Part 2

As the time passed, the sun rose higher into the sky, casting warm, rejuvenating rays down onto what was once the battlefield that decided the fate of the world. A calm wind blew through the charred grass and the waves continued to wash up against the sandy shore.

The day had since broken and there was now a sea of digimon moving about and a storm of voices drowning out their footsteps. The members of the Harmonious Republic all went about their duties, most staying with their own group now, if they had one.

"Come on, Strom! Move that big butt of yours. You're slowing me down!" Braon called behind himself as he walked beside the Greymon Corps.

The Spinomon groaned and trudged through the grass, leaving deep imprints in the green blades as he stepped on them. "We've been running around since the break of dawn. Can't we take a break?"

"In case you've forgotten, I'm a Commander and all of my superiors are dead. I've got a hell of a lot of work to do and I'm not waiting around for you, got it?" the Justimon told him firmly.

Strom stopped and doubled over, panting. "Great. In that case, you get working and I'll wait here," he said, trying to catch his breath.

Commander Braon stopped and slowly turned around, making his way back over to the dinosaur. He grabbed Strom's uninjured claws in his metal hand and twisted it firmly, bringing Strom to his knees. "Let me make it clear to you, my apprentice," he said coolly, twisting the cringing reptile's arm harder. "Walk. Faster."

"Y-Yes sir," Strom managed to choke out before giving a sigh of relief upon feeling Braon release his hand.

"Good..." he mumbled, walking forward again.

The Spinomon muttered a few things under his breath but walked fast enough to keep up with his superior. "So what do we have to do now? More POW stuff? Talking with leaders? Preparing for a possible counterattack?"

Braon shook his head and continued walking towards the open field. "I don't think they'll counterattack... I think this is the end of it."

"Let's hope so," Strom replied as he manoeuvred around a MetalGreymon. "...So what are we doing? And I haven't seen any of the other Avengers since yesterday."

"They're around-" The Justimon was abruptly interrupted when the loud humming of wings neared. The giant purple body of a TyrantKabuterimon descended down in front of him, his mandibles on his face pointing towards Braon as he looked to the Commander.

"Commander Braon," the TyrantKabuterimon spoke. "I'm taking my troops back to the Royal Hive now. We need to start rebuilding our home."

Braon nodded. "That's completely fine, Terminus. We can't express how grateful we are for all the help you've given us. We'll be happy to help your effort once we deal with this mess."

Terminus nodded appreciatively. "Thank you. I'll be sure to send you medical herbs and antidotes from our forest as soon as we can. I know you're all low on supplies. We'll be off then."

"See ya then. Watch out for Dramon on the way home," the Justimon joked, waving him off.

As that was taking place, Strom was carefully looking through the ranks and various groups, trying to find the other Avengers. It was Osiris in particular that he wanted to talk to. While he was never particularly close with the Anubismon (or any of the others, for that matter) he knew that Osiris was close friends with Ragna. Strom felt the need to speak with him.

His atypically gold coloured eyes scanned the area from his natural vantage point, trying to spot the dark, jackal-like head of Osiris' winged body. A horde of Greymon to the left, a pack of Leomon to the right, various aquatic digimon in the water off the beach... Strom grunted, realizing he'd never find him standing around like this. He started walking, ducking under a swarm of various types of insect digimon who were following Terminus back to the Royal Hive.

"Osiris!" he called out over the cacophonous drumming of wings. He received no answer. "Terrific..."

The Spinomon grumbled to himself and walked over to the bunch of Greymon. After a moment of reluctance, he tapped a MetalGreymon on the shoulder, prompting the navy blue dinosaur digimon to turn around, eyeing him through his visor with an annoyed look. "What?"

"Have you seen an Anubismon around? One of the Avengers?" Strom asked before gesturing to his face. "Pointy ears, long snout, kind of sarcastic and wears bracelets that defy physics?"

"No," the MetalGreymon replied brusquely.

"Thanks. You were a big help," Strom replied just as brusquely. He turned and started walking away, but the cyborg-like dinosaur's voice stopped him.

"Didn't you Palaeozoic Sovereignty dinosaurs leave early this morning? Shouldn't you be with them?" he asked.

