CHAPTER ONE: IN THE RUINS OF A DEAD WORLD
***
In the end, it wasn't the war that cost us Cybertron. It wasn't a conqueror's wrath, or a losers final spite. It was something else, something from beyond. A song of despair, sent out across the universe, that worked to infect the sparks of all it touched. And when those sparks were overcome by emotions like grief and guilt, despair and fear, they were devoured from within.
So many worlds were destroyed by this evil, and ours was no different. Soon, even the lifespark of Cybertron was infected and warped, until the very ground turned against us. We had no choice but to abandon our home by whatever means we could, to seek safety in the cold of space. In those dark days, the differences between our nations were forgotten, as we all fought to save who we could.
Now, like so many others, we drift between the stars, scavenging what we can from the murdered worlds. We've found ways to shield ourselves from the Void Siren, to some extent. But it's always out there, waiting to finish the work it began so long ago.
***
Aside from them, the city was utterly silent. No people, no animals, no power. Even the wind was utterly still. It was an unnatural silence, the sort that would make even the most hardened veteran want to flee as fast as possible.
Rodimus found it somewhat depressing that he'd gotten so used to ignoring that part of his instincts.
Next to him, Minerva was less composed, focusing on the scanner in her hands to avoid looking at their surroundings. "No unusual radiation spikes, no active nanotech or organic pathogens. Aetherical readings are like a deserted asteroid. It's just… dead," the red and white plated Autobot said at last, looking up with a shudder.
He merely nodded slightly. "So, probably the Song again."
"Almost certainly sir."
Shuttering his optics for a moment, Rodimus fought back the familiar stab of despair and grief thoughts of the Endsong always invited. Such emotions were how the damn thing wormed its way into your spark after all, rotting your essence from the inside out and leaving you a mockery of life. He'd lost too many friends that way to fall into the trap himself. "Hardtop. Find yourself a nice perch. I want you on lookout."
"Minny just said the place is dead," the smallest bot of the team noted, even as he pointed towards one of the taller skyscrapers. "That should work for overwatch."
Rodimus shrugged slightly. "Call me paranoid if you want, but it wouldn't be the first time an alien species had its Defiled turn out to be waiting for life to return so they could kill again." He couldn't help but smirk. "Remember what happened to Blitzwing."
That drew a laugh from Hardtop, the noise echoing weirdly across the deserted park they'd landed in. "Even if he wishes we wouldn't," the green and purple mechanoid said. "Still, it's a fair point."
Behind them, the last member of their team couldn't help but giggle softly as she stepped off the shuttle, shaking her head. "No one wants to be the next mech to need to visit Ratchet for a problem like that," Dustoff commented, her camo-patterned armor plates shifting as she stretched. "Care for a lift?" Hardtop nodded, and the larger bot transformed, components shifting, unfolding and compressing in an intricate pattern, replacing a feminine humanoid figure with a well armored helicopter, blades already spinning fast enough to lift her into the air. Jumping slightly to reach her, Hardtop grabbed onto one of the landing struts, letting her carry him ever higher above the ground.
"Catch up when you're done!" Rodimus called after them, before turning back to Minerva. "No point in staying here. There's about five miles between here and the crash site. Let's roll." Minerva nodded, and the pair transformed to their alt-modes as well. Engines roared to life, and the two living vehicles pulled out of the park and onto the road beyond. Behind them, the shuttle lifted off, setting off for a flight pattern high above the city, just in case.
It was never easy navigating a city like this. Whatever the dominant lifeforms of this world had looked like, they were clearly much smaller than the average Transformer, perhaps reaching Rodimus' knees at most. Footpaths and walkways often proved too narrow for the pair, and while the roads were somewhat evenly scaled with their vehicle modes, the amount of debris and various abandoned vehicles meant that a good deal of creative maneuvering was required.
And if he was being entirely honest, Rodimus was grateful for the difficulties. The combination of rally driving, switching modes, and parkour was keeping his mind focused on the task at hand, and stopping his mind from lingering on the unpleasant details. Such as how the local apocalypse had been so quick and total there were so many vehicles left on the road. Or the way that so many of those vehicles had clearly been torn open from the inside…
As he slid over the top of what looked like an old bus, Dustoff swooped overhead, the sound of her rotors helping to combat the unnatural silence all around them. "Take the third left along this path," she called out. "It looks like the clearest route."
"I've got optics on the impact site," Hardtop said over the squads comm channel. "Still no sign of movement."
"Not a surprise," Minerva replied while swerving around a car, clipping the edge of the sidewalk in the process. "The escape pods on the Wayforward were fitted with deep stasis systems to prevent long-term spark contamination. Those systems are durable, but they take a long time to pull the subject back to a fully aware state."
Above, Dustoff made a noise of disgust. "I hate those things. Dragging your spark so close to Mortilus' domain… it's unnatural," she said, a shudder running through her fuselage. "Still, I have to admit, it's better than the alternative."
Sliding under a low pedestrian walkway, Rodimus couldn't help but smile in bitter agreement, before switching to vehicle mode and continuing forward.
***
Reaching down, Rodimus hooked his hand under the bottom of the roller door and pulled up. After being untouched for so long, the door promptly refused to move up in its guides, instead tearing apart. "Oh come on," he grumbled, fighting with the tangled pile of metal for a moment and trying to ignore the two femmes laughing at him.
Nothing jumped out at them as they stepped inside, and there were no unpleasant surprises revealed by their lights. Just an old warehouse filled with pallets of what looked like electronic goods, with a massive hole in the roof and an impact crater underneath.
"I see the escape pod," Minerva said, the headlights in her shoulder pads sweeping over a small, cone shaped craft that barely reached her waist, its metal hull dented and scorched from reentry and the landing. "Minor damage, but it appears intact."
"Maybe we should have brought you with us Hardtop," Rodimus grumbled, looking the pod over. "It's a single person pod from a micromaster ship."
"It's smol?" Dustoff said, giggling, as she circled above, shining her own lights through the broken roof.
"It's smol," he replied with a sigh.
"Do I need to come down there to press tiny buttons for you?" Hardtop asked, clearly amused.
"We'll be fine," Minerva chuckled, holding up her left hand. As Rodimus watched, her index finger split open to reveal several small tools. "I generally use these for surgery, but I'm sure they can handle tiny buttons and switches," the medic noted, kneeling down next to the pod, then pausing, her expression becoming much more serious. "Scrap."
"Problem?"
In reply, she tilted her shoulder pads down, shining her lights over the bottom of the pod… and the dark, organic looking webbing there. "Unknown substance, possibly organic."
"We haven't seen anything organic since making planetfall," Hardtop said. "Not even remains. Tripwire?"
"Yeah, that would be just our luck, wouldn't it?" Rodimus muttered, slighting a visor down over his optics for a closer look. After flipping through several settings, his scowl only got worse. "Nothing. No heat, no emissions of any sort, just enough aether to remain tangible. Looks like the Defiled still have a presence here."
Dustoff spoke up, her voice as serious and worried as her teammates. "Well then, it doesn't take an investigative mind like Prowls to work out the chain of events. The Wayforward suffers engine failure upon arriving in this system, he heads for this planet hoping to find life. When the engine failure reaches the point of tearing the ship apart, he abandons ship."
Nodding to herself, Minerva continued the train of thought. "While he is more than comfortable traveling by himself under normal conditions, he logically concludes that in this… necropolis, it's safer to place himself into deep stasis, rather than risk the Sirens Song infecting his spark. But it was still enough to draw the Deflieds attention."
"And while they might not have enough intelligence left to get at him, they still may have enough instinct to wait for him to come out," Rodimus finished.
As usual, Hardtop was less interested in the past, and more focused on the problem in the present. "So, now we know it's likely trapped, how do you wanna play this one boss?"
In reply, Rodimus grinned to himself, standing back up and sliding the visor back into his helmet. "How else? We spring the trap. Moving the entire pod will take time and almost certainly wake whatever abominations are 'sleeping' anyway. Get ready, all of you. We may need to move fast. Flight, this is Rodimus," he continued, switching channels. "Be advised, it may be about to get loud down here. Stand by for possible hot extraction."
"Copy that Rodimus," their shuttle pilot replied. "Remember, there's nowhere big enough to land within several miles, you''ll likely need to get on the rooftops if it comes to that."
Next to him, Minerva couldn't help but sigh. "Because it can never be easy…" she muttered. "Cracking the seal." The operating waldos from her finger danced over the pods small keypad, entering a series of commands. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a series of lights, starting at the top of the pod and running down to the base, lit up, first in red, before shifting to green.
Rodimus glanced at the organic webbing, seeing no reaction, then turned to look around the warehouse. There was no new movement, nothing in the shadows that hadn't been there before. He scowled, watching his lights, and those from Dustoff above, cut through the darkness, looking for any sign of trouble, then frowned, taking a closer look at the beams themselves.
With a puff of escaping air, the seal on the escape pod broke, and the hatch swung upward without issue, revealing a tiny red and cream robot, one small enough that he could ride inside the rescue teams vehicle modes without issue. Almost immediately, the bot began to lean forward, blue optics flickering to life. "Countdown, can you hear me?" Minerva said. "We received your distress signal and came to assist."
"Know that voice… Minerva? Yes. Minerva, medical officer… assigned to Lost Light…"
"Yes sir. Can you move? This site isn't safe."
One of Countdowns optics went dark, while the other flared brighter. "I… Carry me," he said his voice growing stronger as he reached an arm out. "We have to go, now!"
Realizing just why the light wasn't cutting through the dark quite as well as it should have been, Rodimus spun, seizing the smaller bots arm. "Outside, now!" he barked at Minerva, right as the shadows themselves lunged to attack.
Nice. I'm guessing IDW comics continuity for the TF side, based on the mention of the Lost Light? (Or possibly At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper ficfic, since that's got the only female Dustoff I know of) Never really got into the comics, but I'll give any TF fic a try, with the caveat that regardless of intended setting I'll be imagining it as (the best of) G1 style animation.
Please sir, may I have some more?
The TF side is pulling from pretty much every continuity to be it's own thing, and Dustoff is indeed based off the At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper version, with her creators permission.
Tendrils of literal shadow stabbed into the light, uncaring of how impossible that should have been. Had Rodimus been even a fraction slower, they would have passed straight through his spark chamber, with possibly fatal consequences at best. Instead, they passed over the mechs head, missing him by mere inches as he continued turning, tearing Countdown out of the escape pod.
From above came the roar of Dustoffs nose cannon, high intensity energy bolts slamming down into the tendrils without mercy. Despite not seeming to harm them, the gunfire still drew a reaction, as the tendrils pulled back into the dark accompanied by a glass-rattling shriek. That reaction brought Rodimus and Minerva the time they needed, both of them transforming mid-leap, engines roaring to life before they even finished.
With his spark still on the edge of stasis, there was nothing that Countdown could do but get dragged along for the ride, and try to make sense of his surroundings. This wasn’t an easy task when there was a larger bot literally transforming around him, an action that would have resulted in his getting at least a limb caught between shifting components had it been anyone less talented than Rodimus doing the transforming. Instead, he landed in a surprisingly comfortable seat, restraints locking down over his shoulders, windshield sliding into place above him and giving him a good view of the chaos.
Neither car could get up to speed in the tight confines of the warehouse, but they were both close enough to the ground, and their headlights were illuminating the area directly in front of them, that they could make a decent attempt at an escape. Shadow tendrils occasionally blocked their path, but they lacked the numbers to contain the vehicles, both of them punching straight through. Taking a turn sharp enough to clip a pallet and send its contents everywhere, they headed directly for the doorway they’d used to enter. “Dust, bring it down!” Rodimus ordered as they shot out into the narrow laneway, turning sharply once again to avoid plowing straight into the building directly ahead of them.
