Transformers Galvatron Self-Insert (TFP)

[Lillie Jones]

thanks for the chapter

 

[Devastator21]

Location: Galactic Council Central Command – High Council Chambers
POV: Councilor Varn

The High Council chambers, once a symbol of order and unity, now echoed with the sounds of heated debate. Holographic projections of conquered worlds floated above the central table, their crimson glow casting eerie shadows across the room. Each image told the same story: Decepticon conquest.

Councilor Varn stood at the table's edge, his taloned hands gripping the polished surface. His normally calm demeanor had cracked under the strain, his voice rising above the din.

"This is unsustainable!" he roared, slamming a fist down. "We've lost seven sectors in less than a stellar cycle! If we continue at this rate, there won't be a Council left to govern!"

Another councilor, a towering amphibious being named Rylok, retorted sharply. "You think I don't see that? But what do you propose? Surrender? Appeasement? Galvatron isn't some warlord we can bribe with territories. He wants it all!"

The room descended into chaos, voices overlapping in an indecipherable cacophony. Varn closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise. His mind raced, replaying reports of fleets obliterated, planets scorched, and citizens reduced to ash.

Finally, Councilor Arteaus, the eldest member of the Council, raised his hand. The room fell silent. Arteaus's voice, though aged, carried the weight of authority.

"We must consider... unconventional alliances," he said gravely.

Varn's eyes snapped open. "You mean the Autobots."

Arteaus nodded. "And others, if necessary."

---
Location: Galactic Council Central Command – Strategy Room
POV: Admiral Krennar

In the adjacent strategy room, Admiral Krennar poured over tactical displays with his aides. Each screen showed grim statistics: fleet strength dwindling, supply lines severed, reinforcements delayed or destroyed.

"This isn't war," Krennar muttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "It's extermination."

An aide hesitated before speaking. "Admiral, the Council is debating the inclusion of... nontraditional allies."

Krennar turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. "The Autobots?"

"And others," the aide confirmed.

Krennar's fists clenched. "I won't argue against necessity, but let's be clear: relying on Cybertronians to stop other Cybertronians is a gamble. One that could cost us what little we have left."

He turned back to the displays, his gaze hardening. "But if it's the only card we have, we'll play it."

---
Location: Verdant Prime – Autobot Settlement POV: Kup

The settlement of Verdant Prime was quiet in the way that only deep space could offer. The lush greenery swayed under soft winds, and the hum of energon processors provided a calming background melody. Kup stood on the outskirts, gazing over the tranquil scene.

He exhaled, servos clicking softly. "Peace," he muttered, his voice rasping. "Funny how it never feels like it lasts, even when you've got it."

In the distance, he could see the younger Autobots at work. Hound barked instructions to a group of scouts, his voice steady and authoritative. Moonracer oversaw the energon processing, her optimism as unyielding as ever. Guzzle, ever gruff, carried heavy equipment, muttering complaints about every unnecessary step.

Kup's optics dimmed slightly as he turned back to the settlement. "Too quiet," he muttered under his breath. "Always is before something big."

---
Location: Verdant Prime – Outer Perimeter
POV: Scout

The dense foliage of Verdant Prime's perimeter offered cover, but to the scout running at full speed, it felt like an endless gauntlet. His armor was scorched, and his systems crackled with strain.

He stumbled as he reached the settlement boundary, collapsing to his knees. "Help..." he rasped, his voice barely audible.

Kup appeared first, his movements surprisingly quick for his age. He knelt beside the scout, gripping his shoulder. "Easy, son," Kup said, steadying him. "What's got you running like a turbofox out of Kaon?"

The scout's optics flickered weakly. "Decepticons..."

The word hung in the air, louder than any scream.

Kup's optics narrowed. "You sure about that, kid? You'd better not be fraggin' with me."

"Whole fleets," the scout stammered. Worlds burning. The Galactic Council... they can't stop them. They're everywhere."

Kup's grip tightened, but he didn't let the growing pit in his spark show. "Moonracer!" he barked over his comms. "Get this bot patched up!"

