((Alright, so, I've had at least one person ask for me to write more and I've been on a role, so here's a sequel. This will follow two basic storylines: Smokescreen accepting the mantel of Prime and the Autobots attempting to survive the Decepticons, both of which will intermix. There is Cybertronian cursing, and character deaths. Listen to me CAREFULLY: No one is safe. Not even your favorite character is safe, anyone can die. I've already killed off two in this chapter and if I kill off a character it's either because the flow of the story demands it or because I want to add a twist in the plot. I can assure you, even humans will die. That said, read at your own risk. This starts after my story "Go Rest High on that Mountain" so read it if you are confused.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers Prime. At all. Ever.))

TO WALK IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF TITANS

CHAPTER 1: TURMOIL

Smokescreen had never expected this: he'd never expected being forced into this situation. Here he was, miles underground with a badly-injured, nearly-dead Prime and no way to heal him. The Autobot rookie was exhausted himself, pushed to the edge of his wits, and was absolutely terrified of what might happen, what would happen if he didn't get Optimus to Ratchet in time. The main comlink had gone down when the base had, he knew, and communication was impossible. At his feet sat the Forge of Solus Prime, also useless, as Optimus refused to use it to heal himself. Smokescreen knew the urgency of reviving Cybertron but he also knew it to be impossible if Optimus offlined, here and now.

He was sitting beside his leader, doorwings hiked up high above his shoulders in a tense position, hands laced and set under his chin in thought. Maybe he could find a way to trace the Autobots' life signals if he went back onto the ship, used a terminal. But that was too risky; if he didn't do a complete scrub afterward, if Soundwave and the 'Cons found out, the 'Bots would be found out, and the war would be good as over.

Maybe it already is over, Smokescreen thought, then immediately scolded himself. Oh man, what am I thinking? This war's not over as long as Optimus is still kicking. Speaking of which… Smokescreen glanced over at his leader, deep in recharge, his ventilations becoming harsher. I should probably wake him up. 'Screen unlaced his hands and carefully shook Optimus's shoulder, just enough so that the Prime's optics onlined, shifting to look up at him.

"Who stands before me?" the Prime whispered, voice rasping.

"What?" Smokescreen canted his head, confused by the Prime's question. "Optimus, it's me, Smokescreen."

"Who stands before me?" Optimus repeated, his optics flashing like Morse code.

"Optimus," Smokescreen waved a hand before the Prime's face. His optics did not follow the motion, instead fixated on the ceiling, on a world only he could see. "Optimus? Do you hear me?"

"Is it really you," the Prime whispered, "Alpha Trion?"

Huh? Smokescreen turned to look where Optimus was, only seeing smooth rock. He's delirious. "Optimus, Alpha Trion's not here." There was no reply. "Optimus?"

The Prime was very still now, his mouth moving but no words coming out. Smokescreen could make out the words 'Matrix of Leadership' but that was it. 'Screen started as Optimus suddenly shook, convulsed. "Optimus!" The Prime was dying, fading. "No, no, no. This isn't how it's supposed to end." An idea flashed into his processor, a crazy one, but an idea never the less. Smokescreen stumbled over to the Forge of Solus Prime and, grabbing one end, proceeded to drag it over to Optimus's outstretched hand. He, oh so carefully, placed the end in Optimus's grip, ignoring the fact that the mech's optics had gone black, frame completely still.

The Forge did not activate. It too remained still, lifeless, a gleaming hunk of yellow and silver.

"No," Smokescreen took a step back. "No. Optimus." He approached his leader, crouching beside him. "Optimus, you've got to be in there, you've got to be alive. Optimus!" He placed a hand on either of Optimus's shoulders and shook, frantic, fearful. "Optimus! Optimus, please! OPTIMUS!" The Prime did not answer; his limbs and head shook, metal rattling.

"Nononononono," Smokescreen backed up, holding his head with his hands. "I can't do this alone—I can't. Optimus, I'm not ready, please…come back," the last bit of his speech trailed off, sounding more like a child pleading to a parent. As if in response to his words, Optimus's chest shuddered. Chestplates expanded and pushed out to reveal a glowing blue light: a crystal orb, set in an orange container, silver handles on either side.

"The Matrix of Leadership," Smokescreen realized. He took another step back. "No, I can't be a Prime, I'm not ready, I won't!" He shouted at the Matrix. "I won't be your Prime! Optimus, he's your Prime! Bring him back!"

