Cybertron

The ringing in his ears muted the sounds of the battle raging all around him so that he had to survey the scene with his emerald eyes. Wolves were fighting as far as the eye could see and the snowy plains were splattered with the blood of both sides. His clan had lost too many this day and with winter imminent, able bodies were essential, for without them the Maximals would all perish to starvation and the contemptible Predacons would be left to ravage the lands and exterminate EVERY other clan (including yours)! Extinction was not an option. This unrest needed to end NOW!

 That last blow had knocked the fight from Optimus Primal and replaced it with fresh perspective. Cutthroat and Razorclaw were dragging his limp body through the battlefield, between the bodies of the fallen; foe and friend alike. So many friends….

The dragging ceased. Apparently, his captors had stopped. With a feeble turn of the head he was now able to see the massive form of Megatron standing nearby, his forelegs atop a gravely wounded Cliffjumper like a podium.

 “Our ranks are thin, but so too are the Maximals’!” His breathing was labored. “Do not yield, my Predacons! As I continue to fight so shall you! Pick yourselves up and let’s end them!”

 He hid it well, but the tyrant was at the end of his strength too. A wound hidden by his dark markings stained his lavender fur with blood and his left shin had been slashed to the bone. Cliffjumper groaned in agony beneath Megatron’s weight and it brought the greater wolf’s attention back to him, “I’d almost forgotten to finish you. Suffer no more, Maximal!” The remaining Predacons cheered as, with a stomach-churning, squelching crack, their leader snapped the neck of Maximals’ lead hunter and tore out his throat.

  At the sight, shock robbed Optimus of his thoughts and when he was able to see clearly once more. The battleground had fallen silent and still. Gore dripped from his fangs as beneath him laid the prone form of the Predacon leader.

 “M-Megatron? Defeated? Impossible!” Snarled Razorclaw, his jaw agape in disbelief.

 It only took a second for Starscream to shake off the awe of his leader’s defeat and, distinctly aware of the abrupt shift in power, he turned on a dime to flee the two Maximals he’d been engaging only to have his path blocked by a bristling Bumblebee.

 “Not so fast, Starscream…” A powerfully deep growl warned, further filling him with dread.

 “Clearly, your forces have won this day, Optimus,” Starscream yielded quickly. “We will take our leave.”

 “Not this time,” Optimus’ voice pulsed with a quiet fury. No more could the Predacons be allowed to nurse their wounds and return stronger only to cause more ruin. In fact, they’d already struck a blow that the Maximals could not hope to recover from. In addition to their lead stalker, most of their hunting party had been decimated. Optimus’ subordinates moved to surround the last of their enemies, fangs flashing to herd them into a tight group whilst he looked down at the unconscious Megatron and already knew he couldn’t bring himself to end his eternal foe here. Not like this. Not even after all he’d done.

 Scourge, Brawl, and Razorclaw snarled back at the advancing Maximals around them, outnumbered yet still not ready to submit, as the circle continuously shrank.

 As the Predacons’ second-in-command, Starscream held no such foolish pride, “Is not the great Optimus Primal renowned for his mercy?”

 “Your alpha is defeated. Your troops have fallen or fled. You only have one choice here; surrender and repay your debts … or perish where you stand.”

 “Never!” Foamed Brawl. “There’s not many of you guys left! Come on, Scourge, Razorclaw! I can take half of them myself if you’ll kept the other half offa me—“

 “Silence, you fool!” Starscream cut him off with a snarl, before composing himself to address Optimus once more, “We yield, Primal. What would you have us do?”