Chapter 4: Proving Grounds
The War World Fenlong
On the massive bridge of Dezaras' ship Black Shadow was making the rounds. Dezaras had appointed him captain while the general spent increasingly more time wooing the Predacon Emperor. His first and second mates Guyhawk and Fellbat were down with him on this particular trip, so he had to manage the entire command floor by himself. Rows and rows of consoles stretched before the window looking down on Euakryis. Black Shadow was forever impressed by the engineering of the War World. He never would have imagined a craft of its size being able to maneuver at all, but the shipwrights in Polyhex managed to build one for each of Dezaras' brothers. The Fenlong held massive destructive power, but the general was here on strictly diplomatic business. He faced exile or worse if he couldn't get Magmatron's aid.
The Savage City
Slugslinger was being watched.
At least, that's the way he felt every time the Decepticon wandered the streets of the Predacon Capital. All these beasts skeeved him the frag out. There could be any manner of creepy crawlies in the shadows waiting for him to slip up. Or something. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but something about the city made him feel… guilty. Like he didn't belong. There had been no shortage of unfriendly looks since the crew had been allowed in the city. Even Magmatron always looked a bit like he regretted the decision.
He reached the end of the street, a sharp edge overlooking the jungle outside the city. Slugslinger transformed and flew over the sea of green. The Predarchy was nestled in the heart of a dense forest, itself fortified by the mountains and the sea. It was the sort of place you felt like you could never leave, and he was glad to have a ship to leave every evening. Slugslinger wondered what end Dezaras was playing for with the Preds. Here they're rulers. Why would they join up with the Decepticons and leave it all behind? And who would have to share a HAB Suite with them? Not Slugslinger, he thought.
The Savage Palace, Courtyard
Crossblades watched his leader pull himself off the floor again. He lasted nearly a minute and a half this time. That had to be progress right?
"Come on, let's go again."
"Pah! As if the outcome would be different. You're worn from five successive bouts. I'm still fresh."
Magmatron looked like he meant it this time, despite his last few capitulations to fight Dezaras again. He secretly appreciated his gumption.
"Even if I lose, I learn. If you could teach my crew- "
"I am many things Dezaras of Cybertron, but a schoolmarm is not one of them. It would be hopeless. I lack the patience. And besides…"
"Besides what?" Asked Guyhawk, who was off to the side with Crossblades. He had just finished up a flying session with Divebomb, and he looked like he had been taken apart and put back together by a blind Junkion.
"Guh. Besides nothing," the emperor shrugged and turned away.
"He's trying to be nice by not mentioning your altmodes," called Fera from where she was sitting. Guyhawk's partner Destrohawk was draped across her lap cooing softly. The Decepticons had been introduced to the Lady of Predatory Rock the last time the Predaknights had stopped by to observe Dezaras' sparring, and he and Fellbat's tiny cohorts had taken a shine to her immediately. Indeed, the small animals traveling with them made Fellbat and Guyhawk rather popular with the locals, always coming up to ask them about their partners.
"What's wrong with my altmode?" Airstream glared from her seat. "Want me to see if I can find any of my victims in good enough shape to vouch against my skills? I'm the deadliest thing on four rotors."
"I'm sure all of your vehicular forms are excellent in your theaters of combat," Magmatron said, apparently deciding to rejoin the conversation. "But to fight as a beast is another matter entirely. We move differently, we feel the world around us differently. I can tell this just by looking at you."
"How did you acquire your dragon form?" Dezaras asked.
Magmatron pointed up to the ledge above the palace courtyard. A mask grimaced down from a place of honor, sharp fangs protruding from its lips, its dark eyes slanted in distaste. "A relic from the time before time. One third of the mask of Onyx Prime."
Destrobat stopped jostling for postion with Destrohawk and started chirping madly. Fellbat offered translation. "Destrobat says he used to read stories about the Triptych Mask. Is that the real deal?"
"Of course it is! All that you see before you was made possible using that mask fragment. It can bestow a beast form unto any participant, should they be strong of will. It is said the other pieces have been hidden so that they may watch our hotspots, giving form and purpose to our protoforms when they come of age. For there are many places on Eukaryis from which the beasthood springs."
Might my will be sufficient? thought Dezaras, though he kept his thoughts to himself, instead saying;
"You must have a strong will indeed to have garnered such a mighty form."
"Hmph. Quite. Dragons have all but disappeared from the new generations of Eukaryis. Myself, Grimstone, and Scourge are thought to be all that is left. It is an exceedingly rare spark that can coax out the dragon within."
The assembled audience listened to old legends and tales from Eukaryis' past until the sun started to dip into the sea. Crossblades flew off to collect the other Decepticons, Magmatron bid his guests good night and retired to his quarters. Noctorro was there waiting for him.
"He brought up training again Noctorro."
"And what did you say?"
"Oh Noctorro, I'm not a teacher! I've never taken students in all my life!"
"Do you remember how you learned?"
"Of course. Unfortunately. I may never be able to scrub that from my mind."
"Well, maybe this is your chance to do things differently. Assuming their up to the task. Not everyone's spark is cut out for the Mask."
"I suppose," the emperor said, watching the Dilong ascend into the dusk, "that I could ask. But the other members of the convocation would have concerns."
"See what they have to say and, if need be, quash their concerns. You've never been one to mince words, sire."
"That is true, my friend."