Chapter 45: Ride Like Thunder, Roar Like Lightning
For all the roaring and clashing on the battlefield—Digimon wrestling in the dust, explosions of light and dark flaring in every direction—everything seemed to hush for a moment when Dragomon rose from the conjured swamp he had summoned in the heart of the battlefield.
He was colossal.
Twice as tall as any building around, his bloated, rubbery skin glistened like an oil slick. His face—a grotesque fusion of octopus and anglerfish—writhed with twitching tendrils, and in place of eyes, he had luminescent pits of abyssal blue. His arms ended in claws like boat anchors, crusted with barnacles and something that looked suspiciously like dried blood.
From his gaping maw came a sound like the groan of a sinking ship—long, dreadful, and far too deep for comfort.
And then he attacked.
With a hideous screech, Dragomon unleashed a torrent of jet-black water, pressurized to such a degree it sliced through the battlefield like a guillotine. Rookie Digimon were flung like ragdolls; buildings buckled. The very earth cracked open beneath the blast, water hissing as it vaporized on impact.
Worse still, a purple mist followed him—miasma that dripped from his slimy body and blanketed the ground. Everywhere it touched, the land sickened. Digimon it passed near screamed and staggered, their eyes flashing red, some falling to their knees, others turning against their own allies.
"He's spreading corruption," Matt muttered from atop the wall, eyes wide. "And doing a good job of it…"
But then, the wind changed.
A crackle in the clouds above. A flicker of golden light. Then—BOOM.
Piximon dropped from the sky like a pink comet trailing sparks, his tiny wings flaring wide as he slammed into the battlefield like a meteor of righteousness. He landed in front of Dragomon with such force that a shockwave rippled outward, dispersing the miasma like fog in sunlight.
"You shall not corrupt this city, you overgrown sea sponge!" Piximon shouted, his tiny voice surprisingly loud and posh—like a general with a tea addiction.
He raised his golden spear. Lightning danced down its length.
Dragomon bellowed and swiped with a tentacle thicker than a telephone pole.
Piximon vanished.
He reappeared above Dragomon's head with a pop! of displaced air, his spear crackling. "Pixi… SHOCK!"
A bolt of lightning the size of a tree slammed down from the heavens, striking Dragomon square in the skull. The monster roared, smoke rising from his sizzling hide—but he wasn't down.
Not even close.
Enraged, Dragomon surged upward, his tentacles lashing out. One cracked into a building, turning it to rubble. Another struck toward Piximon with deadly speed. But again—pop!—Piximon vanished, then reappeared to the side, hurling another spear of lightning into the beast's shoulder.
It was a dance of destruction.
Piximon flitted around like a firefly, never staying in one place long enough for Dragomon to pin down. Every time the monster tried to retaliate, he was met with a barrage of lightning, wind, and tiny, furious insults.
"Learn to aim, you soggy calamari!"
Dragomon tried to trap him in a dome of dark water—inky, foul-smelling—but Piximon summoned a hurricane, a whirling vortex of air and light that tore through the dark ocean sphere like it was mist on a warm morning.
But while Piximon had agility and wit, Dragomon had durability and endless reserves of sludge.
Time and again, lightning slammed into his body, piercing, burning, searing. But still he rose. His tentacles healed quickly. His water regenerated. His miasma oozed.
Even after Piximon summoned a chain of miniature thunderstorms, striking Dragomon with ten bolts in a single second, the monstrous sea beast refused to fall.
Piximon panted, hovering in mid-air, his wings fluttering harder than ever.
"Persistent brute," he huffed, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "You're like bad sushi—refusing to go down without a fight."
Dragomon, eyes flaring with rage, opened his mouth and roared—this time summoning a spiral of cursed water shot through with streaks of purple fire.
Piximon's eyes widened.
He vanished—pop!—just before it struck. The cursed geyser erupted where he'd been, melting the stone below into bubbling ooze.
Piximon now circled above Dragomon's head, face set with determination.
"You're tough, I'll give you that," he called. "But the next time we meet, I'm bringing a bigger thundercloud."
And with that, he raised his spear, summoned a blast of concussive wind, and launched it directly into Dragomon's chest—sending the sea monster staggering backward, shrieking and flailing, retreating momentarily into the miasma it had conjured.
