From my throne in the Divine Space, I watched eight Champion and Ultimate-level Digimon launch themselves into the air with their human partners secured on their backs. The desert fell away beneath them as they gained altitude, false sunlight glinting off MetalGreymon's chromes digizoid armor and MegaKabuterimon's carapace. Piximon rode with Kaldur on MetalGreymon, the ancient trainer's wounds still bleeding despite Palmon's best efforts at field medicine.
Their flight ability suddenly became a blessing they hadn't anticipated needing. Fifteen hours of ground travel reduced to seven and a half hours of aerial transit, though even that felt glacially slow when Primary Village's existence hung in the balance. Every second counted now. Every minute Devimon had was another minute he could follow through on genocide.
Success probability for reaching File Island before village destruction: sixty-eight percent.
Casualty probability during Devimon confrontation: ninety-four percent.
I hated both numbers with an intensity that surprised me.
The digital landscape scrolled beneath them like a painting come to life. Forests gave way to rivers, rivers became grasslands, grasslands transformed into rocky badlands, all rendered in the distinctive pixelated texture that marked this world as fundamentally different from baseline reality. Beautiful and alien simultaneously, a creation I'd poured weeks of subjective time into perfecting.
Now it was all at risk because I'd made Devimon too intelligent, too ruthless, too willing to strike at the one target that transcended individual survival instinct.
Dick broke the silence first, his voice carrying over the wind as MegaKabuterimon flew steady beside MetalGreymon. His tactical mind never stopped working, always searching for advantages, always preparing contingencies.
"Hey Piximon," Dick called out, the Crest of Knowledge still glowing faintly against his chest. "Are there any past students strong enough to help that might be on File Island?"
Piximon shifted slightly, wincing as the movement aggravated his wounds. The ancient trainer's usual cheerful demeanor had hardened into something grimmer, more dangerous. Three thousand years of accumulated experience focusing entirely on the immediate crisis.
"Yes," Piximon said, his high-pitched voice somehow carrying perfect clarity despite the wind. "I have two students on File Island right now. Leomon and Ogremon. Both are strong Champions, even stronger when they put their rivalry aside and actually work together."
A fond smile crossed Piximon's face despite everything, and I caught the memory fragments bleeding through his mind as he reminisced. Leomon the noble warrior, dedicated to justice and protection above all else. Ogremon the rough brawler, loyal to a falt beneath his aggressive exterior. Both had given their teacher more trouble than ten other students combined, but both had also earned his deepest respect.
"They're the current guards of Primary Village," Piximon continued. "If Devimon attacks, they'll defend it with their lives. But against a super champion-level opponent with ultimates under him..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Everyone understood the mathematics of power tiers. Two Champions against one super champion was a massacre, not a battle. Leomon and Ogremon would die buying minutes at best, and those minutes might not be enough.
Dick nodded, processing the information with that analytical mind Batman had trained since childhood. But he wasn't finished with his questions. The Crest of Knowledge demanded understanding, demanded all available data before making critical decisions.
"Our partners told us the Digital World has no real rulers," Dick said. "Okay, understandable. But you guys don't have like a divine guardian or something to watch over the world? If the God who made this place really won't interfere, he or she didn't give you a weapon or something for protection?"
I leaned forward on my throne, suddenly very interested in how Piximon would answer. The lore I'd built into this world ran very deep, layers upon layers of history and mythology designed to make everything feel earned rather than arbitrary. But I'd left certain elements vague, allowing the servants to fill gaps with their own creative interpretations.
This should technically be one of those gaps. As I did leave something behind five somethings to be exact but a very small number of Digimon know about them.
Wally, Kaldur, and Conner all turned their attention to Piximon as well, curiosity overriding exhaustion. Even their Digimon partners angled slightly closer, wanting to hear this explanation.
Piximon was quiet for a long moment, and I watched his expression shift through several emotions. Surprise that someone had asked. Consideration of how much to reveal. Finally, decision.
"I'm not surprised your partners don't know," Piximon said carefully. "They're pretty young. Even the oldest among them, Gatomon, wouldn't have been told about this. But even if they were told it wouldn't have mattered as most treat it as a story now a days. It's basically a open secret that only the oldest among us know but yes, the Digital World does in fact have divine guardians."
The ancient trainer's voice took on a reverent quality I'd never heard before, speaking of powers that dwarfed even Mega-level threats.
"They are known as the Four Sovereign Digimon," Piximon continued. "The Four Holy Beasts. The oldest and strongest Digimon in the Digital World. Each one was personally made by the creator himself to guard the four corners of existence."
I felt something shift in my chest as Piximon spoke. Not surprise exactly, because some part of me had known this would emerge eventually from the creative framework I'd established. But recognition. Validation that the world had grown beyond my direct control into something with its own internal history was nice.
"Azulongmon," Piximon said, and the name resonated through the digital air like a bell. "The Dragon of the East who controls lightning. Zhuqiaomon, the Phoenix of the South who commands fire. Baihumon, the Tiger of the West who wields metal and earth. Ebonwumon, the two-headed Turtle of the North who governs water and wood."
Each name carried weight, power, significance that transcended mere description. I had enjoyed programming these entities, all by myself they existed now in the world's mythology, in the collective understanding of every Digimon who'd lived here for generations even if like Piximon said and most viewed them as stories and not real Digimon.
Perhaps that was what it meant to be a true creator. Not micromanaging every detail, but establishing frameworks that allowed reality to define itself.
"They're overseen by a fifth member," Piximon added, his voice dropping to something approaching awe. "Huanglongmon, who represents the center. But unlike the others, no one has ever seen them in person."
The team absorbed this information in silence, trying to reconcile the existence of godlike protectors with the current crisis threatening to destroy everything.
