Elita One
Whether the Mechigahara Forest was haunted or not remained an unknown to Elita as she slowly and painfully slipped through the dense foliage in the blackness of what she assumed to be night. The trees were so tall and numerous, and so pressed together, their limbs so intertwined and unending and heavy with blankets of leaves, that it could be high noon on a cloudless summer day and it would be every bit as dark in here as it was now. Her chronometer was of no use either, the myriad of heavy, radioactive metals running beneath the surface was playing havoc with all her non-biomechanicalogical circuitry; if she wasn't born with it, it wasn't working correctly this deep in the ancient and infamous northern forest. Her lights were partially functioning, they flickered frequently, but they were capable of letting her see a few dozen feet ahead…at least they would if the trees parted enough to allow her to see more than just a few feet in any direction. So far, her limited visibility had revealed no ghosts but the one that had rescued her hours before.
She had considered donning the Apex Armor, assuming it would work better than her other non-biomechanicalogical systems, and battering her way through the oppressive vegetation, but she didn't want to leave an easy trail for any cybervores that may decide to follow her, and whenever she caused any damage beyond snapping a mid-sized twig she'd get a grunt and a glowing yellow glare from her savior and guide, the large mechanical rhinokeron moving through the black forest far more gracefully than her despite his girth and a frame seemingly ill-suited for such an environment. Elita assumed that the creature was a Transformer, one with a humanoid robotic mode, but aside from a handful of curt orders and admonishments revealing a fair degree of knowledge of their society, he'd shown no signs of any cybertronity. He technically could be an exceptionally high-functioning beast, but those were beyond rare, though there was talk of the Autobots having a high-functioning rhinokeron…
"We stop here for the night." The grumbled voice cut through the darkness and her thoughts.
Elita followed the voice as best she could but was unable to see the creature for nearly two minutes, two minutes needed to maneuver her around the thick underbrush and around massive trunks until her flickering lights illuminated the beast sitting at the base of an enormous tree, the roots of which ran above and below the ground all around them. "Sounds good, there's no way we won't hear them coming through this. Of course, how do we know it's even night right now?"
"I suppose in your world, when a highborn asks a stupid question of a commoner, it's expected that the commoner is quick to provide an answer." The beast grumbled, then transformed into a squat, powerful looking robot, the rhinokeron head making up the right shoulder and upper arm, the tail forming the left forearm and hand. "We're not in your world anymore, m'lady."
Elita fixed an agitated stare on the robot, who was a little bit shorter than she was, and pressed her back against another tree and slid down the trunk, taking a seat on the ground. "I guess that answers the stupid question I didn't ask."
"Which was?" The robot asked almost indifferently as he lowered to his knees and placed his hand against the ground.
Elita was curious as to what he was doing and stared at his examination of the ground as she answered. "I was not certain whether you were a standard Cybertronain with a beast shell mode or a high functioning beast."
"Low functioning humanoid I'm afraid, m'lady." The robot replied, scorn dripping off the last word.
"There seems to be nothing low functioning about you." Elita replied. "You're physically very powerful and graceful, especially given your robust frame in both modes, and from what I've observed you appear quite clever, though you do seem to have a low regard for nobility or royalty. M'lady sounds a curse rolling off your metal lips."
"Very observant of you." The robot replied, before seeming to sense something in the ground below him and driving his left hook-arm into the dirt, stone and metal. He rooted around for nearly a minute before exerting a bit of effort to pull his arm out, dragging with it a nugget of energon half the size of Elita's fist. The steady glow of the energon provided a weaker, but more consistent source of illumination than Elita's flickering lights. Only at seeing it did Elita realize how hungry she was and considered asking the less than friendly robot the best way of finding energon for herself, but the glowing chunk of life-giving element flipping through the air toward her forced her away from her considerations and prompted her to catch it. "Here, you look like you could use a charge. That'll keep you going for weeks."
"Oh, uh, thank you." The startled Elita gratefully replied, but then started to protest. "But this is for you. Despite your impression of highborn, I'm fully capable of finding my own sustenance."
"Very progressive of you, m'lady." The robot, still on his hands and knees, grumbled. "But there's more here, and I don't feel like teaching you how to root this stuff out. This is not an energon mine, it took me many months to truly understand how to find and uproot these nuggets." He then drove his left hook back into the ground and pulled out another similarly sized chunk of glowing element.
Elita watched as he stood up and took a few steps back toward the tree he had been seated under in beast mode just a few moments before and slide down to the ground in the same manner she had. He tossed the nugget into his mouth whole and let it slide down into his core. Elita followed suit, she was not a fan of solid ingestion, at least not for pieces this large, but it was small enough to go down relatively easy and she did not want to come off as snootier than she already seemed to this hermit. "I am Elita One of House Solus."
"One, huh?" The stranger replied with minimal apparent interest. "That's like emir for Axiom, right?"
"Yes, Emir of Axiom and head of House Solus." Elita clarified. "And may I ask your name, good sir? I should know the designation of one who has saved my life."
"I'm no sir." The stranger answered. "Not anymore, lost the right to be called sir long ago. For millions of years I've just been the demon of the forest."
Elita smirked. "So, you're behind all the ominous legends surrounding the Mechigahara Forest." She chuckled lightly. "I suppose you're responsible for the abandonment of all the coastal towns along the southern coast."
"Damn right." The hermit grumbled.
Elita paused to give him a chance to elaborate, but after several seconds of silence she determined that no further explanation would be coming. "I would rather not refer to you as demon. Is there another name that you might go by?"
The robot stared off into the distance. "I suppose there is." He continued staring silently for several more seconds before turning to Elita and noting her expectant glance. "I guess the point of concealing who I was has long since…" his gaze suddenly cast downward and rested on the moss for a moment before looking back up at Elita and continuing. "My name used to be Backstop. Was a much smaller world when I got my name, didn't need to clarify it with a point of origin back then, but I guess if I had to provide that I'd be Backstop of the Amber Plains."
"Amber Plains." Elita considered that. "I've heard of them, I don't think the area is referred to as that anymore, but it's in the western borderlands of the Tagan Heights if I'm thinking of the correct area. The old Convoy lands, right?"
Backstop's head snapped toward her and a snarl escaped his metal lips. "That's enough about me. Tell me of that creature you killed. I'm hoping it's not what I think it is."
Elita's gaze fell to the ground carpeted in moss. "I regret to inform you that it is exactly what you think it is."
A loud snort cut through the frosty air. "How the hell did it get out?"
"They all got out." Elita whispered sadly. "From what we've been able to piece together, there was a group…or something; a cabal of individuals who for some reason wanted to free these creatures. One of their members managed to become a Warden, and allowed a swarm of…hell, I don't know how to classify them. Lord Commander Kup and Omega Supreme didn't know how to classify them beyond being large mechanical insectoids that numbered in the tens of thousands. This swarm wreaked havoc within The Tartarun Gates, allowing this bastard Warden to plant a low yield nuclear device within the final gate."
"The gate your ancestor spent decades creating?" Backstop whispered the question as he tried to wrap his head around the news.
"Yes." Elita answered, also predominantly lost in her thoughts.
"Solus was brilliant, it's almost inconceivable that her gate was bypassed." The hermit grumbled. "Though, I suppose no gate can contain a nuclear blast."
"That almost seemed a sentiment of admiration for a highborn." Elita offered a weak smile.
"The Knights weren't highborn, they were lower than even commoners." Backstop grumbled back. "Born alone in metal thought barren, no one around to aide their ascension from Cyber-firma, no brood, no community, nothing, though that may have wound up saving them. The sparkeaters would have known the location of most hot spots by that point, and at the first tremor would have swarmed them for the feast. Their hot spots," he looked up at Elita, "one of which I assume is your hot spot, was unknown to the monsters, leaving them off the menu that day." He stared at her. "But they never considered themselves special because of the metal they were born from. That came from later generations, individuals who had nothing to do with their accomplishments and sacrifices but insisted nonetheless that their metallico made them heirs to the Knights' greatness and better than everyone else." His gaze intensified. "I don't mean to ridicule your beliefs. Well no, that's a lie, I do mean to ridicule your beliefs, because frankly, they are ridiculous."
"Those aren't my beliefs." Elita retorted harshly but softened quickly. "At one time they were, but I've long since adopted the ideals of the Autobots." She noted the look of mild confusion being flickered by her lights on the robot's face. "You need to get out of this forest more often, Backstop. The Autobots are an underground commoner rights group. They're goal is total legal and social equality for all. At one time I did believe the metallico one stems from impacted their potential, and therefore their worth…I've long since been convinced otherwise." A smile slowly spread across her face as she gazed longingly into the darkness. "That said, the most convincing example of this, a Cybertronian of common birth with astounding potential, honor and compassion, likely has the metallico of a high and ancient House after all. Of course, any suggestion of his genetic ties to this house is immediately met with dismissiveness and assertions that even if true, it changes nothing. Orion insists he's smart because of his good fortune at being adopted by a member of House Pax and given a good education, and he's strong because of his good fortune at having a green spark, neither of which makes him better than anyone else, and has nothing to do with the little bits of metallico that helped form him." Elita returned her gaze to Backstop.
Backstop gave a low chuckle and shook his head. "Let me get this straight. House Pax takes in a commoner, raises him as one of their own, but it turns out he's of noble metallico, and nobody knew until they ran a…a…CNA test on him?" He cocked his head quizzically. "They have those now, right? CNA tests? They can trace your lineage?"
"Yes, CNA testing exis…"
"How did the noble house that spawned him not notice him during the pulse of his birth?" He barked out with a dismissive laugh. "And how long was this Orion living as a commoner before the Paxes scooped him up?"
"It's a very unusual stor…"
"What does he even call himself? Orion of House…what?"
Elita huffed. "The discovery of his potential lineage only occurred a couple days ago and is unverified. But he's called Orion Pax of House…" Elita paused and then shook her head. "No. He insists he be called Orion Pax of Iacon. He wishes to honor those that raised and loved him, but he also wishes to convey his identity as a commoner."
"If anything, that name is even more pretentious than it probably would have been with a second house thrown in." Backstop chuckled.
Elita quietly let the insult to Orion pass and the two enjoyed the sounds of the forest for a few minutes, but eventually Elita longed for more conversation. "You're from the Tagan Heights, yet you have a beast shell mode. That's not typical."
Backstop huffed. "There were lots of maps with their own borderlines and names for the same areas all over Cybertron when I was born, for me it was just the Amber Plains, which as you noted, were sworn to the Convoys." He chuckled. "The Convoys didn't even want vassals, or subjects, or any of that nonsense. But they led, because we looked to them to lead, and they provided protection to our lands and people. They'd long since offered sanctuary to the lowborn of other realms, particularly those tread upon in Nyon. Thousands of Nyonians lived on our lands, joined our society, became our friends and brothers, and adopted many of our customs while spreading many of theirs, particularly their reverence for the natural world. It was not uncommon for those born on Convoy lands to have their shell modes altered to reflect the beasts around us. We left the land, which is why the idea of beast modes in the Tagan Heights seems so odd to you, but many survivors carried our customs to The Decagon."
