25.Feb.06

Phoenix from the Ashes

By Operation Ravage

His red optics glimmered dimly in the murky darkness, and he peered from around the shadowy corner in which he was hiding. Several of the Maximal warriors paced down the hallway, their anxious fingers lightly brushing against the triggers of their rifles.

A dozen smells entered his olfactory receptors; the moist humidity of the jungle world, the pungent smell of rust as the moisture slowly eroded rotator joints in the sentries. But the smell that gratified Ravage most was the heavy odor of tension.

He had been in this hiding spot for the better part of an hour, carefully watching the Maximal guards, getting the timing of their rotations. Ravage would have approximately a two second window in which both guard’s backs were turned, with a half second margin of error. He would have to act quickly. But he had been in much tighter situations.

There it was. The guard nearest to Ravage turned, as the other still continued his pace. Ravage slipped silently from the shadows and was across the hallway into another nook of darkness before the guards could turn about.

He entered the office silently, scanning every corner intently. A computer monitor glowed dimly in the darkness, and Ravage knew that he found what he was looking for.

Withdrawing one of the blasters from the holsters on his thighs, he held the weapon straight into the air as he began searching for the documents he needed. Finally, he found the file he needed: Protoform X.

Years earlier, Predacon Intelligence had learned of the Maximal experiment to imbue a warrior with an immortal spark, much like the original Decepticon Starscream. But the Maximal elders sealed Protoform X himself away to an undisclosed location, and all documents detailing the experiment had been relegated to this single Maximal outpost world, with the understanding that Protoform X was best left forgotten.

But now, Ravage was about to re-expose the past.

The file finished copying, and Ravage slipped the disk into a satchel that hung at his side. The first part of his mission accomplished, it was time for the Tripedicus Agent to leave.

A long time ago, back when the Decepticons were a formidable faction and the Great War raged, Ravage had been a covert operative, slipping in and out of Autobot lines without them ever realizing that he had been there. But the Predacon upgrade left him more powerful, his covert and offensive abilities multiplied ten fold. Realizing this, the Predacon Council had given Ravage orders to decimate the Maximal stronghold, to leave no survivors. Destroying the base would hide exactly what Ravage had taken.

The two Maximal guardians stood in the hallway below, continuing their patrol. Unbeknownst to them, a shadowy figure clung from the pipes running overhead, waiting for the two soldiers to pass each other.

Without warning, Ravage dropped from the ceiling, falling to one knee as he extracted both blasters from his sides and held them outwards. The Maximals were unable to give a cry of surprise before Ravage pulled the dual triggers and ended their existences.

The sound of gunshots reverberated throughout the narrow corridors, and it gratified Ravage to hear the sound of footsteps running down the hall to investigate the noise. Ravage slipped into the shadows of a nearby doorframe, and awaited his next victim.

It was a diminutive Maximal, only reaching Ravage’s chest in terms of height. "Holepunch? Stampede?" he yelled, racing around the corner.

"Oh, Primus, no," he stated, as she slowly approached the corpses. He bent down, gripping the wrist of one.

Ravage struck. Holding a line of garrote wire between two clenched fists, he jerked the Maximal backward, literally yanking him off his feet. He was dead within a matter of seconds, and Ravage allowed the body to slump to the ground with a loud thump.

The shadow warrior paced across the hallway towards the door to the primary cooling station, and silently allowed himself inside. A Maximal glanced upward as Ravage entered.

"Hey! Stop!" he yelled. Ravage gave no reply, only extending his right blaster forward and shooting the Maximal twice in the forehead. The body fell over onto a monitoring station, and Ravage pushed the corpse brusquely out of the way.

He went to work, pushing the levers of the cooling platform to their limits. He then withdrew his blaster once more and destroyed the control panels with a single shot.

Watching the door carefully, he then extracted several detonation charges from his satchel and placed them throughout the station. He dropped one apiece beneath each of the main cooling tanks, before depositing another underneath the plasma energy core.

Two minutes. Two minutes until this entire Maximal station went up in a massive inferno.

By now, the discovery of the dead Maximals in the hallway had thrown the installation into a panic, and soldiers scurried about, all attempting to find the intruder.

Ravage himself scurried along, spider-like, clutching the pipes that ran along the underside of the ceiling. It took a tremendous amount of upper body strength, and it irritated Ravage to feel a harsh burn in his rotator joints. But he would endure.

There, ahead of him, was the doorway from which he had entered the Maximal base—the only door, according to the building blueprints. Thirty seconds until detonation.

He dropped from the pipes once more, casting a backwards glance towards his enemies. His sudden appearance had an immediate effect. "There he is!" cried one, pointing in his direction. Ravage gave a deep, throaty laugh, giving the Maximal the "thumbs-up," which he had learned from his excursion on Earth all those hundreds of years ago. Ten seconds.

Ravage dived out the doorway, falling into a roll. He then sprang to his feet and sprinted.

The explosions went off, throwing Ravage a good twenty feet. He skidded across the ground, grunting as the harsh gravel of the world dug into his finish. He finally came to a stop, and Ravage drew his blasters, glancing back at the doorway, looking for any pursuers.

The Maximal base continued to smoke; no signs of life emerged from the only entrance. Ravage pushed himself to his feet, and, giving one more look towards the cleared objective, holstered his weapons. He lightly fingered the disk he acquisitioned, ensuring that it remained intact. Turning about, he began his journey back to the ship that had brought him to this desolate planet.

The journey back to Charr was a long one, with only the emptiness of space to keep one company. Ravage stared out the starboard side, glancing at the stars in the far distance. His memories returned to a time, long ago, when he had been under the command of Megatron, working side-by-side with the other Decepticons.

Rumble. Laserbeak. Soundwave. He could remember each of them clearly in his mind’s eye, although those events had occurred hundreds of years ago.

But the end of the Great War scattered his team. Soundwave remained somewhere in hiding, trying to avoid the numerous bounty hunters that scoured the galaxy for former Decepticon war criminals. Laserbeak’s cowardice had finally won him over, and now the condor had been reformatted and was living on Cybertron under immunity. And Rumble . . .

Ravage shook his head, remembering the last time he had seen the diminutive, loud-mouthed Decepticon alive.

But his reverie was interrupted by an incoming transmission. Ravage turned to face the communicator, showing no emotion as the face as one of the Council members appeared on the screen.

"Ravage. This is a secure channel. Has your mission ended in accomplishment?"
"You would not be talking to me now if it had not."

"Don’t over-evaluate your own importance, Covert Agent Ravage."

"My apologies. I only state facts."

The Council Member gave a short laugh. "You will deliver the disk to us in person, I presume?"

"Of course. I would not risk a data corruption or interception by broadcasting from my position. However, I will need to stop to refuel before returning to Charr."

The Council Member recoiled noticeably, and despite the poor resolution afforded by the communications monitor, Ravage could see that his superior was biting his bottom lip. "Did we not provide you with enough fuel, Covert Agent?"

Ravage shook his head. "With all due respect, this is an ancient ship, better suited for personnel transport than conducting military operations. I humbly submit another request to begin use of the Transwarp ship."

"Soon, Ravage, soon. Your ship is still undergoing testing. We will get it to you soon enough. If you need to gather more provisions, very well. Don’t take your time. And don’t let that disk out of your sight."

Ravage stood from his chair and offered a salute. "You have my word, my liege."

The screen went blank, and Ravage returned to the controls.

Point Horizon.

An ancient spaceport in a desolate corner of the galaxy, Point Horizon was so named because of its proximity to a massive black hole. The radiation pouring forth from the gaping maw disrupted electromagnetic signals, thus stripping ships of all automatic functions. The station itself was barely able to maintain a working life support system. For all intents and purposes, Point Horizon should be a husk, an isolated and forgotten derelict.

But the opposite proved true. Point Horizon provided a temporary safe haven for all matters of scoundrels, smugglers, mercenaries, and murderers. For a member of the Predacon Secret Services, Point Horizon promised ample services and amenities.

Ravage flipped a coin into the hands of a tentacled alien as he departed the ship; the strange being tipped a worn hat in thanks. The staff here would refuel the vessel, recalibrate the systems, and help themselves to anything of value left unsecured. Ravage paid this no mind. The only thing that he cared for was the satchel still hanging at his side.

Turning down the narrow corridors of the station, Ravage made his way into an inky tavern and seated himself close to a window. A service robot appeared a minute later, gripping a filthy data pad in its right appendage.

"A Transformer," it stated, the words coming out in a harsh wheeze. The poor android was in need of serious maintenance. "I presume that sir would enjoy Energon?"

"You presume correctly. That will be all."

The robot jotted down the note and nodded its head once in affirmation. "I will return momentarily with sir’s drink."

With his order placed, Ravage returned his view to the field of stars. He had been to many of them, on missions for the Predacon Secret Service, seeing worlds of which other beings only dreamed. He glanced down at his left shoulder, towards the Predacon insignia.

The insectoid head stared back at him, and Ravage wondered briefly about the events leading up to his decision to become a Predacon. The Great War had ended long ago, after all. But the flames that fueled the conflict between Autobot and Decepticon had not died, and soon other puppet rulers and hopeful dictators rose from the ashes. The Predacons. Opportunists like any others.

His attention drifted towards the right shoulder, where a faded Decepticon insignia still hung proudly.

That.

That was the source of his morale, his inspiration, the reason he continued to fight. Not for the Predacons and their ridiculous "Pax Cybertronia," but for the glory of a dead warrior race. "Power flows to the one who knows how to use it," he recalled Megatron once stating. And he had been right. He took a sip of his Energon drink, which the waiter robot had brought to him while he pondered the past.

"Seat taken, yes?"

The sudden query pulled Ravage out of his thoughts, and he found himself staring at the chest of muscular, robotic being, carrying a wide array of weapons. Without awaiting any further introduction, the mercenary took a seat across from Ravage.

"Death’s Head. It has not been long enough," Ravage stated.

"Likewise. You know why I am here, yes?"

Ravage snorted a small laugh as he took another sip of his drink. Death’s Head continued without waiting a verbal reply.

"A Maximal resupply ship came and found your mess, and alerted the Maximal Elders. So off I am, collecting a bounty on another being, when I get a transmission offering me three hundred thousand credits for the being that destroyed that outpost. I know your handiwork when I see it, yes? We’ve done this dance before, you and I."

"That we have. And I’m sure that you remember that I can be full of surprises."

"Not this time, Ravage." Death’s Head brought a blaster forth, holding it at Ravage from across the table. The Tripedicus Agent smiled slightly, fingering the trigger of his own blaster under the table.

"Don’t even think about it, yes? I’ve seen that movie."

"I’ll bet you have," Ravage concluded.

The covert agent suddenly dived out of the booth, just dodging the blast that Death’s Head fired at him. Ravage rolled twice, nearly knocking over another bar patron. He rose to his feet quickly, drawing both blasters from his twin holsters and returning fire at the bounty hunter.

Death’s Head took one of the blasts in his forearm, and grunted with pain and exertion as he absorbed the blow. Ravage used Death’s Head’s momentary pause to shoot out the single light in the bar, casting the tavern into total darkness.

Death’s Head rose to his feet, attempting to probe into the blackness. "Very nice move, yes?"

"No more, bounty hunter. We’re playing on my field now. Farewell."

The mercenary spun, thinking that he had detected movement towards his right. He stopped just in time to see the door to the tavern swinging softly, a testament that somebody had just left.

But there was something else that disturbed Death’s Head. It wasn’t like Ravage to run from a fight, not when he held the clear advantage. He approached the door slowly, trying to find where Ravage was hiding.

An object on the ground attracted his attention. Death’s Head bent down, picking up the small, spherical device. His eyes grew wide with surprise as he flipped the orb over, finding himself facing an LED screen.

3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

Death’s Head threw the bomb a second before detonation, trying to flatten himself on the ground. The explosion lifted him from his feet, slamming him against the viewport that stretched the length of the left-hand side of the bar. Other patrons, who had not escaped during the shoot-out, screamed with surprise and pain.

A full ten seconds later, Death’s Head pulled himself painfully to his feet, looking about at the ruin that the bomb caused. Ravage was nowhere to be seen. Death’s Head took off running, attempting to track down the Predacon. Ravage would be heading back to his ship, trying to protect whatever object he had taken from the Maximal base. Death’s Head determined to return to his own ship—which was far faster than Ravage’s—and destroy him in the depths of space.

He sprinted down the corridors, attempting to get to the loading bays. However, he paused as he passed a viewport that overlooked the bays below.

The bounty hunter gave a howl of rage as he saw Ravage sitting within Death’s Head's ship, smiling smugly as he configured the ship for take-off. Ravage looked up in time to see Death’s Head pounding his fists in fury against the glass above, and offered a coy salute before taking off.

"You were seen," the Council Member stated to Ravage, who now sat uncomfortably in a chair in the dark council chambers. Although the Council was typically resided over by only three Predacons, Ravage now stood in front of the full assembly—some fifty-odd Transformers.

"It was an unfortunate result of the mission," Ratchet stated. "I still delivered the required data and escaped the bounty hunter."

"That’s not enough!" another Council Member—Ravage believed it to be Sea Clamp—bellowed, banging one of his heavy appendages against the table. "Surely you must understand that a covert agent does nothing for our cause if he is compromised."

Before Ravage was able to respond, though, another member spoke his mind. "Perhaps you judge Ravage too harshly. After all, he has garnered a reputation for being cold-blooded, ruthless, and lethally proficient throughout this sector of the galaxy. This incident with Death’s Head will do nothing more than spread that legacy even further."