"No... I shouldn't," Strom replied, not bothering to turn around to face him. The MetalGreymon shrugged in reply and the orange dinosaur walked away, continuing his search. Strom approached the nearby clan of Leomon next, hoping to get better luck with them. "Have any of you seen an Anubismon?"

He received several negative shakes of their heads. Strom rolled his eyes and continued walking, slowly growing frustrated. He walked up to a single ShineGreymon whose back was turned to him. The digimon was silently looking out over the devastated, lonely battlefield, observing the smoke that still rose from the craters and remembering all the death that took place there.

"Hey, pal," Strom said from behind the white armoured, red winged, humanoid dragon. "Have you seen a-..."

The ShineGreymon turned around slowly, revealing a very feminine figure. As she turned to face Strom, she glared up at him with angry yet sorrowful eyes. If the dinosaur looked closer, he might have noticed the tears resting in her eyes. "What do you want?" she asked him.

Gallons of blood pumped up the arteries in his long neck and pooled in his cheeks and snout, causing him to flush intensely as he looked down at the female ShineGreymon. "A..." he babbled, suddenly distracted from what he wanted to ask her.

He continued staring at her, unsure of what to say. At the back of his mind, he wondered to himself why he was so enraptured by this ShineGreymon and why his tongue and brain suddenly ceased their functions upon meeting her. However, all he could think about at the time was hoping to the Sovereigns that she wouldn't notice how much he was blushing.

"...Well?" she asked, somewhat impatiently, seeming not to notice the sudden deep redness in his orange scales.

"Uh, r-right," he stammered. "You, uh, seen an Anubismon around?"

"No, I haven't," the ShineGreymon replied shortly.

Strom's eyes met with hers and he could feel his heart move into overdrive. He didn't seem to notice that she was growing exasperated with his constant staring. "...Is that all?" she asked.

"Y-yes," the dinosaur replied.

"Then excuse me," she said, turning around and walking away, brushing past a passing MirageGaogamon as she did.

"'Kay..." he answered dumbly, still staring at her as she walked away.

"Hey, Strom, why did you suddenly run off?" Braon's voice called out from beside him.

Strom didn't reply. He was still in a trance-like state, his eyes still gazing. "What's happening to me...?" he thought to himself.

"Digital World to Strom..." Braon said, walking in front of him. "Hey!"

The Spinomon blinked and abruptly looked down at the Justimon. "Y-yeah! Hi! What?" he stammered.

Braon looked over his shoulder to see what he was staring at, grinned, and turned back to Strom. "...Why are your cheeks so red, Strom?" he asked with an all-knowing expression.

"Wh-what?" he demanded, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade. "You're ridiculous! Don't be talking... nonsense..." he attempted to retort.

"...You have a thing for her, don't you, big guy?" the Commander said with a smirk. He folded his arms with pride. "Didn't I tell you that chicks dig scars?"

"I don't..." he tried to rebuff, but knew it was no use. He sighed in defeat. "She's not into me."

"Determination's the key, good apprentice," Braon responded. "Now, come on. I just got a runner from Arahon. He wants me."

"I'm trying to find Osiris. What do you need me for?" Strom retorted.

"He'll be around later. Now, stop trying to shirk your duties and get moving, got it?" the Justimon told him firmly.

Strom nodded reluctantly and followed the Commander through the crowd. He saw the black-armoured, knight-like commander standing a hundred metres away in the ravaged plain of grass, beside him a red-caped, white-armoured knight. The pair approached the two Rebels curiously.

"Arahon?" Braon asked, walking up to the ebony clad warrior. "What is it?"

The Alphamon raised his arm and pointed across the green and brown field. Commander Braon and Strom followed the other Commander's gaze and saw a red dragon riding atop an azure, jet-like wyvern, carrying a white flag in his claws as a means of deterrence. "I think they're ready to negotiate..."

-

Duroth narrowed his yellow eyes while kneeling on Arado's back with one foot planted firmly on the dragon's blue wing. The wind swept against his red scales causing him to focus solely on keeping his balance. He clutched the red, horn-like protrusion on the MailBirdramon's back for support.

"Am I flying too swiftly, Duroth?" the winged dragon asked, craning his head to the side so that he could look back at the Dorbickmon. "Shall I slow down?"