As he’d expected, he barely got the order out ahead of Dustoff launching a pair of missiles down through the broken roof, introducing the darkness within to a delicate mixture of liquid energon, nucleon and octogen. She'd carefully calibrated the missiles settings from the moment Minerva had reported the tripwire, which means that while the resulting explosion outright vaporised a good deal of the interior outright, the blast then mostly went up, reducing the roof to shreds. But for all that destructive power, her teammates right outside the warehouse experienced nothing more than a flash of heat and wind.
"Sweet Primus and all his heralds woman, have you heard of overkill?!" Hardtop exclaimed.
"You know there's no such thing with Defiled," she replied. "Best to give them the final mercy as soon as possible."
Groaning, Countdown shuttered his optics, trying to process all the conflicting data his senses were sending to his brain. "Overkill of Polyhex. Former Decepticon, data block alt-mode. Believed alive, wanted for involvement in ‘Pink Alchemy’ conspiracy…” Groaning again, he reached up and rubbed at his temples. “And that’s completely irrelevant.”
"It made me grin at least," Rodimus told his passenger, not bothering to go around a trash can. "Gears turning a little smoother?"
"I feel like someone sandblasted my brain module, but yeah, I think so.”
Turning another corner, Rodimus grunted in agreement. "That's a good description of deep stasis. You came down in an industrial district, nowhere for a shuttle to land.”
“Finding a rooftop that can handle our weight?” Countdown guessed.
“Pretty much, there’s a street up here that should give us some options.” Reaching the end of the alleyway, he shot across the small parking lot, clipped over the edge of an old garden, then flew over the sidewalk and landed on the road, wheels spinning as they tried to grip on the asphalt. “...Ah.”
Pulling up behind him, Minerva twitched her side mirrors. “What does that mean… ah,” she also said, taking in the sight in front of them. Rising up from beneath the street, was another shadowy mass. As the bots watched, dozens of tendrils reached out from its core body and pressed against the ground, as if it was a corporeal being trying to support its weight. Then, slowly and awkwardly, it began to drag itself towards the trio.
Before it could go more than a few meters, a salvo of purple energy bolts slammed into the core, making it ripple like water. Twisting in his seat, Countdown tracked them back to their source, catching sight of another burst launching from the top of a distant tower in the city center. He watched the bolts race across the kilometers between them in slight confusion, taking a moment to remember Hardtops presence. At least this time, he was spared the embarrassment of detailing the ‘cons resume out loud.
“Am I even hurting that thing?” the sniper demanded.
Switching back to robot mode, Minerva stepped in front of Rodimus. “At the very least, you seem to be disorienting it.” Her right shoulder pad transformed again, unfolding into a scanner array that slid in front of her face. “Hmm… Even for a Defiled, its Aetherical density is non-existent. It must have fallen victim to the Endsong a considerable time ago. But if that’s the case, how can it still manifest like this? No individual could have have a spark large enough to endure the song for so long…” Behind her, Rodimus revved his engine, making the medic twitch. “Sorry. But yes Hardtop, you are hurting it. What little Aether it has left is struggling to remain coherent. If you continue, we should be able to withdraw-" Her voice cut off as the Defiled screamed, like hundreds of voices mixed together, making her instinctively mute and cover her audio intakes.
As they watched, the shadows began to shift, becoming darker, more solid. gaining actual mass and shape to interact with the world. Slamming two of its tentacles into the road in front of it, the creature shattered the asphalt, sending large chunks flying into the air. One actually intercepted a shot, getting reduced to powder in the process, but the rest came to a halt, floating just above the Defiled, before shifting and reshaping into just over half a dozen spikes, each as long as Minerva was tall. “Hardtop, incoming!” Rodimus hissed, the roof of his vehicle mode flipping open to reveal a small weapons turret.
Hardtop adjusted his aim slightly, even as Dustoff swooped down, nose cannon roaring to life, and Minerva raised her own rifle and opened fire. Two of the spears shattered, then three more, and then they launched, just barely staying under the sound barrier as they raced towards the tower Hardtop had set up in. Another was shot down by the sniper mid-flight, but that still left one last spear to slam into the tower, the impact echoing across the dead city.
"Good news, this bastard has a really bad aim," Hardtop said in a conversational tone, even as the top of the tower blew apart, raining debris across his sniper nest. "That was way too high. Bad news, the shuttle definitely can’t take a hit like that."
“Then I guess we’re putting this poor thing down,” Rodimus said. “Countdown, can you fight?”
Cracking his knuckles, his tiny passenger powered up the blasters in his forearms. “Well enough.”
“Hardtop, if that tower starts to go, yell. Now, let’s get started.” His engine roared, and his wheels spun for a fraction of a second before grabbing the road, launching him down the street. He dodged to the left, avoiding a tentacle that crashed down into the asphalt, even as he adjusted his fuel mix slightly. The exhaust pipes running along both sides of his body twitched slightly, before flames started spewing out the back just as he passed underneath the creatures main body. Hitting the handbrake, the bot pulled a hard J-turn, spreading the flames over as large an area as possible, making the area as unpleasant as possible. Then, for good measure, Rodimus shifted back to robot mode and blasted the flames straight up into the Defiled.
Leaping free during the transformation, Countdown landed clear of both the flames and the core body, sliding to a halt and opening up with his own weapons, targeting the nearest tentacle. Out of the corner of his optics, he saw Minerva moving in, her weapons fire aimed towards the base of the same tentacle he’d been firing on. A moment later, purple bolts started slamming into the exact same spot, dispelling an even larger area of shadow.
As a final touch, Dustoff swooped down over the beast from above, spraying it with cannon fire. Between her and Rodimus, the Defiled was sufficiently distracted that it didn’t realize that the other three were being much more specific in their efforts. At least, not until one of Hardtops shots vaporized enough ‘shadow-mass’ that the limb began to tear itself loose. That, it noticed. Shrieking with a hundred different voices, it flailed around with its other tentacles, quickly turning the street, footpaths and handful of vehicles in its path into razor sharp shrapnel.
Countdown scrambled backwards, realizing just a second too late that he had absolutely no cover against the incoming wave of flechettes. All he could do was cover his face with his arms and wince in anticipation of the pain he was about to experience.
Then, at the last possible moment, Minerva was in front of him. Her backpack had unfolded and combined with her left shoulder pad, forming an armored shield that was as tall as she was. The storm of shrapnel impacted with an almost deafening noise, but the two bots were left untouched. “Captain?!”
On the far side of the beast, a tentacle that had half-buried itself in a storefront exploded in a massive ball of flame. When the fire died down, a slightly unsteady Rodimus emerged. “I’m okay, it’s mostly my paint job. Zagged when I should have zigged…” Watching as the beast flailed, its form becoming more solid by the second, he nodded to himself. “If it’s shifting like… Dustoff?”
“Yeah Rod?”
“Go high. I want you to prep for a Remi Entrance on my mark.” In response, the helicopter rose higher into the sky, keeping up the barrage on the Defiled as best she could despite the increased distance. Meanwhile, Rodimus took a deep breath and twisted his wrists, a pair of blaster pistols appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Everyone, any limbs it sticks out, cut it off. Keep making it turtle up.”
Stepping out from behind Minerva, Countdown transformed to his alt-mode, a small, one-person buggy, with a large adjustable satellite dish behind the seat. “Do I want to know what that’s supposed to mean?” he asked, as he aimed the dish towards one of the tentacles that was moving a bit slower than the rest. Energy gathered in the dish for several seconds, flowing towards the center, before launching out in a constant beam of blue light, striking the target and carving a trench into its pseudo-flesh.
Rodimus laughed. “Come on, do you really think I’m gonna spoil the surprise with a setup like that?” he asked, opening fire with both pistols.
“Right, forgot who I was talking to…”
Under the barrage from multiple angles, the Defiled hesitated, seemingly uncertain of who it should attack first. Then, with a roar made up of a thousand screams, its mass shifted again, crossing the line between shadow and reality as it started to become a mass of flesh and muscle, more fluids spraying across the ground beneath it without skin to contain it. “Well, that’s disgusting,” Hardtop muttered.
“Try being close enough to smell it,” Minerva muttered, grunting as several bone spikes bounced off her shield.
“I’m a sniper for many valid reasons Minny. This is one of them.” Several eyes of different sizes sprouted from the top of the main body, looking around in various directions wildly. “And there’s another one,” he added, making a gagging noise before turning his attention to popping the eyeballs as quickly as possible.
Firing both pistols into a cavity that was starting to form teeth around the edges, Rodimus scowled. “Dammit, I hate being right sometimes. Dustoff, go!”
Even as he kept his weapons array locked onto the Defiled, Countdown aimed his sensors at the sky, curious to see just what Rod and Dustoff had planned. While his memory banks were mostly operational at this point, the data just wasn’t adding up. What WAS a Remi Entrance? Dustoff tended to prefer long range combat, so possibly a beam weapon, something that needed distance to build up for a full effect…?
High above, the forest camo patterned helicopter came to a stop, turning to face her nose towards the beast far below, and transformed. But not into her robot mode. Instead, she took on another form, with her head and upper torso atop a body that retained much of the mass of her helicopter form, and eight long, spindly legs reaching out around her. As she floated there for a brief moment, the pieces came together in Countdowns mind with an almost audible ‘click’
Dustoff had a twin sister, commonly known as Remi. Both femmes had inherited a beastial spider form from their mother Arachnia. And while Dustoff preferred to fight at range, that beast mode was suited for a devastating style of close combat, one that Remi had perfected to an art form, and one she had naturally taught to her sister.
Thrusters roared to life, legs arranged themselves in a crude drill, and the femme descended on her target with a wordless, fuel-curdling scream. Below, Rodimus dived for cover behind an overturned truck, while Countdown shifted gears, reversing behind Minerva as fast as possible. Barely three seconds after launch, Dustoff made impact with the Defiled with an indescribable noise, tearing her way through flesh, bone and shadow with horrifying ease, thrusters burning whatever her deadly claws missed.
As the smoke and dust cleared, it was obvious to the rest of the team that with that brutal strike, the battle was over. Dustoff stood tall on her spider-mode legs, covered in organic viscera, surrounded by pieces of her enemy no larger than Countdowns torso. For a moment, it was a truly horrifying sight… Right up until Dustoff whimpered with a clear sense of utter disgust, trying not to curl up on herself. “Oh Primus, it’s all over me… I’m gonna purge my tanks…”
Chuckling, Minerva twitched her shield, shaking off a few pieces that had flown her way. “You’ll be fine, you big protoform,” she teased the other femme, before folding the shield back into storage. “That’ll wash off just fine.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not wearing it like an exo-suit!”
Shifting to robot mode, Countdown looked around at the carnage, wincing. “A Remi Entrance. Yeah… You know, I’d forgotten how enthusiastic… she can be.”
“She is a lady of many talents, many of them horrifying,” Rodimus agreed as he walked over, picking fragments of road shrapnel out of his chest plate. “But you certainly can’t deny their effectiveness.”
“That’s a word for it…”
“Does anyone have any water? Please?”
“No time for that,” Rodimus said, ignoring the high pitched whine and gleaming optics from Dustoff. “We’re lucky that more haven’t turned up already. Let’s get out of here and then you can clean off.”
His friend kept up the desperate look for a few seconds more, before sighing dramatically and relenting. “Fine…” she muttered, the quartet setting off again. Behind them, the bulk of the Defileds remains slowly faded away into flickers of shadow, as what lifeforce held it together was lost to the Endsong.
***
Sealing the hatch behind Rodimus, Huffer turned towards the pilots cabin. "All aboard and accounted for! Punch it!"
"With pleasure," his crewmate called back. "Everyone hold on, there's going to be turbulence."
Countdown chuckled weakly, even as he slumped into a wall mounted chair scaled for micromasters. "It'd have to be real bad to compare to the last time I was in orbit," he muttered, dimming his optics as the emergency overclocking faded and the exhaustion returned.
"Given the very small parts left of the Wayforward, we guessed as much," Hardtop said, placing his rifle in a storage rack, then grabbing a small water tank and turning to Dustoff. As he opened the valve on top, he gave her a grin. "Hold still stinky."
