A/N: Drabble. Short and simple, 500 word challenge. Dedicated to The Fallen on . Please enjoy.
Rated: K+
Crisp as the dark skies were, the fallen Prime couldn't help but stare upon the acidic Cybertronian rain beginning to fall. Each drop was uneasy, heavy. The drops later showering shattered once making contact with the large, slim mech's scorching metallic armory.
Jaded optics focused on the scene above. As tormenting as his own war turned to be, the current battles he approached seemed more fatal. Taking a said walk around this world to ease his troubled mind.
Sparks of both red and orange plagued the storm. Mist, above all else, hovered about and drenched the inferno-like battlefields in fog. Beside the debris and perpetual destruction, intense flames emanating from Megatronus Prime's frame bought the attention of several soldiers of both affiliations.
The toxic God made his way through, each step thoroughly calculated and deliberate. Crimson optics blazed, not offering the smaller beings even the briefest of glances. With every drop of the acidic rain, the Prime's elemental wings flared.
Flames rose and expanded, impending the lives of anonymous soliders, whether they be Autobot or Decepticon. Megatronus Prime made his territory. Such a place was too familiar. On the outskirts of a corrupted city. He strode altogether sick, pace slow. He was in no such rush, solely admiring how a once decent world could so drastically float to the darkest side of the moon.
Not quite to Megatronus' favor, the fallen Prime found that there was nothing he could truly do but watch. What a sad fate for their home. Cybertron hadn't deserved this. Civil War, completely deteriorating a once graceful planet. The corruption of the best had always been the worst of all.
What seemed to grasp Megatronus' attention was the bowing of respective mechs, no doubtfully of the Decepticon faction. The Fallen wasn't the least bit impressed. The insignias built into their dark armory was indeed familiar.. Mimicking his own facial structure. Glorifying their rebelious demeanors, each Decepticon bore the mark. Thier devotion was quiant, although it seemed their victory appeared to have been successful.
Megatronus Prime continued wandering in regards to such. They called him strong, the 13. Not just though they called him weak as well. But still the secrets of the 13 Primes he festered remained kept. They took him for granted all times. Banishment hadn't solved their hatred. It only further developed the means of destruction Megatronus Prime held so dear in his designation alone; The Fallen.
Ash and debris stormed, metallic structures crumbling to the ground with violent ease. The Prime could only smirk, each component forging his lip plating arching up. His helm bowed low to hide the remarkable feature, blazing crimson optics fixing upon the ground. Wings flared due to the continous contact provided by the acidic rainfall pouring above helm, flooding the skies with misery and a sense of hope lost.
If Cybertron did not bring a ceasefire to this catastrophic event; total war would surely bring a tragic end to Cybertron.
A/N: First true attempt at briefly describing war on Cybertron somewhat in a Prime's perspective. This short prompt was completely fictional. Constructive criticism is more than welcome but please do refrain from telling me that what I wrote is irrelevant to The Fallen's history. Please and thank you.
