The street is empty. That's the first thing I notice. No cars. No people. Just the orange glow of streetlights and the sound of my own breathing.
Impmon is light under my arm. Too light. He should be heavier than this.
Behind us, the water moves.
I don't look back. I learned that much from the movies—the girl who looks back is the girl who dies. My legs pump. My boots slam against asphalt. The construction site is ahead, a chain-link fence sagging under its own weight, beyond it a skeleton of steel beams and concrete.
A tendril of dark water snakes across the pavement. It moves like it's alive. Like it's hunting.
It reaches for my ankle.
"LEFT!" Impmon shouts.
I dodge. The tendril grazes my boot and the rubber hisses, dissolving on contact. Impmon twists in my grip and fires a blast of purple flame. The water recoils, curling back on itself like a burned finger.
"That won't hold it!" he yells.
"I know!"
We hit the fence at full speed. I don't slow down. The chain-link tears like paper and we're through, stumbling onto the construction site. Rebar juts from concrete pillars. A crane looms overhead, skeletal against the night sky.
Dead end.
I spin around. Set Impmon down. My hands find a length of pipe—rusted, heavy, real. I grip it tight.
The water pours through the gap in the fence. It doesn't flow like water should. It crawls. It reaches. Tendrils branch and split, feeling their way across the ground like fingers searching in the dark.
Impmon plants himself beside me. His small hands ignite. Purple fire dances between his claws.
"Together?" he says.
"Together."
The first tendril lunges. I swing. The pipe connects and the water splashes apart, but it reforms instantly, coiling around the metal. The pipe grows cold in my hands. Then hot. Then it starts to corrode.
I rip it free and swing again.
Immon's flames carve a line across the ground. The water hisses and retreats, but only for a second. More of it pushes through. It's learning. Adapting.
A tendril wraps around my wrist. The cold is instant and absolute, like dipping my hand in liquid nitrogen. I scream. The pipe clatters to the ground.
Impmon grabs my arm and pulls. His fire burns the tendril loose. My wrist is red and blistered, but I can still move my fingers.
"Thanks," I gasp.
"Don't thank me yet."
The water surges forward in a wave.
Then the sky catches fire.
BurningGreymon crashes down between us and the tide, his golden armor blazing. The impact sends a shockwave rippling outward. The water recoils, steaming.
Angewomon descends on one side, eight wings spread wide, holy light pouring from her hands. LadyDevimon lands on the other, shadows writhing around her like living things.
Ethan's voice cuts through the roar. He's not in the armor—he's standing on a steel beam above us, Digivice in hand, eyes scanning the battlefield.
"Jessica! Get clear!"
"No."
"Jessica—"
"I said no."
He doesn't argue. I can see him processing, recalculating. That's the thing about Ethan—he doesn't waste time on things he can't change.
"Angewomon, Celestial Arrow! LadyDevimon, Darkness Wave! Hit the main mass!"
The two Digimon attack in tandem. Holy light and dark energy converge on the water. It screams—actually screams—and pulls back, contracting into a tighter shape.
For a second, I think it's working.
Then the water explodes upward.
It rises like a geyser, twenty feet, thirty, forty. At its peak, the water parts, and something emerges. Something that used to be Shaujinmon.
He's huge now. Twice my height, maybe more. His robes are gone, replaced by living water that flows and shifts across his body. His staff is fused to his arm, the wood and metal replaced by the same corrupted liquid. His face is still recognizable—the sharp features, the cruel mouth—but his eyes burn with a light that isn't his own.
Stolen light. That's what it looks like. Like he reached into something ancient and pulled out its fire.
He surveys the construction site. His gaze passes over BurningGreymon. Over Angewomon and LadyDevimon. Over Ethan on his perch.
Then his eyes find me.
"You," he says. His voice is layered now, multiple tones speaking at once. "The girl who won't stay down."
I pick up the pipe again. It's half-corroded, barely holding together, but it's something.
"Stay behind me," I tell Impmon.
"No."
"Impmon—"
"I said no."
BurningGreymon doesn't wait for introductions. He charges, Corona Blaster blazing. The beam hits Shaujinmon square in the chest.
The shockwave cracks the street. Windows shatter in buildings a block away. I'm thrown backward, catching myself on a concrete pillar.
When the light fades, Shaujinmon is still standing. A scorch mark darkens his chest, but the water flows over it, healing the damage in seconds.
He swats BurningGreymon aside like he's nothing. The dragon crashes through a concrete wall and doesn't get up immediately.
Angewomon fires Celestial Arrow. The holy bolt strikes Shaujinmon's shoulder. LadyDevimon follows with Darkness Wave, shadows clawing at his legs.
He doesn't even flinch.
His staff arm swings. A tendril of water lashes out, catching Angewomon across the wing. She cries out and spirals. Another tendril wraps around LadyDevimon's ankle and slams her into the ground.
Ethan shouts something I can't hear over the roar of water.
Shaujinmon turns toward me again. His burning eyes lock onto mine. He raises his staff.
The water surges.
Impmon leaps in front of me. His hands ignite—not the small flames from before, but everything he has. A wall of purple fire erupts between us and the tide.
"GO!" he screams.
I don't go. I grab a steel beam—one of the ones holding up the crane structure—and pull. The bolts scream. The concrete cracks. I pull harder than I've ever pulled anything in my life.
The beam comes free.
I hurl it.
It spins through the air and catches Shaujinmon in the side of the head. The impact is solid. Real. He staggers. The water falters.
Impmon's flames die. He's panting, smoke rising from his hands.
"That," he gasps, "was amazing."
Then the light starts.
It begins in my chest. A warmth that spreads outward, down my arms, into my hands. It's golden. Bright. It doesn't hurt—it feels like waking up. Like every cell in my body is remembering what it's supposed to do.
Impmon gasps beside me. The same light is pouring from him, purple-gold, swirling where our shoulders touch.
Ethan's flames flicker. He's staring. I can feel his eyes on us even from up on his perch.
Shaujinmon recoils. His water stills for the first time since the transformation. Every Digimon turns. Angewomon's wings go still. LadyDevimon's shadows freeze. Even BurningGreymon, pulling himself from the rubble, stops and stares.
The light gathers between us. Between my hand and Impmon's. It spins, compresses, solidifies.
A device materializes in my palm. Smooth. White. With a screen that glows soft blue.
A Digivice.
Ethan's jaw drops. I can see it even from here.
Shaujinmon's eyes widen. The stolen fire in them flickers.
The screen on the Digivice glows brighter. Words scroll across it, too fast for me to read, but I understand them anyway. Not with my eyes. With something deeper.
PARTNERSHIP REGISTERED.
***
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