“Everyone inside, now!” Obsidian commanded, motioning for the rest of his team to take refuge inside the citadel. “Metroplex can’t hold out forever!”

     Indeed, the giant defender of the citadel was faltering under the thousands of Vexorans that were assaulting the behemoth. Metroplex continued to fight valiantly, vaporizing dozens of the aliens at a time with his huge axe that also functioned as a giant laser rifle, but by now the Vexorans nearly had complete control of the surface of Cybertron. They were massing in the citadel plaza far faster than Metroplex could kill them, and although the damage they were inflicting on him was happening at a fairly slow pace, it was steadily increasing. Currently, Metroplex’s right leg had failed him, so he was forced to continue fighting while kneeling on the ground.

     “Wazzzpinator not want to die! Wazzzpinator haz planz!” Waspinator panicked as he quickly flew through the Citadel entryway. He was partially covered in scorch marks and burns from the lengthy fight outside, but otherwise looked none the worse for a wear—quite an accomplishment for the wasp-bot, to be sure.

     “We all have plans, mate!” Slugslinger replied, transforming from jet to robot as he landed inside the main citadel doors with the rest of their cobbled-together team. “Unfortunately, it looks like those slaggin’ aliens are gettin’ the best of us! There’s simply too many of ‘em!”

     “Everyone, PUSH!” Strika commanded, and all of the assembled Transformers lined up behind the main Citadel doors and began pushing with all their might. Slowly but surely, the main doors grinded shut, and Strika, Bulkhead, and Sandstorm began to bar the doors shut.

     “Well, now what do we do,
     Now where do we go?
     This might slow ‘em down,
     But we’ll still be mashed to dough!” Spittor asked.

     “True, but we need to buy as much time as possible, just in case our backup plan, which I must admit is quite a long shot, does come to fruition,” Obsidian replied. “Strika, Sandstorm, Bulkhead—when you’re finished barring the doors, come meet us in the main planning center where Shockwave, Nighteye, and the Maximal Elders are. We’ll make our stand—hopefully not our last stand—there.”

     “What… how?” Sigma Prime managed to grunt out. Just keep him talking, keep him talking… while you try to figure a way out of this mess…

     “I discovered something from sifting through the vast amount of data left in the computers at the old Vexoran ruins on Earth, you see,” Scourge explained, taking the bait. “They held records of every experiment we Vexorans have ever done on your species, including the creation of you, Sigma Prime.” At Scourge’s emphasis of the word “you”, the Vexoran dug his blade-hand into Sigma’s chest even further, twisting it further as he did so. Sigma Prime cried out in pain, but otherwise kept silent.

     “The original intent for your creation was to create a faux Prime that we could use to infiltrate the Maximals and destroy Cybertron from the inside out,” Scourge continued. “However…. I came across a few lines of your programming code that seemed… out of place. After studying the code, I came to the realization that one of our kind had betrayed us and had, in fact, installed in you the programming necessary to make you the next, GENUINE Prime for your race! Installed in your programming was a “sixth sense,” of sorts, that would activate if you ever got near any of your kind’s ancient holy places, such as this Well of Allsparks. I spent many weeks trying to figure out that part of your programming code, and from it finally managed to extract from it the location of the Well of Allsparks itself! I WAS prepared to tell my superiors all about it on the way to destroy Cybertron, but those misguided morons arrested Scarem and myself as soon as we boarded! Can you imagine? After all we had DONE for them! Thus, I figured the only way to truly stop you in time was to get here myself. And get here I did.”

     “Well, enough with the exposition,” Scourge grinned. “Scarem, get over here.”

     “Yeah, what do you need?” Scarem asked, walking up to Scourge’s side. While Scourge had been talking, Scarem had simply been staring at the huge room in dumbfounded awe.

     “Keep our guest here pinned down. That traitor Nighteye tried his best to ruin my race’s plans, and he came oh so close. Unfortunately, now his creation will have to watch as I destroy his only hope of his planet’s salvation.”

     “You… you can’t do this!” Sigma Prime shouted as Scourge stepped to the center of the chamber and Scarem pinned down the struggling Maximal. “What has our race ever done to you!?”

     “You existed,” Scourge answered off-handedly, his attention focused on the circle of glyphs around the dead center of the chamber. “Scarem, explain it to the buffoon. I have more important things to do.”

     “Our race has always been committed to the destruction of all other races,” Scarem continued. “It’s always been that way, as far back as our historic records go, all the way back to the beginning of time, to what our records refer to as ‘Unicron’, some mythical god of chaos. Bunch of slag, as far as I can tell.”

