SUPER GOD MASTERFORCE GENERATION 2:
ARISE PRETENDERS!
Some called it 'the Death that walks', others knew it as King Poseidon. It towered above the water, the shadow all but blocking the sun from the sky. It was the dark shadow of all human technology, the mother at whose breast all human technological advancements had suckled, and yet it was purely and completely alien, unfathomable in its nature.
Nevertheless, it lived, breathed, thought and felt just as the creatures below it did. It had been born and raised like any other living creature and yet it was unlike anything that had stood amongst the people of the world.
But it was not unique. Its kind had lived for aeons longer than anything on Earth had. At the time its forefathers had begun to wage war upon one another, reptilian life was still in its infancy.
A sound echoed; the distant whispers of a lost technology. At once it was centuries older than Poseidon was and yet its spirit, its new face was considerably younger, manifest only now in the first years of its rebirth. It was alien, incomprehensible to Poseidon's somewhat limited intellect and was thus soon forgotten.
The ocean rolled out before it, the separate landmasses of Japan and the two islands, Karin and Bintan stretched out in the distance.
The moonlight illuminated the great monstrosity, light flickering across its metallic visage as water rippled, the vibrations of the cruise ship upon the horizon stretching like hands over the ocean face.
A mental prompt, originating from Poseidon's centre, shuddered through the great creature's metal body. The ethereal sound of ancient metal grinding against itself and eventually separating, limbs splintering into several different creatures, each one resembling some twisted, oversized Coelacanth, carved in metal.
In all, the process was not entirely dissimilar to a sort of cellular reproduction.
The creature that had formerly occupied the position as Poseidon's main chest section, the one that had sent out the mental prompt to the others and initiated the separation, began to shift form once more, that same familiar whisper of metal grinding against metal and slowly reforming.
It was larger than its fellow Coelacanths and in the form it now occupied, that of a large robotic construct – though not as large as the original structure it had been a part of – had an almost human quality to its appearance. Behind the dark red glass of its eyes resided intelligence.
Among the Coelacanths that surrounded it, this new creature was conscious of what it was, conscious and dangerous.
Its name was Tutlar.
The clouds above erupted, suddenly and unexpectedly, a torrent of rain spitting down upon the ocean surface. Wind gathered and the Coelacanths, whilst possessing no intelligence of their own, appeared to become anxious, gathering about Tutlar in a protective circle.
From over the horizon, two similar shapes were approaching, metal gleaming in the moonlight and rain.
They came to a halt before the Coelacanths, hovering in the air above them, the same space that they had once occupied whilst merged together.
"Our next target has been confirmed," the first of the machines intoned, looking directly at Tutlar and ignoring the anxious drones about it, "a cruise ship leaving Niihama Port. We have reason to believe that our enemy shall be amongst the passengers."
"And what kind of reasons are these? We've searched for this adversary of yours for many years and still have turned up nothing, yet still you remain single-minded in your search for this Hawk," Tutlar scoffed.
"For now, it would be in your best interests to follow our commands," the second announced, "we both serve the same master, we both have a common enemy. Such conflict between us is unnecessary. All that is of importance is our revenge, our triumph."
"Blood is correct," the other said, "there is little time left. The best way in which we can serve the master is to employ our talents within the fields we know best."
The second nodded in agreement.
"And you would have me believe that my talents are of more significance than your own," Tutlar snarled.
"We each serve the master to the best of our abilities," the first reminded him.
There was a moment's silence and then Tutlar nodded slowly. Its entire body trembled with motion before leaping into the air, the Coelacanths mimicking its movements.
"For the master! DESTRONS transform!" cried the second machine, the one that had been called Blood.
The same shifting of metal as the three larger Destrons transformed, each into their individual mockeries of animal life.
Around Blood and the second machine, Gilmer, a strange light flickered, gleaming from behind the metal flesh of their bodies and encasing them within strands of DNA.
The DNA twisted; creating knots, separate strands weaving into one another in order to create a second skin.
The light dimmed, the transformation complete and now revealing two horrific daemons, one resembling a bat and the second a hybrid of fish and man.
"Onwards to victory!" cried Tutlar.
"Onwards to victory!" the Coelacanths screamed in unison.