Piximon, finally breathing heavily, floated down to a rooftop and perched like a bird, watching.
"Still not dead," he muttered. "Great. Just what I needed. A monster with stamina."
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Groundramon Vs Rebellimon
Dust rose in plumes, curling in the air like mischievous ghosts as chaos ruled the battlefield. The clash of powers, both digital and chakra-infused, shook the ground in rhythmic, thunderous pulses. It was like a symphony of destruction, a curious blend of beauty and devastation.
Above the ruined city, where ancient buildings tilted like drunken towers and digital signage flickered on and off as though uncertain of their loyalties, Piximon was giving Dragomon a lesson in the fine art of aerial acrobatics—while still managing to shout helpful pointers to the younger Digimon between his glittering wingbeats.
"Oi! Tailmon, darling! Keep that left paw high—oh bother!" he squeaked, just narrowly dodging a dark wave of sludge fired by the eldritch horror that was Dragomon. The amphibious monster slithered through the air like a wet nightmare, tentacles coiled with menace. Piximon zoomed higher, his sparkly trail zipping like a firework across the sky.
Meanwhile, rookies and champions clashed with furious devotion. The battlefield below was alive with action: sparks, fireballs, vines, and the occasional banana peel attack from an overly ambitious Monzaemon. Amidst the flurry of action, a louder, more guttural clash was unfolding just outside the shattered city's bounds, where the ruins met the scarred earth.
Here, the very air trembled.
It was Rebellimon versus Groundramon.
Beneath a crumbled highway overpass—now serving as a rather dramatic backdrop—stood Rebellimon, revving like a motorcycle about to break into a rock concert.
His engine growled.
His missile ports clanked.
His voice, when he spoke, thundered across the field like a concert held in a junkyard cathedral.
"COME ON, YOU METALLIC LIZARD! I AIN'T GOT ALL DAY!" Rebellimon bellowed, slamming his massive right arm into the ground, sending debris flying.
Opposite him, like a mountain that had grown claws and a very bad temper, Groundramon emerged from a chasm it had made itself. The dragon's eyes glowed with primal rage. Its scales shimmered faintly gold—Huanglong Ore, the rare metal that made its body near-impenetrable. The mutated wings on its back flexed like ancient arms long unused for kindness.
It didn't roar.
It didn't speak.
It just attacked.
BOOM.
Groundramon slammed its massive body into the earth, triggering a devastating tremor—Giga Crack. The ground fissured like dry parchment, jagged lines tearing through the soil as if some gigantic digital hand had ripped the terrain apart.
Rebellimon leapt, his engine screaming as he rocketed over the incoming wave of destruction.
"GONNA TAKE MORE THAN A LITTLE EARTHQUAKE TO SHUT ME UP!" he laughed, landing with a crunch atop a fallen building. "Besides… I got friends to protect!"
Sure enough, behind him, a group of smaller Digimon—including an injured Armadillomon and a frazzled Biyomon—were scrambling for shelter.
Groundramon surged forward with terrifying speed for something so massive. It lunged, the claws on its back arms wide open—Scrapless Claw primed to crush.
But Rebellimon spun midair, releasing a Vanquish Missile barrage from his left arm. The missiles screamed and twisted through the air like angry fireworks before slamming into Groundramon's face, causing it to snarl in surprise more than pain.
"HAH! TASTE THAT, ROCK BREATH!"
The attack barely scorched its scales.
Groundramon retaliated with its tail, a terrifying iron orb swinging with the force of a falling satellite—Megaton Hammer Crash.
Rebellimon blocked it.
Barely.
Skidding backwards across the torn-up battlefield, he dug in his heels—literally, gouging twin tracks into the ground. Sparks flew.
He coughed.
Then grinned.
A pulse of red energy flickered around him—the remnants of the Kyūbi Chakra Cloak Naruto had managed to share, flowing into his frame through clever modifications.
It crackled like wildfire.
But even that wasn't enough.
"I'VE GOT A BOOST AND STILL CAN'T DENT YOU?" Rebellimon shouted, genuinely amused.
The dragon loomed.
But Rebellimon didn't falter.
