Rating: K+ Mild language
Disclaimer: I am just playing and you can have him back. I own nothing.
Thank you Benjamin Bradt for the tweaks and additions. Some days you can say what I want to so much better. Thank you Okami-myrrhibis for beta reading for me.
He coursed through the blackness of infinity, an iron-silver eagle of war that was quickly putting distance between himself and his ruined world. He wasn't running, running was for cowards and the weak; he was hunting...searching for what his fool brother had cast out to doom them all.
The hellish raptor never stopped, he never tired in his quest as he searched star system after star system, seeking the Allspark. He was alone in the frigid void of space, a sole traveler to the furthest reaches of his galaxy. He saw none of the majesty around him though his sensors clearly relayed the astronomical phenomena to his central processor. To him, the molten viscera that arced into the heavens from an exploding red giant were mere annoyances. He felt no reverence at the massive star's final death throws. He cared little that the supernova consumed another nearby sun and the planets that surrounded it. The death of that system and the life-forms that inhabited it meant nothing to him, just as the countless mechs he had torn apart with his talons were little more than obstructions to be removed.
He soared through a nebulae with its dust and gas clouds, lighting up in vibrant hues as the raw materials of the universe collided and melded together to form embryonic stars, small proto-suns that would eventually be birthed to grow and feed the expanding galaxy. The knowledge of this miracle did not move within his spark. He couldn't feel the holiness of the hallowed space within this great nebula of creation. He viewed it only as something to harness and use for his own desires. He could not attempt such an ambitious feat now, but once he had obtained his goal… Emerging from the cosmic womb, his ghost-grey skin glowed defiantly against the inky darkness of the void, tendrils of heavy clouds clung to the points and angles of his frame; the spectral fingers of a mother trying to cling to an errant child.
The celestial wonders meant nothing to him. He lacked the capacity to feel awe. To him, such emotions were for the weak-sparked, idiots that were dumbfounded by the complexities of existence. To them science and knowledge unlocked the mystical secrets of the gods, but to him science and knowledge were simply weapons. Weapons for him to manipulate the universe to suit his needs, weapons to use against those that dared to stand in his way.
He witnessed a black hole shred a moon; sucking in even the light from the sun that was soon to share the same fate. He felt nothing. A star had grown so massive, it could expand no farther and it collapsed under its own gravity. In the blink of infinity it had turned itself into an odd pulsar that emitted short burst of sounds that would reach the edges of the universe and guide weary voyagers; a beacon to those that transverse the stars. He was as blind to the beauty and majesty of the mysteries around him. It was inconsequential; all that mattered was that he would finally crush his brother underneath his foot.
He knew hate, and he hated Orion. He hated the fact that Orion was chosen to be the Prime and then begged for another to be given the title, like some meek, simpering fool. He hated the way the populace worshiped the young Autobot. He thought that it would be easy to force the soft-sparked mech to his will, but he had been wrong… wrong in so many ways. Orion had challenged him…him, the Lord High Protector! Orion betrayed him, stood against his ideals, and openly discredited him in front of the council. Then the Prime had the gall to actually pick up a weapon instead of dying as he was supposed to. Optimus then rallied the Autobots, and moved to stop him from bringing about a new age for their people. It was Optimus Prime's fault that Cybertron was decaying. He hadn't planned for the war to have gone on for so long; he had intended for a quick, clean coup; not an endless civil war against a brother that refused to relinquish his title.
He knew hate, for it was carefully nursed within his spark. A black emotion that was as powerful as anti-matter and just as dangerous. A simple emotion that twisted his every thought and fueled his every action. He reveled in the purity of what he had become, he was hate incarnate.
Onward he flew, heedless of his depleting fuel. Banking over a comet that streaked beneath him, he cut through its icy tail, small shards of frozen water bouncing harmlessly against his impervious armor. He followed the subtle trail of the Allspark; a prize that would open the eyes of those too blind to see that he was the rightful heir of Cybertron. A prize to make those whom stood against him bow down and beg for mercy, though he would show them none.
