With scarcely two months to prepare for Tribute Day, Pumpkinmon had been hard at work making preparations. Their tribute was to be a play一short and sweet, as Pumpkinmon described it, and brimming with what he referred to as "romantic tension". Whatever that meant, Wizardmon was thankful to have been excluded from the whole affair.

Unfortunately, that was about to change.

It was over breakfast one morning that Pumpkinmon broached the idea.

"Everything's going pretty smoothly," he said, and as was his habit, the Ultimate spoke with his mouth full, spewing bits of breakfast onto the table. "But there's still something missing. It needs an extra umph to spice up the performance." He paused to swallow, washing it all down with a swig of ale. "And that's where you come in. Well, maybe. It depends."

"On?"

Wizardmon was seated across from the Ultimate, slowly chipping away at his own breakfast. Though the food was no better than usual, he had begun to develop a tolerance for it and was finally able to keep down more than a few nibbles.

"We've got the play, and we've got the players." Pumpkinmon nodded to Candlemon and Gotsumon. "But what we don't have is a score. It needs music! So I was wondering if you had any talent for that sort of thing."

Wizardmon nursed a pint of watered down whiskey as he contemplated his next move. His first instinct was to lie. Though he had some skill with a lute, he wasn't keen on being roped into any sort of spectacle. It was one thing to perform for small crowds in the relative intimacy of a pub or tavern, but the idea of playing to an entire army was daunting. Moreover, if this Tribute Day was a castle wide event, then Gatomon was certain to be there.

But as always, his good nature got the better of him.

"I'm no professional," he said, "but I can play a melody or two on the lute."

Candlemon threw his hands into the air and cheered. "That's fantastic!" Then he paused, his grin faded."Wait, what's a lute?"

"It's like a fancy whistle", said Gotsumon.

"That's a flute, blockhead," said Pumpkinmon, "a lute is a fancy guitar. Right?" He turned to Wizardmon for confirmation.

Wizardmon held back a chuckle.

"Close enough. Here, I'll show you."

Wizardmon cleared his end of the table and placed his staff upon it. Muttering a few words to himself, he made a sign with his hands, then held them over the table. The staff glowed, unfurling into streams of data. Wizardmon snared then before they could escape, twisting and weaving them into a new form. At first it was oblong, then one end of it began to stretch and grow thin. As the object took its final shape, the swirling data began to settle. The light faded, revealing a small wooden instrument with strings running the length of it. It floated gently into the wizard's hands and he held it with care.

"This is a lute," said Wizardmon, holding it up for the others. He expected a quip about fancy guitars or the like, but the three Digimon only stared. "What?"

"How did you do that?!" said Gotsumon, rising from his seat to get a better look.

It occurred to Wizardmon that this was the first time his companions had seen him perform magic. He had mentioned his abilities once to Candlemon, but the Rookie had taken him to mean card tricks and parlor games, asking if Wizardmon might demonstrate by pulling a Digidollar from thin air. But this was no trick, nor was it a simple illusion.

The ability to manipulate data was a rare thing in this part of the Digital World. Denounced as hacking by some, and praised as sorcery by others, it had nevertheless fallen out of common practice as the old ways disappeared into the annals of history. He had met only one other Digimon with this power along his travels, and she had been a withered crone with her wits unraveling一a vestige of ancient times.

From the corner of his eye, Wizardmon could see that a few heads had turned. His display was attracting unwanted attention. He thought back to DemiDevimon's warning and resolved only to use his magic in private from then on.

"Oh, it's just an old trick I learned during my travels." Wizardmon feigned nonchalance. He offered the lute to Gotsumon. "Would you like to try it?"

Gotsumon looked tempted, lifting his hand to reach for the lute, but he stopped himself. "I better not, I might break it. Anyway, I'm no musician."

"Let's have a song!" said Pumpkinmon, to which Candlemon gave his wholehearted assent.

"Yeah, yeah! Let's have a song!"

"Maybe another time…"

Wizardmon glanced over his shoulder and saw that the mess was still fairly crowded. No one seemed to be paying attention to him anymore, and he preferred to keep it that way.

Candlemon began to chant, "Song! Song! Song!一" and his companions joined him. "一Song! Song! Song!"

This went on for a short while longer until Wizardmon finally relented. He strummed a few bars of a melody and then took a bow when the trio applauded.

"Right, that settles that" said Pumpkinmon. "You're hired!"

In the weeks that followed, Pumpkinmon dominated any and all downtime their schedules afforded them. As the writer, director, and romantic lead, he had prioritized the success of the play above all else. Rehearsals were grueling, albeit mercifully short given their general lack of freedom as bottom rung grunts. Wizardmon, being only the musical accompaniment, was seldom at the receiving end of Pumpkinmon's wrath should a scene go awry. Candlemon and Gotsumon were not as fortunate. The latter, being both his co-star and "leading lady", suffered the most. For as Pumpkinmon had made so abundantly clear, the success of their play hinged on the romantic subplot.

