Transformers Until one

Chapter Two - Part Twenty five

After the great battle in the city of Paradon, rumors began to spread like wildfire—rumors that the tyrant leader Megatron had vanished without a trace. Some took this as a sign of the Autobots' ultimate victory. Yet Optimus did not feel the slightest sense of triumph. Deep down, he knew Megatron was plotting something. What that plan was, however, remained a mystery even to him.
Within the Prime's chamber, Optimus had just finished working through the last of his documents. Unsure of what to do next, he turned toward the window, gazing out across Iacon, and found himself recalling the days when his father still lived.

"...Sigh." A heavy breath escaped him, followed by a sudden thought.

"If there's nothing else to be done, perhaps I should patrol the city. That may ease my mind." With that, Optimus left the chamber, setting out to walk the streets himself.

Iacon—the city of wisdom—founded by Alpha Trion, and known as one of the most peaceful and prosperous cities of Cybertron. Here, libraries abounded, alongside parks, gathering places, and sanctuaries of learning. The Grand Iacon Archive and the towering statue of Alpha Trion stood as sacred landmarks, revered by all.

The city itself was a marvel: its structures laid out in intricate, snowflake-like symmetry, each building crafted of pale marble and adorned with veins of gold that shimmered in the light. This was the work of Vector Prime and Alpha Trion—architects not only of Iacon, but also of Horologis, the sister city whose mirrored design symbolized the harmony of wisdom and time.
Optimus walked the familiar streets in silence, retracing steps he had once taken long ago—back when he was only a young enforcer, a guardian dreaming of keeping his home safe. Those memories resurfaced now, vivid and unshaken within his spark.

Today, he strode not as a nameless officer, but as the High Prime himself. Yet within, his heart had not changed—it still beat with the same vow to protect every life under his care.
The citizens along the streets turned as his towering figure came into view. Many waved with smiles, others called out his name, and some simply nodded in quiet reverence. To each greeting, Optimus responded with a respectful bow or a subtle wave of his hand, acknowledging them not as a ruler, but as their steadfast protector.

Though his title had changed, to the people he remained the same—still the guardian of justice. Only now, his promise had grown to encompass the whole world.

When his patrol was done, Optimus came at last to the city's central square, where Alpha Trion's great statue stood in silent splendor. Bathed in the golden glow of evening lights, the statue seemed to watch over the city still, as if the master's presence endured through stone. Optimus sat upon a marble bench before it, just as he had done in his youth. The cold stone beneath his frame evoked a flood of memories—memories of when he had been no more than an unknown officer, seated in the same place, dreaming of the future.

A soft night breeze stirred the leaves, whispering faintly as though to remind him of the path he must walk. Optimus gazed at the shadow of Alpha Trion's statue stretching across the square, and slowly let his weariness fall away, as if under that shadow he had found shelter once more in the presence of his teacher.

Meanwhile, Megatron...

The sound of chaos echoed through Decepticon command. Metal crashed, walls buckled, and the air filled with the roar of destruction. Soldiers scrambled for cover, trembling in fear, for none dared to stand too close to their leader in such a state.

Megatron was in a frenzy. His crimson optics blazed with fury as his fists pounded through steel, tearing machinery apart with terrifying ease. Sparks showered from every strike, and the structure itself groaned under the weight of his wrath.

"Optimus Prime!!" The name thundered from his voice, reverberating through every wall like the roar of an enraged storm. His hatred burned so fiercely it seemed to ignite the very air around him.
For the second time, he had been defeated. For the second time, his pride had been ripped from him and cast before his enemy. There was no greater wound to the arrogance of his spark.
The rampage shook the entire base until, at last, the heavy doors to the laboratory slid open. From within, Shockwave emerged—calm, deliberate, unmoved by the chaos that terrified all others. His single violet optic glowed coldly as he approached.

"What is the cause of this?" he asked, his voice a monotone of icy composure.

One soldier, cowering behind a broken pillar, stammered through quivering words.

"L-Lord Megatron... he is enraged, my lord. Angered at his defeat to Prime..."

Shockwave stood still for a moment, then spoke flatly.

"Then he should release his anger elsewhere. I cannot work amid such noise."

All eyes turned to Megatron. His optics still flared, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. Yet strangely, he did not strike back, did not roar at Shockwave's words. Only a sharp exhale betrayed his struggle to contain himself, before he turned and stormed from the chamber.

Each of his steps thundered against the metal floor, echoing down the corridors until the sound faded into silence.

He emerged into the streets of Paradon. At once, the scent of smoke and ash filled his senses, lingering thick at every corner. Ruins scarred the city, half-destroyed structures forever caught in the cycle of demolition and reconstruction. No matter how much was rebuilt, the truth was clear: Paradon had long since become nothing but a battlefield, scarred by endless wars between Autobot and Decepticon.

Once, this had been the city of Megatonus Prime—a birthplace of warriors, where strength and honor thrived. Its great colosseum, once a proud symbol of glory, now served only as an arena of slaughter.

Where merchants and laughter once filled the air, only shadows remained—murder, theft, and contraband ruled its streets. The reach of the Primes could not penetrate its walls.
Now, Paradon was wholly the stronghold of the Decepticons, a fortress that stood as proof of Megatron's dominion. Yet even here, among the city he claimed as his own, danger lurked in every gaze, every corner.

It was almost laughable. This city belonged to him, yet even here he could not find safety.

Looking upward, past the haze of smoke, memories stirred within him—memories of the day Sentinel rose to power and reshaped Cybertron's caste system. Paradon, once a cradle of warriors, had been reduced to nothing more than a mining colony, its people enslaved as laborers.

Long ago, to be born in Paradon was a source of pride. But those days were dead. None still held pride in being a "child of Paradon." Only bitterness remained, seared into the spark of its people.
And Megatron felt it too.

The city he now walked was nothing but the corpse of its former glory. And it would remain so—for all eternity.