A sword clashed with a blue servo that easily gripped the blade and a smirk spread across silver faceplates, bright eerie purple optics glinting with madness and a desire for death. A shaking dark grey servo reached out and tried to touch those familiar yet twisted faceplates. The face other the mech still holding the sword twisted into surprise, a more recognizable look on bloodied metal. "Please...please come back." Words were softly spoken in a broken whisper. The dark fingers managed to shakily touch the energon stained face, the owner of the shaking servo leaning forward as the glowing purple optics watched his every move.
"I n-need you...Amica...m-my Amica." It sounded like the owner of the voice was crying, like they had been for a while as he stuttered out the words. It sounded like this fight hurt him more than any physical wound could, deeper than any emotional wound like something spiritually inside him was breaking and dying.
"Amica...?"
"Y...yes. Y-you're my...Amica." The dark grey servo reached behind that dark purple and blue colored spiked helm and brought the other closer, foreheads clinking together. "F...forever your Amica..." The voice was getting quiet, static lacing the words as he servo dropped from the back of the purple optic Cybertronian before everything started to go black.
---
With a roar two mechs clashed, one bathed in black and purple fire, like a raging inferno of darkness as the other mech - a mech bathed in a brilliant glowing white light that took the shape of white and mint green fire - clashed with a glowing sword, the ground around them breaking and being blasted away from the force of the clash between the two beings. Crazed purple optics met steady unfeeling bright unnatural green optics, both so focused on each other that they didn't notice the destruction around them.
"HahahHAHAAAHAAA!" The laughter was distorted, nightmarish in that it echoed and garbled as purple energon spilled from silver lip plates. "SILENCE YOU CUR!" The green optic'd mech shouted, a combination of different voices coming from him as he broke away from the stand still and preformed a spinning roundhouse kick to the face of the other Cybertronian that was knocked back. Another shockwave of power and electricity exploding from them in a tidal wave of raw force, making the crater deeper and more rock and rubble to be dug up and thrown in all directions.
---
"Take my hand, both of you. We will be entering the Realm of Primus and you cannot, under any circumstances, let go of me or you will be lost forever with no way back." There were three Cybertronian mechs sitting in a circle, holding hands with each other like they were about to preform a ritual. One was a huge spiked silver mech with red optics the color of organic blood with scarred faceplates set into a determined scowl. The other was equally as large but not spiked, colored in vibrant red and blue with bright blue optics. Each had an insignia on their frames, the blue optic mech with a bright red insignia and the silver with a pointed purple.
Purple...just like those optics from earlier.
---
Hear my voice Drift.
Hear me. I need you to prepare.
You have to be prepared, you have to get to the temple.
"What do you mean? Who are you? And what do I have to prepare for?" Drift shouted, turning this way and that in the darkness, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice. But it was all around him, no matter where he looked the voice was surrounding him like some horrible nightmare.
A war. War is coming. Please, you must get to the temple.
"But I don't know who you are! And what are these things I'm seeing? Please I HAVE to know!" Drift pleaded, begging. He was so confused and lost, he didn't understand what the voice was trying to tell him. What did the voice mean by prepare for war?! There hadn't been a war since Cybertron fell, everything was peaceful! Fine even! No one was planning universal conquest. "Please, I'm so confused..."
---
"Rodimus! Rodimus please! Come back to me! You can fight him, just don't give up!" It was clearly Drift's voice but...who was Rodimus? Was Rodimus someone he would meet later in life? He felt his own helm lift up to lock gazes with that maniacal expression, the faceplates so familiar but it was like looking at a twisted parody of his best friend. His Amica. It was like a warped Hot Rod standing above on a cliff. "Rodimus, please!" His own voice screamed and his own face felt wet. Was it leaking energon or was it tears? It was hard as the red dust and sand got into his optics from the harsh winds blowing around them on this desert planet.
How did he know it was a desert?
Laughter rang in his audio receptors and it grated on him, it didn't sound right. His spark clenched tightly in his chassis, wildly pulsing and painful. Was he fighting his Amica? But Hot Rod was his Amica! Not this imposter!
"RODIMUS!!!"
---
Drift shook himself out of these memories of his dream as he was circled by four of the creatures. They all looked alike; huge just like that behemoth mech, long spiked tails with glowing red cores, paws massive with a sickle claw on each of the four front paws. Six legs in total with long reptilian necks with two rows of curved spikes going from the back of the head down to the tip of the tail which had a spinning drill but they had two tails. One tail with the spinning drill and the other with a huge curved blade. A long slimy segmented tongue hung out of their mouths and three rows of serrated sharp teeth on both the upper and lower jaws, beady red optics stared at him as they moved with grace and as one around him, sizing him up.
