Sol's Note: This came about mainly because I've been A) playing a lot of Destiny lately and B) watching a lot/reading a lot of Transformers. In my head, I think the two universes could fit together rather well. This was my attempt at making it so.
.x.
1: The Only Path Left to Tread
Oryx is the wielder and the servant of a terrible truth. He has predicated Himself on it, He has pursued across thousands of cairn worlds His quest to embody it …
-Destiny Grimoire – Oryx: Rebuked
.x.
It isn't a collision of worlds. It isn't an explosive convergence of realities. It's one universe spilling into the next, an uncontrollable deluge pouring through a rift torn by a god.
It is, as that god has intended, utter chaos.
Through that rift come three Guardians, plunging across the threshold headlong because it's the only place left for them to go.
The Hive follows them. It's the acolytes, thralls, and knights crossing the boundary between one world and the next. It's all the monsters of the Deep and the Dark hurtling through the rift their God has made and they are all filled with His directive: kill the three agents of the Light, at all costs. Kill them because they are the last ragged whisper of a once considerable threat. Kill them because when they are gone, the Light dies too.
And so the parade of violence bleeds from one world into another, and in a farmer's field somewhere in western Canada that blood taints a world unfamiliar with wounds of this nature. Three Guardians of the Light, armed and armored, stand in the middle of a field that should have been made idyllic by the waving of the long grass caught in the breeze. They face together the throng of Hive that are still pouring through the rift, the dark, jagged, pulsating portal that the god Oryx has ripped in time and space.
When the rift finally closes, the field is nearly filled with creatures from not this place and the Guardians are vastly outnumbered. They are disoriented and confused and yes, frightened, because even the agents of the Light know fear. They ran through the portal because there was nowhere else to go and the choice if they hadn't was certain death. But now it occurs to them that there may have been a reason Oryx had opened that rift when He did, because this cannot be their Earth, can it ...?
The Hive are unconcerned with matters of altered realities such as this, for theirs a singular focus and they act accordingly. The thralls come first, in waves, shrieking as they charge the Guardians. Weapons advanced well beyond anything the humans of this Earth have ever been able to manufacture shred them as they rush forth and their bodies disintegrate into ash. The acolytes are smarter, spreading out to encircle the Guardians, firing steadily as they do so. The knights hang back, barraging the Guardians with heavy weapons fire that hurtles with ear-splitting shrieks through the air. The armor the Guardians wear is unlike anything ever seen by any species inhabiting this planet, and because of that they are able to withstand the onslaught.
The Guardians enter formation, backs together, constantly moving. Their grenades are either thrown with extreme precision or artless determination, depending on the intent. They switch weapons in a staggered pattern, one opting for heavy artillery while one opts for sniping and another provides cover fire. They function like what they are: a fireteam, three people experienced with each other and the enemy, unwilling to give ground even though they don't know yet what ground they have to give. And when the Hive closes ranks, the Guardians begin to use their other advantage: the powers the Light has given them.
The hunter uses smoke to disorient and damage the enemy, uses the void to tether them and render them temporarily helpless.
The warlock becomes a living conduit of electricity and arc power surges forth, jolting from one enemy to another, decimating any in its path.
The titan becomes a being of flame and strides forth to make the world burn.
.x.
As it happens, this is not the only alien incursion this particular version of Earth has ever seen. Eight years ago another race of beings arrived here uninvited. As evidenced in nearly every sentient species, some of these were of good intent. The others weren't. War followed.
The Autobots and the Decepticons leveled cities in their struggle. The Autobots fought for humanity, fought for their own survival. The Decepticons fought to subjugate, though in staying true to their deceptive nature, they labeled that subjugation as other, less alarming things. War of any kind is shattering. The magnitude of the war of the Cybertronians on Earth altered everything. It's why so many nations are now on high alert. It's why Cybertronian technology has been lent to mankind and adapted in order to perceive threats. It's why the energy given off by the weapon's fire of those that came through the rift has already been detected.
.x.
In the eternal give-take between Good and Evil, Light and Dark, both sides have continuously underestimated the other. Long agothe agents of the Light had underestimated the pervasive malevolence of the Darkness. And now it seems that the Darkness has underestimated the Light, that Oryx the Taken King has underestimated the three Guardians. They have thinned the ranks of the Hive that chased them through the rift. They still stand. But perhaps this is still a victory for Oryx, for it is now plainly obvious to the three that this is not their Earth, no. They are uncertain of where exactly they are. They could be anywhere. And more maddeningly, they could be any time.
So it is that they are suitably wary when the sounds of approaching vehicles filters in through the audio receptors of their helmets. They still hold their weapons at the ready. Behind them lay the remnants of the small Hive army, grotesque corpses lying scorched and bullet ridden, their inky blood staining the grass that isn't charred and smoking. The titan is still aflame, though those flames are slowly fading now, and the warlock's arms are still covered in the spidery dancing arcs of electricity. The hunter kneels behind the other Guardians, aiming a long, needle-like rifle in the direction of the oncoming vehicles.
They do not know what to expect. An envoy from one of this world's (or this time's?) government? Onlookers? Law enforcement?