     “U-Unicron?” Sigma Prime said, his optics widening.

     “Yeah, why? You heard of that legend?”

     “Yes,” Sigma Prime said sadly, “And he is far from a legend.”

     Magnaboss’ optics blinked on. Turning his head painfully to one side than the other, Magnaboss took in his surroundings.

     There were no surroundings.

     Far, far above a massive alien mothership was still coming apart from the inside out, the many sections of the ship fracturing and flying out as far as his optics could see. If not for the dire conditions they were in, Magnaboss would almost have found it… beautiful.

     Magnaboss was falling towards the surface of Cybertron, which was still quite a ways away. He tried to activate the rockets in his feet, but they failed to respond.

     Trying something different, Magnaboss disengaged into his three separate components. Ironhide, who was the most damaged of the three, immediately went offline, as the severing of his link with the other two was enough to destabilize his systems and send him into stasis lock. Silverbolt, the least damaged of the three, tried to flap his eagle wings, hoping that he would be able to carry the other two safely down to the ground safely.

     No such luck—his wing mechanisms were offline.

     Sighing, Silverbolt looked over at Prowl, who merely looked back sadly.

     They were going to die, Silverbolt realized. The others were too busy fighting for their own lives to worry about theirs. There were Vexorans everywhere on the ground below, and the firefights in the air had all but ceased, the Vexorans now completely victorious in that arena. In a few short cycles, it would all be over.

     Looking up, Silverbolt saw three of the five Superion Maximus components falling as well, about two hundred feet further up. Judging from their lack of movement, they all seemed to be in stasis lock. Silverbolt remembered now. Magnaboss and the remaining Aerialbots had managed to get out of the mothership just before it exploded—no doubt from Dreadwing’s efforts—but Omega Supreme, being as bulky as he was, was caught in the explosion. The force of the blast put the six survivors offline, but only for a few minutes in Magnaboss’ case, it had seemed.

     Taking in one last survey of the apocalypse occurring all around him, Silverbolt shut down his optics and waited for the inevitable, trying to focus his thoughts on Blackarachnia instead.

     A cycle later, Silverbolt heard a popping sound from directly above him, a clawed hand grab his shoulder, and then he heard the popping sound again, much louder this time. He felt like he was being thrown somewhere at a supersonic speed, and the stress on his already strained circuits caused him to black out.

     Obsidian winced as another loud bang sounded from the other side of the ten-foot-thick steel door, and a fairly large bump appeared on the side of the door facing them.

     “’Ere it comes…” Sandstorm gulped.

     “So, what? We just stay here and die?” Cybershark asked, exasperated.

     “And take out as many of ‘em as possible,” Bulkhead growled.

     Another loud bang, and the bump on the door enlarged.

     “Like that’ll matter,” Cybershark huffed. “There’s billions of ‘em on the planet, losing a few dozen more—and on that, I’m being unreasonably optimistic—will hardly matter to them.”

     “Unfortunately, we are out of options,” Shockwave said. “Sigma Prime and the others have apparently not found what they were looking for, which is hardly a surprise. Our only other option remains to destroy as many of them as possible before they terminate us. As a race, we were simply unprepared for an assault on the planet this large, given the timing.”

     Another loud bang sounded, and the bump on the door grew even bigger. Given how much their side of the door was warped, it wouldn’t take much more force to break it down.

     Waspinator whimpered.

     “Well, I lived a long life,” Strongarm sighed. “I am ready, Primus…”

     “Way to lighten the mood, mate,” Slugslinger shot back.

     “I don’t get it... this wasn’t supposed to happen…” Nighteye muttered quietly to himself.

     “What?” Magna Stampede asked.

     “Nothing,” Nighteye quickly replied, picking up his gun.

     Shockwave charged up his gun-arm and pointed it at the door.

     As if on cue, another huge bang sounded, this one much louder than the others. The door exploded, showering all of the assembled Transformers with bits and pieces of smoldering metal.

     “Fire, now!” Shockwave commanded, and everyone fired as one into the smoking hole in the wall that just a few seconds ago was a door.

     A few shrieking noises of pain sounded from the other side of the smoking hole. All was silent for a few moments, save for the recharging hum of the Transformers’ guns. Then, in a split second, a huge wave of roaring Vexorans rushed into the Citadel’s command room, their claws morphed into everything from knives to sawblades to ball-and-chains.

