((Another Bellator doodle. He’s just so pretty! I love TFP Megatron’s design and embellishing it a bit to be regal and lskjf. Might finish and color this later but I kind of just like it as a sketch))
The drunk pic is angled upwards and the lighting might not be that great for the surroundings, but there’s enough light on Rung’s body to send a neat photo. It shows his chassis open and one hand inside his spark chamber, cupping the electric orb so lines of energy look like they’re snapping between his digits. Fingertips brush the outer edges of the chamber and his back is arched up, the light of his spark showing the lower half of his face as he moans.
At first he closes out of the document immediately. It had been some time since anyone dared to send the warlord something illicit and he was unprepared. After gathering himself, Megatron sneers and opens it again, simply to delete it- at least, that is what he tells himself.
In truth, he spends a few moments appreciating the photo and attempting to recognize the mech. Someone orange, from one of the “Lost Light” universes judging by the nasal ridge. Perhaps it is some prank, Kenny sending him something while Soundwave is away… until he sees the ID tagged to the message. The former therapist. Megatron deletes the image and sends a short reply.
::I doubt I was your intended recipient, Rung. Perhaps Bumblebee?::
Bellator, I beseech you. Something burns in my bones like fire that should not be, for I can feel war.
I hear your call, Pyarr. I am comprised of such flames as those that burn now within you, though it is strange that one such as you should feel them.
YOU WILL SUFFER THE FATE OF THE NONBELIEVERS- YOU- I– thou!
THOU!
(Pyarrr strikes himself in the face.)
(When he moves again, he is… himself. He growls low, holding his head in his hands.)
Thou- Thy patience is under-exalted, friend Bellator. My mind… echoes with prayers, but I cannot hear them clearly… They send an ache through my body and tear at my spine…
Friend Bellator… I sense change, and ill-omened change…
The change of language is more disconcerting than the volume, but the outburst has him gripping his sword tightly- until Pyarr hits himself. Animals may lash out when they don’t understand what’s happening, when they’re in pain. Bellator reminds himself of this and lets his sword vanish into the ether.
Good Pyarr. You have changed already. Perhaps this too is a change in your fold, as when the Predacons came to be.
The Predacons… oh, but Bellator, the Predacons were a great joy and brought much happiness to me! How beautiful their cries, how tightly tied they were to the Earth. How happy I was-
(Pyarrr’s optics lose their focus.) -and when they returned to the planet, how marvelous the work of those mechs that made it possible. What a debt I oOOWEE-
-DEATH TO ALL THAT WOULD OPPOSE US, THE PREDACONS RAIN DOWN UPON YOUR-
(Pyarrr pulls at his ears in panic.) Bellator I grow mad!
A great joy indeed, but they changed your-
Bellator is interrupted by Pyarr’s wild howling, stunned by his rage. He looks away, optic ridges knit in thought.
I am most familiar such war-cries, but to hear them from your mouth vexes me. Who prays to you with such hateful intent?
Bellator, I beseech you. Something burns in my bones like fire that should not be, for I can feel war.
I hear your call, Pyarr. I am comprised of such flames as those that burn now within you, though it is strange that one such as you should feel them.
YOU WILL SUFFER THE FATE OF THE NONBELIEVERS- YOU- I– thou!
THOU!
(Pyarrr strikes himself in the face.)
(When he moves again, he is… himself. He growls low, holding his head in his hands.)
Thou- Thy patience is under-exalted, friend Bellator. My mind… echoes with prayers, but I cannot hear them clearly… They send an ache through my body and tear at my spine…
Friend Bellator… I sense change, and ill-omened change…
The change of language is more disconcerting than the volume, but the outburst has him gripping his sword tightly- until Pyarr hits himself. Animals may lash out when they don’t understand what’s happening, when they’re in pain. Bellator reminds himself of this and lets his sword vanish into the ether.
Good Pyarr. You have changed already. Perhaps this too is a change in your fold, as when the Predacons came to be.
Hail, Oh Useless One. Is it your whispers I have heard through the mire?
The small orange God turns and tilts his helm a little. “I whisper, yes, but what is it that -you- hear that you would think it is I?”
There’s a certain fondness in Rung’s expression when he sees the slightest twitch and he reaches out to rest his hand over the bigger mech’s. He could certainly understand the desire to act and it had to be so much harder for Bellator than himself. Patting his fingers lightly, he smiled up at him.
“I’ll try to plead to him then. And hopefully he’ll take the offer. If he does, I’ll come to wet your blade with my blood and from there you should act as you wish. As long as this unknown one gets what’s coming to him, I’m happy.”
A God pleading to a mortal… Ha! I should like to meet the mech worthy of such a thing.
The warrior stares at the hand on his own, not in warning but interest. Few dare to touch a being able and happy to strike down countless foes with little effort. Rung is bold, leaving the warrior to wonder what cunning hides behind that smile. Bellator approves.
It will delight me to take part in his slow demise, and in your offering, Useless One.
Hail, Oh Useless One. Is it your whispers I have heard through the mire?
The small orange God turns and tilts his helm a little. “I whisper, yes, but what is it that -you- hear that you would think it is I?”
The sweet promise of revenge whets the warrior’s blade. Bellator grins.
Incant my name, ask for vengeance upon the one who has wronged your fellow. I will answer your call, for a drop of your lifeblood upon my sword.
A single drop of fuel from a mortal was an insult. Even a proper mortal offering would only grant them the warrior’s favor as they enacted their revenge, but a single drop of a God’s blood was enough for Bellator to take up the task himself.