---
Location: Verdant Prime – Autobot Meeting Hall POV: Kup

The meeting hall was dim, its interior filled with the quiet hum of data terminals. Kup leaned heavily on the central table, his optics fixed on the scout's report projected above. The details were sparse, but the weight of them was undeniable.

"They're back," Kup muttered. "Decepticons."

The room's silence was broken by Hound, who crossed his arms tightly. "How? The remaining 'Cons scattered after the Megatron and Optimus vanished along with the Ark and the Nemesis through that wormhole."

"This ain't Megatron," Kup replied sharply. "Whatever's out there now... it's worse. Kid says they've got fleets burning worlds. Galactic Council's running scared. You think some splinter faction can pull that off?"

Guzzle slammed a fist into the table. "I knew it! I knew this peace wouldn't last! Should've fortified this planet the moment we landed!"

Moonracer's voice was softer, trembling slightly. "But why now? Why come back after all this time?"

Kup looked up, his optics burning with a mix of anger and exhaustion. "Because we left," he said simply. "They've got no one to stop them."

---
Location: Verdant Prime – Autobot Square
POV: Moonracer

The sound of engines overhead drew the entire settlement's attention. The Autobots gathered as a sleek Galactic Council envoy ship descended, its polished hull glinting in the sunlight. Its presence alone was enough to send unease rippling through the crowd.

The ship's ramp extended, and a humanoid envoy stepped forward, flanked by armed guards. They paused, surveying the gathered Autobots.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Moonracer's hand tightened around her energon rifle, her optics darting to Kup, who stood motionless.

The envoy continued. "We need you're help entire fleets have been destroyed. Whole sectors lie in ruin. The Council's defenses are crumbling."

Hound stepped forward, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You're serious? The Decepticons? After everything we fought through—after Cybertron?"

"This is not the Decepticons you remember," the envoy replied. "They are stronger. Unified under a new leader: Lord Galvatron the leader of the New Decepticon Empire."

The name struck like a thunderbolt. Kup's optics darkened, his fists clenching at his sides.

---
Location: Verdant Prime – Autobot Meeting Hall POV: Kup

Back in the meeting hall, the tension was palpable. The Autobot leaders sat in silence, the weight of the envoy's words pressing down on them like a crushing tide.

Kup broke the silence, his voice low and bitter. "The Galactic Council. The same ones that turned their backs on Cybertron. And now they're crawling to us, asking for help?"

"We have no choice," the envoy said evenly. "Neither do you. If the Decepticons continue on their current trajectory they'll bulldoze through this planet into our Core, they will come for you next."

Moonracer looked to Kup, her voice trembling. "Kup... if they're really that strong..."

"They are," Kup cut her off. "The kid's report was clear. We're looking at a whole new war."

Guzzle slammed his fist into the table again. "Then what're we waiting for? Let's take the fight to them!"

Kup shook his head. "We're not ready for this. Not yet." He turned to the envoy, his optics narrowing. "But I'll tell you this: we'll fight. Not for you, and not for your Council. For them." He gestured toward the settlement outside.

Kup's weathered face as he responded added, "They're back. And this time... I don't know if we'll survive."

---
Location: Galactic Fringe – Derelict Outpost
POV: Lockdown

The outpost hung in the void like a carcass stripped of its flesh. It had been abandoned for years, its once-imposing defenses now little more than rusted relics. Debris drifted lazily around it, the remnants of long-forgotten battles.

To Lockdown, it was perfect.

His ship, the Nightmare's Prize, dwarfed the ruined station. Its sleek black hull shimmered faintly under the starlight, bristling with weapons and sensors. Inside, Lockdown stood on the bridge, his imposing frame backlit by the faint glow of his control panels. His scarred face was calm, but his optics burned with calculated intent.

"Report," he growled, his voice gravelly but measured.

A hunter drone hovered at his side, its single optic blinking. "Council convoy intercepted in Sector Delta. Cargo includes weapons, rations, and high-priority personnel."

Lockdown tilted his head, his mouth curling into a thin smirk. "Priority personnel? Interesting. Send the coordinates to the Prize's targeting systems. We'll intercept."

The drone hesitated. "And... the cargo, sir?"

Lockdown turned, his optics narrowing. "Cargo's expendable."

"Sir, there requesting to board," the officer said. "They claim to have a proposal."

