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Post by D-Reaper Scout on Oct 31, 2018 1:36:52 GMT
It didn't take long for this morbid, makeshift clinic to be set up. The bartender and Dagger made their exit, leaving Mikemon, Cloak, Cassandra, and their patient in relative silence. The tension in the room was clear, Cassandra's words bringing Mikemon's ear to twitch.
He gave a sigh. "I'm all the back-up you have, if something goes wrong. I'm not leaving." His tone was firm, simply nodding as Cassandra vaguely hinted at her message. The Sorcermon, meanwhile gave a nod towards her instructions, just as the holosuit clicked off. "Ah... there are those eyes..." His comment was vague, his consciousness clearly on the edge. Even that firm gaze only brought a sense of nostalgia to the wizard. He seemed at peace...
... A peace that was wrought away when that nail pierced right into the back of his hand. He gasped, the spell stuttering - but holding - as a blinding white light crossed his eyes. He practically lurghed forward, leaning in Cassandra's grip as that other claw slipped right around, the 'fight or flight' instinct burning heavily in his mind. He only managed to keep himself still by sheer willpower...
... And Mikemon, looking on from a distance, grit his fangs in frustration. "... Cloak... hold me back if you have to."
The sheathed sword came down faster then the eye could see as it's weight fractured the floorboard in front of Mikemon, the Tactimon looming large over the small cat having moved in the span of one blink and the next. Yet his stance was not one of hostile anger or threat as an armored hand came to rest lightly on the Doctor's shoulder. "I pray Greed that it shan't be needed." The ex-Dark General rumbled out soft and low for the Cat's ears only though his posture was as stiff as the Doctor's own. The weight of the moment not lost upon him.
"I know it hurts..." Cas murmured voice gentle though strained as she grit her own fangs in pain as the Virus sank into the Sorcermon's system flashes of half-seen memories flitting through her mind. This would be no partial infection as the Hunter had been. To falter would spell death for the Digimon in her arms, his figure cold, core frozen in place outside the touch of time where he leaned against her body his touch chill as the dead. His senses already were a distant echo of her own the sensation heady and disorientating as phantom pain wracked the Doctor's heart, but still her claws bit deeper the glow of her eyes seeming to intensify as she held his gaze concentrating everything she had, everything she was upon him. Hunger feral and deep roiled within her the taste of data lingering in the air like blood in the water as the Reapers eyes seemed to dilate fangs sharpening within her mouth as she bore down on the Sorcermon who remained pinned like prey within her grasp.
The need to feed and the instinct to keep warred within the Doctor's mind as she poured her energy into the dying Digimon knowing already she was giving to much. The urge to take, to heal herself, to reap the Mage in all his strength nearly strangling in it's intensity....But the loneliness was worse. "Mine." The Reaper snarled fangs gleaming crimson as they lunged the Sorcermon's spell sputtering like the dying light of a star as they sank their fangs into the meat of the Mage's collarbone and shoulder.
Post by D-Reaper Scout on Nov 1, 2018 22:54:41 GMT
Feeling that heavy, armored hand resting on his shoulder, Mikemon found himself giving a small sigh, looking up towards the knight from the corner of his eye. Did he really need to stoke that ember now? "... We'll talk later." His words weren't a denial at the front - there was no need to hide that secret from them now.
After all, Mikemon already knew all about the doctor. He knew she had done something like this process before, with Hunter and Haru, but he didn't know the gravity of the method. The Sorcermon's expression remained in shocked, grotesque pain, his weakened hands wrapping around that forearm out of fearful instinct. As much as the doctor would have prayed for it to remain, the spell of the stasis was already starting to crumble, the spellcaster simply unable to feed any more of his power into it. How could he, after all, when Cassandra had the very grip over his essence?
This, alone, was hard enough to watch - but that feral bite against the Sorcermon brought the Mikemon to an edge. The doctor held himself - barely so - as the red-and-black data signal of a Demon Lord flared just an inch above his frame.
He crossed his arms, digging his nails into his fur, starting to damage the data underneath.
Horror flooded the Doctor's senses as Sorcermon's terror spiked through her mind in sharp fearful bursts. The Digimon struggling not to black out as his data lay heavy on the Reaper's tongue. A hostile data signature briefly garnering their attention as Cassandra turned crimson gleaming eyes onto Mikemon, her pupils barely pinpricks as she growled low and guttural and inhuman at the threat. Her lips peeling back from her gums in a snarl the noise muffled by the prey she held gripped in her teeth.
"Doctor..." Cloak warned their grip tightening almost painfully on the Digimon's shoulder though even the black armored samurai seemed just as taken aback.
"Hime~" He murmured voice a rough and coaxing croon, but no amount of gentleness could smooth away the jagged and acrid feel of their fear. They were afraid. They were all afraid. They were all afraid of her. The realization lancing like a knife straight through the Doctor's gut.
