Tag: ic status?

Another loud burst of static. Ow. Hm… His commlink’s back online. Still damaged, but functional.

…

At this point it wouldn’t be prudent to seek out his followers, not when the Autobots are likely scanning for rogue Decepticon chatter. It would do no good for morale or survival to be found in such a state by either faction.

But soon. Everyone would know. Megatron lives.

His optics remain tightly shut in a grimace. Not from pain, (though there is a significant amount) but the daydreams plaguing his tired mind. His good servo claws at the berth, it isn’t real… 

He was beginning to calm down for whatever reason, venting in slow, deep cycles. He still pushed recharging to the back of his mind, but it was… nice.

He’s been given energon now, but it doesn’t matter much. His wounds aren’t fully sealed off yet and he bleeds a good portion of it back onto the berth, a vibrant blue-violet. Overlord is no medic; he does a much better job of ripping mechs apart than putting them back together. In his fuel-deprived haze, the phase-sixer looks as if he’s surrounded by light…

So t͟ire͠d͢..̸.̧

So now it would seem that he was in Overlord’s care… He tries his commlink again, but it’s completely burnt out. Yet another thing in need of repair.

If the humans know of his survival, the Prime would no doubt be informed soon, as Riou said… But his Decepticons. Their captors had every reason to keep such a secret from them.

…Perhaps it was for the best that they not see their leader until he had recovered. It would do nothing for their morale to find him barely functioning. It was tempting to offline his optics and slip into stasis- his whole frame kept sending alerts that this was needed- but in the presence of the phase-sixer, he could afford to relax, no matter his exhaustion.

It took a lot to truly surprise the old gladiator. He thought he had foreseen every outcome to his final battle, such a calculating individual he had always been…

In a way, he was right. He’d always known that his death was a possibility, even if he refused to let it happen. Even now, growing cold though he burns through Earth’s atmosphere, little more than metal comprising a falling star, some small part of him still refused.

He had never considered anyone but Optimus would be the one to finally defeat him. He had come to believe that no one else could. Looking into the scout’s eyes as the blade found its way through his spark chamber, he still couldn’t quite process it. The broken warrior had tried to retaliate but his strength failed him. He’d slid from the blade, so close to that sea of life he’d rebuilt, falling instead to the planet below.

He doesn’t feel the impact, sensors too weak to register anything but a dull burn throughout. Something flowed through the lacerations, washing the dark energon away. Water, perhaps? It didn’t matter. He couldn’t see or feel anything, only able to tell that he was on his back from the cold liquid rushing through what was left of his dorsal plating. His spark shrunk away from it, barely pulsing around the dark energon shard, its light in full view from the gaping hole in his chest.

Megatron lay there in pieces, broken. Utterly defeated. Fragile. Weak. Alone. He waited there and wondered what would come, trying to think of every possible outcome… 

Too tired to think, he decides that it doesn’t really matter.

Megatron ventured back to Orion’s world for the silent day, but in stepping through the portal, it only took him a few kliks to go right back to the ship. It was too wrong. Everyone was silent, but that wasn’t enough. 

They were all still there.

They might have been silent and remembering those who had been lost, mostly in accidents, the arena or even of their own volition, but it could never compare with the toll the war had taken. He couldn’t stand seeing their faces. They did not know true loss, how instead of sadness it transformed into a jaded bitterness, fed by every soldier until nothing but a quiet anger remained. They could not know that after enough of it there was no pain because there was nothing left to feel. They couldn’t know what it felt like to not be bothered by death. Not to mourn those lost because there were so many of them that it just didn’t matter anymore. 

He left the crowded city to stand on the desolate face of his own Cybertron, the rust in the wind buffeting his frame and marking him with the scent of decay. A single building glinted in the light against the brown scenery, the Omega Lock’s gift. The death of their entire planet hadn’t even fazed the old warrior. If he couldn’t have it, he damn well wasn’t going to let Optimus take it either. 

But now… New life could still spring from this dead world. The Omega Lock had merely been the key to that power, but it still existed here. 

Much had been lost, but he had endured, and he would see his new world… worlds rise.

Without a word to mark the oath, he returns to his ship.