Nexus Point - Prologue

Flash… a battlefield on a distant world, rocky ground ripped and scorched by a never-ending rain of plasma and missile fire.  Mechs slamming into each other, grappling and striking with fists and blades to bring each other down.  Oil and fuel and other fluids oozing from torn metal to soak into the ground…

Flash… fire raining down on a city.  Skyscrapers shattering in a deadly hail of flaming debris and splintered metal.  Innocent beings scattering, screaming, trying to outrun the heated shrapnel falling from the sky.  Civilians caught in bursts of flame, whirling madly in dances of pain and terror before collapsing…

Flash… two mechs hauling a shaking comrade before a dark-armored, green-opticed form with oddly barbed-looking armor.  The dark mech giving the cowering being a look of utter disdain, then declaring his fate with the wave of a hand.  Screams of terror and despair as the other two fell on their comrade with feral snarls, rending him to shreds…

Flash… what was left of a world, now reduced to rocky scraps hanging in the void of space.  Lingering pain and horror somehow tainting the very fabric of existence, as if something profane had passed through this area.  A horrific emptiness, the kind only left behind by millions of lives being snuffed in an instant…

“Shut it off already.”

A dark chuckle.  “This disgusts you, Prima?  You truly have lived a sheltered existence these many eons if this is enough to make you ill…”

“Shut up, Maximo, I’m not sheltered!  I just hate looking at ugliness for too long.  Please, shut it off, before my optics fritz out!”

Vector Prime sighed and shook his head, but he reached out and turned off the holoprojector.  Trust Prima to be the delicate silicon-flower of the group, preferring to avert his gaze from anything uncomfortable to look at than face it head-on and actually do something about it.

The meeting place chosen for this gathering was a chamber at the heart of the Nexus Point, with statues of Primus’ various forms lining the walls and a ceiling that lay open to the glittering starscape above.  No one knew what material formed the walls, floor, or statuary of this chamber – it looked like stone but was harder and smoother than any metal, jet-black and with flecks and swirls of rainbow colors giving it a mystic shimmer.  Nor did anyone know who exactly had crafted it, though Vector suspected it was Solus’ handiwork.  But it made a handy gathering place when two or more Firstforged needed to discuss a vital matter, or if a single one of the Thirteen required a calm place to meditate on a problem.

The entire pantheon of the Thirteen had not met en masse like this in millions of years… not since the Second Great War against Unicron.  And Vector wondered if they had waited for too long, if their antisocial ways had not just doomed their kind to extinction.

Vector’s gaze moved to take in the assembled mechanisms – the Thirteen Firstforged, the first beings to be created by Primus and charged with protecting all his creations in his absence.  They were a widely varying group, ranging in size from tiny enough to fit in the palm of the average mech’s hand to gestalt-sized, and wearing a variety of colors and chassis makes.  Some, like Quintus and Solus, bore relatively plain-looking armor, while others, like Onyx and Alchemist, boasted armor that was far more striking or ostentatious.  All, however, radiated an aura of power and authority, an otherworldly presence that betrayed their true nature to whoever looked upon them.

One mechanism was missing, however… but Vector wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on it too much.  It had been eons since Megatronus Prime had betrayed their creator – and his brothers and sister – and no amount of reminiscing would bring him back.  Better to focus on the now.

“The signs are clear,” Vector declared, gesturing to the empty air where the holos of destruction had been playing moments before.  “The multiverse is descending into a dark age.  In every universe connected to the Nexus, war and unrest are brewing.  Cybertronians are becoming corrupt, violent, a barbaric race that has forgotten their origins.”

“Tell us somethin’ we don’t know,” Quintus grunted.  The scientist of the Thirteen sat back against the wall, feet propped up on an elaborately carved statue of Primus’ War Avatar as if it were nothing more than a footrest.  “Ya’d have to be blind an’ sensorless to miss it.”

“Oh, hush you,” Solus advised, glaring at her comrade.  “He’s not finished talking.”  

Vector waited to see if Quintus had any other comments, then continued when he was met with silence.  “The signs are clear – chaos is at hand.  Unicron is on the move.”

Prima gasped and laid a hand on his chest in a theatrical display of horror.  “Unicron!  Surely you jest… no, you would not jest about such a horrific possibility…”

Onyx Prime curled his lip plate in a sneer.  “So there are a few wars in progress,” he snarled.  “How does that mean Unicron has managed to regenerate himself already?  Our kind has been at war with itself or with other forces since day one!  This is nothing new!”

