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<span class="mu-s">"Sorry for the scare, partner."</span>
His voice is as smooth as cocoa, veritably oozing with princely dignity. Astamon strides forward, leisurely raising his weapon. The room is many fathoms hotter now, due to the presence of an Ultimate. You can feel the sheer difference in his data volume, thickening the air and making it hard to breathe. The Commandramon have stopped their assault to watch in terror, and equal looks of wonder spreads across the faces of your allies. In an instant, you've gone from soul-crushing despair to radiant hope, which soon swells into pride at your partner's achievement.
"You did it. That form... It's-"
<span class="mu-s">"We did it. Powerful? Amazing? A handsome devil? The very best? You'd better believe it. All of the above, I tell you what."</span>
His bratty swagger is a far cry from the regal aura his new form is giving off. You suppose that even with this incredible new power, he's still him. He's still your best friend. You feel strings of power connecting you two, inviting you to make your wrath known. He raises his weapon in Sealsdramon's direction derisively, a white-gloved finger itching to pull the trigger.
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-r">"Im-impossible... n-n-no... no such data... This-"</span></span>
<span class="mu-s">"Shut the fuck up."</span>
He pulls Sealsdramon's knife from out of his coat. Or rather, from out of his own body, with the ashen gray coat a casualty of the wayward blade. His own data corrupts the weapon, reforging its texture and wireframe in an instant. The blade, once meant to be his doom, goes from a sleek military knife to a bejeweled dagger with a triangular blade, now belonging only to him. The first thing he does with it is cruelly impale Sealsdramon's hand, pinning it to the ground. He's in no shape to escape even without it. It's a mere formality now.
>Maverick.
>Hellfire.
