Author's Note: This story stars Blitzwing; but, rather than having three personalities, I have turned Random, Hothead, and Icy into brothers. Because their names are not dark-aged enough, Random has become Haphazard, the Helmless Horseman; Hothead has become Firebrand, the werewolf; and Icy has become Polar, vampire and King of the Night Terrors.
Disclaimer: Although I REAALLLLLYY wish it, I do not own Transformers...
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Thud—thud—thud! Heavy hooves thunder over the ground as the younglings run for their lives. Two sets of young, innocent optics—one set blue, and the other gold—are widened with sheer terror as the massive beast comes closer—closer—closer with each pounding step. Eerie, unsettling black fog seems to rise right out of the ground, making it difficult for the young Cybertronians to run without tripping with an inability to see the ground before them.
They had not believed it! They had thought the stories were myth, and set out to prove their beliefs right that night-cycle! But when they saw the towering black-plated mount with optics that glowed as bright as the Energon of its rider's victims, they knew they were poorly mistaken.
And… The rider… A tall mech with dark armor and a long, billowing coat rumored to have been weaved from his victim's Energon from within the Pit itself—and no helm. But, even without optics, the younglings could feel his stare boring into their very sparks as they stood before him, frozen with fear. The rider held up five digits, and then four as he folded his thumb in—three, then the younglings had run.
Behind them, the horse brays, gradually picking up his speed. Gradually getting closer… The taller of the younglings turns as the headless rider and his steed come into view. "Run, run!" he urges, focusing ahead once more.
One—two—three—four; the younglings are able to count each step that the mighty steed takes, hear grunt from its maw as it draws nearer. Coolant streaks the younglings' faceplates—so this was it? An angered spirit would be their end?
Two screams, a spatter of Energon, then utter silence. The horseman guides his mount to turn back around now that they are past the younglings, and the metal horse slowly trots back toward their now-grounded frames. With the thud of heavy metal pedes, the rider dismounts from his steed. A sharp-edged ax is held within one of his dactylas, the fresh, blue Energon upon its edge glowing eerily within the darkness.
The headless mech completely bypasses his victims' frames, and instead takes a knee where their severed helms had landed, and stuffing them both into an old, burlap sack at the horse's saddle, as it had followed its rider and now bows its broad head to him.
Without so much as a sound, the horseman moves back onto the dark charger's back. The mighty steed rears, and the black fog disperses as horse and rider disappear into the night.
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"Two more victims have been discovered within Altihex's outskirts! Something must be done to bring this serial killer down!" A large fist fiercely strikes the rounded table that five others are seated at.
"What is the commonality between all of the murders?" A femme questions, digits interlocked and resting upon the table as she speaks calmly. "All of them have had their helms severed, yes? Have any of their helms been found?"
"No; out of all seventeen victims, not a single helm has been discovered at or near the murder-sights. That is the disturbing part about these offlinings…" states another mech, shaking his helm and rubbing the area between his optics. "But," he adds, "they have all been quite young—unmated."
"So the killer is hunting… Virgins..?"
"It is possible that he's hunting for someone?"
The femme to have spoken stands to her pedes, motioning for silence. "Is it possible we did not destroy the King as we believed? His kind requires virgin-blood, and only virgin-blood, to be repaired—maybe our ,Helmless Horseman' has been doing these killings for the King?"
Silence fills the room, the six Hunters glancing cautiously between each other as this is said. If that was so, could they lure this horseman out by using one of their own..?
"I am unmated," the femme continues, as if knowing the others' thoughts, "and have never interfaced with another. If this is the case, then I am willing to act as bait to draw out our Horseman…"
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Clop—clop—clop. The massive steed slowly trots into the dilapidated building that the Horseman resided in with two others. As he enters, he dismounts and removes the sack from his horse's flank, before the steed trots away, melting into the shadows that dance upon the walls. Low growls soon echo throughout the room, and a wolf-mech begins to circle the Horseman. "Haphazard, goot," the werewolf greets, nodding his broad head. "He es fading. Did jou get anozzer helm?"
By way of answer, the helmless mech opens the sack, and draws out both younglings' severed heads, tossing one to the beige-plated wolf who catches it within large paws.
~Ve need only vone more, brozzer.~ The voice seems to vibrate through the still air; coming from nowhere, yet everywhere at the same time. ~If I find vone more, zen Polar may again rise to his pedes…~
"Unt ze creatures uff darkness may take ofer," the wolf finishes with a glance to his taller comrade, a small smirk crossing his maw and exposing his fangs—including one in the center of the top set of fangs that appears to be missing.
Without another word between either creature, they move through darkened halls with alarmingly silent pedesteps; each mech holding one of the younglings' helms. Both severed heads have mouths wide open in a permanent scream, and optics that had faded to black when the Cybertronian's heads went flying from their frame with the aid of a sharp ax, and the momentum of a shadow-steed. They enter a candlelit room slowly, approaching a casket that rests upon a sturdy metal berth.
The figure within has his lip-plates pulled into a twisted snarl of pain that reveals two long, sharp top fangs, and one of his dactylas grips at his chest, where a cable is hooked, feeding him the Energon of the Horseman's victims that would heal him from grievous wounds inflicted by the accursed Hunters.
"He vas schpeaking earlier into ze night-cycle, shortly after jou left to hunt—his vounds vill be fully healed soon." The werewolf places the severed helm within his jaws after speaking, and slowly begins circling the berth on all fours, looking over it carefully, before stopping in front of a bowl that the Horseman sets upon the floor that had been previously been placed on a table. A sickening crunch echoes throughout the room as the wolf-mech crushes the helm within his jaws, allowing for the Energon to run into the bowl beneath him, and then taking the other from his comrade, and doing the same.
The blood from the severed helms nearly fills the bowl once the wolf finishes his work. The Horseman moves to his side and picks up the bowl easily—his stained ax held at his hip—and stands over the damaged King. The Energon is carefully poured into a machine that the cable hooked to the other's chest is attached to, not a drop spilled. ~Tomorrow, brozzer, I vill find a final victim, unt jou may rise again…~ The eerie voice once more echoes throughout the room as the headless rider places one firm dactylin over the resting mech's shoulder, squeezing it gently, before stepping back once more. ~Firebrand, vatch ze main entrance; vis sixteen unt sefenteen victims haffing been claimed tonight, ze Hunters vill be vorking to find us. Ve cannot allow zis to happen until our King avakens…~