Takeru woke to the sound of screaming.
It wasn't just any scream—it was her voice. Arachne. Desperate. Urgent. Shattering the silence like a spider's thread snapping under the weight of a storm.
His eyes fluttered open, but there was only darkness. A thick, cloying kind of blackness, warm and damp like the inside of a mouth. He wriggled, panicking slightly, only to find that his arms wouldn't move properly. His legs were bound. He was suspended—he could feel it, the subtle sway of his body in the air, like he was nothing more than a fly caught in a web.
"Takeru!" Arachne's voice rang again, distorted, like it was coming through layers of silk. "Takeru, please! Wake up! You're inside a cocoon—one of the Dokugamon's! I—I need your help! There's too many! My partner can't hold them back alone!"
The panic in her voice cut through the confusion like a blade through fog.
Takeru's heart pounded. He didn't understand. Where was he? Where was Michael? Why did everything smell of damp earth and sour silk?
Then it clicked.
He had been captured. Wrapped up in spider silk like some kind of packaged lunch. And Michael—his best friend, his partner—he was probably trapped too. Somewhere in the dark. Somewhere nearby. Alone.
He sucked in a breath that tasted of mildew and fear. But it wasn't fear that rose inside him now.
It was hope.
The memory of Arachne's gentle smile flickered before his mind's eye. He didn't know she was anything other than the nice woman who always picked him up when he tripped, who brushed the dirt from his knees, and told him bedtime stories about fireflies and starlight. She wasn't supposed to be afraid—she was supposed to be strong. Like a big sister. Like an auntie with magical powers.
And now… she needed him.
"Arachne!" he shouted, voice muffled against the thick strands around him. "I'm okay! I'm awake!"
She didn't respond, but her earlier desperation was still echoing in his ears.
"I'm not gonna let you down!" he yelled. "Michael needs me! We all do!"
The cocoon pulsed around him, as if reacting to his spirit. Light—soft and golden—began to radiate from his chest, glowing brighter and brighter until the silk itself shimmered and sizzled.
His crest. The Crest of Hope.
It blazed like a miniature sun, and with it came the answer—his partner.
"Michael!" he cried. "I need you! It's time to evolve—now!"
The cocoon exploded in a burst of light and shredded silk, sending scorched threads raining down like ash. From the rubble, Takeru fell forward onto the ground, gasping for breath, his tiny form barely visible in the radiant aura emanating from his crest.
--------------
Michael burst through the cocoon in a blinding blaze of gold and silver, his six radiant wings slicing through the strands of web like blades of light. The air shimmered around him with holy energy, forcing back the gloom that had settled over the ruins of the city. For a moment, everything seemed to pause—the Dokugamon crawling across the twisted buildings shrieked and recoiled, their red eyes flickering in confusion.
Angemon hovered for a breath, taking in the battlefield.
It was chaos.
The once-proud city was reduced to broken towers and web-strangled ruins, every corner swarming with monstrous spiders—hundreds of them. Dokugamon hissed and skittered over shattered rooftops, their massive forms gleaming with venom. And in the centre of it all, perched elegantly atop a crooked spire draped in silk, stood Arachne, her hair billowing like a dark veil in the wind.
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Takeru," he said, his voice low and steady, "we can't win this. We have to get out of here—now."
Takeru looked up at his partner, wide-eyed but calm. The glow from his Crest of Hope still shimmered faintly on his chest. But before he could speak, another voice rang out—light, lilting, and deceptively warm.
"No," Arachne said, her voice floating down like spun sugar. "We must fight."
Takeru turned toward her as she stepped into the dim moonlight, the wind rustling her robes. "These are only Champion-level Digimon," she said gently, her smile serene, eyes twinkling like a kind aunt offering a second helping of cake. "My partner needs this… it's his moment to evolve. Please, Takeru. I know you're afraid. But trust me."
The boy hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his face—but it was gone in an instant as he looked into her eyes. Her expression was so kind… so familiar. He'd never known his mother, not really, but something about Arachne filled a part of his heart that always seemed empty.
He nodded.
"I trust you."
Michael flinched.
He didn't say anything, but something deep in his holy data writhed. His instincts—sharpened to divine clarity—were screaming at him. Everything about her was wrong. Too perfect. Too sweet. Like a spider's web glinting in morning dew: beautiful, fragile… and deadly.
