Chapter Text
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Megatron was drained, having given every last ounce of his attention, mind, frame and spark to the eons of an ongoing warfare, in addition to the nightmares of long deceased bots plaguing his mind. With most of the decepticons dead, there wasn’t a clue on what he was doing anymore, save for finally being able to save Cybertron.
“At long…last,” Megatron drawled, sapped of all his vitality, yet he stood upright, hissing with each intake. “Cybertron. You are here, toge—ether…Home—….once more.”
But like any plans of his, it was just the beginning of failure.
Optimus prime, bumblebee, drift, crosshairs and hound come in tow, slaughtering his soldiers one by one.
His plating rattled in complete protest, all at the same time Quintessa’s consciousness jabbed into his own, guiding him in the midst of battle, and demanding he apprehend the staff swiftly as possible.
The interwoven control wrapped around his spark like that of a claw. Megatron, get the staff! She seethed, servos in the air with electrical energy. The descendant dares to take what is ours! Retrieve it at once! This felt like the fallen all over again, the power that kept him in control for eons that reminded him all too well of a jurisdiction he had no power of fighting, and a state of inner turmoil. Megatron truly believed he was set on freedom for so long, and preservation throughout his reign. Except, that soon turned into the illusional lust for power and the desire for the cube had only made it worse.
Demanding power over any measures was but a fickle imagination, it was alarming to say the least, and Megatron was one of many falling victim to such aspirations. The desire to be a mighty king on a throne, ruling the universe and whoever dared to disobey, well, let’s just say they would be crushed between his servos.
How wrong you are, Megatron..
The once ruthless Decepticon leader, couldn’t even see who he once was. He had lost the moral compass of what he once was, barely a flicker of his might because now, he had lost so much for the past eons, and it was all his fault. He had caused this.
And Optimus prime…
Optimus.
Always him, why was it always him? Why did he have to ruin everything? Why was he born to be a prime? When he had done NOTHING to earn it.
You are but a fool.
Megatron growled, dodging the sharp cleave from the autobot leader, before he situated a self-protective bearing, sword clutched in servo, then—he swung for his assailant.
Quintessa’s hold continued to press, only painfully harder this time.
The girl, MEGATRON!!
Quiet! You do not—control me! I am my own mech!
The red mark on his faceplates sizzled, white-hot agony radiated like a molten fury in his gaze. No doubt, Quintessa was doing this to beat him into submission. I am your creator! You will abide by my rules! She bellowed. Do not forget the one who had gave you another chance at life, and who can wipe you from the very cosmos, like the mere insect you are!
Megatron winced, sealing his optical shutters momentarily before parting, his visions swerved as his abdomen spasmed before he shook it off.
“It is always you, Prime,” Megatron spat, redirecting all his bitter resentment to Optimus, then he swiped his cannon forward, aiming for the former. “Always the die-harder. Always, the nuisance in all of my plans!”
He fires before Optimus dodges, tightening his hold on the knight sword with his battle mask, heavy to his faceplates. Megatron couldn’t see ANYTHING, except for a hardened glare, of both displeasure and sympathy.
It was undeniable that this was no self-driven passion, nor pride when it came to this humiliating moment—and nothing to ever back up the mental anger he could make out through his rage.
Quintessa fed his neural net mental imaginary of torment. His deaths. His soldiers, lying like dead husks on a ruined Cybertron. Cataclysmic war-torn battles. The Allspark’s unanticipated destruction from that wretched little pest, and then even before everything, his destruction, sadistic motives to his grim tyranny…and the powerful reminiscence of the love he had felt all those eons ago, for the mech in front.
He buckled, a raw scream erupting from his dermas as pain lacerated his frame.
“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST—DIE LIKE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO?” Megatron roared, swinging his sword in unison with Optimus’s.
Megatron’s knee strut was sliced into, making the con collapse on one knee, but he managed to strike at the autobots chest, drawing a begrudging grunt. The rest of the autobots took no time in coming to his aid and attacking Megatron with their primitive firepower. The decepticon snarls, raising his cannon a second time, the heavy explosion erupts the ground, blasting them away.
Their presence was unneeded. They are a constant source of frustration, only fuelling him further, he didn’t need these parasites in his way. No more than he did now, while confronting that simple-minded prime and his wretched ‘optimism’.
It was then Megatron tackled the prime to the ground in blind rage. His anger blinding him beyond any measures of the outside world, even as far as to not notice Optimus flip him over and kick him.
The Decepticon leader doubled over, continuing to roar throughout his fiery wrath, cursing out his long-lasting nemesis, despite the pain flaring in his abdomen.
“Damn you to the pits, prime!”
Optimus painfully frowned behind his battle mask that had Megatron seething, he demanded to know just why the red and blue mech looked appallingly sad. It disgusted Megatron, but much to his absolute displeasure, a pulse, deep inside, THRIVED off the prime’s sudden empathy leaking out his EMP field. It’s absolute urgency to remain close, had megatron snarling viscously, clenching his claws till his servos bled.
“This is the end, Megatron," Optimus stated, harsh and tone carefully set for a pampered prime. "...But for what it is worth, I truly hope that you at least see what you have done. When reunited with the All Spark.”
Then without mercy or warning, the autobot leader swiftly pivoted his leg, and kicked him in the chest plates, not even giving him a chance to get up. Megatron’s weight crumbled the metal of the ship, and he flew straight out of the airlock. The wind lashing around him. His limbs flared like a ragdoll, while multiple warnings displayed on his HUD.
[ ALERT: Overheating alert! Temperature error! ]
A painful ragged scream rips from his intake, lost to the roar air blasting in his audio receptors as grey argent plating scorched in a bleeding crescendo and bent beneath his will.
[ WARNING! WARNING! ]
The decepticon leader sucked in air through his vents, gasping anew every nano-klik to cool the sizzling heat that wracked his armor.
[ RECOMMENDATION: ASSESS IMMIEDATE DAMAGE TO FRAME!! ]
It was impossible for him to seek medical help, notably because of the state of affairs he is in right now.
No!
Quintessa!, grant me more of your power!—
The control over Quintessa all of a sudden vanished, not a single trace could be found, neither physical consciousness nor mental hold.. And for the first time in a million stellar-cycles, he was unconstrained, free of many burdens.
Megatron’s processor spiralled, his sensors wafting up a burning smell. Then, In an instant, he plummeted straight down to the watery waves of the earth ocean below.
Had he failed?