Chapter Text
Three hundred years have passed since the Autobot/Decepticon war. Good triumphed over evil and Cybertron entered a new age of peace, albeit tenuous. The Autobots and Decepticons experienced a quantum-cycle upgrade in which they evolved into the Maximals and Predacons. Despite the peace, the Predacons felt cheated as scars from their ancestors' war remained. Now, a band of Predacons have taken action to claim what they believe is rightfully theirs…
On the jungle planet of Eukaris, the science outpost was under attack. Laser blasts were creating fires all over the outpost. Terrorsaur was flying into the complex with Waspinator while Scorponok and Sandspear were distracting the Maximal Security Forces on the ground. Scorponok was in his beast mode disabling any Maximal that stood in his way with his stinger and claws while laughing about it. "Come on, Maximals! You got nothin on me!"
Sandspear, on the other hand, was tunneling underground causing minor seismic disturbances before popping up and attacking unsuspecting Maximals. He impaled two Maximals with his own stinger, offlining them instantly. Chuckling darkly, he hurled the newly made robot corpses at more Maximals, knocking them over. "Maximals. Weak." He chuckled.
"Hey, you two aren't having fun without me again, are you? A red and dark grey cybertronic Scorpion walked towards the two and transformed to robot mode. This was the Predacon Double Punch.
"Come on, Double Punch. You need to be faster on the uptake." Sandspear laughed lightly. "I wonder how the others are faring."
"Oh, they're probably fine." Scorponok said nonchalantly. "It's really Tarantulas and Blackarachnia that need to get in." Suddenly, a laser blast sent Scorponok back a couple feet. The source? A yellow and blue Maximal with black spots on the exterior. "If it isn't Cheetor, the resident kid of the Maximals here."
"Hey, bugboy." Cheetor quipped as he aimed his weapon. "You know you don't belong here, right?" He playfully twitched. "You're makin' me twitch."
"Oh, really?" Scorponok taunted. "Then why are we having a party right here?" He transformed to robot mode and unleashed a volley of missiles, joined by Double Punch. Cheetor flipped backward, firing rapid shots that forced Sandspear underground again. The air crackled with energy blasts.
Suddenly, a sonic roar shook the battlefield. Tigatron landed atop a crumbling tower, his white frame gleaming under the sunlight. He scanned the chaos below with predatory focus. "Predacons," he growled, his voice vibrating through the debris. "This ends now." He leaped, claws extended toward Scorponok's exposed back.
Scorponok spun, barely dodging Tigatron's swipe. "The jungle cat! How quaint!" He fired missiles wildly, forcing Tigatron into a defensive roll. The explosions sent plumes of smoke swirling around them. Tigatron's optics narrowed—Scorponok was faster than intel suggested.
Double Punch lunged from the haze, his twin stingers aimed at Tigatron's throat. "Let's clip those claws, Maximal!" Tigatron sidestepped, the stingers scraping sparks off his shoulder armor. He countered with a vicious kick to Double Punch's midsection, sending the Predacon stumbling back. Before Tigatron could press the advantage, Scorponok's tail whipped around, slamming into his back. Pain flared through Tigatron's systems; he tasted a tad of energon in his intake.
Cheetor's rapid-fire blasts forced Scorponok to retreat momentarily. "Need backup, stripes?" Cheetor yelled, already darting toward them. Sandspear erupted from the ground beneath Cheetor's feet, flipping him sideways. The young Maximal hit a smoldering console hard, his weapon skittering away. Sandspear loomed over him, stinger dripping venom. "Stay down, kitten."
A high-pitched whine cut through the chaos—followed by a precision grenade that slammed into Sandspear's side. The Predacon staggered, armor smoking. "Who dares—?"
"Name's Rattrap, pal. And yer crowdin' the kid." The rat-bot dropped from a shattered overhead conduit, landing in a crouch beside Cheetor. His optics flickered with tactical readouts as he tossed a small device. It unfolded mid-air, deploying an energy net that pinned Sandspear's stinger to the ground. "Stay."
Cheetor scrambled up, grabbing his blaster. "Took ya long enough!"