Cab Tsujimoto placed the flowers down carefully beneath his friend's gravestone, tears streaming down his cheeks. Once he had been a prince of the island territories of Karin, yet since the death of his friend upon the cruise ship that torn apart by unnamed horrors, he was but the fragile shell of someone he could only vaguely recall from memory.
Over the course of the last year, he had lost everything; his father, his best friend and all that had made him proud to be a prince of Karin. Now all that the future held was the cold embrace of Karin's throne and a life of politics and petty disputes over fishing lanes and trade negotiations.
Whispering fond farewells, he turned his back, pulling the collar of his coat up to protect him from the rain. He never heard the shifting of soil behind him.
Rainclouds began to open, unleashing their downpour over the city and drenching the streets. The whispers of snapping bones suddenly echoed sharply through the air. Tsujimoto's eyes widened in terror as desperately, they tried to pull away from the scene that unfolded before him.
Rain spat down across his face, white with terror as the ground split open, slithering, decayed hands breaking through panels of wood and layers of loam and grass.
His mouth opened wide, a perfect circle of fear. He tried to scream out but found that he could not.
From the depths of the grave, the dead thing hauled itself up on broken limbs, its decaying face reaching up to smile a toothy grin at the cold wind and viscous rain, pelting down on its dead face and puncturing the skin and bone like bullets.
Words died in his mouth.
He wanted to cry out, to reach to the dead thing and hold it, whisper that it could never be the friend he had lost but, for what it was worth, it did share a resemblance with him and he would love him for that reason alone. Yet at the same time, he wanted to turn and flee from the creature, screaming in abject terror and running from its unholy countenance.
He staggered, not looking at where he was going, and tumbled face down into the dirt.
His head collided with the concrete path and blood seeped out, running down over his eyes and tinting the scene before him with the glare of red and suffering.
Tsujimoto dragged his shirtsleeves across his face, trying to clean the blood and rain out of his eyes and not to think about the dread whisper of footsteps behind him.
In that moment he looked up, trying to focus on the path before him, and froze where he was.
Damp warmth filled his trousers.
Standing before him was a hideous monstrosity, a daemon of sorts, the face that of a bat and the body carved from metal and dead flesh.
Tsujimoto tried to force words from his throat but they died there and then, unspoken.
The creature towered above him, a hideous smirk scrawled across its alien features. From deep within, a guttural laugh rose within it and the air filled with its howls of laughter.
Hawk Takami was in his late thirties, early forties, hair slightly longer than conservative society deemed appropriate and flecked with the odd strand of grey hair.
Upon his face, he wore a pair of wire-framed spectacles that continually slipped down the bridge of his nose. There was something determined about the way he strode across the crowded city streets, anonymous to the crowd around him and ignorant of the lives they led.
Over the past few years, he had risen to become a prominent figure in the empire of technological advancements; prominent enough to keep his face out of the glare of the limelight, away from public forums and his private life private.
Carefully he approached the building from which he had operated since establishing himself in the city, pushing the double doors of glass and plastic aside and nodding to the security guard at his desk within the marble reception.
The guard nodded his response with a quick bow but Hawk Takami was already standing in the lift, descending down towards the lowest levels of the building, newspaper beneath his arm.
The light flashed, blinking down the numerical scale, from one number to the next before finally arriving at its destination and slowly allowing the doors to open. He stepped out over the threshold and into a low-light room, video screens attached to the far wall presenting the recent destruction of the cruise ship by bellowing nightmare beasts and Coelacanths.
Gathered around the screen were three men, each of equal age to Takami and each with an anxious look of expectation upon his face.
Takami looked them over and quietly placed the newspaper down on the table that divided them.
"They've awakened," he announced solemnly.
The daemon scooped up the frail human form in its vast claws, a look of contempt crossing its hideous face. From the sullied earth around it, more of the dead crawled up from the depths of their resting-places.
A maniacal laughter escaped the daemon's cold lips as the corpses gathered about its feet. The rain pelted against their skin, creating small pockmarks and gashes upon the rotting corpses. Wind gathered, swooping some of the dead up into its arms and tearing them apart. The freshly buried were more resilient, their burnt, mutilated and drowned bodies resistant, to a degree, to the harsh whims of the storm.
