Chapter 138: LadyDevimon - Banzai
BlackGatomon.
Myotismon had heard the name passed through the shadowed halls of his domain, whispered by the late Deathmon. Though she was a mere newcomer—a fresh recruit who had only recently pledged herself to his banner—her raw capabilities eclipsed the vast majority of the groveling sycophants that made up his army.
Why had he tolerated the original Gatomon for so long, despite his deep-seated distaste for her insolent nature? Beyond the simple, cruel amusement of keeping a creature of light chained in the dark, there was one absolute truth: Gatomon possessed genuine competence.
Now, that ungrateful feline had defected to the side of the Chosen Children. Yet, standing before him was a BlackGatomon—a variant steeped in darkness, boasting even greater potential to fill the void. A cold, satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of Myotismon's pale lips. The boiling rage that had consumed him over Deathmon's demise and Gatomon's betrayal cooled into a calculating calm.
However.
He scrutinized the black-furred feline standing amidst the gloom. She kept her head bowed in a superficial display of respect, but her posture lacked the trembling subservience he demanded. She was poised, calm, entirely too comfortable in his presence. Myotismon's crimson eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
She needed to be broken.
A ruler of the night had no use for a subordinate burdened with dignity or independent thought. He required a loyal hound, one that would bite only when commanded and cower when reprimanded. With that dark resolution hardening his heart, Myotismon's muscles coiled. His arm snapped back, channeling a sudden, vicious surge of power into his grip!
He fully expected the ensuing yank to send BlackGatomon hurtling across the stone floor. She was currently clutching the glowing, crackling length of his Crimson Lightning whip. She was merely a Champion level Digimon. Catching a casual, half-hearted strike was a lucky parlor trick; it certainly did not grant her the right or the mass to stand her ground against a master of the dark arts.
Reality, however, delivered a harsh and immediate correction.
The black feline's paws dug into the cracked obsidian tiles. Instead of being launched through the air like a discarded ragdoll, BlackGatomon anchored herself. Her slender muscles bunched beneath her dark fur, matching the vampire lord's pull with an astonishing, immovable physical strength.
"What?!"
The word tore from Myotismon's throat, his aristocratic composure fracturing for a fraction of a second. He stared down the length of the taut energy whip at BlackGatomon. Her emerald eyes remained placid, completely devoid of the terror he was accustomed to seeing. Shock rippled through his chest. Even if he was an Ultimate level Digimon who favored dark magic over brute force, the sheer gap in their evolutionary stages meant a Champion should have been crushed instantly.
Unless...
His mind raced, piecing together the impossible resistance. Unless the creature standing before him was not what she appeared to be!
The realization hit him like a physical blow. Without a second thought, Myotismon released his grip on the whip and swept his heavy cape forward in a sweeping, grandiose arc.
"[Grisly Wing!]"
The shadows beneath his cloak erupted. A deafening cacophony of screeching echoed through the cavernous hall as a massive, churning cloud of bloodthirsty bats poured forth. The crimson-eyed familiars formed a suffocating tidal wave of fangs and leathery wings, hurtling directly toward BlackGatomon. The swarm expanded rapidly, blanketing the air and completely sealing off any conceivable avenue of escape.
He did not care that the attack's massive area of effect swallowed the cowering ranks of his own soldiers. To the vampire lord, these lesser Digimon were nothing more than walking rations, livestock destined to fuel his dark ambitions. Whether they were drained of their data today or tomorrow made absolutely no difference to him.
His absolute, freezing cruelty saturated the chamber.
Meanwhile, the surrounding Digimon watched the approaching storm of fangs with wide, horrified eyes. Chaos erupted in the ranks. Some scrambled over one another, their claws scraping desperately against the stone as they tried to flee. A few bared their weapons, trembling violently as they prepared for a futile last stand. Others simply collapsed to their knees, burying their faces in their hands and sobbing for a mercy that would never come.
Yet, every scream, every raised blade, and every desperate prayer amounted to nothing against the overwhelming might of an Ultimate level tyrant. The shadow of death loomed over them, ready to plunge the hall into a massacre.
Then, the suffocating tide of bats met a solid wall of pure, concentrated night.
A completely different aura of darkness erupted from the center of the room—a power that rivaled the vampire lord's own suffocating presence. It began as a localized distortion in the air, a deep, violet-black miasma that rapidly expanded. In the span of a single heartbeat, that localized trickle exploded into a roaring, destructive tsunami of dark energy.
"[Darkness Wave!]"
The violet shockwave slammed into the swarm of bats, disintegrating them into harmless motes of data upon impact. Standing at the epicenter of the blast was LadyDevimon. Having shed her Champion disguise, she had fully restored her true Ultimate level form. Her tattered black wings flared out majestically, and the chains wrapped around her pale limbs clinked softly in the aftermath of the clash. Not only had she effortlessly neutralized Myotismon's lethal strike, but she had deliberately angled her attack to shield the terrified grunts cowering behind her.
"As I suspected..." Myotismon's voice dropped to a dangerous, silken whisper. "You are an Ultimate level."
He paid absolutely no mind to the surviving rabble. His piercing gaze was locked entirely on the towering, elegant figure of LadyDevimon. The brief flash of genuine surprise that had cracked his aristocratic mask smoothed over, replaced once more by an icy, calculating arrogance.
So what if she shared his evolutionary stage? He was the lord of the night. His accumulated power had long since eclipsed the boundaries of a conventional Ultimate level Digimon. It was true that the meddlesome Chosen Children had managed to wound him previously, but his time spent hunting in the Human World had provided ample sustenance. His injuries were completely healed.
More than that, he had gorged himself on the ambient malice of the human realm. The petty jealousies, the greed, the ugly, festering darkness hidden within human hearts—he had absorbed it all, refining it into raw, intoxicating power that pulsed through his veins.