Rattrap snorted. "Hey, some of us plan before we leap, furball." He pivoted, firing twin pistols at Double Punch, forcing the scorpion Predacon back. "Scorpy's got Tigatron cornered near the fusion core. We gotta move—now."
Rattrap didn't gloat. He was already moving, his pistols spitting precise, staccato bursts that forced Scorponok toward the unstable fusion core's containment field. "Keep him dancing, stripes!" Tigatron lunged again, claws scraping grooves in Scorponok's armor. Behind them, Cheetor vaulted over smoldering wreckage, laying down suppressive fire as Sandspear struggled against the energy net. "Double Punch is circling back!" Cheetor shouted. "He's got reinforcements!"
The air crackled, thick with ozone and desperation. Scorponok laughed, a grating sound that echoed off the fractured walls. "You Maximals fight like scraplets—all bite, no strategy!" His tail whipped out, not at Tigatron, but at the core's flickering shield generator. Sparks erupted. The containment field wavered, bathing the chamber in sickly green light. "Let's see how you handle real chaos!"
Suddenly, the ceiling groaned. Not from battle damage—this was deliberate, rhythmic. Thoom. Thoom. Thoom. Heavy, deliberate impacts shook debris loose like metallic rain. Every Predacon froze mid-strike, optics snapping upward. Even Scorponok's triumphant sneer faltered. A section of reinforced alloy buckled inward, then tore away entirely with a shriek of rending metal. Sunlight flooded the gloom, framing a colossal silhouette. A silver gorilla emerged and growled, "Enough." The word wasn't shouted; it vibrated the very air, thick with authority. Apelinq dropped into the ruined lab, landing with a tremor that cracked the floor plating beneath his fists. His optics, a steady, piercing blue, swept the scene—Tigatron straining against Scorponok, Rattrap scrambling for cover, Cheetor wide-eyed. The chaos froze for a heartbeat.
Apelinq moved. Not with Tigatron's feline grace or Rattrap's rodent speed, but with terrifying, unstoppable momentum. He crossed the distance to Scorponok in three ground-shaking strides. Before the scorpion Predacon could retract his poised stinger, Apelinq's fist closed around his tail mid-lunge. With a grunt of effort, Apelinq yanked Scorponok as he roared, lifted clean off his feet, flailing uselessly—before being slammed sideways into a shattered console. Sparks erupted. Metal crumpled. Scorponok's systems screamed warnings into the sudden silence.
Apelinq didn't glance at him. His optics locked onto Tigatron, who stood panting, claw-tips dripping energon onto the scorched floor. "Status?" Apelinq's voice was bedrock, cutting through the ringing aftermath.
Tigatron straightened, wiping coolant from his brow. "Functional. Scorponok fights dirty." His gaze flicked to Rattrap, who was prying Cheetor from beneath a collapsed energon conduit. The younger Maximal's plating was dented, one optic flickering erratically. "Cheetor took a hard landing," Tigatron added, a low growl underscoring the words.
Apelinq's optics narrowed. He crossed to Rattrap's side in two strides, the floor groaning under his weight. Without a word, he gripped the twisted metal girder pinning Cheetor's leg. Servos whined as Apelinq heaved—the girder bent upward like softened wax. Rattrap scrambled backward, hauling Cheetor clear just as the metal slammed down again. "Kid's got more dents than my aft after a bar fight," Rattrap muttered, running a scanner over Cheetor's crumpled thigh armor. "Mobility joint's compromised. He ain't runnin' anywhere fast."
Cheetor hissed, trying to push himself up. "I'm fine! Just—" A spark of pain lanced through his leg, cutting him off. His optics dimmed.
Apelinq knelt beside him, his massive hand surprisingly gentle as it hovered over the damaged plating. His blue optics scanned the injury with clinical precision. "Structural integrity compromised at the femoral actuator junction," he rumbled, his voice low enough that only Cheetor and Rattrap could hear. "Energon leakage minimal. Neural feedback flooding his pain receptors." He didn't look at Cheetor's face—his focus was absolute, assessing the wound like a battlefield schematic. Yet his thumb brushed lightly against the edge of the dented metal, a silent acknowledgment of the agony. "Hold still, Cheetor."
