Transformers Prime: Evolution

2. Placement of War

The battlefield was chaos, but in my eyes, it was controlled chaos—every move calculated, every order precise. The Autobot stronghold ahead was crumbling beneath our assault, its defenders scrambling as my battalion swept through with cold, lethal efficiency. This was where I thrived, where I felt most alive—not in the war rooms or council chambers, but here, amidst the ruin of my enemies.

My battalion moved like a well-oiled machine. RazorSpine's monstrous creatures tore through the enemy lines with brutal precision, his beasts as terrifying as they were efficient. Driller burrowed through the ground, emerging in a violent eruption beneath an Autobot bunker, swallowing its defenders whole before retreating back into the earth. Scorponok moved with swift, deadly grace, tearing through barricades and sowing panic with every strike.

I watched it all unfold from the front, silent and observant, as the Autobots' morale crumbled. Their fear was palpable, and it only made them weaker. I had no use for the weak.

"Captain," RazorSpine's growling voice echoed through the comms, snapping me from my thoughts. "Sector four is clear. Driller's making short work of their underground defenses."

"Good," I replied, my voice cold, detached. "Move to sector five. No survivors."

He didn't respond. He didn't need to. RazorSpine understood the efficiency I demanded, and he delivered it with brutal precision. It was why he was my second-in-command, and why I respected him—his loyalty wasn't to the politics of this war, but to the hunt, to the battlefield. In that, we were the same.

The Autobots never stood a chance. As their stronghold fell, their forces scattered, running like prey. The sight brought no satisfaction, only a brief acknowledgment of success. The war was far from over, and there were more hunts to come.

I turned to RazorSpine, his massive frame now beside me, a faint sheen of oil and debris coating his armor from the fight. His bestial optics glimmered with a strange satisfaction as he watched his creatures retreat, their work done for now.

"They fear us," RazorSpine rumbled, a grin pulling at his metallic jaws. "They fear what we bring."

I gave a slight nod, acknowledging the truth in his words. Fear was a tool, but only when used correctly. "Fear is useful," I said, voice low. "But it's not the end. The mission always comes first."

He glanced at me, his tone shifting, more contemplative. "You never seem to care about anything beyond the battlefield. Don't you see what's happening, ShadowDread? We're reshaping Cybertron. Megatron's vision—it's changing everything."

I met his gaze, my expression hard, unflinching. "I don't care for visions," I said, my voice cold and final. "What matters is the hunt, the war. I follow power, RazorSpine. And right now, Megatron has it."

RazorSpine grunted, but there was no argument. He knew better than to push. His loyalty wasn't in question, but his curiosity always lingered. He saw the cracks in the system, the growing unrest, and maybe he thought I should care. But I didn't. Not yet. All that mattered was the next mission, the next hunt.

The battlefield cleared, and my thoughts shifted briefly to ShrikeClaw. His role had changed, but the chaotic energy remained. He was no longer a reckless front-liner; instead, he was deep in Shockwave's labs, experimenting with bioweapons that would eventually change the very nature of warfare.

ShrikeClaw's first experiment, I heard, was a twisted success—an amalgamation of cybertronian tech and organic life. He called it an "abomination," but I knew he was proud of it. It had taken the chaotic thrill he once found in battle and redirected it into something more dangerous, more deliberate. In time, those creations would become as much a part of our war machine as RazorSpine's beasts.