I watch the light fade from the battlefield, my body aching from the Spirit Evolution. BurningGreymon's form dissolves around me, and I'm back in my own skin, knees hitting the wet concrete. Gatomon and BlackGatomon pad over, their tails swishing with satisfaction.
"That was something," Gatomon says, rubbing her head against my arm.
"Jessica did good," BlackGatomon adds, her crimson eyes gleaming. "Real good."
I push myself to my feet and look across the ruined pumping station. Jessica is standing in the center of the devastation, her Jewel costume torn and dirty, her pink wig askew. And beside her, Beelzemon towers—all leather and guns and barely contained power.
I walk over. Gatomon and BlackGatomon follow.
"Jessica," I say. "That was insane. That was reckless. That was—"
"Amazing?" she offers, a small smile tugging at her corner of her mouth.
"Terrifying," I finish. "But yeah. Also amazing."
Beelzemon shifts on his feet. The massive Digimon looks almost uncomfortable, his violet mask hiding whatever expression he's making. He lowers his Berenjena and rests them on his shoulders.
"The girl fought well," he says, his deep voice carrying a grudging respect. "She didn't flinch. Even when she should have."
"I had a good partner," Jessica says, looking up at him.
Gatomon hops up onto a chunk of rubble, eyeing Beelzemon with open curiosity. "So you're the one who's been causing all the trouble in the park."
"Trouble?" Beelzemon's head tilts. "I prefer 'strategic chaos.'"
BlackGatomon snorts. "He's got your energy, Jessica."
Jessica laughs. It's a real laugh, not the careful, measured sound she's been making since the Killgrave incident. It's bright and unguarded, and it hits me somewhere in the chest.
Beelzemon's form flickers. The leather and armor dissolve, the massive frame shrinking, the guns vanishing. Where the Demon Lord of Gluttony stood, there's now just Impmon—small, purple, with that familiar red scarf and a scowl that doesn't quite hide the warmth in his green eyes.
He crosses his arms and looks away. "Don't say it."
"Say what?" Jessica asks innocently.
"Whatever you're thinking. I can feel it through the bond. It's annoying."
"You liked it," she says. "Being Beelzemon. I felt it."
Impmon's ears flatten. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
"It was... adequate," he mutters. "The power was... fine. The guns were acceptable. That's all."
Gatomon grins. "He liked it."
"I will set your tail on fire," Impmon snaps.
"Try it, little devil."
"Both of you, cool it," I say, but I'm smiling. I can't help it. The bickering is familiar, comfortable. It's the sound of people who care about each other but would rather die than admit it.
Jessica scoops Impmon up before he can retaliate. He squirms in her arms, protesting loudly, but he doesn't actually fight. She holds him like he weighs nothing—because to her, he probably does.
"Put me down! This is humiliating!"
"You're like eight pounds. Stop complaining."
"I am a fearsome Demon Lord!"
"You're a grumpy cat."
BlackGatomon cackles. Even Gatomon cracks a smile.
I look at the scene—Jessica holding a squirming Impmon, my own Digimon watching with amusement, the ruined pumping station slowly settling around us. Something warm settles in my chest. A new Tamer. A new partnership. The world just got a little more complicated, but also a little more hopeful.
"We should get out of here," I say. "Before SHIELD shows up and starts asking questions."
Jessica sets Impmon down. He immediately scrambles up to her shoulder, perching there with as much dignity as a purple devil Digimon can muster.
"So," Jessica says, falling into step beside me as we head for the exit. "What now?"
I think about it. The adrenaline is fading, replaced by exhaustion and something else. Something that feels like relief. Jessica is smiling. Impmon is bickering. My Digimon are safe. We won.
"Now," I say, "we celebrate. You and Impmon just became partners. That's worth a party."
"A party?" Impmon perks up. "Will there be food?"
"Will there be food," I repeat, shaking my head. "Yes, Impmon. There will be food."
"Then I suppose I can tolerate a party."
Jessica catches my eye and mouths "thank you." I nod. She doesn't need to thank me. This is what partners do. This is what family does.
We step out into the night air, and for the first time in weeks, the city doesn't feel like it's closing in. It feels like it's opening up. Full of possibility.
Full of people worth protecting.
* * *
(East River Docks — Three Hours Later)
The pumping station groans, water still dripping from ruptured pipes. Emergency lights cast long shadows across the concrete. SHIELD agents move through the wreckage, cataloguing damage, photographing scorch marks.
Nobody notices the figure perched on a crane arm above them.
Jokermon watches the agents work, his painted grin catching the light. His golden bells chime softly as he tilts his head, studying the residue Shaujinmon left behind. Dark water stains spiral across the floor in patterns that make the agents uneasy without knowing why.
He drops from the crane, landing without sound. His coattails settle around him like folded wings.
Jokermon kneels beside a puddle of corrupted water. He produces a small device from inside his coat, a crystalline sphere laced with circuitry that pulses faintly. He holds it over the puddle. The sphere hums, drawing thin wisps of violet energy from the residue, the last traces of what Shaujinmon unleashed before dissolution.
The energy swirls inside the sphere, condensing into a bead of sickly light.
Jokermon pockets the device and stands, brushing dust from his knees. He glances toward the exit, where Ethan's group departed hours ago. The Chosen Child has no idea what he left behind. What lingers in the water, in the air, in the data itself.
"Adequate," Jokermon murmurs to himself, savoring the word. "But adequacy is merely the prelude."
He steps into a shadow between two shipping containers and vanishes, his bells chiming once before silence swallows the sound.
Below the pumping station, in the drainage tunnels, something pulses. A faint violet glow, deep in the water, spreading slowly through the city's veins.
***
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