"Perhaps if he killed Death’s Head, yes," Sea Clamp concluded. He then turned and pointed an accusing claw at the Tripedicus Agent. "Face facts, Ravage. You got sloppy. You let Death’s Head get too close. And it nearly cost you everything. It is my recommendation that Ravage be temporarily relieved of duty until we can accurately determine the effects of this foul-up."

A quiet mumble passed through the other Council Members at this proposition. Several members turned to glance in Ravage’s direction, shaking their heads as they discussed his future. He glanced around the room carefully, trying to find an ally in a sea of accusers.

"That is enough."

The harsh voice cut through the heavy tension of the room, and every head turned to face its owner. A large, dark blue Predacon made his way down a short flight of steps from the back of the circular room. Ravage recognized the Transformer as Cyrotek, one of the second Megatron’s allies and former instructors at the Cybertronian War Academy before the Predacon Insurrection took hold.

"Ravage has, time and time again, put his life on the line for the Council’s missions, and has always delivered the information that we required. Even now, despite his run-in with a mercenary, he has brought to us what we sought. I have known Ravage since the final days of the Great War, and I do not doubt his capabilities or his loyalties. I hereby recommend to the Council that Ravage retain his current duties under the Pax Cybertronia."

Another murmur traveled throughout the Council. Finally, one that Ravage recognized as Ram Horn raised a single hand into the air, calling for order. "Covert Agent Ravage," he stated, "it is my understanding that the Council will meet their decision in the next few minutes. Please wait outside the Council chambers while final deliberations occur. We will summon you when we have reached our decision."

Ravage said nothing, only rising from his seat and offering a salute before leaving. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him, and Ravage could hear the first set of debates beginning. He took a seat next to a reception desk, gazing out at the stars once more.

Sea Clamp had been right; he got careless. Another mission had been successfully completed, and Ravage let down his guard inside of the tavern. He didn’t count on the Maximals discovering the destroyed base so quickly. But then for the Maximals to hire a bounty hunter to kill him . . . it seemed rather underhanded for the Maximal Elders to take such an action. For a society that prided itself on truth, justice, and openness, the Maximals could sometimes be as devious as the Decepticons.

His attention drifted down towards the Decepticon insignia on the right shoulder, and he could feel hatred beginning to smolder inside of him against the Maximals. While he had never agreed with the Autobots, he had respected them; they held a clear set of values and fought to protect them. But the Maximals were a different story entirely. After routing the Predacons and other Decepticon sympathizers from Cybertron, they actively tried to destroy all mentions that the Decepticons ever existed. Public texts were collected, schools omitted much of the Great War, and the Maximal Elders banned all files detailing the existence of the top Decepticon lieutenants and their commanders.

Starscream, Soundwave, Blitzwing, Onslaught, even himself . . . the Maximals erased their entire existences. All that remained were pictures of the original Megatron within the text, with brief captions detailing his rise to power and subsequent defeat. The Maximals seized all of Ravage’s existence, his morals, his beliefs, his pride, and had effectively condensed it into a paragraph in a text book.

All those years of war, of injuries and death, of victory and defeat—they served than nothing more than a warning for Maximal youths. A warning—a warning to prevent history from repeating itself. Ravage had been reduced to an object lesson. For that reason, more than any other, is why he hated the Maximals—and he hated them with more rancor than he ever reserved for the Autobots.

"Covert Agent Ravage? The Council is ready to see you now."

Ravage turned in the direction of the secretary robot that called his name, and he entered the dark chambers silently. He then stood in the center of the large oratory, turning his attention to Ram Horn, who stood at the head podium.

"Agent Ravage, it is the consensus of the Tripedicus Council that you will retain your current duties and assignments. However, the Council is giving you another mission, one that does not require such grand-standing tactics as evidenced in your last assignment. This will serve the purposes of the Council and also allow you to keep a lower profile in the event of Maximal repercussion. Report to the central briefing room in three hour’s time to receive your mission assignment."

Ravage remained silent, simply offering another salute before leaving. However, he could feel relief seeping into his circuits. It would not do for Ravage, a Decepticon veteran and prized agent, to receive disciplinary action for such an infraction—if he were to be defeated, he wanted it to be through combat, not as a result of humiliating red tape.

The shadow warrior lived to fight another day. He glanced down at the right shoulder once more, and a slight smile rose at the corners of his mouth. For the glory of the Decepticon Empire.

The briefing room, in contrast to the oratory, contained bright, harsh lights, and Ravage found himself staring at a projection screen hung against the far wall as he entered the room. A chair sat before him, and he surmised that it had been placed for him. Ravage chose not to sit, however, and stood until the doors at the far end of the room finally hissed open.

"High Proctor Cyrotek. I humbly offer my thanks for your defense in the Council Chambers," Ravage stated.

Cyrotek said nothing at first, instead taking a seat at the end of the table. After situating his massive form into the comparatively diminutive chair, Cyrotek glared at Ravage for a long moment. Despite the years of battle and training, Ravage could not help but feel slightly uncomfortable under the senior Predacons stare.

"I went out on a limb for you, Ravage. You best not disappoint me," Cyrotek finally stated.

"Understood, High Proctor."

Cyrotek said nothing more for a long moment, but then swiveled his chair in the direction of the screen. "Ravage, your new mission will take you to this world—a planet we call ‘Necros.’ The planet orbits a brown dwarf, but contains a thin atmosphere. One thousand years ago, a civilization existed on Necros. It is now dead. The entire planet is, quite literally, a necropolis."

"What caused this massive extinction?" Ravage wondered.

Cyrotek shook his head. "No telling. That sector of space was unexplored when Necros was first discovered. The civilization had already disappeared. All that remains on Necros now are ruins and bodies . . . and a Maximal archeological team. Which brings us to your mission; this Maximal, known as Valkyrie."

The picture of the planet was replaced with a profile of a female Maximal. Ravage could tell that she was of slight build; she probably only stood chest-high to him. "We intercepted a transmission from the planet twenty-four hours ago. Her team uncovered an artifact of significance. You are to travel to Necros and to secure the doctor, as well as the artifact. The rest of her team is expendable. She is not."

"High Proctor, you know that I will accept any mission given to me by the Tripedicus Council. However, I must ask the significance of this artifact."

Cyrotek gave a slight smirk, rubbing his chin as he regarded Ravage carefully. "Very well," he stated. "The Council originally wanted to keep this under their hat, but I suppose that you have a right to know. You’d have understood as soon as you saw it, anyway. Turn your attention to the screen and we’ll show you the image that we captured."

A small box appeared on the screen; it glistened with jewels at every corner, and gold chains were wrapped about the container as well. But what drew Ravage’s attention to the artifact was the Decepticon insignia that adorned the center.

"A Heart of Cybertron," Ravage whispered. "I believed there to be only one."

Cyrotek shook his head. "Most believe it destroyed on Earth, hundreds of years ago. But the Decepticon forefathers created several of them, sealing them in dreadnoughts that traveled throughout the galaxy. The Nemesis was but one of these ships. Do you understand the importance of your mission now, Ravage? We cannot commit Predacon troops to take this artifact—which is rightfully ours by our heritage—back by force. The Maximal Elders would go into conniptions. We need your elegant diplomacy."

"Yes, High Proctor. I can leave immediately if need be."

"While I appreciate your zeal, Ravage, that is not necessary. Do you have any further questions?"

Ratchet considered for a moment before speaking. "Pardon my inquisition, High Proctor, but I ponder the importance of extracting the Maximal in addition to the Heart. I, myself, was on Earth when Megatron accessed the Heart of the Nemesis; we certainly have the historical records to use the Heart properly. Why must the Maximal live?"

"A very good question, Ravage. It’s quite simple; you’ll recall from the photograph that I showed you earlier that the Heart had been altered, its outer casing adorned with jewelry and gold. The Predacon scientists believe that the original civilization of Necros found the Heart from a derelict Decepticon ship, and began using it as a religious artifact. It’s quite possible that the Heart has been altered from its original state. We’ll need Valkyrie to determine how the tribes of Necros used the Heart, and how we can adapt it for our purposes now. Is there anything else you want to know?"

Ravage shook his head. "No, High Proctor. My curiosity has been sated."

Cyrotek leaned back in the chair. "Excellent. You will be pleased to learn that your Transwarp ship is complete; Predacon mechanics refuel it as we speak. It will be ready in three hours time. In the interim, resupply your weapons, ammunition, and any other supplies you deem necessary. Good luck, Covert Agent Ravage."

"For the Pax Cybertronia, High Proctor," Ravage replied.

Cyrotek shook his head slowly. In a low whisper, he responded, "No, Ravage. For the glory of the Decepticons."

Despite the trials and tribulations of the past few hours, Ravage found a smile playing across his lips as he finally took hold of his Transwarp ship.

It was beautiful. Sleek and imposing, the ship cut an impressive figure, one that would inspire fear in countless beings. He ran his left hand lovingly over the control panels, noting the proper switches and levers to fire external blasters, torpedoes, mines, the main thrusters, the Transwarp, the cloaking device, and the auxiliary systems.

"She’s quite a ship, isn’t she?"

Ravage turned in the direction of the voice, and found himself facing another Predacon at the back of the ship.

"That she is, Iguanus. Are all systems ready to go?"

The Predacon mechanic gave Ravage a nod. "She’s ready to go when you are. By the way—what are you going to name her?" Ravage smirked slightly while he racked his brains. Finally he spoke. "I’ve determined to give her a name befitting her pilot. I dub her ‘Shadow.’"

Iguanus nodded his head in affirmation. "A fine name, indeed." Ravage then watched as Iguanus exited the ship. A few minutes later, he heard the audio confirmation from the control bay, "Agent Ravage, your ship is ready for take-off. You may leave when ready."

Ravage’s hands wrapped around the lever to start the main drive, and applied a slight, rearward pressure. Responding to the touch of its owner, the ship gracefully slid forward, removing itself from the confines of the Predacon holding bay and entering the void of space. Ravage himself stared at the stars for a long moment before turning his attention to his navigation computer and selecting his destination.

"Necros. A fitting name for a dead planet."

Ravage pulled the lever to take his ship into Transwarp, set the autopilot, and departed for the rear to get several hours of stasis before his mission began.

A loud buzzing awakened Ravage from stasis, and he realized that he was entering the orbit of the planet. He sprang to his feet and exited the rear compartment quickly, and resumed his seat at the bridge.

The pictures of Necros did not do the planet justice. The planet held a grayish coloration, and thick clouds swirled across the surface. Ravage detected spots of a massive, black ocean through gaps in the cloud cover, and the dull grey outlines of the continents. Necros promised to be a dismal world, devoid of life.

Using the report that he received from Cyrotek as well as the computer system, he quickly pinpointed the exact location of the Maximal signal. Ravage programmed the ship to land about five kilometers from the location, cloaked the ship, and then pushed it under the cloud cover.

High turbulence winds rocked the ship violently, and Ravage strained to keep the vessel moving along the proper trajectory. He finally slipped out from under the thick clouds, and the Tripedicus Agent earned his first view of the Necronian landscape.

His work took him to innumerable worlds, but Necros caught even Ravage by surprise. Never before, in all of his existence, had he seen such a drab, colorless place. The clouds above continued their violent dance, eternally grey and angry. The ground below was predominately barren; Ravage could already tell that the soil would be nearly ash-like in substance. A few sparse trees dared to grow under the turbulent skies of the dead planet, and only a few hopeful smatterings of leaves adorned their pitiful branches.

The ship passed over several ruins, now crumbling, but apparently they once held great importance from the Necronian people. Ravage could detect several temple-like structures, mimicking the basilicas of Earth in their design; there were also some castle-like structures, adorned with ancient and decrepit towers and walls. Stained glass filled some of the building’s windows, but it was, for the most part, now shattered and unrecognizable.

But what Ravage saw next was truly awe-inspiring. He now found his ship gliding over a massive cemetery. Grave stones, some intricate in their design but most plain, stretched for miles in all directions. Ravage was unable to comprehend a race was so occupied with the well-being of their dead. The cemetery itself nearly reached the town limits, and Ravage pondered if the Necronians were so busy caring for their dead that they had been unable to save themselves when the cataclysm hit, whatever it had been.

The ship finally reached its destination point, and automatically lowered slowly to the ground. Ravage noted that the ship landed next to an intricate mausoleum, with many common head stones surrounding it. He exited the ship slowly, and although he realized the importance of his mission, he found himself drawn towards the massive mausoleum. Icons adorned the outside, and Ravage ran the palm of his right hand across the unfamiliar figures. He paused, however, when he found a familiar sign; the insignia of the Decepticons, although worn and smooth, stared back at him from the surface of the tomb.

Cyrotek had been right. The civilization that once ruled this planet had worshipped the Heart of Cybertron as a religious artifact.

He turned his attention from the tomb, towards the direction of the supposed Maximal camp. He would get to the bottom of this mystery soon enough.

The five kilometer hike proved easy for Ravage; however, he continued to feel uneasy as he traveled through the ancient landscape. The gravestones stretched as far as he could see in any direction, and the only objects to break the monotony were several withered and dead trees. A dense fog covered the ground, and the skies overhead continued their angry maelstrom.

A thin mist permeated the air, and Ravage could feel the moisture condensing against his metal frame. He peeked around another headstone, trying to find the Maximal archeological site.

Finally, he spied an old spacecraft, not much unlike the shuttle he abandoned on Point Horizon. He sat behind the grave, biding his time and keeping an open ear for the Maximals. His patience was finally rewarded several minutes later.