Duroth shook his head resolutely. "I may not be a warrior, but I'm no pushover either. Just keep at it, Arado," he said.

Arado nodded. "Very well," he replied. The MailBirdramon poured on the afterburners of his six engines, creating a pink and purple glow of exhaust under his long wingspan. The Dorbickmon clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on both Arado and the flag. Arado squinted and looked ahead of them. "I see them..."

Duroth raised himself slightly, just enough to look over the armoured dragon's head. Across the battle torn terrain was a massive crowd of rebels and Dramon POWs alike. "These are their forces?" he asked with awe.

"I just hope that they're as reasonable as we are," Arado said, shutting off his engines and beginning to glide. "Or else we'll have a conflux of digimon after our trembling tails."

"You? Tremble?" Duroth asked with a grin. "We'd sooner see Jormungand read a book before anything ruffles your feathers."

The MailBirdramon let out a single chuckle. "I suppose. It's not easy being so composed, you know. I suppose that's why you're a better candidate for leader than I. You have a certain charisma; a way of rousing peoples' hearts. You're a very passionate digimon, you know."

"That's why I plan to appoint you my chief and primary advisor, Arado. My second in command, as it were," Duroth said, prompting a slight look of surprise from the blue and silver dramon. "You're cool and analytical enough to know when to keep me from going overboard. We both want the same thing and I trust you."

"That's kind of you, Duroth," Arado replied with a slight grin. "You're close to making me blush."

Duroth snickered and felt the plane-like digimon decelerate greatly. He looked over the field and saw four digimon waiting for them with the countless digimon behind them regarding the dramon warily. "Can you recognize our welcoming committee?"

Arado nodded. "Arahon Alpha, Braon and, I believe, two of the Avengers... Ajax Ouranos and the Spinomon," he responded, beginning his gradual descent to the ground.

Duroth tossed the white piece of cloth behind him and hailed the small group with a slight wave. Arado gravitated towards the grass below, nearing both the ground and the group of four. Duroth hopped off of his back and the red dragon landed on a small mound of dirt. His weight sent a small explosion of the earthy particles out from around his feet as he landed. He walked towards them with purpose in his stride and his MailBirdramon companion looped around and landed gracefully beside him. Together they approached the four.

"Behave yourself, Strom," Commander Braon muttered. "You and Ajax are here as our bodyguards, but I don't really think we'll need it by the looks of it. Don't say anything and leave the talking to us; we've been waiting years for this and we can't afford to screw it up."

Strom rolled his eyes. "I'll try not to breathe while I'm at it," he murmured as the two Dramon strolled formally up to them.

"Greetings and salutations," Duroth said, stopping in front of the two commanders who were flanked by their respective bodyguards. "My name is Councillor Duroth R'Daruuk. I'm here to represent the Dramon Empire along with my friend here," the red drake said, outstretching his claw to the two Commanders.

"Commander Arahon Alpha," the black-armoured Alphamon spoke, shaking his hand with a brief nod.

"You can just call me Braon," the Justimon commander said, shaking Duroth's claws with his metal hand after Arahon released it. "I'm not big on formality."

"Councillor Arado Skrikewing at your service," said the MailBirdramon, raising his metal claws to shake both Arahon Alpha's and Braon's hands.

Duroth then turned to Ajax and shook his hand as well. "I have to say, I'm honoured to be in the presence of such elite warriors as the Avengers," he said, smiling. "Your skill is renowned, Ajax." The red scaled dragon then turned away from him and outstretched his claw to Strom. "I'm afraid I don't know your name though, Avenger."

Braon gave Strom a stern look to wordlessly tell him not to say anything he'd regret. The Spinomon caught the glance and grunted. "I guess you must have missed the interrogation then," he said rebelliously, despite his superior's warning.

His Justimon companion switched his mechanical arm to its much more bulky Accel Mode and proceeded to grab Strom's ankle and sent volts of electricity coursing through him, prompting a pained yelp from the dinosaur.

"Please, Commander," Duroth said, raising a hand. "I understand his frustration." The Dorbickmon looked at the wincing Strom and noticed the scars on his chest. "I am truly sorry for whatever misfortune befell you as a result of the Dramon Empire. That goes for all of your comrades as well."