They clambered at its feet, feeling a sense of communion with the dead flesh harvested to form the daemon's outer skin.
Its glinting red eyes took the scene in, watching as its hideous army gathered about it.
It was all as the master had said, the power of that dark sun drawing the dead up from the graves and bringing them under the dominion of the Destron warrior, Blood. The smile faded and an involuntary shudder ran through its bioorganic systems.
The whisper of the master's voice resounded in its ears, a voice like broken glass ground into flesh. Blood flinched at the sound, more fractions of meanings, thoughts and emotions than a structured sentence within a linguistic framework.
Images flickered through the Destron's mind, some centuries older than itself, others incomprehensible to its fragile mind.
Yet amongst these scenes, there were other clearer, more specific concepts, imagery that had become hauntingly familiar to the ancient Destrons that inhabited the world, alone and stranded.
The message unfolded, revealing itself through a veil of shadowy concepts and ideals and slowly emerging as a coherent string of ideas. The faces of the Cybertrons, just as Blood had known them upon Seibertron, and the memories that the master had brought with it from its former life.
The images shattered, revealing the dark depths of limbo.
A chill ran down Blood's spine.
Hanging lifeless in the void were the bodies of Destrons it would never know.
They had departed for Earth in the distant future of its master's native dimension, their mission to alter the course of time and pave the way for an Imperial Destron Empire that would encompass everything they could control, manipulate or terrorise.
Blood's master had used their energon to open a rift out into the pathways of possibility and outstretch its tendrils into the nurseries of newly born universes and the graves of dead worlds alike.
It had crafted infinity in its image.
Yet still it remained fervent that the Cybertrons must be crushed, as if it feared that their mere presence might disrupt its stranglehold on infinity. The threat vanished, fading once again into the image of the Cybertron warriors before drifting away and leaving Blood alone again in its own head.
The daemon shivered, suddenly feeling the cold of the night in the fragile wrapping of flesh and animal tissue that stretched across its body.
The rain continued to thud its rhythm upon the ground and the legions of dead that surrounded it.
Silently, the Destron forced its mind into contact with the dead things. There was nothing left in the shells of the original personalities that had inhabited them, just the throbbing pulse of a slither of its master's intelligence.
The hideous uniform darkness that dwelt within their shattered skulls repulsed even Blood. It forced itself into contact, pushing the lifeless shadows away from it and out into the cold heart of the city, eyes wide and open but seeing nothing.
In its claws, it cradled the human, feeling its heartbeat and the warmth of the blood flowing through its body.
An emotion that it couldn't quite understand stirred, faded and then died.
Buster Ichojo had been a pilot since before he could remember. As a child, he had laid out in the garden, back pressed down against warm grass, looking up at the clouds drifting across the sky, watching and waiting for the crossing of planes above his home.
As he had grown, Ichojo had forced what he believed to be his own personal destiny upon his half-brother, Hydra Fokker and, as soon as they had been old enough, they had enlisted in the SDF.
From that point on their fates had been inexplicably linked, both driven to compete with one another and yet both knowing that ultimately, their destiny lay before them, together in the sky. As the eldest, Ichojo had always been in charge of what course of action they took, what path they walked.
It wasn't that he despised Hydra, though in many ways, he found his younger brother to be tiresome. It was simply that without the dream they shared, he was fully aware that they would grow apart, become divided. Ichojo knew all to well that his younger sibling would make an easy target for those who were stronger willed then him.
Whilst Hydra was at his side, Ichojo could protect him much more ably than he would have been able to if Hydra had made his own choices. Therefore, they remained together, side-by-side, hands reaching for the heavens.
He sat down, lighting another of his cigarettes and looking out over the fading horizon of the Kushiro plains. One day he would reach so high that he'd never come back down again.
One day he would never have to leave that welcoming blue sky, the same sky that had remained just out of reach all his life.
One day he would never come back down.
Phoenix tore through the dark storm clouds, wings glistening with the moisture of rain and atmosphere.
It had been years since the Cybertron had been outside of its shell of human flesh, so long that it had almost forgotten what it was like to operate without having to constantly monitor certain programmes, programmes designed to simulate the intake of oxygen that humans effected so naturally.