Safely cocooned in his alternate form, he had little to fear from the almost atom stopping cold of deep space. He sped forward, his wings slicing through eternity, never concerning himself with what was behind. For all he knew there could be an armada of Autobot war ships slipping through his vapor trail. It mattered little to him. In truth, he suspected that his brother wasn't far behind. The look on Prime's face when he launched himself after the Allspark was as telling as if Optimus had written his thoughts on a data pad and handed it to him. He knew that when he broke through the thin atmosphere of Cybertron that the Autobots were desperately scrambling to find a way and stop him, but they couldn't. Just like his brother could never put an end to the war that consumed their world. On several occasions, he gave the young Prime ample opportunity to offline him and he never did. One occasion, Optimus had his weapon drawn and sighted on his spark chamber. He waited for his brother to pull the trigger and finish what they had begun, but the shot never came. Optimus just tried to plead with him to stop and surrender, wanting him to kneel and scrape like a Quintesson prisoner. To stand before all and be judged, but there was no one adequate to judge him. No one on Cybertron could measure up to him, and the Prime didn't have the bearings to wear the mantle of leadership. He didn't have the fortitude to make the hard decisions to better Cybertron. Oh, Orion would preach about tolerance for all life and the miracles Primus had bestowed upon them all, but the slagger couldn't do the dirty work. He couldn't compromise his ideals, afraid to stain his shiny silver feet with the spilt fluids of those too blind or too obsolete to conform.
That was why he was risking everything to retrieve the Allspark. His brother condemned the planet to death to stop the fighting, but he only saw it as culling the weak from the strong. He viewed the destruction as a chance to rebuild what was faulty to begin with, a chance to reshape the empire into the juggernaut that the Cybertronians should be. The one power in the galaxy for all others to succumb to... or perish, forgotten; trodden underneath to pave the way for the victors to march forward. The winners, the strong, would write history and his brother had just... thrown the record of their people's existence into the void. This galaxy was just the beginning, he wanted to spread to the deepest reaches of space, to rule the cosmos with a metal fist and force order where order never existed.
He wanted to make the planets spin to his will. He wanted every atom in the universe to bend to his bidding, to create and destroy as he saw fit. He wanted to dethrone the rusty Primus and his impotent counterpart Unicron. He would be a god…the God. He was Megatron, destined to sit at the throne of the universe, Omnipotent Sovereign of the Cybertronian race.
A small blue-green marble came into his sensor range. It was a planet like none other he had encountered, but that meant nothing to him. He detected a wide range of organics living on the planet's crust. He sneered to himself as he came closer to the clouded atmosphere; this dirt clod would be the first he wiped clean of such infectious life forms. Orbiting once, he felt the pull of the Cube; it was here and it wanted him, reached out to him with every seductive thrum of its boundless potential. Were it drink, and he a dying organic, it would quench him completely. Were it a femme, it would please him eternally; it was everything and nothing, the eye of God, beckoning him to come closer, to stand on the rim of existence and to laugh at those who thought him less than the Supreme Being.
Excitement emboldens him; he was alone in an out-of-the way system without a trace of the Autobots anywhere around. He knew he should proceed with caution, but a raging hunger for victory and vengeance spurred him on. The need to spill the enemies' fluids was reaching an almost intolerable crescendo.
Banking sharply, he circled and chose the nearest point to enter the atmosphere. He never expected the nearby star to flare and hit him full force with the radiation, blacking out his sensors while it dispersed across the planet's atmosphere in glowing serpentine ribbons. He was confused by the powerful magnetic currents that rippled under the thin crust of this strange world, and quickly transformed so he could utilize his optical sensors. He never predicted that the thin white surface he tried to land on would give way to submerge him into icy water. The cold liquid instantly filled the gaps and spaces with in his frame. It cooled what was left of his energon into a thick slurry. He struggled, but every movement brought more of the freezing water into his systems and exposed his receptors to excruciating pain. The cold burned and slowed him. He struggled and finally sank a taloned hand into ice thick enough to support his weight.
Clawing and pulling he started dragging himself; the Allspark resonated within him, and he couldn't resist. Once free of the chilly ocean, the arctic wind howled and whistled though the gaps in his armor, instantly freezing the seawater, coating him in ice. He broke free only to feel his limbs grow heavy once more. He thrashed in desperation, but each movement was slower than the one before it. The Allspark called to him again as his optics flickered, and then went dark. His processor was the last to freeze. Thoughts made their way sluggishly through it for several months before even those were finally silenced. I cannot fail, I am Megatron.
I am Megatron.
A/N: I have no idea if this is part of the Sira/Velocity verse. My muse didn't say, so just treat it as a stand-alone, one shot. I am. There I wrote it! Now get out of me head Megatron muse!
Stupid note: The Orion Nebulae is one of the nebulae that creates stars.