Rattrap snorted, already pulling tools from his subspace compartment. "Kid's twitchin' worse than a turbo-fox in a lightning storm. Ain't gonna be easy." He flicked a glance at Apelinq. "Gimme counter-pressure on the upper joint. Gotta stabilize this mess before he shorts out." Apelinq complied instantly, his huge fingers pressing firmly above the mangled joint, immobilizing Cheetor's. Cheetor's trembling forearm. "Breathe. Not the soldier. The spark that keeps getting back up." Cheetor's optics flickered wider, pain momentarily eclipsed by surprise.
A shadow fell across them—long, sharp, and utterly silent. Apelinq didn't flinch, didn't look up. He knew that silhouette. The air shifted, charged with a quiet intensity that made Rattrap's tools freeze mid-movement. Optimus Primal stepped from the smoke, his broad gorilla frame moving with a predator's grace that belied his size. Beside him, Rhinox's heavy footfalls vibrated the floor plating, his optics scanning the carnage with calm, analytical precision. Above, wings slicing through the haze, Airazor circled once before landing lightly on a tilted support beam, her gaze sweeping the ruined lab like a hawk's.
"Tigatron!" She exclaimed as she rushed to his side.
Optimus Primal's optics swept the ruined lab—scorched walls, sparking conduits, the acrid tang of spilled energon thick in the air. His gaze lingered on Scorponok's retreating form vanishing into a tunnel Sandspear had ripped open, then settled on Apelinq's steady grip immobilizing Cheetor's leg. Rhinox moved first, his heavy steps purposeful as he knelt beside Rattrap, already pulling diagnostic tools from his subspace compartment. "Report," Primal commanded, his voice a low rumble that cut through Cheetor's pained gasps, but was yet soft and caring.
Airazor was already at Tigatron's side, her wings folding tight as she scanned the deep gouges across his chest plating. "Scorponok's upgraded," Tigatron rasped, coolant dripping from a torn hydraulic line near his shoulder joint. "Faster. Stronger. And he wasn't alone." He nodded toward the shattered ceiling where Apelinq had entered. "Double Punch retreated with him. Sandspear burrowed out seconds before you arrived."
"I arrived just in time, then." Apelinq commented.
Meanwhile, inside the command center, alarms wailed as smoke seeped from shattered consoles. Tarantulas skittered along the ceiling, his eight yellow optics scanning the chaos below. Blackarachnia crouched beside him, her spider-legs tapping impatiently. "The security grid's rerouting power," she hissed, venom dripping from her mandibles. "Thirty nano-kliks before lockdown." Below them, Maximal technicians scrambled to reinforce the blast doors, their shouts drowned by the thunder of Scorponok's missiles outside.
"Protoform X," Tarantulas breathed, his voice a dry rasp. He ran a clawed hand over the pod's cold surface. Inside, a shadowy figure pulsed with a deep, unsettling crimson light. This wasn't just a failed weapon; it was pure entropy given form. The legends whispered of its uncontrollable fury, its hunger that consumed friend and foe alike. Perfect. His mandibles clicked in anticipation. This was the chaos he needed to tip the scales irrevocably.
Blackarachnia dropped silently beside him, optics narrowing. "That monstrosity? Tarantulas, are you glitched? Unleashing that guarantees scorched metal and no survivors – including us!" Her spider-legs scraped the floor nervously. "The Maximals locked it away for a reason." She gestured sharply towards the escalating battle sounds above. "We grab the Energon reserves and leave. Now."
Tarantulas didn't turn, his gaze fixed on the pulsing crimson light within the pod. His claw traced the jagged warning symbol. "Survival requires audacity, Blackarachnia," he rasped, his voice low and fervent. "The Maximals' peace is a fragile lie built on our ancestors' defeat. Protoform X is... elemental. Unbound by their tired codes." A low, predatory hum vibrated in his chest. "Imagine the chaos. The fear. Their precious order shattered utterly."
Though showing hesitation, Blackarachnia contacted Megatron. "Megatron, we found the pod."
Megatron's voice crackled over the comm, thick with static and ambition. "Excellent. Secure it immediately. The Predacon Alliance requires its... potential." His tone left no room for debate – or caution.