"Come on, Doublefeed. We’ve got to get this shuttle loaded up and off-planet. We don’t have a lot of time left."

Ravage took a quick look out from his hiding place; he could see the female Maximal, Valkyrie, directing the other members of her archeological team as they loaded the shuttle. Ravage immediately realized that his initial perception of her had been correct; Valkyrie stood nearly a head shorter than he and contained a slight build. Red and silver made up the majority of her coloration, and Ravage could see that her back was slightly out of proportion than the rest of her body; her wings were probably housed there in robot mode. Ravage recalled from the dossier that he received from Cyrotek that Valkyrie assumed the alternate form of a phoenix.

Ravage thought this over briefly. According to Earth lore, the phoenix was a flaming bird, that, after death, would emerge from its own ashes, reborn. The name "Valkyrie" regarded a form of heavenly female warrior, nigh-invincible in combat. Such grandiose names made for a rather striking contrast to the diminutive Maximal he saw before him now.

"That the last of our documents and equipment, ma’am," another Maximal replied. "We’ll be ready for take-off at your word."

"Excellent. The sooner we get of this planet the better," Valkyrie responded.

Ravage quickly weighed his options. He did not know if the Maximals had the Heart of Cybertron with them, and if they did, he couldn’t risk destroying it in an all-out gunfight. It would be best to separate the Maximals through guile and trickery, and then exterminate them one by one.

But another thought then entered the Tripedicus Agent’s mind; if the Maximals left the Heart of Cybertron in the necropolis, he would need the doctor to lead him to it. Ravage sincerely doubted that Valkyrie would willingly take him to the Heart; most Maximals remained stupid and undyingly loyal in their convictions. She would sooner die than help a Predacon. Ravage needed a bargaining tool.

He weighed his options carefully. He noticed that there were five Maximals, all told, including Valkyrie. Ravage determined to separate the archeological team, killing three of them, and keeping one alive as leverage. The threat of the death of her comrade would force Valkyrie to lead him to the Heart.

Ravage selected a large, round rock, and wrapped his right hand around it. He then coiled his arm backward and cast the stone away from him, sending it flying about a hundred meters towards the northwest.

The sound of stone bouncing off of stone reverberated throughout the foggy graveyard. The Maximals paused loading their ship for a long moment, each one staring at each other.

"What was that?" the one called Doublefeed hissed. "We’ve still got plenty of time."

"No animal life, no sentient beings. There’s no cause for anything to make that kind of noise," responded Iceberg. "You stay here. I’m going to go check this out."

Valkyrie moved in front of Iceberg, however. "Don’t go," she said. "It’s entirely possible that we mistranslated the runes and that it’s already begun. The ship is ready; let’s just get on and get out of here."

Iceberg shook his head. "No offense, ma’am, but I am the security officer in charge of this mission. I have no doubt in your language abilities. Which means that noise could have only been caused by something else. I think we’re being followed, and it’s my duty to find out what it is. You stay here with the archeological team. I’ll take care of whatever it is and then return as soon as possible."

Valkyrie shook her head in disagreement, but nonetheless moved out of Iceberg’s path. The larger Maximal then assumed his alternate form—a large, arctic wolf—and set out in the direction of the noise.

Ravage himself melted into the shadows of a large mausoleum, awaiting the Maximals to investigate. Iceberg rewarded Ravage several minutes later by arriving on the scene, still in his alternate mode.

The appearance of the large Maximal caught Ravage off-guard. He expected the Maximals to be weak, to have alternate modes best suited towards their profession rather than combat. This one would prove slightly difficult to take down. Ravage had originally intended to spare the first Maximal he encountered, lest he find himself in a situation where he needed to kill the others. However, the sheer size and apparent strength of Iceberg forced Ravage into a different course of action. Ravage needed to kill Iceberg, should he prove troublesome later.

He retained his hiding place, waiting for the right moment to strike. Iceberg found the loose stone, and returned to his robot mode. He picked the rock up, staring at it intently in the dreary light that made its way through the dark clouds above.

Ravage smirked. The Maximals undoubtedly assigned Iceberg to this mission because of his strength and prowess on the battlefield, but it became apparent that the Maximal was careless. A mistake that Ravage ensured cost the Maximal dearly.

Silently, he removed himself from the shadows and withdrew an energy blade, similar to a stiletto in shape, size, and structure. Ravage seized Iceberg around the neck and inserted the blade into the small of his back, making a cruel upward cut after it slipped beneath the armor plating. Iceberg let out a single, startled scream, before collapsing to the ground, dead.

Ravage left the body in the open and returned to his original hiding spot, withdrawing a single blaster as he did so. This was proving too easy.

Valkyrie spun her head in the direction of the short scream, her eyes growing wide with anxiety and concern. She paused for a moment, considering her options. "Iceberg’s hurt," she finally said. "I’m going to go get him."

But Doublefeed prevented her from leaving, carefully gripping her shoulders to hold her back. "Don’t go yet, ma’am," he said to her. "Let me and Enigma take care of this. You stay here with Hammerfall. Old Iceberg probably just tripped over a rock and twisted a limb. You know how melodramatic he can get."

Valkyrie paused, biting her bottom lip. "I don’t like it," she replied. "But very well. You two be careful."

"Don’t worry about us, ma’am. We’ll be back with Iceberg patched up before you know it."

Doublefeed tapped Enigma on the shoulder, and the two disappeared into the mist in search of their comrade.

Ravage waited silently, hoping that he would be able to take a Maximal alive this time. Within a few moments, Doublefeed and Enigma became visible. Ravage silently sized the two Maximals up; they looked fairly harmless. Easy kills.

The sight of Iceberg’s body caused immediate pandemonium in the two. Doublefeed sprinted across the ground, falling to his knees as he checked for signs of life in his dead comrade. After a full moment, Doublefeed cradled Iceberg’s lifeless corpse in his arms, unable to believe that his friend was dead.

"Oh, Primus. Dear Primus. Who did this to you, Icy?"

Ravage held his blaster forward, targeting Enigma. That would be his bargaining tool. He lined the sights up, and put an energy charge neatly through the broad, grey Maximal’s chest, not too far from the Spark housing chamber. Enigma spun once before falling with a thump, and Doublefeed turned to look at his companion.

"Who’s there?" Doublefeed yelled. "Come out and show yourself to me, coward!"

Ravage removed himself from the cover of the mausoleum, slipping quietly through the fog on Doublefeed’s left. The Maximal spun in the direction of the movement, attempting to get a view of his invisible adversary. Without saying anything else, Doublefeed assumed his alternate mode.

Ravage was, once again, caught by surprise. Doublefeed transformed into an automatic machine gun, mounted on a tripod. Doublefeed’s barrel spat into life, and tracer rounds flew through the otherwise quiet cemetery. Ravage flattened himself against a headstone, attempting to shrink his figure behind the meager stone protection.

Rock splintered and flew through the air as bullets reverberated throughout the graveyard, and Ravage realized that he was out-gunned. He selected a grenade from his satchel, primed the timer, and then rolled it across the ground.

The grenade fell neatly under Doublefeed’s tripod and immediately exploded. The Maximal flew into the air, and rained down in several pieces. Such messy kills were not Ravage’s forte, but he had a mission to accomplish.

Ravage rose to his feet, taking a quick visual account of the battle. The shadow agent then made his way towards Enigma, who was still lying on the ground, staring at the gaping wound in his chest. He attempted to scurry backwards as Ravage approached; his injuries, however, prevented this. Ravage gripped the Maximal under the arms and hoisted him up.

"You’re not going anywhere, Maximal," Ravage responded. He then placed a pair of inhibitor cuffs on the injured Transformer’s wrists, binding them behind his back. Ravage then withdrew his left blaster and began leading the captured Enigma towards the Maximal ship.

Valkyrie stood in front of her ship, anxiously waiting for word from her compatriots. The sounds of explosions worried her, and she knew that something had gone horribly wrong.

"Hammerfall," she stated, looking towards the blue and gold Transformer, "I’m going. You stay here and watch the ship."

Hammerfall opened his mouth to protest, but a wave of Valkyrie’s hand cut him off. "No arguments. Something’s not right. I’ll find out what it is and then we can get out of here. You stay here, got it? No following me, I mean it."

The male Maximal nodded once, and watched piteously as his comrade disappeared into the mists. After a few seconds, he walked around to the nose of the ship, straining his eyes into the fog, trying to see something, anything, that would let him know that his compatriots were still functional.

Nothing. Silence reigned throughout the cemetery, a stark contrast to the gunshots and explosions that had sounded only minutes prior. Hammerfall heaved an uncomfortable sigh, and then took a few steps backward, trying to adjust his optics to the failing light of the evening.

He bumped into something unexpectedly, and Hammerfall turned to face himself staring into the chest of an imposing, dark figure.

"Good evening, Maximal," Ravage said, dryly.

Hammerfall tried to back away slowly, his eyes growing wide with fear as he faced the Tripedicus Agent. Ravage said nothing more, simply bringing his blaster forward and aiming it at the luckless Maximal’s head.

Valkyrie’s hand flew to her mouth when she reached the scene of the battle; various parts of Doublefeed littered the ground, and Iceberg lay face-down, a cruel cut running along the small of his back.

"Oh, by the Matrix. Oh, Primus, no."

She closed her eyes against the sight, trying to compose herself. They were so close—they only had to load up the vessel. "If only I had stopped Iceberg," she sobbed. "Then they wouldn’t be . . . they wouldn’t be dead."

She regained her composure a second later, and noticed with relief that Enigma was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he managed an escape . . .

But the sound of gunshots reached her ears. The ship. They were coming from the ship.

"Oh, no, not Hammerfall!" she bellowed. Panic began to mount, and Valkyrie shifted into her phoenix mode and took to the sky.

Ravage held Enigma pushed towards the ground, burying the Maximal’s face in the ash-like soil. He then mounted his left foot between the Maximal’s shoulder blades and leveled his right blaster at the back of Enigma’s head. The Maximal attempted to struggle pitifully, and Ravage stilled Enigma’s movement by pushing the barrel of his blaster further against the Maximal’s cranium.

A scream of fury tore through the sky, and Ravage looked upwards to see an other-worldly glow illuminating through the clouds. Valkyrie. He allowed a small smile to play across his face. Show time.

Her wings burned white-hot with the fire the spewed forth from them, and Valkyrie pushed herself to her limits. The death of her comrades was her own fault, she convinced herself, and Valkyrie was determined to set right their massacre. She opened her beak and allowed another primal scream to slice through the dark, evening skies of Necros.

The ship came into view through the thick clouds, and Valkyrie pulled back her wings into a fierce dive. She saw a dark figure standing in the small clearing where her ship lay, and she surmised that he was the one responsible for Iceberg, Doublefeed, and Hammerfall. She opened her talons, intent on ripping the intruder apart, piece by piece.

But the sudden sight of Enigma lying helpless on the ground, a blaster leveled at the back of his head, caused her to pull out of her dive. She opened her wings and drifted to the ground, and then immediately assumed her robot form. Ravage looked up at her as she approached, and tightened his grip on the blaster.

She paused momentarily when she saw the Predacon insignia on his shoulder, but then opened her mouth and spoke. "Let him go, Predacon. He has nothing that you need."

The thick accent of the Predacon caught her off-guard. "You’re right. He means nothing to me. You are the one that I want."

"Then let him go," she pleaded.

"Not yet. Show me the Heart of Cybertron."

Valkyrie extended her hands outward, turning her palms upward in exasperation. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"The artifact that you discovered. Give it to me and I will allow your friend to live."

Valkyrie widened her eyes in shock. "You can’t have it! It’s much too dangerous. That artifact has the capacity to destroy entire worlds. I refuse to take you to it!"

Ravage gave a small laugh. "I thought that would be your answer. You left the Heart elsewhere. I’ll tell you what, doctor. I might be a Predacon, but I believe in giving every being a second chance. Take me to the Heart, wherever it may be."

"I won’t do it! Even if you threaten me with death, no."

"You have five seconds, doctor. Five seconds until I exterminate your friend for your refusal to cooperate."

"You won’t do it. You wouldn’t have leverage then," Valkyrie stated, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Three seconds."

"I told you no!"

"Two seconds," Ravage replied.

Enigma let out a moan of despair.

"Oh, Primus, no, please no, don’t do this," Valkyrie begged, sinking to her knees.

"One second, doctor. Make your decision!"

"I’ll do it. Please, just don’t hurt him."

Ravage gave a smirk. "There, now. That wasn’t too hard, now was it?" He then pulled Enigma to his feet. "I’ll hold onto this. You take the lead. And I warn you, doctor, you had best not lead me astray." Ravage made this point by leveling the point of his blaster under Enigma’s chin, causing the Maximal to quake with fear.

"He’s badly hurt. You’re a monster," Valkyrie stated.

"Perhaps. That’s not for me to decide. My patience is wearing thin, doctor. Take me to the Heart now."

The journey proved long and difficult, and the tiny Necronian sun fully set while Ravage and his prisoners made their way into the crumbling city. Enigma kept stumbling over his feet, and Ravage essentially dragged the Maximal the entire way.

The trio was only a few hundred meters away from the city gates when Valkyrie stopped. Ravage halted as well, but made his displeasure clear by pushing the barrel of his weapon into the semi-conscious Enigma’s throat.

"Can we stop here for a moment so that he can rest? You’ll kill him if you keep pulling him along at this rate."

Ravage’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed Enigma to slump to the ground. He then stepped back a couple of feet and pointed his blaster in the Maximal’s direction. "You have five minutes to dress his wound and make him as comfortable as possible," Ravage stated. "And then we will continue."