Pumpkinmon's reign of terror worsened as the big day drew closer. With only days left to prepare, he had taken to waking the group hours before morning bell to squeeze in extra rehearsal time. The result of this was a fair amount of scolding whenever Candlemon or Gotsumon drifted off and fell asleep mid-monologue. After the sixth or seventh time this happened the two of them were fired. They were then promptly un-fired as Pumpkinmon realized he had no one to replace them.

On the night before Tribute Day, Pumpkinmon called for their first and only dress rehearsal. He presented their costumes, which he had made himself, with an air of unparalleled pride. They were crude at best; a hodgepodge of whatever scraps could be gleaned from castle storerooms all franken-stitched into a monstrosity of fashion. Pumpkinmon had dubbed each one a masterwork, and Wizardmon hadn't had the heart to disagree.

Attending the dress rehearsal was a small horde of Bakemon. How Pumpkinmon had convinced them to sacrifice their downtime was a mystery, but it could be assumed bribery was involved.

Their venue that night was in an underutilized part of the castle: the library. It was a cavernous room with impressively stocked shelves, and there was enough dust from floor to ceiling to suggest that few Digimon had ever set foot in the place. This was pleasant news to Wizardmon. Once he no longer had Pumpkinmon dragging him to rehearsals, he could start spending his downtime in peace and quiet with a good book for company.

The rehearsal went about as well as could be expected. Lines were forgotten, cues were missed, and costumes were mismatched. All things considered, it was a splendid success. The Bakemon certainly thought so, albeit your average Bakemon was not difficult to impress.

When the rehearsal had ended, and the Bakemon dispersed, Pumpkinmon gathered his companions close for a huddle.

"Well, that's it," he said, looking far more sober than he ever had, "our last rehearsal. If I'm being honest, it wasn't great. Actually, it was terrible. Except for you Wiz, you were perfect. Don't ever change." He smiled and clapped Wizardmon on the back.

Wizardmon forced a chuckle and thanked him.

His smile fading, Pumpkinmon continued. "Gotsumon, you're just not capturing the sensual womanhood of the role. I think it's your voice. And Candy一well, I have no idea what went wrong there. So here's what's gonna happen: Candlemon, congratulations, you're my new leading lady."

Candlemon whooped and threw his arms over his head.

Gotsumon looked as though his whole world had crumbled. "What about me!" he cried.

"Not to worry, my friend," Pumpkinmon placed his hand on the golem's shoulder. "With that commanding voice, and your rugged good looks, you'd make a perfect villain! I don't know why I didn't see it before?"

Gotsumon appeared satisfied with this. "Yeah," he mused, tapping his chin with one rocky finger, "I am pretty handsome…"

At last, the day arrived. For the first time since he'd entered the castle, Wizardmon had gotten a decent four hours of sleep一uninterrupted一 and woke feeling slightly better than usual. The morning bell had been delayed an hour, as was customary for this most festive of occasions. For breakfast, the inhabitants of Castle Myotismon were treated to day old bread, which was only somewhat stale and far more edible than the usual fare. And the whiskey, though no less watered down, had been sweetened and spiced. It was the best meal Wizardmon had enjoyed in almost three months.

The real festivities would not begin until sundown, when their gracious leader would be up and about to join them. Until then, all but the kitchen staff were free to do as they pleased. Most spent this time hastily putting the final touches on their tributes. Pumpkinmon and his players were no exception. As Candlemon and Gotsumon studied their scripts, Pumpkinmon was busy making final adjustments to the costumes; stitching, hemming, and driving himself mad with frustration. Through all this, Wizardmon sat in a corner and strummed his lute.

When evening came, everyone gathered in the mess hall. It was spruced up for the occasion. What was normally a drab cavern of stone walls and creaky wooden tables had become like an elegant throne room. The tables, draped in white sheets, had been arranged at either side of the hall, forming one big aisle down the center. Running the length of the aisle was a crimson carpet, hemmed in black and gold. Hanging from the rafters were banners of the same imperial red. Upon each was a symbol: a flash of gold the shape of a bat. Wizardmon had seen it once before, printed on on that black card Gatomon kept tucked away in her glove.

At the far end of the room, perched on a makeshift, wooden dias, sat a menacing throne. It was all black, from its spidery legs to the bat wing finials spread wide at it's peak. For now, it stood vacant, perched high like a monstrous observer. The sight of it made Wizardmon shudder.

The tables were set, and the scent of some pan fried delicacy tantalized the eager crowd. But with no sign of Myotismon, his loyal underlings were left to stare at their empty plates, and wait.

