((Megs plz use ur awesome war lordiness and jump movies to save the small yellow bug from idiot prime’s sword. Promise we will all follow you if you save the innocent bby Autobot))
((Megatron storming in out of nowhere and saving Bumblebee would honestly be ok with me yes let the mech who can’t be killed by natural means fight Optimus until he’s in his right mind again sdfghjk))
Megatron doesn’t know why, but… the world feels a little lighter.
Odd.
The sudden burst of energy jolts from his spark through his entire frame. His spinal strut goes taught, arching back as his optics flash a brilliant white-blue without the red filters to hide behind. A scream of static escapes his vocalizer as vital systems are forced back online, ventilation shuddering to life and pain receptors alerting him to broken hydrolics and energon lines throughout his mangled frame, but most of all the gash through his chest.
His scarred spark swelled and swirled violently, a visual representation of his pain. The warlord bit back a cry that became a growl through his denta, exposed optics wild and bright.
As horrible as it was, he felt alive.
Megatron presses his right servo to the soft ground in an attempt to push himself up, but the rest of his body won’t comply. Ventilations coming even harsher now with the strain, he raises his helm as best he can, trying to identify what had done this. Only shapes form before his optics, blurred and without color…
The pressure was gone. The blade had been removed. It made no sense to him… Here he was, utterly unable to defend himself from one of the very creatures he would have destroyed, and it was not acting. The young one that was so like Optimus, he could understand. They shared the same notion of mercy. It almost angered him. He did not deserve their mercy. A passing thought crosses his mind of finding the Prime in a situation such as his own, struck down by another. Would he grant that same mercy? Probably not. He had fought for too long not to learn that one must use every advantage afforded to claim victory…
But it would have been a hollow one. On the one hand, it would be his own fault for showing such weakness before his mortal enemy, but he would not be able to say that he had triumphed. No. Unless he himself had been the one to render his opponent into such a defenseless state, it would be no different than crushing a scraplet underfoot. There was no strength in the act. No real victory. It was unacceptable. That, he could understand.
But these humans had no reason to see him that way. To them, he was a monstrous metal demon, more god than alien life. Was it respect, then? If he’d been able to scoff, he would. Again, something he did not deserve, not anymore. Not when he was barely more than a broken heap of scrap metal…
Megatron felt the human’s signal expand in a way he recognized. Communication. It was no doubt alerting others to his presence now, perhaps even the Autobots. Good. He wanted them to come.
It hasn’t left, and now he feels something… oddly familiar in the outer tendrils of his spark. It doesn’t matter what it is; he’s at the human’s mercy. Pathetic. His servo curls into a fist as best it can, bracing for the final blow. As disgraceful as this death would be, he lacks the power to avoid it, and curses himself for it.
The strike that comes is not to his life force but the chamber wall, already shredded, the sensors all but deadened already so that it feels more like intense pressure than sharp pain. …Why? The blade- it seemed like a blade- had been pressed to his spark. Why had its wielder changed course? After a few tense moment, a wisp of energy rises up to investigate the gash, and the weapon buried in its side.
Does this human know him? This was the second time that a human had the chance to finish him and did not and he could not understand. He’d planned to exterminate them all. And yet…
Why!?
The human presence continued to move closer, and then it was on top of him. He might be defeated but he was no jungle gym. With a painful slowness, Megatron uses his remaining energy to slide his sword from its sheath in his arm. His spark settles weakly against the dark energon shard, spinning at a tired pace and curling in on itself. Maybe that would be enough to scare it off. It had better be, because he wasn’t sure he had the strength to lift up his arm and dismiss the pest on his own.
Primus, he would not let himself be snuffed out by an organic…
The creature had gotten closer. Some organic thing, a human perhaps. Even now the pests wouldn’t leave him be… Begone! He tries to kick at it but the effort only causes sparks to fly from his hip joint and his damaged spark to writhe in newfound agony. Curse it all… The outer tendrils curl around the latest and deepest of many bright white scars running across the tainted sphere. He held on to the intense pain, focusing on it; it meant he was still here.
So long, Dark Prince …in your passing you gave us this gift.
I don’t actually think you are gone. How could you be?
How many times have you died, only to rise again?
Orion could not go to him.
Megatron had been lost: shattered by earth, fire, wind, and by a war that had destroyed worlds and dreams along with countless lives. What had been salvaged of the great mech had been placed under the watchful eye of human governments, whom Orion did not want to cross paths with just yet. The rest was scattered across a foreign world far from their own.
Orion did not want to see him anyways. Not like that. Not a greyed corpse, an empty shell. He did not want to crouch over his mentor’s frame and cry for forgiveness for failing to protect him like he promised he would.
So in his grief the librarian turned to another Megatron. His own.
Megatron's back up 