TRANSFORMERS | Death of a Hero

XI

The glossy shine on Rodimus' plating was replaced by the smoke drifting from the crevasses and the Energon droplets draining from the cuts on his body. He still managed to hold his own as Motormaster swung his sword like a barbarian brute. Every time the blade hit the ground, it struck through the concrete like flimsy paper. His technique seemed novice at best, every foot plant followed a horizontal swing. Rodimus was now waiting for the fatal opening that would put the warrior offline.

Motormaster was now gripping the handle with both hands, his swings resembled a curving motion now, he would spin around and swing up, the curve created an imbalance in the block that caused Rodimus to falter.

Using the wall as a spring, Rodimus catapulted off and knocked the plated face of Motormaster with the leather-metal hilt of his sword.

The opening had presented itself, Rodimus used all his forward motion and pierced him through the shoulder while his remaining sword gripped in his hand. The seemingly neophyte warrior buckled under the pressure, he kept swinging his tinted blade around; managing to contact his opponents' weapon.

While their farce boiled up, Rodimus failed to notice the folly of his loyal lieutenants. Ironhide was in a grudge-match with his equal Breakdown. Equal in strength they were barely making a move on each other,

Ironhide grunted like an old mechanical bot, while Breakdown sneered like a young punk,

"I've heard the stories old bot, someone of your age able to plow through platoons like paper cut-outs."

Ironhide didn't know if flattery was still used as a military tactic, it still didn't affect him,

"That's the thing about stories, they tend to get garbled and their content is mismatched."

Breakdown raised a metallic eyebrow,

"So, I take it the stories are lies?"

"Oh no, of course not, I just like to have the chance to personally deliver the heroic tales, but I feel that I break through 'Con platoons like rust shavings. They were never strong to begin with."

Ironhide broke free of the deadlock and slammed the base of his knee through the interlocking torso-plate and threw Breakdown back. Energon flowed in streams from the wound as he tumbled on the cement.

Hot Shot looked nervously around as the remaining three racers hounded him like easy prey. The one wielding the chainsaw looked like a deranged subject that escaped a mental institution. The Yellow racer twirled her crimson daggers looking for the brash bot's soft spots. The last one whipped out his two assault rifles and trained their nozzles on Hot Shot's torso.

The bot leapt into action and plucked out his two sidearm blasters and let the ion streams flow from the shafts. The racers themselves seemed confused over this display, but let Hot Shot orchestrate his own extinction.

The chainsaw racer bounced forward and slashed Hot Shot in the back and in a quick motion took him by the wrist. Hot Shot, in pain, planted the blaster against his enemy's shoulder and heard the screech of his opponent. He felt his grip loosen and ran forward, the dagger racer was already airborne in an angelic motion. Her descent came awfully fast but Hot Shot used it as an opportunity.

The cylinder on his back shifted directions and the bulk of it was extending over his head while the wheels acted as both ends of the weapon. The entire device hummed steadily and a stream-line rocket blasted from the nozzle.

The sad fact was that a near miss is still a miss. The rocket sailed past her shoulder and collided with the opposite wall. Hot Shot watched the racer fly down and kick him straight of his feet. He scrambled on all fours to escape slices and swings and met up with Ironhide,