But he had no choice.
Takeru's hands glowed with light as he activated the Digital Barrier, forming a radiant dome around them on the rooftop of the skyscraper. It shimmered like crystal glass, shielding the child with the warmth of pure hope.
Angemon turned his eyes to the dark horde.
The sky above was crisscrossed with webs. Entire buildings sagged beneath the weight of them, reduced to scaffolding for the spider Digimon. The Dokugamon let out an unholy screech and charged in unison, an avalanche of legs and venom descending upon the rooftop.
"Heaven's Knuckle!" Angemon roared, his fist glowing like a comet as he punched through the first wave. Spiders exploded in flashes of holy light, legs flying like shattered twigs. But for every one that fell, three more came.
Lightning cracked in the sky. Takeru gasped, ducking behind the barrier as venomous projectiles rained down like acid rain, sizzling against the shield.
"I don't know how long I can hold this!" Takeru called.
"You won't have to!" Angemon grunted, wings slicing wide as he deflected two leaping spiders mid-air. "We end this—fast!"
From her perch, Arachne watched, her eyes gleaming like polished obsidian.
She tilted her head slowly.
"Good boy," she murmured. "Keep trusting me."
-------------------
The night air tore with the shrieks of war.
Above the broken skyline of the spider-infested city, Angemon soared with luminous wings, a streak of gold battling against the unending black tide. With every sweep of his staff and every blast of holy power, another Dokugamon screeched in pain and collapsed into static, its digital body torn apart by sacred light.
Ten had fallen already.
But ten was not enough.
There were hundreds.
They moved in coordinated chaos—dropping from web-coated rooftops, springing from shattered windows, even clambering up the sides of the skyscraper itself with soulless eyes and poisonous mandibles dripping venom.
Angemon turned sharply mid-air to deflect three incoming, his staff twirling with divine speed—only for a massive Dokugamon to leap from behind and crash into him, sinking its legs into his wings with a crunch of data and bone.
"ANGEMON!" Takeru's scream echoed over the city.
The holy warrior was yanked from the skies, spiraling like a falling star. With a bone-shattering slam, he crashed into the top of the skyscraper, the stone cracking beneath him. Wings torn, feathers scattered to the wind, and glowing blood oozing from wounds across his chest and arms, he struggled to rise.
The barrier flickered, Takeru's small hands gripping the edge of the glowing dome as he stared in horror.
He could barely see—there were so many spiders. They swarmed like ink in water, blackening the skyline. Their fangs clicked. Their legs thundered against glass and steel. They were surrounding everything.
He turned his head toward Arachne.
She had fallen to her knees, her once-graceful silhouette now pinned under webs, her arms held down. Her partner, a sleek spider Digimon he didn't recognize, was curled beside her—wounded, legs twitching as venom dripped into its wounds.
"Takeru…" she called weakly, eyes meeting his.
For the first time, he saw fear in her.
"I'm sorry. Run. You have to run."
He didn't answer.
He looked back to the battle—Michael's body lay still, twitching as the Dokugamon closed in. Their legs arched above him like looming scythes. He was too injured. Too broken.
It was over.
But Takeru didn't run.
Instead, he clutched the crest hanging around his neck.
The Crest of Hope.
He held it tight against his chest and closed his eyes.
His tiny hands trembled.
He was just a kid—just a little boy who should've been at home, playing with toys, asking for dessert, listening to his parents argue and still believing they'd love each other again. Who believed they could.
Hope had always been there.
Hope had brought him and his brother back together.
Hope told him strangers could become family.
Hope whispered that the world was worth saving.
Hope told him Michael would never leave him.
Because Michael wasn't just his Digimon. He was his hope. His light. His guardian angel in a world of monsters.
So he cried out—not in fear, but with belief:
"Hope will win! I believe in you, Michael! I believe in our future!"
And the crest answered.
A golden light erupted from Takeru's chest, brighter than anything that had ever existed in that desolate city. It shot upward like a divine pillar, flooding the rooftop in warm, radiant light. The spiders screeched and recoiled, shielding their faces from the sudden sunburst.
Michael's broken body began to glow.
No... not glow—burn with the brilliance of a star.
The ground cracked beneath him as light surged through his wounds, mending them in an instant. His feathers regrew in a cascade of energy. His broken wings expanded and healed, larger than before.
