The Debts of Blood [Cas/NPC]

Desperate?

Desperate was about right. How long of a trek had it been for him, starting from his manor in the Dark Area? How long had it been since that incident, back at his mine? It didn't matter, of course: his manor was in ruins, his livelihood left behind as he fled to civilization. Even from the train ride here, he held a hand right over his chest, barely managing to hold himself together. He was so close to his goal, after all: a nondescript bar at the outskirts of old Terminus.

His clothes were damp and ragged. His hat, lost somewhere in the travel over, and his staff was blunted and splintered at the bottom, used as a walking stick in desparation. However, so near the end of his trek, he through the doors open, bringing the rest of the bar to a start.

"DOC!" His intent was clear from the start, calling out at the top of his lungs, before grasping at a chair for support. "WHERE ARE YOU! DOC!"

As Cassandra would press her hand against the Sorcermon's chest, she wouldn't feel any blood - or heck, even the feel of any data leaking from his wound. Rather, she'd feel the warmth of a spell, and a faint glow obscured by the position of his palm.

With that first question, he gave a short nod. "Maybe, I don't know... Dagger might have said something? Not important, not important..." He sat back in his chair, leaning slightly back as Cassandra moved to check the wound. She would see a deep, red gash across his chest, held in place by the Sorcermon's own stasis. In fact, he had kept that wound isolated, in constant pain but at least unable to bleed or worsen. The card's effect took hold, that same wound starting to grow warmer...

... But until the spell was withdrawn, it was merely thrown 'on the stack'. "Where's Dagger... ah!" The Duramon, of course! He gave a nod, trying to steady his breath as best he could. "Ch... Cherry..." His voice choked up, half in pain, half in emotional agony.

But he managed to get it out: "Ch-Cherry's been taken! Stolen right from my manor... even got a good swipe at my... ugh..."

He was not in the best way right now, not at all. How long had he been in this condition?

"Trust me, doc, I've done nothing but that for the past 36 hours." Groaning in pain, he let that scanner run right over the wound - and it would reveal a rather troubling wound. In fact, it seemed to give off a small dose of radiation, of all things - and the doctor would see the damage done to the Sorcermon's core.

He was hurt, and the Sorcermon knew it. So why didn't he stop at the nearby Wicked, first? That was a thought far away from the conversation, as Dagger's worried tone overtook his head. Who took Cherry? The spellcaster gathered together his thoughts: "A hooded sorcerer... maybe a Wisemon, I couldn't tell. Couldn't get to him at all past that damn red lizard." His memory was spotty, the sorcerer shaking his head as Cassandra worked away at that wound.

Cloak's added theory, of course, seemed to fill in another hole: controlling Digimon with marks? "I've heard that on the wayside - something about a Raguelmon or something? Ugh... I thought that was done and over with..."

Well, that was certainly a grim diagnosis.

A half-inch puncture to his core, laced with radiation. The sorcerer gave a sigh, leaning back in his chair, tightening his hold over that spell. "I had guessed as much. At the very least, I sense a blinding pain whenever this spell weakens..." More than that, he hadn't been able to sleep, eat, or drink for this entire duration. On a closer analysis, the fatigue was already starting to heavily set in along his body...

... And, unfortunately, that brought the concern back to his own condition. He had a choice, she said: to either die, and perhaps never return to this plane, or to be saved - and somehow be entwined with this tamer's data. The doctor's voice was gentle and considerate. But to the heavy weight of Cassandra's words, the Sorcermon returned a hearty, cough-filled laugh.

"Doctor, I've spent my entire life in one place as a crystal-smith. Years upon years, I've simply amassed my wealth and lived a quiet life out in the dark wilderness. I trust in your judgement either way... but I haven't come here to see you."

With those words, he turned to face Dagger.

"Once more, I have to make an unfair request. I don't know where, I don't know how - but if Cherry is with that Wisemon, he will be used as a tool. A monster, a terror - all of the things you know he is not. I implore, demand, and beg you to find him."

Sorcermon knew deep down what Dagger's answer would be, but simply hearing those words was enough for the spellcaster's heart to calm, somewhat. He gave a smile, nodding gently towards the knight. "You have your heart in the right place. Save him... any thought of spite or revenge is just going to be a distraction."

Oh, that whine wouldn't go ignored. Giving a low groan, he briefly considered that question, returning his attention to Cassandra.

"The manor means nothing, now... but Cherry's going to need someone to look back to after all of this. Behind everything, he's scared. His heart might just collapse in sorrow if he finds his sacrifice in vain... ugh..." Even if it wasn't a good life to look forward to, the wizard was hardly living for himself, right now.

"Getting me to that cat's not gonna work..." But if the cat could come here, maybe that was another story.

Another card. Another spell 'on the stack' that likely meant little to the Sorcermon's shattered core. Ultimately, all it did was help reduce the Sorcermon's pain, as Cassandra sent that critical message over to the doctor.

It didn't take long, of course: halfway through Dagger's words, a blue portal of light appeared right in the bar, at the brief surprise of the bartender. From it, the familiar doctor gave a step forward - giving a simple nod towards Cassandra. He stepped on by, past Dagger, giving him a firm pat on his shoulder.

"Heh... how long has it been?" The Sorcermon gave a dry laugh, Mikemon giving a sigh. "Too long. You still cheated me out of that last game, you know." The cat's tone was slightly nostalgic, as he lifted up that gem, focusing squarely through the lens - deeply examining the still state of the sorcerer's core. The room fell silent for several minutes, the cat doing a complete, thorough analysis...

... Before he would finally step back, shaking his head. "Its faint, but he's already started the process of data collapse." The cat's tone was low, sensing that the Sorcermon already knew of his fate. "If I was there the moment it happened, I might have been able to do something. As it is, the core will continue to spin, unraveling across its imperfection."

He gave a sigh, the Sorcermon returning a smirk. "Heh... that Mummymon's getting his inheritance far earlier than he deserves, then..."

Of course the verdict wasn't easy to hear, but even now, the cat wasn't going to sugarcoat things. Not in front of his friends, new and old, anyway: he offered a hand, gently resting it on the Sorcermon's shoulder, giving a small nod. "The Dark Area will be just a bit more dim without you."

"Heh... like my little flame's worth that much, ya idiot." With another dry chuckle, and another cough, he settled in for the long haul.

If not for the human, it might have happened. But Cassandra spoke to that old debt, offering a hand that even Mikemon found curious. What hope was there for a patient that was this far gone? The doctor stepped a bit away, as the Sorcermon brought a gloved hand up, grasping around Cassandra's own.

"Do what you can. No hard feelings either way..."