Wizardmon could care less about the food. He was busy scanning the crowds for a glimpse of Gatomon, but as of yet, there was nothing. He'd seen very little of her in the past few months, and on the rare occasion they crossed paths, the most he could expect from her was a careless glance before she moved along to go about her business.

He wondered if she ever missed his company.

Across the hall, a little blue shape fluttered toward the throne. It was DemiDevimon. He landed on one of its curled arms and cleared his throat. When the ruckus did not settle, he tried again一louder this time.

Gradually, a hush fell over the room. Satisfied that he had their full attention, DemiDevimon addressed the crowd.

"Presenting His Most Glorious Majesty, The Patron of Pain, Prince of The Undead, Master of Misery, and future Emperor of the Digital World, Lord Myotismon!"

Wizardmon expected a fanfare, but there was none. Myotismon entered to deafening silence. Tall, pale, and imperially thin, he strode down the center aisle on long, slender legs. He was dressed as one might expect the head of an army to be, neatly arrayed from head to toe in his crisp blue fatigue. Draped over his broad shoulders was a black cape, red on its underside, the collar of which stood so high it added an extra foot to the ensemble.

Following closely behind him were his loyal officers, Gatomon and Phantomon, their eyes forward and fixed firmly upon their master. They each carried something with them. Phantomon clutched what looked like a small broom whereas Gatomon held a piece of furniture between her paws. When Myotismon reached the throne, he paused and looked to his underlings. Phantomon promptly dusted the seat of the throne, then retreated with a bow. As Myotismon seated himself, Gatomon placed her own burden before the throne. She, too, then bowed and stepped aside. Draping one leg over the other, Myotismon rested his feet upon it.

Turning his eyes to the crowd, he gestured with one hand and said, "You may applaud."

Without pause came a standing ovation. Every last Digimon in the room clapped their paws一or whatever appendage they had一 with furious enthusiasm, yet none of them cheered.

Lifting his hand, Myotismon brought the applause to an abrupt end, and silence weighed upon them once again. No one in the crowd dared to speak. Some even held their breath.

Then came that booming baritone that was the voice of their leader.

"For many years now it has been my honor to have such loyal subjects." There was little enthusiasm in his voice. "And so, as promised, I have had our fine cooks prepare a feast for you tonight."

"Oh, Lord Myotismon, how very generous of you! Isn't he just so generous?" DemiDevimon made a frantic gesture to the crowd and there was further applause.

As the commotion died down, the kitchen doors opened and out came a procession of DemiMeramon sporting enormous platters of sizzling hot delights. They went from table to table delivering their goods to the impatient crowd, then retreated back to the kitchens and were not seen again. Along with the food came jugs upon jugs of whiskey, full bodied and golden brown.

While most were busy stuffing their faces, those who had prepared tributes quietly broke away from the masses. Insisting that they would do best to present last, Pumpkinmon led their group off to the sidelines where they could observe the competition.

Most came bearing gifts, some of them stolen goods from the nearby villages, while others had taken pains to concoct something of their own. A group of Bakemon presented a likeness of their esteemed lord made entirely of chewing gum. It might have been impressive, had the head not fallen off when one of them accidentally nudged it too roughly.

Other notable entries included a portrait painted with condiments stolen from the kitchen, a tribute by way of interpretive dance, and one horrifying long beat poem, fifty percent of which was comprised of the words ''glorious'', and ''moist''. Myotismon said nothing throughout it all, sitting in stern silence, sipping his wine, shifting an inch here or there, and occasionally crossing, or uncrossing his legs.

This was not the case for his officers. Gatomon, who stood to the right side of the throne, made no attempt to hide her disgust as each new tribute was presented, whereas Phantomon, hovering to the left, appeared thoroughly amused, stifling a derisive chuckle now and then.

By the time it was their turn to present, Wizardmon had formed a substantial knot in his stomach. Being that his legs refused to cooperate, Pumpkinmon took the liberty of dragging him on toward certain humiliation. Their makeshift stage was little more than a paper banner painted crudely to resemble the night sky. As the three players gathered behind it to throw on their costumes, Wizardmon languished in full view of Gatomon and her unforgiving scrutiny. Head bowed, clutching his lute for dear life, he cleared his throat and announced their tribute.

"In gratitude to his most esteemed一"

"Louder!" cried Pumpkinmon from behind the banner.

Wizardmon swallowed, took a deep breath, and then started again. "In gratitude to His Most Esteemed Majesty, we four present The Heroic Exploits of Lord Myotismon, A Tribute."

He took a quick bow and retreated upstage to his pedestal, which was really just a box Pumpkinmon set out for him despite his numerous protests toward being featured in plain view. He'd have preferred to slink behind the banner and play his music from there, but the Ultimate would not hear of it. He had insisted Wizardmon receive his due credit for participating.