Instead, he raced forward—his body a blur of smoke, junk, and digital fire.
"IF I CAN'T BEAT YOU, I'LL OUTRUN YOU!"
He zipped between the Groundramon's legs, dragging the heavy machinery on his right arm—Maximum Demolisher—across the beast's underbelly. Sparks flew. The dragon roared, finally feeling something other than apathy.
But it wasn't enough to win.
Not today.
Still, Rebellimon had accomplished what he needed.
He held the monster at bay.
He kept his comrades safe.
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Leomon (Raikomaru) Vs Mamemon
The skies above were ablaze with streaks of crimson and gold chakra as the battlefield below roared with the cries of clashing Digimon. Broken towers of data-fused stone leaned precariously like crooked teeth. Digital sparks zipped between rubble like fireflies at war.
And in the middle of it all, surrounded by rookie and champion Digimon sprawled flat on the ground—unconscious, twitching, or comically embedded in craters—stood Raikomaru.
His muscles shimmered with threads of orange energy—the Kyūbi Chakra Cloak, flickering like a divine flame across his furred arms and broad lion chest. His golden mane danced wildly in the storm of power, and the Raijin Blade, crackling with lightning, hummed at his side.
"COME ON, WHO'S NEXT!?" he roared, his voice rich and thunderous, eyes glowing with primal storm.
Three rookie Digimon ran at him.
Two seconds later, three rookie Digimon were airborne, spinning like badly-tossed pizza crusts.
Another champion-level opponent tried a sneak attack.
Raikomaru didn't even turn. He just extended a hand—Lion Fist—and BOOM, the ground erupted in a geyser of golden lightning, launching the poor soul sky-high, where it remained for several awkward seconds before gravity remembered its job.
But the air changed.
A strange whistle sounded—cheery, high-pitched, like a kettle trying to sound brave.
From the shadows stepped... a child-sized figure.
Tiny.
Grinning.
Mamemon.
And he was skipping. Not walking, not stomping. Skipping.
Bomp. Bomp. Bomp. Each step jiggled his tiny, metallic body. His huge, shiny hands swayed like wrecking balls on strings.
Raikomaru squinted.
"…You've got to be kidding."
Mamemon grinned wider—somehow.
"I'm your final boss, Fluffy," he said with a cheery voice that sounded like it belonged in a theme park ride… right before it broke down violently.
Then Mamemon punched the air.
A bomb-fist detached, spinning at Raikomaru like a softball from a sadistic little league pitcher.
Raikomaru blocked with his sword—FLASH!
The explosion was instant.
The impact sent him flying into the side of a data-scarred building. The wall cracked. Debris fell. Dust billowed. He staggered out, coughing, one eyebrow gone and his mane lightly singed.
"…Okay," he muttered. "That was real."
Mamemon came spinning in low this time—fast. Too fast. He was like a dodgeball possessed by a war god. Every punch? A bomb. Every move? A blur.
Raikomaru slashed, but missed—again. Mamemon ducked under the blade, landed a punch to Raikomaru's ribs—BOOM—and zipped away before the countershock could zap him.
Raikomaru roared, swinging the Raijin Blade in a wide arc. Lightning snapped through the air. The blade sliced through debris, rock, and even the tail of a poor Bakemon who had wandered too close.
Mamemon cartwheeled out of reach.
"Too slow, Leo!" Mamemon taunted, throwing both fists this time. They detached, homing in from two angles.
BOOM! BOOM!
Raikomaru blocked one, but the other caught him square in the back. He fell to one knee.
His chest heaved.
His lightning pulsed.
But Mamemon… didn't even look tired.
And that's when it hit him.
Not the bomb. The realization.
This wasn't just a tiny clown with grenades for gloves. This was an ultimate Digimon forged in the most brutal corners of the Digital World.
"Cute little demon," Raikomaru muttered, standing again.
His sword lit up with chakra.
His fists sparked with voltage.
His eyes narrowed.
He wouldn't give up—not here, not now.
He lunged—fast as a thunderbolt.
Slash.
Miss.
Strike.
Dodge.
He landed a punch—finally—but Mamemon rolled with it and rebounded with a knee-to-the-face that somehow exploded. Raikomaru stumbled back, ears ringing, tail singed.