There was still no response and silent fell like a suffocating blanket through the cavern. It was too quiet, much too quiet, and tight. Smokescreen had never been claustrophobic, but now—now it felt as though the walls were closing in on him, growing tighter and tighter, until they would crush him like a car compactor. He had to get out of there. 'Screen switched on the phase shifter and turned away from his leader's corpse, from the glowing light within him, watching, demanding. And Smokescreen did something he never thought he'd ever do.

He ran. Up and up through layers of rock and stone, until he'd breached the surface and was in the near-post-apocalyptic outskirts of Jasper, in the remains of the base. High above towered Darkmount, like a looming sentinel. The rookie looked toward it, picking out the ship near the top, feeling anger growing and swirling about inside him.

It was Megatron's fault. Megatron was the one who had killed Optimus, he was the one who had unleashed the blast on their leader. No, no, it couldn't be Smokescreen, who had had a chance to save him, to repair him and had left him to die, to rust, all for some stupid relic that didn't even work, and now he was supposed to end it all, and how could he do that—

It was Megatron. And, by Primus, Smokescreen would avenge Optimus, one way or another.

Starting with a little trip to see the Dark Lord himself.

All in all, the mission was going rather well. The distraction team was already succeeding and, while the infiltration team was encountering a bit of resistance, Ultra Magnus was sure that they would be able to succeed and blow Darkmount off the face of the Earth. He was currently attempting to shut down the fusion cannons' power core, which was proving easier than expected. He had already disabled all of the drones in the room and was about to destroy the core.

And that was when Megatron had shown up. The Decepticon leader had challenged him and Ultra Magnus had been quickly defeated and restrained.

Which all led up to now, at the top of Darkmount, in front of Megatron's throne. Heavy footsteps indicated the arrival of the tyrant, lighter, clacking footsteps following as his second-in-command was closely behind. Magnus onlined his optics, gazing up at the gray face, chilling red optics.

"All of the Autobots have been detained and are accounted for, my liege," Starscream reported with a sweep of an arm. "Optimus Prime is not among them."

"Oh really?" Megatron turned to Magnus. "And where is your leader?"

"If I knew," Magnus replied, "I wouldn't tell you."

Megatron frowned, nearly scowling. "Alright then," Magnus felt a cold weight touch the back of his neck and force his head forward, and felt fear pierce his spark. He had enough time to wonder what it was before the fusion cannon shot exploded through his helm with the force of a sledgehammer through a watermelon. Metal, protoform, and processor-parts exploded outward to litter the floor, the ragged stump of a neck left, the headless body falling to the ground with a clang. Megatron spun on his heel to face his SIC, acting like he hadn't just terminated a defenseless prisoner in cold blood. Starscream, on the other hand, was wincing at the mess. "See to it that our prisoners are executed, and send a strike force to destroy the Harbinger." Megatron kicked Magnus's corpse with contempt. "It is time to finish this, once and for all."

Starscream grinned, casting one last scathing look at Magnus and muttering a quick, "Yes, Lord Megatron" before leaving. The Autobot prisoners were being kept in Darkmount's brig, under heavy lock and key. He would have fun listening to their screams as they offlined, knowing that the most underestimated mech of them all was their killer. Maybe this would even be enough to steal glory from that irritating Shockwave and put the spotlight back on him.

Starscream was caught up in his internal fantasy as he traveled down into the depths of the fortress, Vehicons saluting as he passed. He was unaware of the lithe shape following him like his own shadow, reaching the intended floor in record time.

The brig was crammed with Autobots and his optics swept over their battered frames, desolate looks, while simultaneously making connections: Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Arcee, Bumblebee. Only three were missing: Ratchet, Smokescreen, and Optimus Prime, and the first was about to be dead as well.

"Well well," Wheeljack grinned, head rising to meet Starscream's optics firmly. "Look who they sent to finish us off. I'm not worried, Screamy," Starscream growled at the use of the nickname, "I've faced your extermination attempts before. Nothing to write home about."

"Except for this time," the Seeker crowed, "there will be no one here to save you. Not with your precious leader resting in the scrapheap."

It took them a moment to process this. "Magnus," Bulkhead sat up sharply. "What did you do to him?"

"Lord Megatron blew his head off," Starscream casually examined a talon. "Nothing, really." He secretly reveled in the Autobots' horrified expressions, drinking it in like the sweetest high grade. "Your deaths will be much more…grandiose."

"I'd like to see you try," Arcee hissed, propping herself up. Bumblebee buzzed an affirmation on her part.

