CHAPTER 27

And so, inevitably, the fires that left Cybertron a desolate husk have come to consume this planet as well. In my folly, I thought I could extinguish them. Yet, as Bonecrusher tackles me from the roadway, and we fall together toward impact, my mind turns to a single thought: that the one responsible for this destruction cannot be other than myself.

Another world, another time, yet the forces remain the same—freedom against tyranny, order against chaos, honor against vanity.

Autobot against Decepticon.

Bonecrusher, the Claw of Megatron, a former gladiator whose hatred of Cybertron, of everything we have ever built, of himself, is matched only by his ruthless dedication to the art of war—and the psychotic rage that courses through his spark. He is not a warrior I have faced before, and I know that he believes it gives him the advantage.

It does not.

We rise together, and clash like giants atop the human roadway. Bonecrusher’s glancing blow across my battle mask stumbles me, driving me to one knee, and only narrowly do I miss crushing two humans inside their primitive combustion-driven vehicle with my steadying hand.

Bonecrusher is a juggernaut. He is of comparable height to myself, yet his simple physicality makes him a dire threat: he has almost three times my mass. Even after a millennium of unending violence, he has few weak points in his brutal panoplia.

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But with that hand, I make a fist, and strike Bonecrusher once. A rising uppercut with enough force to shatter his mandibles and drive the remaining pieces into his cranial casing, enough that the left side of his visage crumples under the impact and, in a spray of sparks and energon, forces his left optic from its socket.

It does not hinder him. Roaring, Bonecrusher tackles me from the second roadway, and we fall again, now among the support pillars, separating, and slam into the dirt. For a moment, I think of Cybertron.

I cannot let Bonecrusher escape. There are more Decepticons here than we had realized, and the humans are not equipped to stand against Megatron alone, much less alongside his disciples.

But Bonecrusher has no desire to withdraw or even redeploy. Like an injured beast, he wants nothing more than to kill that which has wounded him. His hatred blinds him to so many realities, and so it shall be his undoing.

I charge Bonecrusher, feinting to the right, so I might duck behind one of the concrete pillars, and deploy my energon sword as he slides to my left, hoping to ambush me—and then, with one strike, I take Bonecrusher’s right arm from him. I reach for his left, find it. With that limb in my grip, I wrench him down, force him to his knees, and bury my sword in his larynx. I impale him from the ruins of his jaw to the top of his cranial casing and, with a simple motion, split his head from his chassis.

He does not suffer.

I drop Bonecrusher’s wreck to the dirt, sparking and smoking, energon soaking into the structure of this world. Not the first of Megatron’s followers to fall on this planet, and nor shall he be the last. In the end, for all of his crimes, I feel only a vague sense of pity.

And yet, I am isolated and alone. I can see no path to a quick reunion with the humans and my fellow Autobots. The AllSpark is exposed, and Megatron is not far behind. It occurs to me that Bonecrusher’s attack may have been a diversion, a suicidal charge to drag me away from the humans, so he might provide his master with an opportunity to claim the AllSpark, now that I am no longer present to stop him.

I hope that I am wrong. All I can do is head towards the sound of violence, and pray that it is enough.