One thing that the Percy Jackson series really got me interested in was Greek mythology, and at some point in time I wondered how the gods would react to the Autobots and Decepticons, or vice versa. This oneshot, which may or may not become a series of oneshots, is an encounter with one Greek deity that fascinates me in particular. So here goes and fingers crossed I didn't write Megatron OOC.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers: Prime. If I did Airachnid would have died a horrible death by now.
Debts
All was quiet on the Nemesis. The fearsome assembly of mechs and drones who usually filled the ship's halls with the sounds of work and meaningless chatter were either staring listlessly at a monitor screen or in recharge. It was peaceful, and the only sound that could be heard was the hum of the ship's engines.
It was Megatron's favorite time of the cycle. Metallic footsteps echoing in the empty space, the gray-plated warlord walked sedately into the now-deserted navigation room.
"Soon," he whispered, as he stared at the coordinates of the Iacon relic the Nemesis was currently in pursuit of, "Soon I will have the artifacts, and I will destroy the Autobots. I have the superior numbers, and I have the superior weaponry. Victory is the only option."
"The Persians believed the same thing." A feminine voice stated behind him. For once taken by surprise, Megatron spun around to see an unknown femme leaning against a nearby computer console. Her plating was a mixture of black and white, and her frame lacked ornamentation of any kind. Around her helm flew a trio of batlike symbiotes, presumably waiting for instructions from their mistress. And at her hip rested a weapon handle with many strands of ultra-fine energon wire hanging from it. She surveyed Megatron with her calm, gray optics, and then continued to elaborate on her previous statement.
"The Persian warriors invading the Greek metropolis of Athens were so confident the city would fall that they brought a block of their native marble to the battle, to carve a monument to the victory they thought was so assured." Here her faceplates curled into a cold sneer. "These arrogant thoughts were quickly put to rest as the Greeks drove them away and out of their lands."
"And what does human history," Megatron snarled, already growing impatient, "have to do with anything?" The femme smirked, and her symbiotes screeched in a way that disturbingly resembled laughter.
"Because you, my dear Decepticon, and your followers are the Persians of this story."
"Oh really?" The gray mech asked with a raised optic ridge, "And what makes you say that?" This appeared to invoke further amusement in his monochromatic guest. She spread her servos and widened her optics in an expression of mock bewilderment.
"As you said Megatron, you have the superior numbers, the greater weaponry. However, even the most devastating weapon is ineffective in the hands of an unskilled warrior. And sadly," she continued, not sounding very sad at all, "that is what makes up the bulk of your forces. Clumsy, inexperienced fighter drones and unrefined, stupid, Insecticon constructs. And even now you fail to utilize your most promising resource." The femme stroke the ship's hull with her servo, as a human would a skittish animal. "When your vessel was christened the homage was almost certainly unintentional. But," her three symbiotes had stopped circling and landed on the femme's shoulders, and she scratched one of their helms absentmindedly, "I am flattered nonetheless."
But Megatron wasn't listening to her words, nor pondering about what it was they implied. He was too focused on tearing apart the insolent femme for daring to insult his forces, to question his decisions. While Megatron was certainly no advocate of his soldiers' abilities, having them degraded by an outside source was enraging and humiliating. And Megatron was humiliated by no one. With a furious roar, the Decepticon warlord deployed his arm-mounted sword, intending to run the audacious little Autobot (because that was surely what the black and white femme had to be) clean through.
What happened next was unlike anything the ex-gladiator had seen in the entirety of his long and eventful lifecycle.
Faster than he could have thought possible, the femme seized Megatron by the wrist, turning his sword away and snatching her own weapon from her waist. She struck the Decepticon leader in the face, and he felt the familiar sting of whip-chords cutting into his already-mangled faceplates. Stumbling back, Megatron examined the slight flow of energon coming from his wounds, then took a second look at his adversary. And nearly stalled in shock. The femme was striding toward him confidently, but as she walked, the armor was disappearing, the protoform melting away. Until in her place was a human female, wearing a simple, Greek-style white dress and gripping a weapon now made of leather. Her symbiotes had taken off when she first lunged at him, and were now circling Megatron, screeching. Until they too, began to change, into ancient, shriveled human femmes with batlike wings and flaming whips. Their incessant noise changed into true shrieks of laughter as they landed in a circle around him. They approached Megatron, smiling malevolently and flicking their whips.
