
After checking to make sure no one is watching, Flint begins to speak. "And here we are. As you know, this is the town believed to be holding this so-called 'rebel weapon'. This is an investigation, not an attack, so avoid attracting attention to yourselves or getting into fights besides in self-defense."
"Boss, this ain't our first rodeo, you don't gotta walk us through it." Interjects one of the champions, a Sealsdramon. "We get in, find as much as we can without blowing our cover, get out and await further orders, we know. 's not digicore surgery."
The general points angrily at his subordinate and raises his voice a little. "You shut your damn mouth, Chase! This is an important mission and you'd better not treat it so casually!" The cyborg shrugs in response. "Alright, alright, I understand, it's a very big deal. Sorry."
Flint's eye twitches a little at the bare-minimum apology, but he lets it slide. The MetalMamemon casually points in various directions as he speaks. "Bima, you investigate the wealthy district. Ace, scope out the marketplace. Chase, handle the slums. Bell... search the sewers for underground entrances."
"Aw, come on! Why do I have to do the sewers?" the Flymon in question complains, one wing flicking slightly in annoyance. "You're the best at functioning in the damp environments, and you wouldn't blend in well in the streets in a desert town like this.", Flint replies calmly.
With that settled, the group all go their separate ways, and Flint settles into a bus shelter to go and scope out downtown.
Exhausted and with many fresh bruises, Kenna is brought into a makeshift "classroom" with her fellow rookies and a few champions; the fresh recruits of this garrison.
Fifty miles away, another rookie enters another classroom after a training session of his own. However, this is a classroom of one, entirely for the education of him, the singular student.
However, both of these classes are more or less on the same thing: strategy. Here's what a pincer attack is. Here's how you judge the size of an enemy based on the size of their camp. Here's the most ideal way to attack your enemies' supplies.
And of course, one must not forget the most important lesson of all: the enemy.
"The rebellion is entirely justified. You must not sympathize with the enemy but destroy them. So long as Marsmon's reign continues more and more innocents will fall under his reign of terror and madness. Marsmon may prattle about creating a just world, but his methods are rotten to the core and can only spread more suffering. When it comes to stopping such a thing, any all means are justified."
"The digital world must be saved, and in order to do so all manner of sacrifice is required. In the conquest that is needed for the world to be reborn, many enemies will try to stop us. Some can be brought around after the fact, but in the here and now they must be destroyed. You must not sympathize with them, for they seek to destroy all we have built and all we seek to attain. Most of all, you must hold no love in your hearts for rebels. They selfishly seek to break us from within out of misguided hatred, and must be thoroughly crushed before they become a plague rotting the empire away."
"We are just. History will remember our cause and how we struggled for freedom from tyranny. It will remember you as a great hero."
"We are just. History will remember us as the pioneers who ended the dark ages of barbarism and created a beautiful new world."
On some level, even though it makes people sometimes not take him seriously, Flint is glad to be a MetalMamemon. Being so small by ultimate standards means that he doesn't have to deal with being too big for the world around him. Because of simple demographics, most manufactured items in the digital world are made for beings the size of typical rookies or champions, because those make up the vast majority of its population. Thus, being an ultimate the size of a small champion means that everything is the right size for Flint's hands and body. He never has to worry about fitting into doorways and rooms, or fiddling with devices that his fingers are too big for.
Of course, one thing that always helps calm Flint's nerves is a nice meal and a stiff drink afterwards. Thus, he turns off the side of the road and into a big, fancy-looking restaurant. As a side benefit, if there's someone powerful to talk to, they'll be here, which could serve as the first step to finding the rebels.
He orders himself a plate of pasta, the first of several courses he'll be having at this meal. He may be small, but he is still an ultimate, so while he eats less than other ultimates, he still requires an astounding amount of food for his size.
"Life really has gotten complicated lately, huh?"
"Dutch, honestly, do you really have to make it so dramatic and long winded?" A somewhat bored Coronamon reclining backwards in a steel chair asks. "I'm the only one here; such pomp isn't needed."
"One of these days, Coronamon." A depressingly dull voice drones somewhat slowly. "One of these days you're going to have to learn to not take such things so lightly." At the other end of the table sits a strange mon indeed, a humanoid dramon(?) wearing a grey karate gi with his hands and face tightly wrapped in bandages. No matter how many times Coronamon asks what species his teacher in both martial and academic subjects even is(because the mon is certainly not any one he's ever heard of), he never gets a straight answer.