Valkyrie bent over, and removed a white cloth from a small bag that she carried her archeological tools in. She looked into Enigma’s wound and began to remove the soot and ash with the rag, making small, careful sweeps.

"I hope you realize that you’ve sentenced us all to death."

"I doubt that the Predacons would use the Heart of Cybertron for self-destructive purposes," Ravage stated. "In any event, that is none of my affair."

"I’m not talking about the Heart," Valkyrie replied.

Ravage carefully considered Valkyrie’s words. What could there possibly be on this dead world that could destroy them?

"That’s a risk that I’m willing to take," he replied. "Now, if you are quite finished, we have a mission to complete."

Valkyrie stood up, staring the taller Predacon in the eye. "You said I had five minutes. That was two. Let me finish dressing this wound."

Ravage returned her glare. "Maximal, you are wearing on my nerves," he growled.

"Listen, he’s only slowing us down further by being in this much pain. Let me give him some medical treatment and shut off the pain receptors. It will take me only a few more minutes. Then we can continue."

Ravage bared his teeth and waved his weapon at Valkyrie. "Finish, doctor," he said. "But do not tarry."

Several minutes later, Ravage brought up the rear as Valkyrie helped Enigma hobble along the narrow, stone streets of the city. He held his blaster leveled in front of him, a constant reminder to the two that death could strike them at any time.

Despite the importance of his mission, Ravage could not help but marvel at the architecture that surrounded him. Ancient, crumbling buildings stretched high overhead, and Ravage passed what appeared to be small shops and homes.

He peered through a window into one of the houses, and noticed that everything inside remained organized, although covered with a thick layer of dust. It was as if the citizens of Necros had simply vanished from the face of the planet.

Valkyrie turned down a narrow alley, and Ravage continued behind her. A particularly large building stood in front of them, its spires reaching high into the skies above. Several stone figures adorned high archways overhead, and Ravage noted with a sense of unease that they all sported grimaces and fangs.

"What is this place?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"It’s a temple to the goddess of the underworld," Valkyrie explained. Despite her current predicament, the doctor was still eager to explain her findings. "The Necronians believed that Nahara, the Lady of the Dead, held supreme council over the other gods and goddesses, even over the Lord of Life."

"A rather pessimistic religion," Ravage stated.

"And a very practical one," Valkyrie responded. "You must take into account that all beings eventually wither and die. Nahara was, effectively, the only possible outcome to all actions."

"Admiration for a religion that worships death, coming from a Transformer who converts into a phoenix—a being that, by nature, defies it," Ravage stated. "A seeming contradiction in terms, doctor."

The trio entered a low doorway and began a descent down an ancient spiral staircase. Slimy stones adorned the walls, and Valkyrie leaned against the far wall for support as she helped Enigma downwards.

"Perhaps," Valkyrie stated, taking her descent slowly. "Although I doubt that will help us in the near future."

They now entered a large chamber, and Ravage was surprised to see several torches burning brightly along the center aisle. He surmised that Valkyrie and her team must have left them burning before returning to their ship, although it did seem rather careless of them . . .

Valkyrie seemed to note Ravage’s unease in regards to the torches, and so supplied an answer. "They’re eternal flames. We conducted studies on them, but were unable to determine what keeps them burning."

Ravage said nothing for a moment, but then motioned Valkyrie and Enigma to proceed forward, towards the alter that stood at the end of the room. He could see the Heart of Cybertron sitting atop the altar, and Ravage was eager to possess it. Keeping the Maximals in his field of vision, Ravage reached forward and seized the Heart.

The container felt cool in his hands, and the Tripedicus Agent pondered briefly about the power contained within. The ability to destroy an entire planet; if used properly, perhaps even an entire star system.

Valkyrie heaved a long and depressed sigh. "We have completed my task, doctor. We will now return to my vessel," Ravage stated.

Valkyrie shook her head. "We won’t have that chance, Predacon. We just ran out of time."

"What do you mean by that?" Ravage demanded.

"The reason that we wanted to leave Necros in such a hurry before you attacked us was because of a rune I translated several days prior. I suppose that you recall that the entire civilization of Necros disappeared, correct?"

Ravage nodded. "So you found what caused the cataclysm?"

Valkyrie shook her head. "The thing is, Predacon, they never left. The people of Necros are a unique race, and enter long periods of hibernation approximately every forty-five hundred years. Their hibernation cycle lasts for an additional one thousand, two hundred fourteen."

"And when does that hibernation cycle end?" Ravage asked.

"By my calculations, seven minutes ago. And as a race completely absorbed with death, the Necronians will be more than happy to sacrifice us to Nahara when they find us. "

"Damn you, Maximal, you set me up!" Ravage bellowed after the revelation of their current predicament set in. Trapped on a dead planet—with an ancient, warrior race emerging from their millennial stasis—Ravage could not recall ever having been in such a position.

Valkyrie smiled slightly. "I gave you several indications that we needed to get off-planet. You never bothered to ask."

Ravage turned and stared at her for a long moment. "You Maximals are all the same. So occupied with self-sacrifice and nobility that you forget to save your own, pathetic existences."

A slight shuffling could be heard, and Ravage turned to see flames being reflected of the slimy walls of the spiral staircase. Footfalls became apparent as beings—perhaps dozens, maybe even hundreds—all descended the stairwell into the temple of their goddess.

"You see that, Predacon? Those are the Necronians now. They’ve emerged from their stasis and they’re going to want a sacrifice to Nahara. We fit the bill perfectly."

"I don’t think so, doctor. You and I are returning to my ship."

"What do you mean? There’s no way out of here. They’re on their way down right now," Valkyrie stated, returning her gaze to the stairwell.

Ravage withdrew his blaster and gripped it by the barrel. He then struck Valkyrie across the back of the head with the handle of the weapon, knocking her unconscious. He dragged her behind the altar where the Heart of Cybertron once lay, and then carefully replaced the artifact from the rear.

He looked out from his hiding place at Enigma; they grey Maximal lay on the floor, unconscious. Ravage briefly considered bringing the Maximal behind the altar as well, but then decided against it. Should the Necronians find Enigma and sacrifice him to their goddess, then they might overlook Ravage and Valkyrie, giving them a chance to slip away.

The sounds of hundreds of footsteps became painfully apparent in the dank chamber, and Ravage tightened his whole body in anticipation of a coming confrontation. Suddenly, one of the Necronians let out a startled yell, and Ravage peeked around the corner to see strange beings crowding around the prone form of Enigma.

The Necronians were a tall race, with slender legs, arms, and abdomens. Their skin was grayish in coloration, and looked very much like the humans on earth. However, their eyes were milky-white, and contained no pupils.

One of the Necronians turned in Ravage’s direction, and he ducked behind the altar. However, none of the strange aliens seemed to have seen the Predacon, and so Ravage chanced another look. They now stood huddled around Enigma, each discussing in their strange tongue of how to deal with this stranger. Ravage made a few more observations about the Necronians at this point; each one held a set of very long and sharp teeth in their mouths, and the fangs jutted over their bottom lips even when their mouths were closed.

The Necronians were apparently a simple race, judging from their articles of clothing. Ravage surmised that both males and females now stood assembled in the chamber, based upon their garments. All wore a crude form of sandal on their feet, and the men wore grey loincloths. The females, by contrast, wore white skirts and tops, and adorned their slender wrists and necks with several bands of jewelry.

Valkyrie stirred next to him, and she made a slight moan of pain before her eyes fluttered open. Ravage quickly placed a hand over her mouth and placed a finger over his lips, warning her to fall silent. Valkyrie nodded once, and Ravage took his hand away.

Ravage returned his gaze towards the assembly of Necronians, and Valkyrie brushed next to Ravage to get a view for herself. Her eyes grew wide with shock as she saw Enigma being lifted upwards by the Necronians and dragged to the center of the room. A few chants sounded throughout the dark, and Valkyrie gasped as she saw a hand draw above the crowd, gripping a cruel, twisted dagger.

She averted her eyes from Enigma’s sacrifice, but Ravage watched intently. The entire affair remained deathly silent, and the Necronians backed away from Enigma’s body, eying it intently. Finally, a male Necronian—apparently of some importance, based upon the headdress placed upon his head—issued an order in the strange, clicking language, and an assembly of Necronians hoisted the body upwards and carried it up the spiral stairwell.

The Necronians then filed out silently, each one falling in line directly behind another, until the only one that remained behind was the priest that slew Enigma. He approached the altar slowly, and Ravage pulled back into the shadows and withdrew one of his blasters.

The priest, however, made no move to look for any further intruders. He simply grasped the Heart of Cybertron and lifted it into the air above his head, giving a short and quiet chant of offering before taking the Heart with him.

Valkyrie waited until the footsteps of the priest fell silent, and then she sprinted from her hiding spot, attempting to get to the stairwell. Ravage took off after her, and he grabbed her viciously and slammed her into the ground.

"Let go of me!" she yelled at him. "You have nothing left to look for. You’ve killed all my friends and sentenced us both to death. There’s no possible need for you to keep me here!"

Ravage said nothing for a moment, keeping his gaze turned to the stairwell in case any of the Necronians heard Valkyrie’s outburst. "That’s where you are wrong, doctor. I am getting the Heart of Cybertron back, and then we will both leave this planet," he finally stated.

Valkyrie remained sitting on the stone floor. "You’re not getting any more help from me. I’m finished."

"Make your own decision, doctor. I’m sure that I can find out how to use the Heart when I find it. But believe me when I tell you that you will die if you remain here. The only way you can hope to live is if you come with me."

"I have no reason to trust you. Iceberg . . . Doublefeed . . . Hammerfall . . . you killed them! And you let them take Enigma!"

"It was either him or us. Now make up your mind. I have a mission to complete." Ravage then began up the stairwell, leaving Valkyrie sitting on the floor. A few seconds later, the Maximal archeologist rose to her feet and followed after the Predacon.

Ravage entered the dark alley on the surface, and quickly checked for any signs of the Necronians. He heard Valkyrie come behind him a moment later. The streets were strangely silent, and Ravage wondered as to where the ancient race had disappeared.

Valkyrie seemed to have sensed Ravage’s question, as she supplied the answer. "They must be assembling in the Tower of Nahara," she stated. "There are probably a number of religious ceremonies performed to mark their resurrection."

"That is where they will have taken the Heart?" Ravage asked without turning around.

Valkyrie nodded once, and then pointed towards a high spire that dominated the structures around it. "There. In the High Chamber of the Goddess of Death," she explained.

"It seems rather strange to build a sanctuary for the lady of the underworld among the clouds," Ravage replied.

"Not really. Remember, the goddess rules over all in the Necronian religion. This applies to both the spiritual and physical realms. The Heart will be presented to Nahara herself. What Nahara intends to do with the Heart . . . well, I don’t know the answer to that one."

Ravage turned to face his companion. "You mean that Nahara is an actual being?"

Valkyrie nodded her head once. "In a matter of speaking. The Necronians believe that Nahara possesses the body of a priestess to be her earthly representative. She then rules the Necronian people through divine intervention. According to the runes I uncovered, the current priestess was the daughter of store-keeper who experienced painful visions, presumably from the gods. She was removed from her home and trained for the day that Nahara would inhabit her body."

"And I take it that the Necronians will do anything to protect her?" Ravage asked.

"Yes. But they don’t need to. The High Priestess is trained in all matters of bladed and unarmed combat. She is, quite literally, the most deadly being on planet."

"Then she hasn’t met me yet."

"Don’t overestimate your abilities, Predacon. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. The Necronians are a proud warrior race. You don’t stand a chance."

Ravage stared upwards at the tower as a fine rain fell from the sky. "That’s where you’re wrong," he announced. Without saying anything else, he turned from Valkyrie and walked down a narrow alleyway.

"Wait! What are you doing?" she demanded of him, running to keep up.

"Let’s just say that I’m resurrecting something myself," Ravage replied, as he pointed upwards to a stained-glass window. Valkyrie looked upwards as well, and found herself looking at the Decepticon insignia inside the glass.

"What do you intend to do with that? Yes, the Necronians adopted the symbol of the Decepticons after their vessel landed on their planet over fifteen hundred years ago, but how does that help us now?" she demanded.

Ravage remained silent, and only turned and began to walk away. But as he turned, Valkyrie caught a glimmer of the Decepticon insignia still adorning his right shoulder.

"Oh, Primus," she mumbled. "You’re him. You’re Ravage."

"Obviously. You expected someone else?"

"I never thought that you existed. The records about the Great War are all banned. I’ve heard your name passed around in quiet conversation before, but I always thought you were a folk myth. A threat to send child Transformers to stasis."

Ravage gave a deep, throaty laugh. "That’s rich. ‘Go to bed or Ravage will get you,’ eh?"

"You live up to your reputation. You’re just as evil as the stories make you out to be."

Ravage turned to face Valkyrie, and pointed an accusing finger into her chest. "Listen, Maximal, I care nothing for you or your perceptions of me. My only concern is the Heart. Now fall silent before you attract undue attention to us."

Valkyrie stared at Ravage for a long moment, before taking a step backwards. "Very well," she finally stated, as Ravage turned away from her and began to walk away. "But I think I know what you’re going to do. Waltz into the Tower of Nahara, waving your Decepticon badge, claiming to be a representative of the gods. Well, I’ve got news for you, Ravage. You’re no angel."

Ravage paused and took a look over his left shoulder. "I never claimed to be," the Predacon replied, before resuming his walk.

