Chapter 17: The General's Checkmate
"Mizuki, did you notice?" LadyDevimon's voice was a low murmur beside him.
"I did," Mizuki replied, pulling his coat back on, his eyes fixed on their towering adversary. "Something's wrong with Devimon... or rather, with NeoDevimon's condition."
He followed her gaze to the monstrous figure across the windswept clearing. The difference was stark. The cold, calculating rationality NeoDevimon had displayed at the start of their battle was gone, stripped away. What remained was something far closer to the creature's feral, inherent nature, a being of pure, unrestrained power.
"I don't know how he managed to maintain his self-awareness in that form, but it looks like he hasn't completely solved the risks that come with it," Mizuki murmured, his attention drawn to the golden mask bolted to NeoDevimon's face. "Could it be... related to that?"
Fragments of data he'd absorbed in his past life surfaced in his mind. The mask worn by a NeoDevimon wasn't for show; it was a restraint, a tool used to dominate its will and control its overwhelming power. If no one else was pulling the strings, then the inverse had to be true.
'Is he using that mask to control himself?'
A thoughtful glint flashed in Mizuki's eyes. He turned to his partner. "LadyDevimon, in the next exchange, I need you to focus on the mask on his face."
"The mask?" She glanced at the golden facade, which now bore a network of fine cracks, then gave a sharp, decisive nod. "I understand."
At that same moment, NeoDevimon's frantic assault finally ceased. He stood panting, the memory of his own unsightly, uncontrolled rampage stirring a deep frustration within him. The power of the NeoDevimon form was immense, but it came at a terrible price: the constant, gnawing risk of his own consciousness being devoured by it.
If not for a chance encounter that had granted him a unique power, and the clever application of the mask to harness it, he would never have dared to attempt this evolution. The power was intoxicating, but the danger was absolute.
Speaking of which... that power from before...
NeoDevimon's six crimson eyes swiveled, their focus shifting between Mizuki and LadyDevimon. He vaguely recalled the sensation. It was during his previous battle with this very pair that he had inadvertently absorbed a sliver of that strange, stabilizing energy. That was the true reason he had targeted the Village of Beginnings—to use its inhabitants as use, to force these two into a corner and draw out that power once more.
But first, there was a critical question he needed to answer.
Did this power, which felt like the very essence of "balance," originate from LadyDevimon—a Holy-type Digimon of singular, corrupted talent—or did it come from the human?
The thought of a mere human brat, one who didn't even bear the mark of a DigiDestined, wielding such a fundamental force was galling. It defied all logic. Yet, considering the inexplicable surges of strength he felt and the chain of seemingly unrelated events, he could not dismiss the possibility.
'Compared to LadyDevimon, whose nature is a known, albeit paradoxical, quantity... is that boy the true key?'
For a fleeting moment, NeoDevimon's mind operated with an unmatched, chilling clarity. He analyzed every variable, every interaction, every anomaly.
But before he could derive a final answer, his opponent was upon him again.
"Darkness Spear!"
LadyDevimon moved like a phantom, a blur of motion appearing on his flank. The dark spear in her hand wasn't aimed at his core but lunged with vicious precision straight for his mask.
"Round three, NeoDevimon!" Mizuki's voice cut through the wind.
The attack was so sudden, so immediate, that NeoDevimon barely had time to react. He threw up a clawed hand, deflecting the spear tip just an inch from his face with a deafening shriek of metal on metal.
He looked at this fellow dark-attribute Digimon, a retort dying on his lips. 'At least let me finish my thought before you attack! Where is your dignity as a Holy-type?'But the thought immediately soured. Holy-type? LadyDevimon?'Holy my ass!'he raged internally. If the fate of this world had a physical form, it had to be a mischievous goddess who delighted in toying with the hearts of Digimon. How else could a Holy-type exist who wielded the power of darkness more proficiently than the light she supposedly embodied? Her conduct, her ruthlessness, her entire being was a mockery of every sacred Digimon he had ever known.'By that logic,'he fumed,'why can't I, NeoDevimon, be a Holy-type Digimon too?!'
Though a storm of complex emotions raged within him, his movements remained lethally precise. He weathered the initial assault, and soon, LadyDevimon, who had seized the initiative, found herself gradually forced onto the defensive. NeoDevimon's centuries of combat experience were a tide she could not turn back alone.
"Damn it..."
The wind whipped past her ears, a cold shriek generated by the razor-sharp claws that narrowly missed her face. The faint sting of leaking data from the shallow cuts on her cheek was a constant, irritating stimulus. Her determination burned fiercely, but it couldn't instantly bridge the vast chasm of experience that separated them.
But she wasn't fighting alone.
As the thought crossed her mind, a familiar figure flashed in her peripheral vision.
"NeoDevimon! Over here!"
"You detestable brat," NeoDevimon snarled, seeing the coat sailing through the air. "Trying the same pathetic trick again?"
He swatted it from the air with a casual, contemptuous strike, the fabric disintegrating into useless scraps. Yet, to his surprise, when his line of sight was clear again, Mizuki was nowhere to be seen.
The gale howling across the battlefield suddenly intensified, its chaotic currents playing a frantic, violent symphony. NeoDevimon's senses flared, pushed to their absolute limit. He felt every fluctuation in the air, tracked the trajectory of every grain of sand kicked up by the wind.
Not in front. That meant... behind!
The thought had barely formed before his body reacted, a product of pure instinct honed over countless battles. Without even turning, he shot a hand back, blocking the attack he knew was coming.
A familiar impact. The thud of a boot against his armored palm.
'So, it was a feint after all,'NeoDevimon thought, a smirk touching his lips.'Trying to create an opening for LadyDevimon again.'
But this time, the lightning-fast figure rushing him came to an abrupt, jarring halt.
The wind died as suddenly as it had risen. Mizuki's flying kick was stopped dead, his foot caught firmly in NeoDevimon's crushing grip.
'No... this is different,'NeoDevimon realized.'You feigned an attack to set up LadyDevimon, but the real primary attacker... was you all along?'
"You were aiming for my mask?" he rumbled, a low, appreciative chuckle in his voice. "Interesting. I have to admit, brat, I underestimated you."
His six eyes rotated with an eerie, mocking slowness, locking onto Mizuki's trapped form.
"But unfortunately for you, your plan has failed." His grip tightened, threatening to shatter bone. "Which means... checkmate."
"Failed?" Mizuki's voice was strained, but a cold, sharp edge cut through the pain. "I wouldn't say that."
"What?!"
An unbelievable sight unfolded before NeoDevimon's eyes.
Though his leg was caught, Mizuki's momentum had not yet faded. With a surge of raw willpower, he used NeoDevimon's own grip as a pivot point, twisting his body in a violent, unnatural rotation.
There was a sickening crack as his ankle dislocated completely, but the cost was worth the prize. The spinning kick, powered by agony and desperation, landed with the force of a thunderclap squarely on NeoDevimon's golden mask.
"Now—" Mizuki hissed, ignoring the white-hot agony screaming up his leg. He delivered his final verdict, his voice as cold and unforgiving as the grave.
"You're the one who's been checkmated."
A spiderweb of new cracks exploded across the mask's surface.
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