"Well, you're the teacher I suppose.", Coronamon replies with a breathy, slightly rude tone and a shrug of his shoulders. Dutch sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "…anyway, I know you find these things boring, because everyone does, but hang in there, it's just another half hour and then you get a fourty-five minute break before your next physical training session. Now, this next subject is called…"
The little lion tunes out the boring lecture and thinks about how he'd like to go outside. It would be fun to drive a dune buggy, he thinks. He's never tried one of those before.
Flint is three bites into his meal when he notices something is wrong. He ordered the ink pasta, but that pasta is supposed to be black, not this kind of dark purple.
Is this… no, it couldn't be, right?
Subtly glancing around and pretending to keep eating, the MetalMamemon realizes that the restaurant is oddly quiet. Not deathly silent, but…not the level of conversation he'd expect given his surroundings.
No… no no no this isn't right at all!
Flint immediately gets up from his chair, knocking it over in his rush to get out, and accidentally saving his own life, as a brightly-shining beam of some sort passes through the area where he just was!
"You've gotta be kidding me! They're that well-established!?" The general exclaims in disbelief as he leaps over the side of the bar to get cover. Using the precious ten seconds at most he's been bought, the MetalMamemon shoves his entire hand(that one that's not a gun) down his throat and is soon rewarded with a brief bout of retching followed by throwing up the small amount of poisoned food he'd eaten.
"Die!" a loud, deep voice shouts from above. More out of pure reflex hones by skill and training than conscious thought, Flint aims upwards and fires, obliterating a Dinohumon less than a second before he would have cut the smaller mon in two with his huge sword.
As the dissipating chunks of the assassin's body rain down throughout the restaurant, Flint rushes out of the restaurant, blasts right through the wall and vaults through the resulting hole into an alleyway… only to soon find himself caught in place and tangled up in something he can't see.
It's not a moment before the lines, which the MetalMamemon identifies as thin thin strands of thread sharpened into wires, begin tightening and digging into his body, metal and flesh alike, drawing trickles of data from all over him. Somewhere above and behind him, Flint hears a voice call out. "You should never have come to Darude, you loyalist trash!"
In the nick of time, Flint moves his arm just enough to fire back behind his head with a low-power blast, severing the razor wire and preventing his opponent from cutting him to pieces. Blasting the ground to kick up dust and create a smokescreen, he quickly tears out the remaining bits of wire stuck in him and leaps onto the nearest rooftop.
Upon hearing the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him, the general turns to see a Stingmon rapidly rushing into melee range. He tries to backpedal to maintain the current distance of about ten feet and fire, but finds his leg caught on yet more wire-webs which cut into his flesh and make him trip. "This is unbelievable! Could the city really be this infested!?"
"You'd better believe it!" the insect shouts in response, attempting to stab the general with his wrist-mounted spikes.
Woozy from a small dose of poison. Disoriented from the last ninety seconds of insanity. Beset upon by a no-doubt skilled opponent. None of this matters - Flint is still an ultimate level Digimon, and a damn good one at that.
No way am I gonna die in a shithole town like this! Not ever!
Using the claws on his right hand, the general parries aside the first stab, and then turns his body so that the second merely does into his side rather than anywhere important. Then, the instant it's far enough in, Flint bites down as hard as he can, stopping the spike in its tracks and by extension his opponent's arm.
Finally, before the Stingmon can recover in time, the MetalMamemon stabs his metal claws into the humanoid insect's neck to hold it in place, presses his cannon arm against his chest and fires, blowing the bug away!
Cutting the webbing cutting into his leg free and standing up, Flint takes a moment to realize just how much shit he's in.
I'm in the middle of downtown in the heart of the city, so no matter where I go it'll be at least few miles before I can get out. Furthermore, my team is all spread out. Getting them out of this rebel-infested den safely isn't gonna happen. Forget finding this secret weapon too - I need to cut my losses and get out so I can tell Lord Marsmon how fucked this place is!
His thoughts and priorities in, order, the wounded MetalMamemon slinks into the shadows and begins making his way back to the outskirts of the city.
Suddenly, a very nervous-looking Commandramon bursts into the room and whispers into Dutch's ear. In response, the ultimate turns unusually steely-eyed, stands up and turns back to Coronamon. "We're bringing you to a more secure location."
The rookie scoffs. "What, is this hole in the ground not secret enough, so we're going to another hole in the ground?"