Dustoff ignored the teasing in favor of sticking her head under the water stream with a sigh of relief, even as Huffer groaned and muttered about how he'd be stuck cleaning the deck plating. As more of the gore ended up on the deck instead of the arachnoid, Rodimus could only pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, promising to get the mech some help.
A voice from the pilots cabin interrupted the moment. "Captain, Magnus is calling for you."
Suddenly looking much more serious, Rodimus went over to a handset mounted by the door, unhooking it and holding it to the side of his head. “Ultra Magnus. Countdown successfully extracted, although we were forced to engage local Defiled. No injuries, but Dustoff is going to need a serious decontamination shower.” He pretended to ignore the moan of misery from behind him. “Who was monitoring global aether readings… Perceptor? Excellent. Have him start a detailed analysis. Based on the nature of the Defiled we fought, we might be looking at a Scar Tissue World… I can’t be sure yet, no. Have Blaster deploy the warning beacons like we discussed earlier. Until we get confirmation, it’s best for Gorlam Prime to be off limits to salvagers.”
Shuddering, Minerva knelt down in front of Countdown. “You certainly picked a nice place to end up stranded,” she teased, opening up her medkit.
He snorted slightly, not powering up his optics. “Not like I knew the planets lifespark was hiding in a cocoon of dead aether,” he muttered. “And it’s not like I had much of a choice. When a transwarp drive goes, you’re there to stay.”
“One way of putting it,” the medic agreed as she started her scans. “And I suppose it does beat the alternative. Although, how exactly did you lose the Wayforward?”
Wincing as he thought back, Countdown couldn’t help but sigh. “Got pretty banged up from a lot of automated orbital defenses, made what repairs I could. I was hoping it’d hold together until I made it back to Commonwealth space at least, but…” he shrugged, frowning slightly. “There’s something else… something I’m forgetting…” Sitting up straight, the micromasters optics blazed to life as his memory files reached the front of his cortex. “Etheirys!” he exclaimed. “That was its name! The planet where I…”
Minerva scrambled back to make room as Countdown leapt to his feet, the commotion drawing the attention of the other bots in the room. He ignored them all, taking a deep breath of air through his intakes to center himself. Then his chest began to transform. Not into his vehicle form, instead carefully moving armor plating and internal components around in a careful pattern that formed a hole leading to directly below the collarstruts.
Everyone in the room froze. Revealed deep within the micromasters chest was a small, golden container, a crystal gleaming with a faint blue-white light visible in the front of it. It was a type of artifact that every bot present recognised, despite the fact that it simply couldn’t be possible. Slowly, with great care, Countdown reached into his chest with both hands, grasping it and pulling it free of its hiding place.
It was Dustoff that spoke first, saying what everyone was afraid to say. “A Matrix. That… That’s a Matrix.”
“They were all on Cybertron during the Fall!” Huffer managed. “None of them made it off… None of them.”
Hardtop shook his head. “Well strip my tires and call me a train…”
Rodimus picked up the handset from where it had slipped from his grip, speaking over the voice of his executive officer. “I’m going to need a Priority Alpha line to the Council as soon as we get back aboard. There’s been a new development.”
***
CHAPTER THREE: DEBRIEFING AND DRAGONS
Secrecy was vital, at least in the short term. A Creation Matrix was simply too valuable for it to be any other way. Fortunately, Countdowns very existence provided the perfect cover story. A Commonwealth Ranger, having returned from the Unexplored Regions, only to have his ship destroyed on the very edges of known space, leaving him stranded on a dead world until the crew of the Lost Light detected his distress signal… Few people would question them escorting him the rest of the way home.
As he stared out the conference room window at the starscape beyond, Countdown mused that at least he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer before the burden in his chest was someone else’s problem. While he could be a leader if necessary, in his spark he would always be an explorer, seeking a new frontier to chart. Other mechs could deal with the future of the species, thank you very much.
“You know how it ended, but I suspect you’d prefer some context on events before you found me.” Turning, he considered the people sitting around the table that took up most of the room.
It was the largest mech present, a mass of blue and white armored plating, that spoke first. “I have reviewed all the relevant documentation that was filed before contact was lost with you. Would that be a suitable place to start?" Ultra Magnus inquired.
"More or less," the micromaster agreed, returning to his place at the table. The chair was compatible with his smaller physiology, lifting him up to table height and unfolding an armrest to form a second desk. "It should be noted, by that point I was only contacting the Commonwealth for scheduled check-ins every twenty years. Simple fact was, I was too far out to get help if I ran into any problems and the maintenance time on the quantum communications array was such that it really wasn’t worth calling more often.”
“Five minute call, two weeks downtime?” Rodimus mused.
“If I was lucky,” Countdown replied. “One of the perils of a solo mission. You have to do all the maintenance yourself.” The larger bots winced at that, getting a smirk in reply, before he tapped several buttons on the desk, activating the built-in holoprojector. An image of the galaxy appeared above the conference table, before zooming in on the section that made up local space. A marker appeared, showing the current location of the Lost Light above Gorlam Prime, followed by a bright line far to the galactic east across dozens of systems, showing the path followed by the Wayforward.
Leaning forward, Rodimus considered the line for a moment. “Very… back and forth, wasn’t it?”
That observation got a slight shrug in reply. "Side effect of my mission brief. Some Rangers are sent out with specific goals and locations to investigate. My assignment was more open ended than that. I was to search for anything that might help against the Endsong. Information, possible shielding methods, that sort of thing. Anything else, be it valuable minerals or navigation data, was just a nice bonus.” A cable slid out of his forearms and plugged into a port on the desk in front of him. The map updated, the Wayforwards path becoming more of a straight line that dived into the unknown. "About a year after my last check-in, I came across a small enclave with some interesting information. A star system that had supposedly survived the Endsong. Don't get me wrong, I was skeptical-"
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“-But they convinced me of why they weren’t investigating it themselves. They were a waystation for their people, a place to refuel and repair before continuing on to their own safe haven. They didn’t have the ships to go exploring rumors and odd dimensional anomalies.”
Several mechs nodded in understanding. “While your entire reason for being out there was to poke things,” Dustoff noted. “In more formal language of course.”
Grinning slightly, Countdown continued, updating the map again, showing the path he’d taken, and highlighting star systems along his path with icons to designate assorted stellar threats. “It wasn’t easy getting to the system in question, I’ll admit. That entire region seemed to be carrying scars that predate the Endsong. But after twelve years, I made it. And what I found…” He paused, considering what to say, then decided to let the hologram speak for him.
Everyone present reacted in some way as the map vanished, replaced by the image of a beautiful world with two moons, massive blue oceans, and continents layered with a rich tapestry of color. It was the sort of world none of the transformers present had seen for millennia. A world that was undeniably alive. "Oh, that's a nice color scheme," Rodimus whispered.
Further down the table, First Aid leaned forward, his gaze intent. "That looks like an organic ecosystem. For it to be developed enough to be visible from orbit it must still be sufficiently stable despite any Endsong effects on environmental aether.”
That comment drew a wry smile from Countdown. “Now that’s where it gets really interesting.” The display changed again, this time overlaying the existing image with a map of the aether flow patterns around it. The planet itself was a shining gem of multiple colors, radiating out from the planets core before returning inward, as had been normal for any world with life before the Endsong. The smaller moon had an odd aetheric signature, with something remarkably strong at its core, but it had relatively little effect beyond the lunar surface.
But it was the larger moon that caught everyone's attention. Glowing from within even more brightly than the planet it orbited, the moon radiated living aether outward, washing over the world below, the other moon, and the space beyond, eventually passing off the edges of the image. “Well, I can safely say I’ve never seen anything quite like that before,” Ultra Magnus mused, before glancing at the mech on his left, who had suddenly started giggling. “Perceptor?” he asked, optic ridges raised.
“My apologies,” the head of the ships science department managed. “I do believe I can identify the phenomenon Countdown witnessed.”
Leaning back in his chair, Rodimus grinned at the scientist. “Must be something special to get you of all bots giggling.”
“Ah, yes, well.” Coughing slightly, Perceptor pushed his embarrassment aside to focus on the topic at hand. “Bear in mind, this is currently conjecture based on a cursory evaluation of the evidence Countdown has presented. That said, it bears considerable similarity to a theory developed by Shockwave and Brainstorm.”
Frowning, Red Alert sat upright. “That sentence alone makes me want to do a contraband sweep of Brainstorms lab,” the security chief muttered.
Placing his hands on the table, Perceptor shifted into what his coworkers had termed his ‘university lecturer mode’. “As we all know, the Endsong is based in dynamis, the ‘dark matter’ that exists alongside the aether-based reality we can perceive and interact with. In order to interact with our reality in even minor ways, let alone corrupt living aether as it does, the Endsong requires truly extreme amounts of dynamis. This simple fact, an immutable law of reality, is the basis of all shielding technologies and methods that have been developed since its first appearance, by creating a layer of specially charged aetheric energy. However, the largest single shield any known civilization has been able to create is mere kilometers in diameter, and overlapping multiple such shields has historically been troublesome at best."
Glancing at the hologram again, Ultra Magnus frowned thoughtfully. “I hate to point out the obvious, but this is quite a bit larger than just a few kilometers.”
“Indeed!” Perceptor noted. “Which, I believe, is where Brainstorm and Shockwaves Planetary Lifespark Assisted Negation theory comes into play. They theorized that it was possible to take the lifespark of a world, converting it to a physical object much like our own Allspark was, and implant it within a lunar body. From there, it would radiate outward, naturally covering the world it orbited with a protective layer of aether. Any decay of the lunar aether is automatically restored by the lifespark of the planet below, which does not have the Endsong affecting it and thus is able to regenerate lost aether as normal.”
Unnoticed by the scientist in his excitement, the mood around the table shifted, from the initial wonder at the concept of a truly safe world and amusement at Perceptor actually managing to keep his explanation (relatively) simple for once, to unease and growing horror. "I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood you somewhere in there," First Aid said. “Because it sounds a lot like their brilliant idea was to murder a planet, compress its lifeforce into a physical object, then use it to shield another world."
“No, you understood the theory accurately,” Preceptor replied, disturbingly unconcerned by the direction the conversation had suddenly taken. “Also, in order to properly negate the effects of the Endsong, Brainstorm believes that the planetary lifespark would need to be at least a class 5 world.”
Groaning, Rodimus slumped back in his chair, running his hands down his face. “Epistemus, help me with those you blessed,” he said, turning his gaze towards the ceiling as if he expected to find the deity there.
“Wait wait wait,” Dustoff said, leaning forward. “Wait. Percy, I know what happens when you try to use Sapient-grade sparks for anything even approaching necromancy. There is no way the entire lifespark of a murdered world wouldn’t curdle almost immediately.” Slapping a palm against the table, she glared at the scientist. “I refuse to believe that even Brainy and Shockers, in the height of mad science arrogance, would think that it was possible to calm and purify a travesty like that enough it would be possible to wield it as a shield against the Endsong.”
In the face of such anger, Perceptor could only smile. “Exactly. And thus we come to the second reason it has remained nothing but a theory. There is no way such a shield can be crafted through deceit or violence. It would require those beings that make up the lifespark to choose to sacrifice themselves." Dustoff blinked, mouth dropping open slightly as she realized what that meant. "If this is the result of another civilisation developing a similar theory,” he continued, leaning forward across the table, “then this is the result of an entire worlds worth of people deciding to give up their lives to protect others.”
“Holy slag,” First Aid whispered in the silence that followed that statement.
“Well, that explains why you were giggling,” Countdown said. “And thank you Perceptor, you’ve actually answered some of my questions about Etheirys here. Although those answers raise other questions…” Shaking a head, he waved his hand, dismissing the questions for later. “If I may continue?” No one protested, although several bots looked slightly distracted by what they’d just heard. “After my initial scans, I made the decision to investigate the planet first, given it was the center of the anomaly. As I approached however…”
Removing the aetherflow overlay from the display, he shifted the image to a recording of the Wayforward approaching Etheirys. Then, the smaller moon lit up with dozens of icons everyone recognised all too well. Threat warnings. Missiles, attack drones, particle beam cannons and more. The entire lunar surface was covered with weapons emplacements, a large number of which were turning their attention to the Cybertronian scout ship.