"So, you're a Maximal." Elita stated.
Again, Backstop chuckled. "I've never stepped foot on Maximus land, but yes, I knew many of those that would become the first Maximals. They were my brothers and sisters." He looked down sadly. "And I failed them."
Elita leaned forward. "I don't know how you failed them, but you can win redemption by fighting by their side." She enthusiastically stated. "They fight with Orion Pax and the Autobots against the sparkeaters, and I'm sure those that survived will happily accept your help."
Backstop looked at her quizzically. "Orion Pax and the Autobots? I know Big Convoy and Lio Convoy are gone, and Fastness Maximus is long gon…" he shook his head, "bah, no matter, what the Maximals have chosen to do is not my concern. They have far better leaders and warriors than me. If they choose to follow this commoner rights group, then so be it. I wish them well. I wish you all well in this war with the dead, but I will not be leaving this wood."
The emir of Axiom glared at the robot for several moments before heatedly addressing him. "Swallow your pride, accept your failure, whatever that may have been, and do what good you can for others while you're still able!" She stood. "Your people need you, and you would hide in this dark forest because you feel they deserve better than having another capable warrior bolstering their ranks?"
"If you knew what I have done, you would understand!" Backstop barked back as he too stood up. "Or perhaps you wouldn't. Perhaps you would thank me, my failure helped enable you Knight-spawn to maintain your near godhood over the rest of the planet without challenge! My failure ended the greatest line to have been spawned on this planet, so Emir Solus, I suppose you're welcome!"
Elita stared at him, she almost pitied him despite his ambiguous accusation, but she also realized that for him to despise himself so much, his trespass, this failure, must have been something truly awful. She was almost afraid to ask the question, but, "What could you have done to deserve such self-loathing?"
Backstop stared into the darkness silently for over a minute, his yellow gaze cutting through the blackness, but finally he uttered out the explanation. "I failed. I was given a task, a solemn duty of such magnitude that all other of my life's endeavors meant nothing in comparison. A mission given to me by the greatest being I've ever known, the leader of the greatest house ever to arise on our unworthy planet, in their house's time of greatest peril. The first portion of the mission was the most dangerous, and in that I succeeded. I fought my way through the danger, I felt so proud, I'd succeeded, I'd enabled a hope to persist for my Liege Lords, I only needed to find sanctuary for my precious cargo and safeguard it. Be vigilant until the time came when I could return it to the survivors." He drifted off. "A sanctuary I found, one where the precious cargo would never be sought. I secured it, I remained with it for a time, but intruders would arrive on occasion. The intruders weren't seeking what I was protecting, but their presence was a threat nonetheless. All but a few arrived on crafts launched from coastal port towns west of Iacon…"
Elita gasped, suddenly realizing but unable to accept what she was being told. "By the Hand!"
"Yes, I abandoned my charge, temporarily, or so I swore, and came to this land, haunted this forest, and drove the inhabitants from their towns and made sure they never returned." The ancient warrior confirmed what he thought Elita was surprised by. "I tormented them, terrorized them on and off for eons. I have regrets, my life is nothing but regret, but driving them away to protect my charge, I'd contentedly spend countless millions of years doing it." He looked off into the blackness again. "But ultimately it was for nothing. I returned to the sanctuary one time a few million years ago to find that the limits of the sacred vessel carrying my cargo was met and exceeded, and due to my neglect, it had turned brittle and shattered, spilling…" the stout robot choked and needed a moment before continuing, "spilling…I failed. I was found wanting, I was insufficient, I was inept, and our greatest lineage has ended because of it."
Elita wept loudly, a single utterance of unrestrained and uncontrollable emotion before dropping to her knees before the ancient robot and pressing her head to the ground at his feet. "Sir Backstop of the Amber Plains, and I assure you Sir, you have more than earned right to be called that, you are a great hero, an honorable and loyal and true agent of House Convoy." She raised her head and looked deeply into his stunned optics. "You did not fail, I promise you sir, you succeeded in your sacred duty."
The confused look on Backstop's face slowly gave way to one of absolute rage. "You mock me, Knightspawn!" He raised his hand to strike her, but Elita did not flinch, and the enraged warrior held his hand.
"I would never mock you, noble guardian." Elita looked up endearingly at him. "You have saved my life, and now I know that you have enabled the life of my beloved." The look of rage once again shifted to one of absolute confusion on the face of Backstop, but he remained silent. "Fifteen years ago, I attended the funeral of Zeta Prime in Cybertropolis, and afterward I had a bout of wanderlust I suppose. I had reached the age of self-determination only a few years before and had yet to see much outside of Axiom. I traveled to Iacon but found it less attractive than I'd always thought it would be. My disinterested meanderings led me to one of the docks, and there I found a captain who offered to take me to The Torus Heights. He insisted there was nothing as magical as a voyage by sea." She smiled at his widening optics before continuing.
"For whatever reason, the idea of visiting the tiny town of Burthov in the polar emirate, the opposite of the bustling and overcrowded Iacon, appealed to me. I boarded, and a short while later encountered Torenia of House Pax. We became instant friends. A few hours into the voyage we were within sight of green Insula Avalonius," she noted his tense shudder, but only smiled at him, "and at that moment, Vector Sigma chose to give off a pulse. The tectonic upheavals made the sea violent, and the ship sank. I made it to the shores of Avalonius and was told by the crew that Torenia had gotten there before me and had set off to forage for energon. I set out after her, having been told by the crew that there was a small abandoned energon mine up one of the mountains. En-route I noticed a green glow emanating from a cave. I entered to see Torenia cradling a newly forming protoform, the power within his frame exerting a force that pulled metal from the walls, floor and ceiling of the cavern around him to form a large and…perfect frame."
"Impossible." The whisper garnered a smile from Elita.
"I know not the proper designation of the cave we were in, but I have taken to calling it Orion's cradle." She stood back up and took his hand and hook into her hands. "Torenia named him Orion, Emir Arlon Pax said he would do his House great honor by taking the name Pax, he himself has asked to be called Orion Pax of Iacon," Elita leaned in and kissed Backstop's cheek before pulling back and smiling at him, "but many others have taken to calling him Orion Pax of House Convoy."
Mistress of Flame
She was not used to being ignored but given the devastating defeat at the hands of the demons, the godless, uncivilized chaos going around her in the Petrex control room was to be expected. The tall, beautiful priestess of the only true interpretation of the only true faith stood off to the side and let the panicking leaders of the panicking routed and retreated masses scurry about trying to seem important. Every so often a reference to multiple gods or The Hand reached her audio receptors, causing an undercurrent of rage to swell through her, each time the rage harder to contain that the last. She barely tolerated northerners who worshipped the post-Knight revisionist version of Primus; a kinder, gentler, more consistent and reasonable Primus…a false Primus. Primus was not kind, Primus was not gentle; he created his universe and the lifeforms that inhabited it, he had a vision of what his created universe should become and had expectations that his creations devote themselves to achieving his vision. All that we were, are and will become is due entirely to him, all save the weakness, selfishness, apathy and other impurities of the soul that the Created introduced to the mix. Extreme gifts given, and all but a pious handful were unwilling or incapable of serving their creator; so many unable to recognize his will or even his very existence, despite the obviousness of it all. Myopic, egocentric fools all rushing to their own damnation, unable or unwilling to see this enemy they faced wasn't so much an opposing army of monsters, but a test from the one true god, a test that they were woefully failing.
Her optics finally locked on to those of the Promised One, he who would become The Devourer of The Devourer. Delta Magnus' frame was worn, battered, but it was the battering to his spirit that most concerned the Mistress, and she was ready to minister to him in any way that he would require. But the crowd surrounding them would make that impossible, so for now she sent a supportive gaze and nod meant to fortify him. He merely looked away in exasperation. His faith was strong, but those that surrounded him on a regular basis, particularly his kinsman Ultra, weakened his resolve with their own inferior perspectives, needs, and that ever alluring but most poisonous tool of Chaos; reason, or rather, weaponized reason. Other pulls, however nefarious, could be seen for what they were, but reason was particularly destructive in that it used logic, something considered unassailable to most, to pull one away from what they instinctively knew to be true and just.
Like everything else, reason in its purest form was a gift from Primus to help his creations navigate around the perils they would face; if last week you fell twenty feet without even feeling it, then yesterday you fell one hundred feet and it caused some damage, then you realize that it's best not to fall off this thousand foot cliff in front of you. It was a good thing, until the user overreached what Primus envisioned and turned it into something that could be manipulated to serve their selfish needs. They could use it at a level beyond what was intended for them, but they could only go far enough to achieve a larger, but still vastly incomplete picture, and then these fools would assume that the picture they beheld made them experts on everything. The truth was that they lacked the capacity to take reason to its highest level, a divine level, which would bring all understanding back to the knowledge all living beings had as newborns; that Primus was the father of all creation, and that he was a strict, demanding, harsh and unforgiving, yet rewarding father. A knowledge forgotten by nearly all, none more so than that undermining whelp Ultra Magnus, who seemed intent on hindering her Primus-ordained mission to make the Promised One remember. She rose to her feet, towering over virtually everyone in the bustling command center, and made her way through the crowd of panicking officers, soldiers and other assorted tough guys, the horde parting to give her space to move on as she drew near, until just as she nearly reached Emir Magnus, another undermining whelp, one she almost allowed herself to step on, confronted Delta and drew his attention from her yet again. This particular whelp was the immature and undeserving Emir of The Torus Heights, Roller Pax. The only thing interesting about the undersized blue shit was his connection to the intriguing Orion Pax, an entity that exuded power and humility in almost equal amounts, a virtually non-existent combination. But the more interesting Pax was not here, the Autobots had chosen to regroup elsewhere, leaving her to glare at the less interesting blue brother who was engaging Delta Magnus.
"Emir Magnus," the blue shit began, "still no word from Elita One or any of her personal guard. As you know, most of her generals have rejoined us, and have provided us with their most up to date accounting of their losses and remaining assets. They are insistent that a force be sent back to the battlefield to find their emir, more so now as the sparkeater host has long since left the area in their trek eastward."
"No, we stay together." Delta Magnus grumbled. "If she hasn't returned or at least made contact by now, then she's dead. I'm not going to thin our forces and risk the lives of soldiers to retrieve an empty corpse."
Roller made a face, one to indicate agitation, likely at the thought of his friend and what appeared to be his brother's lover regarded so dismissively, but he quickly recovered his composure. "Perhaps the recovery of the Apex Armor might be worth the risk."