"This isn't up for debate and we're not having an argument about this. You will go to the safe room." Dutch asserts with an unusual amount of fire compared to his usual deadpan tone.
"Are you sure you have it under control?" Coronamon shoots back with a pointed glare. "If not, perhaps it could be a good time for me to gain valuable combat experi-". The robed mon cuts him off by slamming a hand on the table. "Absolutely not! You're not going out there to fight against enemies with unknown capabilities while you're still a rookie! We have it under control!"
The rookie grumbles but complies, allowing himself to be escorted much deeper into the facility.
"So you're next, huh?" Flint turns to protect his wounded side from the new enemy, who remains hidden in the shadows. "And what's your gimmick?" He mocks derisively. In response, he gets a bullet to the head.
"Gah!" The bullet only makes it most of the way through his armored head before bouncing off, but it still hurts like hell. The MetalMamemon throws himself out of the way, only to get grazed and winged by several more precise, accurate shots. The assault of skilled shooting only stops when he fires a quick-draw of his own; a powerful blast aimed not at the enemy but at the short building it stands atop.
The blast and resulting explosion collapses the building and forces the enemy down into the street below, where a streetlight illuminates her form. In that instant, Flint flings himself inside the nearest department store with great speed and ducks behind a counter.
Several shots ring out as the Sistermon fires several times through the window and then ducks out of the way when Flint pops out to return fire.
"Tch! This one's gonna take a while, huh?" the small ultimate muses to no one in particular. "Fine, bring it on!"
Elsewhere in the city, Flint's underlings do a lot worse than he does.
Bell bleeds out from a dozen gunshots inflicted by a Galgomon lurking in the sewers.
Bima falls prey to Dutch's brutal karate.
Ace is burnt to ashes by a Meramon.
Chase, skilled and clever as he is, defeats or escapes from several assassins in a row and finds himself fleeing into the bowels of an abandoned building in the slums with an oddly deep basement…
Several mon shrink away in fear as the heavily damaged MetalMamemon limps and stumbles out of the shadows of a dingy alley. Bruised all over, armor worn down and shattered, covered in dozens of sluggishly bleeding cuts and a couple of bullet wounds, exposed wires from broken machinery throwing small sparks everywhere and with a homemade bandage wrapped around one side of his face beneath his armor to cover his now empty eyesocket(the work of that fucking Sistermon), Flint is truly a sight for sore eyes.
He chuckles darkly. "Gotta say, this is one hell of a town. They sure know how to party." Leaning on a brick wall with his cannon arm, the small mon limps into the lot where the bikes are all parked. He occasionally gets confused by the limited scope of his vision before remembering to swivel his head. "Heh. I wonder if this is how he felt back then." He muses.
He spots his bike, and in this moment it's the most beautiful thing in the world to him. Stylish, powerful, custom-made. His key out of here.
"…Nah, can't risk it." Although it hurts to do so, Flint turns away from his beautiful bike and instead hotwires one not belonging to him or his men. His own bike could be booby trapped, after all.
For some reason, out of all the things that happened to him today, riding out of town on a cheap piece of garbage bike is perhaps the most humiliating of all.
Inside the "safe room" several floors underground, Coronamon drums his fingers on the metal table he sits at, utterly bored. Suddenly, the sounds of a great commotion outside start to build up more and more. Finally, they peak, and the door is blown off its hinges by a tall Sealsdramon. Face contorted into fear and desperation, he spots the rookie and begins limping towards him. The cause of this limp is obvious; his leg is twisted unnaturally.
"You…" the cyborg murmurs. "You're gonna help me get out of here, kid. Just comply and everything will be fine!" He continues inching closer.
The small lion-like mon gets up from where he's sitting and turns to face the much taller mon. "Everything's going to be alright, you say?" The Sealsdramon relaxes slightly at the Coronamon's apparent compliance.
"That's right." Croons the cyborg, stepping behind the little lion and lifting him up under one arm. "I'm not some sicko who hurts people for no reason. Just be my hostage and don't do anything I don't tell you to do and I promise you'll be okay." He inches his hand over to his holster as he speaks, then pulls out a pistol which he aims at the rookie's head.
"You seem like you're in a really bad spot mister. I'm glad I can help you out." The rookie says carefully, voice betraying very little. The sealsdramon creeps out of the doorway and turns to make his way down the corridor. "You can say that again, little guy. You really came in handy though. I'm gonna need to hold you like this until we get out of town and then I'll let you go like I promised, alright?"
