The sky breaks.
Fragments of countless Earths grind against one another, continents phasing through continents, oceans pouring into nothingness. Time fractures into overlapping echoes.
At the center of it all stands a being older than the universe.
ZeedMillenniummon.
Its silhouette resembles a colossal, skeletal dragon, but the resemblance breaks down the longer one looks. The body is stretched unnaturally long, vertebrae exposed and misaligned, as if assembled from multiple timelines that never agreed on a final shape. Each bone segment is etched with shifting data-glyphs that flicker between ancient runes and corrupted code, never settling into one language.
The skull is elongated and crown-like, split by fractures that glow with a sickly, pale chronal light. There are too many eye sockets — some empty, some filled with dim, flickering orbs that blink out of sync with each other. Each eye reflects a different era, showing worlds that no longer exist and futures that will never happen.
Its jaws do not fully close. Instead, they hang slightly apart, leaking strands of distorted time — thin, ribbon-like distortions that unravel into nothing before touching the ground. When ZeedMillenniummon moves its head, the air tears rather than shifts
A paradox — a Digimon whose existence invalidates chronology. Past and future crawl across its skeletal frame like corrupted code, and reality trembles simply to accommodate it.
Before it, the protagonists gather — each a constant pulled from a finished story and forced into one last chapter.
Agumon's small frame contrasts with the scale of the battlefield, but his design radiates latent power. His claws glow faintly even at rest, and faint heat distortions ripple around his body. His eyes are sharp and alert, suggesting a Digimon that understands exactly how far it can still evolve.
Agumon stares up at the sky as a city from another Earth slides through the clouds, half-transparent, screaming silently as it vanishes.
Agumon: "Heh… y'know, Taichi, I used to think fighting Diaboromon was the craziest thing we'd ever do."
Taichi appears slightly older than his earliest adventures, his posture hardened by experience. His goggles are scratched and faded, permanently resting around his neck like a badge of survival rather than a tool. His clothes are practical — a worn jacket, fingerless gloves — built for movement and endurance rather than style. There is nothing flashy about him anymore, only readiness.
Taichi adjusts his goggles, jaw set. His eyes never leave ZeedMillenniummon.
Taichi: "Every time we said that, something worse showed up."
Agumon snorts, flames flickering along his claws.
Agumon: "Guess that means we're still growing, huh?"
Taichi exhales slowly.
Taichi: "Courage is the name of that."
Agumon grins.
Agumon: "Then let's be really, really courageous."
Veemon's body hums with motion. His muscles are lean and coiled, always halfway into a fighting stance. Blue armor-like scales catch the light, while the V-shaped crest on his head glows faintly, hinting at power waiting to explode forward.
Veemon rolls his shoulders, energy crackling beneath his skin.
Veemon: "That thing feels like cheating. Messing with time? That's not even fair."
Daisuke stands with restless energy, unable to stay still even as the world collapses. His outfit is bold and simple — bright colors dulled by dust and time, goggles pushed up into his hair. He looks like someone who ran headfirst into the apocalypse and decided to stay.
Daisuke laughs — loud, defiant, a little wild.
Daisuke: "Since when has fair mattered?"
He clenches his fist, knuckles white.
Daisuke: "If it destroyes everything, then everything meant nothing."
Veemon's eyes widen, then burn brighter.
Veemon: "You think we're done?"
Daisuke: "i don't know.."
Guilmon's design is raw and almost unfinished. His red scales appear rough, imperfect, with visible seams like a living prototype. Digital markings pulse beneath his skin, giving him a feral, unpredictable presence — a Digimon that was born different.
Guilmon's head tilts, red eyes reflecting a future that hasn't happened yet.
Guilmon: "Takato… that Digimon feels like when you erase a drawing."
Takato looks fragile compared to the others — slim, pale, shoulders tense. He wears simple clothes that feel out of place in a cosmic battlefield, reinforcing that he was never meant to be a warrior. His grip on his Digivice, however, is firm, grounding him.
