Nexus Point Part 1-7

Evidently the Thirteen didn’t believe in wasting time – mere moments after they had assembled the five most likely candidates for Blades, they quickly whisked them into the adjacent chamber and shut the door.  Spencer barely had time to mouth a quick “call Mom and Dad” to Amelia before he was cut off from her.  Now, clustered in close to the others and with several pairs of optics glowering down at him with a critical light, he hoped against hope that his message had made it through.  That, and that Amelia would have the sense to give a plausible alibi – his parents probably wouldn’t take the news that he’d been recruited as a soldier by a gaggle of robotic demigods very well.

Vector Prime had done most of the talking for the Thirteen up to this point, so it came as a surprise for another mech to step forward to address them – Solus Prime.  She crouched down on one knee to put herself closer to their level, her cool azure gaze never leaving them.  Spencer tried to hold her gaze as best he could, though it wasn’t easy.  There was a disdainful cast to her optics that he didn’t like, as if she felt it beneath her to talk to them.

“So when do we start?” asked Krysta.  “Or are we going to get some kind of training beforehand?”

Solus arched an optic ridge.  “Impatient, are we?”

“I would just like to know what precisely we’re getting into,” she replied.  “What all this job is going to entail.”

“We will get to that,” Solus replied.  “But yes, you will receive training – Primus knows you desperately need it.”

“Solus…” Vector said warningly, narrowing his own scarlet optics.

Solus flashed him an unrepentant look.  “I still don’t agree with you that humans are our best option.  Look at them – they’re small and weak.  They’d be crushed in an instant in a battle.”

“We can hear you, you know,” Maria huffed.

“This is not a discussion to be having in front of the Blades,” Vector informed her coolly.  “We can talk about this later, but for now, let’s finish what we’ve started.”

She scowled but nodded sharply and turned back to the five of them.  “The five of you will receive training – and upgrades that should allow you to hold your ground against the foes of Unicron – but first you must receive the titles in full… and with them, the weapons of the Blades.”

“Sounds redundant,” Krysta noted.

Solus glared at her.  “Do not interrupt me, human.”

Krysta went silent, pressing her lips together in a firm line.  Privately Spencer wondered why it seemed that almost every femme that showed up in the Transformers universe had to be either a complete bitch or a glaring non-entity – evidently the writers for the series hadn’t discovered that women could have other personalities beyond those two extremes.  He couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or not that Solus fit the first category.

Solus looked from one human to another, letting her gaze linger just long enough for each of them to start squirming under the scrutiny.  Then she pointed a slim finger at Maria.  “You.”

Maria frowned but stepped forward.  “What?”

“You have a sharp tongue and a cynical outlook,” she noted.  “But you are strong… strong enough to do whatever must be done.  And strong enough to keep your comrades under control.  You, Maria, shall take up the mantle left by Blackhawk, former Blade, and serve as leader of the Blades of Primus.”

Maria’s jaw dropped, and Spencer swore he saw her go a shade paler under the black smudges that still marked her face.  But she closed her mouth and gave a solemn nod in return.  “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“That’s all we ask,” Solus replied, in a tone that hinted that she wasn’t sure that would amount to much.  She unstrapped the hammer from her back and, with a powerful swing, brought it down on the floor with enough force to knock Cassie and Lore clean off their feet.  Even Spencer stumbled, only keeping upright by grabbing onto Maccadam’s leg for support.

“All right, lad?” the barkeep inquired, putting a hand down to nudge him upright.

“I’m fine,” he replied.  “Just wasn’t expecting that.”

“The hell was that for?” Cassie demanded, scrambling to her feet.  “Was there a spider or something?”

Solus lifted the hammer, revealing a circular dent in the alloy of the floor… a circular dent with something glowing within.  “Your weapon.”

Maria hesitated, then approached and carefully picked up the luminescent weapon.  It was some sort of spear or polearm, a long shaft that terminated in a flared triangular blade.  Said blade was etched with lines and dots like a computer circuit-board, and strange glyphs were stamped down the shaft.  The entire weapon looked as if it had been carved out of violet crystal, translucent and glowing with a soft inner light.

