Here's the epilogue.
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The turbulent waves of the Northern Atlantic Ocean gave no hint of any problems to the fishermen who plied their trade upon its surface, hauling nets up on spray-swept decks. Those fish that escaped their nets did so by diving down, down into depths that should have been lightless but were not. Their tiny minds could not comprehend the dome of impossible blue light that covered part of the ocean floor, just as they could not comprehend the form lying beneath that dome, the form that had slowly but surely been taking shape for the past eight years, built up molecule by molecule… The strangeness in itself was enough to keep all eyes away, so none were there to bear witness to the form's first twitches, or to realize that it was, in fact, alive…
The Boy… He remembered the Boy; remembered how the impudent little worm had struck him down just as he was about to claim victory, the destruction of his prize and his near death… How dare that insect think it could succeed where so many others had failed! How dare it do this to him… From his first tentative systems check he had realized what he had become, how his inexplicable resurrection had twisted his body. He had always considered himself the zenith of mechanical perfection, the perfect melding of form and function, grace and strength brought together in the sleek form of a jet polished to a brilliant mirror sheen… Nothing like his current appearance. He was monstrous now, lopsided and deformed, one arm now seemingly devoted solely to the operation of his fusion cannon, the extra mass seemingly drawn from his other arm, making it look small and fragile in comparison. The silvery sheen he had been so proud of was gone, replaced with a dull, sickly iron gray that barely reflected any light at all. But worst of all was what the rebirth had taken from him… He had been reshaped so dramatically as to strip his jet mode from him, replacing it with a ground-crawling tank. His wings had been taken from him… He had lost the ability to fly. All else he could stand, as he could understand that the meat sack was acting in defense of its friends and its world, and the courage it had shown was impressive to say the least. But it would die for taking his wings.
A moment's calm brought an impossible-seeming yet very encouraging sign. Somehow, some way, even despite what had happened to him, he could still sense the All Spark out there somewhere. But how could this be? It had been destroyed; he should know this better than anyone else, considering that he had darn near been killed by its destruction! He would find out, that much was certain. After all, he still lived somehow, and his prize was still out there, so what reason had he not to continue his quest? …No, his quest could wait. He had never before so much as considered putting off his relentless quest for the All Spark, but, then again, he'd never had his wings clipped before, had he? For the first time ever, he decided that revenge would come first. For the crime of depriving him of the ability to fly, The Boy had to die. Yes, he would have his revenge soon. In the meantime, it looked like he had a bit of a hike ahead of him…
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That's all for now, folks. I can't do anything else until ROTF comes out.