They were walking through an inverted biome, where the ground was the color of an overcast day, the sky the color of dirt. Ryo felt tired, even though in the Digital World, sleep was not strictly necessary. Nothing was needed, yet everything was lacking—the true contradiction of the place could be found at the heart of this discrepancy.

Cyberdramon growled, hackles raised. A digimon must be approaching. Ryo's D-Power had been lost and they still had not retrieved it. The digimon appeared not long after, over the curve of the horizon, moving at a brisk pace toward them.

"Wait," Ryo said.

It seemed friendly, or at least, not hostile. Cyberdramon glanced askance at him, briefly, but listened for once. They waited.

As it drew closer, Ryo felt a sense of déjà vu. He had seen this digimon before, with its four arms and chiseled ashen skin and three faces and hair wreathed in flames, where he could not recall, exactly. The name came to Ryo unbidden: Asuramon. It bowed before them.

"You are Ryo Akiyama, Legendary Tamer?" asked Asuramon, voice deep and male.

Ryo nodded.

"I am Asuramon. I have come to fight for the honor of being your partner."

Ryo was puzzled. It did not feel like an honor to be his partner, more a curse than anything. But Asuramon had a reasonable air to him. Regardless of how the fight went, perhaps they could prevent it from crossing any untoward lines.

Ryo glanced at Cyberdramon. The metal dragon was silent, almost vibrating with the desire to engage Asuramon. Ryo looked between the two of them, then shrugged.

"Yes, sure. Why not?"

Cyberdramon did not hesitate. Asuramon had begun to bow again, an overexaggerated and flourishing motion, caught off guard when Cyberdramon hurled himself at the other digimon. Cyberdramon reached to separate Asuramon's three-sided faces from his body, but Asuramon jammed all four arms into Cyberdramon's chest and propelled himself backward, out of harm's way.

"What is this? Where is your decorum?" Asuramon demanded.

He was ignored. Cyberdramon readied a desolation claw and fired it at Asuramon, forcing the other digimon to fling himself aside in a rather graceless manner. The desolation claw skittered off, leaving a deep wound in the still gray earth.

"If you insist on fighting like a beast, you shall be treated like one!" Asuramon shouted. Cyberdramon closed the distance between them once more, and they were rolling around on the ground in a furious tussle.

Maybe Ryo had been wrong about Asuramon. There was nothing reasonable about violence—certainly nothing honorable. Cyberdramon made that truth abundantly clear. Ryo wished he still had his D-Power, so he might assist his partner.

The flames crowning Asuramon's head and wreathing his body flared to life. There was a sound, containing hundreds of thousands of various cries, as the celestial bonfire enveloped them. Pure gold flames erupted to life, and myriads shapes could be seen within them: unlimited faces and eyes, royal ornaments and a vast tableau of chariot riders wielding divine weapons to slay one another.

An awful heat rolled over the area as both Cyberdramon and Asuramon shrieked in pain; the scent of sweat-smelling fragrances twined with the flickering contortions of holy flames. Ryo had no choice but to shield his eyes—blinded by the light; blinded by the horrifying nature of it all.

For a moment, dark hope thrilled Ryo: maybe Cyberdramon and Asuramon would destroy each other in the fight. Maybe he would be free at last from his obligations. Maybe Ryo could finally go home. But it was a cruel hope, so he made himself forget it.

The light faded; the heat abated; the sounds eased; Ryo dropped his arms and lifted his eyes. Cyberdramon stood over Asuramon, four arms pinned behind its back, body stained with charcoal and still smoking from the fire. Cyberdramon screamed again, a victory cry, and wrenched one arm free from its socket. Asuramon let out a cry too, agonized and stripped of all pretenses, a metallic noise that drilled itself into Ryo's skull.

The arm burst into red data, showering them in rust-colored dust. Cyberdramon reached for another arm and ripped that one out next; it was like watching someone pluck the wings off a fly. Ryo began to feel ill.

"Cyberdramon, that's enough."

Cyberdramon snarled but stomped a clawed foot clean through Asuramon's head. More red data, everywhere, so much like blood and yet nothing like it at all. Asuramon vanished, as if he never even existed. Cyberdramon absorbed the data, red lines glowing along the cracks in his armor and healing him. He shone with the light of blood diamonds. If data was blood, were they vampires?

Smoke curled out of Cyberdramon's muzzle and drifted heavenward. No, not a vampire. A dragon—and not the benevolent eastern dragons, but the wretched and greedy dragons of the west. All they knew was to seek out gold and hoard it.

"He was weak," Cyberdramon said, taking Ryo by surprise. "He was not worthy to even make such a request. My true enemy still waits dreaming."

Then Cyberdramon turned and continued walking, as if nothing had even happened.