All the little mannerisms and habits that the machine had become so set in over the centuries since its awakening, all of those foibles were all gone again as soon as it allowed the flesh of its disguise to peel back. For the first in centuries, it had revealed the metallic face it had worn upon Seibertron and then its secondary mode: a clone of the original VF-19 Advanced Variable Fighter prototype currently being tested over the Kushiro plains.
Though both Phoenix and Hawk, or Metalhawk to use the Siebertronian translation of its comrade's name, were no strangers to flight, having possessed secondary modes of a similar function during their time on Seibertron, their disguises as VF-19s were new.
After their awakening from the pods, thousands of years ago, the main priority of the Cybertrons had been to find a suitable disguise that would disguise them from the evolving population and as, as human tribes began to expand, the Cybertrons took on the forms of humans.
During the centuries that followed, they modified the human faces they wore in order to remain anonymous.
Originally, they had been in possession of faces similar to that of the Ainu, but when the modern Japanese had become resurgent, they had changed faces once more.
Their machines modes had remained intact until now.
Careful monitoring of the Kushiro plains project had led to the Cybertrons learning of the VF-19 and its counter-part, the X-9 Ghost Fighter. Upon deciding to reveal themselves once more so as to deal with the increasing Destron threat in a more active manner, Metalhawk had downloaded the specifications of the VF-19 and used them to reshape the secondary modes of its own body and Phoenix's.
Unto Lander and Diver, other disguises had been bestowed.
Phoenix cleared its mind as the land before it diminished into the ocean waves that separated Japan's coastline from the islands around it.
Reaching out with its thoughts, the Cybertron scanned the surface of the waves, searching amongst the water for signs of the Destrons that had destroyed the cruise ship.
Nothing…
For a moment, it thought it registered the trace elements of expended energon but as soon as it turned its sensors in the direction of the source, the signal withered and died.
The VF-19 veered off at an angle, trying to get a fix on the ghost signal. Without warning, the surface of the water behind it exploded, throwing Phoenix off balance.
The huge form of King Poseidon reared out of the water, rain streaming down its face. Phoenix screamed out, transforming as Poseidon tore into its back, huge hands coming away with shards of black and red metal.
The Cybertron stumbled, falling beneath the ocean's surface, wounded in transformation. It opened its mouth, screaming as the water flooded into its insides.
Scrambling, it pushed up towards the surface, metallic limbs rhythmically darting out from its side in sweeping arcs. It reached up a hand, fingers outstretched towards the shimmering surface…
Poseidon loomed ahead, diving down towards Phoenix, its claws outstretched and a vicious glint in its glimmering eyes.
It had been centuries since Phoenix had last been face to face to with the Destron warrior on the cold plains of Seibertron.
Nothing had changed.
In a single liquid motion, the Cybertron unfurled its mini-gun and slammed it into Poseidon's face, pulling the trigger. Discharged bullet casings were pushed away from the mini-gun drifting down dangerously close to the seabed before being dragged up to the surface.
Poseidon screamed out, its head exploding. The temporary collective nervous system of the Destron shattered, forcing it to split into its separate bodies.
Tutlar howled in anger, drawing its sword and preparing to charge at Phoenix. Swiftly the Cybertron propelled itself out of the water, transforming back into its secondary mode and accelerating as the Coelacanths gave chase. It shouted out into the communications relay system, transferring its co-ordinates and information to the central Cybertron computer and simply prayed that somehow they would hear it.
The teeming dead flooded the city, imbued with the will of the Destrons' master, mindless of whatever free will they once had possessed during life.
They destroyed everything in their path, dead hands clawing at flesh and metal alike, tearing buildings and bodies apart. The city's human protectors stood against the dead; young women in sailor suit costumes fighting against the tide of corpses but ultimately to no avail.
Blood stood alone in the graveyard, watching the progress of its master's army through the city.
Its face remained devoid of expression except perhaps for the soft glint of sadness as it looked down at the unconscious prince in its hand.
Yet it was too late for change now.
Far, far too late…
Lander transformed, shedding its human disguise, reverting to its natural Siebertronian size and form. It gathered the walking corpses in its hands, contracting the fingers into fists and grinding the bones and flesh of the corpses into bloody pulps before transforming once more into its Siebertronian vehicle mode; not particularly proud of the way it had desecrated the bodies of the dead but not really having a better solution.
