The Cursed Sword [Plot - 0/1]

Ironically amused by the deceased VenomMyotismon's last words, she briefly savored the hope of him returning to a better life one day. However, that was beyond her influence, as it was a matter only time and fate would tell - or perhaps not. As for the left behind totem of the Musyamon, that were many questions which came to mind. Above all, what had happened to the digimon alive mere minutes ago? Why had it turned into this trinket and not returned to normal - or perished alongside the titanic vampire? Although uncertainty lingered, a potential answer to these issues and others revealed itself quickly.

"The... no - a parasite." Cion whispered as she beheld the corruption engulfing the statuette in red tendrils and an omnipresent oculus. Yet as hastily as it emerged it vanished again, no longer startled by the Arniomon's presence, though that hardly mattered. "Maybe this can be utilized to create a counteragent." She wondered out loud, certain that the item held at least some inherent use. Bringing it to smart digimons for further inspection was likely a good idea, which was why her spirit was set on exactly that. But where to go first? "P.R.O.F.I.T." Was the solution she decided upon, Vertigo probably already having warned their colleagues.

Unfortunately, it was in this very moment of decision-making that a groan of pure agony began echoing throughout the tainted wasteland's eternity.

Wincing violently, Cion's semi-corporeal form flickered like a moribund light bulb, pulsating in iridescent sparks which shed from her astral existence. With great pain finally tearing through her will, her ability to be the master of the power she had accumulated during centuries became unstable, like a skyscraper unable to bear its own weight due to being built too high or lacking a sufficient foundation. Collapse was often the price one had to pay after an act of incredible strain... and the cosmic beast was no exception.

With a primal, bloodcurdling scream that was bound to terrify even the most feral of fiends, instincts took hold of the Arniomon's body. Suddenly erupting in a mad dash, the ascendant soared beneath the clouds similar in appearance and speed to a comet penetrating the vastness of space. The only light that could be seen for miles on end was her, yet it too was doomed to crumble in this realm of lifelessness. The azure comet tail that followed her grew dim, stardust raining down like snowfall before fading away.

Eventually, the unconscious sentinel evanesced, crashing into the barren ground in a small arc. With incandescence and primordial forces disappeared, all there was in the dirt was an injured, vulpine creature, dark eyes barely open while her arm of creation continued to leech on her life force. Incapable of perceiving much of anything, what was left of her sentience had no clue where she was, not that it was capable of forcing her vessel to undo this fact. There was nothing... but the totem of a warrior once proud and mighty.

Yet as everything turned dark, the faint humming of a saving grace caressed Cion's soul in its final moments of awareness.