Chapter 219: Even If You Give Up Hope
Thanks to the overwhelming vanguard of WarGreymon X and MetalGarurumon X, the surviving Digimon finally managed to claw their way out of the subterranean Eater encirclement. They breached the surface, lungs burning as they prepared to inhale the fresh air of freedom.
However, before a single sigh of relief could leave their mouths, they froze. The sight waiting for them above ground did not bring salvation. It brought sheer, paralyzing terror.
"What on earth... is going on!?"
"The sky... it's cracked open!?"
"Look at the horizon! The ground is just... disappearing!"
"Hey? What's wrong with everyone?"
Mummymon, trailing at the very rear of the battered convoy, trudged forward. His pace was agonizingly slow, entirely because he was currently acting as the reluctant handler for two incredibly stubborn passengers.
"Damn it, let go of me!"
"I can fight too!"
"Me too!"
The familiar, defiant voices belonged to Dorumon and Tokomon X. WarGreymon X had dragged them back from the front lines earlier, and during the chaotic evacuation, the two young Digimon had desperately tried to stay behind to fight. Left with no other option, Mummymon had resorted to wrapping them tightly in his heavy bandages, physically hauling them away from the danger zone.
"Enough, both of you," Mummymon groaned, adjusting his grip. "You are merely a Rookie and an In-Training. A battlefield like this is no place for children to throw their lives away."
He stared down at the two small Digimon thrashing against his bindings. Despite his exasperation, a flicker of genuine astonishment crossed his mind. The sheer physical resistance they were putting up was staggering.
'To be just a Rookie and an In-Training, yet possess this kind of raw strength...'Mummymon thought, his arms trembling slightly from the effort.'If I weren't an Ultimate level, they would have broken free by now. Such incredible potential. If only they had been born in an era of peace... sigh.'
A dull ache throbbed in Mummymon's chest for the grim fate these children had inherited. But his internal lament was cut short as the unnatural atmosphere of the surface finally registered in his senses.
They had escaped the underground nightmare, so why did the air feel heavier here? Why was it suffocating?
Frowning, Mummymon lifted his gaze toward the horizon.
In the next second, his sunken eyes—usually radiating the cold, detached aura of the undead—widened in absolute, primal dread.
"What in the world is happening...?" he whispered.
Above them, the sky was fracturing inch by inch. Jagged, pitch-black fissures spiderwebbed across the heavens, resembling a porcelain dome struck by a massive hammer. Below, the distant earth was dissolving into nothingness. Mountains, forests, and rivers were being stripped down to their base binary code, crumbling away into a vast, empty void that devoured the light.
The heavens were collapsing, and the earth was shattering. There was no other way to describe the apocalypse unfolding before them.
And the architects of this total erasure were all too familiar.
"It's those monsters!"
"There are so many of them! Too many!"
"They aren't just underground... they've infested the surface world too!"
"Is there... is there even any hope left?"
Despair ripped through the ranks of the surviving Digimon like a physical shockwave. Shoulders slumped, and weapons slipped from trembling claws.
Wizardmon took in the sight of his broken comrades. A heavy shadow of sorrow crossed his face, but he forced his jaw to lock, replacing the grief with a fierce, burning determination.
"Everyone, listen to me!"
His voice rang out, sharp and clear, cutting through the rising panic. Dozens of hollow, terrified eyes slowly turned to look at him.
Standing tall before his fellow survivors, Wizardmon took a deep, steadying breath. When he spoke again, his tone was resonant, carrying a quiet strength.
"I know all of you remember," he began, his grip tightening on his staff. "Those days in the past, filled with warmth, happiness, and peace."
He paused, letting the memory settle over the crowd. "But somewhere along the way, those beautiful days were swallowed by dark clouds. Now, all we have left in our memories is chaos and endless night."
The eyes of the listening Digimon dimmed further, the weight of their losses pressing down on them.
"However, even through all that darkness, we have survived until this very moment!" Wizardmon's voice rose in pitch. "Every single one of you knows exactly how much blood has been shed, and how many sacrifices were made to get us here."
He looked at the battered, bruised bodies surrounding him. "I know you are exhausted. I know the journey has drained everything you have. But..."
Flashes of fallen friends and shattered homes raced through his mind. Wizardmon clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
"But I am begging you to push just a little harder! Do not let go of hope! If you surrender now, all those sacrifices—every friend and comrade who gave their lives so that we could stand here today—their deaths will mean absolutely nothing!"
His impassioned plea struck a chord. Several Digimon, previously paralyzed by despair, gritted their teeth. Drawing on the memories of the loved ones they had lost, they forced their trembling legs to straighten, standing tall once more.
Yet, the oppressive weight of the void above was too much for others. A large portion of the group remained slumped on the ground, their spirits completely broken.
"Perhaps you are right, Wizardmon..."
A hoarse, ragged voice broke the silence. A heavily scarred Tyrannomon dragged his massive frame forward from the back of the crowd. He stopped before Wizardmon, his only remaining eye clouded with a bitter, deep exhaustion.