Valkyrie stood still, without following Ravage. The Predacon sensed that the Maximal was not following him, and so turned around in time to see Valkyrie transform into her phoenix mode and take to the sky. She apparently intended to return to her ship.

Ravage smiled. He had already taken that precaution.

He withdrew a data pad from his side, and remotely detonated the bombs he placed within the Maximal vessel. Ravage called after the form flapping over the city, "it’s like I said before, Maximal—if you want to live, you have to stay with me."

Valkyrie seemed to see the smoke rising from the wreckage of her vessel on the horizon, and surmised the actions that Ravage took. She returned to the ground a minute later and returned to her robot mode, the fires of hatred dancing in her eyes.

"You bastard."

"Maximal, you do not give me enough credit. I plan for every contingency. I would not be the Tripedicus Agent if I did not."

Ravage and Valkyrie entered the bottom of the tower cautiously, listening intently to the sounds of mysterious chanting drifting down to them from the chambers high above. Valkyrie stood a few feet behind Ravage, looking at the dreary evening through the main doors as Ravage mounted the stairs.

He held a single blaster, cautiously glancing around the corners of the stairwell as the pair made their ascent upwards. Ravage surmised that the tower must be supported by massive bricks at the bottom, and by some unseen buttresses.

"You’re sure that the Necronians have assembled in this tower?" Ravage whispered to his Maximal companion.

"Yes, I’m sure. If you’re wondering how the entire city’s population have packed into the tower, then I’ll tell you. There are numerous seats tiered at the top, all looking down towards the central platform where Nahara performs the sacrificial rites."

"Sacrificial?" Ravage asked. "You mean that they kill each other?"

"Yes. I’ve surmised that the Necronians have an extraordinarily slow metabolism—that is how a normal Necronian can live through three or even four of the millennial cycles. Due to the fact that there are no other life forms on this planet and coupled with their extraordinarily low metabolic rates, they do not have to eat very often—but when they do need to, they sacrifice one of their own. Their hibernation cycle is a further self-preservation mechanic, essentially halting their metabolism while they sleep."

"Pessimists and cannibals. Perfect. But that still doesn’t explain their willingness to kill the other Maximal."

Valkyrie said nothing, and Ravage noticed that she had bitten her bottom lip, trying to suppress the recent memory of Enigma’s death. Ravage made no move to apologize. After a long moment, Valkyrie spoke.

"I can’t answer that for you yet. I don’t know everything."

"Very well. With any luck, the sight of the Decepticon insignia will earn their respect long enough to seize the Heart. We can then escape."

"But what if they don’t? I don’t know for a fact that they used the Decepticon insignia as a religious icon."

Ravage shook his head once, continuing the steep ascent. "I sincerely doubt that, doctor. They placed the Decepticon head in stained glass windows, after all. If that’s not a sign of deep admiration and respect, I don’t know what is."

At this point, Ravage and Valkyrie emerged from the dark and narrow stairwell into an elaborate foyer. There were carpets in this room—Ravage wondered briefly how the Necronians had managed to find the materials to make carpets on the barren world—and several frescos adorned the walls, depicting scenes from Necronian history. The sounds of hundreds of voices chanting in religious ecstasy flowed under the cracks of the double doors, causing a sense of unease in the two trespassers.

Valkyrie ignored the mantra after a long and uncomfortable moment, and turned her attention to the murals. Walking carefully, but keeping a cautious eye on the doors, she looked over the pictures.

"Here," she whispered towards Ravage. "The inception of Necros. You can see the Goddess of Death creating the planet and the star that Necros circles from the eyes of her father, whom she killed in combat."

She passed several more pictures, each depicting scenes of sacrifice or of extreme hunger and starvation, before halting at another picture.

"Look at this!" she hissed. Ravage walked over silently, keeping an intent eye on the doors and an ear open for the mantra, which was now reaching a low roar as the Necronians inside expounded their faith.

But the scene that stood before Ravage took him by surprise. It depicted several giants—each adorned with the Decepticon insignia—throwing bolts of fire into the Necronian people, causing them to scatter and burn. Several of the Necronians lay dead and bleeding, and the Goddess of Death was portrayed overhead as having her head turned from the massacre.

The next scene on the wall showed the giants as lying in pieces, and a single, female Necronian held a small box over her head in victory. Ravage realized that the mural depicted the Heart of Cybertron.

"So that’s what happened," Valkyrie whispered. "The Decepticon dreadnought vessel crashed here before the Necronians entered their last stasis cycle. The Decepticons brought death and destruction to this world, but Nahara was able to obtain the Heart and use it to destroy their oppressors."

"So how does that affect us?" Ravage asked, having to strain his voice over the frenzied shouting of the Necronians within the chamber. "Will they welcome me or attempt to kill me when I go in there?"

Valkyrie shook her head. "I don’t know," she responded. "You’re certainly not as big as the Decepticons of fifteen hundred years ago."

Ravage leaned close to the Maximal, bringing his dull, red eyes close to hers. "Let’s get this straight, doctor," he stated. "If you know something, you had best share it with me. I am your only ticket off this world."

Valkyrie’s eyes narrowed in anger. "I owe you nothing, Ravage. You killed my team and brought your current predicament upon yourself. But you’re right in one thing; I don’t want to die here."

"It’s rather convenient that you’ve changed your mind. When I first encountered you, you told me that you’d rather die than help me."

"If I die, then I won’t be able to extract my revenge against you."

Ravage smiled slightly. "Very nice, doctor," he stated. "You’re not like most of the Maximals."

The screaming of the Necronians suddenly ceased, and Ravage took the opportunity to throw open the doors of the Chamber of the Gods. The Tripedicus Agent strode in purposefully, ensuring that each of the assembled Necronians caught a view of the Decepticon insignia upon his right shoulder.

Silence reigned in the sacrificial chambers, as Ravage stared upwards at the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of aliens looking down at his form. Signs of surprise and fear where written across their faces, and Ravage realized that he had successfully cowed the primitive species.

Perfect.

He withdrew a blaster, holding it purposefully, making sure that each and every one of the Necronians saw the firearm. If Valkyrie was correct and these Necronians had indeed survived the Decepticon invaders of a millennium ago, then they would understand the significance of the blaster.

He noted with satisfaction that several of the Necronians gathered their children close to them, attempting to protect them from a perceived onslaught. Ravage looked forward and spied the Heart of Cybertron, sitting on an altar before a high window.

Valkyrie stood in the doorframe, watching the situation intently. "Oh, Primus, they’re going to massacre him," she whispered to herself.

Ravage reached forward and placed his hands upon the Heart, intent on taking it directly from the ceremony. He would then stride purposefully out of the room, he and Valkyrie would run for the base of the tower, and then he would order her to transform into her phoenix mode and take them both to his ship before the Necronians were able to mount an offensive.

But as his hands closed about the artifact, another hand shot forward and gripped his wrist. Ravage glanced upward, finding himself facing a female Necronian. This one differed from the others; she contained a lean and muscular frame under a flowing red gown, and long, black hair cascaded down the sides of her face and onto her shoulders.

"Nahara, I presume," Ravage said, his voice containing a slight laugh. There was no way the Necronian understood his language.

"Yes," she suddenly stated, taking Ravage by surprise by speaking in his native tongue. "The Goddess of Death."

She suddenly exerted her grip upon Ravage’s wrist, pinning it to the altar. Her other hand flew upwards, motioning for the guards to close the double doors. A pair of sentries, now galvanized into action by their goddess, seized Valkyrie and pulled her forward into the room. One struck her across the back of the head with an iron spear, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Nahara’s hand dipped down to a loose belt that she wore over her gown, and she extracted a curved dagger from a sheath. She dove forward, attempting to drive the knife into Ravage’s chest. The Predacon side-stepped quickly, narrowly avoiding the blade.

The dual blasters came forward, and Ravage fired off a pair of rapid shots in the direction of Nahara. The Necronian spun to one side, easily and deftly avoiding Ravage’s shots.

Nahara moved with the grace of a dancer, but with deadly speed and accuracy. No sooner had she evaded the energy burst than was she parallel to Ravage, and scored numerous slash marks down the Predacon’s arms with her ceremonial blade.

Ravage howled in pain, dropping one of his blasters. He had never seen an adversary move so fast. Nahara continued pressing her advantage, and she spun on the ball of her left foot, taking Ravage down in a round-house kick.

He slumped to the ground, tasting the bile of internal fluids on his mechanical tongue. Valkyrie was right; this had been a bad idea . . .

He pushed himself to his knees, attempting to regain his footing. Nahara drove the point of her elbow into his throat, throwing him back off-balance. Ravage tumbled backwards, trying to make out the form of the deft goddess as his optics faded.

He felt another kick in his chest panel, and the Predacon lost his footing. The stained-glass window behind him could not support his weight, and Ravage fell through the portal of the tall tower and into the open air below.

The setting sun of Necros winked at him momentarily, and Ravage watched the grey clouds continuing the angry dance overhead. A fine mist permeated the air, giving a peaceful overtone to such a violent evening.

Suddenly, he roared in pain as his spine erupted in agony. Ravage had landed on the small roof of a lower building. He tried to move, and groaned with pain. He found that his arms and legs responded to his will, but it was slow, sluggish. He needed to get away, time to allow his internal systems to repair the damage.

His red optics began to dim, and he realized that his automatic body systems were sending him into stasis lock. "Override," he wheezed.

No effect. The fall had broken him more than he realized. Stasis lock continued, and Ravage felt his joints grow tight as the automatic programs began their course.

A set of grey faces peered out of tower from above, pointing at him, jeering. The Necronians knew where Ravage was, and they were going to ensure that their goddess took the proper measures with him.

A fog of memory enveloped his mind, and Ravage dreamed.

His mind placed him in the endless cemetery of Necros, and shadows danced around him in the heavy fog. He spun from his left, and then to his right, attempting to find his invisible adversaries.

"You’re such a fool, Ravage."

The voice was heavy, full of contempt and anger. It reverberated throughout the lonely graveyard, and Ravage tried to place the sound of the voice to a person.

"Such a fool. We should have revoked your commission."

There, in front of him, a dark silhouette emerged. Ravage squinted hard in the dimming light, and made out a large pair of wings affixed to a massive frame. Cyrotek then emerged from the fog, standing before the Tripedicus Agent.

"You were seen. A covert agent does us no good if he is compromised."

"High Proctor, based upon the evidence that I found in the graveyard, I had reason to believe . . ."

Cyrotek—or the apparition pretending to be the High Proctor of the Tripedicus Council—waved an arm, cutting off Ravage’s flow of words. His eyes narrowed in anger, and he stared long and hard at Ravage before hissing, "You know better. Pretending to be a god—that is something the Decepticons did. It is something the Decepticons failed at. What made you think that you could sustain a charade any better than Starscream, or Astrotrain? Your god gambit failed miserably. You misjudged the situation and you have cost us everything."

Ravage stood, speechless, knowing that the words of Cyrotek were absolutely correct. He should have taken an alternate course of action; striking from the shadows was his expertise, not grand-standing power plays.

Finally, he spoke. "High Proctor, our intelligence did not take into account the revival of the Necronians. I believed that pretending to be their god—or a representative of them—would be the easiest and most efficient course of action. It would have been nearly impossible to escape with the Heart otherwise."

"Nearly, Ravage. Only nearly."

The shadow of Cyrotek faded back into the fog, leaving Ravage alone once more.

He began to walk, trying to get back to the city. But the headstones stretched for miles in every direction, and Ravage became concerned that he was walking in circles. Finally, he found himself before an open grave, awaiting a body for burial.

He leaned forward, looking downwards into the gaping hole, and recoiled in surprise. He was staring at himself, lying in the grave, his hands folded neatly across his chest. The Decepticon insignia, worn and faded, was affixed to his chest, a final sign of honors. Ravage looked at his own body for a few moments, trying to reach an explanation.

He realized that he must be dreaming or hallucinating—or perhaps he really was dead, staring down at his own corpse. If he was dead, who was planning his burial? If he were alive and dreaming, what significance did this hold? Perhaps the dead body, clutching the emblem of a former warrior race, marked the death of Ravage’s ideals, his reason for being?

"Wake up."

The light, other-worldy voice drifted through the fog, and Ravage tried to get a fix on its origin. Giving one last, hard stare at his body lying in the forgotten grave of a dead planet, he resumed his trek through the cemetery.

"You have to wake up, Ravage."

There. There was the voice again. Ravage turned again, wondering who would be calling him.

Another form materialized out of the mist, and Ravage recognized Valkyrie, with her back turned to him. Ravage reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to assure himself that he had finally found a comrade, an unwilling one she might be.

Valkyrie turned to face Ravage, and he withdrew his hand in surprise. The face of Nahara now adorned Valkyrie’s frame, and the twin fangs jutted over the red lips. Nahara strode purposefully towards Ravage, withdrawing two long, curved blades. Her vacant eyes threatened to bore into his soul, and a smile played upon her vicious mouth. Finally, Nahara spoke. "Wake up, Ravage. Wake up."

His optics finally came back on-line, and Ravage sat up suddenly. He found himself lying in a dank cell, somewhere deep beneath the surface of Necros. Valkyrie stood nearby, eyeing him intently.

"You finally resumed operation, I see. You were in stasis lock for quite some time," she stated.

Ravage wasted no time, pushing himself to his feet. He noted that the Necronians had the foresight to relieve him of his remaining blaster. "What happened?" he asked.

