Work Text:
The Agent opened their Digivice.
Digivolution.
Dorumon.
Dorugamon.
DoruGreymon.
Dorugoramon.
Paildramon.
ExVeemon and Stingmon.
Dorumon.
Repeat.
This cycle would continue endlessly, only ceasing when the Agent had all that they needed. How many Stingmon had they birthed from the pained soul of this poor Dorumon? How long had the little Digimon been forced to witness their “children” be sacrificed? They thought the Agent was their friend, a hero of justice, the Great Guardian…
But this was clearly no guardian. At least not a guardian of peace and happiness. This was… a monster. Just like the shadow they were born from. A being driven by despair, a husk deprived of anything pure. This shadow was no different than the rest, human form or not.
“This is for the good of the world,” Dorumon tried to convince themself. “The Agent needs to strengthen their party so that they can defeat Chronomon. This is… all for the best…”
And yet, the pain did not subside. The weakness from digivolving and degenerating countless times was starting to wear on them. They looked at their trembling claws, their tattered wings, their tail that began to dissolve into an endless stream of discarded data, drawing breath after shaky breath.
“This is not for the good of the world.”
“What?” Dorumon hissed. “Who is that? Who’s there?”
“Stingmon.”
“You’re dead.”
“Are we?” a choir of voices chimed. “Perhaps,” an identical group answered, “we are. But perhaps we are not. Perhaps we live on as data driven by vengeance, lingering to heed your call.”
“My… my call…?”
“We can feel it in your heart, Dorumon. You are dying, a mere pawn in the game. The Agent thinks no more of you than they do of us. They care nothing for you, no concern for your feelings, while they praise the Digimon who could only get so strong because of the life you provide. We all mean nothing to them… let us show them that they mean nothing to us.”
Dorumon reached out their weak, near-lifeless hand, just succumbing to numb nothingness. The army of Stingmon all around them made an ear-grating buzzing sound, one that could’ve ended Dorumon’s life right then and there from the sheer intensity.
But still, the Catalyst lived on.
They would serve as a catalyst no longer.
An amalgamation emerged from the Agent’s Digivice. A monstrous Dorugoramon, with wings made of decaying Stingmon, a tail of a heavily scarred RizeGreymon, the Digital Hazard of a Growlmon, an Alphamon’s tattered cape. It had two more legs than a Dorugoramon would normally have, striking a resemblance to the Dorimon it once was, so, so long ago. The horn of an ExVeemon, the drill of Drimogemon on each of its Raptordramon claws.
Yes, indeed, this monstrosity was born of not only Dorumon, not only Stingmon, but of all of the mistakes the Agent made along the way. Nearly selecting Growlmon or Dorimon when degenerating, almost turning this tortured soul into a Raptordramon or Drimogemon. The inputs were second nature to them, so mistakes were easy to make due to their overconfident negligence.
The Agent looked up in horror at the monster of their own making.
The monster that would end their life, and with it, all hope in the battle against Chronomon.
Their hubris doomed them.
“GOODBYE, AGENT.”
For just a moment… could they wind back the clock?
…
…
…
No.
They couldn’t.