“Whoa,” Cassie breathed.  “That’s awesome!  Is that one of the epic Firstforged weapons?  The Chaos Edge or the Terminus Blade?”

Vector Prime chuckled.  “The weapons of the Blades are powerful artifacts… but unlike the Chaos Edge or the Terminus Blade, they are not artifacts of the Firstforged.  They are lesser artifacts – still powerful, but meant for the hands of others.  We cannot wield the weapons of the Blades – we can only assign them to those who will carry the titles of Blades.”

Maria hefted the spear in her hands, tracing one of the glyphs with a fingertip.  “Not as heavy as I thought it would be… does it have a name?”

“Sure hope it does,” Cassie replied.  “In Diablo named weapons were always more powerful.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Cass, this isn’t a video game.”

“So?  Video games occasionally get it right…”

“I didn’t name the weapons when I forged them,” Solus answered, cutting the argument off.  “But the Blades would occasionally name them if it suited their fancy.  Your predecessor, Blackhawk, took to calling his weapon Destiny.”

“Destiny.”  She touched the glyph one more time, then nodded as if in satisfaction.  “I like it.  It suits.”

Solus nodded.  “Cassandra.”

“Just Cassie,” Cassie insisted.  “My turn?  I hope I get something just as awesome!”

Solus tilted her head at an angle that looked to Spencer like she was trying to roll her optics.  “You’re impetuous and hyperactive… but you are brave, and your soul is pure.  And your optimistic nature will serve to balance out Maria.  You will take up the mantle of Stormrider, and serve as second in command of the Blades of Primus.”

“Sweet!”  She slung an arm around Maria’s shoulders.  “Besties leading the Blades!”

“Just don’t embarrass me too much, okay?” Maria groaned.

“I have to embarrass you, that’s what best friends are for,” Cassie countered, and she turned to Solus.  “I’m ready!”

Solus swung the hammer again, letting it impact in the previous dent on the floor.  This time Spencer was ready, and he braced himself against the inevitable tremor that shook the room.  Krysta and Lore hung onto each other to keep their balance, while Cassie just fell right over again – though if Spencer didn’t know any better he’d have sworn she did it on purpose this time.

As soon as the Forge lifted, Cassie scooted over to grab her weapon, not even bothering to get to her feet in her eagerness to see it.  She reached into the crater and pulled out a double-bladed axe, its head patterned with jagged lines like bolts of lightning.  Like Destiny, it was oddly transparent and glowed softly; unlike Maria’s weapon, it was a deep crimson color, as if it had been carved from a giant ruby.

“Holy… this is badass!”  Cassie got to her feet and gave the weapon a few practice swings, so enthusiastic in her movements she almost toppled over.  “Awesome!  Hey, did Stormrider name this thing, or do I get to come up with something?”

Solus nodded.  “Stormrider took to calling his weapon Sparkcleaver.  That seems a bit of a savage name, however, so if you elect to change it…”

“Why would I change it?” asked Cassie.  “That’s a friggin’ awesome name!  Maybe not quite as awesome as Gorehowl or Frostmourne, but still pretty awesome.”  She stepped back, inspecting the axe and still giving it the occasional practice swing.

“Truly we have chosen the most mature individuals among your race to represent us as Blades,” Alchemist groaned, shaking his head.

“They’re barely five minutes into their tenures as Blades,” Alpha told him.  “Give them time to become accustomed to their new roles.”

“Laura,” Solus went on, her gaze moving to the petite girl.

“Just Lore,” she corrected, giving a bashful smile.  

“Lore, then.”  Solus tilted her head to one side as she regarded her.  “You’re rather quiet, especially compared to most of your comrades.  But your eagerness to serve, and your peaceful nature, will both serve your comrades well.  We have chosen you to walk in the footsteps of Calypso, and serve as a healer for the Blades.”