"This was their first response?" Ultra Magnus enquired, eyes narrowing as he watched the attack make its way across the space between the moon and their target. “They made no attempts to contact you, or even fire a warning shot? An immediate escalation to hostilities?”
Red Alert snorted, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, someone’s paranoid about anyone coming to their private little paradise.”
That drew an odd little smirk from Countdown, but the micromaster simply continued the report. “Wayforwards evasion and shields were mostly able to handle it. The weapons systems were designed with the expectation of having technological superiority in mind. Still, they got enough hits in for what I assume was one of their goals. Like it or not, I had to make an emergency landing on the planet…
***
Looking over the battered form of his ship, Countdown didn’t bother holding back a sigh of frustration. Right along the starboard side of the ship, there was a large furrow burned into the orange-yellow armor plating, along with several more that curved up over the top of the ship and out of sight. Some of those hits were deep enough that they likely did some damage to the sections beneath that armor. And this was the part of the ship that contained the Transwarp drive. Which meant that it was all too likely that he wouldn’t be leaving this star system any time soon. While there was a hostile force here, probably hunting for him.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned away from the Wayforward, looking over his surroundings. At least in the short term, he’d found a good landing site. Remote, no signs of civilization to be seen, and with sightlines that stretched for miles, so even if the hostile locals found a way past the Wayforwards sensor arrays, he had a decent chance of seeing them coming.
Although if he was being honest, he’d been that busy looking for somewhere safe to land, he hadn’t immediately processed the fact that this island was somehow floating thousands of meters above the ground.
Watching as a rock about as big as he was just floated by, he felt a smile forming, almost unwillingly. Yes, the situation might be bad, brought down on a hostile world by forces unknown, far from home and with no one able to help him. Yes, the fact he’d wandered in for a closer look like a Sharkticon that had seen Energon made him want to kick himself. But despite that, he was still feeling that familiar tingle in his wheels as he witnessed something new and incredible. In the end, that was the reason he was out here, after all.
Shaking his head, he turned back to his ship, then stopped as he caught movement out of the corner of his optic. On the far side of the ship, there was a fallen tree not too far from one of the landing struts. As he watched, the log shifted slightly as something bumped against it, followed by the sound of feet shifting in the dirt.
Powering up his internal weapons, just in case, Countdown kept his gaze on the log. After about twenty seconds, a small, red scaled reptilian looking creature poked its head around the side of the log, only to freeze as it realized it had been spotted. After meeting the transformers gaze for several seconds, its head tilted to the side. “Hey… Are you wearing like, a really complicated suit of armor, or are you made of metal?” she asked.
***
“You understood her? Just like that?”
Countdown chuckled. “Her species aren’t actually native to Etheirys. The dragons are descended from a handful of refugees who stumbled over the planet by sheer luck while fleeing the armies that invaded and destroyed their homeworld. At some point, someone from Cybertron must have visited that world, but there was no record of the meeting in the Wayforwards database, just the language in the translation software.” He shrugged, his mood darkening. “I’m hoping the archives on Nexus have something I can take back to them. Their ancestor quite literally escaped with nothing but an armful of eggs.”
Everyone around the table shifted uneasily, clearly remembering Cybertron. Even Rodimus, usually a bot of exuberance and joy, looked a million years older for a moment. "I see no reason we need to keep that particular matter classified," Ultra Magnus said, breaking the silence. "I'll forward a request to the chief archivist and see if they can get started." The ranger nodded gratefully, before continuing.
***
“Mostly metal. Some plastic and ceramics as well, but nothing organic,” he replied in the same language.
“Ha! I was right,” she laughed, leaping out from behind the log and stretching, revealing the rest of her body. She was a quadruped, with her body barely coming up to Countdown’s waist, although her long neck would at least save her from having to look up too much while talking to him. A pair of leathery wings were tucked in tight against her back, and a long tail trailed behind her. "I've never seen any mortal manage to make armor that includes so many moving parts. They need to fit a person inside," she added thoughtfully.
Grinning slightly, the ranger couldn’t help but snark a little. “Well, if the person couldn’t fit inside, it wouldn’t be very good as armor, would it?”
Considering that, the dragon had to nod in agreement. "I’m Fylgja.”
Bowing slightly, he replied to the introduction with a polite “Call me Countdown.”
“So, how'd your skyship get so broken?"
Putting a hand behind his head, the mech looked up at the scars along its hull. "I flew too close to the moon. Someone up there didn't like that, so they started shooting at me."
"Ahhh, that makes sense," the small creature replied. "The Allagans were real jerks like that."
"Oh, you know them?" Countdown asked, although he noted the use of past tense when she referred to them.
"Yeah-huh. Well, I've heard of them. They all died a looong time ago, way before I hatched. I think about three thousand years? You’d need to ask the Loresingers for an exact number.” Flapping her wings, she lifted off the ground and floated alongside the ship. “But the way Mama tells it, they killed Uncle Bahamut, which really upset Auntie Tiamat. I mean, really upset," she emphasized, while Countdown moved his estimation of the dragons age bracket down. "She was so upset she tried a magic spell to bring him back, and it… kinda worked? Except he was really mad about being killed, which I can totally understand, I’d be mad if someone killed me, so he went to kill the Allagans because it's only fair really. But they were ready for him and trapped him in the moon! Which made Auntie Tiamat even more upset, so she locked herself away and won't talk to anyone, and then the Emperor of Allag decided to use the moon to steal Bahamuts power for himself, but something went wrong. Mama said there was an 'Umbral Calamity', and the Allag went splat!"
Nodding to show he was paying attention, Countdown resisted the urge to frown. This child, if she was telling the truth, and if what she'd been taught was accurate, it implied several different things. First, that the people who made that damn war moon were no longer a problem, which likely meant the things defenses were running on automatic. Which meant that if he managed to repair his ship, he could get off-world without too much difficulty, and that they weren’t tracking his location from orbit while arranging local forces to trap him.
Second, this world was even more interesting than he'd already suspected. Resurrection techniques weren’t unheard of, but they were still incredibly rare. And Bahamut had enough of a spark to return from the Lifespark, and still possess incredible power. If the Allagans had actually planned to trap him in that war moon as a power source, as opposed to a desperate method of containing an angry enemy, the implications…
But much more important were the short term considerations. It suggested that Fylgja was related to powerful beings of considerable importance on this world. If she’d wandered off to investigate his landing, there was a good chance someone would come looking for her, and sooner rather than later.
And as he had that thought, shadows passed overhead, along with the sound of much larger wings than Fylgja’s.
***
“Fun note,” Countdown said dryly, to the much larger mechs gathered around the table. “Dragons come in at least as wide a range of sizes as Cybertronians.”
Dang MatrixDragon, this is looking good! I'm glad I finally got back to it, and it's gonig to be higher on the priority read list from now on. I don't know FF14 but... an
Alleghany Moon? Seriously? Though I expect Countdown would have preferred it not shine
quite so brightly in his direction
I saw it on SB earlier, but AO3 is fine too
CHAPTER 4: WELCOME TO EOREZA
Leaning across the table, Rodimus smirked. "So, upon arriving on a distant world of floating islands and fortress moons, and the first thing you did was find a princess who'd snuck out without telling anyone, then the guards sent out to find her? Did you get thrown in a dungeon next, really complete the experience?"
"Ha! No, no, it wasn't nearly that bad," Countdown laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "For one thing, Fylgja isn't a princess. Draconic society doesn't work that way. Her mother, Ratatoskr, was important, yes, mostly because she hatched from one of the seven eggs that Midgardsormr managed to rescue from the Dragonstar, and thus is one of the oldest dragons alive. None of that status passes on to all the children she's had over thousands of years. The only real problem was I was a weird alien with a spaceship that had landed on their island. Heck, the fact I was peacefully talking with Fylgja was actually a point in my favor."
"Okay, fair enough, no dungeon." It was clear that Rodimus was mildly disappointed by that. "So, if they decided you weren't hostile…"
The smaller mech grinned back. "I was a curiosity. And one thing you need to understand about Lady Ratatoskr? She positively adores a good curiosity."
***
It was quickly becoming clear that Dragons didn't see much need for fine architecture. They were perfectly comfortable making their homes in caves and mountains, forcing it to bend to their needs. The massive cavern that Countdown had been brought to had been carved out of the rock by tooth and claw, and probably a lot of fire, over the course of centuries. At a glance, he could see dozens of alcoves, most of them full of dragons in various sizes, looking down at him with obvious fascination.
But he spared them only a glance. In the center of the cavern, there was a raised platform upon which rested an enormous dragon, bigger than any he'd yet seen. Her scales were a deeper red than the others in the cavern, with the marks and scars of time carefully tended to. A long tail curled around the body, making a perfect pillow for her head as she napped. "Mother, we have a guest here to see you," Fylgja announced, her earlier glee now replaced by a nervousness Countdown found rather adorable.
As the massive being stirred, Countdown could feel his outer plating tingle from the sheer power radiating outward, and kept a firm grip on the fear in his spark, even as she regarded him with glowing eyes. "Well now, thou art an interesting surprise," the massive dragon said at last, in a surprisingly gentle voice, even with the cavern amplifying its volume. "A soul wrapped in living metal. I must admit, this is something beyond my ken." She moved forward, head ducking down to inspect Countdown closely. After several seconds, she glanced over to where Fylgja was hovering nervously and laughed lightly, relatively speaking. "Thou always find the most fascinating things daughter. So, what is thy name stranger?"
Smiling politely, he bowed, a deeper and more elaborate bow than the one he'd given Fylgja. "Millady, I am Countdown of Cybertron, Ranger of the Commonwealth, and Captain of the Starship Wayforward." His smile became more playful. "Although honesty compels me to admit, the last title is not as grand as it might seem, what with my being the only crewmember."
That drew a laugh from the dragon, the noise echoing off the walls and making a number of hatchlings take to the air in surprise. Countdown just let the noise wash over him, with all the ease of a micromaster that had spent his life around larger scaled bots. "Such modesty thou have good sir! And yet, a ship that can travel between the stars... Mine father spoke but rarely of the nature of his own, similar trials, but I know tis no simple feat. So I hope thou wouldst be willing to indulge my curiosity, and share your tale."
"Lady Ratatoskr, I would be honored."
***
"I must admit, our people know little of the stars beyond this one," Ratatoskr admitted as she made her way out of the tunnel and into the clearing outside, Countdown following close behind. "Among our kind, only my father would possess the power needed to travel in such desolation. And after the ordeal that brought him here, he would not embark on such a journey again without good reason. If he knows of the threat thy people face, he has never spoken of it with us." Pausing, she looked up at the darkening sky, her expression thoughtful. "He has often called this star the last bastion of hope. Before, I always believed he was speaking in terms of finding safe refuge at last, but now I wonder…"
Lacing his fingers together behind his head, Countdown considered her words for a moment. "Could we ask him?"
She replied with a rumbling noise that he assumed was thoughtful. "I will," she said at last. "If he will meet with thou, I know not. My father is reclusive at the best of times," she added apologetically.
Quickly, he shook his head, waving off the apology. "As a mech whose job means he spends years without talking to anyone in person, I'm certainly in no position to judge."
That earned him an appreciative laugh, as Ratatoskr spread her wings wide. As he watched, the massive dragon indulged in a full body stretch, seemingly working every muscle along her frame, giving a hint as to how much physical power she possessed. "You said that your ship is damaged," she mused, changing topics. "It will take time to repair, I suspect."
"I'd only just begun inspecting the damage when Fylgja found me," Countdown admitted, watching as another island drifted by overhead. In the back of his mind, he made a mental note to look into just how that was possible.
Turning slightly, she considered the smaller being for a moment. "Then for the time being, allow me to offer thou a place to rest and recover."
