From my throne in the Divine Space, I watched the team pull themselves from Whalemon's back onto the northern shore of Server Continent. They'd arrived a full day ahead of my projected timeline, courtesy of the transportation assist I'd arranged. The early arrival complicated things, but not unmanageably. Piximon was already waiting.
I pulled up the encounter parameters, reviewing the training regimen I'd programmed into the diminutive Ultimate-level Digimon. The team needed a wake-up call after that brush with the MetalSeadramon group. They'd seen the power gap between Champion and Ultimate, but understanding intellectually and experiencing it viscerally were different things.
"System, confirm Piximon's behavioral protocols."
The translucent text appeared: PIXIMON ENCOUNTER ACTIVE. COMBAT SUPPRESSION: NINETY-SEVEN PERCENT. EDUCATIONAL PARAMETERS: ENGAGED. TRAINING GROUND COORDINATES: TRANSMITTED.
"Good." I leaned back, fingers drumming on the armrest. This would hurt. They'd feel inadequate, outmatched, frustrated. But that frustration would fuel their growth. At least, that's what I kept telling myself as I watched them struggle to stand on exhausted legs.
Part of me wanted to give them more rest time. The larger part knew that Devimon wouldn't wait for them to feel ready.
---
We collapsed on the beach like puppets with cut strings. Every muscle in my body screamed from the Whalemon ride and the terror of facing three Ultimate-level Digimon who could have erased us without effort. Tentomon pressed against my side, his small body trembling.
"We need to establish a perimeter," Kaldur said, because of course he did. The guy could be half-dead and still think tactically. "And determine our next objective."
"How about 'don't die'?" Wally suggested, faceplanted in the sand. "That's a pretty solid objective."
Conner was already standing, scanning the treeline with those super-senses. "We're being watched."
I forced myself up, hand moving to my utility belt. "Hostile?"
"Can't tell. Small. Moving fast."
The attack came before Conner finished speaking.
A blur of brown robes erupted from the forest, moving with speed that made Kid Flash look stationary. I had half a second to register a tiny figure before something slammed into my chest with the force of a freight train. I flew backward twenty feet, hit the sand, and didn't stop rolling for another ten.
"Champions, now!" Kaldur's voice cut through the chaos.
Light exploded across the beach as six Digimon evolved simultaneously. Greymon, Garurumon, Kabuterimon, Birdramon, Angemon, and Ikkakumon materialized, their combined presence shaking the ground.
The robed figure didn't even slow down.
It moved between them like water, each strike precise and devastating. Greymon's Nova Blast carved a trench in the beach—the figure had already moved. Angemon's Hand of Fate blazed with holy power—the figure was behind him, a single strike reverting him to Patamon. One by one, our Champions fell, unable to even track their opponent's movements.
Wally tried to flank with his speed. The figure caught him mid-stride, spun him around, and deposited him gently in the sand. "Sit."
"How—" Wally didn't finish. The figure was already gone, dismantling Kabuterimon's Electro Shocker with casual precision.
Thirty seconds. That's how long it took for all six Champions and four superheroes to end up sprawled across the beach, completely outmatched. I'd felt helpless before—facing enemies stronger, faster, better equipped. This was different. This wasn't even a fight. It was a demonstration.
The robed figure landed in the center of our group. Small hands reached up, pulling back the hood to reveal a pink teddy bear face with angel wings and a pacifier.
"I am Piximon," the tiny Digimon said, his voice carrying unexpected depth. "Ultimate-level trainer of heroes throughout this world's history. And I must say—" He looked around at us with something between disappointment and disgust. "—you are some of the absolute worst candidates I've seen in three thousand years."
The words hit harder than his strikes had.
"You cannot even maintain Champion level for all eight partners." Piximon's eyes fixed on Palmon, still in Rookie form beside Kaldur. "Your teamwork is abysmal—six Champions fighting independently rather than as a unit. Your human members interfere rather than support. You rely on raw power instead of strategy."