Lockdown leaned back in his chair, his frame imposing even in stillness. "A proposal? That's bold for them. Let them aboard. Let's see how desperate they really are."

Moments later, the Galactic Council envoy entered the bridge. The envoy, dressed in pristine robes that contrasted starkly with the grimy, war-torn vessel, carried themselves with practiced authority. Their face betrayed no fear, but their eyes revealed the strain of their mission.

"Lockdown," the envoy began, their voice measured and commanding. "You know why I'm here."

Lockdown rose from his seat, towering over the envoy. "I might," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "But why don't you enlighten me? I do love a good story."

The envoy stepped forward, undeterred by the hulking mercenary. "The Galactic Council is in need of your... expertise. We are prepared to offer you substantial compensation in exchange for your services."

Lockdown chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Substantial, huh? You'd better be more specific. I don't work for scraps."

The envoy's expression hardened. "Galvatron's forces are tearing through our fleets. If we don't act now, the Council's authority will crumble. You have the skills, the firepower, and the ruthlessness we require. Name your price."

Lockdown circled the envoy slowly, his optics glinting. "You come to me, begging for help, because you're too weak to handle him yourselves. Tell me, envoy, what makes you think I won't just take what I want and leave you to burn?"

The envoy's gaze didn't falter. "Because you're smarter than that. Galvatron isn't someone you can outgun or outmaneuver. He's not a Decepticon warlord looking to carve out a territory—he's aiming for total domination. And once he's done with the Council, he'll come for you."

Lockdown stopped, his optics narrowing. The envoy pressed on.

"You could side with Galvatron," they said. "But you know he doesn't tolerate competition. Eventually, he'll turn on you. Work with us, and you'll have the freedom to operate as you please. No oversight. No interference."

Lockdown's smirk returned. "Freedom, huh? That's a nice way of saying I'd be cleaning up your mess."

The envoy met his gaze evenly. "Freedom... and wealth. More than you've ever seen."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension palpable. Then Lockdown laughed, a sharp, cruel sound that echoed through the bridge.

"I like you, envoy," he said. "You've got guts. But I don't trust you. So here's what's going to happen: I'll think about your offer. But if I catch a whiff of betrayal..."

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. "...I'll decorate this ship with your bones."

The envoy nodded, their composure intact. "I look forward to your answer, Lockdown."

As the envoy was escorted back to their ship, Lockdown turned to his crew, his smirk fading into a cold, calculating expression.

"Send a message to Galvatron's fleet," he said. "Tell them Lockdown's open for business. Let's see who offers more."

Meanwhile, Lockdown stood aboard the bridge of his ship, his optics fixed on a holographic display of the Galactic Council's transmission. His second-in-command waited nervously as Lockdown mulled over the envoy's offer.

"They're desperate," Lockdown said finally, his voice dripping with amusement. "Offering me freedom and wealth like I'm some two-credit mercenary. Still... they're right about one thing."

He turned, his smirk fading into a cold, calculating expression. "Galvatron doesn't tolerate competition. If I side with the Council, I'll bleed them dry for every credit they've got. And if I side with Galvatron... well, we'll see how much he's willing to pay to keep me out of his way."

The lieutenant hesitated. "And if neither side pays enough?"

Lockdown's smirk returned. "Then we'll take what we want."

---
Location: Galactic Council Central Command – High Council Chambers
POV: Councilor Varn

Back in the Council chambers, the debate raged on. Arteaus addressed the room, his voice unwavering despite his frail frame.

"The Autobots will not come easily but they do owe the Council for their planet they occupy," he said. "But if we do nothing, Galvatron will carve through our core worlds like a blade through flesh."

Varn leaned forward, his talons clicking against the table. "And what of Lockdown? He's already proven himself willing to play both sides. Bringing him into this war could be as dangerous as leaving him out of it."

Arteaus met Varn's gaze. "We don't have the luxury of choice anymore."

The room fell silent as Arteaus's words sank in. Finally, Varn nodded. "Then we proceed. Autobots, mercenaries, whoever we can get. If the Council is to survive, we'll need every weapon at our disposal this Council has stood for a millennia since the first war against Nova Prime this Council has withstood the full might of Cybertron before WE WILL NOT LOSE!"