Below, Optimus Primal knelt beside Cheetor, his massive hand resting gently on the young Maximal's shoulder. "Focus on my voice, Cheetor," Primal murmured, his optics soft with concern despite the surrounding devastation. Rhinox worked swiftly beside him, welding torch spitting sparks as he fused Cheetor's mangled leg joint. The acrid smell of superheated metal mixed with spilled energon. Cheetor gritted his dentate, a whine escaping his vocalizer.
"Almost... got it..." Rhinox grunted, his steady hands redirecting coolant flow around the damaged actuator. "Neural pathways are stabilizing. But he won't be sprinting for a while." Cheetor slumped back, vents heaving. Primal gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before rising, his gaze hardening as it swept the ruined command center. Tarantulas and Blackarachnia's sabotage was evident – shattered consoles, severed power conduits, and the gaping hole where Protoform X's stasis pod once stood. Only frost-rimed clamps remained.
Above them, Tarantulas skittered along a fractured support beam, the stolen pod clutched beneath his thorax. Its crimson light pulsed erratically, casting long, jagged shadows. Blackarachnia followed, her movements sharp with tension. "This thing feels... alive," she hissed, optics darting to the pulsing glow. "And hungry."
Below, Optimus Primal's optics snapped upward, catching the flicker of unnatural crimson. His battle mask slid into place with a sharp hiss. "Airazor! The ceiling!" His voice cut through the lab's groans. Airazor launched instantly, jets flaring as she arrowed toward the retreating Predacons. Twin plasma bolts spat from her wing cannons, forcing Tarantulas to drop low, the pod scraping against the beam.
"Too slow, bird-bot!" Tarantulas screeched, skittering sideways. Blackarachnia spun, unleashing a web of crackling energy filaments. Airazor banked hard, but the edge of the net snagged her tailfin, sending her spiraling into a control panel. Sparks showered the floor.
Below, Optimus Primal transformed—his massive gorilla fists slamming into the deck plating as he launched upward. Rhinox's heavy cannon roared, forcing Blackarachnia to dive for cover behind a shattered terminal. Primal's trajectory was perfect, intercepting Tarantulas mid-leap. His fist closed around a spindly spider-leg. "The pod stays!" Primal growled, wrenching Tarantulas backward.
Tarantulas shrieked, mandibles flaring. "Fool! You don't understand what you're touching!" He twisted violently, kicking Primal's chest plate with piston-driven force. The pod slipped from his grasp, tumbling toward the abyss below. Apelinq lunged, servos screaming as he stretched—but the pod fell inches beyond his fingertips.
A shadow swallowed the lab. Not darkness—something deeper, hungrier. The air pressure plummeted, popping auditory sensors. Then, a jagged maw of twisted metal and crackling violet energy tore through the ceiling. The Darksyde descended like a nightmare given form, its hull groaning with unnatural stresses. Before Primal could react, a tractor beam lanced out—cold, precise, and utterly silent. It engulfed the falling pod, freezing it mid-air. Crimson light pulsed violently within its stasis field, casting hellish reflections on the warship's scarred underbelly.
Megatron's voice boomed, amplified and dripping with triumph. "A gift freely given, Primal! Though your hospitality leaves much to be desired!" The beam retracted, sucking the pod into the Darksyde's gaping ventral bay. Tarantulas and Blackarachnia jumped into the ship as the other Predacons joined them. The warship's engines roared, tearing a jagged hole through the ceiling as it ascended. Debris rained down like metallic hail.
Silence crashed over the ruined outpost, thick and suffocating. Only the crackle of dying fires and the groan of stressed metal remained. Optimus Primal stood frozen, optics locked on the gaping wound in the ceiling where the Darksyde had vanished. His fists clenched, knuckles grinding. Below, Apelinq slowly lowered his outstretched arm, servos whining faintly. The space where the pod had fallen felt colder than the void. "Protoform X," Primal breathed, the name tasting like ash. "Megatron has it."
"We'll get it back and stop them, Primal." Apelinq reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder.
