>Maverick.

Astamon pushes the barrel of the gun against Sealsdramon's head. He seems to consider it for a long moment, then steps back and lays his weapon over his own shoulder.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to shoot you. Again, that is."

He lets out a bark-like laugh as he straightens his back, cracking his spine in preparation for what comes next. His gun is stashed away within his overcoat, freeing up both hands. He casually tucks his thumbs into his waistband and paces back and forth, giving his dying enemy a good look. You're surprised that the cyborg hasn't disintegrated yet, with the endless amount of bullet holes in him..

Brass buckles jingle as your partner fiddles with his belt. You crane your neck to watch, wondering if he's going to activate some special attack with it. Instead, he rips his belt off with one smooth motion and whips Sealsdramon in the side of the head. It bowls the Champion over, but he doesn't stop whacking him, humiliating him further in front of all his horrified subordinates.

"You're lucky your life is on a timer. I can't do what I REALLY want to, to pay you back for everything you've done here. But I can make it hurt"

Sealsdramon raises his head spitefully, his precious Scouter cracked and destroyed by the buckle.

"You... You've won nothing."

Despite his injuries, he forces out a mocking laugh, that soon turns into an agonized cough.

"My- my- my data. It'll go right back to the system. All my train- training... won't go to waste. Few generations... I'll be back."

"Oho? That so...?"

Astamon slips his belt back on and sets a finger on his chin, deep in consideration. You see a deep purple haze beginning to coalesce around him. The demonic upper half of his face gazes deep into Sealsdramon's eyes, overpowering his crimson haze with an inferno of his own. You see the assassin flinch, as though your partner has seen right through him.

Energy flows down his core, writhing in fierce spirals and pooling around his leg. Astamon takes a step back, sliding one foot across the ground and burning a tarry streak across the smooth cement texture.

"What... What are you doing...?"