Mission: The Road to Eldoradimon, Chapter 1

The Door's cocky grin slowly melted away as Squire broke into a run. It turned into an outright look of terror as Squire drew his blade. Nevertheless, The Door held fast, even as its resolve threatened to break at any second.

The sword swung through the air, and soon bit right into wooden flesh. A thick gash was left in the door's front. Splinters sailed through the air, eventually settling into a gruesome pile at the base of the door. The letter T in Equipment was didn't stand a chance, the plastic letter shattering to pieces as Squire smashed it. The P and Q on the door's front expanded in sheer terror, and its jaw was dropped. It looked down at its large gash, realizing that another two slashes like that would flat-out hack it in half, and turned to Squire in shock.

"What the hell, man? That hurt!" it shouted. "I'm just a door! I didn't do anything to deserve this. Blame the guy keeping me shut, not me!"

At this point, if Squire knew what a Bakemon was, he'd know that was exactly what he was dealing with. The beady black eyes, the large fanged mouth, and the scratchy voice were dead giveaways. However, for whatever reason, it seemed adamant that it was just a humble, harmless door. As it ranted at Squire it turned its lock shut, making sure that nobody was getting through it.

"You wanna get through, huh? Say sorry first, maybe!" it demanded, occasionally looking down at its splinters in horror.

The Door couldn't help but giggle nervously at Squire's increasingly mounting anger. On one hand, it meant he was doing his job right. A frustrated Digimon was a Digimon prone to making mistakes, and as he barreled headfirst into trouble his accomplice would be making great strides. On the other hand, Squire was kind of terrifying right now. Maybe if he was just a Veemon things would be different, but he was a Veemon with a sword! That was a huge distinction. Specifically, a huge distinction that was currently jammed somewhere in his ectoplasmic flesh. He let out a slight yelp as the sword tip was pressed hard into him. If there was one downside about doing things the poltergeist way, it was that being broken really got painful after a while.

"Okay, okay, fine! And cool it with the names, kid. Your fingers ain't that pretty either, you know," he muttered, knowing full well he'd probably earn another stab for that insult.

Stab. Wait a minute. Slowly, a goofy grin spread across the door's face.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming out with my hands up," he said, his outline slowly separating from that of the door. His face stretched past the word SUPPLIES, the letters seeming to bulge out before eventually snapping right back into place. His hands came from the left and right side of the door, spread widely and making him look even more like a bedsheet than usual. His eyes darted around the room, as if confirming that he was in the same location where he started.

And then, with a wicked smile, he quickly tried to clasp both hands around Squire's sword. "Get over here!" he shouted as his body turned misty, hurtling toward Squire's sword at great speed. It seemed this cheeky little poltergeist wasn't surrendering, but simply trading one opportunity for another. Imagine how much chaos he could raise taking over a guardsman's own equipment! It would be hilarious!

The Bakemon's eyes briefly diverted as Squire tensed up his arm muscles, realizing that Squire wasn't kidding around with those death threats. Okay, so maybe he realized that when Squire thought he was barring the door from behind and tried to ruin him through, even if said door-barring culprit was a mere maintenance worker or janitor. But now that he had a face and a name to put his wrath to, he certainly wasn't harboring any goodwill for Bakemon. The ghost realized that if he didn't play his cards right, this was going to be a messy fight.

Thankfully, he had a plan. His eyes narrowed as a wicked grin spread across his face, the Bakemon quickly levitating high above Squire's head. He made sure to dangle just out of swording reach, even if it meant his head was brushing up against the ceiling of the maintenance room. "Really now? But . . . how do you kill that which is already dead!?" Dramatic lightning struck down from his claws, creating an ominous thunderclap in the area around him. Yes, he seriously just created his own special effects.

He continued to listlessly float around the room, hovering through objects to demonstrate just how little physical barriers meant to him. "C'mon, kid. I'm a ghost! Fly around? Pass through objects? You know, that kind of ghost? You're right, it's a total waste of time to question me. But if you waste time trying to kill me, the big guy's gonna be at the head before you even know it! And when he gets there to drop off the payload, oh man, you're gonna look like a fool.

. . . Although you know, he's the tough one and I'm the one who can go through walls. Pah. If that glory-hog didn't try and chokeslam me through the security door . . ." At mention of a tangible form, his body seemed to harden once more. He bumped his head right into a hanging lamp, letting out a few quick swears. "Right. Right. Gotta be a ghost," he muttered, rubbing his temples as his body turned transparent yet again.

"Jeez, kid, you must be real fun at parties." It wasn't a very standard response to a brutal death threat, but it was the one Bakemon was currently rolling with. He nodded as Squire pointed out that he was being awfully defensive for someone so intangible, muttering "Touche . . ." under his breath at the astute assessment. It seemed no matter how much Bakemon tried to warn him about it being a headache, Squire was still fully committed to Operation: Stab A Ghost.

Nevertheless, what caught him off guard was when Squire pointed out what should've been obvious. If he didn't even like "Yellow Fingers", why was he helping him, anyway? In fact, it wasn't just a little thing Squire poked at, but a fairly major point that he had at least three questions about. The look in his eyes suggested surprise, if not at the nature of the situation than at Squire actually giving enough a damn about it to point it out. However, he quickly recovered with a shrug. "You ain't the only one with a master, you know," he said, tone far more contemplative than his previous statements. He opened his mouth a few times, as if trying to think of what to say.