     Taken by surprise at just how fast they had entered the room, all of the Transformers took a step back. Shockwave, reacting quickly, fired another huge blast from his gun-arm at the mass of Vexorans, vaporizing about five of them. This, however, proved to be a mistake. This turned many of the Vexorans’ attention on the Predacon leader, who they took to be the most dangerous Transformer in the group. Before Shockwave could recharge his gun-arm again, at least a dozen of the aliens pounced on the one-eyed Transformer and started to hack him to pieces. Shockwave let out a cry of pain, which was cut short suddenly.

     “SHOCKWAVE!” Slugslinger yelled, unleashing his shoulder cannon on one of the Vexorans covering his leader. Many of the other Transformers also unloaded their weapons on the Vexorans attacking Shockwave, and it only took a few seconds to either vaporize them or blast them into retreating back to the large mob of aliens a dozen feet away.

     It was too late, however—after the Vexorans were cleared off Shockwave, the other Transformers gaped as they saw that Shockwave was cut into at least two dozen pieces. His sole optic didn’t even have a spark of life left in it.

     A second later, the room erupted into chaos, both sides engaging the other in an insane rage.

     “H-he’s real?” Scarem asked, incredulous. “You got to be kidding me.”

     “I wish I was,” Sigma Prime grunted. “Unicron attacked Cybertron about three hundred stellar cycles ago. Some of the remains of that battle still are still here to this day.”

     “Naw, you can’t—you’re just trying to distract me, Prime,” Scarem said, his tone suddenly growing more serious. Leaning over more closely to Sigma Prime, Scarem morphed one of his four arms into a blade and held it an inch from the Maximal’s face. “And I won’t fall for any more of your kind’s tricks.”

     While all this was being said, Scourge was standing in the center of the chamber, mumbling something in an unrecognizable language.

     “What—what are you doing?” Sigma Prime yelled out to Scourge.

     Scourge ignored him and kept on mumbling.

     “And you aren’t going to distract HIM, either,” Scarem said menacingly, the very tip of his blade now right in between Sigma’s optics. “Now, onto what I was saying before—our race was driven by this belief in this mythological chaos god to seek out and destroy all other races. Eventually we abandoned those silly superstitions, but our drive to be the sole race in the galaxy still remains. This is what we call the ‘proper timeline’. Our Vexoran elders have calculated exactly what events need to occur, and when they need to occur, to bring about entropy and the destruction of all other races as soon as possible. We have discovered recently that you Transformers are a hindrance to this proper timeline. This is why we—“

     Scarem continued talking, but Sigma Prime suddenly found that he could no longer hear the Vexoran. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything at all!

     What the…? Have my audio receptors suddenly shut down? But they aren’t damaged…

     ORGANISM TRYING TO ACTIVATE WELL DOES NOT HAVE PROPER ENERGY SIGNATURE, a loud, monotonous voice suddenly boomed in Sigma Prime’s mind. RECEPTIVE SPARK NEARBY. ATTEMPTING TO CONNECT TO RECEPTIVE SPARK.

     “Who is—“ Sigma Prime said, but caught himself when he realized Scarem had heard him. In fact, he could now hear Scourge’s mumbling as well—as well as the rest of the sounds in the room!

     “Wait, what? What are you asking?” Scarem said, puzzled.

     Suddenly, Scourge yelled out from across the room. Looking to the edge of his vision, given the limited moment his head could handle at the moment without getting impaled, Sigma Prime saw the optics of the huge Transformer statue standing on one side of the room light up a bright blue. Scarem turned around and gasped as the huge statue unsheated its sword and took a step forward.

     “Scarem, kill Prime! Kill him now!” Scourge yelled out, on the verge of panicking.

     “Right, got it! Alright Sigma, time to meet—huh?”

     Sigma Prime had closed his optics, preparing for the inevitable. After Scarem’s confused statement, however, Sigma opened his optics—only to find that Scarem’s blade-hand had gone right through him, and into the floor below! Seeing an aura coming off of him, Sigma held up his hands to his eyes—however, instead of their usual white-and-red color, they were now entirely a transparent light blue. Standing up—right through Scarem—Sigma Prime inspected the rest of his body, seeing that it was all the same transparent electric blue.

     “Uh-oh…” Scarem gulped, scrambling away from Sigma Prime.

     Meanwhile, Scourge stared up speechless as the giant statue raised its sword, pointing the end of the blade at the Vexoran. As its ancient joints groaned and moved, small pieces of rubble shook off of the giant, revealing that it was actually a normal, albeit very very ancient, Autobot. Although it looked huge to Sigma Prime and the two Vexorans, in actuality it was only slightly larger-than-average when compared to a normal Autobot.