***
"And so, I became a guest of the Horde for just over a decade, during which I divided most of my time between repairing the Wayforward and exploring the world below." A fond smile slipped onto his face as he thought back to those days. "And let me tell you, that world? Floating islands in the sky are just the beginning. I met over a dozen different sapient races during my time there, and I know of just as many more again."
"Other races taking shelter from the Endsong?" Dustoff mused.
He shook his head. "Nope. Besides the dragons, they're all native. Several clearly share a common ancestor, but not all." Removing the map from the display on the tables holoprojector, he replaced it with a collection of images, showing the various peoples of Etheirys, with labels showing species names. Sure enough, some, like the Hyur, Elezen and Roedagyns, were all similar enough that a common ancestor was possible. Then there were those such as the Sylph, Kojin and Ixal, who were so wildly different they couldn't possibly be related.
"I'm afraid I don't understand?" Ultra Magnus said after several seconds of looking between the various images.
First Aid merely shook his head. "It's an organic biology thing."
"...I'll take your word for it. Although I must ask, it took you a whole decade to repair your ship? Even with a planetary survey to perform, that seems excessive."
Leaning back, Countdown couldn't quite suppress a groan. "At first, I prioritized trying to get the quantum communicator online. Given how long the travel time back to the Commonwealth was, it seemed like the logical option. Actually, that was a complete waste of my time," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I went through so much grief trying to get the raw materials for that, but it just never came together. My best guess is there was some microscopic damage I could never find, but either way, that was countless hours wasted. And it left me with lots of other repairs that could have been done…"
Magnus nodded in sympathy. "Errors in scheduling are never a welcome development."
"I'm guessing you didn't just trip over the Matrix the first time you went looking around for those raw materials," Dustoff said.
"Not even close. Ethereiys was a chaotic place, to put it mildly. In particular, the continent below the dragons domain, Eoreza, was… familiar, in some ways."
***
As a long range exploration ship, the Wayforward came equipped with an array of Sky Spy drones, designed to map out worlds at high altitudes with minimal chance of detection. In this case, Countdown had actually been slightly hesitant to use them. With how the war moon had already seen through his ships' stealth systems, he couldn't help but worry that there were other weapons satellites lying in wait for him. Eventually however, after some discussions with Ratatoskr on the matter, he deployed the drones to map out the world beneath what the Dragons called the Churning Mists.
Now, he stood in the clearing that had become home to his ship, a mobile holoprojector set up, watching as the first images were compiled into a map. Alongside him were Ratatoskr and Fylgja, plus several other dragons of varying size and age, all of whom had varying degrees of interest in seeing the continent known as Eoreza in new ways.
"Wow," Fylgja whispered, flying closer to the massive map taking shape in the air. "This is… Oh, the Loresingers could use this to add pictures to their songs!"
Her mother chuckled. "That is an ambitious idea, daughter. One I shall be certain to mention to them."
Folding his arms over his chest, Countdown considered the image with a thoughtful frown. As the image updated, the Sky Spies AI marking out items of interest and displaying side images, familiar patterns began to emerge. Villages, long abandoned and forgotten. Battlefields where the dead had been left to the elements. The larger cities, hidden behind massive walls lined with guards and weapons. Countless small forts, some at locations intended for defense, while others were lookouts, clearly intended to sound the alarm at best.
Before the Fall, when the Decepticons had made war in an effort to 'unite' all the transformers under their banner, Countdown had been an Autobot Commander. As he looked at the images in front of him, he could feel the familiar dread wrap around his spark. "A cold war, occasionally turning hot," he murmured to himself.
"Huh?" Fylgja asked, turning to look at him.
Ratatoskr nodded her head, her expression becoming much more serious. "Most perceptive Captain. The lands below us are trapped in a war that has been waged for generations, consuming countless lives in a heartless cycle. Ever since the city-state of Mhach first discovered that which would become known as Black Magic. What was at first a tool of defense was quickly warped into a weapon of conquest. The other city-states were forced to develop their own defenses against the expansion, and now, we see how such a path can end." She sighed, wings slumping slightly. "Perhaps the only way it can end. My brother believes that such is the nature of mortals, that their short lives doom them to nothing but a cycle of violence and hatred. That it is all too easy for them to accept the way the world is as all it has always been, that it is the way it should be. I admit, there are times I fear he may be right."
Considering that for a moment, Countdown shuttered his optics. "Mortality isn't the cause of that," he admitted at last, his mind drifting back to Cybertron. Memories of countless battles, horrors, loss… Opening his optics, the mech continued. "Transformers live for so long that some of us believe that no one has ever died of old age. But this?" He gestured at the images being presented to them. "I recognise this from my own past. For a long time, our race was trapped in a seemingly endless war. I won't bother you with the politics, but it grew to the point that pretty much all the nations of our worlds were trapped in it. To the people of this world, we're immortal in every way that matters. But in the end, we still have the same evils in our sparks."
Fylgja looked between the pair, confused as only the young could be. "But you're not evil," she protested, in the tone of voice that insisted such a thing should be obvious.
"No, he is not," Ratatoskr reassured her daughter. "But he speaks truth regardless. The potential for such things exists in all souls, even ours. Envy, hatred, greed, fear… we experience such emotions, just as the mortals do. What matters is having the strength to rise above those temptations, to be stronger." Reaching down, she rubbed her head against her hatchling, who still looked like she didn't quite understand. "Although, now I wonder. Might I ask what happened with your people Captain?"
"An outside problem," he said, knowing Ratatoskr would work out exactly what he meant. "When the ground was literally crumbling under our feet, the would-be conquerors had more important things to worry about. Most of them accepted, however reluctantly, that the only chance for our people to survive the crisis was by working together."
Considering him for a moment, the brood-mother raised an eyeridge. "And were all your people comfortable with offering them that aid?"
That earned her a somewhat bitter laugh in reply. "Not all of us, no. There were a lot of bots that didn't like the idea in the slightest. You're talking to one of them right now." As Fylgja chirped in obvious disbelief, he massaged the back of his neck. "I'd been fighting for a long time. Every time we held out a hand in peace, every last time, they'd cut it off. The thought of doing it again, with so much on the line? Just asking for trouble. First chance they got, they'd do what Decepticons always do, and good people would die. But what was the alternative? Take up arms against our fellow Autobots for their basic decency? None of us were that lost. So we waited for things to go wrong, to make sure all of our people got out of it."
Chuckling to himself, he shook his head. "Except that's not what happened for the most part. Oh, a few of them were stupid, sure, and they were even high ranking 'Cons in some cases. But the majority, and a lot of the rank and file? When the sky was burning, they had more faith that their enemies would help them then in their leaders to save them." Smiling wryly, he shrugged, the earlier bitterness gone. "Having something like that proven beyond a doubt really does shake things up."
"I imagine so," Ratatoskr agreed, before changing the topic slightly. "Given the tensions between the nations of man, we dragons rarely travel to the lands below. But I suspect thou would not prefer such a path."
"Afraid not," he admitted. "I'm the sort of bot that prefers a hands-on investigation. Still, given what you've said about the situation on the ground, it is better I remain relatively unnoticed, at least until I'm reasonably confident I'm the sort of 'Outside Problem' that won't just flip the table." As if demonstrating his point, one of the side displays shifted to an encampment of soldiers being run through training drills. Row after row of men in armor, striking at training dummies with swords, axes and spears. "After all, they might be as welcoming to unexpected guests as your people…"
***
Leaning back in his chair, Rodimus gave the latest set of images a thoughtful look. "Yeah, that looks like the kind of situation where everyone's response to a starship would be 'hey, let's steal it to destroy our enemies.'"
Dustoff sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "With the second response being 'we should attack our enemies now, before they get the ship and destroy us.' So, how exactly did you disguise yourself? Your alt-mode is still the one we had on file for you, so clearly that wasn't it.'
Pushing his chair back, the micromaster stood up, giving everyone a good view of most of his body. As they watched, his body began to shift slightly, panels and components moving to smooth out his profile. Then, as the wheels in his limbs split open and flattened out, hidden compartments in the axles slid open to reveal small crystalline gems that began to glow slightly. A moment later, Countdowns entire form wavered as an image settled over it. It was a carefully crafted illusion of a gray-skinned roedagyn man, the panels of his body made to look like plated armor, with chainmail and fabric underneath. An open helmet shaped like his actual head framed a face dominated by a flattened nose and brilliant blue eyes, with strands of brown hair poking out from under it.
"Ratatoskrs work, for the most part," he admitted as he turned on the spot to give them all a good look. "The crystals in my shoulders have a detailed draconic spell array carved into them, which when power is channeled through them, generates what she likes to call a 'tangible glamor.' It's solid enough, and provides the right kind of feedback to the touch, that it passed casual inspection by local capabilities… um?"
Leaning across the table, Red Alerts optics narrowed as he inspected the illusionary man very closely, with all the laser focus one would expect from a professional paranoid. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction and sat back down. "Limited effectiveness against infrared and magnetic scans. While I'll need more data before making a final conclusion, I don't see it posing a viable threat to the security of the ship."
"Plus there's the fact that any possible beings that might use it as a method of infiltration are over a vorn away," Rodimus said, resisting the urge to grin at his security chief. He'd take it the wrong way.
"That's no reason not to consider countermeasures," Red pointed out, Magnus nodding in agreement.
"Thankfully, the civilisations of Ethereiys lacked the ability to apply such security precautions," Countdown continued, returning to his seat and deactivating the illusion, the roegadyn form flowing back into the crystals like water. "At least as a wide spread measure. There were some people, besides the dragons, with the ability to see through the glamor, but given that they were people in positions of authority that my investigations were already trying to avoid making contact with until I was certain it was safe to do so…" He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, it took about a year before we had the glamor of sufficient quality for field work, at which point I started a more hands-on investigation, combined with resource hunting for ship repairs."
"Judging by the armor your illusion was wearing, I can guess your cover story," Dustoff said, getting a chuckle and nod in reply.
"There's always work for a hired sword in a cold war on the edge of going hot. Still, it could have been worse. Helped a lot of people with wild animal and bandit problems, made some remarkable friends, some of them I even trusted with the truth about where I was from, and even did pretty well in regards to tracking down the rare metals and chemicals I needed… and that was how I ended up on the path to the Matrix."
Plugging back into the desk, he changed the main image back to the map, zooming in on the edge of a large desert. "The Amalj'aa Expanse. Technically allied with Mhach, but by the time I arrived, that was all but non-existent. Mhach had a history of using its allies as expendable slag, because they knew Amdapor wouldn't accept any nation willing to change sides by this point."
"Well isn't that familiar," Rodimus muttered.
"That being said, the amalj'aa people weren't shy about making their feelings known, which led to this." He replaced the map with a rather large settlement, built around and into a mesa. Secondary images, taken inside the city itself, showed streets filled with people from at least a dozen different species, doing business at countless shops and stalls. "Zal'na'rak. The largest free market on the continent. Mhach couldn't get the clans to shut it down, and too many people on the Amdapori side found psuedo-neutral ground too valuable to attack."
"Oh, very clever," Dustoff said.
"If you know who to ask, you can find almost anything there, from restricted Mhachian summoning rituals to high quality Nym wards. Which made it perfect for someone hunting raw materials…"
***
"Seven hells, this heat is disgusting," the small miqo'te woman next to 'Copper Dawn, wandering sell-sword' groaned. Compared to the disguised transformer, she wasn't exactly threatening to look at. Barely five fulms tall, with the usual 'humanoid' body structure that was so common across the galaxy, a mess of blue hair on her head with fur covered ears poking out the top, and a similarly fur clad tail at the base of her spine. Even here in Eoreza, a land familiar with the race in question, Countdown had seen more than a few people make the mistake of assuming she was no threat, usually right before the fight started and the axes came out
He merely chuckled, shaking his head. "I did warn you."
"There's a difference between being told, and knowing." Adjusting the cotton robes she was wearing, O'riana Aluph sighed. "But I just had to experience the famous amalj'aa markets for myself. I am now regretting that decision somewhat."
