The Icon of Sin - Demon Lords 1I (Dr. Mikemon, K, Cion)

"You are correct. When an assembly of sin comes together for one purpose, usually the prideful take the reigns," Barbamon said. "But such unions are usually so fleeting, are they not? And always borne of opportunity. This is a touch different. This is a calculated maneuver, traveling all around the Digital World to find the Seven and secure their loyalty. It's rare one has the willingness to sacrifice their own gains to pursue such a long, fleeting goal. Is it a surprise one sustained by their hatred would be willing to make that sacrifice to better fuel it?

That said, you are correct that Lucemon's absence is noticeable. They said their piece, paid their price, and promptly went back to doing what they want. Daemon's still fuming about it, but so long as he's at least nominally loyal seems content with not acting on it." A golden glint crossed Barbamon's eyes as he adjusted himself, lying back in the air as if slumbering. "And I see no reason to risk my own neck when so many others are on the offensive. Peace and quiet is a nice change of pace for us, as you so surely know. And in the end, everything flows right where it needs to."

He quirked an eyebrow at Cion's comment, still not quite content to stop lounging around. "Perhaps. But he is one of very noteworthy strength for that level, and who has vexed Daemon time and time again," Barbamon clarified. He pivoted, switching from reclining back to leaning forward with his hand cupping his chin. It was almost like he was gossiping with Cion at a sleepover, rather than talking about the capabilities of antagonistic Digimon. "Come now, I'm sure you've been hurt before. And I'm sure you'd love nothing more than to pay back the ones responsible for it. That catharsis, in many ways, is the genesis of wrath."

In many ways, three distinct goals were being established. Mikemon, a collaborative party, would have been all too happy to take the exchange and walk away. Heck, with a complete lack of resistance to Mikemon's modified proposal, Barbamon seemed to be in agreement. Cion, an antagonistic party, stood against everything the Demon Lords had been peddling. It seemed clear that, were it not for Mikemon and K stepping up to negotiate, this conversation would have been a whole lot more violent. An K, a rather neutral entity? Well, she-

Oh.

Now this was interesting.

Barbamon didn't even try to hide the ear-to-ear grin that spread across his face as K, and with her Cion, stepped up to the plate. He summoned a golden cube in his hands, reaching into it to produce a quill and some parchment. As he began writing on them he turned to Mikemon, tone remarkably casual for such a significant offer. "If you would like to begin our little arrangement, say the word and I can invoke the no-harm clause," he said. Each stroke of his quill was like another gash carved into the flesh of a relentless beast: fast, precise, and furious, yet clearly incapable of stopping what was to come. "Otherwise? Well, I have my theories on what comes next." He rolled his document up into a scroll and handed it over to K and Cion, resting the quill against its surface. "Sign here, if you wish?"

If unfurled, the scroll would have the words Last Will and Testament scrawled across its top. Classy.

"Amicable? Oh, goodness, no," Barbamon said. "Daemon brought us all together, but he sure as hell can't make us all friends with one another. I mean, you already know that Lucemon has decided to take their leave for the time being. And if you even knew the little stunt Lilithmon pulled. I only wish I could've thought of it first!" The more Barbamon spoke, the more clear it became that there was a good deal of self-interest holding this partnership together. Of course that was the perspective the incarnation of Greed would take . . . but as the closest thing to a primary source everyone had to go off of right now, maybe his words held water.

Maybe that was the last bit of intel to be gained. The time for banter had passed. All ears were now focused on the duel, whether preparing to join it or preparing for its aftermath. Barbamon cocked an eyebrow as Mikemon mentioned wills, only for him to start laughing when K mentioned her ignorance on the subject. "You may have run from your station, but clearly the mark has left its impression on you yet!" Barbamon cackled. "Wills before weddings. And without your wife's knowledge, even. You truly are one of us."

If Barbamon was laughing before, the word "sportsmanlike" brought it into an all-out laughing fit. The Demon Lord started to pale, and his concentration ruptured to the point where he fell flat on his bony ass. He weakly fumbled for a nearby wall, before finally summoning his golden cube and using it to hoist himself up. "Oh, I like these ones," he muttered. "It's gonna be a shame to see what happens next.

Daemon isn't sportsmanlike in the slightest. If you want that, go chasing after Lucemon. But Daemon is willing to use any advantage, any minion, any dirty trick, and every shred of power at his disposal to hurt people. And if you're interrupting him in the middle of a fight so important to him, he will be in an especially sour mood. Yet that same sour mood is exactly why I know he'll agree to these terms. Especially per our little agreement.

At the very least, I can guarantee you won't be loaded. I will claim you three as members of my court, and even Daemon knows open war between Demon Lords would be a mistake. But beyond that, he can and will use any means possible to leave you broken before him.

Do you have any questions about his capabilities? Last requests, perhaps? If not, I shall bring you back before him . . . or would you rather I call him here?"

Maybe all of his helpfulness would hide his very pointed dodge of K's last question.

Barbamon's "court" seemed to have no further requests of him. Frankly, they didn't seem to have much fondness for him either, but he wouldn't have gotten to this position if he hadn't gotten used to such a thing. "Very well," he said, his grin softer and more restrained than usual. "I will see to it that Daemon keeps to what small shreds of a bargain we strike, before his patience for such minutiae run out. And in turn, I hope you see to it that this fight is as entertaining as you promise it to be. I would hate for the betting pools I've set up to go to waste." Wait, when did Barbamon have time to do that?