“Nothing ever on this scale,” Solus pointed out, frowning.  “Usually only one or two universes at a time are engaged in war.  This is involving almost every main universe, and many of the sub-universes.  And it’s hitting a level of savagery we haven’t seen since the last time the Great Unmaker was active.”

Onyx snorted but didn’t comment further.

”If what you say is true,” Nexus Prime rumbled, shifting his tremendous bulk as he spoke, “then we have no choice but to act.  We’ve been apart from the multiverse for too long as it is…”

“For good reason!” Alchemist retorted.  “Almost all Cybertrons had turned against us!  Given up their belief in Primus as little more than a myth!  We were once hailed as heroes and scions of Cybertronian-kind, but in the end they rejected us, and our Creator with us!”

“And that’s reason enough to let Unicron have his way with the multiverse?” asked Alpha Trion mildly, raising an optic ridge.

“No!” Alchemist snapped.  “I never said that!  I just mean that surely the inhabitants of the multiverse can defeat Unicron without our help.  They’ve done it before, and I honestly don’t feel like sticking out my neck struts for those who made a mockery of us…”

“Alchemist!” snapped Vector.  “That line of thought is appalling!  Yes, Cybertronians as a whole have grown lax in their observance of Primus and the Firstforged, but that gives us no right to neglect them.  Not when it is our solemn duty to protect them.”

“True,” Amalgamous pointed out from above – the trickster of the Thirteen had, for reasons known only to him, spent this entire meeting clinging to the wall, hanging upside-down over Logos’ head like some absurd bat.  “But those of us who haven’t faded into obscurity by this point have become little more than the aft of jokes by the general populace of the multiverse.  I’d say Alchemist has a bit of a right to be bitter.”

“But not a right to condemn our race to extinction,” Micronus chirped from his perch on Vector’s shoulder, shaking an emphatic fist at the trickster.

Vector nodded.  “Like it or not, the universes connected by the Nexus need us more than ever.  We MUST come out of hiding, and do what we can to stir Cybertronians to action.  We MUST help them prepare for the coming of Unicron.  And above all… we must find the Blades, and inform them of this turn of events.  They are our greatest ally at this time.”

Onyx outright laughed at that.  “The Blades have probably forgotten their duties by now!  Or they’re rusting and moldering away on some rock, cast out and rejected by Cybertronian society as a whole…”

“No,” muttered Logos, his voice gurgling and rasping with static as he spoke.  “Not rejected.  Not cast out.  Not forgotten.”

Prima gave the dark-armored Firstforged a hopeful look.  “You know where they are, then?”

Logos grinned a slimy grin.  “Dead.”

Liege Maximo cast a fiery-red glare at him.  “Don’t even joke about that.”

“No joke,” Logos rasped.  “Dead.  All five.”

“What?”  Solus’ optics flashed.  “How?  The last time we saw them, they were in perfect condition!”

“That was vorns ago,” Alpha Trion reminded her.  “And sadly the Blades are not as lucky as we are – they age, they fall prey to viruses and rust, they get injured and even die.  Though I must admit, I wasn’t expecting all five of them to have already joined the Well of All Sparks – generally they protect each other rather fiercely…”

“All dead,” Logos muttered again, hunching over and rubbing his hands together like an electro-fly.  “Blackhawk, killed by pirates.  Calypso, melted down in volcano.  Lugnut, fatal case of Cosmic Rust.  Hotwire, captured and assassinated by Unicron cultists.  Stormrider, accident with trash compactor.”  He clicked his vocalizer and shook his head at the last one.  “Even Blades not immune to stupidity.”

“So we noticed,” Maximo growled.

Vector lowered his head, both silently mourning the deceased Blades and trying to hide his growing apprehension.  He had counted on the Blades being able to take care of themselves and keep themselves prepared for another crisis, and on being ready to move out the moment the Firstforged delivered the call.  The loss of one or more of them would have been problematic – it took time to train and prepare a Blade, after all, precious time that even the Guardian of the Timestream couldn’t stretch – but at least the others would have been on hand to help speed up the training, and to take up the slack of the inexperienced members.

To have lost all five Blades now, when they needed them most, was a scenario he had never foreseen, and while it wasn’t their worst-case scenario, it certainly wasn’t good news.  Not when so few Cybertronians even believed in Primus or the Firstforged… and many of those that DID believe were bitter and angry, wondering how their deity and his disciples could abandon them when they believed they needed him most.