"Stop looking at me like that." Cassandra growled prying her fangs from Sorcermon's shoulder to snarl with data wet teeth at Mikemon and Cloak.
"Stop it!" She snapped anger flaring even as she felt the last threads of Sorcermon's spell began to unravel, the Mage gazing upon her with wide horrified eyes that seemed to rake across her soul like knives. The only thing keeping his glitching form together at this point being the virus as it held his data in place and kept his fracturing core from shattering.
"Stop!" Cas cried voice cracking as crimson tears cut tracks like bleeding wounds down her face with the force of the Sorcermon's fear as it thundered through their connection.
"I'm saving you." The Doctor whispered voice small and broken as an ugly sob wracked her form as Cassandra gripped the Sorcermon tight digging her claws into his core as she willed the virus to heal, to fix, to save. Even as she buried her face against her patient victims neck to hide the shame and agony of the rejection and terror that ripped through her heart.
Post by D-Reaper Scout on Nov 1, 2018 23:56:22 GMT
He wouldn't look away.
He couldn't look away.
Like it or not, all Mikemon could do was stand and watch, even as Cloak's grip on him tightened. For the frightened, angered Cassandra, this might have looked like an act of defiance: the doctor's aura was of a fierce tone, after all, his emotions clearly worn on his sleeve as he looked on with fury.
Fury of her condition. Fury of her acquired methods. Fury against the world that would make such a grotesque scene possible. He looked on, face stoic through all three declarations begging him to stop. Whether Cassandra liked it or not, he couldn't abandon her, not now. As the Sorcermon hung limp in her arms, as Cassandra tried to hide her face, the cat simply looked on.
"... Don't look away."
The cat's tone changed, that dark aura radiating deeply from his visage. It was still Mikemon, still his words - but something about them felt more grand. More regal, as if discovering a long-lost voice.
"If the answer lies in darkness, beat down your heart. Scream away the grating nails in your ears. Fight to keep your head above the surface, until the battle is won."
Those... those were Greed's words, his very dialect and tone, spoken through the doctor's tensed fangs.
Cassandra froze gritting her fangs hard enough she felt the bone of her jaw groan for fear of letting her fury tighten her grip on the delicate core of her patient. She hated this. Hated that there would be no sanctuary, no dignity left for her to hide behind. Hated it even as she forced her will upon the virus commanding it to knit, repair, and carefully fill in the shattered cracks of Sorcermon's core with her own crimson red. Threading her being into his even as she coaxed him back from the edge of death. Hated that for the first time she was finally no longer alone, unconnected, and listless within the void of her own senses only to have the silence broken by horrified terror.
Hated that she was tying her body and soul to a being that didn't even want her as she held Sorcermon's shocked and unseeing gaze. His blue eyes slowly turning the same shade of red as her own her crimson tears painting his cheeks as Cassandra pressed her forehead to his and cried. Cried as she had not cried since her Mothers funeral. Cried as she had not cried since the foster services dumped her on her first doorstep with a garbage bag of clothes and the scent of cigarettes and cheap plastic clinging to her skin. Cried as she had not cried since those endless hours locked in that dark closet with the scent of blood both her own and that awful awful boys cloying her nose leaving her to wondering if she would be left there to starve or bleed to death. Her tears had died in that darkness along with a little bit of herself just as another part perished now. "Sleep." Cas ordered the words carrying through their connection as she felt the last of the core knit beneath her fingers. The Mage going limp in her arms eyes rolled back in his head from pain as she gently closed his lids. He would live, but Cassandra would not stay revulsion and hatred welling up within her as she pulled back wrenching herself up and away from the Sorcermon's limp figure as she dashed with the last of her mad strength for the back room darting into the bathroom as she slammed and locked the door.
She didn't want to see their face. Couldn't watch as Mikemon would examine her handiwork as she doubled over gripping the smooth porcelain of the sink and retched.
Mikemon hated this as well. The fury he held was one close to his heart - and it was with disappointment, but not surprise, that Greed's words took hold over him. Perhaps it was for the best: Cassandra's focus did briefly return to that sorcerer, one beyond consciousness, who didn't even know what kind of life he'd just been led into. Throughout that slow, arduous transformation, the cat forced himself to stay still...
... Still, until the doctor bolted off. The doctor was quick to step in - carefully setting the Sorcermon back down into the chair, the dark aura quickly dissipating away from his body. Only then would he pause, a moment of silence blanketing the bar.
That was, until the cat brought a heavy hand up to his own mouth. He let out a long, hacking cough, falling to his knees at the sight he had just seen. This, a dear friend, was both reduced to and able to use such methods. Just what had she seen, what had she gone through to fall to this point?
He gasped, starting to speak, trying to get back to his feet. "Water... for the love of god, something..."