He pulled a rolled parchment from his robes and tossed it to Kaldur. "That is a map to the ancient training grounds where previous heroes learned to reach Ultimate level under my guidance. Consider reaching it your second test."
"Second test?" I croaked, ribs aching. "What was the first?"
Piximon's smile was not kind. "Surviving your introduction to Server Continent, of course. Most teams lose at least one member to the ambient dangers within the first day." He turned as if to leave, then paused. "Oh, and you have five days at best before Devimon's forces locate you on this continent. I suggest you hurry."
He vanished in a burst of speed none of us could track, leaving behind only displaced sand and the echo of his words.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
"Well," Wally finally said. "That was humbling."
"Our partners have heard of Piximon, yes?" Kaldur asked, already unrolling the map.
Agumon nodded enthusiastically despite his exhaustion. "Piximon is legendary! He trained the Original Digidestined who sealed away the first great darkness! And the Server Guardians who protected the continent for a thousand years! And—"
"So basically, we just got called trash by the most accomplished trainer in the Digital World," I summarized.
Gomamon paddled over to me. "It's not personal. Piximon is almost impossible to find normally. He only appears to those he deems worthy of training. The fact that he showed himself at all means he sees potential."
"Potential buried under mountains of incompetence," Conner muttered.
But he wasn't wrong. We'd been lucky so far, stumbling through encounters with raw determination and last-minute evolution bursts. Against Piximon, luck hadn't mattered. Skill hadn't mattered. We'd been outclassed so thoroughly it was embarrassing.
"We rest for two hours," Kaldur decided, studying the map. "Then we move. According to this, the training ground is deep in the Server Desert, approximately fifteen hours on foot."
"Fifteen hours through a desert," Wally groaned. "Fantastic."
But we all knew we didn't have a choice. Five days until Devimon's forces found us. We needed that training.
---
The trek through Server Continent was brutal in ways that had nothing to do with enemies. The landscape shifted from coastal forest to scrubland to pure desert within hours, the digital sun beating down with algorithmic precision. We rationed water tablets—little compressed data packets that Phastos had designed into the world's ecosystem—but Kaldur's Atlantean physiology was not helping with him needing twice what he normally drank, the heat was relentless.
We trained as we walked. Couldn't afford to waste time.
Kaldur worked with Palmon, the plant Digimon struggling to find the emotional connection needed for evolution. They'd partnered for the Reliability crest, but reliability was about consistency, trust, dependability. Hard concepts to build in a few days.
I watched them work through it, Kaldur's patience infinite as Palmon attempted again and again to tap into that bond. On hour seven, something clicked. Maybe it was exhaustion lowering barriers. Maybe it was the desperate need for shade making trust non-negotiable. Maybe it was just time.
"Palmon digivolve to... Togemon!" The massive cactus Digimon materialized, her Needle Spray providing blessed cover from the sun as we rested in her shadow.
Kaldur's relief was palpable, his hand resting on Togemon's side. "Well done, my friend."
We celebrated for exactly five minutes, then kept moving. The map showed another eight hours to go.
During a water break, Conner sat beside Gatomon, his expression troubled. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course." The feline Digimon tilted her head.
"Why haven't you evolved to Champion? We've definitely gotten close enough. Our bond is strong—I know it is. But Patamon evolved to Angemon, and you're still..." He gestured helplessly.
Gatomon's eyes widened. Around us, all eight Digimon partners exchanged glances.
"Oh," Tentomon buzzed. "Oh dear. You don't know."
"Know what?" I asked, detective instincts prickling.
Tentomon flew to the center of our group. "There's been a fundamental misunderstanding. Seven of us are Rookie-level Digimon—Agumon, Gabumon, Tentomon, Biyomon, Patamon, Gomamon, and Palmon. We evolve to Champion, then Ultimate, then Mega, following standard progression."