Lore slumped a little in disappointment.  “No offense, ma’am, but… I was hoping for something a little more awesome.  To actually help as a fighter, not just a healer.  And I don’t even know that much about medical stuff.  I work at a vet clinic, and I don’t even get to help with the doctor-y stuff…”

“Maybe that’s what the training will help cover,” Krysta pointed out.

“And besides, healers still get to fight and do awesome stuff, right?” asked Cassie.  “Not just follow the rest of the team and cast buffs – they actually get in on the action.”

“Cassie, if you make one more World of Warcraft reference, I swear…” Maria griped.

Despite Maria’s complaint, Lore seemed to brighten at that, and she drew herself up straighter.  “I’ll still get to fight, right?”

Solus nodded.  “We wouldn’t be granting you a weapon if we expected you to stay away from the fighting.”  And the Forge came down once again.

Lore stepped toward the ever-deepening dent in the floor, reaching down to draw out her weapon – a sleek, futuristic-looking longbow.  More angular than curved and etched with geometric designs, it lacked a string and seemed to bear a set of buttons along the inside curve.  And it glowed amber in her hands, as if carved from topaz.

“Calypso called the weapon Striker,” Solus explained.  “And if you haven’t fired a bow before, don’t worry – that will be covered in the training.”

Lore nodded and stepped back, inspecting the bow and experimenting with the buttons.  Spencer wondered if that was such a good idea, but nothing was happening, so perhaps there was some kind of lock or safety mechanism on the weapon…

“Spencer.”

He knew his turn would come up eventually, but all the same his stomach jolted when Solus spoke his name.  Hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt, he stepped forward.

“Your stated goal of wishing to save your home universe is admirable,” Solus noted.  “Let us hope you can expand that desire to wishing to save other universes as well.”

He flushed at that, and anger flared in his gut.  Great, find the worst possible way to voice it so he looked like a complete jerk…

“You will follow in the footsteps of Lugnut, former Blade, and serve as the technician for the Blades.  You will see to the upkeep and repairs to your companions’ weapons, armor, and other equipment.”

Well, it could have been worse, he figured.  And it wasn’t too much different from his usual job back home – seeing as his parents and sister were pretty inept with computers and machines, it often fell on him to play tech support when home or business computers went haywire, and to jury-rig the cooking range, ovens, and other kitchen equipment at the restaurant until his dad deemed that they could afford to bring in a real repairman.  Sure, it wasn’t the most exciting of jobs and he much preferred to be working with the food than the machines, but he could manage it.

He was so absorbed in his musings that he missed Solus’ hammer coming down, and he fell flat on his backside.  The other Blades snickered as he picked himself up and edged over to the lip of the crater, peering inside.

At first he thought it was some kind of snake, and wondered why that would be considered a weapon.  Then he took a closer look and realized it was a whip of some sort, gleaming with a silvery-white light as if someone had braided moonlight into a coil of rope.  The handle was carved in a jagged pattern that reminded him of fangs – or of the armor of a Bay-verse mech – and the end of the whip terminated in several rows of hooked blades.

“Huh…”  He reached out and took the handle, and was surprised at how natural it felt in his hands.  It was as if this weapon had been molded specifically to fit him.  A whip wasn’t precisely the kind of weapon he’d expected – was there even a Transformer who used a whip weapon? – but it could have been worse.  And hey, Indiana Jones used a whip and was a certified badass if he ever saw one; if Harrison Ford could wield a weapon like this, so could he.

“Thanks,” he replied.  “What’s the weapon’s name?”

“Lugnut never named it,” Solus replied.  “He was a practical sort, and considered it foolish to give a weapon a name.”

“Damn.”  He eyed the whip, chewing over a few possibilities for names… and settled on one almost right away.  “Sting.  From The Hobbit.  Seems fitting.”  True, Sting in the book had been a dagger and not a whip, but it seemed appropriate.

“I would think the five of you would have more important things to worry about than naming your weapons,” Deszaras snarled.