The silence after the Darksyde's departure was heavier than the smoke choking the ruined lab. Optimus Primal remained rooted, optics fixed on the jagged tear in the ceiling where stars winked mockingly through the haze. Below him, the wreckage told its own story: scorched metal, sparking conduits, and the acrid tang of spilled energon mingling with ozone. Rhinox's low grunt broke the stillness as he finished sealing Cheetor's leg joint, the welding torch sputtering out. Cheetor lay panting, optics dimmed with pain and exhaustion, but alive. Rattrap wiped coolant from Tigatron's chest plating with a torn rag, his usual snark replaced by grim focus. Tigatron's gaze, however, tracked the fading engine glow in the sky, his claws flexing against the floor.
Primal finally turned, his gorilla frame casting a long shadow across the debris. His optics met Apelinq's unwavering stare. "Get it back?" Primal's voice was a low rumble, stripped of its earlier command, raw with the weight of failure. "That wasn't just stolen tech, Apelinq. It was a tomb. And Megatron just cracked it open." He stepped over a fallen beam, the metal groaning under his weight. "Protoform X isn't a weapon. It's annihilation given form. The colony on Omicron... that masscre..." His knuckles grinding remembering the reports of that solar cycle. "And we handed it to him."
"That's not all." Tigatron groaned in pain as he managed to stand up. "Casualties are high. A lot of Maximals are injured while some are offline."
"Not only that, but the ships docked here were destroyed." Airazor informed.
"Save for the Axalon." Apelinq added with a heavy sigh. "And that ship is meant for exploration with minimal weapons."
Primal's optics swept the carnage—shattered Maximal frames half-buried under debris, flickering sparks where sparks should never flicker. Rhinox knelt beside a downed technician, his scanner casting a grim blue light. "What do the Predacons hope to gain from such destruction?"
Apelinq's fist clenched. "Revenge. Megatron sees peace as weakness." He gestured toward the smoldering hangar bay. Like he said, the only vessel remained intact was the Axalon; it was an exploration-class vessel, hull scarred, but functional. "They've crippled our defenses. Left us stranded."
"We have to go after them." Apelinq said with determination. "We're the only ones close enough to even catch up to them."
"The Preds' ship has a transwarp generator." Rhinox brought up grimly. "They could go to any place, any time."
Primal straightened, the weight of command settling back onto his shoulders like armor. His optics scanned his battered team—Cheetor propped against Rattrap, Tigatron leaning on Airazor, Apelinq's fists still clenched. The Axalon sat half-buried under fallen girders, its exploration-class hull scarred but intact. "Then we hunt," Primal declared, his voice regaining its bedrock certainty. "The Axalon's sensors can track transwarp signatures. Rhinox, prep her for pursuit. Rattrap, assist Cheetor aboard. All available-bodied Maximals, remove the debris from the Axalon and bring everything you can aboard and put the wounded into stasis pods."
As the Maximals carried out their orders, Apelinq and Primal began talking with one another. "You're commanding well, Optimus." Apelinq complimented.
Optimus Primal stood motionless amidst the wreckage, his optics fixed on the jagged tear in the ceiling where the Darksyde had vanished. The silence was thick with spilled energon and defeat. Apelinq approached, his heavy footfalls echoing in the cavernous ruin. He stopped beside Primal, following his gaze upward to the stars. "We'll hunt them down," Apelinq stated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Primal's chest plating. "Protoform X won't leave a trail we can't follow."
"I don't know if I can command like you, Apelinq." Primal muttered, feeling down on himself.
Apelinq's optics softened as he placed a massive hand on Primal's shoulder plating. "You commanded well back there. Made the hard calls under fire."
The younger commander shook his head, watching Rhinox carefully lift an unconscious Maximal onto a stretcher. "Hard calls? We lost Protoform X. Half the outpost is offline. And now..." He gestured toward the Axalon, where Rattrap was jury-rigging a damaged thruster with more enthusiasm than skill. "...we're chasing transwarp signatures in an exploration vessel."
Apelinq's grip tightened slightly. "Listen. When I took command after the Battle of Hydrus Five, I lost three entire battalions to a rogue Predacon ambush." His voice dropped, the memory etching lines around his optics. "Sat in my quarters for a whole solar cycle, staring at the casualty reports. Almost handed my command back to Sentinel Primal."