The play began with an overture. It was a bittersweet melody, one he'd often played to himself on lonely nights. The sound of it calmed him some, and he felt the storm of his frenzied nerves beginning to subside. As he played, the mage dared to lift his head and saw that Gatomon had yet to bear down on him with contempt. At the very worst she looked ambivalent. Wizardmon chose to take this as a compliment. .

As the overture ended, Pumpkinmon and Candlemon strutted out from behind the banner. They were in full costume; Pumpkinmon had styled himself as a marginal likeness of Myotismon, whereas the Rookie, complete with false ears and a tail, was decked up as a sorry impression of Gatomon. The real Gatomon recoiled in sheer disdain when she saw this.

With a flutter of his cape, Pumpkinmon took center stage and uttered his first line. "'Tis a fair night, my most faithful Gatomon!"

Candlemon moved to stand beside him. "Why yes, My Lord", he said, voice strained in falsetto, "'tis fair indeed!"

"Ah, but not as fair as you, dear Gatomon." Pumpkinmon boomed with false laughter as his co-star swooned.

"Oh, Lord Myotismon, you are too kind! And so very handsome!"

Then came more of that false laughter. Wizardmon bowed his head again, shrinking back in humiliation. Whatever calm the music brought him had been thoroughly undone.

"Lo!" cried Candlemon, pointing stage left, "Who is this? What vile creature approaches!"

Gotsumon kept out from behind the banner. Dressed entirely in black, he sported paper wings and a pair of horns. He growled at the two across from him.

"'Tis Devimon, that hideous fiend!" Pumpkinmon threw out his arm and stepped in front of Candlemon, "Stand back, Gatomon! I shall dispatch of this dastardly usurper!"

"I think not!" cried Gotsumon, "For you may be strong, and handsome, and clever一but nevertheless, tonight you die!"

What followed was a spastic flail that made it's best attempt at being stage combat. There was a fair amount of grunting and swearing as Pumpkinmon and Gotsumon grappled on the floor while Candlemon stood in the background squealing "oh my!" over and over again.

The spectacle, however ridiculous, didn't seem to bother Myotismon, likely because he hadn't payed attention to it for more than the first thirty seconds. He spent most of the performance making small talk with Phantomon, picking the lint off of his clothes, and nursing his second glass of wine. Half way through the fight scene, he sent DemiDevimon to bring him a third.

The fight scene ended with a flurry of paper bats. Pumpkinmon tossed them into the air like confetti shouting "Devour him, my lovelies!"

Gotsumon uttered a death cry as they fell upon him and sank to the ground, motionless.

"At last," said Pumpkinmon, resting his foot on Gotsumon's head, "that dastardly Devimon shall menace us no longer."

Candlemon swooned again and flung his arms around him. "My hero!"

There was a pause. Then Gotsumon abruptly leapt to his feet and shouted, "The end!"

The three players bowed as Wizardmon played their curtain call. With the exception of one Bakemon, no one applauded.

"Good show, gentleman", said Myotismon. He had tuned in for the final moments of the play. "It was...well, it was certainly something."

He shared a glance with Phantomon and laughed. This prompted the crowd to join them and a wave of forced chuckles made one faint sweep across the room.

"But I will say," he continued, "I rather enjoyed the music. You一" he pointed to Wizardmon, who went stiff in his seat一"stand up won't you? Let's have a bow."

Nerves raging, Wizardmon obeyed and gave a stiff, little bow.

"Come closer." Myotismon crooked a finger at him. "Let me have a good look at you."

Wizardmon took a few steps toward the dias and, as a courtesy, removed his hat.

"Funny that such a homely thing makes such beautiful music."

Myotismon laughed again, but this time it was cut short. He squinted, touching a hand to his temple as though to nurse a migraine.

"My Lord," Phantomon hovered a little closer, "is something the matter?"

"No. I'm perfectly fine." Myotismon waved a hand dismissively, but the look on his face betrayed him. His grimace deepened; Wizardmon thought he noticed the man's hand trembling.

Gatomon frowned. "Is there something you need, Lord Myotismon? You look unwell."

"I've already told you一" Myotismon stopped short and groaned, clutching his head with both hands. Whatever it was that ailed him, his symptom has worsened. On attempting to stand, he faltered and caught himself on the arm of his throne.

"Here, boss, lemme help you." DemiDevimon fluttered toward his master, only to be swatted away.

"I don't need help! I just need一I need to一"

Myotismon clutched at his throat, unable to speak further. His body shook as he forced it to stand again, despite the protests of his officers. He took one floundering step and then, with a shuddering spasm, he collapsed.