“Excuse us for trying to have a little fun,” Cassie huffed.

Solus glared until both Cassie and the beastformer Prime had gone silent, then turned to the last Blade.  “Krysta… you seem to have a vast knowledge of our kind, though why one who has never had access to our archives would be privy to such information is curious.”

“Could you get on with giving me my title and weapon instead of dropping veiled insults?” asked Krysta, raising an eyebrow.

“She has a point,” Vector remarked.  “I know you have doubts about recruiting humans, but that is no excuse for verbal abuse, however subtle.”

“Sure, you wait until she’s insulted all of us before stepping in,” Maria grumbled.

“Enough out of all of you!” Liege Maximo snarled.  “Let’s get on with this!”

Solus leveled a glower at Vector – though Spencer was beginning to think that glaring was just her default expression, like a Cybertronian version of “resting bitch face.”  Then she turned back to Krysta.

“You will take up the mantle of Hotwire, former Blade, and serve as a historian and archivist for your team.  It will be your job to keep them informed on your quests, and to record your missions for those who will come after you.”  She looked as if she dearly wanted to say something else – maybe something along the lines of “so future blades can learn from your mistakes,” but she kept her vocalizer muted and simply swung the Forge one more time.

Once the tremors from that final blow wore off, Krysta approached the crater and withdrew her own weapon – a sword that glowed with an emerald light.  The blocky, angular hilt and wide blade made it look like something a G1 Dinobot would wield, but the blade itself swirled with flowing patterns like a frozen river.  

“Whoa,” she breathed.

“Hotwire called this weapon Hope,” Solus replied.  “A fitting name for bringing hope and peace back to the multiverse.”

Krysta frowned.  “I don’t know… Hope seems like a strange name for a sword.  No offense to the one who came before me, but… I think I’ll change it.”

Solus opened her mouth to retort, but Vector set a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.  “That is your decision,” he told her.  “The weapon is yours now, to use as you deem fit.  If it pleases you to rename it, you may do so.”

She tilted the blade back and forth, as if trying to read the name in the patterns on the blade.  Then she nodded once.  “Dragonsblade.”

Deszaras actually grinned at that.  “Good choice!”

“And now, for the final step in accepting your titles,” Vector went on.  “The weapons of the Blades are yours to wield, if you accept them… and with them, the responsibilities and duties of the Blades of Primus.  Do the five of you swear to use your powers to fight Unicron and his followers, to protect all instances of Cybertron and all other worlds that Cybertronians call home?  Do you pledge your allegiances to Primus?”

“Hell yeah!” Cassie shouted.

“Hold up, hold up!” Spencer cut in, raising his hand.  “What do you mean by powers?  None of us have powers – we’re just regular humans, not X-Men or Avengers or anything.”

“Once you swear your allegiance, each of you will receive a special ability,” Vector went on.  “Sigma powers, as it were – an ability granted by Primus himself via Vector Sigma.  This ability varies from Blade to Blade, and is determined by Primus – he will decide which power you are best suited to wield, and what will help you best carry out his requests.”

“Sigma powers?” repeated Krysta.  “I thought only Cybertronians could get those.  And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not Cybertronians.”

Solus flashed Vector an I-told-you-so look.  His reply was a glare that could best be summed up as shut-up-if-you-know-what’s-good-for you.  Spencer had shared enough of those looks with Amelia to be able to pick up on them relatively quickly.

“You are correct,” he replied, “but we believe it is possible for organics to receive Sigma powers as well… with some modifications.”

Spencer’s gut clenched.  “What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean that once you accept your titles and pledge your allegiance to Primus, you will be reformatted.”

Lore’s jaw dropped.  “We’ll be turned into Transformers?!”  There was a shrill note in her voice, but Spencer couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or horror.  Maybe some of both.