"And Strom wants to apologize and properly introduce himself now, don't you, Strom?" Braon spoke sternly.

"Yes..." Strom grumbled, bowing his head and lightly closing his giant claws around Duroth's and shaking them. "Strom Marocannus. Sorry for my rudeness..."

Duroth shook his head reassuringly. Meanwhile, Arado smirked inwardly but kept his tongue at bay. It was Arahon that broke the silence, addressing the two Councillors. "I take it you're here to settle the terms and conditions of a ceasefire?" he questioned.

"Ceasefire?" Duroth asked, chuckling slightly. "No. Arado and I wish for nothing more than to end this pointless war for all eternity."

"Finally something we can all agree on," Commander Braon said with a small smirk.

"Is this the wish of all of the leading parties of the Dramon Empire?" Commander Arahon questioned.

"Were it that simple," the MailBirdramon responded with a faint smile.

Arahon Alpha frowned. "With Imego dead, who is in charge now, Councillors? If anybody."

Arado craned his head towards Duroth, gesturing to the Dorbickmon. "You're looking at him."

Duroth smiled slightly. "What my friend means is that we will soon be undergoing elections where citizens vote for candidates for the task of leadership. As it is now, the candidates are myself and High Admiral Jormungand."

"An election?" Braon asked with almost chary surprise. "What an unbelievable one-eighty your country made. Tyranny to reasonable elections?"

"And with Jormun's frankly comical inadequacy, the win is likely guaranteed for Duroth," Arado claimed.

"Arado, we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves. We don't know where the peoples' hearts lie," he said. Duroth looked at the two Commanders with a smile. "However, I assure you that there are many Dramon who are like Arado and myself, each calling for peace and equality throughout the world. However, with the tyrants and warmongers that were among us, none could speak out until now for fear of reprisal. "

"To business though," Arahon Alpha spoke. "Are you both here on your own accord or are you here on the behest of the other members of your ruling body? I appreciate your sentiments, but if this isn't an official meeting..."

Arado stepped forward, gesturing to a small leather purse hanging from around his neck. The Alphamon commander stepped forwards and detached the carrier from the MailBirdramon, retrieving and opening up a small scroll from inside. On the parchment were the signatures of each of the Councillors. "It's official," Arahon proclaimed after reading it over.

"So the Dramon Empire wants a permanent peace?" Commander Braon said with some scepticism in his voice.

"There are many among us that still hold the view of Dramon superiority and our so-called 'right' to conquer, but there are more that want nothing more than peace. I plan to convince everybody of this ideal," Duroth explained.

"It won't be easy, Councillor. You have to know that," Braon responded.

"Such monumental changes never are easy, Commander," the Dorbickmon answered, "but the 'easy' road is rarely the right road." He looked at the two. "What are your terms?"

The Justimon and Alphamon whispered amongst themselves for a few moments.

"Do you think Uriel, Castiel and Rhea will be okay with that?" Braon asked in a hushed tone.

"I talked to them this morning along with Aegyptu, Terminus, Boagrius and Fenris. We all agreed on this," Arahon replied.

Commander Braon nodded and looked at the two Dramon. "First, we want all the digimon who were unjustly captured and/or enslaved to be released. We're willing to trade the Dramon POWs for them. Second, we want all lands and territories conquered by the Dramon Empire after your secession from the Harmonious Republic to be released back to their rightful owners. Third, we want the Dramon Empire's military to be fully demobilized and dissolved. How are things for you so far?"

Duroth and Arado both exchanged worried glances. The Dorbickmon scratched the back of his horned head. "Regretfully, we cannot accept those terms as they are," Duroth explained apologetically.

"What?" Braon asked, frowning.

"We were fine with them up until the dissolution of our military," Arado clarified. "The only reason we have a problem with this is due to our own safety."

Duroth nodded in agreement. "There is not one foreign state in this world that doesn't hold at least some contempt towards us and they have every right to do so, with what our empire has done... however, if we were to be attacked in retaliation with no military to defend us... We just can't jeopardize our people like that. Please understand. Power is required to uphold peace and order. However, I promise never to use that power to take up arms against another nation unless our own nation is under a clear and present threat, should I become leader. You have my word on that."