"No, even if it's on the battlefield scattered amongst the corpses, we'd have an extremely difficult time finding it in that chaos." Delta raised his optics to the emir of the northernmost emirate, even seated his optics were still higher than those of Roller Pax's. "And frankly, I can't imagine the sparkeaters overwhelming her, killing her, and not taking the armor with them. They would have to realize that it was the armor that made her so formidable, and even though they would not be able to use it, they would still recognize the need to keep it from us." The massive blue and red emir looked back down to the floor and shook his head, grumbling quietly. "If only she'd had the sense that Emir Honorum had and given her relic to me, we might have fared better out there."
Roller once again gave an outward sign of displeasure at the emir's comment, but as before he swallowed it down and moved on. "I've also contacted my brother. He, his Autobots and his Maximals are assembling in their downtown Petrex headquarters to complete their headcount and assess their situation but based on our losses and our only minor effectiveness against the sparkeaters, we'll need to regroup and come up with a firm plan of action before we engage those forces again."
"If he keeps his forces separated from the bulk of our host, then how is he any better than Megatron?" Delta Magnus snarled as he stood up. "How can I lead us to victory if our army is splintered and following different, inferior leaders?"
"With all due respect, Emir Magnus," Roller snarled, "to refer to Orion as inferio…"
"Save it, Pax!" Delta Magnus snapped. "He appears capable, but he's unproven to say the least, leading a force half as large as our governmental coalition! He's a child unfit for the responsibility given to him, and while he has some impressive footage on his highlight reel, he was every bit as ineffective out there as anyone else! He needs to fall in line and consolidate forces with us, if for no other reason than once we win against the dead, we'll have a force capable of standing against the Decepticons!"
Roller shrugged. "I don't pretend to know our best course, Emir Magnus, but the Autobots were very clear that they would not be submitting to a high house from the outset. A diplomatic tone keeps them as our closest allies against Violen Jiger, as well as against the Decepticons should Megatron ever betray us."
"This is exactly what happens when commoners are given a bit of power and authority!" Delta snapped. "I don't need allies, I need subordinates! I need soldiers loyal to ME! Get your cave-born brother in line before we all wind up as food!" The hulking blue and red emir stormed off through the command center, leaving Roller Pax glaring after him.
"He's right." The Mistress's voice flowed through the moment of quiet as everyone around them hushed at Delta Magnus's abrupt departure. The blue robot's glare was expected, but no less irritating. "Orion Pax may be a strong leader, but we need so much more. We need Primus's chosen champion. We need Delta Magnus."
"Oh, Primus's chosen champion?" Roller scoffed sarcastically. "Look, I'm sure he checks a lot of your boxes, but trust me, Delta Magnus is not the Chosen One. If there is a Prime Who Was Promised, it wouldn't be him."
His comment was almost nonchalant, but it floored her for a moment. "The Prime Who Was Promised?" She stared at him for several seconds, but his face gave nothing away. "A very ancient, and very obscure prophesy. How did you hear of it?"
"Read some graffiti on a waste removal unit wall." Roller quipped.
"Such disrespect." The Mistress hissed. "But it matters not as it is not pertinent to our discussion, child. I speak of The Devourer of The Devourer, the warrior to light our darkest hour, to repel Primus's greatest foe. The Prime Who Was Promised is something else entirely, a fairy tale, a ridiculous, secular and alien ghost story intended to present a boogieman born from within the ranks of slaves to playfully frighten their masters, nothing more."
"I've read the ancient text you presented my emir." The unwelcome voice of Ultra Magnus came from behind her, and a moment later he was standing next to the far smaller Roller Pax. "Based on my admittedly limited knowledge of Primal Age Cybertronian dialects, a more accurate translation of the title you wish to bestow upon Delta would be The Gnawer of the Devourer."
The Mistress glared angrily into the optics of the hulking cynic but smiled and nodded. "The earliest dialect of the Primal Vernacular, of which this version of 'The Mandate of Primus' contains, has been separated by our crude neocybex by many millions of years, so I've taken a tiny bit of liberty with the terminology, but yes, strictly speaking, that would be a closer translation."
"Cripes, who cares?" Roller grumbled. "We have real problems, huge real problems, and I'm fine with having Delta Magnus command as much of a unified force as we can get, but that's because of his skills on and off the battlefield, it has nothing to do with crazy myths invented by simple Primal Age tribes to explain what was too complex for them to figure out logically. This evangelical horseshit should play no role in any decisions to be made. Delta Magnus is our commander, but I really hope he doesn't take your mutterings seriously on any level. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to be somewhere else before you start murdering animals in the name of Primus…again."
She and Ultra Magnus watched him storm off for a moment before she sent him a heated glare. The hulking royal smiled and shrugged. "It wasn't me that told him of that."
Disrespectful little shits.
Bloodron
Flight. It was astounding. When last he was on the surface, shell modes being turned into motorized vehicles was commonplace, but the only shell modes that were flight capable were those that were shaped closely enough to be molded into winged animal modes, and Bloodron could count those that he had seen with his own optics on the fingers of one hand. He himself had been a treaded battering ram, a mode that seemed almost ordained by the gods, which at that time were the multi-faced beings he used to worship. It seemed divinely inspired given his immense size and a level of power and durability that bewildered everyone. It would be many centuries before he would encounter Violen Jiger who would explain to him the nature of the green spark he possessed, just prior to turning him into the creature he would become. But long before that his battering ram mode was put to great use by the warriors of his small tribe, an unstoppable force used to conquer other local tribes, creating an empire that went on to conquer all of the central scrublands, silicon wastes, coastal could forests, barren sheet-lands, and the vast savannahs of what was now known as Ultrix, Praxus and the westernmost portion of Nyon, a vast portion of equatorial Cybertron. Only the gods could counter the empire his tribe had created, their technological superiority and their domestication of many of the giant Cybertronian mechanoids made them invincible even to him; and his belief in their divinity hindered his willingness to oppose them as well. Their dominance was unquestioned, they were gods after all, and all in his empire knew it. His vast army would do little more than scurry away when the multi-faced lords of Cybertron came at them.
Until the time came when their dominance and status as gods finally was challenged. One day, as Bloodron stood atop a mountain that overlooked the boneyards that had stretched from what would be Nyon into the borders of what would be Praxus, he peered out and saw a line of vehicles approaching from the northeast. There were only nine, but he set out with a force of two hundred to meet the intruders none the less. When asked by his lieutenants who the group was, he pointed at their linear formation as they approached and called them the convoy. The comment garnered laughter, but the name stuck, and would continue to stick more than fifteen million years later. The nine vehicles reached them and transformed. There was no aggression, no arrogance, no attempts to intimidate; nor was there any fear displayed by the members of this convoy. All larger than average, athletically built and blue helmeted, each one of them possessed the bearings of warriors and leaders, but the one to approach made it clear that they had come to talk. He spoke of a grand alliance that they had begun stitching together throughout the lands east of Bloodron's, lands that stretched from the far north to the lands of what was now called Polyhex. Their alliance counted in the hundreds of thousands, all preparing, all lying in wait for the call to finally attack their invincible gods and end their tyrannical reign once and for all. Bloodron and his lieutenants laughed, but this leader of the Convoy, Premius, was the most compelling, inspiring and charismatic speaker he'd ever known. In under an hour he'd convinced not only Bloodron to lend his empire to the cause, but even Bloodron's skeptical lieutenants, who had been calling for the sparks of the foolish convoy, were swayed as well.
In months the uprising began, many thousands of years of warfare passed, the cause initially seemed hopeless, but the tribe he had inadvertently dubbed Convoy were beyond clever, and in time they gained the upper hand. They defeated the great beasts fighting for the tentacle-bearing gods, even turning some to their cause, slaughtering many of these Quintessons and forcing those that survived to board their star boats and abandon the planet. And there was great jubilation that lasted for many years. Even Bloodron, greatest warrior of the planet and ruler of the vast Central Empire respected the guidance of the Convoy. He would never bow to them, but that mattered not as they never wished for anyone to pay them homage. They never sought leadership, others came looking to them for it, and Bloodron surprisingly found himself in that number. Convoy leadership saw them through the vast rebuilding effort, they began laying out an egalitarian society, something Bloodron felt to be foolish nonsense, but his respect for the Convoy was such that he did nothing to oppose it.
And then He came. A beast from their nightmares, a god that was as deserving of the title as the five-faced vanquished were unworthy. Societies vanished overnight, those that heard of the destruction had no idea of what had befallen them, only that whatever it was, it had begun by purging the planet of every last living Convoy and was quickly putting the burgeoning society into chaos. In time the creature set its sights on Bloodron's empire, and he led his army out to face this creature, a creature now leading a horrific army of its own. He locked optics on the beast for the first time and felt an intense intelligence. It was the end of the savage emperor, and the beginning of the monster. Bloodron pushed aside the painful thoughts of his final days of cybertronity as he descended to the ground below, grimly accepting his role as monster as he transformed and landed heavily on the metal ground of the Iaconian outskirts before a crowd of dozens there to greet him. "So, what do you have for me?"
The hideous thrall named Shokaract knelt before him, as did the other thralls and mutants, as well as four chained prisoners who were forced to their knees. "Oh lord Bloodron, most high of Violen Jiger's offspring, most powerful of gener…"
"Enough of the platitudinous titles!" Bloodron spat in annoyance, then looked over the prisoners, focusing on two. "I know why these two have been brought before me," he then gestured to the other two kneeling robots, robots who looked to have suffered more than a little brutality, "but those do not possess the potential to be turned, and based on their injuries and unwillingness to submit, they seem unlikely thralls."
"Prisoners my lord." The dark, multi-limbed Shokaract replied. "They were in leadership positions. I felt it wise to allow someone far above my station to evaluate their usefulness and decide their fate."
"You were right, not that their performance in Peptex would suggest we would need further advantage but keeping them alive for me to decide their fate harms nothing and may yield some benefit." Bloodron nodded with only the slightest hint of approval. "Who are they?"
Shokaract turned and marched over to the two similarly shaped kneeling prisoners and grabbed the darkly colored one, lifting him and dragging him in front of Bloodron, throwing him to the ground forcefully. "This one is called Deep Cover, he's Head of Nova Cronum Investigations." Shokaract turned and retrieved the lighter colored prisoner, dragging him before Bloodron as well and thrusting him to the ground. "This one is Red Alert, he was Sentinel Prime's Head of Security."
"So, this one is higher ranking and likely knows more?" Bloodron said as he stepped on Red Alert.
"Yes, my lord." Shokaract replied with a bowed head.