     “Spawn of Unicron,” the ancient Autobot thundered, “You have defiled this holy place! You think highly enough of yourself to try to gain the power of the Matrix? Let us see how well you do against just a tiny fraction of that power!”

     The Autobot’s sword started to brighten. Scarem quickly dove right through Sigma Prime, heading for the exit. Sigma Prime shielded his eyes as the glow intensified. Scourge cursed and leapt aside, but the ancient Autobot was too fast. Keeping the tip of his sword trained on Scourge, as soon as the Vexoran landed back on his feet, the Autobot’s sword flashed briefly and a blue bolt of energy leapt out of it, engulfing Scourge. The Vexoran didn’t even have time to react before his body was vaporized.

     “Slag, it’s real! It’s real it’s real it’s real…” Scarem repeated, panicking as he started to make his way into the corridor leading away from the Well of Allsparks.

     Looking down at Sigma Prime, the old Autobot rumbled, “Sigma Prime, you hold the receptive spark. You know what to do. I will leave the other to you.”

     Sigma Prime nodded. The Autobot was right—he DID know what this “ghost form” of his was capable of, though he couldn’t explain why. Closing his optics, in a split second he teleported from where he was standing to a few feet ahead of Scarem. The Vexoran gasped and skidded to a halt.

     “What… what’s going—“ Scarem started.

     He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Sigma Prime merely thrust his hand into Scarem’s main body. Scarem screeched in agonizing pain as his whole body suddenly lit up in blue flames, which started to eat at his form. Within a few seconds, there was no sign there had ever been a Vexoran standing before Sigma Prime.

     Closing his optics again, Sigma Prime teleported back into the main chamber, and turned his head upwards to the ancient Autobot.

     “Alright, now that we’ve dealt with them,” Sigma Prime said, “What is going on here?”

     “The threat is not yet passed, Sigma Prime,” the Autobot replied. “You, the new Prime, must open the Well of Allsparks. Only then can this planet be saved.”

     “How…?” Sigma Prime started. He stopped mid-sentence, sensing that the knowledge of how to do so had suddenly just entered his processor inexplicably.

     The ancient Autobot smirked.

     Sigma Prime walked up to the circle of glowing glyphs in the center of the chamber and thrust his hand into it, mumbling something in ancient Cybertronian.

     A light blue light erupted from the circle, and as Sigma Prime took a few steps back, he saw hundreds--- no, thousands—of transparent blue forms rocket up from the circle. When the forms reached the ceiling high above, they flew right through it, as if nothing solid existed there. At first the forms were moving far too fast for Sigma Prime to make out what they were, but out of the corner of his optics he saw a few familiar forms pass upwards…. Rattrap and Triceradon!? Sigma Prime also noticed that there was no longer an aura coming off of him—looking down at himself, he saw he was back to his normal form.

     “Hey… you,” Sigma Prime said, starting to address the ancient Autobot and then realizing he didn’t know its name. “Did I… did I just open up the actual Matrix?”

     “Yes… yes, you did,” the Autobot said. “As the new Prime, you are the only living Transformer capable of performing such an act. Every Autobot and Maximal that has ever lived and died is now rushing to defend our planet. Congratulations, Sigma Prime. By reaching this place, you have truly proven worthy of your title, regardless of your origins. And… the name is Vector Prime, by the way.”

     Slugslinger, Magna Stampede, and Spittor had all fallen.

     Nighteye had begun to give up hope. Although they were fighting valiantly, and they were honestly staying alive longer than he had expected, they were simply far too outnumbered to last more than another few cycles. Although still alive, all the remaining Transformers had many cuts and gashes all over. Waspinator had lost an arm and a leg and lay in the center of their circular formation, leaking badly. And from every side, more and more Vexorans rushed towards them to join the battle.

     All of a sudden, a multitude of transparent blue forms rose from the floor, stopping a few feet above the ground and hovering there. Wherever any of the blue forms passed through a Vexoran, they immediately caught on fire, burning up in just a few seconds. Nighteye even recognized Gryphtron and Airazor among the multitude of new beings in the room. It took a few seconds for everyone—both Transformer and Vexoran—to realize just what was going on. With a screech of terror from the Vexorans and a hurrah from the Transformers, the battle continued, the balances now completely flipped. The assembled Maximals and Predacons fought with a renewed vigor against the quickly-thinning Vexoran ranks, now joined by the spiritual forms of countless deceased Autobots and Maximals.

