Hours after the battle, once the wounded have been tended to and the toll accounted for, Prima appears on the scene with his siblings, all bearing the healing wounds and marks of battle on their giant frames. The seven of the Haven are minus one of their own number on this day, which leaves their triumph only bittersweet. However, in light of their victory, six other figures linger in the distance, waiting to join their siblings in their own celebrations.

But for now, the celebration is for those of Haven alone.

The six First Forged gather their fighters among the debris, taking stock, healing and repairing and giving council as the group is rallied in from the Core and Badlands.

The Acolytes even bring forth the noncombatants from the temples, ushering them toward the call - it is a gathering for everyone that remains.

Meanwhile, the Lambda floats above, smaller and indistinct; the color of the rift's edges turned to a nonthreatening aurora of blues and teals, versus the previous acid green of Unicron's emergence. Vector Prime flies up to hover around it's slowly shrinking edges, clearly doing something to manipulate the space-tear with his various powers. It flickers occasionally, scenes and places appearing too quickly to identify within it's fractured edges.

When everyone is gathered, he hovers closer with a nod, and the leader of the Thirteen addresses them all.

( The rewards of victory... )

In the sky above the Haven, Unicron descends; mandibles spreading wide as he attempts to pull the planet toward him, vacuuming friend and foe alike toward his crushing maw. His massive, planetary form presses against the crackling rim of the Lambda in his eagerness to consume the world, trying to somehow physically force the rift to widen.

The sound space makes as it tears is beyond words or reason, a sound-sense-taste of crackling static, acrid, painful and lurid all at once.

-

In the Badlands, the enemy surges, the risen shadows responding to the call of their master as he blots out the light from the stars. Where one is downed, two- five- ten rise in their place.

Hold the line. It is all either group can do, and they do it well - but that goal is quickly turning impossible with every inch in Unmaker gains.

Time is running out.

-
( But in the darkest hour, there is still light )

While his brethren are out, seeking to destroy the dual incursions of Demons and Unicron...

Liege has waited, patiently.

His goals have always differed from those of the other thirteen, and now that they are distracted he can put forth a bid for his true desire: Control of the Lambda.

He appears on the network standing on a snow-capped balcony, shadowed by the near-perpetual darkness of his frigid towers.

"Listen, and listen well. To fight is hopeless. We have no guarantee of Primus's return, and we have even less guarantee that we can hold our own against this dual-sided assault. There is another way."

( Read More )

The view from the sky is - for lack of any other word - chaotic, with fully half the wide field of view dominated by either the vast orange spires or the maw-filled void of the Lambda. Small, flying shadow-drones cloud the area, traveling in swarms and converging on the attackers. To the First Forged, they are nothing more than an annoyance and - more importantly, a distraction to the swift Primes, who are apparently attempting to converge on the attacking world.

Both Prima and Vector flit through the air with ease, though even their sibling-leader cannot best Vector in his home domain of the sky. Where Vector dodges, distracts, and teleports his enemies - away, or even into each other - Prima carves, cleaving his way through groups of fiends, doggedly charging his way across the sky-bound battlefield.

( Read more... )

Solus stands poised with the fully-assembled, towering form of Nexus Prime at the opening to one of the subterranean tunnels. A small herd of acolytes is accompanying them, carrying crates of supplies - metal, energon, and raw materials. While the combiner-Prime would normally just barely fit in the smallest of Solus' tunnel workings, this tunnel dwarfs even him.

It is a vast, primary shaft; wide and formal and clearly important enough to have earned additional detailing in the very walls. It carries an air of reverence that is obvious even over the comm, that of a temple, rather than a simple maintenance shaft.

This is something special.

( Read more... )

On the outlands of Haven, the Badlands are surging to life.

Megatronus stands with his brother Alpha Trion, the two as different as night and day. The picture of calm, the thinner Trion stands behind the bulwark that is his more physically inclined sibling, massive tome in hand. Optics and biolights aglow with concentration, he stands vulnerable and distracted as clawed shadows rage on either side of them both. Some come within arms-reach before they - and swaths of their fellows - are cut down by Megatronus' blade, pieces trailing burning cinders and ash.

The Prime Guardian of Entropy moves like a wraith, the shadows no match for his flame and fury - if it were not for the sheer numbers they have, replacing the fallen, the outcome of the battle would have already been assured.

Alpha Trion seems unfazed, the glowing gaze flicking briefly toward the camera with only a nod.

"I am a bit busy concentrating at the moment, but I think I've managed to establish a link to the network. Megatronus, if you'd please issue the call..."

( Read more... )

Your victory against the Zone, though hard-won, is brief. The resulting peace is broken by several things happening at once.

As though driven by spite at the Haven's refusal to bow down, the resurgence of the Lambda is sudden, vicious, and violent. The distant figures of the First Forged, tiny in comparison, make an appearance as they flit across the wounded sky, as they did before the Zone's eruption. But whatever they might be attempting, it is already too late.

The sky crackles with lightning and thunder, cast in the same sickly green glow of the Lambda. The crack in reality widens, surging, and the First Forged have to flee as lightning arcs wildly their way. The flash is so bright, it is impossible to see if any have been hit. The sky tears, audibly cracking across half the horizon. To anyone who happens to be glancing at the ground for some reason, rather than the giant rift in the sky: the shadows at the boundaries of the Haven grow darker despite the electric light in the sky, curls of inky darkness stretching out like living things across the ground. The void beyond the yawning, electric edges of the Lambda is becoming more visible: a dark nebula, cast further in shadow by a vast form.

And something

Is coming through

( The Beginning of The End... )