CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Surely he was dreaming.

Iori could feel himself lifted off something... Someone. Everything around him was spinning even though he was standing still. A nice explanation would have been that he had gotten off of some kind of ride- the teacup one in Disneyland perhaps.

Even though that was not the case, the scene that revolved around him sure looked like some kind of fantastic production.

Spinning. Taichi sitting in a huge backed chair- a throne- that glowed with a bright light that made Iori's head hurt even more. Spinning. Dozens of men, strangers, dressed in red uniforms sprawled in various positions of disorientation and defeat. Spinning. Miyako on the ground, dressed in a lavender gown clutching an exhausted looking Ken. Spinning. Mimi standing on the opposite side of the wooden platform from Iori himself, clutching what may or may not have been a gun. Still spinning.

But a bit slower now.

"Iori?" Jyou's voice cracked as the older boy helped Koushiro out of a pile of what appeared to be plush, elegant curtains. Before anyone could speak to ask or answer, one of the soldiers charged at Iori. He was visibly injured and blood clumped in his curly hair to make him look more maniacal than truly frightening. Iori had learned to not question too much when it came to DigiWorld related scenarios, but as he dashed backwards to avoid the curly-haired soldier he looked around the room that had now stopped spinning. Everyone was here but for Daisuke. Or any Digimon. How could this, whatever this is, be happening if it didn't involve the Digital World?

"Iori, watch out!"

Iori turned to see who was calling him but instead saw the curly haired soldier running for him again, visibly angered by having an injury work against him. Without Armadillomon or even a kendo shinai to protect him, Iori held his arms up. Maybe infantile or useless, silly at best, it was all Iori could do.

Iori waited to feel the force of the young man crush into his body, pinning his smaller frame onto the ground. He waited, bracing himself, but to the surprise of everyone watching, Iori himself and Pell who was sent flying backwards. The crest of knowledge, emblazoned on one palm, came shooting out and wound itself around the crest of reliability, starting on Iori's other palm. The fused crests propelled themselves at Pell and like watered down fireworks exploded around his body. The next sound was Pell's body smashing into the stone wall behind him.

The entire room was filled by the light emanating from Taichi's throne as that from Iori's crests faded, but the glow was certainly not a natural one. Iori frowned as he noticed sediment filtering through the cracks in the window frame, almost glittering as it combined itself with the thrones light.

"The sparkly dirt!" Koushiro gasped as he rushed towards the window. Half concerned that the partner in bearing the crest of knowledge spoke words more suited to a five-year-old girl, Iori grimaced. But, there was no other way, scientifically, rationally or otherwise to explain the sediment that forced its way into to room, forcing open windows and filling the air with a wet, earthy scent. A girl that Iori did not recognize, in clothes completely foreign, nodded, clutching a cluster of parchment tied together with twine. Iori joined Koushiro, the redhead now covered in iridescent dust. The now-open glass panes separated them from a village scene, was mostly masked in darkness. A single feature was illuminated by unnatural glowing light.

"The Town statue." The oddly dressed girl spoke, awe and reverence unmistakable in her soft voice. Iori looked down to the parchment on the very top of her stack, the aged paper wrinkled further by the tight grip of her shaking hands. Undeniably inked what must have been many, many years ago was none other than the crest of Knowledge. Before Iori could even combine the thoughts in his head to ask questions, the momentary stunned silence evaporated and the men in the red uniforms began charging, swinging at Iori's friends and the mismatched group of others. One soldier swung a sword towards Iori's redheaded companion. Iori ducked, reaching his arms out to push the older boy out of the way but instead, a burst of purple tinged, forked lightning erupted from Koushiro's raised hands. The solider on offence crumbled, his hair singed, a scratching yell erupting from his mouth. Koushiro turned to Iori as everyone else turned to him.

"W-what was that?" Koushiro wondered out loud, his voice trembling.

Iori, just as surprised but completely knowing, replied, "That… that was Super-Shocker."

The next to silence in the room was interrupted by a halfhearted whine, "Oh man, I want one…" Iori turned, the words had barely left Taichi's mouth as the older boy leaned too far to the side of the throne, grabbed the tapestry that hung above him to regain his balance. Taichi's own crest that was proudly displayed on the center of the wall hanging, crumbled as Taichi fell towards the floor, bringing the tapestry with him.

When he stood, holding the ornate woven cloth around him like a small child would a blanket, the room was illuminated again by another supernatural glow from the window. Iori caught a glimpse as the symbol of Taichi's crest faded from view and as he returned his sight to the owner of the crest of courage, Taichi stood, palm spread with a crooked grin looking down at what was now a golden version of the regal robes he had been wearing earlier. Taichi opened his mouth to speak but before he could do so, there was another light that sent shadows around the room.

Iori turned to the window, "What was it?" he asked no one in particular. The shape had already faded and was now just a smoky residue in the sky.

Hikari let out a small gasp, "The Crest of Miracles."

"So, you finally decided to invite me to the party?"

Iori turned around, and there stood Daisuke wearing a look of irritation and relief along with his Spiderman pajamas.