He lifted his hand, a golden light surrounding Cion, K, and Mikemon. "Here's to good fun with family," he teased, snapping his fingers. Just like that, the quartet rocketed back out of Barbamon's golden spire.

They landed to a scene not much different than the one they had previously left. Daemon was still outside, posturing. Seraphimon was still a badly beaten body that had somehow avoided splintering into an egg. The Icon of Sin still loomed high over the Sea of Blood. The only difference was that Daemon had finally found a place for his spear. He had stabbed it right through Seraphimon's chest, pinning him to the door of the Icon of Sin. Now he had simply stood and appreciated his handiwork, for once in his life looking tranquil.

All that tranquility vanished as he turned to face the incoming Barbamon. "Must you trouble me again, sorcerer?" he demanded. "I gave you your toys, leave mine to m-

Oh. And you brought them with you. Wonderful." Daemon's eyes narrowed in frustration, like two red slits in the darkness of his hood. "And do tell me what reason you have for such an interruption. I had just finished arranging our new ornament. I want to take in the image now, while the Ornismon have yet to tear the flesh from his bones." With how stoic Seraphimon remained in the face of such a gruesome image, he was either ever the stalwart or too badly beaten to respond. Judging by his fist clenching and relaxing every few seconds, it was the former.

"Oh, no no no. I assure you, this is no waste of your time, my liege," Barbamon said. "And I assure you, these are no mere toys. We came to quite the understanding in my domain, and they are now full-fledged members of my court."

"And courts are the playthings of kings," Daemon interrupted. He was clearly quite the charmer.

"It means they are not yours. I take it you would not like to lose my allegiance, no?" Barbamon asked. At the affirmative grunt from Daemon, he continued. "Then honor the protections of our covenant, just as you would honor them for me. Harm them without provocation or devour their data, and I shall take from you just as severely in turn."

Daemon snorted and scoffed, but nodded in agreement. "If they want honor, they have mouths. They can demand it themselves," he responded. "But very well. Speak, Greedlings. What do you demand of me?"

Barbamon smirked. "Don't you love it when we can all agree?" he crooned. He snapped his fingers again, a golden circle slowly ascending from the ground. As it passed over his body, he started to sink into it. "I have some personal business to attend to. But worry not! I have my eye on you, and if anything unsavory happens I shall promptly intervene.

Best of luck!" And with that, Barbamon disappeared in a puff of golden smoke.

A hot wind blew across the Dark Area.

With Barbamon's implicit permission, what else could Daemon do? He sighed as Mikemon stepped past, the doors to the Icon of Sin parting for the cat. "You may have free passage in Greed's quarter," he explained. "No such luck will be had in the others. You can't miss the Circle of Avaraice. The ostentatious fool damn near plated the entire wing in gold."

Rather than open to a proper door, the Icon's gate revealed a shimmering portal. On the other side was a small, bustling city square, Greed's shimmering spire standing high above it. Market stalls in various states of disarray lined the streets, Bakemon scavengers squabbling over whatever salvaged remained. They stood in stark contrast to the gold-paved streets, not a single tarnished mark on them from the Icon's previous submerged location. The clouds seemed to part over this part of the Icon, making the empty spectacle of it all sparkle all the brighter.

How long had the Icon been submerged for?

With Mikemon's departure, Daemon stood before the rest of the group. "You want Seraphimon," he repeated. "You. Want Seraphimon. And to fight me for him. Me." The Demon Lord almost couldn't comprehend the statement, pacing back and forth and muttering it under his breath over and over again. His hood swayed back and forth in the breeze, occasionally jostling as Daemon turned on his heel to continue his rounds. His wings flexed back and forth, the claws at their tip tensing up like fists.

Finally, he turned around. For the Demon Lord of Wrath, he looked surprisingly serene. "Alright," he said. The wind blowing through the Dark Area came to a sudden halt, and any warmth in the air shriveled into a bitter frost. His eyes were as flat as his voice, neither betraying a single hint of emotion. "If you would like Seraphimon back, you can have him.

Step right up, and try to get him."

Daemon closed his eyes. And then they snapped open, shimmering in all colors of the rainbow. An aura of power forced itself out from Daemon's body, kicking up a sonic boom that sent ashen grass flying in every direction. Raw power, beyond that of any Digimon K and Cion had encountered previously, began emanating from the Demon Lord. The symbols on the Icon of Sin's gate, too, had begun to glow. What were once etchings on a gateway were now clearly identifiable: Lust, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride. Each symbol glowed a single color, harsh and bright against the obsidian gateway. And each symbol's glow was repeated in Daemon's aura, the colors blending, transforming, and asserting dominance over one another.

It wasn't the power of one Digimon radiating from Daemon. It was the power of seven, each already beyond Super Mega in power. Aggregated like this, their pure power was almost like a physical force.

Contrary to the picture Barbamon painted, Daemon had greatly sobered up upon the battle's beginning. He didn't gleefully charge into the slaughter, nor did he furiously rant at K and Cion for their interruption. He merely stood by Seraphimon's side, basking in power borrowed and developed in equal amounts. He looked from Cion, to K, to Cion again, not even exerting the effort to turn his head.

Then he raised one hand, beckoning them forward.