Episode 110, Part II: All Hail Megatron {Part I}
Contributors: sempertyrannis, predatoryking, flightdefender, beepbeepmotherfragger, ofshadowandchaos
Across his vision, Cybertronian glyphs scrolled, reflecting off the protective glass of blazing crimson as Megatron read what he thought would never come: an opportunity, a means of a rescue for Optimus. Fibers in his optics were burned and branded by familiarity; the coordinates led deep within Unicron, into Chaos. Within him, the taint of dark energon grew heavier as though lead filled his lines; the caustic scent of death wafted against olfactory sensors.
From the terminal he turned, surging forward to reclaim a title he had neglected: Megatron, Protector of Cybertron, guardian of the Prime; now he would guard, now he would save.
Behind him, he did not notice the flash of yellow as he left the bridge, an energon-blue gaze lingering on the data he had not bothered to hide. Forward he walked instead, knowing only a fool would dare go into Unicron alone. Optics scoured the corridors and soon he came upon the first of those that he would take with him. “Skyfire,” he barked, pointing to the floor beside him, “Come to my side at once. Our hour to rescue the Prime has come. I will explain once we have arrived at his location.”
A low growl led him to the next to be chosen, and with the same brusqueness, he beckoned the dragon. “Predacon,” he spoke, “I call you to battle, to serve your brethren, to bring us honor. Come to my side at once.”
The beast and the scientist were all he required, and turning to a lowly Vehicon, he instructed him to open a groundbridge. Command was met with frightful earnest, and into the swirling vortex Megatron stepped, his soldiers in tow. Once more he led the way into the bowels of Unicron, this time to retrieve the Prime.
Once more, he was followed.
The large grey mech—larger than many he had seen—was unfamiliar, though his scent was interweaved interestingly with hints of the Prime. Perhaps he knew where the absent foe had gone; his words, too, were compelling. Predaking obeyed no mech, but his honour was above reproach and his brethren were scattered and few.
He followed through the unsettling vortex—Predaking was sure he would never accustom himself to this form of travel, not when the wind whispered to him to come and dance with it—and was repulsed by the stench of the other side.
Senseless death! Sheerest madness! All around! But the grey mech proceeded without slowing and his honour would not let him balk where mechs treaded so steadily.
Already the scientist had been tasked with multiple projects by the Decepticon commander. For some time, all that he had known were strings of broken, foreign code, and in recent days, plans to improve the vessel that he now called home. As far as he was concerned, the defense of the warship and all those aboard it was the most imperative of all.
It seemed, however, that he was mistaken in his assumptions. As Megatron approached, barking orders once more, he could not help the bit of animosity that brewed in his processors. While sworn to obey the warlord in the absence of his commander, that did not mean that what was demanded of him would always be in his best interest. Nonetheless, he followed.
Through the Nemesis Skyfire trekked, keeping pace behind the slowly-growing party as they traveled through the ground bridge to what felt like the end of nowhere. A cold shiver ran down his backstruts as he stood silent, waiting. Wherever the warlord had led them, the only thing that felt certain was that they were certainly far from safe.
Behind the unaware crowd of gathered bots, a yellow scout does follow. His strides are swift and quiet as he listens to the mighty Tyrant unleash his call for the others’ aid. The mention of their lost comrade does not miss the youngling's audios, not for a second. This had to do with his Prime, his leader. Whatever was going to happen Bumblebee wanted to be a witness to it.
Following in toe with the king and the scientist, he rushes on towards the swirling lights head-on; his frame becoming engulfed.
Upon arriving to the group's final destination, Bee can feel the fuel in his wires run cold. The all too familiar dark voids and purple serum welcomed him. Nothing good could come from being in this place; he remembered very well what had happened the last time the team drove into the depths of the Earth. Behind him, the bridge snaps to a close. A ringing silence hisses all around him.
Being careful of his every step, the scout lingers off behind the party of three, following them from afar deeper into Unicron's lair.
It was as Megatron expected, Prime was not immediately beyond the swirling gate. Into the depths of Unicron they would trespass to rescue the one he had claimed. “Cybertronians,” he addressed, knowing the old titles of Autobots and Decepticons would not fit, “Our enemy has notified me that ahead our Prime awaits rescue. Remain on high alert, we are within the core of Unicron, and he already knows we are—"
Words were drowned in a cacophonous chorus of hissing as from the walls; antibodies seeped and dripped downwards, surging in the air toward them. Cannon fired to life and roared as it discharged into the sparkless cell. “We move forward!” Megatron snarled, charging forth in an effort to clear the way, “We will not leave without Optimus.”
It is a tactic, distracting and feeble, more than anything else. His body reacts to visitors with the same single-minded hatred a human’s body would react to alien bacteria: eliminate the threat before damage is done. But he is not human, nothing akin, and they swirl out in numbers far fewer than required.
Weaken. Do not kill. Do not damage.
A constant flow, one for every death, swirls out, shrieking in ancient tones. Language, the sound of sparklings crying, seeps from opticless frames, jaws and fangs snapping and expelling Dark Energon in violent bursts.