"BlackGatomon..." Myotismon drawled, taking a slow, measured step forward. "Or should I address you as LadyDevimon?"
He raised a gloved hand, his fingers twitching slightly. "I have no interest in dwelling on the petty reasons why you chose to mask your true strength and slink into my ranks like a common thief. I only wish to know one thing."
The crimson light condensed in his palm, stretching and twisting into the lethal, barbed form of his Crimson Lightning whip. He locked his predatory gaze onto the fallen angel before him. When he spoke, each syllable dropped like shards of ice.
"Does your current display of insolence mean you intend to challenge my rule?"
"You misunderstand me entirely, Lord Myotismon."
Despite the suffocating killing intent bearing down on her, LadyDevimon remained entirely unbothered. A sultry, mocking lilt colored her voice. She maintained her dark, languid elegance, moving with a fluid grace that defied the tension in the room. Slowly, deliberately, she offered a deep, theatrical curtsy, her red eyes gleaming beneath her black cowl.
"I have never harbored the slightest intention of challenging your throne," she purred, straightening up at a leisurely pace. "My only reason for joining your esteemed ranks was to secure a safe haven for my companions."
As if summoned by her words, the thick shadows pooling at the edges of the hall began to ripple. One by one, several BlackGatomon padded silently out of the darkness. Their emerald eyes glowed faintly in the gloom as they arranged themselves in a disciplined formation behind LadyDevimon.
Yet, despite their sudden appearance, not a single one of them bared their fangs or raised their claws. They stood perfectly still, exuding a calm neutrality that completely lacked any killing intent toward the vampire lord.
It was exactly as their leader had claimed.
"As for this pitiful lot," LadyDevimon continued, casting a sideways glance at the trembling horde of Bakemon, Gazimon, and other low-level grunts scattered across the floor. A sharp, amused smile curved her black-painted lips. "I simply believe they still possess some marginal utility."
She shifted her weight, the chains on her arms chiming a dark melody. "After all, Lord Myotismon, a king requires pawns to execute his grand designs, does he not?"
"My grand designs..." Myotismon repeated softly. The scarlet energy in his hand pulsed erratically. He scrutinized the fallen angel, his gaze turning razor-sharp. "Are you claiming to know the details of my plan?"
LadyDevimon merely offered a gentle, dismissive shake of her head. "I do not."
She tapped a long, clawed finger against her chin in a show of mock innocence. "While I admit to a certain degree of curiosity, I imagine a ruler such as yourself would find an overly inquisitive subordinate quite... tiresome. Am I wrong?"
Myotismon did not answer immediately.
He stood in absolute silence, his unblinking stare fixed on the dark enchantress. She met his gaze effortlessly, every subtle shift of her posture radiating a lethal, refined grace. As the seconds ticked by, the silence in the grand hall thickened, transforming the very air into a crushing, physical weight.
The surviving grunts, who had only just narrowly escaped being reduced to data, found themselves trapped in a new nightmare. They hadn't even managed to steady their racing hearts before the sheer, terrifying pressure of two Ultimate level auras clashing in the confined space slammed into them.
The weaker Digimon clutched their throats, their eyes bulging. The ambient dark energy was so dense it felt like drowning in freezing mud. They couldn't breathe.
Just as the first few Gazimon began to lose consciousness, their vision swimming with black spots from the sheer suffocating terror, the crushing pressure vanished.
Myotismon abruptly reigned in his aura. The volatile crimson whip in his hand dissolved into harmless red sparks.
"Fascinating," he murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
Completely ignoring the gasping, disheveled wretches littering his floor, the vampire lord discarded his icy fury. A faint, almost charming smile graced his aristocratic features, and his tone took on a smooth, dangerously soft cadence.
"I believe I must retract my previous assessment of Impmon's worth."
He shifted his gaze slightly, peering past LadyDevimon's imposing wings to spot the small, purple Rookie hiding in her shadow. "Managing to recruit a powerhouse of your caliber into my service is more than enough proof of his value."
He turned his attention back to the fallen angel, his posture relaxing into that of a commanding sovereign. "LadyDevimon. Since Deathmon has met his untimely end, you shall inherit his responsibilities."
He turned on his heel, his heavy cape billowing behind him. "I will brief you on the finer details of your deployment at a later time. For now, organize this pathetic rabble. Make them useful."
Without sparing another glance at the carnage or the cowering survivors, Myotismon strode out of the grand hall, his footsteps echoing into the dark corridors.
His departure acted like a physical release valve. The suffocating dark clouds of dread that had gripped the hearts of the lesser Digimon finally dissipated, leaving them gasping for sweet, unfiltered air.
And they owed their continued existence entirely to the towering figure in black.
As the realization settled in, the terrified whimpers slowly ceased. One by one, the battered and bruised Digimon lifted their heads. The looks they directed toward LadyDevimon shifted from blind panic to a deep, trembling gratitude.
None of them blamed her for provoking the vampire lord's wrath in the first place. They were intimately familiar with Myotismon's volatile, sadistic nature. Even if the confrontation had never occurred, it was only a matter of time before he found an excuse to subject them to his torturous whims.
Therefore, LadyDevimon—the dark angel who had stepped into the line of fire, shattered a lethal strike, and deliberately shielded them from agonizing pain—had instantly ascended to the status of a savior. In the bleak, merciless hierarchy of the dark armies, she was a hero.
The lingering, paralyzing fear of Myotismon's return kept their jaws clamped shut. They dared not cheer or chant her name aloud in these cursed halls. Yet, as they knelt in the shadows, every single one of them etched the image of the elegant, powerful LadyDevimon deeply into their hearts.
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