“Don’t count yourself that lucky,” Alchemist sniffed.  “No amount of reformatting can make you properly Cybertronian.  At best, you’ll be considered technorganics – still human, but with enough cybernetic components in your bodies to properly use your Sigma powers.  It would, of course, include significant upgrades in other ways – strength, for one, and possibly a built-in HUD… something I can’t believe evolution hasn’t managed to give you poor creatures…”

“So let me get this straight,” Maria demanded.  “You wait until NOW to spring on us that you’re going to turn us into cyborgs?!”

“It’s for your own good!” Alchemist insisted.  “As it stands now, you’re too weak to stand up to even the weakest Unicronians!  With the reformatting, not only will you be able to wield the Sigma powers without destroying yourselves, but you’ll be able to fight on more-or-less equal ground with the enemy!  If you wish to become a Blade, you must accept the reformatting.  You have no other choice.”

“We could have been told this beforehand,” Maria insisted.  “It might have affected our choice to join or not.  What if we don’t want to be upgraded or whatever you call it?  And what if this reformatting kills us?”

“Is that a refusal?” rumbled Maximo.  “There are hundreds of other candidates for us to choose from if you’re reluctant, little one…”

“I never said that!” Maria insisted.  

“Please, stop fighting!” Prima whined, raising both hands and making patting motions in the air.  “I can’t stand conflict in the least!”

“For once I concur with the simpering fool!” Maximo roared.  “Shut UP!”

Maria quieted down but continued to glare.

“Sorry to fuss, sir,” Spencer cut in, hoping to smooth the situation out as much as he could.  “It’s just… the thought of our bodies being changed is a little unnerving.”  Okay, so “a little” was an understatement, but no need to tell them that.  “I know it’s probably pretty normal for Transfo- for Cybertronians to be reformatted or get upgrades or modifications.  But for us humans, it’s not as neat of a process… and it’s a lot more traumatizing.  So the thought of having our bodies changed to that degree is frightening – and I won’t lie, I wish we’d known about it beforehand.”

Solus gave a grim smile.  “I told you this was a bad idea, Vector.  That recruiting humans to do the job of a Cybertronian could never work.  They would never accept what it took.”

“Could you maybe not put words in our mouths?” Krysta asked.  “We never said we wouldn’t do it.”

Solus’ optics flickered.  “You still wish to be Blades?”

Spencer nodded.  “If it means we actually have the ability to fight and to hold our own against the agents of Unicron, we’ll go through with it.  Or I’ll go through with it, at least – I can’t speak for the others.  I wasn’t saying no, just explaining why we were reluctant.”  He drew in a deep breath, steeling himself.  “I pledge my allegiance, and commit myself to becoming a Blade.  Even if it requires a reformat.”

“Me too,” Lore piped up.  “I dunno about anyone else, but the upgrade sounds pretty awesome to me.”

“Count me in!” Cassie added.  “Does this mean we can punch through walls, or fly, or shoot lasers from our eyes?”

“Calm down, Cass,” Maria snapped.  “You’re making yourself look like an idiot.”

“I was just asking,” she huffed, but went quiet anyhow.

Maria sighed and nodded.  “I’ll do it too.  Would have been nice to know about this beforehand, but I’ll do it.”

“So will I,” Krysta added.  “Um… is it going to hurt?”

“That we cannot say,” Vector replied.

“That means it’s gonna hurt like hell, doesn’t it?” Cassie asked.

“It means we cannot say,” Vector replied evenly.  “Now… we know the five of you have unfinished business back on Earth.  And though we have limited time to prepare you, we can spare you the equivalent of an Earth week to get your affairs in order.  We will take you home, let you prepare for your absence, then return for you in seven days.  Then we will commence with the reformatting and the training.”

Something in Spencer relaxed at that.  A week to say goodbye, and to prepare his family… he hadn’t been expecting that, and yet it was quite welcome.  He might not always get along with his parents, but he loved them and hated the thought of abandoning them without warning.  Now if he and Amelia could just concoct a good cover story, one that didn’t involve him getting mixed up in a giant robot war…

“Remember,” said Vector, just as the world around Spencer began to dissolve in a shower of multicolored light.  “One week.  Use that time wisely.”