"WE WILL NOT LOSE" Chanted throughout the chamber.

 

[Lillie Jones]

thanks for the chapter
Continue on
Cheers!

 

[Devastator21]

Location: Verdant Prime – Autobot Settlement POV: Kup

Verdant Prime was a sanctuary. Its emerald forests stretched endlessly, their vibrant hues glowing under twin suns that bathed the landscape in golden light. The Autobots had carved out a quiet existence here, building their settlement among the towering trees and crystal-clear rivers. For decades, the planet had been their refuge—a place to heal, to reflect, and to dream of a life free from the horrors of war.

But today, Verdant Prime felt different. The air was heavy with tension, the usual hum of energon processors and laughter replaced by the metallic clatter of weapons being readied. Kup stood at the settlement's edge, his battle-worn frame blending into the rocky outcrop that overlooked the valley.

He scanned the horizon, his optics taking in the rows of ships parked in the clearing below. Younger Autobots bustled around the vessels, hauling supplies and running pre-flight checks. Kup's grip on his rifle tightened.

"They're eager," Hound said, stepping up beside him. His green frame cast a shadow over the rocky ground, his usually relaxed demeanor replaced by a quiet intensity.

"Too eager," Kup muttered, his voice gruff. "Look at 'em. Scramblin' like a bunch of turbofoxes caught in a storm. Eagerness won't stop a Decepticon cannon blast."

Hound followed Kup's gaze, his optics narrowing as he watched Moonracer direct a group of scouts. "Can you blame 'em? Most of these bots haven't even seen a real fight. They grew up hearin' stories of the Great War—stories we told to make 'em proud. We didn't tell 'em about the energon stains, or the friends we buried."

Kup's jaw tightened. "No, we didn't. Maybe we should've." He turned, his optics locking onto Hound's. "You think we're ready for this? Really ready?"

Hound hesitated, his optics flickering. "We don't have a choice, Kup. The Council's right about one thing: Galvatron's not like the Decepticons we knew. He's somethin' else. Somethin' worse."

Kup snorted, turning back to the valley. "I've seen worse. Thought I'd buried worse. Now it feels like we're diggin' it back up." He paused, watching as Moonracer's group finished loading a crate onto a transport. "Keep an optic on 'em, Hound. They'll need someone to steer 'em right when things go sideways."

---
Location: Autobot Training Grounds
POV: Moonracer

The training grounds were makeshift—a patch of flattened dirt surrounded by dense forest, with target dummies crafted from salvaged parts. Moonracer stood in the center, her vibrant teal armor glinting in the sunlight as she adjusted her grip on her rifle.

A group of younger Autobots gathered around her, their optics wide with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Most of them were barely out of their first upgrades, their frames gleaming with fresh plating that had never seen combat.

"Alright, listen up," Moonracer said, forcing a smile as she raised her rifle. "This is your standard-issue energon blaster. Reliable, accurate, and easy to handle. Aim, fire, and repeat." She demonstrated, firing a perfect shot that disintegrated the target dummy's head. "Easy, right?"

One of the younger bots raised a shaky servo. "What if the Decepticons shoot back?"

Moonracer's smile faltered. Her optics flicked to the treeline, as if searching for an answer among the shadows. "Then... you shoot faster," she said, her voice softer.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their excitement dimming. Moonracer sighed, lowering her rifle. "Look, I know it's scary. But you're Autobots. That means somethin'. We've faced worse than Galvatron before, and we've always come out stronger. Just trust your instincts and stick together."

The sound of heavy footsteps made her turn. Hound approached, his imposing frame a stark contrast to her slender build. "Mind if I step in?" he asked gruffly.

Moonracer nodded, stepping aside as Hound addressed the group. "Alright, rookies. Here's the deal. This ain't a game. Out there, you'll see things that'll make your servos shake and your energon run cold. But you don't run. You don't freeze. You look out for the bot next to you, and you keep movin'. Got it?"

The younger bots nodded, their fear giving way to determination.

As the group dispersed, Moonracer turned to Hound. "Thanks," she said quietly. "They needed to hear that."