The vehicles slow to a stop. There are three of them, all large, vehicles meant to pull, to traverse rough terrain. To the Guardians, they look decidedly ancient in design. For a few seconds there is no other sound other than the last dying hiss of the titan's fire.
And then the largest vehicle moves—upward. Transforms. Becomes a humanoid metal colossus emblazoned in red and blue and chrome. Drops with a certain kind of astonishing grace to one knee and peers at the three Guardians out of eyes that are bright and unflinchingly perceptive.
The Guardians have seen a great deal in their time. This is not the most astonishing. Even so, it is evident that this … creature …could prove to be more than a match. Subsequently, their weapons are still held at the ready.
"Are you of Earth?" The voice that issues forth from the colossus' moving mouth is male and startlingly sonorous.
The warlock and titan look to each other, their expressions masked by their helmets. The hunter has not moved but to focus the rifle sights precisely over the left eye of the metal creature.
"We are from one Earth," says the warlock, a man. His helmet's modulator allows his voice to be heard clearly, without muffling. "But I don't think it's this one."
The colossus frowns. His face is remarkably expressive and it is easy to see the furrowing of the brow, the tightening of the mouth just as you would with any human. It is disconcerting to the three Guardians, whose only experience with sentient machines thus far has been the emotionless Vex.
"Explain," the colossus directs, and the way he says it makes it clear that complying would be the wisest course of action.
"We're from Earth," says the titan. Her voice, like that of the warlock, is easy to hear. "But our Earth … it's not this one. Or maybe it is, but in the future. We don't know."
"We were too busy," the hunter adds, her voice sharp, honed by fear and adrenaline, "fighting for our lives just now to figure it out."
The machine's eyes focus on the hunter and narrow slightly before moving past the three Guardians to focus on the aftermath wrought by the recent battle. The creatures of the Dark are all dead. Oryx's attempt to snuff the Light has failed, at least in this most brutal of manners. If the Guardians are in fact in another reality, however, it means Oryx has succeeded in eradicating the Light from His existence. It is not a thought any of the three Guardians care to dwell on.
"How did you come to be here?"
It is the warlock that answers, "Through a … rift. A portal. We have an enemy capable of slicing through space and time. We were attempting to escape him when he opened one right in front of us. We had no other choice."
The plates that function as eyebrows for the colossus raise ever so slightly.
The hunter, who is justifiably anxious about this new turn their lives have all taken, brashly demands, "How did YOU get here? Are you native to Earth? What are you?"
The Guardian titan half turns, holding out a hand in a placating manner toward her companion. In her opinion, aggravating a giant metal creature that they've never encountered before seems like a very bad idea.
But the colossus answers calmly, "No, we are not of Earth. We come from a dead world known as Cybertron. However, we have made this planet our home and as such we will defend it from anything we perceive to be a threat. And so I must ask: are you three a threat to this world and those that inhabit it?"
"We're not here to threaten anything," the titan replies in a voice that's just as even. "That's not what we are."
The machine regards the three of them for a few seconds longer, and it's clear he's evaluating what's been said. "You must come with us," he finally says, and stands. The ground shakes as he does so, serving as an uncomfortable reminder to the Guardians just how much bigger he is.
"Why? And where?" The warlock has craned his head back to stare up at the colossus.
"Because your arrival has not gone unnoticed. Right now there are undoubtedly others—some human, some not—on their way here in order to discover what exactly has transpired. Recent events have led to an escalation in tensions on this planet. The fact that you are not from this world—or, as you say, may not even be from this time—is a fact that many would want to seize and exploit for their own advantage."
The hunter asks, "And you won't?"
"No." That one word carries an undeniable weight of authority with it.
There is a revving sound. One of the other vehicles that accompanied the colossus suddenly flashes its headlights and guns its engine again. "We must go now," says the machine, and transforms back into a vehicle with astonishing speed. Both doors, sporting blue and red flames, swing open.
"We're not really doing this," the hunter says in disbelief. "How do we know we'd be any safer with these machines than we would with whatever else is coming?"
"We don't," the titan says tersely, her attention glued on the three vehicles. "We don't know anything about anything anymore. From this point on all we're doing is taking chances."
Her companions say nothing because she's right. The truck is still waiting for them, doors open. It — he — sounds his horn once, the sound abrupt and commanding.
The hunter says again, her voice carrying both uncertainty and the first slight waver of panic, "We're not really doing this."
"We are," the warlocks affirms, glancing back at her. "We have to." He extends his hand. The hunter takes it after a slight hesitation, twines her gloved fingers with his, and squeezes tightly. The two of them stow their weapons and head for the truck, hand in hand.
The titan is moving too, her weapon now riding secure at her hip. She reaches the truck first, gripping the handles on the driver's side and hauling herself easily up into the cab and closing the door behind her. She sits almost tentatively, a once forgotten instinct from a very long time ago leading her to reach for the steering wheel. She checks the movement immediately. On the passenger side the hunter quickly climbs in, followed by the warlock. The bench seat is roomy enough that they're not packed together.
The truck begins to move forward in a tight curve, circling around to drive out of the field. The titan, looking into the side mirror, says, "We should have done something with the bodies."