Primal finally looked at him hearing that. "What changed?"
"Realized that Predacons like Megatron don't pause," Apelinq said bluntly. "He feeds on hesitation. You saw the trap closing today and acted. Saved Tigatron. Saved Cheetor. Kept the Axalon intact." He nodded toward Rhinox directing stretcher-bearers. "That's command, Optimus. Not avoiding loss. Minimizing it." A sparking conduit crashed nearby, showering them in embers, yet Primal didn't flinch.
Primal vented slowly, the acrid air filling his circuits. "Protoform X..." The name tasted like poison. "If Megatron unleashes it..."
"If Megatron amasses enough followers and/or power, Protoform X will be the least of our worries." Apelinq retorted. Protoform X is just a potential added minion."
Primal vented slowly, watching Rhinox seal the last stasis pod containing their critically wounded. The pod's blue glow cast long shadows across the ruined hangar bay. "Megatron doesn't just want followers," Primal murmured, his voice tight. "He wants validation. Proof that strength alone dictates destiny. Protoform X... it embodies that philosophy. Pure, unchecked destruction. He'll see it as the ultimate weapon to shatter any resistance..."
"And take what he and others believe is rightfully theirs." Apelinq finished.
Primal nodded grimly. The weight of command settled deeper, colder. Around them, the final preparations unfolded with grim efficiency. Rattrap cursed colorfully as he rerouted power conduits on the Axalon's boarding ramp, sparks dancing around his wrench. Tigatron limped past, supporting a dazed technician whose optics flickered erratically. Airazor's wings sliced the smoky air as she supervised the loading of emergency supplies into the ship's belly, her voice sharp and clear above the groans of stressed metal. Cheetor sat propped against a salvaged crate near the ramp, Rhinox crouched beside him running final diagnostics on his repaired leg joint. The younger Maximal's optics were wide, fixed on the gaping hole in the ceiling.
"It's time, Primal." Apelinq said as he walked to the ship, Optimus in tow.
The Axalon's engines ignited with a throaty growl that shook loose debris from the ruined hangar walls. Optimus Primal stood at the top of the boarding ramp, his silhouette framed against the smoke-choked interior. Below, the last stasis pod hissed shut, sealing away another wounded Maximal. Rhinox gave a curt nod from the pilot's chair, his hands already dancing across navigation controls. "All systems nominal," he rumbled, though the ship's groaning hull protested otherwise. "Such as they are."
Primal didn't move. His optics scanned the devastation one final time—the scorch marks where Scorponok had stood, the frozen puddles of spilled coolant, the jagged hole Tarantulas had torn through reality. This wasn't just an outpost anymore; it was a grave. Apelinq's heavy tread vibrated the ramp beside him. "They'll pay for this," the veteran commander stated, not as a promise, but as inevitability. Primal's battle mask slid shut with a sharp hiss. "Engage thrusters, Rhinox. Full pursuit vector."
The Axalon groaned, a deep, metallic protest shuddering through its exploration-class frame. Landing struts retracted with a series of sharp hydraulic clunks, settling the ship's weight onto straining repulsorlifts. Below, the ruined hangar bay blurred—scorched deck plates, scattered debris, the dark stains of spilled energon—all shrinking as the ship lifted. Rattrap braced himself against a shuddering bulkhead, muttering about "glorified tin cans" as loose conduits sparked overhead. Through the forward viewport, the jagged tear in the outpost's ceiling rushed to meet them, framing a slice of star-strewn void.
Acceleration slammed them backward. Rhinox's massive hands moved with deceptive grace over the flight console, coaxing power from strained engines. Stars elongated into streaks as the Axalon punched through the atmosphere, leaving the wounded world of Eukaris behind. The sudden silence of vacuum was deafening, broken only by the ship's internal whine and the faint hum of life support. Primal stood rigid near the cockpit, optics locked on the starfield. No sign of the Darksyde's transwarp wake. Yet.