Valkyrie gave a sarcastic laugh. "You got us killed, that’s what. It’s only a matter of time before Nahara sends her guards to retrieve us, and then we’ll be up for sacrifice."

"Don’t push me, Maximal. I asked a question of you."

"What are you going to do then, Ravage? Shoot me?"

Ravage ignored the comment, and turned his attention to the bars lining the side of the cell. He gripped one tightly, testing its strength. It refused to give, and Ravage surmised that Necros must be rich in mineral deposits beneath its sooty surface. The Necronians, despite having a lack of livestock or plant life, had still managed to become expert blacksmiths and architects.

"I already tried the bars. They’re too strong," Valkyrie explained.

Ravage threw his shoulder against the metal door, hoping to knock it off its hinges.

"Will you give that up? Lest you forget, I do spout flames from my wings in beast mode, and I tried that too. The only way out of here is if the guards come down and get us."

Ravage held a finger to his lips, as he heard a faint noise. He turned his attention in the direction of the stairwell, and noticed that voices carried down the confined passageway. The reflection of torchlight on the smooth walls became visible a moment later, and Ravage realized that the guards were already coming for them.

Two Necronians approached the cell, and Ravage noted with disgust that each one gripped one of his blasters. Without trying to communicate to their prisoners, one guard pointed the blaster forward and shot Ravage in the chest.

He collapsed to the ground, pain racing through his body. Stasis lock overtook him once more, and Ravage’s last scene of consciousness was that of the door coming open and a pair of hands reaching down to seize him.

His dreams this time were only black, and Ravage regained consciousness a short while later. He found himself in a high ante room, chained to a large pillar in the center of the structure. He pulled against the chains running about his wrists and neck for a moment, hoping to pull the shackles free of their moorings. He sighed with defeat a short while later, realizing that he could not escape these bonds.

He instead took the time to look around his surroundings. High slitted windows aligned the sides of the far wall, with a few large torches burning in conches between them. Red curtains adorned several high arches, and Ravage also noted that ornate candelabras stood in the center of the room, their small flames flickering hungrily.

Thunder rumbled, and Ravage turned to look out the nearest window. A cold, black rain poured from the skies now, and flashes of periodic lightening illuminated the night sky. He briefly wondered how far up he was, or even if he was still in the same tower.

"Good evening, off-worlder." The sweet, dulcet voice reverberated throughout the chambers, and Ravage watched as Nahara emerged from behind a set of curtains. She still gripped the ceremonial dagger in his grey hands, and Ravage pondered if she had brought him up here simply to kill him.

"I have questions. You will answer them," she stated, as she walked towards the Predacon. She stopped and stared at her captive briefly, and then turned away and walked to a small fountain against the right-hand wall. She washed her hands under the small trickle, and posed her question with her back still facing Ravage:

"What has brought you here?"

Ravage thought over his answer briefly, and decided that lying would be against his best interest. "I have come for the Heart of Cybertron," he stated.

Nahara turned to face Ravage, and wiped her hands upon a towel before picking the dagger back up. "You mean the Eye of Redemption, don’t you?"

"If you are referring to the artifact that I tried to take from the altar earlier, then yes."

"The Eye of Redemption is sacred to us. That is an impossibility."

"It is a lost artifact of great significance to my race," Ravage stated.

Nahara, who had been paying more attention to her blade than to Ravage, quickly brought her eyes to face her prisoner. "So you do belong to the Giants."

Without awaiting any further reply, she began pacing the long chamber, gripping her hands behind her back. "Allow me to tell you a story, off-worlder. During our last cycle of wakefulness, a mysterious star fell from the skies, bringing with it agents of death. These giants—who were adorned with the same insignia you wear on your shoulder—terrorized this planet, killing my people."

"Are you not the Goddess of Death?" Ravage interrupted. "Seems to me you got some help."

She stopped her pacing in front of Ravage, staring at him for a long moment. "Were you not encased in armor, stranger, I would strike you for your impetuousness." She resumed her pace, hanging her head towards the floor, gazing at her sandaled feet. "I am the Goddess of Death, that much is true. But I do not actively seek sacrifice or souls. Necros is not a world of meaningless death and destruction; it is about the balance between life and death. Every time a Necronian child is born, the eldest in the city is sacrificed. The family consumes the flesh of the sacrifice, and thus life continues for us. The bones of the sacrificed are given the highest honors available, and commissioned to the Earth within our cemetery.

"But the Giants came, claiming to be representatives from the gods, attempting to subdue us with their superior weapons and powers. They destroyed the sanctity of the sacrifices. After months of their terror and after numerous Necronians killed, a small band snuck past the giants and into the hull of their fallen star. There, they found the Eye of Redemption, and used its power to destroy our oppressors. Although most of that party died as a result, it allowed the rest of Necros to live.

"To honor them, we took the Eye of Redemption and now keep it in a place of honor. Frescos, murals, and stained glass were constructed to commemorate their sacrifice. We also determined to kill all off-worlders. Soon afterwards, we entered our sleep cycle, returning the dark recesses of the earth to await our reawakening.

"And now you come, bearing the same insignia, hoping to claim the Eye for yourself through the same tactics your forerunners used. You underestimate us, off-worlder. We know that you are no god."

Ravage remained silent for a moment, before speaking once more. "Then why have you kept me and my companion alive? And how can you speak my language?"

Despite the curved blade in her hand and the venom she stared at Ravage through her milky eyes, Nahara managed to smile sweetly. "Second question first. When the Giants first arrived, they took me prisoner to use as leverage. In their captivity, I learned their language. I learned where the Eye was kept. When the rescue party came for me, I led them to the Eye, and we released its power upon the giants. My compatriots died, but my physical form managed to survive.

"As for your other question, I ordered for you to be kept alive so that I might learn of you, where you came from, and why your predecessors spread destruction to Necros. Now that I have my answers, you will be offered as sacrifices upon sunrise."

"I did not come to Necros with the intent to destroy your people. I only came to retrieve the Heart—or what you refer to as the Eye of Redemption," Ravage replied.

"I don’t doubt your story. But your intentions were clear when you entered the sacrificial tower, bearing your weapons. And my word is law. All off-worlders will be killed."

Nahara then turned away from Ravage, placing the dagger atop a table. "Do not be overly concerned. Although your type once brought us pain and destruction, we will ensure that your end is painless. You will find release in death."

"I don’t necessarily share the same religious views," Ravage pointed out.

"Do you know what our existence is like, stranger? To exist for so long on a barren world, to spend several eternities drifting in and out of a dreamless sleep? To live with the constant rumbling of hunger pains and to be unable to sate them?"

"Yes, I do. I spent four million years lying aboard a deactivated vessel. I have been at war for most of my life. One by one, I watched my comrades fall, leaving me to carry the battle alone. I know the pain of your existence. And yet I stubbornly cling to life, rather than choosing to embrace death."

Nahara said nothing, but simply gave Ravage another slight smile and nod before leaving the chambers. Ravage remained chained to the post, watching the downpour through the narrow windows and awaiting the coming morn.

The hours crawled past, and Ravage was still no closer towards escape. The heavy chains about his neck and wrists threatened to pull him downwards. However, he continued to go lax, allowing slack to fill the links in the chain, and then sprint forward, pulling the chains taut. The heavy links refused to budge.

Ravage tried to bring his left arm forward, in a desperate attempt to bite the shackle. Because of the collar, though, he was unable to reach the manacle. He looked downwards, inspecting the keyhole.

Large. Archaic. Ravage surmised that one of his canine teeth could fit inside the lock mechanism. With a little bit of maneuvering, he found that his fingers would reach the large lock if he bent his hand the proper way.

"Not an entirely thrilling prospect," he mumbled to himself. He immediately turned parallel to the pillar, drawing the chain on his right hand taught. He then began to scrape the left side of his mouth against the pillar.

Finally, he felt the canine tooth began to wear loose from his mechanical gums, and Ravage ceased aggravating his mouth and began to wiggle the tooth around with his tongue. The tooth came loose, and Ravage held it in his mouth. He then spat it into his left hand, and then carefully pushing it down towards the tips of his fingers, he placed it between his middle and index digits.

He felt that he did not have a good grip on his tooth, but it would have to work. He noticed with satisfaction that the canine tooth fit neatly inside the shackle, and he began to wiggle the shard of metal back and forth, hoping to trigger the locking mechanism.

He quickly glanced at the windows. The moon drifted low on the horizon, and the quiet that only comes with dawn hung outside. The sky began to illuminate slightly, and Ravage surmised that he did not have much time before the first rays of sunlight entered the ancient city.

Back and forth, he wiggled his tooth. Finally, he was rewarded with a small click, and the bond restraining his left hand popped open. Within seconds, he triggered the shackles confining his right hand and his neck, and Ravage was free.

He glanced around the room, and found the dagger that Nahara had left the night before. Ravage gripped the weapon downward in his right fist, holding it as one might hold an ice pick. The windows were much too small for Ravage to fit through; he surmised that he would have to take the door.

"That’s fine with me," he mumbled. "I’ve had enough of going out through windows, anyway."

The sound of footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, and Ravage realized that the first fingers of morning were crawling across the hills in the distance. He melted into the shadows to the left-hand side of the door and awaited the Necronians.

Two of the wraith-like beings entered, conferring excitably in their clicking language, entered the chamber. Ravage noticed that one held a short sword, while the other gripped a scimitar. As soon as the second alien entered the room, Ravage struck.

Ravage gripped the hand of the Necronian holding the short sword with his own, and then drew the dagger upwards and severed the artery on the right side of the neck. As a bright red plume of blood spurted forth, staining the wall behind the pair. Ravage then drew the knife back through the wound to ensure a killing blow before spinning to face the other Necronian.

The other warrior drew the scimitar back over his head, intending on bringing it down upon Ravage. The Tripedicus Agent darted forward, thrusting the dagger into the Necronian’s abdomen. His attacker bellowed in pain, dropping his sword. Ravage withdrew his blade and then made a quick slice across the throat of his adversary.

With the two bleeding bodies of the Necronians lying on the floor, Ravage collected the scimitar and the short sword, and then placed the dagger in one of the empty holsters at his side. Although he was more comfortable with blasters, Ravage was an expert at bladed combat.

But not nearly as proficient as Nahara . . .

The memory of his defeat at the hands of the goddess spurned him, and Ravage turned to look through one of the narrow windows. The morning threatened to come at any second, and Ravage surmised that he needed to rescue Valkyrie before her sacrifice was carried out. Gripping the twin blades, he took up a run and sprinted down the staircase to his rear.

Ravage realized that he was in a different tower from the one he had been captured in the day prior, and he sprinted out the entrance just as the first rays of morning illuminated the high rooftops of the Necronian town. Spying a pile of granite stones, he deftly scaled them and mounted a sloped rooftop.

He gazed out across the city, and found a town square about a half kilometer distant. Ravage began to run, jumping over the gaps in rooftops as he came to them.

His body color matched the roofs very well, and Ravage slowed down as he got closer to the square. Eventually, he sank to his stomach and crawled, intent on getting a view of the town center.

There were many Necronians gathered, and Ravage realized that they were assembling for the sacrifices. He could see Nahara standing beside a stone altar, now wearing a white gown, awaiting the guards who would bring Ravage to her.

She’ll be waiting for a while, then, Ravage thought, and a smile crossed his face. He then looked downwards and saw Valkyrie. She had already been prepared for the ceremony; her unconscious form was laid over another altar. Ravage thought briefly about the best way to get Valkyrie out of the town’s square.

He had no firearms, and he couldn’t match Nahara in hand-to-hand combat. He racked his brains, trying to think of the best way to get Nahara’s attention. She apparently held no great attachment to material goods, save for the Heart of Cybertron, and Ravage had no idea where that was now being kept. The only other things that Nahara cared for were the sacrifices and her own people. Ravage looked downwards, at a small group of Necronians quickly bustling towards the town square, and decided upon a course of action.

Valkyrie’s eyes flew open, and she saw the morning sun beaming down upon her.

It took her a moment to get stock of her surroundings, and she realized that she lay on a stone table of some sort, and that her hands and feet had been restrained. She looked upwards to see Nahara gripping a knife, but the goddess of death was looking away from her—her attention wholly focused on something else.

Valkyrie strained against her bonds, trying to crane her neck upwards. Upon a high roof, she could see a shadowy figure silhouetted against the rising sun . . .

Her optics adjusted for the light difference, and she saw Ravage standing upright on the edge of a roof, holding a wriggling object in one outstretched hand. Valkyrie gasped with horror at the sight.

Ravage held a small Necronian boy over the gaping drop below; the child’s feet windmilled, and the boy gripped Ravage’s wrist in an effort to prevent himself from falling. The townspeople ran towards the sight, but a harsh clicking noise from their goddess caused them to halt. Ravage’s hostage screamed in fear. A sob went up from one of the Necronians, and Valkyrie realized that it must be the boy’s mother.

Nahara’s voice floated over the crowd. "This is a despicable act, off-worlder," she stated, venom dripping from her words, "but you hold the advantage. State your terms."

"Stop squirming, boy," Ravage hissed at the urchin that he held clenched in his right hand. The child didn’t understand Ravage’s strange language, of course, and continued to struggle.

"These are my demands, Nahara. First, I need my companion freed and delivered to the base of this building. Secondly, I require the Eye of Redemption. Third, safe passage from your city and through the cemetery," Ravage called downwards.

Nahara spread her arms wide, allowing the long sleeves of her white gown to catch the morning breeze. "Impossible. But I can guarantee you all but the Eye in exchange for the child’s life."

"My grip is getting tired, Nahara. All or nothing. Now bring me the Eye."

