A Plee for Vengence: Part 5
In a last desperate act of the Predacon generals to eliminate the Maximals, a Massive fight explodes that will determine once and for all who will triumph in combat.
PART FIVE
There was a moments pause after the wolf’s mournful cry filled the night. Only a moment, then another howl, full of a strange joy echoed back. Moments later there was the sound of claws snicking on pavement as a lithe grey form came loping around the corner. The grey wolf tore across the pavement towards it’s silvery companion. Abruptly, halfway there, it leapt into the air, Timer veritably exploding out of her beast mode, a far wilder creature replacing the wolf that had been there only moments before. Axes in hand, Timber sprinted up to the silvery wolf. Nearing it she slowed, and walked up beside it, the big wolf reaching over her hips, almost idly she reached down and gave it a scritch behind the ear with her metallic fingers.
“I’m here…” she murmured.
Trance had chosen to remain on the outer rim of the gathering Maximals. He looked over his body and noted that he needed minor repairs. That cat did some damage, but none that he could not operate because of. He put away his plasma shotgun away and converted to his beast mode, deciding to let the natural process to heal his wounds as he laid down on the ground, listenign to the others chat.
The wolf gave Timber a feral grin, and transformed. Querion hugged her close, as though afraid to let go, then remembering etiquette, he backed off politely. His eyes were filled with intense relief as he inspected her, looking to see if she had come to any harm.
"Wh-Where were you? Are you all right? Everyone got held up after the Predacons attacked; I wasn't sure if I could get to you in time..."
Querion babbled on like a tense, if concerned, little bot.
[Somewhere on Cybertron]
The room was as dark and dreary as anyone could imagine, the air cold and boasting of secret dealings...silent threats. It was at a dangerous place for those who did not belong there, and even some that did. It was a terrible place. But then, so were its masters.
In the middle room sat a heavy black table of polished jet, triangular in its design. Three chairs, one at each of the table’s facings, were its furniture. In one sat the Predacon Triumvirate named Ramhorn. In the seat immediately to his right, his counterpart Saclamp. The third chair remained conspicuously empty.
“You received my communication?” said Seaclamp in a voice as flat as the table. It was not so much a question as a declaration. The one handed Tripredacus Councilman rarely spoke up if he was unsure of the response.
“Yes,” replied Ramhorn. “And I have given your proposal much thought in the last few hours. It is dangerous, you know. He is still the most powerful of our Three, despite his many failings,” The Triumvirate paused to study his reflection in the dark stone of the tabletop. In its depths he appeared a deep black shadow with bloody red optics. The vaguest outline of two heavy ram horns crowned his head. Ramhorn looked up. “There are those that would follow him, forsaking our truer claim to their obedience. His creatures…they are loyal.”
“And yet they die like any others,” came the response. “Besides, I think we shall find them more than willing to transfer their loyalties. Being of course, the hand that feeds them,” Seaclamp snorted in soft disgust. “They are not loyal to him, or to his ideals,” continued. “They are loyal only to his coin,”
“That we too have in plenty,” Ramhorn mused. “Perhaps, perhaps. I trust you have made arrangements?”
“Most assuredly. I await only your cooperation,” the other replied. Lifting the heavy vice grip that served as his right hand, he placed firmly but gently on the table. He crossed it with his left hand at the wrist and waited patiently for his associate to make up his mind. After what seemed a very long time, Ramhorn finally opened his mouth to respond.
“My dear Seaclamp,” he began, “If such an event were to take place, I believe that you would find me willing indeed, to…” He never finished, for at that very moment, the chamber’s heavy door burst open, admitting the third and final member of the Tripredacus Council. Cicadon.
“Who called this meeting!” he bellowed, not even waiting for the other two to acknowledge his presence. The furious ‘bot came to a stop just behind his vacant chair.
“We both did,” Ramhorn responded in an icy tone. “Please, sit, and we will get on with business,” Cicadon froze, refusing to comply with his counterpart’s wishes. When it had become painfully obvious that he intended to remain standing, Ramhorn continued. “Certain matters have recently come to our notice, concerning the former Maximal Resistance members who opposed our occupation on Endport. Would you care to explain your actions to the rest of the Council?”
