She was quite the looker; that much he knew. Her tall, slender, figure – covered by the skintight leather jumpsuit she so loved to wear – had admittedly caught his eye on many an occasion. She didn't seem to mind the attention, either. Whenever she noticed him sneaking a furtive glance at her, she'd face him with faux modesty as she crossed her arms over her chest, all the while staring right back at him with a tantalizing half-smile. He certainly didn't doubt the possibility of her body being her most intriguing feature.
But that voice of hers…that wonderfully resonant tone…did he enjoy that even more than her physique? Her voice, though surprisingly deep, was still undeniably feminine. There was a certain seductive quality about it as well, something he could more than attest to. That voice followed him even into the subconscious; he couldn't count the number of times he had heard it in his dreams. And any dream that involved her was bound to be pleasant. Was her voice her finest quality?
Her unique personality also needed to be taken into consideration. She was a brutal sadist when dealing with her enemies, taking great glee in inventing painful ways to destroy those who dared oppose the Dark Masters. Yet when dealing with him, she was the perfect servant, obsequiously tending to his every need without the slightest hint of sass. She practically had a split personality; upon seeing both sides of her, it would be nearly impossible to believe she was the same digimon. This killer, this untamable Nightmare Soldier, became delightfully servile in the presence of her master; it was almost flattering. Could her personality have been the origin of his infatuation with her?
He was beginning to grow frustrated. Few things irritated him more than searching for an answer and finding nothing but uncertainty. He simply had to know, before it drove him out of his mind: why did he find LadyDevimon so fascinating?
Perhaps getting a closer look at her would help him discover the answer. He peered into the eyepiece of his telescope and adjusted the focus, bringing into sight the wastelands surrounding his mansion. There he spotted her, in the midst of a battle with an Angewomon: a battle that LadyDevimon had eagerly volunteered to fight. Had she done it to please him, or to satiate an urge to kill? Whatever her reason, he hadn't objected. She was quite the fighter, after all.
Her method of attacking the Angewomon was truly testament to her status as a Nightmare Soldier. She held nothing back, launching blow after vicious blow against her blonde opponent. The Angewomon was no weakling either, but she didn't quite possess the same aggressive zeal as her silver-haired virus counterpart. Watching the fight through his telescope, he realized yet another aspect of LadyDevimon that he admired: her tenacity.
The Angewomon was far from unattractive herself; some would argue that she was the prettier of the two females. Still, he promptly came to the conclusion that he felt no attraction, even in the slightest, towards the blond-haired angel. Her celestial appearance made her seem, somehow, a sort of perpetual goody-goody: a turn-off if there ever was one. LadyDevimon, on the other hand, was a digimon who would sooner delete herself than put on an air of disgusting self-righteousness. She was what she was – pure evil – and she made no pretensions of being anything else. He wondered what he liked more: the fact that LadyDevimon was blessed with a twisted mind, or that she was so unabashedly honest about it.
He could feel his chest tightening in agitation. How could it be so difficult to answer such a simple question?
A bright flash of concentrated energy, apparently an attack of the Angewomon, had caught his attention. The attack appeared to be quite powerful, judging by the scream released by LadyDevimon as the energy struck her. Her piercing roar echoed across the wastelands, loud enough to reach even the distant mansion. LadyDevimon rapidly disintegrated into a million tiny fragments of data, and with that, she was gone.
He leaned back from the telescope, unsure of what to make of the situation he had just witnessed. The roaring scream, though agonized, had bared the distinct passion of its owner. Only LadyDevimon could take a death cry and make it sound rich, vibrant, even – dare he say it – orgasmic. That scream was the aural embodiment of everything about her that had captivated his attention.
Piedmon sighed contentedly, having found his answer at last. LadyDevimon knew exactly how to scream, and nothing could be more intriguing than that.