The Dayman watched as Bartholemew devolved into insanity. Something that was quite common amongst vagrants mind you. The average flock of hobos go into fits of insanity atleast three times a day. It is what happens when you only live on a steady diet of clams and garbage you see. Garbage, of course meaning anything not cooked in a royal kitchen. It is no wonder why Batholemew was acting so cranky. His lower class tummy was surely in upheaval. The Dayman knew what he must do.<br/><br/>He jumped up onto the back of Bartholemew, who had just presumably returned from the shadow realm with his shadow friend and were now facing the opposite direction. The Dayman latched onto a shadow tentacle and attempted to assuage the beast.<br/><br/>"Where had the two of you shadow demons taken off too? A little R&R perhaps? I knew it was true love! I just knew it! Bart and Scarlet sitting in the shade. K-I-....do poor people kiss in the same manner royalty does? Oh no matter!"<br/><br/>The Dayman reached a hand backwards above his head and held it.<br/><br/>"Let's do something about that tummy tantrum shall we! Do you need to burp?"<br/><br/>He brought his hand down vigorously upon the back of Batholemew and attempted to burp him, in order to quell the tummy monsters in the way that his mother always had when he was a child. Tummy monsters are taken quite seriously in the kingdom. Some royal families even have tummy monsters exorcised entirely.<br/><br/>However, it would seem as if his work was to no avail as the tantrum continued and a stray dancing shadow tentacle knocked The Dayman onto his royal butt on the ground. He rose and pantomimed dusting himself off, for you see dust does not actually attach itself to royalty. Social status keeps you clean, not bathing. Only peasants are required to do that.<br/><br/>"Well well."<br/><br/>The Dayman put on his pondering face once again and raised a royal eyebrow in the direction of his new foe.<br/><br/>"It seems as if you do not have a tummy monster after all, because my burping attack would have surely settled that dispute. The only other reasonable explanation is that you have assumed your final form. Then I suppose....I SHALL HAVE TO ASSUME MINE AS WELL."<br/><br/>The Dayman began to disrobe. Unzipping the dimension shattering royal deep v neck that already did a poor job of keeping his rippling, mighty royal chest in line. He draped it over his shoulder and began to undo his pants next, kicking them off of his ankle and into his hand in perfected form. He dropped the clothes into his infinity belt and placed his royal purple cloak in last.<br/><br/>He took a deep stance and began to yell, or scream as you peasants would call it. There is a difference. As his royal lungs began to filter out lower class air at an increased rate, his blood began to pump faster and faster. His naked, codpiece and belt clad body began to glow with a faint purple tint. Every inch of his muscular core, his sparkling hamstrings, bedazzled nine pack (yes, nine pack. Royal parties are held with nine packs, which is why they are much better than peasant six pack parties. Royal abs simply evolved over time to keep up with the change) abs began to harden, his already generally glistening chest became a sexy water fall of perspiration that evaporated immediately because of how attractive his lustful royal body was. This created a fog above his wonderful chest. It served no real battle purpose, but merely reminded all involved just how hot he truly is. His back and shoulders, unshackled, became so muscular and perfect that his Mom with a arrow and heart tattoo disappeared entirely of its own accord because it was afraid of tarnishing the perfection that was The Dayman's final form body.<br/><br/>His body glowed with an unprecedented shade of purple as the sexy force of pomp flowed through his royal veins, and he began to lift up into the air at will.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">It is a good thing I had the foresight to make my grandfather's scepter a part of my body, so that I do not need to wield it to control my full power. I just wished it didn't have to be a suppository. </span><br/><br/>He clenched his cheeks and shuttered, and continued yelling with increased royal concentration. As his final form reached its climax, so did the remaining female civilians. The cries of thousands of instantaneously impregnated poor women shrilled its way through the air, nearly pi times louder than Bartholemew's battle soundtrack, which it immediately placed itself ovary. The Dayman wishes that you do not ignore the reproductive organs pun. That took quite a bit of doing.<br/><br/>Satisfied with his form, The Dayman began to sense the area. He smelled holy water and angel dust coming from the still smoking revolver of Haley.<br/><br/>"Hmm. Fantastic idea, my bandaged vagabond! Anti demon weaponry it is!"<br/><br/>He reached into his infinity belt and procured two massive iron swords. They were forged with angel dust, and the tears of an angel (they used the little sister of the forgemaster to create the angel dust, as is customary) which were much more potent than holy water, as they are collected from the crying swordsmith as they work. They had Latin edged along the blades, which were supposed to contain exorcism enchantments, but rather they read "I'm with stupid", because the forgemaster was not too happy with the family who commissioned these swords.<br/><br/>"Ah yes! One more thing. So that you sacrifice will not be in vain old friend!"<br/><br/>The Dayman placed a sword between his arm and side as he rummaged through his belt, and produced a bottle of water. Which he began to pour on his codpiece.<br/><br/>"Your sacrifice has now been blessed! I should have ordered the extra demon resistance when I bought you, but Diane swore it was just a scam. No matter, this is much more poetic! Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarge!"<br/><br/>And at long last, The Dayman closed his eyes and began to swing his swords wildly, mostly in the direction of Bartholemew with no regard as to where they really landed.