"This I cannot do, even if it means that you drop the boy. But as a sign of good faith, we will bring your companion here."

Ravage eyed the Necronians as a small detail proceeded to one of the stone altars and unlocked the chains that held Valkyrie. They led the Maximal towards the building a minute later, and left her standing there alone.

"This is your last chance, goddess. The Eye. Now!" Ravage bellowed.

"My answer must sadly remain the same, off-worlder. But if you drop your hostage, my citizens will quickly kill you and your compatriot."

"Why should I take your word about the safe passage?" Ravage asked.

"Stranger, am I not a goddess?" Nahara responded.

"No, you’re not," came the curt reply.

Valkyrie buried her forehead into the palm of her hand. "Ravage, you dolt, that was precisely the wrong thing to say," she whispered to herself.

But Nahara made no reply, and Ravage smiled downwards towards the irate religious leader, his one remaining canine catching the light of the morning sun. He then withdrew his arm, bringing the Necronian child back from over the brink. He dropped the boy to the roof before leaning back over the edge. "Nahara, we have a deal. Safe passage in return for one unharmed child."

"Why on Cybertron did you find it necessary to insult Nahara like that?" Valkyrie hissed at Ravage as the two walked through the streets of the city. Numerous Necronians lined the streets, and a crowd formed behind the two as they made their departure.

Ravage laughed. "It felt good."

"Your impetuousness may still cost us our lives. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if the Necronians jump us as soon as we hit the gates to the city. And there’s no way we can outrun or outfight that big crowd."

"Relax, doctor. I believe that, despite all her faults, that Nahara is a woman of her word."

"You seem to be in an awfully good mood."

"I have good reason to be."

Valkyrie remained silent for a moment, and turned to look at the mob forming behind them. It seemed to grow larger by the second, and Valkyrie doubted Ravage’s confidence.

"What about me, then?" she asked. "There’s only one reason that you’ve bothered to keep me alive, and I’m willing to bet it’s because the Tripedicus Council wants me for some reason."

"Don’t express too much concern, doctor. You’re exactly right. They do want you alive."

Valkyrie took another glance at the crowd behind them. "Some choice, huh? Either stay here and get killed by the Necronians or go with you as a prisoner."

"Well, Maximal? What’s it going to be?"

"Life . . . for now," Valkyrie responded. Ravage and Valkyrie then passed under the arched walkway of the city, and the Maximal noted with relief that the crowd stopped following them at the city portal. Ravage and Valkyrie entered the massive graveyard, making in the direction of Ravage’s cloaked ship.

The journey back to the Transwarp ship stretched on, and Valkyrie estimated that the hike was at least ten kilometers. Ravage halted suddenly in a small clearing and withdrew a data pad, quickly punching a few buttons. Valkyrie’s optics widened with surprise as the ship de-cloaked, its massive form dwarfing the surrounding graves.

"Here we are, Maximal," Ravage smiled, allowing the central ramp to extend outwards. Valkyrie took a step aboard, and Ravage filled in behind her, ensuring that she would be unable to mount an escape.

Valkyrie took a look around the vessel. Although the ship appeared massive from the outside, the interior proved cramped. She surmised that the ship required quite a bit of room to house the thrusters, weapons, and cloaking device.

The ship’s cabin was immaculately clean; the dull metal surfaces glimmered under the interior lights. Valkyrie noticed a pair of CR chambers in the rear of the vessel, one of which contained heavy locking mechanisms on the door. A cage for Ravage’s prisoners.

Ravage ignored the Maximal archeologist as he made his way to a small locker. Hitting the release button with a clenched fist, he then began to withdraw weapons. He first placed another set of dual blasters at his thighs, before pulling out a small mesh satchel of thermal grenades. Ravage then selected a long rifle, pulling the sling over his head and across his chest, allowing the weapon to fit neatly into the small of his back. He then outfitted a small belt to his waist, and carefully placed the scimitar and dagger that he acquired earlier in several notches.

A multitude of smaller weapons rained out of the locker, and Ravage began filling another satchel. Garrote wire. A set of silencers for his blasters. Plastic explosives.

"You seriously don’t mean to go back out there?" Valkyrie demanded. "We were lucky to escape with our lives last time. You’ve already got me. Let’s just get out of here. I’m willing to cooperate with the Predacon Council."

"Doctor, while it is true that you are one of my objectives, my orders specifically ordered for me to return with both you and the Heart. All or nothing."

"Ravage, you have no idea what you’re doing. The Necronians are a simple species, but also deadly. You’ll kill many of them, but they’ll eventually defeat you."

The Tripedicus Agent turned to face the Maximal. "The Necronians are an unnatural species who defy the order of the universe. I will have the Heart back." Ravage walked away from Valkyrie and withdrew a small piece of metal from a desk drawer. He held it in place where his left canine previously hung, and then debated on creating a temporary tooth.

"Unnatural? Need I remind you, Ravage, that most species are biological in nature. If anything, we’re more ‘unnatural’ than they, being living machines."

Ravage allowed the makeshift tooth to drop to the floor before facing his companion. "The entire species has a death wish. I’m more than willing to fulfill that particular desire."

"You misjudge them."

"Maximal, you misjudge me if you think that your arguments are effectual."

"I give up. There’s no reasoning with you."

"Nor should there be," Ravage stated.

"Tell me something, Ravage . . . when you were holding that child over the roof—did you enjoy it? Because you’re despicable and cowardly enough that I wouldn’t put it past you."

"Mighty condescending words, considering that I’ve saved your pathetic hide more often than not. And no, I didn’t enjoy it. But I don’t feel bad about it, either," Ravage responded. "And now, if you’ll excuse me, doctor, I’ve got a mission to complete."

He suddenly grabbed Valkyrie’s right wrist, and pulled her over to the CR chamber. With a fierce shove, he threw the Maximal into the pod and hit the door seal. Valkyrie turned and pounded on the viewport of the CR chamber.

"Ravage, get back here!" she bellowed. Ravage gave her a smirk as he went to work on the controls, preparing to put the Maximal into stasis.

Valkyrie felt her optics dimming as the automatic systems of the ship went to work, and she watched as Ravage made his way back down the ramp, carrying with him an impossible number of weapons.

The mid-morning sun permeated through the now-sparse clouds above, and Ravage tried to decide the best course of action. He currently did not hold the advantage of the shadows, but he was determined to return to the city, find and kill Nahara, and then take the Heart for himself. With the Maximal now safely locked away in the ship, he should be able to complete the task without too many more difficulties. It now all relied upon stealth and skill, and Ravage reveled in the challenge.

The trek back towards the city should take him some time. Although he would have preferred to have taken the ship and used its blasters to lay waste to the city, he did not want to risk destroying the Heart. He had also briefly considered using the ship to get him closer to the city, but determined that the noise would alert the Necronians.

So walking back another ten kilometers was the best way. After killing Nahara, he would seize the Heart and melt into the shadows, carefully and cautiously returning to his ship as the night fell.

Stasis threatened to overtake Valkyrie, and the Maximal fought to retain consciousness. Groggily, she surmised Ravage’s plan; to kill Nahara and take the Heart. There was no way that she could let him do that. But if she gave into the heavy atmosphere of the CR chamber, Ravage would win.

She pounded on the glass once more, her struggles becoming weaker as stasis lock overcame her being. She didn’t have much time left . . .

More out of instinct than will, she converted to her phoenix mode and ignited the numerous burners that lined the undersides of her wings. The flames shot forth, leaving scorch marks on a large number of the interior systems.

A small monitor inside the chamber flickered to life, and Valkyrie groggily stared at the words. Although they seemed blurred and impossible to read for a few seconds, she eventually made them out by squinting.

SYSTEM FAILURE. STASIS LOCK HALTED.

With her head pounding, she hit the door release. However, when the sliding door refused to budge, she hit the button again, and then again, and then she pounded furiously on the switch, unable to understand how she had become locked inside. She turned to face the monitor again, and found a new batch of words lining the screen.

EMERGENCY SEAL IN PLACE. PROPER AUTHORIZATION CODE REQUIRED.

Ravage. Knowing that she might try to use the advantage of her phoenix form, he installed an override in the CR chamber. Should the stasis inducer fail, then the door remained locked.

What was it that he told her earlier?
I plan for every contingency. I would not be the Tripedicus Agent if I did not.

Ravage used the gravestones as cover, bounding quickly and efficiently from one hiding spot to the next. Although he doubted that the Necronians would be wandering around the massive cemetery, he was far too close to completing his mission to be compromised.

He checked a narrow corridor of headstones, and sprinted for the cover of a mausoleum. This race confounded Ravage . . . such respect and admiration for their dead. During the course of the war on Cybertron, the deactivated were often melted down, used to create new weapons and equipment, at least on the Decepticon front. A very practical and efficient end.

But these Necronians . . .

Ravage peeked around another corner, and then checked his equipment once more. The sniper rifle contained one magazine of long-point ammunition. He only needed a single shot.

The blasters that hung at his side had been outfitted with silencers. However, they would be best served for close combat, and Ravage realized that if he found himself in a fight where the use of blasters became necessary, he was far too close.

The walls of the city loomed in the distance, and Ravage continued his journey. He could now hear a religious call to prayer being shouted from one of the high towers. Ravage removed his sniper rifle from his back.

He had no intention of shooting the priest, but used the scope to get a fix on the location. Another spire, close to Nahara’s, jutted out above the city. Ravage could see a priest, adorned in a blue robe, using a primitive megaphone to call the blessings out to the populace below.

A flash of red behind the priest caught his attention, and Ravage adjusted the scope to zoom inwards. There, behind the priest, he spied Nahara, adorned once more in her red gown. He also noticed that a pair of curved swords hung at her sides. Ravage then swung the rifle away from the tower, towards the top of the wall.

Sentries adorned the ramparts, each looking for signs of the intruders to their planet. Ravage surmised that Nahara had ordered the guards into place, realizing that Ravage would return for the Heart of Cybertron. He carefully scanned the horizon, looking for the best way to scale the wall.

A tall mausoleum earned his attention, and Ravage began making his way towards the structure. He carefully used the gravestones as cover, looking as nothing more than a shadow in the mid-day sun.

Valkyrie had regained full consciousness, although her head felt as if it might explode. She rested her aching head in her palm for a long moment while carefully considering her situation.

She could see the panels of the ship winking at her through the glass, but the vessel remained otherwise motionless. Apparently Ravage still had not completed his mission.

She returned to her phoenix mode once more, and screamed in agony at the effort. Her near brush with stasis lock had left her weakened, slow. She positioned her wing in the direction of the control panel and ignited her flames once more.

She let out a sustained burst, attempting to melt the computer and whatever codes it contained. Scorch marks marred the panels, and Valkyrie shut off her flames after a moment. This would do her no good. Destroying the panel would ensure that she remained locked inside, and she was just wearing herself out. She returned once more to her robot mode. Although it still hurt, she was able to contain another outburst.

She gripped the keypad, her head still pounding, trying to hack whatever code Ravage may have input. She punched in a few guesses—DECEPTICON, MEGATRON, PREDACON, CHARR—but all her efforts resulted in failure. She slumped to the floor of the chamber, exhausted.

She leaned her head back, and caught sight of the wiring above the chamber. Although it would take a monumental effort, she surmised that she might be able to pull down the interior light fixtures and then escape through the crawlspaces above. She then stood on the tips of her feet, and drove a fist into the light fixture. Glass and wires rained down, and Valkyrie gripped a handful of wires and pulled them downwards. Sparks flew from the hole in the ceiling, and she found herself enveloped in darkness.

She continued pulling wires downward, eventually clearing out a small space from above. She gripped the edge and tried to hoist herself upwards. Her feet dangled above the ground, and she grunted with exertion. Finally, the Maximal managed to get an elbow into the narrow space above, and Valkyrie got a look at her surroundings. There was a compact compartment above, from which all the systems that drove the CR chamber were located. She spied a cooling vent on the back of the chamber, and she pulled herself upwards. Her optics began to dim with the exertion, but she sustained.

A light fog enveloped her consciousness as she pulled the grate away, and she could only dimly picture herself throwing herself into the crawlspace and then pushing herself along with her elbows. She passed over a vent, and the structure gave way under her weight. Valkyrie fell into the main compartment of the ship below and landed on her back.

The effects of the CR chamber threatened to overtake her once more, and Valkyrie passed out.

The sun passed overhead, and evening once more returned to Necros. Ravage had positioned himself behind the mausoleum for hours, awaiting the setting of the sun. As the sun finally dipped behind the hills in the distance, Ravage stood atop a headstone and hoisted himself to the top of the mausoleum.

He crawled atop the roof, moving only a few inches every couple of minutes. A pair of guards patrolled the wall only a few meters ahead, but by remaining still and silent, Ravage ensured that the sentries were unable to see him. He waited until they passed him once more, and then he bounded across to the walkway. He crept behind one of the guards, and then seized the Necronian and broke his neck with a cruel twist. Ravage checked once over his shoulder—the other Necronian continued his patrol, unaware of the proceeding occurring behind him—and then Ravage dumped the body over the side of the wall. He then withdrew a silenced blaster, took careful aim, and shot the other Necronian through the back of the head. The muffled shot sounded strangely loud in the otherwise quiet of the dark city, and Ravage hoped that he did not attract too much attention.

He glanced around quickly, and then approached the other body. He threw it over the wall, as well, and then dropped into a prone position, lying on his stomach. He extracted the sniper rifle once more, using it to get a fix on the other guard positions.