The massive Bloodron then stepped off Red Alert. "Hold him in place and make him watch." Shokaract and two other thralls whose names Bloodron had no interest in learning immediately complied and held the barely struggling Security Director in place, forcing him to face Bloodron as the giant sparkeater stepped over Deep Cover. He turned to face Red Alert with a smile before stooping down and violently tearing into Deep Cover. The dark robot screamed in agony as his back was torn to shreds, but his screaming ceased as Bloodron viciously yanked his blue spark from out of his back and held it in his fluid-soaked hand before Red Alert's horrified optics. Bloodron then slid the blue orb into his mouth, barely squeezing it in and then down his throat, swallowing it whole. He displayed a dripping grin to the remaining prisoner. "Delicious. This need not be your fate. Answer my questions, and you can serve out your existence as a thrall. I give you my word."
Though terrified, Red Alert remained defiant. "Just kill me. I'm telling you nothing."
Bloodron laughed and gave a light smack to the side of the prisoner's head. "I like the spirit, and I'm genuinely convinced that you'll provide a good challenge. I look forward to breaking you." He looked to the two thralls assisting Shokaract. "Take him back to wherever you were keeping him, I'll deal with him later." He then peered at Shokaract and nodded toward the other two prisoners. "Show me what else you've brought me."
Shokaract nodded and led Violen Jiger's second in command over to the remaining chained robots. "This one," he announced pointing to the robot on the ground with what appeared to be bestial features indicating an animalistic alternate mode, "is called Blip." He then pointed at the other prisoner, one possessing features that would seem to indicate a flight capable alternate mode. "This one is designated Bomb-Burst."
Bloodron grumbled a noise that indicated his understanding and nodded as he stood over his thrall and the two prisoners. "Tell me of yourself Blip, what makes you special?"
"Speh…special?" The frightened robot muttered. "Well, I'm strong, very strong, and pretty clever, and I'm loyal, and my shell mode is that of a horrifying monster. I know what you're planning for me," he glanced over to his fellow prisoner, "for both of us, and I'm cool with that. I'm on board. But I'd be so much more useful to you as one of…well, as something like you, and not like them." He nodded back toward a few of the Vrykol snarling in the distance.
"Alright." Bloodron replied emotionlessly and turned to Bomb-Burst. "And you?"
Bomb-Burst smiled arrogantly. "I served for over a decade on one of Sentinel Prime's covert kill squads. Very secret, very illegal group consisting of only three teams, each with only six members. Only Sentinel Prime knew of our existence. Even Red Alert back there had no knowledge of us. We were trained in the arts of espionage, demolitions, assassination, tracking, interrogation, torture and a multitude of other disciplines. I'm equipped with a flight-capable alternate mode that can fly silently. There isn't a weapon in existence I can't wield proficiently, there isn't a Cybertronian I can't kill," he shrugged, "though Violen Jiger and probably yourself might be a bit too much for me to overcome, even with the element of surprise and my choice of weaponry. Anyway, what else,"
"Why were these secret kill squads assembled?" A somewhat impressed and intrigued Bloodron interrupted.
Bomb-Burst shrugged again. "To find and eliminate certain targets that Prime wanted eliminated, foremost being Orion Pax." He looked down. "Yeah, I know, we failed big time on that one, though frankly I'm pretty sure he was already dead long before Prime put the assignment on our…"
"I've been informed that he was off-world until a few days ago." Bloodron interrupted again. "Your failure to eliminate that target is easily forgivable, but tell me, how was your success rate with your other targets?"
Bomb-Burst looked up and grinned evilly. "One hundred percent. Prime fed us a name, usually a high ranking Autobot, and within a few weeks the target was eliminated with extreme prejudice."
Bloodron studied the robot for several moments before displaying a grin and nodding. "You will be taken to Violen Jiger. Welcome brother, we need another Aswang to replace our fallen generals, and I believe you will fill in nicely." Bloodron turned to Blip. "You, I'm afraid, will not. But there is great honor in serving out your existence as a Vrykrol."
"Really?"
"No, not really." Bloodron replied laughingly before setting upon him. "But in a few moments your honor, should you have had any to begin with, will be a trait long forgotten." Blip couldn't even get out a scream before Bloodron plunged his claws into his chest and began the corruption of Blip's spark, only momentarily considering how his former, pre-corrupted self would have thought of him performing such a violation.
Jazz
Jazz quickly stepped aside as a gurney was pushed past him through the center of their over-taxed infirmary and wheeled to the far end to sit with other seriously, but not critically injured Autobots. Their losses had been heavy, though not as heavy as those of the government or high house forces. Autobots were familiar with guerrilla tactics. They were new to combat, but quick, low-profile actions and equally quick retreats were what they'd been doing since their conception, only now instead of wielding implements of graffiti and civil disobedience, they were wielding weapons of war. Of course, their prior lives and agendas did little if anything to prepare them for fighting monsters of myth, and here they were, licking their wounds in their formerly secret downtown Petrex facility, trying to finalize their casualty count and come up with plans. Their healers were limited in number, so their commander, Orion Pax, was convening the meeting of their leadership in the infirmary while his trained hands were inside the torso of an Autobot clinging to life.
Orion, and the rest of their leadership had done as well as could be expected. They were more effective than any group on the battle field save the Decepticons, and when considering that, unlike the Decepticons, the Autobots consisted of common citizens only marginally trained in combat, their effectiveness was surprising. But ultimately, they were beyond outclassed, as were every other group of the living, even Megatron's powerful and heavily armed and drilled rebels were little more than a speed bump for the sparkeaters. Or perhaps this was just Jazz trying to be optimistic about the performance of the Autobots. Judging from the vocalizations of nearly everyone else, the battle of Peptex had been a colossal cluster-slag. Jazz groaned as he heard approaching heavy footsteps and verified his fears with a glance upward to see the former gladiator approaching the group. Grimlock bitched when there was nothing to bitch about, but now armed with their crushing defeat just hours before, he would be an unbearable. "When the slag did we appoint the royal baby-cop as our leader? More importantly, why the slag did we appoint this chicken-shit nobody as our commander? What's he done? Who's he beaten?" Grimlock marched straight up to Orion Pax and towered over the Autobot Commander, whose attention was still on his patient. "What's stopping me from smearing you across the floor and taking your position?"
"Three things." Orion replied, still focused on the internal workings of his patient. "One, I assume you have some respect for the life of this Autobot, whether you know him or not, and would rather he not die. Two, that's not how leadership is determined for the Autobots, or any higher functioning organization or society. And three, at the very least, we are both capable of destroying sparkeaters and therefore useful to our cause, so it'd be the height of stupidity to engage in an altercation that will leave both of us inoperative."
"Oh, you really think you could render me inoperative?" Grimlock chuckled ominously.
Orion finished working on the unconscious Autobot on the wheeled slab in front of him and nodded to a smaller Autobot off to the side, who stepped up and wheeled the patient away. The young Autobot Commander then looked over toward the center of the infirmary where a line of patients was positioned in front of where Ratchet was working. "Bring me the next one." Orion finally looked up at Grimlock, his look resolute but bearing no animosity and only a hint of exasperation. "Yes Grimlock, you would be laid up in the infirmary for more than a little while. I'm not saying I can beat you, but I know that you won't be walking away unscathed. Frankly, you wouldn't be walking away at all. You wouldn't be the first 'biggest badass on the planet' I've faced. I'm sure Megatron required a fair bit of medical attention after our first tussle, and I'm far better now than I was then." The next patient was wheeled in front of him and he nodded to Grimlock. "But honestly, I'm really hoping the first two reasons are enough to keep you from attacking me right now." Orion turned his optics back down and began attending to the massive head-wound of his new patient. "I understand if you have some concerns with my leadership, and you are more than welcome to address them with Autobot leadership, but do so in the correct manner, through the correct channels, at a more appropriate time in a more appropriate place."
A low growl could barely be heard emanating from Grimlock for a few seconds, but it quickly went away, and he leaned down and in closer to Orion's face. "You're useful Pax, both here and on the battlefield. I don't want you dead, I don't want you inoperative, but you are NOT fit to be our leader. And there isn't going to be a more appropriate time than now. Keep working on the injured, but we're short on spare time to have some sort of pointless convocation to appoint a new leader, nor do we have a corrupt senate or ornamental bauble to select some highborn shit as leader, which is unfortunate for you as you're the only highborn shit around here."
"Eat a rod, beast!" Mirage growled from his gurney on the other side of the room, trying to administer to his leg wound himself as he wasn't critical enough to warrant the attention of one of the few trained healers.
"Is a high house still a high house if there's only one member left?" Grimlock snarked back at him.
"Grimlock!" Jazz called out before Mirage could lash out at the hulking warrior. Jazz noted that he wasn't afraid, which made him both proud of himself and more than a little confused. Grimlock was a physical juggernaut, while Jazz was, well above average physically and very good with his hands, but nowhere near capable of lasting more than a minute against the gray and gold behemoth towering over him. "Look bud, we'll discuss your dissatisfaction with our leadership as soon as we're no longer scrambling, but for now could you please stop distracting the medical personnel, including Pax, and maybe make yourself useful in some capacity? Some capacity outside of the infirmary maybe?"
"Leak off, Jazz." Grimlock grumbled. "You twats decided to have your leadership pow-wow here, I'm staying here. I'll stay out of the way of any medical personnel, but you're all going to hear me out. First, I agree Pax makes a useful asset to our cause but appointing him leader was slagging insane. I have no idea what you guys were thinking. Try to make me understand, please. We have this kid, pretty impressing first year of life, off to a good start, I'll give him that, but them he goes underground for the next fourteen years!"
"Outer space actually." Jazz corrected.
"Even better, he leaves the planet, only to return when Sentinel Prime is dead and it's safe for Prince Pax-voy to come home." Grimlock continued, seeming to hide his annoyance at the fact that Orion didn't seem to be paying him any attention. "Not really the picture of courage, running away from his problems like that."
"He didn't run away, he was shanghaied." Jazz corrected. "And he had no way of getting home until Roller Pax went to retrieve him."
"So he says." Grimlock muttered.
"You're suggesting that I'm a liar." Orion calmly replied, his focus still appearing to be entirely on his new patient despite his response. Grimlock seemed almost happy, as though he planned to use this to further goad Orion into conflict, but he paused as Orion's face turned upward and he locked his gaze onto Grimlock's. "No, seriously, do you really believe that I'm lying about that?"
Jazz watched as Grimlock mulled something over before finally shaking his head. "Even if what you say is true, it hardly makes you worthy of leadership."
"No, it doesn't." Orion turned back down at the injured head he was working on. "But while off-world I did fight a war. I did rise to the rank of general, of a regional governor of sorts, the equivalent of an emir, and I led my lands, and was asked to lead the forces of other lands, into battle. I'm not claiming to be worthy of Autobot leader, I never asked to be Autobot leader, but I do have more experience than you seem to think."