Rattrap scrambled onto the bridge, wiping grease from his faceplate. "Engines are holdin' together... barely," he reported, sliding into the sensor station. "Scannin' for transwarp residue. That oversized lobster's ship leaves a nasty energy signature." His claws danced across the controls. A holographic star map flickered above the console, pulsing with faint, fading trails. "Got it! Faint, but definite. Vector... Quadrant Seven-Four. Deep space. Nothin' but dead planets and cosmic storms out there."
The Axalon surged forward, its battered hull groaning under the strain of acceleration. Stars blurred into streaks outside the reinforced viewport. Inside, the air hummed with tension. Cheetor lay secured on a med-bay slab nearby, optics dimmed but alert. Rhinox monitored his vitals while simultaneously adjusting the ship's power distribution. "Shields at forty percent," he murmured. "Weapons... minimal. One functional laser battery."
"I just made it two functional laser batteries." A new voice called out. It turned out to be Nyx, a young Maximal pilot/engineer. "You're welcome."
The Axalon shuddered violently as it punched through Eukaris's upper atmosphere. Metal groaned like a dying beast. Through the forward viewport, the planet's amber clouds vanished, replaced by the cold, infinite black of deep space. Stars snapped into sharp focus—pinpricks of unwinking light against utter darkness. Inside the bridge, loose tools clattered across the deck plating. Rattrap cursed, bracing himself against a sparking console. "Remind me why we didn't take a real combat ship?" he yelled over the engines' roar.
"Cause they were destroyed, Rattrap." Airazor groaned, not wanting to deal with Rattrap's constant complaining.
The Axalon's engines screamed as Rhinox pushed them beyond rated tolerances. Stars stretched into luminous threads against the void. Inside the cramped bridge, every shudder traveled through deck plating into their struts. Rattrap clung to his sensor console, optics narrowed at flickering displays. "Transwarp residue trail's fading fast!" he barked. "Like tryin' to track servo in a scrapyard!"
Primal gripped the command chair's backrest, knuckles white. "Magnify sector seven-four." The holographic star map bloomed before them—a desolate expanse marked by dying stars and nebulae like bruised flesh. One faint, jagged scar pulsed crimson against the black. Megatron's signature. Apelinq leaned forward, his shadow swallowing the display. "He's going to activate their transwarp generator!"
The Axalon's hull screamed as Rhinox slammed thrusters to maximum. Acceleration crushed them into their seats. Outside, stars blurred into searing streaks. Rattrap's hands flew over the sensor array. "Energy spike! Transwarp field forming—twenty klicks starboard!"
Through the viewport, space itself seemed to tear. Violet lightning crackled around the Darksyde's jagged silhouette as its transwarp drive activated. Reality folded inward, swallowing the warship like a black hole devouring light. The Axalon shuddered violently—caught in the gravitational wake.
"Hold her steady!" Primal roared, gripping Rhinox's chair. Metal shrieked as the exploration vessel bucked like a wild beast. Loose tools clattered across the deck. Rattrap frantically rerouted power to stabilizers. "We're getting sucked in!"
The Axalon groaned, its frame twisting violently. Outside, the violet lightning intensified, tearing reality into spiraling fractals. Stars dissolved into liquid light. Apelinq slammed his fist against the bulkhead. "Reverse thrusters! Now!" Rhinox's massive hands flew across the console. Engines screamed in protest—a sound like ripping steel. Too late as they got sucked into the transwarp portal.
Darkness swallowed them. Not the void of space, but an absence deeper than shadow. Time stretched like taffy—Primal felt his chronometer stutter, skip, then freeze. Cheetor's pained gasp echoed backward. Rattrap's curses slurred into a distorted drone. Then, light. Blinding, searing white.
The Axalon slammed into existence with a bone-jarring crunch just behind the Darksyde in space. Stars hung frozen outside the viewport—wrong stars. Distant nebulae pulsed with sickly green light, unfamiliar constellations mapping the void. Rhinox wrestled with the controls, dampeners whining as the ship stabilized. "Transwarp jump successful," he reported, optics scanning alien star patterns. "But... coordinates unknown. We're deep in uncharted territory."
Primal's battle mask retracted, revealing a grim frown. "Megatron's trail?"
"Right in front of us." Apelinq pointed.