Arado hovered forwards slightly. "It's not as if we're able to successfully attack anybody in our present state anyways, not that we would with our leadership and military torn to shreds and moderates like ourselves finally speaking out. We are more than willing to pay war reparations though. I assume that was your next request?"

Braon nodded. "It won't be a modest sum..."

"It would be foolish to expect it would be," Arado replied. "We'll pay the reparations, assuming that they're reasonable."

"We all think it's a fair price given the circumstances," Arahon replied, taking out a scroll of his own and handing it to Duroth.

The dragon opened it and Arado peered over his spiked shoulder at the paper. His jaw dropped. "By the Sovereigns..." he mumbled. "I sure hope Jormun left all the gold parts of the palace untouched; we're going to need them..."

"Is there anything else?" Duroth asked.

"No, except that I truly hope these reforms that you're talking about creating really do lead to a lasting peace, Duroth," Braon said, outstretching his hand. "Do you accept these terms of peace?"

Duroth outstretched his claws and gripped the Justimon's metal hand firmly. "I do. I hope that we might form a trusting friendship in the future. This is how it should be."

Meanwhile, Arado raised his claws and clasped Arahon's hand as well. "Finally, we can all rest easy and bask in the light of peace," the winged dragon said.

"That is our only wish," Arahon replied, shaking the Dramon's talons. "We will need to have several follow up meetings."

"That sounds reasonable to me," Duroth said. "Again, I am truly sorry about this terrible war, but I realize that my words can never make up for it."

"That's for damn sure," Strom thought to himself.

"Anyways, we should be off now," Arado said. "What say we have the prisoner exchange late this afternoon? We'll come here with them along with a small escort of Dramon soldiers, just for safety purposes. Is that okay?"

Braon looked at Arahon, who nodded. "Seems fine. Can we have a roster of all of your prisoners?"

Duroth nodded and jumped up onto Arado's back. "Of course, but I'm afraid that there are some real criminals mixed in with unjustly accused. We will be personally looking over each of the records to sort the good from the bad. Expect us later. Farewell, Commanders."

"Safe travels," Arahon responded with a nod.

Commander Braon waved them off and began walking away with Strom, going back to his duties. "Do you believe what they're saying?" Strom asked, walking behind the Justimon and glancing over his shoulder to the departing Dramon.

"I heard of those two back when I was with the Dramon Empire. They were often on the outs with the Three Great Dramon. I think we can trust them to do the right thing," Braon answered. "They'd be the last ones I'd expect to stab us in the back."

"It's the last one you expect whose blade digs the deepest," Strom remarked reflectively.

Braon didn't respond, understanding what it was Strom was talking about. "...Come on, Strom," he finally said. "Let's get back to work, okay?"

As they started to walk back into the ranks, something caught Strom's eyes. "Hold on, sir," he said, running off.

"Strom, wait a sec!" Braon called after him to no avail. He let out an indignant 'humph' and folded his arms. "Dinosaurs..."

Jogging through the grass, the Spinomon made sure not to hit or step on anybody as he moved through the thick crowd. "Osiris!" he called out, not taking his eyes off the digimon that resembled a winged Anubis.

Osiris turned around and saw Strom running towards him. "...Strom?" he asked with veiled sombreness in his voice, looking at the reptile curiously as he stopped in front of him.

"What've you been doing? I've been looking everywhere for you!" Strom said, bending down and panting.

"Moving the wounded, trying to get things organized... Just attempting to help," the Anubismon replied. "Did you need me for something, Strom?"

"I, uh..." Strom turned his head, finding the words difficult to say. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Ragna..."

Osiris stifled a grimace as Strom spoke the name of his recently deceased friend. As much pain as he felt, he wanted them to remain optimistic, always looking forward. "...He would be happy to know his words linger deep in our hearts, Strom. Take solace in that... and the fact that, wherever he is, he's with Valra..."

"Right..." Strom said grimly, his gaze trailing downwards. "And the Wyrmflame?"

His eyes settled on his left hand, where blood-stained bandages were tied around, trying to heal the wounds that he received trying to pick up the sword in question. His focus went back to Osiris when the Anubismon started talking.