A quick survey established that four sentries patrolled a quadrant of the wall. Ravage cursed; this meant that the sentries had frequent interaction with each other. As soon as a pair of sentries did not meet, the alarm would go up. He surmised that he had about another ten minutes of interrupted time, perhaps less.

He replaced the sniper rifle and bounded across to the roof of a house, intent on finding where Nahara had hidden the Heart.

Nahara emerged from the base of the Tower of Prayer, gazing upwards at the moon that now loomed on the horizon. Heavy clouds adorned the West, and she realized that the night promised more heavy rain and thunderstorms.

She turned to the priest that stood by her side. "Has the Eye been placed back in the sacrificial chamber?" she asked.

The priest nodded in affirmation. "Exactly as you ordered, my Lady."

"Excellent. Your loyalty shall be rewarded in due time."

"I thank you, my Lady."

Nahara began a slow stroll back towards the sacrificial tower, checking the scimitars that hung by her side. She realized that the incident with the off-worlder that morning did not mark the end of the confrontation; he would return for the Eye. To take the necessary precautions, she ordered for double sentries on the wall.

She recalled that, prior to the falling of the Giant’s ship, how the only threat they faced were the roving bands of murderers that covered the face of the planet. Godless, without morals, those groups scoured the countryside, killing all beings they met in an effort to satisfy the eternal hunger that gnawed at their stomachs. Nahara used to led soldiers into the country simply to kill the scavengers.

After seizing the Eye, Nahara had brought centuries of peace to the city and even large portions of the country before they once more entered hibernation. But now there was this new threat, in the form of the black and grey off-worlder, and his companion.

Nahara shook her head with exasperation. She had conferred with the female off-worlder—she recalled that her name was "Valkyrie"—prior to dealing with the other one. Valkyrie had apologized for their presence on the planet, attempting to explain a civil war that lasted for millions of years. Nahara was truly sorry that she would die.

A guard came running to her and quickly bowed in respect, falling to a single knee. Keeping his head low to the ground, he stated, "my Lady, I report from the south wall. Two sentries are missing. Spilled blood was found atop the walkway."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Nahara quickly reached a decision. "He’s come back," she stated. "Bar the front and rear gates. Send a runner to every home, inform the citizens to remain inside and to keep all lights inside the homes burning. Extinguish the torches from every other structure."

A look of confusion crossed the guard’s face. "My apologies, my Lady, but does the off-worlder not rely upon the shadows?"

"That he does. But I want him to be drawn to a single source of light—the sacrificial chambers," she stated. "That light will burn the brightest of all. You have your orders. Now go."

The guard bowed once more before running into the darkness of the city, and Nahara turned towards her priest. "I will be in my chambers," she stated. "Should you see the off-worlder, let him go. I will end this myself."

Ravage ducked into a narrow alleyway in the ancient city, and noted that a few soldiers now patrolled the streets. Whenever they came to a residence, they would speak to the people inside, and a few minutes later the doors would close and the shades would be drawn.

Ravage surmised that the Necronians had found his handiwork, and briefly wondered how he was going to find the Heart. He glanced upwards towards the sacrificial tower, and noted that light shone forth from the broken window. A few drops of rain spat from the sky, and the wind blew harshly down the alley.

He ducked from the alley and slid across the street, using the cover of darkness to his advantage. A few Necronians walked past, unaware of Ravage lurking in the shadows not but a few meters distant. The Tripedicus Agent ignored them, instead making his way towards the tower, slowly but surely getting ever closer to his destination.

Valkyrie finally rose to her feet after hours in stasis lock, finding herself still alone in the Transwarp ship. She glanced through the view port into the dark night, and wondered if she was still too late to stop Ravage. She noted that the city looked strangely dark, with only light pouring forth from the sacrificial tower. She decided to take the ship into the city, using its superior weapons to halt Ravage where he stood.

But a quick look at the control panel had the archeologist shaking her head in confusion. There was no way she could learn to operate the controls in time. She instead extended the ramp to the ship and stepped out onto the loose soil of Necros, before transforming into her phoenix mode and taking to the sky.

Ravage quickly evaded another group of guards and entered the base of the sacrificial tower. He checked the door quickly before mounting the stairs. He ascended quickly, keeping one of his blasters out in front of him. He had hoped to catch a view of Nahara through his sniper rifle while outside, but the Goddess of Death had maintained her distance. He would have to kill her from up close.

Ravage did not relish that prospect. Nahara had defeated him once in combat, and he had no intention of allowing her a repeat victory.

Before him, the double doors to the sacrificial chamber stood, and Ravage flung them open. Nahara stood behind the altar, blocking the Heart of Cybertron with her body.

"I see you have returned, stranger," she smiled.

"You are correct. You know what I have come for," Ravage stated.

"And you also know that I am still unwilling to relinquish the Eye."

"I thought as much." Ravage then brought forth his blaster, his finger lightly brushing the trigger. Nahara suddenly pulled forth a long, chain flail, and snapped the weapon out of Ravage’s hand.

Nahara brought the whip backwards, and lashed outward in a horizontal sweep. Ravage ducked backwards, narrowly dodging the heavy weapon. His hand flew downwards to his other blaster, and he rolled towards his left and took up a crouching position behind a pillar. He fired off a pair of shots at his adversary, and noted with disgust that the Necronian goddess easily avoided the bursts.

"You don’t stand a chance, off-worlder. I defeated you once. This time, I will kill you."

Valkyrie soared across the dark skies of Necros, attempting avoid the bursts of lightening that jumped about her. Her flames glowed brightly in the night, and she dove towards the tower of Nahara.

She thought over her position. As a Maximal, she needed to preserve the life of the Necronians, meaning that she might have to take the side of Nahara in the conflict. She balked at this thought; the Necronians had tried to sacrifice her just that morning, after all.

But above all, she couldn’t let Ravage get the Heart of Cybertron. If he returned the Heart to the Tripedicus Council, it would jeopardize innumerable planets.

She drew closer to the tower, and she spied a pair of silhouettes moving against the light within, and she realized that Ravage and Nahara were once more locked in combat. She pulled her wings backward, diving towards the window.

Ravage sprinted from behind a pillar, getting off another few shots with his blaster. Nahara gracefully flipped out of the way, and then spun on one of her nimble feet to face Ravage.

The flail sailed through the air, and Ravage caught the end of the chain across his muzzle. He fell to the floor, stunned, and looked up in time to see Nahara plunging forward with one of her scimitars. Ravage rolled backwards, pushing himself to his feet, just as the sword sank into the floor where he had been just a second prior.

The scimitar stuck between two of the stone blocks, and Nahara struggled to pull the blade out. Ravage lunged outward with one of his feet, catching the goddess in the face. Nahara stumbled backwards, away from the blade. Ravage pushed his advantage, clearing the distance between himself and the Necronian within a couple of seconds. He slammed his shoulder into her body, driving her against the far wall.

Nahara gasped in pain, but recomposed herself quickly. Although Ravage had her pinned against the limestone wall, she extracted a dagger from her belt and sank it behind one of the Tripedicus Agent’s ears. Ravage bellowed in agony and fell backwards, and Nahara quickly grabbed her flail from the ground. She then spun the chain in a fierce arc, catching Ravage across the face once more.

His optics smarted from the blow, and Ravage tried to clear his field of vision. He brought his hand away in time to see Nahara dip the weapon into a large, flaming vat. Her weapon spat to life, fire running the length of the chains, and Nahara turned to face Ravage again.

The whip cracked close by him, sending sparks flying through the air. Ravage could feel the heat rising from the weapon, and he realized that he needed to distance himself from the goddess.

He sprinted for another pillar, extracting a thermal grenade from his satchel. He primed the timer, and rolled the grenade across the floor a second later.

The explosion went off, and Ravage peeked around the corner. Nahara still stood, but her hands lay limp by her sides. She looked upwards, and Ravage could see blood spurting from her mouth and nose.

"You fight just like the Giants," she whispered, before collapsing to the floor. Ravage walked over to her prone form, and leaned down and checked her pulse. The goddess lay dead, the victim of numerous shrapnel wounds that covered her body.

Ravage turned his attention to the altar, and approached to seize the Heart when an unnatural scream cut through the night sky. Ravage looked upwards just in time to see Valkyrie burst through the remnants of the stained-glass window.

The Maximal bowled into Ravage, knocking him off his feet. Ravage scrambled to grab one of his blasters, but Valkyrie had already wrapped her talons about the Heart and was fluttering out the window.

She was fading quickly into the distance. Ravage grabbed the sniper rifle that he brought with him into the chamber, and sprinted for the window. He positioned the barrel of the weapon in the remaining framework of the stained glass window and peered down the sights.

He steadied has hands, waiting for the exact moment. Valkyrie crossed into his crosshairs, and Ravage gently pressed backwards on the trigger. The crack of the rifle reverberated throughout the night, and Ravage took his optics away from the weapon scope. He watched with a grim sense of satisfaction as the flaming form of Valkyrie spiraled from the clouds.

She lay in the ash-like soil of the world, trying to get a view of her wound. Every time she moved, agony raced throughout her body, and she eventually lay still. She felt her optics fading, and she wondered if she was entering stasis lock or dying. Her internal computer gave her no indication; she surmised that Ravage must have punched a hole directly through her Spark housing chamber.

The sound of footsteps approaching brought her back into wakefulness, and she craned her head backwards to see the cat-like features of Ravage. He stared at her for a long moment, and then walked towards something else, leaving Valkyrie’s field of view.

An eternity seemed to pass, and then Ravage returned, holding the Heart of Cybertron. Valkyrie noticed that the hinged door hung askew, and Ravage disgustedly dropped the metal container to the ground in front of the Maximal.

"It’s empty," he said. "The Heart was used fifteen hundred years ago. There’s nothing left except for this box."

Ravage turned and walked away. Valkyrie stared at the Decepticon insignia adorning the empty container as her optics clouded over.

"So the Heart of Cybertron no longer existed?"

Ravage now stood before the Predacon Council once more, the sea of faces staring into his soul.

"That is correct, High Proctor. The Maximal Valkyrie is dead. I left behind the shell of the Heart and returned immediately to make my report."

A grumble of displeasure passed throughout the council, and Ravage turned to see Sea Clamp point an accusing claw in his direction while he conferred with another council member. Ravage ignored the politician, instead turning once more to face Cyrotek.

"And you are absolutely sure of this?" Cyrotek pressured.

"Quite sure, High Proctor. The Necronians hold no interest for the Pax Cybertronia."

Cyrotek made a few notes in his data pad before turning to look at Ravage once more. "Thank you, Covert Agent Ravage. That will be all."

Ravage offered a salute, and then turned to leave the council chambers.

"Seat taken, yes?"

Ravage sat in a crowded tavern on Charr, nursing another energon drink. He looked up to see Death’s Head staring down at him.

"Have a seat, bounty hunter," Ravage responded. "Come to collect your bounty?"

"Not today, Ravage. The Maximals rescinded the bounty, yes? Apparently, some of the Elders thought that hiring bounty hunters was a bad way to do business."

Ravage snorted as he took another sip of his drink. "So I take it they’ve got Maximal soldiers looking for me now? They’ll never find me."

"Not a chance," Death’s Head agreed. "Although you do still have my ship, yes?"

Ravage tossed a data card across the table. "There you go. Loading bay nine. I’ve got a better ship now, yes?"

"I don’t appreciate you making fun of the way I talk, Ravage," Death’s Head stated. "Causes bad blood, yes?"

"Of course," Ravage stated after a long moment.

Death’s Head took a drink from a passing tray, and took a long sip of energon. Finally, he turned to face Ravage. "Something I’ve been meaning to ask you. You’re a Transformer, yes? What do you turn into?"

Ravage emptied his drink and neatly placed the glass upside-down. With his hand resting on the bottom of the cup, he stared at Death’s Head, his red optics glowing in the faint light.

"Don’t ask."

Her eyes finally opened, and Valkyrie found herself lying in a soft bed as sunlight filtered through a stained glass window. She rose to her feet, and found that she had been clothed in a red gown.

She did not know how she had cheated death, having felt the life ebb from her body only hours before. But now she stood in the strange chamber, fully functional. A phoenix from the ashes.

She passed through a curtain, stepping out onto a balcony. She gasped as she saw a crowd assembled below, all of them staring up at her.

A cheer went up from the crowd below, and she turned to find herself facing a Necronian priest. He began to talk, and Valkyrie was surprised that the Necronian spoke her language.

"Good morning, my Lady. I take it that your wounds have been soothed? It was difficult for us to understand your anatomy, but I believe that we have performed a satisfactory job."

Valkyrie remained silent, peering down at the crowd once more. "Just what is going on?" she finally asked.

"Why, my Lady, the Goddess of Death has obviously selected a new body, since her former one passed from this realm. We found you, barely clinging to life, gripping the Eye after you drove the demon from our world. Nahara has found the perfect form to inhabit."

The Necronian priest dropped to a single knee, bowing his head in respect. "Hail Nahara, the goddess of the Necronians!"

Another cheer flew up from the crowd below, and Valkyrie stepped forward to assume her new responsibilities.

"There." The Necronian sculptor leaned back, inspecting his work. Deep beneath the surface of the planet in a forgotten catacomb, he completed a new statue.

"It’s perfect," another Necronian stated. "But don’t forget the insignia on the right shoulder."

"You’re right, of course," the sculptor agreed. "Otherwise, Nahara’s Agent of Death would not be complete." Walking to the right-hand side of the cat-like statue, the sculptor began chipping a Decepticon insignia into place.