And then his body shifted.
He rose, consumed by a sphere of holy energy so bright it lit up the spider webs like morning dew. The wind howled as power pulsed from the core of his being.
"Michael… Digivolve to…"
The voice rang with sacred thunder.
"MAGNAANGEMON!"
The cocoon of light exploded outward, sending dozens of Dokugamon flying. A figure now stood at the heart of it—towering, regal, a living monument of holy justice. With eight massive wings, a full suit of celestial armor, and a divine sword radiating blinding light, MagnaAngemon had arrived.
Takeru fell to his knees, bathed in warmth, eyes wide with awe.
The battle had changed.
The spiders backed away instinctively, sensing death in the air.
And from the heavens, hope smiled.
------------
Arachne watched the golden radiance wash over the battlefield from where she knelt in apparent defeat, strands of webbing tangled around her wrists and ankles, her eyes glassy with pain.
But her smile…
Her smile was perfect.
Hidden beneath the mask of agony, it curled with satisfaction.
Everything had gone better than she had hoped.
Dozens of her precious Dokugamon were gone—yes, but that had always been part of the offering. They were born to serve, to die if needed, to be woven into the greater web. What mattered was the light. The child. The evolution.
And he had done it.
The tiny creature with tousled blond hair and a bleeding lip had believed. So deeply. So purely. It had nearly brought tears to her eyes.
So radiant.
So naïve.
So ripe.
The golden pillar of energy had made her skin crawl, not with fear—but with hunger. Power like that wasn't meant to exist without chains. And now it did exist. Because of her.
Takeru had given her exactly what she needed.
And the best part?
He didn't even know it.
A shadow moved. A whisper in the wind. The threads trembled—so subtly it might've been the wind.
Takeru blinked.
He never saw it coming.
In the time it took his breath to catch in awe at Michael's divine transformation, a single silken strand brushed the side of his shoe. Another slid beneath his collar. Another around his wrist. A soft touch here. A flutter there.
By the time he noticed, it was too late.
"Wha—?"
His voice came out strangled as he tried to move and found himself bound.
Tight.
Complete.
Webbing as fine as hair but stronger than steel snapped into place, crisscrossing around his body like a spider's tomb. The golden boy of hope was lifted gently from the ground, his barrier flickering, failing. He was drawn upward, limbs pinned, eyes wide with horror.
"Arachne…?" he gasped.
She stood before him now—not kneeling, not wounded.
Towering.
Her eyes no longer soft, but a deep amethyst glowing with monstrous intelligence.
Not a scratch on her body.
Her illusion dropped with a ripple in the air, revealing a form neither child nor Digimon had ever truly seen. A hybrid of beauty and nightmare—an elegant, silk-draped sorceress with hair that twisted into silk strands, eyes like polished obsidian, and eight legs that shimmered behind her in barely concealed shadow.
She tilted her head, lips parting in a coo far too motherly for comfort.
"Oh, sweetheart. You did so well…"
Takeru struggled, his voice choked. "Why… why…?"
"You gave me exactly what I wanted," she whispered, placing a delicate finger under his chin. "You believed in him. And now… look."
She turned.
Behind her, MagnaAngemon hovered in the air, sword drawn, radiating holy fury.
But the battlefield had changed again.
He lunged forward, divine energy igniting his blade—but then his body jolted, paused mid-air as if tugged by something unseen.
Threads.
Countless, invisible, and ancient.
They wrapped around his limbs, his wings, his waist. They tightened like serpents, each laced with darkness, reinforced by the very power he had just used.
"W-What is this?" MagnaAngemon grunted, struggling.
Arachne's voice was silk and honey and venom.
"Did you think your light was enough to blind a weaver?"
The webs tightened.
The holy knight dropped to one knee mid-air, the sacred energy around his blade flickering.
From the edges of the building, shadowed spider legs reached in—massive, unnatural ones—pulling taut on the threads as if part of an infinite loom.
"You see," Arachne purred, turning back to the boy. "Hope is delicious. So full of faith. It fuels evolution… powerful evolution. But even light casts shadows. And shadows… belong to me."
Takeru's breath shook.
"You lied…"
"Oh, darling," she said sweetly, brushing a hand through his hair. "That's what we do."
She turned away from him then, facing the bound and glowing MagnaAngemon.
A smirk played at her lips.