The swordsmech didn't flinch even though he felt fear. Their saliva was toxic, poison dripped and their breaths putrid and could paralyze a Cybertronian if inhaled. So Drift simply just didn't breathe, closing all the vents on his body even though it would overheat his frame.
Their screeching and howls hurt more than just his hearing, it rattled his spark. "Come at me uglies, and give me a workout." The one armed mech taunted and the smallest of the group of four howled and charged recklessly - possibly a young one Drift noted as he dodged the wildly swung swipes of oversized claws. "Is that all you got? A wild swing?" Drift swung his sword up to deflect a swipe from one of the other creatures, getting knocked back but he still stood. Thank Primus because being on his back in this situation was a death sentence. I have to buy them time to get away and for Skyfire to get them. Drift thought, eyeing each creature as they formed a more tight circle around him.
They're testing me. He realized.
---
Red Alert was still wide awake as he waited for any fort of call from Skyfire, or from Ultra Magnus or the others. His fingers tapping a blank spot on the console idly as he scanned the screens that were showing the area around the Lost Light. A parameter safety in case those things decided to try and get close to the ship. Or in case one of those behemoths that still wandered around came by. If one of them came near the ship, at least the weapons are able to offline them pretty easily. Red Alert thought. it was one of Hot Rod's better ideas; get the ship equipped with weapons far stronger than what originally came with it. It's come in handy a few times but they've never really had to use the weapons much - especially planet-side.
The tapping grew in speed as he anxiously waited. He wanted Skyfire to be right, he wanted Springer to be right too. He wanted the captain and commanders to be alive still. But realistically they were most likely offline at this point. They didn't have the experience that any of the veterans of the war had like Ultra Magnus. Perceptor would have been even less optimistic about their chances of survival, more emotionally dead than most on the Lost Light due to a past experience with Shockwave and being tortured for information. No one knew the full extent, the scientist refused to tell anyone about what happened but it was almost like he had lost a Conjunx when he was rescued. Just...without all the depression and wanting to offline himself bit.
::Red Alert this is Skyfire, do you copy?:: Skyfire's voice suddenly rang over the comm and the security director was quick to hop to attention as he pressed a button on the console. "This is Red Alert, I hear you loud and clear. I guess whatever was jamming our communications has been taken care of?" ::That would probably be the case. Either way I have the location of the commanders and the captain. I'm enroot to them and will arrive within five minutes.::
Red Alert felt his spark ease up at hearing this, incredibly relieved to hear that they were still online. "Good work, aerial commander. I will get FirstAid and the other medics up and have them prepare the medbay. Skyfire how bad are they?"
No response for a solid minute before Skyfire's voice replied, ::I don't know Red. Commander Magnus sounded fine but he didn't say anything about Drift or Hot Rod. But since he didn't tell me they were offline I would assume they still function.:: No news is better than bad news I suppose. At least they are still alive if he didn't feel the need to report on that to Skyfire. The security director thought as he sagged in his seat.
---
The hot twin suns orbiting the planet made it feel like his armor was melting right off his protoform because it was just so freaking hot. Steam came and boiled away little bits of energon that escaped tiny nicks in his wires. The stench of boiling and evaporated energon was NOT a pleasant thing but that was the last thing on the mind of the mech Drift was seeing out of as the body he assumed was his as his own voice came from it dodged a ball of black and purple flames.
Primus it was so hot. Nothing like Hot Rod's fire, which was a bright, orangey red and yellow color. Like true fire. Pure fire. Not this stuff that was so dark it was like looking into a void, coming from a mech who bled purple instead of blue. But his own body bled green instead of blue. Why was that? What happened to make them bleed differently than others? There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, no shade or rocky formations left to provide shade.
Everything was destroyed, ruined and flat. There wasn't much of anything as they crashed into each other again and again, pain like no other was engulfing Drift. Pain of strain, of injuries external and internal; emotional and spiritual. It was such a deep pain he couldn't feel anything else. Even burns from that unholy fire that was raining down on him, a brilliant golden shield encasing him in a dome to protect him from the onslaught of hellfire.
That's what it was. Pure hellfire. Though he never imagined it would look so dark.
The golden shield shattered into thousands, maybe millions, of pieces and with a small quick lull in fire he moved out of the way. Speed unlike any other driving him forwards. A desperation for this mech, this twisted parody of Hot Rod. It wasn't fair.
Nothing was ever fair...
---
Drift choked on his own energon as it came spurting out of his mouth as he was pinned to the wall with a large sickled paw on his chassis, the claws digging into his frame. He spat up energon in an attempt to clear his pipes but it did little good as it felt like his chassis was going to give way, his spark crushed under this impressive force.