Starscream turned to a few of the Vehicons, standing nearby, ready to help. "Bring the prisoners out and take them to the smelting pit. We'll dispose of them that way."

"Yes, Commander Starscream," the energy bars were taken away and the cuffed Autobots were pushed forward and out into the hall. They were forced to comply and escorted down the hall, Starscream following, smug. Wheeljack kept casting looks back at the Seeker over his shoulder, only to earn a blaster barrel jabbed into his back. Bulkhead was easily as bitter, looking as though he wanted to smash apart the Vehicons if not for the fact that he would be ripped to shreds if he did. Bumblebee looked dejected, wings at their lowest point, and he occasionally emitted a mourning beep. Arcee's venomous look at the Seeker rivaled Wheeljack's. A pathetic, hopeless lot they were, with a dead commander and a missing leader. They were struggling with the shambles of what they had once had, desperate. And now they would be dead, soon.

And that was when the shadow decided to strike. The Vehicon at the front fell screaming, his legs suddenly severed by an outside force. The Autobots were taken aback, the other Vehicons on edge. Four pairs of blasters were cocked, pointed about wantonly.

"Commander Starscream, there's no one-" the mech that had been talking was cut off when he found himself cut in half vertically, body falling apart at either side. Another Vehicon began shooting at the ceiling in a frenzy, ceased when a laser shot pierced his spark and sent him keeling over. The last two Vehicons backed away from the Autobots, prepping to run, but before they could, the unseen force slashed both their heads in half, sending them falling.

"What?" Starscream gasped, backing up in fear. It had all happened so fast, and now he was the only one left, not including the chained Autobots. The Autobots were just as shocked, if not more. "What just-" The Seeker took a step back and immediately activated his comm. "Lord Megatron, there is an Autobot intruder in the base!" He flinched at a burst of static over the line. "Lord Megatron? Does anyone read me?"

The Seeker was torn from his attempted communiqué by a thick, steel cable stabbing into his chest, puncturing right through his spark chamber and clipping his Decepticon symbol. The cable was snaked out, the Seeker dead before he hit the floor.

"Wha-What just happened?" Bulkhead managed to say, eyeing the corpses warily.

"I happened," a voice announced and there was a clang as feet hit the floor, and a figure dropped down in front of the group.

"Whoa," Bulkhead's optics widened.

"That's-not possible," Arcee shook her head, while 'Bee beeped and buzzed.

"You," Wheeljack growled.

Outside Darkmount, oblivious to all that had happened there, was Smokescreen, his gaze determined, the phase shifter active on his arm. He would do this, he had to do this, Optimus would be avenged, Megatron would fall…

But could he really do it? Optimus had had a hard time facing down Megatron, and that was when he was at peak performance. Besides, the tower was bound to be full of guards, and he had no idea where Megatron would be. Besides, he couldn't leave Optimus down in that cavern to rust.

So he returned. He passed back through the layers of rock and stone into the cavern, where Optimus still lay, his frame now completely gunmetal gray. The Matrix was still visible, no longer glowing though, nearly as dead as its owner.

Smokescreen bent down, arms wrapping around Optimus's chest and pulling, tugging. The dead weight didn't even budge, and 'Screen pulled back with a sigh. The Matrix flickered weakly, as though reacting to his presence. Smokescreen frowned at it. "What am I supposed to do?" he muttered, defeated. "I'm not a Prime. Pit, I'm not even close to being a Prime. I can't even work up the courage to fight Megatron." The rookie kicked a rock in frustration, before looking at the Matrix again. "But I've got to do something." He reached over, each hand grabbing a handle of the Matrix. With a quick tug he yanked it out of Optimus's chest and the dead Prime slumped back onto the rock.

Smokescreen examined the Matrix, slightly awed to be in the presence of such a powerful Cybertronian artifact. The crystal in the center had started to glimmer and it suddenly brightened up, glowing and pulsing with life, almost like a mini-spark. The light grew brighter, brighter, blinding, and it surrounded him, washing over him. He felt peace, calm, wisdom beyond his years, unfamiliar whispers flowing into his audios, speaking ancient prophecies and singing old lullabies long before his time. He felt a warmth that spread throughout his whole frame, tingling, twisting his insides. It was unusual and yet pleasant at the same time.

And then, agony.

((Who is this mysterious savior of the Autobots? What has happened to Smokescreen? Why am I asking these questions? Stay tuned to find out, not counting the last one.))