"I've always wanted to see what a Holy Ring tastes like."
-----------------
Just as the final silk strands coiled around Takeru's ankles and wrists, rendering him immobile like a wrapped moth in a twisted cocoon, MagnaAngemon roared to life with a blinding pulse of light. His violet armor glowed gold, his wings stretching outwards like the banners of war unfurled, and with a cry that echoed across the wind-stricken skyscraper, holy light burst from his form—sharp, searing, purifying. The threads shrieked as if alive, sizzling away into smoke as they burned.
But even with his divine intervention, MagnaAngemon's grip hadn't reached Takeru in time. The child still dangled—bound and vulnerable—between the silver skeletal remains of the ruined building.
Then it came.
A single spear arced from the heavens, made not of steel but storm. It glinted silver-blue as it descended, trailing a writhing tail of lightning. It struck the skyscraper with terrifying silence—a breathless moment where the world held its breath—then chaos erupted.
Wind howled. Thunder screamed. Lightning exploded like shattering glass across the skyline. The very earth below seemed to recoil as if scorched by divinity itself.
The skyscraper imploded in a roar of shattered concrete and spinning steel girders. Amidst the fury, MagnaAngemon dove through the storm like a comet. He reached Takeru at last, his arms sweeping the boy into his grasp just as debris crashed past them in molten chunks of rebar and ruin.
And then—Heaven's Gate opened.
A massive rift appeared above, parting the clouds like curtains drawn by celestial hands. Golden light, impossibly bright and impossibly vast, poured down like judgment itself. It wasn't the gentle warmth of an angel's touch—no, this was battle incarnate. MagnaAngemon's eyes were hard with fire, his voice a thunderclap of fury.
He no longer resembled the calm guardian of hope and peace. This was Battle Mode, and Michael—Takeru's gentle partner—was nowhere to be seen. Replaced now by a warrior of light, unbending and merciless, who had seen too much darkness in too little time.
The light smashed into the wreckage of the building below, vaporizing steel and shadow alike. The impact rippled through the city, shaking windows, toppling weakened towers, and sending Dokugamons fleeing into dark corners.
But it wasn't enough.
As MagnaAngemon soared upward, Takeru still in his arms, he looked around—and saw it.
The web.
It wasn't just on the building. It was everywhere. The entire city skyline had been transformed into a chasm of silk. Roads glistened with silver lattices. Skyscrapers were tethered to one another by fat cords of silk. Everything was wrapped—everything was claimed. It was her nest now.
Then came the voice, not from below but beside him.
"Oi! That spear do anything?" Naruto called out from a neighbouring tower. He was standing in the wind, one foot planted on the cracked stone ledge, spinning another spear of storm around his finger like a javelin coach waiting for round two. Piximon hovered beside him, looking positively ruffled, while Raikomaru leaned with his arms crossed, eyes on the battlefield below.
"You're a little late," MagnaAngemon said, breath heavy. "Arachne tricked Takeru. She tried to eat him."
Raikomaru's brow twitched. "Well, that's... unusually bold."
Piximon nodded grimly. "It's her domain. She's no ordinary Arukenimon. That one… she's something else entirely. Not just digital—mythic. Based on a legend from the human world. Greek, I believe. And she's one of the few that survived the reset."
MagnaAngemon turned to him, wings beating steadily. "The reset? You mean—Yggdrasil?"
"Indeed," Piximon said gravely. "She's a remnant from before this universe was rewritten. Older than most Digimon alive. If she's hunting, it's not for fun—it's for power. And she's probably starving."
A low creak echoed across the distance.
They all turned toward the ruins of the building.
From beneath the rubble rose a form—elegant and terrible. Arachne.
She looked as untouched as a spider in a storm-proof lair. Not a single thread out of place. Her human form shimmered briefly, then peeled away, revealing the monstrous body beneath: a towering hybrid of beauty and arachnid horror.
She looked up at the gathered warriors and smiled—a slow, sultry, terrifying thing.
"Well, well," she purred. "Appetizers. Dessert. And the main course all in one day."
MagnaAngemon tensed. Naruto's storm spear began to crackle once more.
Piximon floated closer, whispering, "We don't get to walk away from this. Not without a fight."
And far below, the threads of the city quivered.
"Well, guess we crash her little dinner party." Naruto said as he gripped his spear.