No explosion follows. Instead, a soft sigh, like a ghost exhaling through silk curtains. The servitor shudders and then collapses—not with violence, but with an eerie grace, folding in on itself like a book closing on a forgotten chapter, deciding oblivion is preferable to duty.

You feel it before you see it: the faint, erratic pulse of code gone wild.

Gizamon drops beside you with a wet thud, limbs trembling—not from exhaustion but from adrenaline tuned into a sacred rhythm. His gills flare open like cathedral doors inhaling stained glass light.

Ryan’s voice slices through the moment—ragged, raw, like an unfinished sculpture of panic:
“She’s dry! The weapon—it’s dry!”

But then, a strange warmth pulses in your grip. The gun hums softly, infinite ammo flooding its circuits like a river of light breaking a dam. The weapon’s dead weight lifts, buzzing with potential, no longer a relic but a symphony of endless firepower.

Suddenly, Porcupamon bursts from the rubble, vaulting off a fallen servitor with the grace of a wildfire dancing through dry brush. He lands in a storm of sparks, arms spread wide like a crucified saint wielding destruction. From his back, a glowing arc unfurls—part halo, part harbinger.

A new presence crashes through the fray—a digimon you barely recognize, half-glitch, half-light, draped in electric feathers and wielding a staff that crackles with pure code. Its eyes shine with the cold fire of a system rebooting mid-crash.
The servitors falter, wheels spinning like frantic lies, blades flashing like broken promises. The air thickens with static and the bitter tang of desperation.

You clutch your gun, infinite ammo singing in your hands like a thunderstorm bottled in steel.

<Dive into the chaos with Porcupamon and the mysterious new digimon, turning your infinite fire into a storm of digital wrath.
<Attempt to decode the electric digimon’s staff, hoping to unleash a forgotten power buried in its shimmering code.