On the other side of the counter, the vendor couldn't help but laugh. "Many people say such things on their first visit. I think they are overreacting, but then, I am amalj'aa," he said with a shrug, an act that showed off the bulky muscled upper body, massive arms, and thick, leathery skin that were the usual for his species. "Ifrit has blessed us to thrive in these lands. I suspect I would not enjoy what you consider to be moderate."
"I suspect you would be correct," she admitted, shaking her head. "But then, the world would be far less interesting if we all possessed the same needs and desires."
"There would be no point in traveling," he agreed. "Very boring." As if summoned by the comment, the sound of festive music caught their attention, as a wagon carrying a band made its way down the street, singing a rather cheerful ballad. "You see? There would be no festivals to enjoy!"
Grinning, Countdown watched as the wagon made its way down the street, pulled by a large yellow bird covered in ribbons and bells, who was preening from all the attention, and clearly believed that the festival was entirely to spoil him, as opposed to showcasing the realms finest musicians. "And we can all agree, that would be a tragedy," he said, turning back to the merchant and handing him a collection of coins. Taking a small cloth bag off the counter, he handed it to Fylgja, who was curled up on top of his backpack, pretending to be nothing more than a familiar of some sort, before saying his farewells to the merchant and continuing on his way down the street.
"If nothing else," the dragon murmured, her eyes locked on the wagon, the tip of her tail twitching in time with the beat, "I know I'd mourn not getting the chance to hear the music of mortals."
Reaching over to pet the dragons head, O'riana chuckled playfully. "It is taking all your willpower to not fly over there and study their instruments, isn't it?"
"Kind of?" she admitted, squirming. The young dragons love of all things music related, and her utter fascination with the instruments the 'mortal races' crafted for the purpose, was well known to all her friends, or anyone who even knew her by association. "They have a flute, but it sounds so different to the ones we heard in Nym!"
"I think that's actually an oboe," O'riana said. "I am told they are very popular in Mhach. To begin with, they're crafted from wood as opposed to metal. And if you look, you can see that they're held differently…"
Countdown let the discussion wash over him as he kept walking, letting it appear to anyone watching that the miqo'te was talking to him, and not the 'familiar' on his back. Instead, he indulged in his favorite pastime, observing the various beings they passed. The sheer diversity of different species on the streets here was unlike almost anything he'd seen in his travels across the galaxy, and everybody just treated it as normal.
Ahead of them, a species that looked like a bipedal rodent of some sort, who didn't even come up to Countdowns thigh, was in deep debate with some kind of large, bulky creature that looked like it had evolved from birds. Across the road, two Elezen, a race similar to the Miqo'te, but with no tail and long pointed ears on the sides of their head, were haggling with another amalj'aa merchant, while behind them, a trio of kobolds, which he could only describe as 'fuzzy', were struggling to unload a wagon.
As they turned a corner, a horn sounded from the south, a single bellow that cut through every other noise. Instantly, the mood on the street shifted, with the shopkeepers trying to usher patrons inside as quickly as possible, while other locals were heading in the direction the sound had come from, a number of them carrying weapons of some sort.
Approaching one of the later group, Countdown caught the man's attention. "What's going on?"
"Watchers on the city wall," the amalj'aa growled. "There's trouble coming." With that, he continued past the disguised transformer and vanished back around the corner. Countdown watched him go, glanced at O'riana, then they all followed him, running through the streets towards the city outskirts.
Zal'na'rak was surrounded by a massive wall of sandstone, a defense against threats both natural and manmade. By the time Countdown reached it, there was at least a dozen amalj'aa in the group ahead, along with several other adventurers of various species alongside him. He raced up the nearest staircase, taking the steps up three at a time, before skidding to a halt at the top, O'riana hissing a vicious curse next to him.
Far in the distance, emerging from behind the sand dunes and hills, was the unmistakable form of an army. Hundreds of men, perhaps more, all moving with clear purpose. Precisely the kind of thing no one wanted to see approaching without warning. And given the level of panic the city guard was displaying, it was obvious they hadn't had any warning either.
"This doesn't make any sense," O'riana hissed as Countdown took her by the arm and guided her away from the stairs before they were trampled by more guards. "Attacking from the south? Even if the Alliance of White wanted to surround Zal'na'rak, they'd need to cross the border and somehow maneuver their way through the Silver Fields, all without being noticed. How could they even manage that?"
"It's not the Alliance," Countdown replied. His companion pulled her gaze away from the distant army to give him an incredulous look, and he shook his head. "Even from here, I can tell it's all wrong for that. Hardly any cavalry, no banners declaring their allegiance, and look at their formation."
A new voice joined the conversation, as an older guard glanced their way. "Thou art more observant than most, mercenary. Even at a glance, one can see that there is no true coordination in their movements. Indeed, 'tis likely that several of them will collide ere they reach the city walls." Rubbing his chin, the Amalj'aa considered the matter. "Nay, no general that could navigate the fields unseen would be so clumsy. This is something else…"
Rummaging around in a bag at her hip, O'riana pulled out a spyglass, flipping it open and holding it up to take a closer look at the approaching army. A moment later, face pale and ears lowering, she handed the tool to Countdown. "Ohhh, Twelve help us now," she whispered.
Pretending to look through the lens, Countdown adjusted his optics, zooming in on the front units. Then he instinctively flinched back slightly, as he was presented with the decayed forms of bodies long dead, flesh rotting away underneath the ragged uniforms of multiple armies, yet all somehow animated with a perverse mockery of life.
"Ah," he said at last, handing the spyglass to Fylgja. "It's going to be that kind of day."
***
I'm STILL not really entirely happy with this chapter, if I'm honest. If nothing else, Countdowns previous adventure is clearly going to take longer than I planned. But if I don't go ahead and post this, I'll be stuck at this point for even longer, while fragments of later chapters float around half-written.
CHAPTER FIVE: FIRE AND ASH
For a long moment, there was only silence in the meeting room, as everyone attempted to process what they'd just been told. Countdown leaned back in his seat, giving them the time they needed. He'd had similar thoughts the first time he encountered the undead, after all.
"Sparkless." Staring at the holograms in disbelief, Rodimus tried to get his brain module back in gear. "Organic sparkless. I didn't even think that was possible."
"It shouldn't be," First Aid muttered, optic visor locked on the holograms in front of them. "Everything I know about organic biology says that decay sets in too quickly without some form of lifespark sustaining it. Even if there was some way to reanimate the flesh, it would lose any ability to function in almost no time…" His voice trailed off for a moment, then he sighed in frustration at one of the images, where an undead was managing to walk at a brisk pace, despite its legs being nothing but bone. "Never mind, apparently there things are the sort of abomination that doesn't care about minor issues like 'physical limitations.'"
Chuckling slightly, Countdown shook his head. "Ethereyis had more than a few things that had ways around some physical laws. Undead were just one of the more disgusting."
"That's an interesting thing to call sparkless," Dustoff mused. "Undead. Not something referencing the false life like we do with our own monsters. Did you find out how they were created by any chance?"
"Corpses that were improperly buried, or not at all, are apparently perfect vessels for a variety of non-corporeal parasites. The usage and manipulation of said entities was one of the primary weapons in Mhachs military arsenal. And in this case…" bringing up the map again, he highlighted an area to the west of the city. "The Silver Fields. Site of some of the biggest battles between the Alliance of White and the Ascendancy."
"A perfect source of materials. Although, are you saying Mhach was attacking their own ally?" Ultra Magnus asked. "Even if their alliance had flaws, that seems particularly ill-advised."
"They were the obvious suspect at the time, for that and other reasons. It was more complicated than that, but… well, we'll get to that later." Unpausing the footage, he let the early battle play out in front of everyone.
With the only perspective available being Countdowns optics, they were limited in how much of the situation they could see, compared to the usual battlefield overlay. But there was still enough detail for them to recognise that there was no real strategy to the attack. Just a massive horde of undead charging the city walls. "Not the most thought out of plans, is it?" Dustoff noted.
"Mass undead don't really have many other options," Countdown replied. "At least with the weaker ones that were employed here. While the parasites possessing the corpses can subvert the laws of physics to some extent, there are still hard limits to the amount of outright decay they can ignore. Especially the organic version of brain modules."
"Well, thank Mortilus for his small mercies," Rodimus muttered, watching as the recordings viewpoint turned to see a squad of perhaps half a dozen amalj'aa raised orate staves. Fire and lightning sprang to life around their weapons, building in intensity before launching towards the approaching horde, detonating on impact in large explosions that sent bodies flying in all directions. But the gaps in the horde lasted only for a moment, before more undead filled it in, as though the hole had never been there. "Well, there's my new nightmare… Surprised you didn't call in the Wayforward for some air support."
Optics dimming, Countdown sighed in regret and old pain. "I was tempted. Very tempted. A few passes with the plasma cannons and things would have been very different." He shook his head. "But I held back. There was too much potential of triggering a larger conflict, I told myself. Maybe they could pull themselves back from the brink without blatant outside intervention… So many dead, because I wanted to play it safe." A bitter smirk flickered across his lips. "The worst part? Here we are, centuries later, and I still can't be certain I made the wrong call."
"And that's assuming it wasn't both," Dustoff pointed out sadly.
"True… I really hoped that after Cybertron fell, after it stopped being Autobot versus Decepticon, we could leave those kinds of choices behind us. But that's the battlefield for you."
On the recordings, the undead reached the base of the wall, most of them piling over those ahead of them, making a makeshift ramp up. Others took a cruder, noyet more worrying route, clawing at the sandstone walls with enough force that their fingers dug into the brickwork, forming simple ladders. "Oh good, more things organics really shouldn't be doing," First Aid muttered.
"Lack of pain response can be useful sometimes."
First Aid buried his face in his hands, groaning even louder than before. Then the undead reached the top of the walls, and the recording became much more… intimate.
***
"Keep them off the thaumaturges!"
Countdown was already moving, darting between the spearmen to slice off the head of one of the undead. Perched on his shoulder, Fylgja unleashed a burst of flame breath that ignited the next two beasts. One of them, blinded, stumbled into the nearest spear, but the other charged forward while still aflame, aiming to stab Countdown with the broken sword in its hands. At the last second, O'riana ducked past the Autobot and embedded an axe in the animated corpses chest, sending it toppling over the edge and back into the horde below.
The gap was filled instantly by twice as many undead crawling over the ledge, and all too soon the sandstone bricks were slick with rotten viscera, leaving Countdown grateful for the fact he could disable his olfactory sensors. But between their efforts, and some well placed spears from the town guard, they managed to hold the line, letting the mages behind them send more blasts of fire and lightning into the main horde.
After what felt like an eternity, but was perhaps three minutes at most, several amalj'aa took their place at the front line, letting them fall back to catch their breath. "This might be the most disgusting thing I've ever seen," Fylgja muttered, gaze still focused on the horde. The dragon was clearly terrified, with her wings tucked in, her tail lashing back and forth, and her claws digging into Countdowns outer plating enough to scratch it, something she was usually careful enough to avoid
Laughing with a mixture of bitter experience and genuine amusement, O'riana wiped some gore off the handle of one of her axes. "Undead are so much worse than normal bloodshed," she noted. "It's the rot." Considering the dragon for a moment, the miqo'te decided to take the young girls mind off the larger threats. "You know, it could be worse. You haven't made use of tooth and claw yet."
"Oh ick, do not make me vomit!"
"Don't make her vomit, she's riding on my shoulders," Countdown added in agreement, not looking up from inspecting a gash on his forearm. To an outside observer, it would appear that a blade had deflected off the bracer. Behind the glamor however, it had dug somewhat deeper than the illusion implied, piercing his outer plating outright. Thankfully, it didn't seem to have damaged any of his arms internal components. Shaking his wrist a few times, he picked his sword up and turned his attention back to the wall.
Despite the now constant stream crawling up over the wall, the men that had taken their place were holding back the undead. However, the amalj'aas preferences for wearing little in the way of armor meant that despite their size and power, they were starting to be worn down by sheer numbers.