The stench of corruption surged, and Predaking was forced to stall his intakes or risk overloading his olfactory sensors. He wondered what had caused the uptake for less than a nanosecond—then he heard the screeching.
This was not that familiar call of another Predacon, oh no. This screeching was unlike anything he had ever heard—though the anger in it was as familiar as his own fire. Whatever was screeching was coming in for the attack, and was making the last mistake it would ever do.
He reared back and roared, smelting flames pouring from his jaws.
He could no longer scent the enemy out, but they did not fly silently nor die quietly. From what he could tell, he had gotten no small number in his opening attack, but they were not small in number and he could hear more approach.
Let them all rue the day they came 'gainst the might of Predaking!
Anger fueled the shuttle as he launched himself into the air, not bothering to listen for further orders. Pacifism once again tossed aside, the blasters concealed within his subspace flared to life, tearing into each antibody that dared stray into his range. Twisted shrieks and screams echoed in his audials as they fell, cut only by the roars of flames and blaster fire from the fight below, and the knowledge that more were on their way.
It was no coincidence that the tainted one had led them to this vile place, somewhere just as twisted as the recesses of his own processors. To bring their Prime to this arena served to not only test their strength and will, but their desire to fulfill all they had threatened to him and his cause. Skyfire knew not of what the alternate Prime desired of them, but for every antibody he shot down, his desires for answers lessened.
Now, all that mattered was the retrieval of Optimus, and the defeat of the vile spark that dared to call itself a Prime.
The pace of the rescue mission quickens as weapons are drawn. Bumblebee is quick as he hears those cries of twisted sparks close in, their presence becoming louder within the maze of tunnels. His cover would soon is blown as the creatures made their way to the group, but for now, Bee would still try to keep his distance, canons at the ready for any in coming attacks heading his way.
Yellow pedes scamper off after the towering titans as he slowly became a mere child in their shadows. They would soon be closing distance between themselves and where Optimus was being held captive. The scout's spark pluses quickly in his chamber, excitement running about him at seeing the Prime again.
For every stride gained, two were lost. Inch by inch they were stifled, suffocated in swarms by Unicron’s insect-like antibodies. Already Megatron’s blade dripped with dark energon—the lifeblood which fueled the parasitic slaves. Down his arm it trickled, staining his already battle worn armor as he continued to fight; slashing, hacking, and blasting his way to the core, but his arm soon grew weary.
Despite the pain, he persisted. Once more he would sacrifice his arm if it meant saving the Prime. With blazing optics, he peered through Chaos, checking Skyfire’s status first before looking to the Predacon. Though drowned in a melee, both seemed to be holding their own.
To the core he looked once more to calculate the distance, but through the swarm, a familiar frame caught his optic. Spark flared to the point of pain as Megatron recognized the collapsed form within. “Optimus,” he spoke, and started to approach only to be halted by antibodies.
“No!” he bellowed, slicing them away. Once more he shouted, “Cover me!”
Abandoning the fight behind him, he rushed forward to claim, to protect, to save.
Predaking watched, in equal parts anger and horror, as the grey and spiny one broke formation and rushed forward. How dare he! To abandon pack in the face of danger! True, it was not insurmountable nor even particularly daunting for one such as he, but that did not make the grey one any less culpable!
Anger, firey and foremost, roared through his processors. Scraps of information, bits of memory, emotions loud and strong, all coalesced into a single course of action, one no Predacon had ever undertaken before.
Plates shifted, claws flexed, seams heretofore unnoticed save for cleaning split and slid, joins and flexors realigned and Predaking stood tall on two legs, folding his wings closely behind him to protect them.
He staggered, the world about him becoming clear as it had never been when he stood upon all fours, but his anger overrode any other feelings about the matter.
"I am PREDAKING! I will not be ordered like some base subject! And these! Filth! Vermin! Base pests! You are no challenge and you can NEVER triumph against the might of a KING!"
The antibodies swirled and swarmed all around the shuttle, cutting off any possible path of retreat, and along with it, any way of potentially guarding the warlord below. Blaster fire erupted from his cannons, tearing through every vile piece of Unicron that flew past. Dark energon splattered his frame and his field of vision, drawing a loud snarl of frustration from his vocoder. The waves seemed endless, for every antibody that was shot down was quickly replaced by three more.
"How can I cover YOU when I cannot even--ARGH!"
An antibody lashed out at his wing array, his rear thrusters stinging from the pain. Heavy wings flared, snapping back to remove the pest from his back. In that time, another had launched itself forward to attack his cockpit. Skyfire yelled in anger, firing just as it connected with his frame. The second antibody screeched, tumbling down to the floor below. The scientist watched the lifeless frame crash down near his comrade, the Predacon. It was only then that he noticed, however, the beast was not as he remembered it moments before. It now stood bipedal, yelling to the warlord trailing down into the depths.
"PREDAKING," he bellowed, firing upon another antibody, "I understand that you will not take his orders, and currently--ARGH, GET OFF, YOU PESTS--I do not wish to either. May I, however, request your assistance to see that at least you and I survive this?"
They spiraled inward, claws scratching and pulling. Fangs bury themselves in, mosquitos, more and more and more as they collect.
