The Pit. It was illegal. Did the senate care that it existed, no. But it was till illegal. The Pit was an underground ring of multiple gladiatorial arenas in the industrial city of Kaon.
The city itself was a scrapyard. Daily bots were dismembered just working their day to day jobs in the iron and weapons factories building the equipment used by the rest of Cybertron's empire. Most of it was equipment these bots could only dream of owning. It was the poorest city on the face of the planet.
Known as steel city, by the upper class, Kaon was a glorified factory. 90% of the smog and soot in the atmosphere came from this very location.
No one cared what happened to the workers here, reportedly 6 in 20 factory workers die a day. 9 in 20 are rebuilt into monstrosities of their original forms to continue work. And that's just in the factories.
Deep in the ghettos of this ghetto lay Darkmount, the largest blood sporting ring on the very planet. Let alone the city of Kaon.
This was home now, for the past six months for Ulchtar. Darkmount is where he made home. He enjoyed his life, no working, nonstop combat, from on arena to the next. The unnamed warrior was what these folk knew him as.
It was glorious. But still, he fummed. Fumed with hate of the Senate. The Council. Dessemus, Trion all of them. They put him here, while they snobbishly live luxury.
In every fight that's all he thought about, his rage. His hate. It fueled him, drove him. Drove him to twenty-seven wins, twenty-seven kills.
Twenty-seven heads rolling and crushed under his heel.
Match twenty-eight. All this unfortunate bot was, a number. A punching bag. The gladiator in Ulchtar didn't care about whether this mech had a family. Or a life. This was too fun. A real challenge.
Ulchtar rolled across the arena in crane form and transformed on the wall in front of the stands, the brutish opponent charged after him smashing into the wall as Ulchtar leaped over his back. He cartwheeled and picked his sword up off the ground and threw it at the challenger.
It barely pierced his armor. Stabbing into his shoulder the challenger grabbed the handle and snapped the blade in half leaving the tip in his body. He swung at Ulchtar's head only to be blocked by a shield.
Ulchtar struggled under his shield, on his knees he groaned loudly as the weapons clashed pushing him into the floor. He screamed as he flopped onto his back, sending his legs into the crotch of the challenger. Making the brute fall back, Ulchtar flipped onto his feet and started bashing the challenger with his shield.
Each hit shaved off metal and splattered energon on his face. He gritted his teeth now covered in his opponent's fluids.
He raised his shield high above his head, clutched in both hands, and like a guillotine the weapon cut the enemy's head off.
The crowd cheered for Ulchtar, not knowing his name. Calling him their Megatronus. The fiercest gladiator on the planet.
Ulchtar stood up slowly. Smiling, soaking in the praise. Megatronus, he liked that name. The name of the strongest Prime. A name that invoked his power. The power he never knew he had.
He knelt to pick up his sword, and raised it to the sky. The crowds screamed louder. Cheered louder.
"All hail the king, of the ring!" Ulchtar called loudly, "Megatronus!"
He claimed it, his name, his right. The crowd cheered him on, chanting his name. He grinned. This was his empire, in the ring, all are equal. Unlike in the world above, alt form and class meant nothing.
If you were in the ring, you were the same as all others. And Ulchtar loved it. If only Iacon could be like this metropolis.