Takato's hands shake.
Takato: "I once thought being able to be a Digimon meant I understood them. I was wrong."
He looks up, resolve hardening.
Takato: "I have no ideia what feels to be like that thing'"
Guilmon's claws ignite with crimson light.
Guilmon: "neitheir do it."
Fire erupts as Takuya's silhouette blurs, human and Digimon overlapping.
EmperorGreymon towers with an aggressive, ancient silhouette. His armor is jagged rather than refined, glowing cracks running through it like magma veins. He looks less like a knight and more like a living embodiment of uncontrolled evolution.
EmperorGreymon: "That thing doesn't recognize bonds. It recognizes outcomes."
Takuya's human form flickers constantly, edges blurring as if he cannot fully separate from his Digimon nature. His eyes burn with reflected fire, and his clothes seem partially digitized, threads occasionally unraveling into data.
Takuya's voice answers from within the blaze.
Takuya: "Then it's never faced people who refuse to be outcomes."
The flames surge hotter, more feral.
Takuya: "Show how strong you are Greymon."
Masaru steps forward, cracking his knuckles as shockwaves ripple through the ground.
Masaru's build is powerful and grounded. He wears a sleeveless jacket and fingerless gloves, arms scarred and tense. Even standing still, he looks like he's ready to throw a punch at reality itself.
Masaru: "So that's the guy who thinks he gets to decide when things end."
He grins — sharp, fearless.
Masaru: "I hate guys like that."
Agumon chuckles, flames dancing around his fists.
This Agumon is broader and more muscular, with sharper teeth and heavier claws. His flames burn hotter and wilder, matching Masaru's aggressive fighting style.
Agumon: "Boss, this one's not exactly gonna listen to reason."
Masaru: "Good. I'm better at introductions anyway."
He points directly at ZeedMillenniummon.
Masaru: "Hey! you weak bastard, Here you find your end!."
Shoutmon watches the battlefield shift, Digimon energy resonating with human emotion.
Shoutmon's design is heroic and loud — exaggerated proportions, oversized gauntlets, bright red armor trimmed with gold. His presence feels larger than his physical size, as if sound and spirit amplify his form.
Shoutmon: "This place… it's reacting to us."
Taiki nods, eyes sharp.
Taiki stands upright and composed, his uniform clean despite the chaos. His posture suggests command rather than combat. His eyes constantly track movement, as if the battlefield itself were a tactical map.
Taiki: "i guess so..lets just pour our hope into unity!"
Shoutmon spreads his wings.
Shoutmon: "Unity always wins those!"
Taiki: "Everyone here carries a different answer. Together, that's the spirit!."
Streams of data flicker around Gatchmon's visor.
Gatchmon's visor-like face constantly scrolls data, icons flickering across its surface. His body is sleek and modular, with visible seams that suggest he could reconfigure himself at any moment.
Gatchmon: "Cross-analysis complete. ZeedMillenniummon cannot be defeated through conventional escalation."
Haru laughs softly, nervous but sincere.
Haru looks like someone who wandered into the end of the world by accident. Casual clothing, slightly oversized jacket, and an uncertain stance. His youth and normalcy sharply contrast the cosmic destruction around him.
Haru: "You always say things like that right before we do something unconventional."
Gatchmon pauses.
Gatchmon: "…Correct. Adjusting parameters. Trusting intuition."
Haru nods.
Haru: "Sometimes logic is just enough."
Alphamon is immaculate and imposing. His black-and-gold armor is flawless, untouched by the distortion around him. The blade of the Ouryuken gleams with controlled, absolute precision, cutting clean lines through warped reality.
Alphamon's blade hums, rewriting probability around its edge.
Alphamon: "ZeedMillenniummon exists beyond the Alpha InForce. Causality cannot bind it."
Aiba's appearance is deliberately understated — dark coat, neutral colors, minimal accessories. Their eyes are sharp and observant, reflecting someone who processes situations faster than they react. They blend into chaos rather than stand out from it.