     Silverbolt looked up in utter disbelief.

     Of all the beings he had thought might save them, it had turned out to be… Taran?

     The tricky Vexoran stood in front of them all, smirking. Silverbolt looked all around and saw that they were in some kind of abandoned warehouse in Cybertron, deep beneath the surface if the lack of good light was any indication. From the looks of things, it had been abandoned for sometime—everything in the warehouse was still scaled to be used by full-sized Autobots, which meant that it had been completely forgotten about for at least two hundred years. What really disturbed Silverbolt, though, were the main pieces of the Combaticons scattered behind Taran, all hooked up to various life support devices, a few parts mangled and experimented on beyond recognition already. Silverbolt stared, horrified, as Barricade’s disembodied head mouthed “Kill me”.

     Looking at the remaining Transformers with a characteristic chuckle, Taran proceeded to answer Silverbolt’s question.

     “Why? Quite simply, really. You were the only ones to make it out of an exploding mothership—no mean feat, I must admit. Thus, you have proven to be not only more resilient, but faster, more agile, and quicker-thinking than any other Transformer combiners I have ever come across. Which means, of course, that you have earned the privilege to become one of my minions.”

     “What are you yammering on about?” Ironhide said—fully repaired, as all of them were. “We’ll never take orders from the likes ‘a you!”

     “Why, I need some loyal troops to carry out certain… tasks… I need to do,” Taran laughed. “And you all have proven yourselves very reliable, as have these Combaticons behind me, who I found most diabolical, given the way they abandoned you all merely because Shockwave had ordered them to—I rather like such loyalty, heheh. As for your unwillingness, I have techniques that can prove most ‘persuasive,’ heheh. And given my teleportation implant and genetic enhancements, you will find it very difficult indeed to disobey me.”

     Prowl growled, transforming into lion mode and getting ready to pounce. “I would have preferred death to this!”

     “Again, you have little choice,” Taran said. “Now, if you want to attack me now in frustration, I can oblige, but I must warn you that—“

     Taran screamed in pain as a transparent blue clawed hand suddenly poked up through the ground, passing right into Taran’s foot. Quickly catching on fire, Taran only managed to squeak out, “It can’t be…” before he completely evaporated.

     And Silverbolt thought he had been in utter disbelief before… rising up through the ground were dozens of transparent Autobots and Maximals, a few of which he recognized from readings in the historical archives.

     But the one who had killed Taran was the one who particularly caught his attention.

     “I had always wanted to do that,” Blackarachnia said as she rose up out of the floor, smirking.

     “High Guardian Zaknos, the tides have completely turned! The entire planet is covered with Transformer spirits, and they are making their way to the mothership as we speak! We must transwarp away, now!”

     “Agreed,” a very distressed Zaknos said. He didn’t have a clue as to what was going on, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. “Get us out of here now, Lieutenant!”

     No sooner had Zaknos given the order than the lights in the command room flickered off.

     “Oh, slag….” The lieutenant yelped.

     Zaknos buried his head in his hands and screamed curses as the room grew light again, though the light this time was of a bright blue shade.

     It was quite an interesting sight, Sigma Prime thought to himself. Certainly he would never see anything like it again in his lifetime.

     All around him, as far as the eye could see, Transformers were gathered in front of the Council Citadel. Some of them were of the normal metal-and-mech-fluid kind, but most had died long ago, now transparent blue shells of what they had looked like when alive.

     In the middle of the huge crowd stood he and Vector Prime stood, side by side. Gathered around in a circle closed to them were all the surviving Transformers that had fought on—and sometimes against-- Sigma Prime’s side through the Beast Wars and now through the Vexoran War, as well. Obsidian, Strongarm, Nighteye, Waspinator, Bulkhead—even some that he had taken for dead, such as Silverbolt; the frail elder Nightviper, who had been in hiding in a secret bunker; and Ramulus, who had held on to his life by an inch during the earlier fight and had been taken to a CR chamber just in time—now all stood around them, faces battle-weary but smiling.

     In the circle immediately outside the aforementioned survivors stood the many Maximals who had fought and died during the Beast Wars and the Vexoran War. Cheetor, Depth Charge, Skydive, Rattrap, Rhinox, Bonecrusher, Blackarachnia (who was holding hands with Silverbolt), even Optimus Primal—all that had died were standing there, shining transparent blue.

     “I was kind of hoping to offset my kind’s plans enough to create the next Prime instead of a Trojan horse, but I had to admit, I never expected this,” Nighteye said, staring up gladly at Sigma Prime.

