He must have fired hundreds of bullets in the span of mere seconds. This time, the entire room really does go silent, as your partner empties round after round of his seemingly endless drum straight into Sealsdramon's stomach, ripping through his armor and shredding his data into bits and bytes that disappear into the stilled air. Nothing else exists but the rat-ta-ta-tat of Oro Salmón, drowning out all of these inferior gunshots, these mere pittances that masquerade as bullets.

Sealsdramon tries to pull himself away, leaping left to avoid the hail of gunfire. Without even adjusting his aim, your partner's every shot continues to strike true. hey curve left and right, up and down, thwarting every effort to escape from their wrath. Each attempt to flee only causes them to find a new direction to drill through, until Sealsdramon grinds to a halt, his textures flaking away in the still air. He topples to his knees, too damaged to possibly be alive, but lingering regardless.

Once he's done shooting, a soot-black shoe kicks its way out of Porcupamon's remains, casting the puppet body aside like an imago emerging into its first dawn. Standing before you is an absolute pillar of a man, his pinstripe suit crisp and sharp enough to cut steel, his coat flaps fluttering like gentle sails, and his face overtaken by a manic grin.

ASTAMON- ULTIMATE- DEMON MAN- VIRUS