Aiba steadies their breath.
Aiba: "Then just brute force it!."
They look up.
Aiba: "Alphamon is the only one that can match Zeed."
Alphamon raises its sword in silent agreement.
The Unknown
At the edge of collapsing space stands the unnamed protagonist.
Arms crossed. Expression sharp. Unimpressed.
Beside him, his Digimon remains silent — immense, unreadable, eyes fixed on ZeedMillenniummon. It does not speak. It does not need to.
The Unknown scoffs.
??? (Human): "So this is the big reset button everyone's panicking about?"
He cracks his neck, posture loose but dangerous.
??? (Human): "Figures. Something that ends worlds without ever throwing a real punch."
He glances sideways at Masaru, smirking.
??? (Human): "You punch gods, right?"
Masaru laughs.
Masaru: "When they ask for it."
The Unknown grins wider.
??? (Human): "Good. Then try not to steal my opening."
For a moment, ZeedMillenniummon's many eyes lock onto him.
The silent Digimon at his side shifts —
The First Command
ZeedMillenniummon's voice booms from every era simultaneously:
ZeedMillenniummon: "Existence has exceeded acceptable variance. Reset protocol authorized."
Taichi steps forward, voice cutting through the chaos.
Taichi: "Everyone — now!"
Data screams. Will crystallizes into motion.
The Digivices shine.
Light erupts not as a uniform glow, but as distinct signatures — courage, belief, creation, defiance, unity, curiosity — each carving its own path through the warped air.
Evolutions begins.
Agumon → WarGreymon
Agumon roars as fire compresses inward rather than exploding outward. His small frame is engulfed by spiraling heat, scales reforging themselves into chrome-digizoid armor.
The Dramon Killers lock into place with a metallic scream that echoes across multiple timelines. His wings tear free from his back in a blast of pressure, scattering molten fragments of earth and data alike.
WarGreymon lands.
Every plate of his armor glows faintly, etched with battle scars from wars that technically no longer exist.
Veemon → Imperialdramon Paladin Mode
Veemon does not hesitate.
His evolution surges violently upward, forms overlapping in rapid succession — ExVeemon, Paildramon, Imperialdramon — before reality itself forces a pause.
Then the sword appears.
Holy light descends like judgment, fusing with Imperialdramon's already colossal frame. Armor expands, becoming radiant and absolute. Wings stretch wide, each feather a blade of condensed data.
Imperialdramon Paladin Mode hovers above the ground, sword planted tip-down, stabilizing the battlefield simply by existing.
Guilmon → Gallantmon Crimson Mode
Guilmon's evolution is different.
It feels authored.
Crimson light wraps around him like ink filling a sketch, refining rough edges into knightly precision. The shield forms first, sigils locking into place. Then the lance, burning with controlled destruction.
A second surge follows — deeper, heavier.
Golden energy pours over the red armor, layering it with blazing accents as power once meant to end worlds is forcibly restrained.
Gallantmon Crimson Mode stands tall, a living contradiction between annihilation and protection.
Takuya Kanbara → EmperorGreymon
Takuya does not evolve.
He ignites.
Human features dissolve into flame as his body expands, armor forming like volcanic plates forced outward by pressure. The Fire Spirits scream in harmony as ancient power reasserts itself.
EmperorGreymon rises, wings unfurling in a storm of sparks, each movement shedding embers that burn holes through the air itself.
Masaru Daimon's Agumon → ShineGreymon Burst Mode
This evolution begins with a punch.
Masaru drives his fist forward, and Agumon answers. Solar energy detonates outward, forcing the battlefield into alignment as light crystallizes into armor.
ShineGreymon's body expands, wings blazing like twin suns. Then the Burst Mode ignites — radiant energy forming a mantle of raw authority around him.
ShineGreymon Burst Mode stands with fists clenched, light bending toward him in submission.
Shoutmon → Shoutmon X7
Shoutmon's evolution halts before transcendence.
