Taking the Cliffs

The silence settled over the grey cliffs. In the distance there were two; the traitor and his comrade. Grit and dust shuffled against the monochrome surface of impossibly jagged outcrops and formations of desolate rock. There was a sort of cold in the air; not a frigid cold or a wet cold, but simply... unsettling. The sort of cold that doesn't chill your body, but still makes you shiver, your mind tremble if you dwell on its origin. A sort of cold that hung, lingering, on still, stale, dead air. The horizon was cut with the curvature of the off-black plateaus and on the edge, as the cliffs rose and rose and rose over a long, flat, plateau-like plainsland in the distance, at the very edge, there was nothing but a gaping black maw, an abyss like a scar on the tattered patchwork flesh of the Digital World. The sky was pale and lonely; no sun but no moon; no light but no dark. Just a sort of blank, limbo-like feeling that left you without natural illumination, giving the region its namesake: the Dark Area.

The silt on the cliffs began to stir. Small, insignificant, negligible and unnamed cockroach Digimon skittered and burrowed into crags between rocks not visible unless under particular scrutiny with a squeak inaudible to the natural human sense of hearing. A faint whistle in the distance. The cold air started to pick a current. The lifeless valleys and flatlands were not being rejuvenated; just a horrifying presence deserving and still reminiscent of death was approaching. Whilst the traitor and his comrade stood on one edge of the rocky basin, the whistle began to slowly increase, a dynamic echo starting to reverberate. The dust began to quiver. The ground began to tremor. Soon, little particulates of grit started dancing up and down in a regular, timed pattern like some sort of microscopic choreographed dance of mindless slaves bouncing to the will of the nearby oncoming presence. Patterns started to draw themselves. And, suddenly, from behind a mountain, the stirring, whistling air parted with the sound of a cacophonous whoosh.

A black figure like a dark arrow in the never-night of the Cliffs of Chaos split the air, carving through it with his calamitous approach like some sort of impending natural disaster on the horizon; the omen of a typhoon, the herald of a tornado. As he passed he seemed to cut through the very oxygen atoms whilst he moved, bolting and sharply turning - as was natural to his flight plan - much to the chagrin of a far tinier white speck atop the great width of the dragon's shoulders. Every now and then a flash of crimson would cut through the monochromatic pallet of the scene; an eye or a wayward claw. As if the quivering of the ground hadn't shaken the ground enough thanks to the proximity at which the Devidramon emerged over the mountaintops, almost grazing them, the colossal dragon felt as if it was time to announce his presence, first peeling back his lips over layers of tapered teeth before unleashing a primal, savage roar which split the air and resonated for miles around the empty Dark Area save for the cowardly, far-from-prime examples of their family, the Nightmare Soldiers, retreating into their burrows and hovels.

As they had approached, some instinct had told them that a threat was on the horizon. Honestly, that was truth enough; the advance party had been the Devidramon and his Tamer alone, with Akari, Zeromon, and Loptrmon following swiftly afterwards. Everyone was on their way; but for the flight of Barrigan, the sleek black arrow almost invisible amidst the ashen sky of the Dark Area, Daichi and he were chosen to scout the area quickly for any potential defenses. As he had skimmed over the top most of the native denizens had retreated; a few, unafraid, stronger, perhaps, still dotted the landscape. The others, it seemed... they had... felt something coming. Something ominous with the presence of the dragon overhead. They were right to. Much to the Tamer's chagrin aboard his Digimon's back, however, the roar was still ringing in his ears; as the air howled and whistled about his head, disorientating enough as it was just from the sheer force and speed, he had somehow managed to cling on from dear life. Every time the Digimon released a cry like that, the vibrations through his frame almost jarred and surprised him so much that he cast himself off. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING DO THAT!"

Barrigan didn't respond with anything save for a low chuckle. The two specks on the horizon were growing closer by the minute; in some imitation of a "hilarious" prank, he skimmed the top of them - and the outcrop they were on - presumably shaking the ground beneath them, and released another, lower roar, before yanking himself around, and skidding into a nearby, raised platform, latching onto it in a matter of moments with a solid thud and the release of a cloud of sooty, ashen, black dust, straight up and into Daichi's mouth. The Tamer had, through all this, had his arms pinned tightly around his Digimon's neck; it had only been a few moments, and he felt nauseous - simply just nauseous because of the amount of times mixtures of adrenaline and alcohol had fucked him up before - but, well, things were getting better. His tolerance, as opposed to the Devidramon's skill at actually flying.

"Well, would you look at that," He murmured unremarkably, Daichi slipping off and retching down onto the outcrop they'd moved onto, taking no notice of his partner and his gagging noises. "I've gotten better at this whole "landing" thing." A few coughs later, and Daichi pulled his head up with a sigh and a red face, turning to his Digimon and scowling for the sheer fact that the contents and ingredients of his stomach had not only been reorganised, but returned, through simple centrifugal force and speed, to their original pre-cooked form.

"Somehow," Daichi uttered with a sigh, apparently some of his partner's sardonic attitude beginning to rub off on him. "I don't agree." He paused, taking in lungfuls of air - smoky as it was, at least it was still, not passing by his head at two hundred miles per hour - and making another remark, locking his grey eyes with the solid, red, single-sheen orbs on the right side of the Devidramon's face as he slammed his bulbous tail growth against the outcrop laconically, like some form of habit, creating impact enough for him to feel but not for the comparatively tiny human to be thrown off. "I'm gonna smack you for that when you get back to Gazimon." Well, perhaps Daichi wasn't inheriting too much from his partner's influence. Barrigan ignored him and looked to Iscarimon, a few notches down the canyon wall, within the earshot of his booming, unsettling, demonic, and ultimately draconian voice if he raised it loud enough.

"Coast looks clear." The Devidramon began to explain. "Few Megas around that haven't had the chance to slink back to their holes, everyone's seemingly gone into impromptu hibernation." He "shrugged". Or, at least, made a physiological attempt to. It didn't work. "I'd say we put the scare on them."