Hound shrugged. "They'll need a lot more than words to survive what's comin'."

---
Location: Galactic Sector Delta – Void
POV: Lockdown

The Nightmare's Prize was a vessel of contradictions. Its exterior was a fearsome display of jagged armor and concealed weaponry, a warship designed to strike fear into even the bravest opponent. But its interior was something else entirely—a chaotic amalgamation of trophies, weapon caches, and bizarre curiosities from Lockdown's countless exploits.

Lockdown prowled the bridge, his claws clicking against the deck as his optics swept over the displays. The Galactic Council convoy blinked in red, their sluggish formation almost laughable against the Prize's predatory precision.

Behind him, the bridge crew worked with a quiet efficiency that bordered on unnerving. Each member of his crew had been handpicked—mercenaries, bounty hunters, and deserters from factions across the galaxy. They weren't loyal in the traditional sense, but they respected Lockdown's power and shared his ruthlessness.

Near the tactical console, a heavily-armored mech named Forge monitored weapon systems. His hulking frame was covered in mismatched plating, a patchwork of salvaged armor that made him look more like a walking scrapheap than a soldier. Despite his brutish appearance, Forge's hands moved with surprising precision as he calibrated the plasma cannons.

To his right, an agile femme named Shade perched on the edge of her station, her sharp optics darting between screens. Shade was an infiltration specialist, her lithe frame designed for stealth and sabotage. She had a habit of spinning one of her many knives in her servo when she was bored—a habit that Forge found irritating.

"Do you have to do that all the time?" Forge grumbled, his deep voice rumbling through the bridge.

Shade smirked, her optics never leaving her screens. "What's the matter, big guy? Afraid I'll slip and nick your shiny plating?"

"Shut it, both of you," Lockdown growled without looking back. His voice was enough to silence the exchange, the crew returning to their work with renewed focus.

The bridge was just one part of the chaotic labyrinth that was the Nightmare's Prize. The ship's corridors were lined with display cases and storage compartments, each filled with trophies and artifacts from Lockdown's hunts. There were shattered Decepticon insignias, cracked Autobot badges, and even fragments of alien technology whose purpose was long forgotten.

In the main hold, a massive stasis pod stood at the center, its surface etched with alien runes. No one aboard the Prize knew what was inside—not even Lockdown—but its presence cast an eerie shadow over the room. Surrounding the pod were racks of weapons, from standard-issue blasters to experimental prototypes stolen from Council labs.

The crew quarters were equally eclectic. Shade's room was a cluttered mess of scavenged trinkets and surveillance equipment, while Forge's was meticulously organized, each weapon and tool stored with military precision. Other crew members added their own flair to the ship's patchwork aesthetic—a medbay filled with experimental energon vials, a cargo bay converted into a training ground, and even a makeshift cantina where the crew occasionally gathered to share tales of their exploits.

Back on the bridge, Lockdown watched as the convoy drifted into range. The Council frigates moved sluggishly, their shields flickering with intermittent power surges.

"Power up the main cannons," Lockdown commanded, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the ship. The crew sprang into action, each mech moving with practiced efficiency.

Forge's hands flew over his console, the plasma cannons charging with a low, menacing hum. "Cannons primed. Target locked."

Shade leaned back in her seat, spinning her knife idly. "This is almost too easy. You sure this isn't a trap, boss?"

Lockdown smirked, his optics narrowing as he stared at the tactical display. "If it is, they're even dumber than I thought. Fire."

The first volley struck with pinpoint accuracy, plasma bolts ripping through the lead frigate's engines. The ship bucked violently, its hull splitting apart as secondary explosions erupted along its length.

The second frigate returned fire, its lasers scoring a glancing blow against the Prize's shields. Forge muttered a curse under his breath, his servos flying across the console.

"Shields holding at 92%," he reported. "Permission to obliterate them, Captain?"

"Granted," Lockdown said, his tone dripping with amusement.

The Prize's cannons roared again, a concentrated blast striking the second frigate's bridge. The explosion sent debris scattering, the ship's lights flickering before it went dark.

The remaining cargo ships attempted to scatter, their engines flaring as they veered off in different directions. Shade leaned forward, her optics gleaming. "Want me to disable their engines, boss? I can make it messy."