***

Pathetic.

That summed up the Fallen’s opinion on this whole situation, really.  Pathetic that Vector was staking all his hopes on a race of glorified worms instead of on his own kind.  Pathetic that an insignificant blue dot would be his focus.  Pathetic that his last-ditch attempt to stop Unicron’s inevitable conquest would bring him to seek his salvation in a universe littered with dead worlds… dead worlds such as the one that lay beneath his feet at this very moment.

The Fallen grimaced behind his slitted mask and kicked a rock, watching it arc away and land with a puff of reddish dust.  Such a waste, really.  An entire universe full of promise and potential, and whatever forces governed it had elected to leave the vast majority of its worlds barren.  Even Primus wasn’t so stingy with his creations, allowing them to scatter as widely as they pleased throughout the universes connected by the Nexus.

The towering hematite-colored mech kept his gaze fixed on the pale blue fleck in the sky, watching and waiting.  Another mech, one more versed in these organic creatures’ mythology, might find it fitting that the being who had ordered mass slaughter on the humans would choose a planet named after said humans’ god of war as his temporary base of operations.  And the Fallen himself might have appreciated the irony – he had always had a macabre sense of humor, even when he had gone under a true name and worked alongside true comrades…

Metal flashed at the corner of his optic, and he turned to regard the mech who had teleported into existence at his side.  The newcomer, a hideous black-and-crimson creature who looked more like an organic insect than a true mech, glared back with blood-colored optics, as if daring the Fallen to order him about.  The Fallen merely gazed back as coolly as his flame-colored optics would allow, firm and unwavering but not betraying impatience or anger.

Finally, with great reluctance, the mech lowered himself to one knee, bowing his head.  “Lord Fallen.”

The Fallen allowed himself a smirk.  “You are learning.  Perhaps one day you will prove yourself worthy to wear the name you presume to steal from me.”

The disgraced Prime who styled himself “Fallen” in his own universe snarled.  “I did not come here for you to insult me.”

The Fallen narrowed his optic shutters, and the nimbus of power that crackled about him like a blazing inferno flared brightly.

“My Lord,” the second Fallen murmured, his voice quiet but simmering with rage.

“Learn your place, pretender,” the Fallen growled.  “Report.  Has the extermination been completed?”

The Prime hesitated, and in that the Fallen read his answer loud and clear.  But he waited for his underling to speak anyhow.

“The Thirteen moved quickly,” came the reply.  “We slew a good number… but more than half of them got away.”

“Then you failed.”

“Our followers failed,” he corrected.  “I eliminated all those I pursued.”

“Yet the Thirteen were able to save many,” the Fallen snarled.  “Enough to find their precious Blades, no doubt.”

The Prime lowered his head further, only a tremor down his spinal strut betraying his disgust at having to pay obeisance to another.  “I am a Prime, but only mortal.  You cannot expect me to stop the Thirteen single-handedly.”

“Perhaps not… but I still expected better from you.”

The pretender Fallen was perhaps expecting the inevitable… but he still shrieked and writhed in pain as flames crackled over his plating.  Ordinary flame was harmless to even the least among Cybertronians, but the flame of the Fallen was a power not of Primus or of physical energy – and it caused utmost agony to those it touched.  The only reason it didn’t melt the disgraced Prime where he lay was because the Fallen held the reins of the power, holding back just enough to ensure he didn’t destroy a subordinate before he had outlived his usefulness.

Finally he snuffed the power and turned away, leaving the false Fallen to shudder and smoke where he lay.  “The game gets more complicated,” he rumbled.  “Primus and his sycophants have gained a victory today… a slight victory, but a victory nonetheless.”

“They are but humans,” rasped the fallen Prime, shoving himself to his feet.  “We can crush them easily.”

“Not if Vector and his cronies have their way with them.  No… our best hope is to finish what we started.  Return to Earth, and find those that the Thirteen have chosen as their champions.  We end this here and now.”