"I put it in a rock at the peak of one of the nearby islands," Osiris explained. "As a sort of memorial, I suppose..."

Strom grimaced and looked down at his massive form which could neither fly nor swim, thus preventing him from going to see it. "Right. Of course," he grumbled to himself.

"Try not to dwell on what happened, Strom," Osiris assured him. "We've finally reached the light of peace after treading through the fog of war. We've reached the goal that we were all striving for. You, I, Ragna, Valra, Rai, Karasu, Ajax... All of us. Just focus on looking forwards. Towards our future."

A soft breath left Strom's nostrils. "Yeah... Our future," the reptile digimon muttered. "Anyways... I'll see ya around, Osiris. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Strom... And don't lose hope," Osiris told him.

Strom gave him a quick nod and started to walk away. "I won't if you won't. ...Later."

Without another word, the Spinomon went on his way to catch up with his commander.

-

The orange rays of sunset touched upon a small Dramon city, recognizable as Draconic architecture by the tall stone buildings, high parapets, and a grand, medieval style of structures with decidedly horn and claw-like features. It was nowhere near as large or as grand as the Dramon capital, but Wyrmeston still held the qualities that a city of dragons would have. It was grand, yet imposing.

A silver comet flew through the air towards the city, flying over the scant occupied walls. The orange sun hit the Slayerdramon's dirty, metal armour, causing the thick plates to gleam and take on an orange blaze in the spots untouched by grime. Ishton began to descend towards the stone road below, where he was hidden from the glow of the sun in the shadows of the buildings.

The humanoid drake touched down on the street and his metal boots hitting the ground caused his armour to rattle. He looked down at his forearms which were still bound together by chains. "I still have to get rid of these," he thought to himself. He looked around the courtyard and saw only a few Dramon wandering around, going about their daily business. It was emptier than it should have been. The brief appearance of apocalyptic terrors such as the Gog-Magog entity had obviously shaken many of the world's inhabitants. "I think I'll begin here."

Ishton walked through the open courtyard, a warm breeze flowing through his armour and soothing his sweaty blue scales. He held his chained hands close to his torso, hoping nobody would see lest they thought he were a criminal or something. The Slayerdramon looked around at the buildings of Wyrmeston. His gold, draconic eyes lit up when he found the place he was looking for on a corner off the courtyard, not too far from the city walls.

The blacksmithing forge.

He hurried over to the fifteen foot tall building, which had three chimneys coming out its stone roof. By the small size of it, he knew that this particular forge was for smaller Dramon like himself. There was another larger one in the city suited for the larger digimon among them.

Ishton budged open the door and walked inside the smithy, already feeling the heat of the hearth against his scales. There he saw an emerald Coredramon blacksmith sharpening a long, metal spike extended out of the wrist of a black gauntlet.

"Well, Ishton..." a dark voice said from the shadowed corner of the room. "Good to see you made it back."

The Slayerdramon looked and saw that it was not the blacksmith talking, who was much too focused on his work to even notice him. A very muscular, blue-scaled figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the fire, revealing himself. Ishton looked at the digimon who stood the same height as himself, watching as he slipped his red helmet on over his long azure ears and small snout.

"Tartarus," Ishton said with mild surprise, staring at the Paildramon as he stretched his two pairs of white and blue wings.

"That's me," the grinning Paildramon said, walking over and taking Ishton's bound hands in his azure fingers and eyeing them. "Looks like I made it out more unscathed than you did." He looked over to the blacksmith and pulled the Slayerdramon over to the fire pot. "Hey, can you hold off on my gauntlets for a second? I need you to get the chains off my friend here."

The green-scaled dragon stepped away from the sharpening stone, took one look at the chains and eyed them suspiciously. "Who is he?" he asked.

"High Lieutenant Ishton Kirzarv of the First Dramon Air Force. I serve under... served under Grand Marshal Gotungir," he explained, his voice becoming sullen.

"He's on the same team as me," Tartarus explained.

"Why the chains?" the dragon blacksmith asked.

"I was captured in the battle yesterday by the Rebels and taken as a prisoner of war. I was able to escape during the night," he explained.