Wally voiced the obvious question first. "So where are they? Why aren't these super-powerful guardians stopping Devimon?"
Piximon's expression darkened, and genuine fear flickered across his face.
"They already left," the trainer said quietly. "Some time ago, when the corruption first began spreading. I and a few others watched as they went to suppress the main source of the darkness at its origin point. They're fighting even now, battling something so terrible that it requires all four Sovereigns working together to contain it."
Piximon paused, and the gravity of his next words hung heavy in the air.
"The fact that they haven't won yet is very troubling."
Silence descended over the flying formation. Everyone understood the implications. If beings powerful enough to be called gods, entities who'd maintained balance for thousands of years, couldn't defeat the source of corruption quickly, then what hope did four teenagers and their Digimon partners have?
The answer, I knew from my divine perspective, was that hope didn't calculate based on power comparisons. Hope meant fighting anyway. Hope meant refusing to surrender even when logic said defeat was inevitable.
That was why Conner carried the Crest of Hope. Because his entire existence defied logic and expectation.
Kaldur spoke after a long moment, his voice carrying the absolute conviction that made him a natural leader.
"I see. Thank you for the information, Piximon. When we reach File Island, we'll meet up with your students." His water-bearers gleamed in the false sunlight. "I promise we will protect Primary Village."
The words weren't bravado. Kaldur didn't make promises he couldn't keep. This was commitment, pure and simple. A declaration that he would die before letting genocide happen on his watch.
Piximon nodded slowly, respect and fear warring in his expression. He'd trained hundreds of students over three millennia. He recognized the look of someone willing to sacrifice everything to get the job done.
"I believe you," Piximon said softly.
The flight continued in tense silence after that, each team member lost in their own thoughts. Dick calculated strategies and contingencies. Wally vibrated with nervous energy that had nowhere to go at their current speed. Conner's jaw was set in that stubborn expression that meant he'd made a decision and wouldn't be swayed. Kaldur's eyes scanned the horizon constantly, leader instinct searching for threats.
Their Digimon partners flew steady and strong, Ultimate and Champion levels both pushing their limits to maximize speed without sacrificing safety. MetalGreymon's organic missiles remained primed. MegaKabuterimon's horn crackled with residual electricity. WereGarurumon's claws flexed rhythmically. Every one of them ready for combat at a moment's notice.
I monitored vital signs, energy levels, probability matrices. The System fed me constant updates on travel time, Devimon's estimated schedule, Primary Village's defensive capabilities. Numbers and calculations that couldn't capture the emotional weight of what was happening.
Seven hours and eighteen minutes later, the ocean came into view.
The beach where they'd first arrived on Server Continent spread out beneath them, golden sand meeting digital waves in patterns that mimicked natural coastlines while maintaining that distinctive pixelated quality. The spot where Whalemon had dropped them off days ago looked exactly the same, untouched and peaceful.
Too peaceful. The kind of calm that preceded catastrophe.
MetalGreymon descended first, landing heavily enough to leave deep impressions in the sand. The others followed in quick succession, their Digimon partners touching down with varying degrees of grace. Kaldur helped Piximon dismount carefully, the ancient trainer's wounds still weeping blood despite his protests that he was fine.
"Now what?" Wally asked, vibrating in place as nervous energy finally found an outlet. "We just hope Whalemon happens to be nearby? Because I don't see a convenient 'summon sea transport' button anywhere."
Dick pulled out his Digivice, studying the screen as though it might reveal some hidden communication function. Conner scanned the ocean with his Kryptonian vision, searching for massive shapes beneath the waves. Kaldur simply stared at the water, perhaps hoping his Atlantean connection would somehow call out to the friendly behemoth who'd helped them before.
Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Every second was another second Devimon had to prepare, to position forces, to potentially begin his assault on Primary Village.
Then the ocean erupted.
Whalemon surfaced fifty meters offshore, his massive form breaching the waves with casual power that sent spray cascading in all directions. His eyes, impossibly intelligent for a creature that shouldn't exist here and now, locked onto the team with immediate recognition.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" Whalemon's voice boomed across the beach, equal parts annoyed and amused. "An invitation? Get on already."
The team stared in shock. Wally recovered first.
"How did you know we needed—"
"Kid," Whalemon interrupted, already moving closer to shore, "the entire Digital World knows what's happening. Devimon's threat is spreading like wildfire. Every Digimon with half a brain is either running for cover or preparing to fight. You think I wouldn't know the heroes who hold four crests would need fast transport to File Island?"
From my throne, I watched this unfold with something approaching relief. I hadn't arranged Whalemon's arrival. Hadn't triggered any script or algorithm. The world itself had responded to narrative necessity, to the internal logic of a reality where heroes mattered and allies appeared when needed most.
Maybe that was another sign of true creation. When your world started writing its own story.
The team didn't waste time with further questions. They scrambled onto Whalemon's back, their Digimon partners de-volving to smaller forms to conserve energy for the coming battle. Within ninety seconds, everyone was secured, and Whalemon began moving.
Not the leisurely pace from their first crossing. This was speed that defied physics, the massive creature cutting through digital waves like a torpedo, destination fixed and absolute.
File Island. Primary Village. Devimon.
Showdown.
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Happy memorial day to you all like my other books your getting more chapters as a gift but this gift comes with some not great news the story is going on its first hiatus after this I'm posting the last five chapters I have now not to worry since I'm more than seventy ahead of my main book I'll pause writing that one and focus more on this until I've got a decent back log again so you shouldn't have to wait long.
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One more thing I'm still deciding on what kind of dungeons to test the League with and who should be the diver for which dungeon if any of you have any ideas don't be afraid to throw them out there I'm open to suggestions.