     “Why didn’t you tell any of us about why I was created, Nighteye?” Sigma Prime said.

     “Please, my real name is Vreknor,” ‘Nighteye’ said, before explaining. “I was part of a small sect of Vexorans that were against what the rest of us were doing to other races. Like many others in our group, I took on a fake name and a fake background and joined with the Vexoran army, to ‘keep an eye’ on what our kind was doing to other species. I eventually discovered my kind’s motives behind your creation and altered them, as any of my sect would have in such a situation. After I landed on Earth and acquired a Transformer form, I figured it was time to come out of hiding, so to speak. However, I didn’t tell you or the other Maximals any of my big secrets simply because I didn’t want them to discover me—or your real purpose, for that matter-- if any of you were captured and tortured by Vexorans. Trust me, my race has some… really persuasive techniques.”

     “I can only imagine,” Sigma Prime said grimly. “Speaking of which, are we sure your race won’t attack us again? They couldn’t have spent all their troops on just one assault, however massive it was.”

     “Given that it will take quite some time before this loss is even known among my kind because of how few survivors there were, and because they now know how powerful your race is, I sincerely doubt it,” Vreknor said. “Still, we can never be too certain… Because of this, and because I’d be a wanted criminal among my kind, I’d like to stay here with you, in this form, and help out your race in any way I can.”

     “Night—er, Vreknor,” Sigma Prime corrected, chuckling. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want. You’ve proven yourself to be a reliable and dear friend time after time.”

     “Get on wit’ the ceremony already!” Rattrap yelled out.

     “It is time,” Vector Prime said, chuckling. Raising his voice, he rumbled, “Fellow Maximals, Autobots, Decepticons, Predacons—to all those gathered here today: It has been two days since the Vexorans stood in our place, our planet all but taken. Though all of you fought valiantly and courageously, we are all still here today because of one Maximal—Sigma Prime, who, as foretold by the written law of Primus, is now the new chosen leader of the Maximals.”

     As soon as Vector Prime finished his sentence, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause and cheers, though some—namely, the Maximals and Autobots—seemed more enthused than others.

     After the applause had finally died down, Vector Prime continued, “Many helped make this possible, and without them Sigma Prime would not have been able to save the planet.”

     More applause.

     “Now, however, the battle is behind us, and only Primus knows what the future will bring. Cybertron is in ruins; nearly three-quarters of its population was killed in the assault; the leader of the Predacon insurrection is dead. Most of us gathered here will be able to watch as time passes by, but will not be able to participate in it, for our page in the book of Primus has already come and gone. What will happen next is up to you, the living. And though I have limited insight into space and time and can see many possibilities in the future, I am not certain what paths you will take. Some are fraught with danger and lead to the very destruction of your race. Others lead to a new golden age for the universe. But regardless of what path you choose, most of you alive today will not see another conflict on the scale of what you have just witnessed these last few days. This has been your defining moment; this is the main chapter in your life’s diary. Our war against the dark god Unicron will never truly end, and let this be a lesson to our race—fight amongst yourselves, and risk being defeated by an even greater enemy.”

     “Now, with that said, I will take my leave of you all. I am the eternal guardian of the Well of Allsparks, and I cannot leave my post for long. I will leave all of the spirits standing here with us a short while to say goodbye, and then they will follow me as well, for it is not Primus’ will to let the living and the dead interact for long, only when it is absolutely needed. But before we go, I will let Sigma Prime here lead all of us, living and dead, in one last final cheer of victory. Sigma Prime?”

     “Right, I’ll take it from here,” Sigma Prime acknowledged. Raising his voice, he continued, “To all of you, for staying steadfast against the forces of Unicron! For all of the Transformer race, that have ever lived or ever will live! ‘Till all are one!”

     “Till all are one!” the crowd thundered, pumping their fists in the air along with Sigma Prime.

     “Till all are one!”

     “Till all are one!”

FIN

(Author’s End Note: Well, that’s it! That’s the end of my Transformers series! To think that it’s been almost eight years since I started this fanfic series… I hope you’ve enjoyed it, and thanks for reading! This is indeed the end of my Transformers series, by the way, I’m not planning on continuing with another one. I may write the occasional standalone TF fanfic, but I’m not making another series for the foreseeable future. Instead, I’m going to concentrate on my X-Men: Evolution fanfiction series, which I encourage you to check out if you were familiar with and liked the TV series. Thanks again for reading!)
 

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