The Coredramon nodded and took out his cold chisel and hammer. "I'll have you out of them in no time," he said, placing the edge of the tool against the chains and then bringing the hammer down to the end of the chisel. Ishton initially winced at the pressure, but his armour absorbed most of the impact.

Ishton looked over to Tartarus, who observed him with folded arms. "So, you know how I escaped. What about you?"

The buff Paildramon smirked. "When the fighting gets bad, the good get out," he replied, brushing a few cinders from off his scales. "A part of being a first-rate fighter is knowing when to pick your battles. I may be able to beat any digimon in a one-on-one fight, but those two things that roasted Imego weren't 'any digimon'."

"So you retreated with most of the others?" Ishton asked, more questioning than judging him. He ignored the sparks and hammering coming from the blacksmith working on the chains.

"Unashamedly, yes," Tartarus replied, watching the Coredramon work. "When you live to fight like I do, the 'living' aspect is top priority. After all, I can't fight if I'm dead, can I?"

"I suppose you can't," the Slayerdramon said as the blacksmith hacked through the first link of chains, sending sparks dancing onto the stone counter. "So, what are you doing here, Tartarus?"

"I also can't fight effectively if my weapons aren't honed," he replied, gesturing to his gauntlets. The Paildramon then took off his green chest armour, revealing a toned chest donning a fused 'X' and 'V' along with countless scars, some new but many old. He proceeded to place the armour on the counter. "I convinced the smith to hammer out the dents in my armour too. I should be battle ready in no time... that is, if there's any battles left to be fought." Tartarus looked to Ishton for his reaction.

Ishton looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"There's talks of peace going around," the large Paildramon replied. "With our empire's leadership wrecked, word on the street is that the councillors have already come to tentative terms with the Rebels."

"What?" the armoured dragon demanded angrily. "...I knew this would happen. I knew those soft-hearted salamanders would try to come to terms with the Rebels. Damn them."

Tartarus grinned behind his helmet, his blood-red eyes sparkling as the light of the forge's fires flickered. "So soon, too. It's like they're spitting on the graves of everyone who died in this war," he mused. "Branding them as evil and wrong. Even our leader, Grand Marshal Gotungir."

Ishton snarled in a controlled fury. "It's settled then. I'm setting my plan into motion," he spoke.

"Your plan?" the Paildramon questioned, watching as the blacksmith broke through the remaining chains.

The Slayerdramon separated his hands and stretched, cracking the stiff bones in his back. He turned back towards Tartarus with determination. "This isn't the end of our conquest. I will continue our war even if I have to do it myself," he explained, his voice steely. "The Rebels have the 'Avengers'... As if they're the only ones who have something to avenge. They act as if they have the moral high ground. But what about us, Dramon? Haven't we also lost? In the name of vengeance, I will fight them to the bitter end in Gotungir's name." He looked to the Coredramon. "Get me a medium-sized Fragarach sword."

Tartarus grinned in glee. "Not to sound like a warmonger, but that sounds like something tailor-made for me," he offered, sliding on the gauntlet the blacksmith had finished with.

"You want to help me?" Ishton asked. "I thought it would take more convincing."

The Paildramon chuckled a dark laugh. "Come on, Ishton; as soon as the fighting stops, so does my usefulness, unless you count tavern brawls," Tartarus answered. "Peace means no fights. No fights mean wasted potential. Wasted potential means a wasted life. And you heard what I said about my life being priority one, right?"

The Slayerdramon nodded as the Coredramon came over to him with a new Fragarach sword. "I know you know your stuff. I want you to be my second-in-command."

The stronger dragon man raised an eyebrow in response. "You sure? I'm not really a strategist or a big picture person," he replied, folding his arms. "I'm just good at killing rebels."

"You let me worry about that," Ishton replied, taking the thick, linked sword that could curl somewhat flexibly around a target. "I just need somebody I can trust. With your loyalty and the highest kill-count in your class, we'll already be off to a good start."

Tartarus grinned widely, his deep red eyes narrowing. "I'm just a humble proto-super soldier, High Lieutenant. I'm happy to kill anybody I'm sent to fight," he explained darkly.

Ishton shouldered his sword and looked at his Paildramon comrade. "Good. You'll get your chance...

"But for now, we start recruiting."