It swerved through the crowd, ploughing corpses down and crushing them beneath its wheels.
A young man in top hat and tuxedo jumped over it, his cape billowing in the wind as he moved. He paid no attention to the driver-less vehicle, something Lander was particularly thankful for.
Phoenix's distress call had reached them moments after the dead had stormed the city.
Metalhawk had transformed and gone to aid the other Cybertron, whilst Lander had been assigned the dubious duty of dealing with the army of the dead and Diver had been instructed to protect the Cybertrons' facility and the human workers – oblivious to the true nature of their employers – that populated the building.
It continued to shred the dead beneath its wheels, decimating the army, leaving a trail of ripe intestines, and yellowing bone behind it.
Phoenix crumpled, its body shattered and decimated.
It had reached the shores of the mainland before the Coelacanths had caught up with it. They had torn its arms from its sockets and shattered its body, leaving it broken and almost dead, the waves cascading over its half-submerged body.
Tutlar stood before the mutilated Cybertron, its face contorted with arrogance. A sudden blast tore the Destron's body open: its insides spilling out as it tumbled back into the sea.
The clouds broke open, revealing the shape of a second VF-19.
It transformed in mid-air, landing between the fallen Destron and its Coelacanth minions, sword drawn. Their link to Tutlar temporarily severed the Coelacanths fell into disarray.
Metalhawk sliced a path through them, severing the bodies of the drones a step further from their link with their master.
They fell before the Cybertron leader, lifeless and cold.
"Old friend," Metalhawk whispered, bending down and cradling its fellow Cybertron's head in its hands.
A sudden explosion caught the Cybertron and its fallen companion off guard. It looked up, rain staining its exterior.
Standing in the air above were the two remaining Destrons, Dowlos and Gilmer.
Blood laid the young man's body down, leaving the prince shaken yet alive. In its heart, if it could be reputed to have one, a strange sense of sadness had awakened. The Destron turned its back, looking towards the heart of the city.
It knew what it had to do.
Swiftly, Lander transformed into its Siebertronian mode once more, the corpses shattered and broken.
Leaping up into the air, the Cybertron hastily headed towards Metalhawk's signal, jumping over the residue of fallen bodies and moving swiftly towards the coastline.
The Cybertron leader struggled against Gilmer's grip as Dowlos smashed its chest, slicing the metal open with its bio-organic claws.
Metalhawk cried out as the Destron dug deeper into its inner organs, its hideous laughter echoing in its ears.
The last thing it remembered was that same horrifying laughter.
Diver gathered up the bodies of the workers, scooping them from the ground as fire reigned down upon the Cybertrons' former building.
Screams filled the burning building, echoing through the corridors and filtering into its hearing system, knowing that it could never save them all.
Collecting the fallen body of Shuta Sugiyama, it blasted a hole in the wall and leapt out of the building moments before it exploded.
The Cybertron landed on its feet; the few humans it had managed to save cradled within its arms.
Standing directly before it stood Blood, the Destron responsible for the destruction of the building.
The two exchanged glances, Destron and Cybertron standing face to face. Blood smiled quietly, if not a little sadly and then turned away.
EPILOGUE: THREE MONTHS LATER
The two Cybertron warriors lay broken upon the seabed. It had taken Lander and Diver several months to locate the bodies of their fallen comrades and, as they stood upon the shore, dragging the semiconscious bodies up from the bottom of the ocean, neither remaining warrior could help but feel a touch of melancholy.
Their comrades were both smashed and damaged, almost beyond repair.
Diver looked out in the early morning light. It was so peaceful, the waves so calm and gentle that it found the concept of what had happened to its two colleagues almost incomprehensible.
Again, it reflected on the look in Blood's eyes and the overwhelming sadness that permeated the Destron's being.
The Cybertron shook its head, brushing aside the melancholy and clearing its mind.
For better or worse, they had revealed their existence unto the world again, for better or worse humanity now knew what they looked like and knew of their presence.
It sighed, sitting down and resting its aching legs, watching as Metalhawk and Phoenix were dragged out of the ocean's embrace.
Sadly, it smiled and reflected on what was to come…for better or worse.
7