“I’ll happily grant my blood to you, but the ‘offering’ was left by one unknown. Can you still find this one yourself, or will we need a Seeker to track them?” If that was the case, he had a vague idea of a hunter that he might be able to implore. Although the mortal he had in mind had no taste for Gods so it might be moot to even ask -that- one.
The flame in Bellator’s chest flared and flickered with his sneer. He detested admitting that there were ways to evade his power.
I cannot be made to rage against the unknown. Such is too great a battle for even a God. What Seeker do you speak of who can find this mortal?
“A Hunter, born and tried. Uses those he finds like little playthings, which I can admire.” The Useless One leans back and delicately folds his legs as if he’s sitting on a stool in mid air. He rubs his chin absently. “Whispers come and go that he doesn’t like Gods, but if I could make it sound appetizing he may find this little pest for us. Shall I go make a request to him?”
His smile is almost back at the thought of striking down the uncouth one that left the ‘offering’.
“If not, I suppose we could search that one out the old fashioned way.”
Bellator’s eyes narrow skeptically. He was far more often invoked by the captives held by such mechs than by those who toyed with their prey. There was little strength needed in a battle already half-won. However, if The Useless One vouched for his ability, the warrior wouldn’t object. In fact, it gave him an idea.
Very well, though if this Hunter is already in the business of tracking and torturing his quarry, perhaps that alone would be a suitable fate for your enemy. If that is what you desire, I can grant my blessing to this Hunter instead.
His claws twitched, betraying a desire to act. In times of peace, Bellator’s blade thirsts most. Whether it be by his own or by this mortal’s hand, blood would be shed.
Hail, Oh Useless One. Is it your whispers I have heard through the mire?
The small orange God turns and tilts his helm a little. “I whisper, yes, but what is it that -you- hear that you would think it is I?”
The sweet promise of revenge whets the warrior’s blade. Bellator grins.
Incant my name, ask for vengeance upon the one who has wronged your fellow. I will answer your call, for a drop of your lifeblood upon my sword.
A single drop of fuel from a mortal was an insult. Even a proper mortal offering would only grant them the warrior’s favor as they enacted their revenge, but a single drop of a God’s blood was enough for Bellator to take up the task himself.
“I’ll happily grant my blood to you, but the ‘offering’ was left by one unknown. Can you still find this one yourself, or will we need a Seeker to track them?” If that was the case, he had a vague idea of a hunter that he might be able to implore. Although the mortal he had in mind had no taste for Gods so it might be moot to even ask -that- one.
The flame in Bellator’s chest flared and flickered with his sneer. He detested admitting that there were ways to evade his power.
I cannot be made to rage against the unknown. Such is too great a battle for even a God. What Seeker do you speak of who can find this mortal?
Hail, Oh Useless One. Is it your whispers I have heard through the mire?
The small orange God turns and tilts his helm a little. “I whisper, yes, but what is it that -you- hear that you would think it is I?”
I hear all who wish harm on another. I have heard you, and the one called Dynasty, call for the end of one whose “offering” offends you.
Bellator stabs his sword into the ground between them.
Such is my domain. Invoke me and the mortal will meet a fitting end.
Rung’s expression darkens and there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He had thought that he could go out and do this himself, but he’s not opposed to help from one so mighty.
“It was not an offering to me, but to the Light God. As such, I do not think it is my place to ask. It should be up to Dynasty..” He pauses and slips his spectacles off, tucking them away into his subspace, looking up at Bellator with optics that resemble shattered sparks. “However. Given that the God of family is so distraught, I believe it would be wise for us to take care of this discreetly. How may I invoke you, and what can I offer in return for this deed?”
The sweet promise of revenge whets the warrior’s blade. Bellator grins.
Incant my name, ask for vengeance upon the one who has wronged your fellow. I will answer your call, for a drop of your lifeblood upon my sword.
A single drop of fuel from a mortal was an insult. Even a proper mortal offering would only grant them the warrior’s favor as they enacted their revenge, but a single drop of a God’s blood was enough for Bellator to take up the task himself.
Hail, Oh Useless One. Is it your whispers I have heard through the mire?
The small orange God turns and tilts his helm a little. “I whisper, yes, but what is it that -you- hear that you would think it is I?”
I hear all who wish harm on another. I have heard you, and the one called Dynasty, call for the end of one whose “offering” offends you.
Bellator stabs his sword into the ground between them.
Such is my domain. Invoke me and the mortal will meet a fitting end.
Hm.
It would seem my chosen has attempted to contain war itself within this jail… Ha ha! Such daring! Foolish, but fire all the same.
With a flash of white light from his chest, the god’s form dissipates, reappearing in the barracks at a small alter constructed in his name. Several vehicons stumble back in awe, some drawing their weapons in surprise, others dropping to their knees. It stokes Bellator’s flame. “M-my Lord, you’re…”
Rise, soldiers. Your fight is valiant, your offerings many. My blade drinks deep from you. Your gladiator resides within me, and he shall be returned upon my departure from this realm. But now!
His sword is thrust into the air with a wild grin.
Your victory is hard-won! Bellator has smiled upon you! His sword glows, and so do the visors and optics of all the vehicons in the room as his blessing takes hold. They cheer and praise his name, punching and wrestling each other playfully, finding hidden cubes of high-grade to break out. They’ve already celebrated taking back Cybertron, but the god’s presence just makes it feel so good to have been strong enough to be alive now. Bellator’s flame flares brightly as he’s offered fuel and the play-fighting intensifies as new victors are decided and celebrated.
Ah… Bask, warriors.
Megatron's back up 