Still, he kept coming.
Slash.
Swipe.
Clash.
The battlefield around them blurred.
But even with the chakra cloak, even with all his strength…
Raikomaru was losing.
-------------------
The battle had begun to blur into something more like a storm than a war.
Explosions danced like fireworks across the cracked skyline, digital winds howled between fallen skyscrapers, and Digimon of all sizes scrambled across the data-scorched plains trying very hard not to get obliterated.
And smack in the middle of it all—scorched, bruised, and still growling like he was winning—was Raikomaru.
His mane bristled with crackling blue arcs of chakra-charged electricity. The once-noble white of his fur was now more "charcoal chic," and his sword had taken a few chunks out of what looked like a vending machine during an especially aggressive tantrum.
Opposite him, still hopping cheerily on tiny feet that should not move that fast, was Mamemon.
"Come on, kitty-cat!" Mamemon giggled, winding up a punch like a carnival game mallet. "You're so slooow~"
Raikomaru grit his teeth, chest heaving. "Not… slow," he wheezed. "You're just… too small."
Before Mamemon could reply—probably with another bomb-punch and a cheerful insult—the ground shook with a sudden, bone-rattling VROOOOOOOOMMMM.
A dust cloud kicked up over the hill.
A red blur tore across the battlefield like a flame with wheels.
And then—SKREEEEEEE!!!—a flaming wheel spun sideways, roaring to a halt in front of Raikomaru with a sound like an angry electric guitar choking on rocket fuel.
Machmon.
All engine. No seat.
All attitude. No brakes.
All noise. No apologies.
"You look like death," said Machmon, voice gruff, wild, and clearly proud of it. "Wanna ride?"
Raikomaru blinked, mouth agape. "…You have no seat."
"Didn't ask if you wanted comfort," Machmon growled. "Asked if you wanna ride."
A second later, Mamemon hurled a bomb-fist the size of a pumpkin.
Raikomaru leapt onto Machmon mid-detonation.
BOOM.
The explosion left a crater where he'd stood.
The lion warrior and the outlaw motorcycle tore through the battlefield like thunder cracking across the sky.
They raced past frightened Digimon diving for cover.
They swerved between craters, over rubble, through flames. Mamemon, now very much annoyed and somehow skating on his own explosions, pursued them like a demented sparkler with a vendetta.
Raikomaru leaned low on Machmon's back, claws gripping chrome handles that weren't really there.
"This better work," he muttered, raising one fist glowing with golden lightning.
He roared:
"LION KING'S FIST—RAIJIN STYLE!"
A colossal lion-shaped blast of lightning erupted from his hand—its mane wild with electricity, fangs crackling with chakra—and shot backwards in a stunning arc.
Mamemon yelped and swerved—barely avoiding it.
"Woo! That tickled!" Mamemon called out, tossing a grenade over his shoulder at some poor Tentomon who happened to be walking by. It exploded in a puff of smoke and ego damage.
Raikomaru growled.
"He's playing with me," he said darkly. "Just playing..."
"We'll change the game," Machmon snapped. "You shoot. I steer."
"Deal."
They sped up—faster than before. Wind howled. Lightning snapped from Raikomaru's mane. And the battlefield around them seemed to blur into streaks of ash and data.
Raikomaru took a deep breath, letting the chakra build in his chest.
"LION SHOCKWAVE!"
He punched the air—once, twice, three times.
Bolts of golden-blue lightning burst out in all directions—cleaving through broken towers, scattering champion-level enemies, and forcing Mamemon to finally stop hopping and start dodging properly.
One bolt hit—directly to Mamemon's side.
BOOM!
For a moment, Mamemon vanished in smoke.
"…Did we get him?" Machmon asked.
Then the smoke parted—and Mamemon stood there.
Singed.
Smiling.
Slightly too happy.
"Ooooh! That one made my toes tingle!" he squealed, and hurled four bombs at once.
Raikomaru screamed, "GO LEFT!"
Machmon went right.
KA-BOOOOM!
Rocks, data-particles, and one very confused-looking Numemon flew into the air like popcorn kernels in a microwave.
But the chase continued.