The battlefield itself rejects total convergence — too many laws already broken, too many timelines overlapping. The voices still answer him, but not all at once. Power assembles in layers rather than absolutes.
Armor plates snap into place across his body, red and gold locking together with audible force. Cannons form along his arms and shoulders, venting superheated soundwaves that ripple through the fractured sky. His wings blaze, not as divine symbols, but as engines of raw momentum.
Shoutmon X7 roars, the sound carrying the weight of every DigiXros that led to this form — unity without omnipotence, strength without finality.
He lands heavily, cracking the ground beneath him, a warrior still bound by limits yet pushing against them with everything he has.
Gatchmon → Gaiamon (appmon)
Gatchmon pauses.
Data streams spike, calculations abandoning conventional logic. Instead of escalating power, his form reconfigures.
Segments detach, recombine, and expand, forming a massive, app-fused entity. His visor stretches across a planet-sized frame, symbols scrolling at incomprehensible speed.
Gaiamon manifests — an Appli god born of pure optimization, his existence warping probability curves around him.
The place where they stand no longer qualifies as a world.
Destroyed even futher by the massive digivolutions.
The ground beneath the protagonists is layered like corrupted memory
Stone from a prehistoric Earth, Asphalt from a modern city, Crystalline digital terrain veined with glowing code
Above, the sky is a cathedral of catastrophe.
Multiple horizons curve inward, each belonging to a different Earth. Moons collide in silence. Suns flicker, reboot, and dim. Gravity comes in waves, pulling upward one second, sideways the next, before stabilizing.
At the center of it all looms ZeedMillenniummon, its skeletal form anchoring the chaos like a nail driven through time itself.
And facing it — bonds ignite.
That is when Alphamon steps forward.
The King Before the Sword
Alphamon's presence alone imposes order. The fractured gravity stabilizes in a widening radius around him, shattered terrain snapping into alignment as if acknowledging a higher protocol. His white-and-gold armor reflects no sky — only endless recursion, symbols of the Digital World's deepest laws flowing across his plates like living scripture.
Behind his visor, eyes burn with cold, absolute clarity.
This is Alphamon before Ouryuken.
The law unsheathed.
His Digivice does glow. Harmonic pulse that causes nearby Digimon to feel their data tighten, refine, perfect itself in response.
The Alpha InForce Awakens
Time fractures.
Around Alphamon, moments begin collapsing into each other. Futures fold back into the present. Failed outcomes are overwritten before they can occur. Every possible mistake is erased an instant before it exists.
This is Alpha InForce fully unleashed.
He simply acts in the timeline where his action has already succeeded.
The Attack
He raises one arm.
Golden energy gathers, As a sigil — a colossal, rotating glyph composed of concentric rings, fractal runes, and rotating swords of light. Each layer represents a law rewritten. Each rotation strips entropy from the surrounding space.
The sigil expands.
Ten meters.
A hundred.
A thousand.
Entire continents caught within its radius begin to unravel, destroyed — faulty realities decomposing into raw data streams that spiral into the construct.
ZeedMillenniummon's skeletal frame is engulfed in its shadow.
Alphamon's voice finally echoes across the end of time, calm and absolute.
"Judgment is not fury."
The sigil collapses inward.
verdict.
A column of condensed golden law erupts forward, wide enough to swallow cities, long enough to pierce through layered Earths stacked across dimensions. It does not burn.
It erases mountian like butter.
Reality screams as the blast carves a perfect, blinding path through the battlefield, rewriting cause and effect as it goes. Time itself buckles, splitting into clean, geometric fractures along the attack's trajectory.
The shockwave arrives after.
Moons shatter.
Stars dim as their light is retroactively denied passage.
Even the other Megas are forced to brace, shields flaring, wings digging into collapsing ground as the sheer magnitude of the strike redefines scale itself.
Silence
The blast continues.
It pushes forward into ZeedMillenniummon's core mass, golden light colliding with skeletal black data and temporal scars.