The Tactimon's head snapped around following Cassandras flight as he took a step moving to go after her before he paused as Mikemon's desperate call. The sound of a door snapping closed reverberated through the building as Cas locked herself away. Leaving the Mega to move behind the bar rapidly digging through the bottles as he grabbed one of seltzer water and another of something clear and strong. He'd leave Mikemon to decided which he wanted as he set them before the Doctor before crouching next to the Sorcermon to check his pulse.
It was slow, but strong his data signal already changing to carry trace amounts of Cassandra's and for a moment staring down at the unconscious mage bloodlust clouded the Tactimons mind. The pain the Sorcermon had put his Tamer through lingering heavy on the Cloak's conscious, but Cas had worked too long and hard to save the likely ungrateful wizard for him to simply up and kill him. Though in truth it was only the fear that severing that tentative connection between the pair would only serve to break the woman further that stayed the ex-General's hand.
"He'll live." Cloak muttered gruffly before he stood raking a dark golden gaze over Mikemon before he turned on his heel.
"If you'll excuse me I need to tend to my Tamer to ensure sure she doesn't attempt to mutilate herself again." The Tactimon rumbled out words clipped, judgement over Greeds actions and reaction clear, but unspoken in his eyes as he moved towards the back room. They all had blood on their hands. No amount of scrubbing would ever render Cloak's blackened gauntlets clean of the lives he's taken, but as he ripped the bathroom door off it's hinges he reasoned at least the blood on his Tamer's hands were from trying to save lives. Not end them.
The command had left his lips, before he even realized his tone.
Had Mikemon been in a better state of mind, he might have noticed Cloak's response: the stutter, the glare, the brief hesitation. But as Cloak would look on, well, he would see Greed, but he'd also see the visage of a desperate cat, trying to parch a dry, burnt throat. As the bottle was set down, Mikemon quickly made his way for the seltzer, prying off the cap before taking a good quarter of it in one swig.
He finally found himself level. The doctor gave a gasp, sitting at the edge of the table, quietly rubbing the outside of his throat. As Cloak gave a cursory glance over the Sorcermon, Mikemon gave a small scan from the corner of his eyes - a small nod given with his brief diagnosis.
Cloak's words and tone were troubled, of course - but he was right. Cassandra's condition was far more important right now. "Alright. And... set up a time and place, later. To talk."
"We all do." The Dark Knight rumbled, but his mind was on other more important matters. Whether Mikemon would follow him or not was yet to be seen. Tearing the door from the hinges with a heave the Tactimon was careful to set the now somewhat warped piece of wood aside his heart thudding in his chest at the sight of his Tamer. Cas lay half curled into a ball on her side the bathroom a mess of shattered bits of glass from the broken mirror and the cracked sink. His Tamer's form small and shaking badly where she lay on the floor as she clawed at her own face her lips bloody and hands bleeding as she attempted to yank her fangs out of her own mouth with her own two hands as she sobbed. The sight wrenching the breath from Cloak's lungs in shock before his mind kicked in and the Tactimon lunged.
"Hime no." He rumbled out voice hitching with pain and desperation as he gripped her wrists pulling her claws away from her face as he fought to carefully restrain her. Dragging the Doctor's small form against his own as he wrestled her into his arms, forcing her head beneath his chin as he slumped to the floor against the wall cradling his sobbing broken partner against his chest as she cried.
"No no no. Hime no. Please no." Cloak whispered gauntlet clad fingers running carefully through his partners dull and matted hair. Her frame too small, too thin, against the hard black plates of his armor. He remembered the soft curves of her form his hand nearly spanning the boney thin expanse of her hip each rib able to be felt through the thin fabric of her doctors coat obscuring her side. The bulky expanse of her layers having hidden the extent of her ill health too long.
"It's going to be ok Hime." The Tactimon murmured softly into her ear his words rough with conviction. He'd staked his life and crippled Demon Lords with but single well placed lies.
And now all he wishes was for his words to be truth.
Mikemon could already tell, from the condition that Cassandra left the room. The crazed look in her eyes, the strange and feral demeanor that she treated the Sorcermon with. Draining about half of that bottle of seltzer, Mikemon shook his head, clarity returning to the doctor's thoughts.
He could hear them: the sound of panic and desperation from Cassandra, the begging, caring tones of Cloak in the background. It was enough to make the cat's fur stand on edge, gritting his teeth as he closed his hand around that bottle, crinkling the plastic straight through.
Why was he standing still? Climbing to his feet, Mikemon made his way to that warped door - slipping silently in, a mere 'clack' given as the door fell back against its frame, as he spotted that grim image. He looked on, for a mere moment, eyes carefully scanning that data. With a D-Reaper patient, there wasn't an entirely safe way to heal, but he did find something.
A careful, green glow extended from the back of his palm, resting just behind the back of Cassandra's head. The sensation would be vaguely warm, and brief - just enough for the doctor to start feeling some clarity in her mind.
He gave a look to Cloak, with a nod, as he stepped back. Right now?
Mikemon was going to stay as long as she needed him.