Fifteen meters more. Ten meters. Five. That was the furthest the spy got, before it was cleaved apart in a single slash.

Wind stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, barely having processed the utter failure to stop the creature. All he could see was a blur chasing it, and the empty spot where his partner once knelt in.

As the shutter reached the ground, a lithe shape darted back into the safety of the base. It knelt before him with a raised hand, clutching the severed head of the creature that would have spelt all their doom.

”I pledged to be your shinobi long ago. I will do as you ask,” said the Ultimate Digimon, unaware of the red crest rotating slowly behind its head.

Wind stared at him with marvel, feeling their bond strengthening even further. He slid his goggles onto his face to scan his partner’s new form, then rose from his chair with renewed determination. With this power, perhaps things would go differently. The wounded Dogs of War, his pride and joy, his raison d'etre, might not crumble just yet.

And his partner felt the same. He stared at Wind with his golden eyes, feeling the receding echoes of his partner's pain. As long as he lived, he would strive to keep his dream alive.

“Get up, Fumamon. We have so much to do."