"Now, now ladies," the femme said, her voice now without a Cybertronian's metallic tinge, "Be patient." She approached Megatron slowly, and smiled pleasantly. "Apologies. The Erinyes can be a little . . . over-eager at times."
"Erinyes?" Megatron asked, having found his voice again.
"My colleagues. It has been a long time now since I have needed their assistance. I am pleasantly surprised to discover they are just as efficient as ever. But I digress. You have been a bad mech, Megatron."
"'Bad?'" the aforementioned Decepticon asked, mirth creeping back into his tone, "Is that all you can say?"
"Why not?" The femme shrugged nonchalantly, "It's a simple and fitting adjective. I hope you weren't expecting a more lengthy description." The warlord she was addressing gritted his denta. How dare she act this way, as if he were like Starscream, a thoroughly pathetic egotist? It was she who was the overconfident fool, standing in front of a powerful gladiator who was ancient by her pathetic species' standards without even her weapon in her hand, insulting him as though expecting no retaliation.
"A pity," Megatron growled through his denta, "You may have something more to say when your entrails are decorating my throne room!" He knew charging the femme again would not work, so he used his fusion cannon, fully expecting the raw plasma energy to detonate and disintegrate his oddly persistent visitor. And once again, she completely defied all expectations. Raising one forearm to shield her face, the femme stood impassively as the plasma exploded harmlessly, doing no damage whatsoever. And before Megatron knew it he was on the floor of the Nemesis, with one sandaled foot pressing into his neck. The femme surveyed him coldly as her scourge vanished and was replaced by a large sword.
"Whatever deities existed on your home world have been far too lenient with you," She told the warlord, her voice filled with icy venom. "Leaving those of us on Earth to tidy up their mess. I know who you are Megatronus, and what you have done. And I assure you," Now the femme leaned in close, enough so Megatron could see the individual lashes framing her organic eyes, "You all will pay the debts you have accumulated. One way or another."
"Adrasteia!" One of the Erinyes alighted next to the mech and woman, wings twitching in agitation. "The silent one approaches. Our business will have to be left for another time."
"Very well." 'Adrasteia' did not seem to be particularly troubled with this news. She turned back towards Megatron, that Primus-damned half-smile still on her face. "Until we meet again, Megatronus. And I promise," the smile changed, becoming synonymous with that of a predator who knows her prey is cornered. "We will." And with that, she leapt from Megatron's torso, the bat-humans trailing behind her. They ascended into the air and vanished, leaving behind the faintest wisp of smoke. That was just around the time Soundwave entered the room. Megatron quickly regained his pedes with reflexes born in the pits of Kaon, even though in the back of his processor he knew the gesture was futile. There was no way a mech as observant as Soundwave wouldn't notice something abnormal had transpired. Fortunately, Soundwave was also unquestionably loyal, and would not inquire unless he was certain his master was in a mind to answer. The spymaster cocked his helm at Megatron, a gesture that few others would have been able to interpret.
"No Soundwave," the gray mech answered his most loyal soldier's silent query. "I do not require assistance." Without so much as another word, Megatron marched past Soundwave and toward the privacy of his personal quarters. Adrasteia . . . On a rare whim Megatron searched the name on the human Internet. Surprisingly enough his search was rewarded almost immediately. It was a name of Greek origin, meaning 'the inescapable one'. After further investigation, he also discovered that it was the name of a goddess, also of Greek origin. The humans had apparently dreamed her up to act as a source of equilibrium, measuring good and bad fortunes in order to maintain balance. But she was also a punisher, bringing harsh consequences upon humans who had committed wrongdoings and forgotten humility. It was from this that she was bestowed with a name more commonly used, that eventually developed into a word in itself.
"Nemesis." Megatron hissed. Something lanced his spark, a feeling of uncertainty, anxiety . . . fear? Regardless, he internally steeled himself. This encounter had proved to him that somehow, the Cybertronian's previous actions had followed them to this world, and by the laws of Nemesis and those whom she served, they had debts to pay. And they would pay, the warlord was sure. Any other circumstance and he would brush the threat aside as being irrelevant. Megatron would have brushed it aside, had he not felt the aura of power the femme possessed, different than that of Unicron in its nature, yet similar in its magnitude. Our race has a debt to pay, Megatron thought as he gazed into space, and the inescapable one will make certain we pay it.
-Fin-