"Then what the hell happened out there, General Pax?" Grimlock snarled. "Your brilliant planning led us into a colossal ass-whooping! Nothing you did or instructed your soldiers to do amounted to a bucket of piss!" Grimlock pointed his finger at Orion but held off from pushing it against him seemingly out of respect for the medical work he was performing. "You were slagging useless!"
"I am open to all strategic suggestions." Orion replied indifferently. "Though to be honest, I'm not expecting much from you, Grimlock. You're a brilliant close quarters warrior, perhaps the greatest in the world apart from Violen Jiger and one or two of his generals, and I've heard you're an exceptionally effective squad commander and even a more than adequate platoon commander. But by all accounts, you have difficulty wrapping your head around anything larger than a hundred or so troops and one or two fronts. You also lack the temperament needed for the non-combat aspects of what Autobots need to do and represent. Your judgement has also been called into question on numerous occasions from what I've read in your file,"
"You've had time to read my file?" Grimlock asked, genuinely surprised.
"I had a few hours between accepting my role and the start of the battle in Peptex." Orion replied. "Basically Grimlock, you have a great deal going for you, and we need you, but you aren't quite ready to assume command of the Autobots. That's just my opinion on the matter, feel free to seek out other Autobots to contradict that if you feel I've misjudged you."
"Trust me Pax, you haven't." Jazz stated. "If anything, you're a lot more diplomatic than any of the rest of us have been with him." Jazz turned and looked up at Grimlock, weathering the glare without issue. "And despite our loss today, I can state that no top ranking Autobot is regretting our decision to offer leadership to Orion Pax."
"Yes, all hail the Last Convoy!" A wounded horn-bearing Maximal on one of the gurneys called out.
"You shouldn't even be here!" Grimlock yelled back. "Whose decision was it to open our doors and ranks to every hard-luck shitbird on the planet?"
"It was a consensus reached by the pre-Orion Pax leadership." Blaster answered as he marched quickly into the infirmary, his approach prompting Orion to look up with hope-filled optics, optics that dimmed as Blaster shook his head. "Sorry Sir, the Axiom forces have no update on their emir's status." Orion hid his disappointment admirably as he nodded. "We do have a small party that's just arrived. They're led by the Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Tartaran Gates, he had withdrawn from the battle with House Ambus loyalists, but split off from them to come here. He wishes to pledge himself to the one to have rescued Omega Supreme and the first to kill a sparkeater in fifteen million years."
"My brother Roller was as responsible for those feats as I was." Orion countered as he continued his work on his patient. "But we'll happily accept his service."
"That's good to hear, Orion Pax of House Convoy." The old blue robot called out as he carried what appeared to be a protoform in his arms into the infirmary behind Blaster.
"It's Orion Pax of Iacon." Orion grumbled, but smiled as he looked up at Kup. "Lord Commander, it's an honor and relief to see you again. I didn't get a chance to say so before, but I offer my deepest condolences for the carnage that has befallen your order. Perhaps if Cybertron had given the Wardens the respect and resources they deserved, the horror that befell us all could have been averted." Orion looked down at protoform, one that had taken its overall form and was already starting to display more than a little pink. "Was she born near our battle field?"
"Aye, Commander Pax. Found her as we made our way out. Managed to save a handful but failed to help the hundreds of others she was born with." Kup replied sadly.
"You saved more newborns than I." Orion replied and looked more intently at the developing protoform. "She looks like she's progressing well and should be healthy and complete. You've done well in getting her here. Please place her on a gurney, I do not believe she requires medical attention, but we can keep an eye on her and make sure she's safe and content until it's time for our evacuation," he looked from Blaster to Jazz, "which needs to be in a matter of hours at the most."
"Yes sir, the transports are being loaded with every asset we can fit as we speak." Blaster replied.
Orion turned his attention back to Grimlock. "I know you're not satisfied with how things are being left here but lend your strength to the relocation effort. We need everyone contributing as much as they can to make this happen."
Grimlock grumbled. "You're right, I'm not happy, and this will definitely be revisited, but fine, I'll help haul shit into the freighters." With that the massive Nyonian marched out grumbling the entire way.
Orion turned back to Kup and smiled. "So, does your very young friend have a name?"
Kup chuckled. "Yes Commander Pax, yes she does, and you had a role in that name. She's a beauty, truly cee as your alien benefactors would call her, so I named her Arcee."
Orion smiled. "I have a dear friend that would bear a grin to his dying day were he to hear this."
Soundwave
Megatron was anxious, to the point where his anxiety was emanating off him in strong enough waves that Soundwave couldn't help but sense it. The defeat did not sit well with his commander, in the years that they had known each other, Soundwave had never seen or felt Megatron like this. By nearly every measure the Decepticon Commander was keeping himself composed and only displaying a look of powerful confidence, but Soundwave was slightly unnerved by his leader's nervousness. "Lord Megatron, I am certain Trepan will have a more optimistic report than what Shockwave presented."
"Have you ever known your kinsman to be wrong in an analysis of a scientific nature?" Megatron snapped back.
"Negative sir." Soundwave answered, turning and looking through the windshield at the approaching mountain range in the distance. "They were able to transport it here in a matter of hours?"
"The requirements for the mobile battle station characteristics were completed years ago." Megatron grumbled. "Everything but the brain was completed years ago. The Constructicons have performed their functions admirably, it's Trepan that's left me disappointed."
"Constructicons?" Soundwave asked.
"Scrapper's team." Megatron replied. "I think I'm going to start using team designations with the 'con' suffix for simplicities' sake."
Soundwave nodded, Megatron didn't need his approval or compliments on a good idea. "Lord Megatron, do we really need to wait for the completion of the brain module to utilize this battle station?"
Megatron leaned forward in his seat in the forward passenger section and peered out the windshield to share the view Soundwave was taking in. "Tell me Soundwave, all else being equal, what happens when a piloted craft engages a living Transformer with a comparable alt-mode? Whether we're talking about an aerial dogfight or a mech-suit slugging it out with a Cybertronian in robot mode, when the Transformer has similar speed, strength, firepower or whatever applicable assets to the piloted craft, who consistently comes out the victor?"
Soundwave nodded his understanding. "The living being always defeats the craft. Even when the odds are tipped in favor of the craft, the living Transformer is consistently victorious. Sentinel Prime's battle armor gave him greater strength, firepower and durability than even you, and you made short work of him."
"And flyers?" Megatron pressed.
"Outside of the involvement of extreme extenuating circumstances, there are no recorded instances of a piloted aircraft defeating a living Transformer with a jet alternate mode in aerial combat." Soundwave recounted. "None."
"So, the answer is yes," Megatron grumbled, "we do need to wait for the completion of the brain module modifications and transference. I just need to find a way to motivate Trepan into shaving years off his completion date." They sat the remainder of the way in silence before the shuttle settled gently on a piece of flat metal ground before a large cave. The two exited the craft and made their way into the cave, traveling miles down beneath the surface until they reach a vast subterranean facility with their Trypticon battle station laid out in the center, nearly taking up the entirety of the vast expanse. "Trepan!" Megatron called out, his voice echoing off the metal and rock walls.
The sounds of work and bustle that had been going on throughout the cave immediately ceased, and a moment later tiny specks of sound that were running footsteps could be heard. The sounds got louder as the runner got closer, and soon Trepan could be seen rounding the outside of the battle station. He finally reached the visitors and presented them a nervous smile. "Lord Megatron, Soundwave, it is good to see you? When Shockwave send word that the relocation would need to be initiated immediately, I feared for the worst."
"We averted the worst," Megatron grumbled, "though not by much. The Decepticons survive, but we are no match for this sparkeater king and his army. Not until we have a living, functioning Titan to wield against them." The Decepticon Commander took a threatening step toward the scientist. "So, tell me Trepan, WHEN will we have a living, functioning Titan?"
"I'm sorry my lord, I had hoped Shockwave would have…"
"Shockwave presented me with a timeframe that was completely unacceptable." Megatron interrupted agitatedly.
"Perhaps unacceptable, but unfortunately, unavoidable." Trepan answered humbly, but with less fear than most others in his position would have. "I promise you Sir, I am working as expeditiously as possible, but the magnitude of the work is…unprecedented."
Megatron grumbled and marched past the scientist, looking up at the black and purple mountain of a battle station. He took in its sleek, dagger-like shape, the massive number of access ports and cannons all over it, and while still enraged, seemed to recognize what Trepan was talking about. "Get back to work then, Trepan. Let nothing interrupt your progress. I will give you your years, just give me my Titan!" Megatron turned and glared at Trepan, a silent order to get back to his duties, and once the scientist had scampered away, the Decepticon Commander turned to Soundwave. "The coalition must continue…for the time being."
Rattrap
He always got a thrill from stealing. A surge of adrenalex coursing through his circuitry, his senses dialed up beyond the limits of what he thought was their maximum, and the instincts inherent to both his Cybertronian physiology as well as those of his adopted faux-organic mimic systems on full alert made life worth living. And this time he even had morality on his side…which felt less vindicating than it felt weird. But justified theft or not, he was just happy to be doing what he was doing. He skimmed over the ceiling tiles of one of the Axalon's cargo bays and adjusted one so that he could peer down with his rodent eyes. There it was directly below, the crate holding all the Waspinator body parts that Polar Claw had ordered confiscated upon their discovery when that jackass Nightbeat made his escape.
Rattrap remembered clearly coming back online as other Maximals sprinted into his quarters to check on him. Their initial looks of concern immediately changed to extreme worry at seeing all the body parts scattered about his room, and then confusion at realizing Rattrap was whole and the parts couldn't belong to him, and then revulsion at realizing he had been collecting the anatomical remains of not just a Transformer, but one specific Transformer who had repeatedly been dismantled over the course of thousands of years. These prissy idiots lacked any sense of humor at all. How could they not see the hilarity of Rattrap's Waspinator collection? Slaggin' morons!
Polar Claw had even gone so far as to order him to attend psychiatric treatment once a week until the big furry killjoy felt he was less of a 'slagging nutjob'; his words. Having a dark sense of humor and a non-existent gag-reflex when it came to the macabre didn't make one a nutjob, especially after experiencing millennia of warfare, it just meant he could channel his…hmmm, let's go with the human term of shellshock, Rattrap was able to channel his shellshock into, if not artistic, at least non-dangerous outlets. And it wasn't like they were organic or anything. Their body parts didn't rot into putrid hunks of garbage that attracted carnivores, scavengers or disease; hell, outside of being laid on Cybertron itself their corpses and dismembered parts really didn't decompose at all. Vector Sigma couldn't reclaim their bodies if their bodies were on Earth, hence their morgue being filled with still pristine and clearly recognizable corpses that were tens of thousands of years old.