“My actions are my own concerns, and none of yours,” said the standing Predacon. “I do not need to justify something that was completely within my rights to do,”
Seaclamp shifted his vice clamp ever so slightly. “Why were we not informed?” he droned. “Furthermore, why were we never even consulted?”
“Yes,” agreed Ramhorn from across the table. “Why was it that two of the three members that comprise the Tripredacus Council had to find all of this out from one of your pet generals?” The ‘bot shook his head mockingly. “It indicates a lack of trust my good friend. And as you know, it is trust that makes our little conglomeration possible in the first place. How well could we rule if we started keeping secrets from one another, and acting on our own, without the blessing of a unified Council?”
“There was no need,” Cicadon shot back indignantly. “The situation required action, and I acted. The Maximals will be dead within the hour,” As will my unlucky informant he added silently. “From that point on, our operations on Endport will remain secure. The operation continues,”
“Hmmmm…” Ramhorn cooed, shifting his weight in the black marble seat. The air in the room seemed to drop a number of degrease. “My sources tell me otherwise,”
“And mine,” confirmed Seaclamp. “Not twenty cycles ago, we received word that your ‘animals’ had launched an attack on these Resistance ‘bots. The report told of a sprawling destructive battle. One that your contemptible toy soldiers were quite soundly losing,”
“Impossible,” Cicadon raged. “They were some of our best…”
Ramhorn cut him off. “Yes, some of the best. Yet even the highest among us must bow before superior numbers. Even if they have not the resources," The black ram’s haunting red optics rose to meet with Cicadon’s. They locked, and Cicadon broke away. Had that been a threat?
“You are aware,” said Seaclamp, “Of how much this folly has cost us. Before they were just a handful of nothing extremists. Outlaws they were called whenever mention of them was made in the Maximal Council. This lends them…a certain air of credibility,”
“One that they could never have managed before,” added Ramhorn. “They should thank you really. You gave them a fighting chance to utterly destroying the project. Another idea of yours, and expensive at that,”
“A folly,” returned Seaclamp. “Your folly,”
Cicadon’s fury evident in the way his own deep red optics burned brightly. “Folly,” the Tripred repeated. “We shall see who had made the error soon enough. We will see what you think of my ‘dreamings’ when Earth and all of its raw resources are placed at our disposal. Then we will be as great as our ancestor Decepticons. Greater even. With an unlimited energy supply, we shall overthrow the Maximals, and make them bend knee to us! To us damn you! No longer will we be looked down upon, spit on, relegated to the abyss while the Maximals have their way with the universe. How can you put a price on such a goal? One day, very soon, we shall be the most powerful beings in the known cosmos. But you would throw it all away for its inconvenience,”
There was a pause.
“You should have come to us,” Ramhon said flatly. “You forget yourself,”
“No, it is you who forget yourselves,” Cicadon threatened. “Though there may be three of us, I hold the final say in this Council. I hold the power. Were it not for me, this whole pitiful confederation would be worth less than nothing. I made you!” he practically screamed. “I lifted you up just like I did that pathetic fool Tachyous Prime. I gave you your power! What little of it you do hold,” He turned to leave. “And this is how I am to be repayed? I shall warn you but once. Cross me, and you will not live to regret it,” And then he was gone, the heavy Council room doors shut tight behind him.
When Cicadon had left, Ramhorn too stood. “Do it,” the Predacon said simply. “And have a loyal unit retrieve the remains our foolishly slain Generals. You know the reason?”
“Indeed,” replied Seaclamp in a voice as cold and unforgiving as death.
And that was that.
Rita and Solarflare surronded Gabreil watvhing as the stone cold predacon watched them both. But as soon as he had appeared he was gone, saved on the fact that they seemed to want to protect switchblade, not hurt her. Solarflare quickly ran to her side and lifted her head up. "Are you alright?" Solarflare said as if still protecting her from unseen force.
"I'll be alright." Switchblade said, a weak smile crossing her lips. The expression seemed to carry another meaning. Solarflare nodded smiling as well, exuberant that he hadn't lost her yet.
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