"I am just... so tired. Really tired," the Tyrannomon rasped, his massive shoulders heaving. "All along this path, my friends, my family... they threw themselves in harm's way for me. I know I am supposed to carry their will. I know I have to keep for their sake."
He lowered his heavy head. "But I just can't anymore. I am completely spent."
The Tyrannomon braced himself, fully expecting Wizardmon to deliver another grand, righteous speech to scold him into fighting. Instead, the spellcaster did something entirely unexpected.
"I know," Wizardmon said softly.
The Tyrannomon blinked his single eye in surprise. Wizardmon reached up and slowly pulled down the high collar of his cape, revealing a face lined with deep, inescapable fatigue.
"To be completely honest with you... I feel the exact same way," Wizardmon confessed, his gaze sweeping over the silent, battered crowd. "I just stood here and preached about never giving up, but the truth is... I have been running on empty for a long, long time."
"Wizardmon..." Mummymon whispered from the back, his teeth grinding together as he looked at his friend's weary expression.
The fragile spark of hope Wizardmon had just ignited flickered and died. The crushing reality of their situation settled over the group once more, plunging them back into a suffocating silence.
Mummymon shifted his weight, preparing to step forward and say something—anything—to break the gloom. But Wizardmon spoke first, his tone suddenly shifting.
"I won't judge anyone who wants to give up right here and now," Wizardmon said, a faint, almost mocking smile touching his lips. "But I think, if we are going to die anyway, we might as well make our deaths worth something."
He gestured with his staff toward the center of the formation. "After all, we still have so many little ones relying on us, don't we?"
"..."
Following the tip of his staff, the weary adults slowly turned their heads.
Huddled together in the safest part of the formation were dozens of In-Training Digimon. They stared back at the towering, battle-scarred adults with wide, innocent eyes. They didn't fully comprehend the grim words being spoken, but they could sense the overwhelming sadness radiating from their protectors.
Driven by pure, uncorrupted instinct, the tiny Digimon waddled and hopped forward to comfort the giants.
"Are you hurting?"
"Pat pat! Pat pat!"
"Pain, pain, go away!"
A few Koromon bounced up to the scarred Tyrannomon, nuzzling affectionately against his battered scales. Watching these clumsy, gentle children, the dull emptiness in the Tyrannomon's remaining eye began to recede, replaced by a slow, burning warmth.
He stood in silence for a long moment. Then, with surprising gentleness, he reached down with his massive claws, carefully scooping up the Koromon and placing them safely back into the center of the group.
"Wizardmon... perhaps you are right," the Tyrannomon rumbled, his voice losing its tremor. "We have lost our hope. We have lost the courage to keep running."
He turned his massive head toward the approaching swarm of Eaters, baring his fangs. "But even so... these broken bodies of ours can still pave a bloody path for the next generation."
Wizardmon didn't reply with words. He simply turned his back to the children and leveled his staff toward the horizon.
While they had been talking, the Eaters had closed the distance. The grotesque, white masses of corrupted data were swarming toward them, frantically devouring everything in their path. The sky screamed as it tore apart under their influence, and the ground groaned as it was erased into nothingness. The wind whipping across the barren plains grew freezing cold, carrying the stench of digital decay.
'Just consider it a favor to me... live on.'
The final words of fallen comrades echoed in their minds. Promises made in the heat of battle had somehow turned to ash, blown away by the relentless storm of reality. Tears spilled freely down the faces of the adult Digimon, though none could say if they wept from despair, or from the crushing guilt of leaving the children behind.
The only certainty was that their final shred of hope was fluttering away, like a dead leaf caught in a hurricane.
"Mummymon," Wizardmon said without looking back. "I am leaving it to you and the Komondomon. Take the children and run."
Mummymon stared at Wizardmon's back, then at the line of battered adults who had silently formed a wall between the Eaters and the young ones. He didn't waste breath trying to argue.
"...I understand," Mummymon replied, his voice thick.
Moving swiftly, Mummymon and a few designated guardians began hoisting the In-Training Digimon onto the broad, cushioned backs of the waiting Komondomon.
Hearing the rustle of movement and knowing the children were secured, Wizardmon reached up and slowly removed his pointed hat, tossing it aside. The magical gem atop his staff flared to life, emitting a fierce, crackling roar of thunder.
"Everyone! Since our decision is made, let's go!" Wizardmon shouted, his voice echoing across the dying world. "Like moths to a flame, let us welcome our end!"
He raised his staff high, lightning arcing into the fractured sky.
"And carve out a path for new life!"
"ROOOAAARRR!!!!"
The deafening battle cry of dozens of Digimon shook the very air. All the fear, the exhaustion, and the negative emotions they had suppressed for so long erupted in a single, devastating roar.
In a land where only destruction remained, in a world that had long since forgotten the meaning of hope, they charged forward. With death-defying determination burning in their eyes, the vanguard threw themselves headfirst into the endless tide of Eaters.
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