Transformers Until one

Chapter Two - Part Twenty four

All eyes were fixed on the massive cannon clutched in Megatron's hands. It was colossal—almost rivaling the warlord's own frame. No... its size even surpassed him. He could have wielded it as a shield with ease. Even Wheeljack, who had seen countless inventions in his lifetime, had never laid optics on a weapon like this before.

"If anyone's wondering, allow me to explain," a Decepticon mech called out. "This is the *Fusion Cannon*, forged exclusively for Lord Megatron. That's why it's nearly as large as his—"

His words froze in his throat, silenced by the piercing, bone-chilling glare of Megatron.

"Shut your mouth... Hotlink." Megatron's growl rumbled like thunder. With that single command, the purple Seeker shrank back into the ranks, trembling.

Raising the cannon, Megatron aimed straight at his nemesis. "Let's see how you survive the wrath of my Fusion Cannon... Prime!"

The weapon hummed, charging with an ominous whine that tore through the air. Optimus reacted instantly, hurling himself aside. The beam skimmed his leg—just a graze, yet enough to sear deep burns into his armor, smoke hissing from the wound.

Amid the blazing ruins and falling rubble, Optimus swung his energon axe with ferocity, slamming it against Megatron's arm in an effort to wrench the cannon free. Sparks cascaded as metal ground against metal, the battlefield echoing with each thunderous clash.

"You'll never use this weapon to harm anyone again!" Optimus roared, pressing down with all his might, forcing Megatron's joints to twist at unnatural angles.

But Megatron only smirked, his voice dripping with scorn. "Foolish as ever, Optimus. This is no mere weapon you can take from me... just as you could never take the scar you left upon my face!"

The cannon pulsed crimson, alive with a malevolent glow. Optimus wedged his axe against the seams, straining to pry it loose—but the harder he pressed, the more the cannon seemed to fuse with Megatron's very frame.

A blast erupted—an explosion of force that hurled Optimus across the battlefield, energon spilling in his wake.

He staggered, struggling to rise—only for shadows to descend from above. Seekers dove as one, wings slicing the air, debris scattering beneath their jets. Thick cables shot forth, ensnaring Optimus's limbs, binding him tight before he could break free.

"No...!" Optimus strained against the bindings, but his earlier clash had left him vulnerable.

From the void, a sudden tear in space split open—Skywarp emerged in a flash of violet energy. Before Optimus could react, the Seeker blinked into place beside him, seizing him in an instant.

The Prime was wrenched from the ground, dragged upward into the endless sky.

"Farewell... Prime." Skywarp's voice was a chilling whisper, stolen away by the wind.

Then he let go.

Optimus plummeted, spiraling through smoke and fire, powerless to halt his fall. The world blurred; memories surged—echoes of another day, when he had nearly perished in the depths of a mine shaft, his frame shattered against the abyss.

A scream tore from his spark—raw, desperate, unrestrained. It cut through the battlefield like a blade. The cry was more than a plea; it was the voice of despair itself.

"AAARGHHHHH! Help me... D-16!!!"

The name slipped out unbidden. A name buried deep in his spark. A name from a time long past.

Megatron froze. His optics widened. That name struck like a thunderbolt.

His gaze swept the haze, and before him bloomed a vision—one he had never escaped. The memory that had haunted him for countless cycles.

A friend... his other half. Broken, bleeding, cradled in his own arms. Not slain by fate. Not by an enemy. But by his own failure—his weakness, his lateness to act.

The echoes of Orion's voice, the trust in his eyes even as life slipped away, returned to claw at Megatron's spark. The guilt that had corroded him for so long flared anew.

And then the memory.
Orion's body, torn apart like a shattered doll, energon spilling in pools across the ground. D-16 had knelt beside him, trembling, desperate, helpless.

"No... Orion... please, no..." His own words, the last he had spoken before the void consumed everything.

The battlefield blurred. Present and past collided.

With a guttural roar, Megatron hurled the Fusion Cannon aside. He charged, tearing through allies and enemies alike, until he reached the falling Prime. Time itself seemed to halt as he thrust out his arms—

And caught him.

For the first time, he was not too late.

Optimus landed safely in Megatron's grasp.

"Are you hurt?" Megatron's voice, usually venom, now rang heavy with concern. The alarms of war still screamed around them, but for that moment, they meant nothing.

Optimus stared up, optics wide, disbelief etched across his face. This feeling—it was familiar. Far too familiar. But before he could speak, Megatron jolted, realization snapping him back.

With sudden urgency, he shoved Optimus away, sending him crashing hard into the ground. The Prime gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright once more.

The battlefield fell eerily quiet. Smoke curled, flames hissed, yet confusion blanketed both armies. Megatron stood frozen, his gaze locked on the red-and-blue mech before him. His jaw clenched. *What... have I done?*

The Decepticons around him faltered, eyes fixed on their leader. None dared move. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the crackle of burning debris.

Finally, Megatron bared his fangs and growled:

"Decepticons... RETREAT!"

The order crashed across the battlefield. His forces didn't hesitate. Seekers veered skyward, tanks and ground units turned on their heels, withdrawing in a storm of thrusters and treads until they vanished into the haze.

In their wake, silence lingered. The Autobots stood still, optics following their retreating foes, expressions etched with confusion and suspicion. None could comprehend why Megatron—on the cusp of victory—had ordered a withdrawal.

None but one.

Orion knew. He understood what had just transpired. His gaze lingered on the fading silhouette of Megatron, eyes heavy with the weight of realization. This wasn't just retreat. It was something far greater—a harbinger of a storm yet to come.