#os: posts

It kind of hurt no matter how much Yui tried to convince himself that it didn’t, because it shouldn’t.

The Metal Empire town was full of life and joy after they had been ‘liberated’ from their Virus Busters oppressors. What was once an unhappy, low-morale town of everyday discrimination was experiencing a total rebirth. 

Yui took in a deep breath, forced to listen to merry songs he wished he could sing along with. His face was not known, but he was, as far as he knew, the only human in the Digital World. And ‘human’ was the powerful label the Virus Busters have elevated him with. The sage of the Holy Digimemory, the human saviour. 

Lowemon observed Yui. It was only in his insistence that they have sneaked right in here, where Yui was in most danger. The violent Digimon that have been threatening and assaulting its allies was in this town. Lowemon knew Yui enough to know that the boy did not come here to retake the town, nor put an end to the rising leader of the Nightmare Soldiers.

“What is it, Lowemon?” asked Yui, his spirits down as he peered through the window of the inn. He had to climb from the alley to get into the room in the second floor. Going through the door was not an option for him.

“You’re unhappy.”

Yui sighed. “Yeah...”

“Why haven’t we left?”

“We’re waiting on Bokomon.”

Lowemon rose. “Stay here then. I’ll fetch the nerd.”

“No, we’re waiting for him to tell us about that Digimon.” Yui watched as young child Digimon spill into the streets to join the festivity. “I want to talk to them.”

Today was a day of great misfortune, of impending tragedy. Monsters were upon them in numbers that would surely lay waste to Chaldea if left unchecked. Fallen from a direct onslaught, heroes beaten in a simple game of attrition. What would the stories ever say about them? A dark cloud of uncertainty floated over their legacy. History must not be abandoned.

Yet the man with the many gifts laughed. The blessed vessel threw out his arms to the sides and laughed at the sorrow to come. “Rejoice, Master! The desperation we seek is upon us. Tomorrow foretells but a single thing - no, two things! Joy! And a feast! From here, we rise stronger. From the darkness, we become better!”

Pandora discarded his civilian attire in favour of the white dress Aphrodite had given him. On his hands, he summoned the transfigured pithos given to him by Zeus, a giant battle hammer that was as black as his silky hair. 

 “Master Shirou,” he said, the exuberance vanishing from him. “For this battle, I may have to sacrifice the entirety of my sanity for greater power. I’m not sure if I would be able to keep you safe. Us Servants are replaceable. I want you retreat to somewhere safer.” He smiled a bit. “Maybe you can offer a prayer to the gods for me.” 

Wallace surveyed the streets full of trainers from far and wide. They mustn’t amount to no more than fifty and there were two reasons for that. One was the qualifications required for this tournament just by in its being in Sootopolis. The hidden city was not an accessible place that casuals and amateurs could simply stop by in. Wallace had also forbidden the noisy helicopters from obstructing the sky, effectively kicking out the media from covering the tournament. It must have seemed like an unusual move from Wallace, who would be performing for the tournament’s opening act. But this move was already a practiced pattern. When Sootopolis was concerned, Wallace was stingy from the gazes that he would let in its world.

They were welcomed to see it. Anytime they could teach a Pokemon to dive or fly, with the badges to use them.

The second reason was a humbler one. Sootopolis was a grand, but small city. These many people would make it unusually crowded in less than a day.

“Oh?” Wallace have always had an excellent vision. One time, Winona, the Gym Leader of  Fortree, refused to believe the claim that he could slightly make out the figure of a camouflaged Keckleon. 

But it wasn’t a Keckleon he had caught passing in the crowd, though she did camouflage herself decently enough. He had never seen the Kanto Champion personally before, but Wallace’s ability to recognize faces just from pictures was a frightening talent of his.

For a second, he debated letting her be, but they were heading in the same direction. It wouldn’t feel right to ignore her.

“Hello, Leaf. I take it you’re participating, and not watching from the stands?” 

When left to their own devices, things that turned to the art they were meant to be were perpetrators of fate. Even once their physical beauty had been exhausted by time, that, too, would be an act of fate. But should they create something irresponsible, something pointless, then they might have a chance of freedom.

Such was the creation of art. It was to be free from the binds of nature by creating something that only ever exists in the mind. Irresponsible, pointless. This was how meaning was created, driven by desire, by the willful assertion of expression. 

And so Wallace moved his brush, a worn, expensive brush he had bought when he was sixteen. He had gone to art class once, but lost interest. He did not want to learn about the right curves that would turn the shape into an apple, nor the science of angles that would give the illusion of depth. He did not want imitation, nor the lies of an artist. He wanted nothing, really.

So as what would be expected of an amateur artist, his painting had all the splashes of colours and none of the honest reality before him. The lake that was pure and crystalline, surrounded by a backdrop of acorn trees, was, well, blue in his canvas. He had chopped of the trees, because Wallace found the sky more interesting to include. He liked the ray of light from two hours ago, so he struck down a diagonal of white right there. Wallace hummed as he added the narcissus near the water. Maybe he would draw a drowning man, too.