Then, even as the Autobot and his companions began to move forward again, one of the amalj'aa missed a lalafell. It was understandable, with the tiny figure, not three fulms tall, hidden behind the bulk of a roegadyn corpse. But that was enough for the undead warrior to drive his blade into the amalj'aas hamstring, sending him to the ground with a bellow of agony, and the swarm rushed to fill in the gap.
Snarling a Nymian war cry, O'riana threw herself forward, axe heads literally glowing from the aether flowing through them. An undead soldier managed to interpose its shield in her path, only for the force of the blows to outright shatter it on impact, before continuing on to carve the zombie in two.
Countdown followed close behind, wrapping his spark energy around his sword, causing the blade to seemingly ignite with blue flames for a moment, before his lunge drove it into an undeads chest.
***
"Well that's new," Dustoff commented idly. "I take it you learned some of the local combat styles?"
"And not just to blend in better," Countdown said with a fond smile. "They had some absolutely fascinating techniques for the manipulation of both their personal sparkfield and environmental aether. Physical enhancement for starters, healing, defensive barriers, ranged combat like you saw with the thaumaturges, the list is almost endless." He chuckled. "Although it wasn't easy to learn, I'll admit. Practically every single race on Etheirys has an innate talent for aether manipulation in general, so I was starting with a severe handicap."
As Perceptor frantically took notes and muttered under his breath, Rodimus leaned forward. "Soooo, would you feel confident in teaching some of those techniques to some willing volunteers?"
Next to him, Dustoff groaned loudly, glaring at her best friend and captain. "Don't you have enough ways to set things on fire?"
He looked back at her with an expression of false innocence. "I don't have the ability to make swords burst into flames at will. Yet."
"Pyromaniac."
"I prefer recreational arsonist."
Glancing between the pair (As well as Ultra Magnus, who looked like he was developing a headache), Countdown suppressed a laugh. "I'll, uh, see what I can do later. For now, perhaps we should move on."
"Perhaps we can discuss the next abomination to flagrantly ignore the rules of organic biology," First Aid said in an exasperated tone of voice. Countdown glanced over, then followed his gaze back to the recordings, which had reached a rather dramatic and memorable moment of the battle.
While the town gates had naturally been closed and barricaded, the sheer mass of the undead had finally managed to force their way in. As they surged through the gates and pushed the defenders back, what could only be described as a tear in reality formed in the air. From that jagged rift emerged a number of deformed, unnatural forms. Giant eyeballs with leathery wings and spindly limbs, dozens of blank, screaming faces joined by a shapeless robe, massive arachnids fused clumsily with humanoid figures, all these nightmares and many more came out of the rift, joining the undead in their assault.
"Voidsent," the small bot spat, his mood souring. "According to legend, they're from a realm of pure darkness. They're not really organic, and only sort of following the laws of physics if I'm honest. Mhachs sorcerers perfected the art of summoning them to the physical plane, developed ways of binding their will, and promptly began using them as soldiers."
Groaning, First Aid buried his face in his hands again, while Rodimus scowled and folded his arms over his chest. "...Slave soldiers from a nightmare dimension? Classy."
"Think of it less as slaves and more of a business transaction," Countdown admitted. "Most intelligent voidsent considered the sparks of sapient beings a delicacy. The binding was more to stop them from turning around and eating the summoners. Which worked most of the time, unless the voidsent figured out a way to slip the leash."
"And the amalj'aa were allied with them?" Red muttered, clearly disapproving.
Magnus shrugged very slightly. "From Countdowns earlier outline of the international tensions, I suspect that the politics of this situation had reached a point where the nations involved can't afford to outright break alliances, regardless of moral disagreements," he said. Countdown nodded at that, as the viewpoint for the recordings leapt off the wall towards a pack of the winged eyeballs.
***
Landing in the middle of his targets, Countdown pulsed his spark like he'd been taught, sending out a shockwave of aether that sent the creatures flying out of control, leaving them wide open for Fylgja and O'riana. The pair were right behind him, axes and claws seeking out weak points with devastating efficiency.
"Damn Mhach!" O'riana spat. "They must have had summoners hidden in the horde."
"We'd have seen them before now," Countdown disagreed, before sidestepping a blast of purple energy from one of the remaining eyeballs. Darting forward, he hacked off one of its wings, then stomped down into the center of its 'body' when it hit the ground. As the voidsent dissolved into smoke, he backed up to rejoin his friends. "Something still doesn't add up here!"
More creatures charged towards them, forcing a pause to the conversation as they focused on the more immediate issue of survival. Despite their skill, the sheer weight of numbers slowly forced them to give up ground, falling back down the street to avoid being overwhelmed. Other defenders began to join them, abandoning the defense of the wall as monsters swarmed the streets, and just for a moment, Countdown believed they could hold.
That hope died as a wave of tainted aether raced down the street and washed over them. Every defender that the wave touched froze in place, a thin layer of what looked like stone forming over their bodies. Rendered helpless, they were left wide open for the voidsents next attacks. But instead, the creatures all backed away, waiting.
"My my, what have we here?" said a new voice from the air above, unnaturally smooth, and with an undeniable arrogance to it, the sort that reminded Countdown of some of the more unpleasant Decepticon warlords he'd had to deal with over the years. Fighting the effects of the petrification as much as possible, he slowly turned his head towards the voice, before terror bubbled through his energon conduits.
From a distance, one might mistake the figure floating in the air for a Hyur male, wearing dark formal wear of a style preferred by Mhachan nobles. But that would only be for a moment, before the wrongness set in. His proportions were ever so slightly off, with long forearms and thighs contrasted with short biceps and calves. His face was unnaturally pale and bland, like a porcelain mask, but it moved like flesh. Then would come the fact that the fancy clothes were not clothes at all, but the outer layer of his body, insectoid chitin in the place of skin and fabric, somehow twisted into a mimicry of modern fashions. With that, the illusion completely fell apart, leaving the realization that they were looking at a monster.
"Here I was, thinking that this dinner would be bland. Filling, but more of the same souls Mhach had always offered me. But you, little one, you are a treat I did not expect." Setting down in front of the petrified defenders, he licked his lips, eyes focused on Fylgja, who had awkwardly crashed into the dirt. "A dragon, young and vibrant… ohhhh, it has been so long since I got to eat a dragon. Mhach would keep you for themselves, but now? Now I get a treat."
Watching as the beast reached towards his friend, Countdowns spark surged with an intense fury. Before he knew it, feeling returned to his extremities, the petrification effect burning away, and he stepped forward. As he started to move, the voidsent sneered in contempt, clearly unsurprised that someone had managed to overcome the petrification. "There's always someone that just can't accept their fate," he said mockingly, turning towards Countdown.
Then his eyes widened in shock as the Roegadyn illusion around Countdown faded away. The mech charged forward, transformed, and his lunar buggy alt-mode crashed into the voidsent, booster rockets blazing. Those rockets carried him across the street, dragging the voidsent with him, before crashing into the wall of a house, drawing a shriek of pain from the creature. Then, just for good measure, Countdown shifted modes again and used the transformation to set himself up for a snap kick to the voidsents face.
"Away with you!" the voidsent snarled, gesturing wildly and causing a wave of spikes to erupt from the ground. Countdown avoided the worst of it, but was still forced back, giving his opponent time to recover. Using the opening, the voidsent pulled itself clear of the wall, revealing a vast network of cracks running across its face and torso, completely ruining the Hyur illusion. "You… What are you?!" it demanded, glaring at the Autobot, before looking towards its minions, who were all staring as well. "Well, GET HIM!"
Before any could obey that order, one of the strange spidertaur creatures shrieked as an amalj'aa spearman suddenly landed on its back, glaive stabbing through its humanoid torso. A moment later, O'riana practically teleported into view to cleave another of the arachnids in two, and the fight quickly descended back into a confusing melee.
***
Dustoff suppressed an inappropriate giggle with some difficulty. "Not the most dramatic way to blow one's cover I've seen over the vorns, but still very impressive."
"Thankfully, those that survived this battle were all sworn to secrecy," Countdown said. "But even if they hadn't, it was still worth it. I'd go to the smelting pools before I'd let one of those bastards harm Fylgja."
"No protest here, and I haven't even met the kid," Rodimus chuckled, before turning serious again. "Still, what he said before you rammed him… Mhach would have kept her, but he gets a treat this time? Sounds like he's not working for them here."
"You noticed that? I admit, I didn't at the time." Glancing at the recordings, Countdown frowned. "We found out later that this attack wasn't Mhach, or even the Alliance of White employing their enemies' own weapons. It was a third party, one who'd seemingly infiltrated both major powers to some extent, staging 'incidents' like this one to keep the cold war bubbling over."
Cursing under her breath, Dustoff tried to smooth her armor plating back down, which was now flaring outward from her agitation. "I suppose it was too much to hope that form of glitched morality and general stupidity hadn't infected yet another world."
"I said much the same thing at the time. By the time I left the planet, we were almost certain that these 'Paragons', as they called themselves-" Magnus harrumphed in disgust at the name, drawing a smirk from the Ranger, "-weren't even an Eozeran based group. Our best theory was some of the nations on nearby continents, possibly operating under the delusion that they were keeping the war from spreading to their shores." He frowned, his mood turning somewhat melancholy for a moment. "Probably all resolved now, one way or another. I wonder if O'riana ever managed to track down Igeyorhm…"
Sighing, he waved a hand. "I'm getting off topic." He gestured at the recordings, where the voidsent leader was in view once again, now wielding a sword that looked like it was carved from bone. "This is really all just context for what happens next, after all."
"The local version of sparkless, other-dimensional monsters, and a suitably impressive reveal of your true form to some locals, and that's all background material?" Rodimus muttered. "How are you going to outdo that?"
The smaller mech merely smirked.
***
Bringing his blade up to meet the voidsents own blade, Countdown twisted, angling it away from him, then slammed his shoulder into the creature, spinning the wheel mounted in the limb against its face for extra impact. Snarling in pain, the voidsent stumbled back several feet, unable to recover before Fylgja swooped in, breathing a stream of fire over their opponent.
Emerging from the fire, the voidsent raised a hand, a glyph forming in the air around it momentarily, before a bolt of darkness launched itself at the dragon. She avoided the attack with almost contemptuous ease, before turning her flames on a pair of undead that were moving up behind an amalj'aa warrior.
"Blasted lizard," he spat, his earlier composure now completely absent. "I'm going to skin you alive! You'll be begging for me to eat your soul by the time I'm done! And you," he continued, turning back towards Countdown. "Oh, I'll invent entirely new tortures for you, metal man. I will peel away the layers of your soul, one at a time, until you tell me everything. What you are, where you come from, where those like you hide… I will know everything. And you will die screaming!"
Optics narrowing, Countdown powered up the blasters in his arms, the barrels sliding out over the back of his wrists. Before he could make use of them however, the space between them was suddenly blocked, as a pillar of flame erupted out of nothing, reaching into the sky, radiating a heat so intense that even the transformer was forced to back away from it.
The pillar of flame quickly faded, revealing a massive amalj'aa warrior, nearly two stories tall and towering over everyone else on the battlefield. There were cracks in his skin, mostly at his joints, glowing from an internal fire, giving the impression that the flesh was struggling to contain the power within. Growling, the giant glared down at the voidsent leader. "Bold of you to think you will survive today," he snarled, before glancing towards the Autobot. "You and I must speak after this, Countdown of Iacon."
It was only his considerable experience that allowed Countdown to resist the urge to stop and stare at the new arrival at those words. He was more successful than many of the amalj'aa on the street, who had stopped fighting and were now staring at the giant with expressions of awe. Then one of them raised his spear over his head, yelling a single word, starting a chant that was soon taken up as soon repeated by many of his kin, over and over again.
"Ifrit! Ifrit! Ifrit!"
A smirk flickered across the giants face, before turning serious again. "Keep your blades ready, my brothers! These blackguards thirst for our very souls! Ready your blades, and show them that Zal'na'rak will never fall to the Dark!" The flames flowed down his forearm and past his hand, reshaping it into a sword somehow made of literal fire.