The Darksyde was heading towards a planet that seemed familiar yet different. Primal recognized it as the planet their ancestors crashed on. The Axalon's sensors screamed proximity alerts as the Darksyde opened fire on them.
"Evasive maneuvers!" Primal barked. Rhinox threw the Axalon into a gut-wrenching spin. Laser fire grazed the hull, showering the bridge in sparks. "Shields at twenty percent! Megatron's playing for keeps!"
"Oh, fer bootin' up cold! This is an exploration ship, not a battle cruiser!" Rattrap groaned.
"Return fire!" Apelinq ordered. Nyx slammed her fist onto the weapons console. Twin laser batteries spat crimson beams—one glancing harmlessly off the Darksyde's thick armor, the other scoring a shallow gouge across its ventral hull. Megatron's mocking laugh crackled over the comms. "Pathetic Maximals! Your pitiful vessel is no match for the Darksyde!"
The Axalon shuddered violently as another volley slammed into its aft section. Alarms wailed. Rhinox wrestled the controls, veins standing out on his neck cables. "Shields failing! Hull breach on Deck Three!" Cheetor strained against his restraints, optics wide with helpless fury. "We gotta do somethin'!"
"We're heading for that planet! And so is the Darksyde!" Tigatron called out.
The Axalon shuddered violently as another Predacon missile slammed into its aft shields. Sparks rained from the ceiling. Rhinox wrestled the controls, muscles straining. "Shields collapsing! One more hit—"
"Brace for impact!" Primal roared.
The Axalon plunged toward the planet's atmosphere, trailing smoke and escaping coolant. Behind them, the Darksyde shuddered violently—not from damage, but from within. A jagged explosion ripped through its port side, vomiting debris and frozen atmosphere into the void. Blackarachnia's furious shriek crackled over an open comm channel: "The stasis pods! Tarantulas, you fool!"
Inside the warship, chaos reigned. Protoform X's containment pod, damaged during the transwarp jump, had pulsed with violent energy, overloading the adjacent stasis chamber couplings. Three occupied pods tore loose from their moorings, smashing through the Darksyde's weakened hull plating like cannonballs. They tumbled into the planet's gravity well, streaking toward the world below like falling stars. More pods followed in their wake, including Protoform X's.
Tarantulas scrambled across the shuddering deck, frantically sealing ruptured conduits. "The Energon leak destabilized the entire bay!" He screeched.
Blackarachnia glared at the gaping hole where the pods had escaped. "Megatron will have our sparks for this!" she hissed.
Back with the Axalon, it screamed through the planet's upper atmosphere, hull plates shrieking as friction turned the ship into a falling star. Inside, emergency lights bathed the bridge in pulsing crimson. Rhinox fought the controls, his massive frame rigid with strain. "Losing stabilizers! Brace for—" The ship bucked violently, throwing Rattrap against a sparking console. Outside, the Darksyde's silhouette dwindled against the bruised twilight sky, trailing smoke from its self-inflicted wound.
"Launch all stasis pods!" Optimus shouted with utmost urgency.
The Axalon groaned, its hull screaming under atmospheric entry. Fire licked the viewports as Rhinox slammed the emergency release. Below, the planet's surface rushed up—a tapestry of jagged mountains and sprawling forests under bruised twilight. Hatches hissed open along the ship's belly. Stasis pods erupted like metallic seeds, streaking toward different parts of the planet.
"All pods away!" Rattrap yelled, gripping his console. The Axalon bucked violently, shedding armor plating. Through the flames, Optimus Primal saw the Darksyde—a wounded predator trailing smoke and escaping pods—plummeting toward a vast plateau ringed by steaming geysers. Yellowstone. The name surfaced in Primal's memory banks like a ghost. Ancestral logs spoke of geothermal violence and primal beauty. Now, it would bear witness to Megatron's hubris.
The Axalon crashed into what would become Thunder Bay. Metal screamed against rock, tearing a scar across the landscape. Inside, Rhinox fought the dying controls until the ship slammed into a mountainside with a final, bone-deep shudder. Silence fell, broken only by the hiss of escaping steam and the groan of cooling metal. Emergency lights flickered weakly.
Both ships were now deep within a planet that became a battleground for their ancestors and would now become a new staging ground for another war…