"It is being dealt with," says the truck, voice booming out from the vehicle's speakers. All three Guardians jump with the suddenness of it. When he speaks again, the volume is markedly lower. "Bulkhead and Hound will ensure that no evidence will remain."
"Bulkhead and Hound," the titan repeats, peering in the mirror to see that the other two vehicles left behind have transformed the way this one did into robot form. "And your name?"
"I," says the truck, easing out of the field onto a gravel road, "am Optimus Prime. "
"Optimus Prime," echoes the warlock. "I'm Abaris."
"Vashin," the hunter says.
"Indra." The titan finishes the introductions, her attention moving from the mirror to the interior of the truck. Everything looks entirely authentic, but on her Earth (in her time?), vehicles of this nature were long obsolete. She asks, "Won't they be able to follow you? Those you said are coming here?"
"No. We will soon be traveling by a different road."
The Guardians wait for further explanation, but get none. The truck continues driving, the smooth, deep hum of the motor shaking the cab around them. Vashin, in the middle, is still holding Abaris' hand. The warlock is peering out the passenger side window at the passing scenery. Indra, realizing elaboration is not forthcoming, stares out her own window. It's only a few minutes later that she realizes that she's gripping the steering wheel, and she lifts her hands away quickly.
"Ratchet," the truck suddenly says, "Open the ground bridge at my location."
And suddenly the truck and his passengers are passing through a tunnel of coruscating blue and green that swallows them entirely. And between one breath and the next they are transported. Gone is the scenic rural road bordered by fields and forest. Instead, the truck begins to slow as it enters a massive complex that is conceivably underground.
"What exactly was that?" Abaris twists around as he asks the question, only to find that the strange tunnel they drove through is now gone. Behind them is only a wall, gray and concrete.
Instead of answering, the truck halts. Both of his doors open. Indra hops down and pushes the door closed, walking forward a few steps as she looks around. Vashin and Abaris follow suit. The moment the hunter clears the truck's interior he transforms, becoming once again a colossus. "That was a ground bridge," he tells them. "Further explanation on its function and purpose will have to wait. There are more important things we must now discuss."
It immediately becomes apparent that by "we", he means more than just himself and the three Guardians. There are more of his kind present in this cavernous space, and they are all moving forward, forming a loose semi-circle around Optimus Prime and the three Guardians. The ground trembles with each step they take. Indra counts five total and while some are smaller than the others — with all of them smaller than Optimus — they all dwarf the Guardians in size by a spectacular margin.
"Is this what you found, Optimus?"
It's a red and white male machine that speaks, facial features arranged into what is clearly a frown as he studies the three small beings standing before him. "More humans?"
"Of that I am not entirely sure, Ratchet," replies Optimus. "There are a great many questions that need to be answered, and I fear that we must have those answers sooner rather than later."
"Ask away," Abaris says. The three Guardians are standing shoulder to shoulder, heads craned back as they study the metal creatures that are in turn studying them.
Optimus complies. "Are you three the only of your kind to have arrived here, other than those creatures you disposed of?"
"Not entirely," the warlock answers. He and Vashin turn their heads to look at Indra. She holds out her hand, palm up. Something begins to appear there, materializing in tiny brilliant particles that swarm toward a single point. And then it is formed in a blinding flash, a small silvery object that's shaped out of angles, lying on its side. In its center is an optical unit, which slowly flickers from offline black to the bright blue of awareness. It rises into the air, shaking a little from side to side, and its singular eye focuses on the titan.
"Indra?" The voice that issues forth from it is male, hesitant, soft. "Where are we? Did we escape the Dreadnaught?"
"Yes," the titan replies. "But there was a … complication. Pim, we don't know where we are. Or when we are."
"What do you — OH!" The small creature — the ghost — spins around and finds himself confronted with the metal creatures, arranged before him in towering stature like some kind of tribunal. "Oh," repeats the ghost, voice almost inaudible. "Indra? What are … these? Are we prisoners? Are we in trouble?"
"We don't know," Vashin replies darkly.
"We mean you no harm," Optimus Prime says.
"As long as you mean us no harm," adds the one called Ratchet.
There is a short, awkward silence.
"Well, now that that's settled," Pim says with only the faintest traces of hysteria in his voice, spinning back around to look at Indra, "I'd like an explanation as to how we got here."
"Yes." Optimus Prime drops to one knee with a loud clang, startling Pim. His tiny form expands like he's been filled with a strong puff of air before he flits behind Indra in fright. A few seconds later he slowly rises over her shoulder, deflated back to his original size. Optimus goes on, "We would be very interested in hearing an explanation as well."
Even though their faces are obscured by their helmets, the three Guardians appear to exchange long glances. "All right," Abaris says. "But it may be easier at some points to have Pim show you certain parts of our story. Pim?"
"Yes," the ghost says, floating cautiously back around Indra. "I can do that."
"Good." Abaris exhales loudly, as though steeling himself. "Here's where it begins: we had stormed the ship of our enemy, Oryx. We had mounted one last final attack. We were there to kill him."
And as he continues to speak, every living thing in the chamber becomes his captive audience.
.x.