Countdown stepped back as Ifrit marched into melee range, outright crushing any undead in his way, flaming sword carving through the larger voidsent. The transformer glanced to the side as O'riana joined him, leaning against a lamp post for support. "Ifrit," she muttered, disbelief in her voice, resting one of her axes on the ground so she could run a hand through her disheveled blue locks. "I honestly did not think I would ever encounter something even more incredible than when you revealed your true nature to me. But here we are."
"You know who this is?" he said, looking at her curiously.
She made herself take a deep breath before replying. "If he is who they are claiming… Then that is Ifrit, Lord of the Inferno. The First Flame of the amalj'aa, and their god."
"He's… well, that's a thing," he mused, glancing around. In the few moments he'd looked away from the fight, Ifrit had torn a bloody path through the enemy ranks, the seemingly endless wave of undead swarming into the city coming to a complete stop. The moment the creatures passed through the gates they literally burst into flames, so intense that they barely lasted a second before crumbling to ash.
More effort was required for the voidsent, but even they were completely overwhelmed by the supposed gods wrath. None of them were able to defend themselves against the fire blade, both metal and flesh giving way with disturbing ease. Their leader was still alive, but only because of some very close dodges, and a willingness to use his comrades as cover.
Countdowns optics narrowed, watching the voidsents movements closely, timing his dodges, studying how he moved. "Come on, give me an opening…" he murmured. A few seconds later, his target did just that, dodging behind a suit of animated armor, right where the Autobot had anticipated. Countdown didn't hesitate, firing both his arm cannons into the voidsents back.
The creature screamed, staggering, and Ifrit took the opportunity presented, driving his blade through the voidsents chest. "The voids curse of life eternal has limits. There must be something left of your soul to return to it," the god said, holding the blade in place and allowing the flames to spread. "That, I will not allow. Now, succumb to the inferno!"
Desperately, the voidsent leader clawed at Ifrits arm, trying to dislodge the blade that had replaced most of his torso. The giant didn't even seem to notice, keeping the blade level. Then flames spread across the last of the voidsents torso and onto his limbs, and the screams cut out instantly. A second later, there was a brief intense burst, and then the fire died away, leaving nothing behind.
"My thanks, Autobot." Nodding in satisfaction, Ifrit turned towards the city walls, crushing a smaller voidsent with his tail in the process. "Now then, with their master dealt with…" As Countdown watched, he raised his hand above his head. A moment later, seemingly from nowhere, fire rained from the sky. Jagged spears of impossibly solid flame rained from the sky, each one seeking out an enemy soldier with shocking accuracy. Across the street, on the city walls, and in the plains beyond, undead and voidsent found themselves nailed to the ground, the flames quickly consuming them without mercy.
***
The conference room was silent for a long moment, before Rodimus spoke. "Well, as statements of divinity go, I like Ifrit's style."
Countdown chuckled. "He pretty much ended the battle in an instant. If those nails of his missed anyone, they didn't survive for very long afterwards." His amusement faded. "Just in time too. If they'd gotten much further into the city, they'd have reached where the civilians were taking shelter." Several mechs winced slightly, being all too familiar with such nightmares.
Leaning forward, Dustoff studied the images of Ifrit, a thoughtful frown on the face. "So, at least one of the local religions gods is real, and able to intervene directly in matters. It's been quite some time since I saw a world where that was possible." Tapping her fingers against the table, the ships xenoculture expert considered the matter. "I wonder if he's a natural response of Etheirys' lifespark, or if there was something more deliberate in his creation. Both are possible, depending on exactly how the planets aetheric fields are laid out."
"I'm more concerned with the fact he knew Countdowns name," Magnus said.
"So was I," the micromaster agreed. "Thankfully, he'd already expressed a desire to speak with me. Once I was certain the fighting was over, I got that chance."
***
Zal'na'rak was built around a large mesa, and the temple the amalj'aa had built into the side of it. Over the centuries, more of the mesa had slowly been hollowed out, leaving vast chambers and halls, many of which were now being put to use as a space for treating wounded soldiers, or for ensuring that those that had given their lives could not have their bodies defiled by any lingering spirits. Slowly, Ifrit led the way deeper into the temple, pausing often to offer words of reassurance and support to any of his people that needed it. Given the circumstances, Countdown (true appearance now safely hidden behind a glamor once again) was more than willing to let him take the time needed.
Eventually, as they walked down a stone hallway in the temples depths, Ifrit spoke up. "Your arrival upon this star was foretold long ago, by Hydaelyn, Goddess of Light and the Mothercrystal of the star."
"Foretold."
Ifrit paused, then turned to look at him, raising one eye ridge. "You disbelieve in such arts?"
"It's not that I don't believe in it," the mech replied, waving a hand, "it's that I don't trust it. My people have encountered more than a few methods of precognition. Even at the best of times, they're unreliable and vague, with lots of room for misinterpretation."
Considering that for a moment, the god nodded in agreement. "There is some truth to that. Which is why, when Hydaelyn foretold your arrival, she took steps to ensure little room for error. As your companions can tell you, the gods rarely take physical form to intervene personally in matters of this realm. There is a simple but valid reason for that."
"Something tells me it's not that you just can't be bothered," Fylgja quipped, earning a startled look from O'riana, but an amused laugh from Ifrit.
"Nothing so negligent, I assure you." He held out his hand, letting the flames flow out of the cracks in his flesh and pool on his palm. "To craft a form that can contain the power of the divine is a complex task, one that requires vast amounts of aether. If I was to bring myself forward without proper preparation, or if my children were to recklessly summon me, that aether would be taken from the land around us, in such amounts that…" Staring at the flames dancing over his palm for a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "Well, I may be the god of fire, but not everything needs to be reduced to dead ash."
Considering that for a moment, O'riana couldn't help but frown. "Without proper preparation… But you knew you would be summoned when Countdown was here, didn't you? You could make the preparations needed to ensure your presence wouldn't harm your people."
There was a chuckle from ahead of them, and an elderly amalj'aa stepped into view. In sharp contrast to most of his kind, who were broad and incredibly muscular, time had worn him down, leaving him with a thin, almost skeletal build beneath the robes and jewelry of the priesthood. Despite this, and the way he had to lean on his staff for support, his gaze was still sharp and clear. "Most perceptive my dear girl. Long ago, before your people crossed the frozen seas, Hydaelyn knew this day would come. That a man made of metal would arrive in our lands from a distant star, and he would have the misfortune to arrive at the same time as voidsent, in their lust and greed, would attempt to lay siege to this city. Knowing this, she made preparations for this day. A spell was prepared, one that would slowly gather the aether needed over time and keep it hidden." He turned his gaze to Countdown, smiling wider as he did so. "Then, when the spell sensed the unique flames of your soul, that aether was released, and our lord took form in this realm. Your arrival ensured that our home was saved, and for that, I thank you."
"Tamel Koh here is the High Priest of the Undying Flame," Ifrit said, gesturing towards the man. "A small order by the standards of our people, but a vital one. For centuries they have maintained and cared for both this temple and the city that grew around it, all the while keeping the secret of your eventual arrival. That we both stand here now is all thanks to their hard work."
"It was my honor and my duty to serve your will," Tamel said, mostly managing to maintain a facade of stoic calm, although it was clear that his gods praise had him wanting to scream in delight. "As you instructed, we have secured the remains of the spells physical components."
"Ah, excellent. Thank you my friend." Ifrit paused, his smile fading somewhat. "Alas, today was not the only battle Hydaelyn foresaw. Tell me Captain, in your time on this star, what have you come to learn about the Umbral Calamities?"
Next to Countdown, O'riana froze, a squeak of horror escaping her throat as she realized why the god would ask such a question. "They mark the end of Astral Eras," the mechanoid said, making sure to keep his voice level. "Massive, civilisation ending disasters that span the entire world, sparing no one. Each one is different. The Third was worldwide quakes that shattered mountains. The last one was an ice age that lasted for centuries… And the fact you're asking me what I know about them can't mean anything good."
The God nodded sadly, his flames dimming. "I am afraid so. Once again, this star will soon face Calamity. It can not be avoided or defeated, merely survived. But thanks to your presence here today, I can give my people fair warning. We can prepare for what is coming." He studied Countdown for a moment. "And it is my hope that you are willing to help us spread this warning to others."
"How?"
"This is not the only place where Hydaelyn prepared a summoning spell to bring forth a god, keyed to the unique fire of your soul. Several of my kin are waiting for their opportunity to manifest in the physical realm, in order to warn their people of what is coming. They simply require your presence to activate the spell."
Fylgja landed on Countdowns shoulder and tilted her head thoughtfully. "So, all we need to do is visit a few temples, their gods will pop up and say 'hi everyone, the Calamity is coming!', then we go home, secure in the knowledge we did our part to save lives from a world-ending threat? Not the most thrilling of adventures, but I'll take it!" she said cheerfully.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, O'riana sighed. "That is not what you should be focusing on here."
"Well, if it was going to be a proper adventure, we'd need to… I don't know., duel an angry god in the middle of a thunderstorm."
Countdown ignored the two of them, keeping his attention on the god in front of him. "I'd like to think I'd be willing to take a lot more personal risk than that to help save lives," he said at last. "So, where do you need me to go?"
Flames returning to their previous intensity, Ifrit laughed in delight. "My friend, you are just as noble as Hydaelyn foresaw! I don't even need to bribe you with her reward for you!" Countdown blinked, and Ifrits laughter only grew as he turned away. "As I said earlier, she did not just merely rely on her foresight! Come, I believe you will appreciate what compensation she has for you!" he called out, throwing open the doors behind Tamel.
The chamber beyond was smaller than those they'd passed through before, being a small circular room built around a central altar. On that altar was a twisted mass of metal, melted and deformed by an intense heat from within, now barely recognisable as a bird. "Before today, this was a tribute to my brother Phoenix, the aspect of the flames that symbolizes rebirth." Stepping up next to it, Ifrit placed a hand on one of the melted wings, running a finger along the edge. "Given the ultimate purpose of the summoning spell woven into it, it seemed an appropriate choice, even if I was better suited for the actual summoning."
Carefully, the god used his flame as a plasma torch to cut open the idol's chest, molten metal dripping to the floor as he worked. Once that was done, he reached into where the heart would be on such a creature and removed a small orange cube with circuitry patterns along the sides. The moment it was free of the ruined idol, the patterns glowed blue for a moment, before unfolding into what looked like a metallic flower. "What is that?" Fylgja asked, leaning forward in an attempt to get a closer look.
"It's Cybertronian," Countdown replied, disbelief in his voice.
"Indeed it is. If nothing else, we did require an object that could resist the ravages of time as the core the summoning was built around. Something almost anything from your star is naturally suited for," he added with a teasing smile. "Of course, this particular item has a considerable history even by your own people's rather extreme standards." The circuitry glowed once again, and the flower transformed once more, this time into a small clockwork gear.
Taking the gear from Ifrit, Countdown turned it over in his hands, frowning thoughtfully. "These patterns are cyberglyphics," he mused, tracing a finger along the circuitry. "Pretty much the oldest Cybertronian language known," he added for his friend's benefit.
"What's it say?" Fylgja asked.
"Hard to say. Most of the language was lost during the Quintesson occupation. That said, I think…" Running a finger along an edge where the glyph seemed to cut off, he nodded to himself as a row of tiny serrated teeth popped out. "I was right. This is a piece of a larger item. One designed to separate into smaller components too." Looking up, he gave Ifrit a suspicious look. "Now how did you happen to come across a relic from my world's ancient past, that just happened to be perfect for separating into multiple smaller parts so that you could set up multiple summoning spells across the land?"
The god merely smiled innocently. "I am afraid you will have to ask Hydaelyn. She never did tell me exactly how that came into her possession."
Considering the object in his hands, Countdown chuckled. "Well, look at that, another mystery to tempt me. She planned this quite well."
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