"Save your tricks," Lockdown replied. "Let them run. They'll lead us straight to their outpost if they're stupid enough to send a distress signal."

Shade pouted, spinning her knife one last time before holstering it. "You're no fun."

Forge chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the bridge. "I like this plan. Let's see how far they get before they realize they're already dead."

As the convoy's wreckage drifted into the void, the Nightmare's Prize moved in to scavenge. Boarding pods latched onto the cargo ships, disgorging Lockdown's crew into their holds. Each member moved with practiced efficiency, their loyalty not to each other but to the promise of a cut from the spoils.

In the cargo bay of one transport, a younger crew member named Wrench inspected a crate of energon cells. "These Council types don't skimp, do they?"

"Load it up and move on," Forge barked, his massive frame blocking the doorway. "Captain doesn't like delays."

In another ship, Shade sifted through a pile of weapons, her optics gleaming as she picked up a sleek prototype blaster. "Think he'll let me keep this one?" she mused aloud.

"Not if you don't get back to the Prize in the next thirty seconds," Lockdown's voice growled over the comms.

Shade sighed, tossing the blaster into a crate. "Spoilsport."

Lockdown's quarters were a shrine to his conquests, the walls lined with trophies from his countless hunts. Blades, broken armor plates, and even the shattered optics of former prey adorned the room. He poured himself a measure of dark energon, the glowing liquid swirling faintly as he leaned back in his chair.

With a flick of his claws, he activated the comm system. A hologram of Drachen appeared, the crimson optics of Galvatron's lieutenant glaring out from the display.

"What do you want, mercenary?" Drachen growled.

Lockdown swirled his drink lazily. "Information. The Council's next move, to be precise. I'll trade you the convoy's location—for a price."

Drachen's optics narrowed. "Lord Galvatron doesn't negotiate with scavengers."

Lockdown chuckled, leaning forward. "Then consider it a gift. A show of good faith. But remember, Drachen—good faith only lasts as long as I get what I want."

The comm cut off, leaving Lockdown alone with his thoughts. He stared into his glass, his smirk fading into a contemplative scowl.

"Two sides, one war," he muttered. "Let's see who pays better."

---
Location: Galactic Sector Epsilon – Planetary Assault POV: Galvatron

The command deck of the Decimator was alive with precision activity. Operators moved seamlessly between consoles, relaying orders and analyzing battlefield data as the massive holographic display cast an eerie glow across the chamber. Galvatron stood at its center, his crimson optics locked on the image of the Galactic Council stronghold below.

The enemy planet was a fortress, its skies teeming with defensive platforms, drone clusters, and interceptors. On the surface, vast fortifications bristled with anti-air cannons and shielded bunkers. But Galvatron saw only opportunities.

"Report," Galvatron commanded, his voice cold and measured.

Drachen's hologram flickered to life, his crimson optics gleaming with determination. "Creator," Drachen began, his tone reverent yet precise, "their orbital defenses are scattered, but they've fortified key installations. Anti-air platforms will complicate the deployment of ground forces."

Galvatron's optics narrowed as he processed the data. "What of their ground forces?"

"They've amassed a significant defensive line near the central city," Drachen replied. "Heavy armor, shielded infantry, and entrenched artillery. They're preparing to make a stand."

"Good," Galvatron said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "A stand means they believe they have something to protect. It will make their collapse all the sweeter."

Thunderblast's hologram appeared, her grin as sharp as her cannons. "Their skies are a mess, my Lord. Drones, interceptors, missile platforms—nothing organized. Shall we sweep them clean?"

Galvatron turned to her, his optics burning with command. "Take the Seekers. Clear the skies and drive their ships into our guns."

Thunderblast saluted with theatrical flair. "Consider it done."

He shifted his gaze to Drachen. "Deploy the ground forces. Cut through their lines and dismantle their defenses. This planet belongs to Cybertron."

"It will be done, my Lord," Drachen said, his voice resolute.

Galvatron turned back to the holographic display, his clawed hand resting on its edge. The battle would be won in stages, each victory feeding into the next until the Council's resistance crumbled entirely.