There was another option… but he knew it would not go over well with any of the Thirteen.  But it seemed that they would have little choice.  It was either taking this long shot, or letting Unicron win.

“Then what are we waiting for?” beeped Micronus, shooting to his feet.  “We need to recruit new Blades!  Choose new mechs to wield the weapons and be the champions of – eep!”  He wobbled and went tumbling off Vector’s shoulder, and only the Time Guardian’s swift reflexes kept him from hitting the floor.  As it was, his impact against Vector’s hand sounded rather painful.

“Ow,” he groaned belatedly.  “That was dumb.”

“The fall or your suggestion?” demanded Onyx, scowling.  “How are we supposed to find new Blades NOW, of all times?  Are there even enough candidates to choose from?  Believing mechs who are willing and able to help us?  Those that believe are weak scholarly types – the warriors are too busy killing each other over stupid causes.”

“Don’t underestimate the scholars and scientists among our kind,” Alchemist said, sounding just a bit offended at Onyx’s remark.  “We’re perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves.”

“Yes, but this isn’t a problem we can just think and science our way out of!” Prima insisted.  “We need mechs who can fight as well as think, who are strong as well as resourceful…”

“You forget the most important trait of all,” Alpha Trion cut in.  “Brawn and intelligence are all well and good, but above all we need willing recruits.  Believing recruits.  We can’t very well simply snatch the strongest warriors or the most brilliant tacticians off the battlefields, hand them the weapons of the Blades, and tell them to do our bidding.  We would only have rebellion on our hands.  No… we need mechs who believe and, most of all, care about the fate of the multiverse.  Not just about who sits on the throne of Cybertron, but about there BEING a Cybertron left to fight over.  We need mechs who will fight for the good of all Cybertronians, and not just their faction.  Without that – the will, the belief, the spark to protect all that is good – even the strongest warrior is useless to us.”

“And where do you propose we find them?” growled Liege Maximo.  “Do you know of some magic hidden sub-universe where these willing, believing mechs live?  Because we certainly won’t find them anywhere in the main universes.”

Vector gave an inward sigh.  Well, given that Maximo had almost perfectly orchestrated the perfect opening for him to lay out the other option, he had little choice but to do it.  Though part of him wondered if Maximo’s words WEREN’T simple coincidence, if he’d known what Vector was about to reveal and prepared his little “unintentional” introduction on purpose.  This wouldn’t be the first time the shapeshifter had manipulated events to suit his own agenda, and he would bear careful watching from here on out.

But he would have to deal with Maximo later.  This crisis took priority.

“There just may be such a universe,” he said aloud.

Maximo’s optics flashed in triumph.  The others simply fixed their gazes on Vector in disbelief.

“NOW you tell us,” Onyx grumbled.  “Which is it?  The one you’ve been hiding in all these vorns, I presume?”

Vector shook his head.  “No… it’s not officially part of our multiverse.  Rather, it’s a universe that has recently drifted close to the Nexus… close enough to make contact for a brief period of time.  A century or two, no more… but enough to suit our purposes.”

“Enough for Cybertronians to colonize it?” asked Prima, a hopeful smile on his faceplate.  “A devout colony of our kind who still remembers us, and will respond to the call for Blades?”

Vector drew in a deep intake and braced himself.  Here it comes…  “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly?’” demanded Alchemist.  “Either it is or it isn’t!”

“There are no Cybertronians in this universe,” Vector replied.

“None of our kind?” Alchemist protested.  “Then how the Pit do you expect us to recruit from there?!”

“It is populated by another race… one that also inhabits many of the universes connected by the Nexus.  One whose fate inevitably becomes inexorably entwined with our own wherever both our kinds exist.  One that has proven to be an ally many times… and just may be what we need to overthrow Unicron.”

Solus was the first to realize what he was talking about, and she scowled.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  The fate of our kind – of the multiverse – rests on the humans?”

“The fleshlings?” Onyx added, and barked a laugh.  “Oh, that’s rich!  Give the weapons of the Blades to pathetic organic worms who can’t even lift them!  They’ll be crushed thirty seconds into their first battle!”

“Do not underestimate the humans,” Alpha Trion advised.  “Small and fragile they may be, but they have proven resourceful time and again.  And they have long been our greatest allies.  Still… suggesting that we recruit our Blades from among them seems a trifle foolhardy.  Can a human really be as devoted to Cybertronian-kind as, well, a Cybertronian?”

At that, Vector smiled for the first time since this fateful meeting had begun.  “You might be quite surprised, Alpha Trion.  Quite surprised indeed…”