"Right," Wally said slowly. "We know this."
"But Gatomon is different," Tentomon continued. "She's already a Champion-level Digimon. Her Rookie form is called Salamon. She underwent special training years ago and evolved naturally, permanently remaining at Champion level as her default state."
The revelation settled over us like a physical weight.
"You're... you've been Champion this whole time?" Conner asked.
Gatomon nodded. "I'm the oldest of our group. When the world needed defenders urgently for a small matter decades ago, I was chosen for accelerated training. I've been Champion-level for nearly thirty years."
"Which means," Kaldur said, his tactical mind already racing ahead, "we now have the capability to field eight Champions simultaneously."
"Finally," Wally grinned. "Maybe Piximon won't think we're *complete* disasters."
But even eight Champions hadn't been enough against Piximon's Ultimate-level strength. We needed to reach that next stage ourselves. All of us.
The ancient training ground appeared on the horizon at hour fifteen, just as the digital sun set in a cascade of pixelated colors. It rose from the desert like something from a fever dream—massive stone pillars carved with Digicode, floating platforms connected by impossible bridges, and at the center, a temple that seemed to shift dimensions when viewed directly.
Piximon waited at the entrance, arms crossed.
"Fifteen hours, twelve minutes," he announced. "Acceptable. Barely." He gestured to the temple. "Inside, you will face trials designed to push you beyond Champion level. Each of you will confront your greatest failures. You will be separated from your Digimon partners. You will have only the virtues represented by your crests to guide you."
"Separated?" Conner's hand moved protectively toward Patamon and Gatomon.
"The bond between human and Digimon is your strength," Piximon said. "But it can also be a crutch. You must learn to call upon the power of the eight virtues independently before you can truly synchronize that power with your partners. Only then can you reach Ultimate level."
He snapped his fingers, and the temple doors groaned open, revealing swirling darkness beyond.
"Enter when ready. Or don't. Devimon's forces arrive in four days, sixteen hours. Your choice."
We looked at each other—four exhausted heroes and eight worried Digimon partners. We'd been tested, beaten, pushed to our limits. We'd watched our Champions fall like dominoes against Ultimate-level power. We knew the gap between where we were and where we needed to be.
Kaldur stepped forward first, Courage crest glowed against his chest for a second. Then Conner, Hope burning bright. Wally, Friendship pulsing with golden light. And me, Knowledge illuminating the darkness ahead.
Our Digimon partners called out encouragement as the temple swallowed us whole, but their voices faded quickly. Inside was only darkness, and somewhere within that darkness, our greatest failures waited.
---
From my throne, I watched them disappear into the trial chambers. Each would face something different, something personal. Dick would confront his dependence on Batman's shadow. Wally would face his fear of inadequacy. Kaldur would be forced to lead with no one to lead. Conner would have to define himself beyond his origins.
And they'd have to do it alone, without their partners, relying only on the virtues they'd barely begun to understand.
It was cruel. It was necessary. It was the only way they'd survive what came next.
I just hoped I'd calculated correctly. That they were ready for this. That my desire to push them toward strength wasn't pushing them toward breaking.
The System chimed: TRIAL COMMENCED. PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: VARIABLE BY INDIVIDUAL. ESTIMATED CASUALTIES: ZERO.
I stared at those numbers. Zero good. Four kids who'd trusted a dungeon they didn't understand, who'd fought despite impossible odds, who'd earned their crests through genuine growth.
Four lives I was emotionally gambling with for my grand design.
I leaned forward, watching intently. For the first time since becoming a god, I found myself praying to whatever forces had created me.
Let them succeed. Let them all succeed.
/////
Hey there after some thinking and talking with my bro who I usually let read early for all my stories I've decided to continue the book but I saying now this is my secondary story Marvel God: succubus awakening is my primary so this one may go on hold every now and again if the backlog gets to short because I only write 1 to 2 chapters a week for this and I've only have 22 chapters for it so far.