---
POV: Thunderblast

The skies above the Council world erupted into chaos. Thunderblast led her Seekers into the fray, their sleek forms weaving through the enemy's defensive grid. The first volley of laser fire tore through a formation of interceptors, sending them spiraling into fiery oblivion.

"Stick to the plan!" Thunderblast barked over the comms. "Push them toward the Decimator!"

Her Seekers moved with flawless precision, their maneuvers forcing the Council ships into tighter and tighter clusters. The Decimator's forward cannons roared, obliterating the trapped vessels with devastating accuracy.

A missile lock warning blared in Thunderblast's cockpit. She rolled sharply, the missile streaking past her and detonating against an enemy drone.

"Amateurs," she muttered, looping back around to target a fleeing interceptor. Her cannons fired in quick succession, shredding the ship's engines.

Above her, the Council's orbital platforms struggled to maintain their bombardment. The Decimator's smaller support ships swarmed them like predators, tearing through their shields with coordinated strikes.


---
Location: Planetary Surface – Central Battlefield POV: Drachen

The ground quaked as Decepticon drop ships slammed into the surface. Their ramps lowered, unleashing waves of PBMs and Vehicon infantry. Drachen led the charge, his energon blade glowing with crackling energy as he carved through enemy lines.

"Advance!" Drachen roared, his voice amplified over the comms. "Leave nothing standing!"

The Council's forces responded with desperate ferocity. Artillery fire rained down on the advancing Decepticons, and shielded infantry dug in, firing volleys of plasma rounds. But Drachen was undeterred. He cut through enemy ranks with precision, his movements a blur of deadly efficiency.

Behind him, the Combaticons unleashed devastating firepower, their combined form of Bruticus towering over the battlefield. The massive warrior smashed through tanks and bunkers, his cannons raining destruction upon the enemy.

"Resistance is crumbling," Drachen reported over the comms.

"Good," Galvatron's voice replied. "But remain vigilant. They may yet have a surprise to spring."

As if on cue, a deafening rumble shook the battlefield. The ground split apart as a colossal war machine emerged—a towering construct of metal and fire, bristling with weaponry and encased in shimmering energy shields.

"All forces, hold position!" Drachen ordered, his optics narrowing.


---
Location: Battlefield Core
POV: Drachen

Drachen watched from the front lines as the war machine advanced, its cannons firing salvos that decimated entire squads of Vehicons. The Decepticons held their ground, their firepower concentrated on the machine's shields, but it showed no signs of faltering.

Galvatron's voice crackled over the comms. "Hold the line."

Drachen turned his optics skyward as a streak of silver shot from the Decimator. Galvatron descended like a meteor, transforming mid-flight and slamming onto the machine's torso with a thunderous impact.

The battlefield seemed to pause as the two titans clashed. Galvatron's servos tore into the machine's armor, sparks flying as he ripped through its plating. The machine swung a massive blade, but Galvatron caught it, his servos straining briefly before he twisted the weapon free and drove it into the machine's core.

Drachen couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle. "The Creator makes it look like sport," he muttered.

The machine retaliated, firing a barrage of missiles at point-blank range. Galvatron roared as the explosions engulfed him, but he emerged unscathed, his optics burning with fury.

With a snarl, he tore the machine's head free and hurled it into the distance. The construct collapsed in a heap of smoldering wreckage, its final groan echoing across the battlefield.

Galvatron stood atop the remains, his frame crackling with energy. "Decepticons!" he bellowed. "Transform and Rise Up!"


---
Location: Decimator – Private Chamber
POV: Galvatron

The battle was over, the Council's forces annihilated. The Decimator drifted in orbit above the conquered world, its hull aglow with the faint energy of victory.

Galvatron sat alone in his private chamber, the holographic display of the tactical map flickering before him. His optics burned with quiet intensity as he reviewed the campaign.

The victories had come easily—too easily. Even the war machine, for all its spectacle, had failed to challenge him.

"What is the point of conquest," Galvatron murmured to himself, "if no one is worthy to stand against me?"

His claws tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his throne. The galaxy was vast, its powers fractured and weak. And yet, in their weakness, they only highlighted his strength.

 

[Lillie Jones]

thanks for the chapter