Rattrap silently slid the tile he had adjusted to sneak a peek, now shifting it enough for him to squeeze his body through but stopping and parting his nanite pelt to reveal a loop of dozens of feet of thin line and a hook. He rolled to his rodent back and looped several inches of line attached to the hook through a metal beam above him, staring in annoyance at the tiny nub that should have been a thumb, but rodent evolution veered away from that path leaving him with scanned DNA of a thumb-less animal. He really didn't need it, despite the lack of an opposable thumb his rodent hands were quite dexterous, and able to perform this task well. And in other situations, should he need to employ some more complex grasping, he could always transform into what Primal used to call their 'mechanical primate' mode. It hadn't been mammals, but the highest functioning organic species on Cybertron, at least according to the fossil record and legend, had evolved into bipedal, dual fore-limbed forms with five digit paws on the end of each limb with one of those digits on each of the forepaws being opposable, and Primus, the Guiding Hand, or the selective pulls guiding nature influenced the metallico to mimic that organic shape as it had with so many other successful organic forms, including the large cranium and brain. It was a huge evolutionary shift, and according to those nerds Primal and Rhinox, one that seemed to be either perfectly timed for mechanical beings as the heightened intelligence appeared to luckily coincide with what they claimed was a large-scale weakening of Vector Sigma's sparks, or a case of a divine force planning it that way. Rattrap had only paid the slightest of attention to their scientific discussions; the prior two Convoys were very smart but seemed to lack the intense interest in science that Rhinox had, so these conversations polluting the fun of the Axalon rec rooms really didn't come about until Primal was brought online. Now, more than eleven thousand years later, Rattrap would kill to be annoyed by one of those boring scientific discussions going on behind him while he and B'Boom swapped childish insults at one another.
Rattrap broke himself out of his brief bout of melancholy and finished securing the hook, repelling slowly down into the cargo bay. He was halfway down when, "Bzzt." Shit! Who the hell would be calling him now? The buzz from his wrist communicator wasn't loud, but an incoming transmission could draw attention of whatever humorless asshat was on duty at the sensor array. Fifteen years ago, it wouldn't be an issue, but ever since the clown claiming to be Atrium of the Crystal City landed and started the chain of events that would lead to more Predacons finding them, every Maximal on Earth was on full alert. If it was someone else on the ship contacting him, the transmission might fly under the radar, but if it was coming in from outside the Axalon, his goose was likely cooked. "Bzzt."
"What?" He snarled quietly and angrily into his wrist communicator, mentally ordering his fur to retract away from his wrist so that he could see the caller's identity on the small display. He groaned quietly as he saw the word 'Unknown Caller' staring back at him.
"Hello Rattrap, not sure why I'm doing this, I guess I feel I owe you some sort of explanation for some reason." That jerk-off Nightbeat's voice came through.
"Now's not a good time, pal." Rattrap grumbled.
"Don't worry, I have to keep it short anyway." Nightbeat replied. "Don't need you and your friends tracking me."
"Whaddaya want?" Rattrap snapped.
"Not apologizing, honestly you guys should be apologizing to me…as well as thanking me for the starhopper you stole from me." Nightbeat started. "But somehow, I'm worried you might feel betrayed if you find out I'm seeking out the Manifest without telling you, so just so there aren't any surprises, I'm going to find the Manifest."
"Look asshole, you don't want to do that!" Rattrap snapped angrily. "Those fairy tale heroes you think are on there are less heroes than conquerors. Leave them be, we'll all be better off."
"It's not that I disbelieve you," Nightbeat replied, "it's that whatever negative arises from Guardian Prime's expansionist ambitions will pale in comparison to the evil overrunning Cybertron right now. The Manifest would be a powerful weapon against the sparkeaters, and Guardian Prime, if he still lives, would be a symbol of inspiration for the frightened and demoralized masses to rally behind. I cannot pass up the opportunity to bring about what may be Cybertron's only chance of salvation. I'm sorry if you're unable to comprehend that."
"We get it, believe me, we're aware of the dangers of sparkeaters." Rattrap quietly snapped back, paused for a moment before continuing. "This planet was used as a testing ground for many of Jhiaxus's experiments, one of which was his attempt to recreate sparkeaters. Rhinox found his notes, and he found them to be ludicrous and quickly dismissed the possibility as ridiculous. Unfortunately, as we were discovering the notes, Cryotek was discovering his one successful test subject in stasis, cut a portion of his green corrupted spark off to keep him loyal and in line, and pointed him at us. Subject X, or Rampage as we took to calling him, was something we were completely unprepared for, an un-killable sadist even stronger than Galvatron…that's the Galvatron from Beest, not Guardian Prime's frenemy, almost as clever as Cryotek, and crueler than both combined. So, believe me, Cybertron infested with these things scares the hell out of all of us. But we have orders, orders from Convoy, so I'm sorry, we're going to have to stop you." Rattrap dimmed his optics for a moment. "Especially as your success would mean that Jhiaxus would have an entire planet of test subjects to continue where he left off with X."
"I can see that Jhiaxus isn't part of the equation." Nightbeat replied in an attempt to reach a compromise.
"Not enough, pal." Rattrap replied as he heard footsteps just outside the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to get pinched thanks to your uninvited call."
"Good luck with that. I'm sure you deserve whatever punishment you're about to get, but I hope they do go easy on you anyway." Nightbeat replied. "I'm about out of time anyway. Take care." As soon as the words were out of Nightbeat's mouth, the door slid open and B'Boom and Cybershark were standing in the doorway. The lights went on and they immediately looked up at Rattrap.
"Hey guys, I know how this looks." Rattrap started.
Cybershark raised his wrist to his mouth. "Recipient is Rattrap, who's in cargo bay gamma repelling down from the ceiling."
"He's trying to reclaim his bug collection." B'Boom chimed in.
"Who called him?" Polar Claw's furious voice came through the speaker in Cybershark's wrist.
"It was that tool Nightbeat." Rattrap replied loudly as he began climbing back up toward the open ceiling tile.
"You're not getting away!" B'Boom called out, his alarm clearly feigned, an attempt to justify his raising of his rifle and firing a shot that burned through the cord that was keeping Rattrap aloft. The large rat dropped gracelessly down into the crate of Waspinator parts, causing the crate to burst and sending anatomical parts spilling all over the floor.
Rattrap transformed and popped to his feet, but both feet landed on rounded body parts and he lost his balance, falling back to the ground. From a prostrate position he looked up and glared at the blue robot. "Was that really necessary?"
B'Boom and Cybershark just chuckled at him, Cybershark finally speaking. "Come with us, I'm sure Claw is gonna want some words with you."
Orion Pax
Half the freighters were already off and headed south, the other half were simply awaiting the order to take off. Orion raised his hand to his wrist as the engines of every craft still on the ground save one small shuttle roared in preparation to take off. "Blaster, how close are they?"
"Nine miles and closing, sir." Blaster's voice came through. "I suggest you and the big guy scrap this plan and leave now."
Grimlock came up from behind Orion and stopped by his side. "How many?"
"Looks to be eight sprinting across the ground," Blaster replied, "in that fast but ungainly gait indicative of sparkeaters. And one flier, though a flapper, not a thruster."
"You're sure about the count?" Orion questioned.
"Yup, total of nine. They're the only group of Cybertronian or Cybertronian-like entities anywhere near downtown Petrex." Blaster replied. "Not worth risking your lives over."
"For eight of the mindless beasts, probably not." Orion replied. "But a flier means an alternate mode, and thus far at least Violen Jiger seems to have reserved those for his Aswangs. It's worth the risk to eliminate an Aswang."
"Might be a thrall." Grimlock muttered. "Though killing one of those slagging traitors is worth the risk in my book."
"Not in mine." Blaster shot back. "Even if it is one of the thinking sparkeaters, I still don't think it's worth risking you two for this." Blaster continued very forcefully. "Our leader and our heaviest hitter. This is a terrible idea."
"They need to sense us," Orion explained, "they need to be thrown into a ravenous frenzy, throw their obedience to the Aswang off and have them charge after us into the base, hopefully with their Aswang in tow."
"Point one percenters are needed for that sort of bait." Grimlock muttered.
"Instruct everyone else to take off, and you are to launch as well, just hang back enough to pick us up after we're done here." Orion ordered.
"That's assuming your green sparks aren't in the bellies of those things when you're done there." Blaster replied. "But I'm lifting off now, just give me a shout when you're done monster-hunting." With that the engines of the small shuttle roared to life and all remaining craft took to the air.
Orion looked to Grimlock and nodded back toward their deserted base down the street. "We should prepare for our guests."
The two turned and marched back into the downtown area, away from the clearing where their ships had launched from. "You're taking a big chance here." Grimlock muttered. "Even if you survive the sparkeaters, there's a chance I may kill you."
"No there isn't." Orion smiled subtly. "You may act against me at some point, but you will want everyone to know about it. You will want to prove your superiority with some sort of audience in attendance. You would hate the idea of ascending to power, even if eliminating me accomplished that, which it wouldn't, but even if it were possible, you'd hate the idea of ascending to power via underhanded trickery. You're just not wired that way."
"Has it occurred to you that whoever put my file together may be a slaggin' idiot who doesn't know what the slag they're talking about?" Grimlock grumbled ominously.
"Prowl can be called an asshole, but never an idiot." Orion smirked. "And even in the rare instances where he's wrong, he still knows what he's talking about."
"Had I known he's be scripting my biography, I'd never have let him recruit me." The hulking former gladiator snapped. "Did we leave any engex in the base?"
"We didn't leave anything in the base but what's needed for this little endeavor." Orion replied as they drew close to the non-descript looking building. "Besides, they'll be here in moments, there wouldn't be time for a drink."
"Slag you, there's always time f…" a snarling from the rooftop above them interrupted Grimlock's rebuttal. "Maybe you're right, no time for drinking." They both looked up to see a horrific large sparkeater glaring hungrily down at them, and above it a large bat swooped overhead.
"Remember, Aswangs aren't inherently stronger than the Vrykol, the one that attacked Roller seemed to be a case of a Point One Percenter your size being turned." Orion instructed as they took defensive positions, Grimlock drawing his broadsword and activating the energized radiation channeled along the blade. Orion paused a moment before activating a device Erector had designed for him years before and had installed earlier that day. His right hand retracted back into his wrist and a surge of orange energy shot out and took the shape of a battle axe, a large blade on one end and a smaller blade on the other, and according to Erector, both blades would cut better than any metal version. Even if he was right, Orion was still intent on reclaiming the axe he had forged and shaped on Junk years before. "So, don't assume that the bat is the most formidable. Frankly, he seems a bit on the slight side."
"Screw you, highborn assface!" The bat snapped back in a whiny, young-sounding voice as it took perch next to the roof-mounted Vrykol.
"Highborn assface?" Grimlock asked, genuinely perplexed and slightly amused by the insult.