After a moment of consideration, the Coronamon replies. "Okay, I trust you." If the cyborg assassin wasn't so panicked and also woozy from a blow to the head he took earlier, he might be suspicious of how overly soothing the Coronamon's words and tone are considering the situation he's in. But because of the aforementioned conditions, he doesn't notice a thing at all.
"Thanks, kid. You're my hero."
And then, the moment those words are spoken, the mood completely changes.
The rookie laughs for a moment. "You know, you're quite stupid, but that's probably the smartest thing you've said today. Petit Prominence." The Coronamon's body bursts into flames, far hotter than what one would expect from a rookie, and the champion flinches back in response, causing him to drop the small rookie and his grip on his pistol to loosen.
Instantly taking advantage of the opening, the rookie twists in midair and lashes out with a blindingly fast kick, knocking the gun out of the Sealsdramon's hand.
"I am a Hero, but definitely not yours!" still wrapped in the flames of his Petit Prominence, the godling tackles the much taller champion back through the doorway. The champ, having now recovered from the shock, counters with a precise elbow strike to the lion's face which forces him back, rolls to his feet, and follows up with a jab which strikes his opponent in the chest and knocks him backwards into the wall behind him.
The Coronamon lands on his feet and moves to block the doorway, while his opponent draws a combat knife from his holster. Neither one takes his eyes off the other.
"Were those really hits from a champion? You're a lot more exhausted than you're letting on, aren't you? You let your guard down, Mr. Assassin." The cat taunts, deadpan. "You shut your mouth, brat!" the assassin in question yells in response, lunging at the rookie with a series of lightning-fast stabs and slashes.
The rookie is driven back by the furious assault, carefully dodging each hit by a small distance. A couple of times he misjudges the distance or isn't quite fast enough, and he takes a few gashes across his shoulders and chest as a result, but it's an impressive display of skill nonetheless. Finally, when the Seaslsdramon overextends himself too far, the Coronamon grabs the wrist of his knife-wielding arm and slams his palm full-force into his elbow from below, warping the metal armor and cracking the bone beneath.
"Gaaaaaahh!" The cyborg roars in pain and responds to the opponent's counter by kicking him in his unguarded chest, sending him sailing across the room once again. This time, the Coronamon takes a bit longer to get up.
"You're the one who's acting tough, not me! As expected of a rookie, you're already getting worn down after three hits! I know how to endure pain and exhaustion from the grueling training and service in the Great Mars Army, can you say the same? You're going to go down first!" The champion switches his knife to his other hand in the middle of his rant. "I wonder if you'll dodge so well this time."
"I suppose you're not wrong. It's true that as I am now I have certain limitations." The rookie gets back to his feet, coolheaded as ever. "Shall we test your theory that I'll go down first?"
With an annoyed shout, the champion kicks the table at Coronamon and charges at him in the same breath, aligning his body with the table so as to hide himself behind it. The smug cat, taking advantage of his light weight, jumps up, lands on the edge of the table mid-flight and prepares to leap off it and get inside his opponent's reach…
Except the enemy isn't behind the table like he ought to be. Rather, he took that brief moment of distraction to get behind Coronamon! "Checkmate! Death Behind!" he yells, lashing out to impale the rookie.
However, now it's the Sealsdramon's turn to be surprised. Even with the fastest possible reflexes, it would be impossible for his opponent to reverse his momentum in time to dodge; that's what this surprise attack was banking on. But the rookie's momentum was never going this way! Indeed, he suspected a move like this and was instead already poised to jump backwards!
Coronamon leaps and flips backwards, the knife missing his head by inches, and kicks his assailant under the chin with both legs at once as hard as he can, causing him to bite his tongue and bashing the back of his head against the wall behind him.
Things now seem to play in slow-motion for the assassin as his body fails to react to the coming events in time.
This brat… could he be…
The small rookie lands nimbly on his feet and the gem on his forehead glows with a blinding radiance. "Now, the finale."
Yes, for sure…
"Corona Flame!" The rookie blasts his opponent with a gigantic gout of fire, consuming all of his energy at once.
He's the 'secret weapon'.
And with that, all goes dark.
And that's chapter 2. I was hoping to do a bit more, like fleshing out Dutch's introduction, but I couldn't find a place to elegantly put it without ballooning out the length of this chapter further and making it a chore to read through. I'll figure out some other way to handle it in the coming chapters.