Seemed Squire had left him something to think about, anyway.

After an awkward pause, he'd finally settled on something. "Word of advice, though? Don't pull that 'the rest of the guard's coming' crud on 'Yellow Fingers,' as you're calling him. Best case scenario he calls your bluff and crushes you right there. Worst case scenario he takes you hostage. You wouldn't want that. Trust me on that one." Unlike ShellNumemon, it was clear Bakemon had a lot more experience with this kind of scenario. Probably because ShellNumemon was just some petty criminal, while Bakemon was clearly hinting at something bigger going on. Nevertheless, judging by him looking up towards the ceiling, it was clear he was taking the escaping with his life option.

He popped into the ceiling, then poked his head back down to address Squire. "If you're asking who we are and why we're here, we're just like you. Errand boys. Think that covers everything." With that last statement he was gone, leaving Squire alone in the stuffed-up storage room.

The journey forward wouldn't be very easy for Squire. Or, at the very least, it wouldn't have been if he hadn't taken the foresight to grab the map. The maze of pipes, tunnels, and maintenance rooms that made up Eldoradimon's sewer systems were practically designed to go as far away from the north as possible. After all, north was where Eldoradimon's head was. West, east, and even south were acceptable exits for sewage and waste, but to get Eldoradimon's head covered in filth would have simply been unacceptable. This meant that the path north was a horrible, convoluted mess. Sometimes Squire would have to make at least five left turns in a row just to get back onto a northward place. Sometimes he would have to go through the precarious space between pipes, crawling beneath them wherever there was free space. Sometimes he would have to run through more offices and maintenance buildings, such as the sewage treatment room that made up the sewer system's central core.

Of course, Squire wasn't alone in this. As he advanced his lantern would reveal more drops of fertilizer and crumbled, yellow stones, indications that the threat he was pursuing had been walking the same path. However, whereas Squire was on as direct of a course as possible, "Yellow Fingers' " trail of debris showed he was having a much harder time. Occasionally the dusty trail seemed to spiral around, as if he had been navigating the same rooms for a long, long time. The chunks of stone seemed to be bigger in some rooms. Often, these were rooms where large dents were left in the walls, signs of the frustration that "Yellow Fingers" must have been in.

What happens when two objects are moving in the same line at two different speeds? Eventually, they are bound to meet in the middle.

By now, Squire would be facing down a door with a large caution symbol on the front. Or, at least, it would look like a caution symbol. A frustrated hole had been punched straight through the door, which meant the caution symbol was now just the tattered border of a triangle. Considering the door was made of sheet metal, that was probably a bad sign about what Yellow Fingers was like. Through the door Squire would be able to notice a long hallway, stretching so far into the distance that the door on the other side wouldn't even be visible. According to the map, this was an emergency access hallway to the tip of ElDoradimon's shell. Only the most elite of workers had clearance to work for the hamlets here, as beginners could not be trusted to handle any sewage runoffs that could threaten ElDoradimon's health.

The heavily robed figure currently stomping down the hallway didn't seem much like an elite sewage worker. And the stuff he was carrying didn't seem to be treatment supplies.

He constantly looked over his shoulder, as if making absolute sure he wouldn't be watched. It wasn't a reliable pattern, more like the constant half-second glances of someone who knew they'd be in trouble. Naturally, someone wouldn't be that on-edge if they didn't have a plan for what to do when they noticed an interloper. If Squire made too much noise, or shone his lantern too brightly, he would smash the ground with a tremendous fist. Jagged stone spikes would shoot into the air, penetrating from floor to ceiling and leaving the path completely sealed. It was a solid plan for keeping an interloper away, although it would fail to account for two humble ladders on the left and right side of the door. These ladders presumably lead to the hamlet's sewers, and while a tight, cramped detour would hopefully get Squire where he needed to be.

Or Squire could do things the hard way, moving slowly and with determination through the darkness. It would be hard to avoid the figure's constant paranoid gazes, but if he managed to adjust to their strange tempo he could perhaps take the figure by surprise. It would just take a little subtlety and a lot of patience to pull that off.

Thankfully, Squire wouldn't have to spend much time crawling through the ducts. An explosive sound echoed through the vents, revealing itself as the sound of metal being smashed as soon as the horrid ringing stopped. Just ahead of Squire was an air vent, positioned in a prime spot for snooping on Yellow Fingers.

The cloaked figure was smashing at a Chrome Digizoid wall furiously. Judging by what Bakemon had to say, smashing was really the only solution he could come up with. While that allowed him to tear his way through the rest of the sewer with ease, a sheer wall of the Digital World's hardest metal was just too far beyond his abilities. Small, yellow rocks fell off of his hands with each strike, and eventually he gave up with a frustrated snort. Briefly the Digimon slumped against the wall, wondering what he could possibly do in this situation.

Then, inspiration struck. He reached into his robes, figure dramatically slimming down as he started pulling out big barrels. Slowly Yellow Fingers started pacing around the room, lining the barrels along the side of the Chrome Digizoid wall. Small traces of soil and gunpowder lined the front of the wall, messily spilling out with each barrel placed due to Yellow Fingers' careless work. It took a step back, evaluating the placement of its work and cracking its knuckles.

It seemed intent on blowing the path to Eldoradimon's head open. But surely Squire wouldn't stand for that, would he?