"Kind of a childish insult for someone locked beneath the surface for fifteen million years." Orion observed.
"I was one of you until this morning." The bat replied, then transformed to robot mode, a slender androgynous humanoid mode with a pliable hair-like coiffure flipping from the top of its head and hanging off to the side of the left optic. "I know who you are, Orion Pax of House Convoy, and I'm the same age as you, you pretty-boy jock shower-bag! I just wasn't born of prissy high metallico or found by some rich bitch looking for a pet. I had to fend for myself in the streets of Iacon and wound up getting conscripted a couple days ago. I guess even after nearly being wiped out, House Honorum still had enough power to get the cops to round up the able-bodied poor and lead us to your stupid war. I fought for you stupid elito-jerks, and you bastards left me on the battlefield when things got a little too real for you! But I see that your noble fender made it safely away."
"Poor little whingy bitch boy." Grimlock grumbled back. "At least, I think you were male, right? Honestly, kinda hard to tell with you. Could go either way."
"Screw you, you big jock…"
"Shower-bag?" Grimlock finished for him. "Not very creative with the insults, are ya kid?"
"Fuuuuu…" the frustrated newly-formed monster tried to come back but wasn't able to come up with anything right away.
"I thought your brother said they were kind of selective with who got to be ass-bags." Grimlock interrupted as he turned to and addressed Orion.
"It's Aswangs, and I'm guessing his ability to fly played a role." Orion answered before addressing the slender dark robot. "What's your name, kid?"
"Don't call me kid! We're the same age!" The sentient sparkeater yelled back. "I was born in the same pulse as you fifteen years ago! I'm an adult now!"
"Primus, fine, sorry." Orion replied, trying to hide his annoyance. "What's your name?"
"It's Nightscream, and while you think I'm slight, I can definitely kick your ass now!" The young robot barked back as the rest of the sparkeaters started rounding the building, snarling at the two Autobots. "And I wasn't picked just because I can fly! I'm special! I have a lot of great traits, traits Violen Jiger can see in me, unlike you stupid highborn jerks!"
"That is one angry, angsty kid." Grimlock muttered as he stared down the slowly approaching sparkeaters on either side of them.
"I'm NOT a kid!" Nightscream yelled loudly in his adolescent-sounding voice.
"Fine, I'll stick to calling you a bitch then." Grimlock replied. "You really don't have grounds for saying that word is inaccurate, do you, Bitchscream?"
"Grimlock…" Orion groaned in exasperation.
"What, you want to be diplomatic with him?" Grimlock snapped back. "We're going to negotiate?"
"No, of course not. We definitely need to destroy them all." Orion replied before looking back up at Nightscream. "But he's clearly been teased and treated poorly his entire life, we should try to make his final moments something better."
"Don't you…" Nightscream paused as he got hung up on the word.
"Condescend." Grimlock offered.
"Shut up!" Nightscream yelled but paused before continuing. "Don't condescend me, you pretty-boy jerk highborn asshole!"
"I approve, asshole is better than assface." Grimlock teased. "And definitely better than fuuuu."
"Kill them!" Nightscream barked at the other eight sparkeaters, who had leapt into action before the order was fully out of his mouth.
A rapid red blur whipped around Grimlock and an even more rapid orange blur whipped around Orion as their energized weapons sliced through air and corrupted metal, sending sparkeater body parts in multiple directions and the charging cybervores back to heal, regroup, and reinitiate their attacks in a more measured and cautious manner. This prey was anything but helpless, as evidenced by the plight of one of the sparkeaters who'd been cut open from neck to crotch by Orion Pax's axe. The wobbly creature, unsure of what was going on and barely able to remain balanced on his feet with his frayed body, could only watch from his awkward side-hanging angle as Grimlock transformed to his dracosaurian mode and snapped into his split chest with his bestial jaws, pulling free the exposed spark chamber. The beast then turned to two other sparkeaters and spat the chamber at them ahead of a stream of blue flame that melted their armor and the chamber housing, and a moment later ignited the corrupted spark creating a blast that sent everyone falling back. Orion was first to get back to his feet and was upon the two scorched sparkeaters that had taken the brunt of the blast and had their torsos sliced open within two seconds. One fully exposed spark was flung toward the bat leading the attack, and a damaged but whole spark chamber was thrown toward several other sparkeaters. Grimlock's flame targeted the exposed spark first, igniting it and blasting Nightscream back into the wall of the abandoned base. Grimlock's bestial head whipped back and fired his flame at the spark chamber landing on the ground in front of three of the mindless monsters, and like with their leader, they too were thrown back by the explosion.
"Fall back into the base." Orion ordered, heading toward the open door.
"That really necessary?" Grimlock countered but followed after him anyway. "Pretty sure we can take these guys without the fancy shit."
"Stick to the plan, and don't get cocky due to early success." Orion replied as he sprinted into the structure, the massive metal saurian right behind him. "If I've learned nothing else from these sparkeaters, I've at least learned that."
"That cunt is no Violen Jiger!" Grimlock spat, but followed the highborn shit he was forced, for now at least, to call leader. Orion seemed to ignore the comment as the two ran further into the base, hearing the recovering monsters scampering after them through the halls behind them. They sped into the stairwell, Grimlock transforming back to robot mode before both leaping down one flight at a time as they made their way toward the basement. Orion pressed off the wall at the base of each level toward the next downward level, turning mid-air to catch it with his foot each time, leaving the far less graceful Grimlock far behind him, but waited at the lowest level with his ion blaster drawn to provide cover to the former gladiator should he need it. One sparkeater was almost upon Grimlock as he turned toward the lowest level, but a shot to the head from Orion stopped him temporarily and allowed the two Autobots to run ahead toward a chamber set up in the middle of the lowest subterranean level. The chamber was a small fifty foot by fifty foot by fifty foot cube made of twelve inch thick metal, and the two jumped in and Orion slammed the door shut behind them. "Can't believe we're hiding from those pussies."
"We had to prepare for the likes of Bloodron," Orion explained, "may be overkill for this Nightscream and eight Vrykol."
"Five Vrykol. I killed three already." Grimlock boasted.
"You shot five," Orion snapped back almost playfully, "I'm the one that disensparked the bastards."
"Not the first one, you just gave him a cut." Grimlock grumbled, no discernible playfulness in his voice.
"A cut?" Orion replied. "I'd hate to see what you consider an actual wound."
"Yes, you would." Grimlock snapped as pounding began all over the box they were in. "You think they're all here?"
"You mean aside from the three you single-handedly wiped out?" Orion asked sarcastically.
"I though Convoy were supposed to be humble." Grimlock muttered.
"Yeah, they're all here." Orion replied, ending the banter. There was a small console next to the door of the vault, and Orion threw a switch to open a communications channel to the outside. "Nightscream, do you hear me?"
"You cowardly pussy!" Nightscream's voice snarled through the speaker. "You get scared, so you run back to your panic room? I thought you were supposed to be brave."
"In all fairness, this plan was for a threat much greater than the one you pose." Grimlock laughed back. "We were planning for that Bloodron guy…we got you."
"Screw yo…planning?" Nightscream's bravado was quickly replaced by confusion.
"Two Autobots, each with a green spark, left alone in an otherwise abandoned base, running down to the basement and locking themselves in a vault even after kicking your ass, and you still don't realize it's a slagging trap?" Grimlock continued. "You really are a stupid, self-important, angsty little bitch."
"Enough!" Orion growled, the channel still open so that the sparkeaters could still hear. "He's been shit on his entire life, he's just realizing he's about to die, do you really need to heap on even more torment?"
"Whaaa," Nightscream's nervous voice came through.
"He's a slagging sparkeater, who cares?" Grimlock snapped. "Why the hell should I play nice? We need to kill him! Hell, it's not even a him anymore, it's an it!"
"Yeah, we need to do this, but we don't need to revel in it." Orion replied before turning back to the speaker. "Nightscream, I'm sorry for your fate, but this is something that must be done. You're from Iacon right?"
"Yeah, but…"
"You're of the monotheistic faith?"
"Yeah, why…"
"May Primus have mercy on your spark." Orion stated before severing the communication's channel and throwing another switch. Even with the speaker muted, a thunderous roar could be heard, and the vault was rocked. Orion looked to Grimlock and nodded. "We should have plenty of time to end this before they recover."
"I just hope the whole building doesn't come down on our heads." Grimlock muttered as Orion ignited his axe and opened the door.
"Grapple swore that if Wheeljack's payload estimate was even remotely accurate, the structural integrity would hold for at least a matter of days." Orion explained as he set upon a sparkeater and sliced it open, tearing out it's spark and tossing the spark into the vault they had just exited. Grimlock did the same, and they continued doing that until five corrupted sparks lay within the vault and only a heavily melted and mangled Nightscream was left. The other sparkeaters continued twitching, but it would be another minute before they could coalesce to the point of being any sort of threat. Orion knelt next to the young Aswang and whispered. "I'm sorry Nightscream, I genuinely wish it didn't need to be this way."
"Don't lie, you hhheeeh…you highborn…ffff…fff…phony." The heavily damaged sparkeater growled. Orion shook his head and stood back up, acknowledging the futility of trying to explain himself to the other youth, and brought his axe down on the sparkeater, separating his chest and eliciting a howl of pain from the creature. The Autobot Commander then reached in and pulled out the corrupted blue spark and tossed it into the vault.
Grimlock them pulled a charge from a compartment in his hip, activated it, tossed it in with the sparks and pulled the door to the vault shut. A moment later the vault rocked heavily as a massive explosion went off inside of it, and all six of the writhing cybervores ceased moving and lay dead.
Orion stared down into the vacant black optics of Nightscream, barely visible in the orange glow given off by his axe. Grimlock came up to him and looked down as well. "You didn't actually like him, did you? I mean, even if he weren't a sparkeater, I hope you'd realize he'd still be a whiney pain in the ass, right?"
"Of course. But he still deserved better." Orion looked to the other sparkeaters as he pressed a button on his wrist communicator to summon Blaster. "They all did, but it's just more conspicuous with the ones that retain most of what they once were. As an Autobot, we more than anyone else need to feel for those who spent their lives being downtrodden, and we should never relish in the ending of a life, even when it's justified and necessary."
"Primus, killing soulless monsters should be completely guiltfree fun, and yet, you've managed to find a way to piss on that." Grimlock grumbled as he headed off toward the stairway. "That sanctity of life bullshit doesn't hold when dealing with the undead, jackass."
Orion looked up and offered a weak smile as he followed after Grimlock. "I think you and Roller would get along quite well."
"Does he think you're a tool too?" Grimlock's voice echoed in the enclosed stairwell.
"Yeah, most of the time anyway." Orion replied as he started leaping the stairs three at a time.
Moments later they were exiting the now creaky building, and Blaster's shuttle was descending onto the street in front of it. The two warriors entered the craft and Orion smiled at Blaster. "Thanks for the lift."
"Yeah, no problem sir." Blaster replied, a subdued grin of his own. "I've got most of the various faction leadership on the horn now, they've been holding for you."
"Put them through." Orion said as he sat down in the co-pilot seat in the cockpit. "Orion Pax here."
"Pax, glad you could finally make it." Delta Magnus's annoyed voice came through the speaker first.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Roller's concerned, and scolding voice burst through next. "That was a stupid slaggin' plan!"
"Where you successful?" Megatron's voice came through with the mildest hint of interest.
"Yes, though the target was not what I would consider high value." Orion replied. "Killed an Aswang and eight Vrykols, though the Aswang was a newly made fifteen-year-old named Nightscream who likely would not have been that useful to their cause."
"Are the two of you alright?" Roller asked, his voice slightly calmer than before.
"Yes, nothing more than a few scorch marks." Orion replied. "Though the building we just abandoned will need more than a little reinforcement before it's occupiable again."
"Enough of this." Delta Magnus shot. "Orion Pax, I need your Autobots to report to the Crystal City and assimilate into our combined forces."
"Negative sir, the Autobots and Maximals will not be doing that." Orion replied. "In fact, sir, a congregation of forces is a terrible idea. A large group will be easily detected and wiped out. The Autobots and Maximals will be continuing with the established Autobot system of separating into smaller semi-autonomous cells to avoid detection. We will remain in contact with each other, as well as any other government, Decepticon or other resistance forces to organize our efforts, but we will not physically be joining you at this time, nor will we be putting ourselves under your command. If you wish to take the head position in our overall fight against the sparkeaters, then fine, but neither the Autobots nor the Maximals will be pledging themselves to a government that does not view them as equals, nor will they ever submit to any high house."
"No high house except Convoy, is that it?" Delta Magnus replied.
"You're out of line, Emir Magnus," Roller grumbled with faux respect and courtesy in stating the title, "many have made a great deal of Orion's probable Convoy lineage, but my brother never has. He has always scoffed at the idea that he has any sort of birthright, even as one royal house begs him to accept their offer of one, and the entire planet tries to foist the name and honors of our most legendary one onto him. The Autobots are loyal to their cause, none more so than Orion, and the Maximals, well, anyone that knows Orion knows that he would never use their devotion to his ancestors for his own personal gain."
"The hero-worship you show your brother is nothing short of embarrassing." Delta Magnus replied but seemed to cool down. "Look, I bear no ill will toward Orion Pax, I hold him in extremely high regard, but his decision to keep his forces separate is a terrible mistake."
"Shut up Magnus, he's right." Megatron snapped. "A large force WILL be found in short order and will be slaughtered easily against Violen Jiger's forces. Like with the Autobots, my Decepticons will stand apart,"
"Nobody asked you to join us." Delta Magnus snarled.
Megatron continued, ignoring the comment. "And like with the Autobots, we will be dividing into smaller groups and fighting guerrilla style against these monsters, wearing them down, undermining them, assassinating their leadership as opportunities arise. It will take years, but we will use those years effectively to survive and strike, and in time we will find a way to eliminate Violen Jiger."
"I agree with Orion's course of action as well." Roller stated, his ignoring of Megatron's comments and sole focus on Orion noticed by all. "We'll need to remain in regular contact with each other, but small groups are the only way we'll survive."
"I recognize that!" Delta Magnus growled. "But we need one strong central leader overseeing it all, and I am the most fit for that role!"
"I'm sorry, Emir Magnus, but the Autobots will not be submitting to your authority." Orion stated diplomatically. "We will be your staunchest ally in this fight, and we will always be there when you need us, but we are independent of the government forces. I hope you can accept that, though whether you can or not, this is how it is going to be."
"You're a fool, Orion of Iacon." Delta Magnus grumbled.
"That's Orion P…wait, hold on." Roller's voice, initially angry but immediately switching to confused vanished, but came back a moment later. "Great news, shuttle just landed out front. Elita One has returned, she looks to be in pretty good shape." Orion leaned forward, a huge grin on his face, his reaction causing Blaster to display a subdued grin of his own. "Big block of a guy with her, doesn't look like one of her guards, looks to have some sort of animal shell mode. Hold on, here she is." Orion's spark surged with joyful relief.
There was some mumbling in the background before Elita's voice came through. "Hello everyone. I apologize for missing everything that's happened post battle, but I've been making my escape. I lament to inform you that my personal guard was all killed, but I do still possess the Apex Armor. I have also enlisted the aid of a very capable warrior, one Sir Backstop of the Amber Plains, though he insists that he will follow Orion Pax of Iacon and no one else."
"Who is Sir...Backstop, of the…where?" Delta Magnus asked.
"Elita, it's incredible to hear your voice." Orion gasped out giddily before pulling himself together. "I don't know of any Sir Backstop. Why would he be loyal to me?"
"Long story, Orion." She replied as professionally as she could, though Orion could sense the longing in her voice. "I think it best he tells it to you himself. So, what have I missed."
"Everyone but Delta Magnus is agreed that we need to branch into multiple small cells to fight the sparkeaters most effectively." Megatron replied. "Emir Magnus's ego is unwilling to accept that neither the Decepticons nor the Autobot/Maximal forces will swear fealty to him, but ultimately what Magnus's ego can or cannot accept is of no concern to us. We'll remain in contact, aid each other when we can, include each other in our overarching plans, but for now we're separating into small groups and settling down for guerrilla warfare. Good luck to you all, Megtron out."
"He's a complete asshole, and we'll need to kill him and dismantle everything he's done after the war," Roller chimed in after several seconds of silence had followed Megatron's abrupt departure from the conversation, "but basically he's right. We've got a loosely organized alliance here. We can firm it up a bit in the weeks to come, but we're at an impasse for any sort of unified leadership goals."
"Elita, I've made Roller aware of the Autobot and Maximal reconnoiter details, please be sure that this Sir Back…"
"Actually Orion, he just wants to be called Backstop." Elita interrupted. "I'm grateful to him for many reasons, so only I insist on the formality, but he's actually quite humble like you."
Orion smiled. "Well then, I look forward to meeting this Backstop. Primus speed to you all, and everyone, stay alive. Orion Pax out."
Violen Jiger
He did not enjoy riding in the shuttle, his forty-foot tall frame was not what the designers had in mind when it was constructed, and his ride to Centurion had been cramped to say the least. But this new technological world was beyond intriguing, and he was not so far removed from his cybertronity that he couldn't indulge his sense of wonder. But it had been indulged and going forward he would either wait for a larger craft with a larger door, or simply transform to his disintegrated shell mode and fly of his own volition. He straightened out and looked over the airfield, then turned his gaze toward the still heavily battle damaged Ambustion Point, the vast fortress built upon the birth pool of the Knight Ambus and home to those born there in later pulses. He despised the knights, especially the few he didn't get to see die like Ambus, but seeing the damage to his legacy brought him no joy. No, it brought him no joy because this damage was not done by his hand or on his orders. That rebel Megatron had arrange this, his forces slaughtering all but two of Ambus's descendants. The sparkeater king looked upon the jagged spires of the fortress, architectural attempts to emulate the pointed features of Ambus himself, a way to capture his essence in the castle itself. Many of those pointed features had been blasted off or dulled by the Decepticon attack, the smell of battle still thick in the air.
But however destructive the Decepticon assault had been, it had not been enough to force the citizens of Centurion to abandon their city, much to their misfortune. Had they left during or shortly after the Decepticon attack on their liege lords, they would have lived to see tomorrow. But the cries emanating from the streets below the airfield, the streets of Centurion that were now filled by swarms of panicking civilians soon to be prey to Violen Jiger and his minions, made clear their mistake. The extreme overcrowding of the metropolis would make herding them easy. Hungry sparkeaters were nearly impossible to direct, but his soldiers had been feeding non-stop over the last many hours, and sated, they could be counted on to do his bidding to the letter. That meant leaving all but a few alive, but keeping them penned in. Within their ranks he would find those that could be turned, and he would see them turned. Within their ranks he would find many more that would eagerly do his bidding to be left alive and protected, and he would swell the ranks of his thralls, in time entrusting them to run these cities-turned-ranches so that his army remained fed without overtaxing his limited food supply. Within their ranks there would be those witnessing the terror, the hopelessness, and they would find a way to get word out to those who had not yet shared their fate, and their words would spread terror and fear almost as effectively as Violen Jiger could himself.
"Highness!" The voice of his most trusted thrall called out to him. Chainsaw had been a subterranean dweller, one born ten million years ago, that had been resourceful enough to pique Bloodron's interest and earn a place as the Aswang's right hand, and in time, a place as one of Violen Jiger's advisors. He had earned such a degree of respect that should a sparkeater even so much as snarl in Chainsaw's direction, that sparkeater ran the risk of execution. Violen Jiger turned and smiled at his thrall, who was accompanied by another sub-dweller, a group that he had overheard being referred to as mutants by the forces of the living on the Peptex battlefield. This particular 'mutant' was called Sawtooth, another resourceful being that was not able to be turned, but he had proven useful enough to be consider perpetually off the menu for his army, which was far more difficult as his green spark was extremely difficult to ignore for his rank and file. "Word from Petrex."
"Greetings Chainsaw, hello Sawtooth. How are you liking Centurion?" The massive three-faced cybervore asked genially.
"Like everything else on the surface, it is so alien yet wondrous." Chainsaw replied.
"We eagerly await your orders on how to reshape it to your liking, my lord." Sawtooth bowed his head as he addressed his god.
"My lord, the squad sent to Petrex, the one led by the newly made Aswang Nightscream, has been eliminated." Chainsaw got straight to business.
"Eliminated?" Violen Jiger was intrigued. Nightscream was a mistake, he knew it even as he made it, but the mortality rate of his Aswangs had been higher than he thought possible and he felt the need to replenish the ranks. He could fly, and he was very young, so he told himself that there was time to let the youngster develop, but deep down he knew Nightscream wasn't fit. But he was still an Aswang, and had been sent with eight Vrykol, to a city that was all but abandoned. "Who could have eliminated them?"
"It appears they walked into a trap." Chainsaw replied. "We found them in what has been identified as an Autobot safehouse, their spark-less corpses charred and sliced open in the basement. We can investigate further if you'd like."
"No, it doesn't matter." Violen Jiger waved his hand and he turned back to look over the panic-stricken populace of the city below. "We knew some of our enemy was clever, and I knew Nightscream was unprepared. His loss is minor, hardly a bump in the road. It certainly won't delay us in falling about the rest of this planet in the manner we're falling upon this city." The chuckling of his thralls might have warmed him long ago, but now he felt nothing but a gluttonous desire to spread terror to every other city on this world.
