Deep within the underground sanctuary of Primus, the AllSpark lay securely within its protective chamber. Surrounding the shrine were the lifeless bodies of fallen sentinels, their metal husks now silent testaments to a brutal massacre. A tyrant stood amidst the carnage, his platinum armor gleaming under the pulsating glow of raw Energon. His crimson optics burned with a feverish intensity as he tore through the final layers of protection, his movements relentless,obsessive.
The sacred artifact he had sacrificed countless lives to find—an object of immeasurable power—was now within reach.
A low, guttural chuckle escaped his throat, a rasping sound of triumph amid the shattered remains of the temple.
"Almost… The AllSpark will soon be mine. With it, I shall reshape Cybertron into my vision of perfection. Just a little more…"
Before him, the golden sphe shimmered with ancient glyphs—remnants of the Thirteen Primes' era. It was an artifact coveted by many, a relic so sacred that even touching it was a privilege beyond measure.
As the final protective barrier shattered, the AllSpark stood fully exposed before him. He did not hesitate. Reaching out, the tyrant lifted the divine artifact from its containment.
And at that moment—when his greatest dream was nearly realized—
**BOOM!**
A violent earthquakes erupted without warning. The shrine trembled furiously, its very foundations shuddering under an unseen force.
But it wasn't just the tremor.
A sound—an otherworldly, piercing wail—echoed from the void. A sound that was not simply noise, but a voice.
**"It is time…"**
A massive portal tore open behind him.
The tyrant turned, but it was too late.
A colossal, metallic hand reached through the portal and grabbed him.
"What… what is this power?!"
For the first time in millennia, he felt something foreign—something he had long forgotten.
Fear.
The titanic hand dragged him toward the darkness. He thrashed violently, but the grip tightened, locking him in a hold stronger than any force he had ever encountered.
A legend whispered in the depths of Cybertronian history surfaced in his mind. A Prime so vast, so immeasurable, that it could touch the heavens themselves. No name. No age. No origin. A being of pure myth.
But this… this was no myth.
The hand yanked him through.
Everything went dark.
The air—vanished.
The victorious laughter died in his throat.
A gravitational force beyond comprehension ripped him away from reality itself.
Then, a blinding light.
And then—ice.
A freezing agony seized his entire being. His circuits burned as his body froze solid, locking him in place.
Cold. Pain. Silence.
He tried to scream, but in the void of space, no one could hear.
Before him, a blue and green planet loomed in the darkness.
His army?
Gone. No signal. No response.
Desperate, he activated the AllSpark.
But something was wrong.
Instead of releasing limitless power, instead of following the legends, the AllSpark trembled in his grasp.
The reaction grew unstable.
A **crack** splintered across its golden surface.
Then—another.
**BOOM!**
A burst of pure, blinding energy exploded outward, illuminating the eternal blackness of space.
The tyrant reached out in despair, but it was too late.
The AllSpark fractured into five smaller polyhedral shards—each one shining like a fallen star.
One by one, the shards hurtled toward the planet.
The resulting energy drained the last remnants of his own Energon reserves.
His **body failed.**
His vision **dimmed.**
**He entered stasis.**
---
As the five fragments of the AllSpark streaked toward the unknown world, they descended upon five different locations, crashing into the surface like celestial meteors.
At that time, the world below was ruled by titanic reptilian beasts, unaware of their impending doom.
With limited intelligence, they could only perceive the blazing objects hurtling toward them at incomprehensible speeds.
And then—**the impact.**
A cataclysmic firestorm swept across the planet, annihilating all life in its wake.
But The Tyrant fate was worse.
By cruel irony, he crashed in the coldest region of the planet—entombed beneath ice and darkness for what would become **millennia.**
His mind, frozen.
His power, lost.
His rage, silenced—but not forever.
One day… when the universe shifts once more…
**He will awaken.**
One. More. Time.
**"De… cep… ti… cons… forever…"**
### *Qatar, Present Day*
The sun was setting. A helicopter soared across the fiery-red sky, approaching a military outpost deep in the desert, where the sand still radiated the day's heat.
Soldiers poured out of the helicopter, voices lively, eyes gleaming with anticipation as they spoke of returning home. Around the base, some soldiers were repairing weapons, others patrolling, and a few engaged in casual conversation. None of them noticed the darkness creeping in.
Among them, a captain named **William Lennox** stepped out, gripping his rifle strap tightly. The past three months in this harsh battlefield had worn him down. His gaze flicked to his wristwatch—a gift from his parents—then rested on his wedding ring. He missed home. He missed his wife, his child. Just by closing his eyes, he could hear his wife's laughter, his daughter's babbling. The thought of returning filled his heart with an almost overwhelming warmth.
At the same time, on the radar screen, a single blinking light moved steadily toward them. No response, no identification code. A silent shadow, closing in without warning.
**"Sir, unidentified intruder approaching, 10 miles out!"**
The commander, observing the screen, assumed it was just another stray aircraft or a reckless enemy from the other side—something he had encountered many times before. His voice, firm and commanding, reached out to the unidentified craft:
**"This is a U.S. military zone. Identify yourself immediately and leave restricted airspace. If you fail to comply, we will be forced to take action."**
**One minute.**
**Two minutes.**
**Five minutes…**
Silence.
Only the distant roar of helicopter engines, the unmistakable whir of rotor blades—a sound familiar to any seasoned soldier. The commander, sensing something was off, ordered two reconnaissance jets to intercept.
**"I repeat, if you do not cooperate, you will be escorted to SOCCENT Air Base. Failure to comply will result in the use of deadly force."**
Still, nothing.
Inside the control center, the hum of machinery felt distant. Urgent voices overlapped with anxious glances. Everyone could sense it—something was wrong.
Meanwhile, the two reconnaissance jets had reached the target. A **Sikorsky MH-53 military helicopter** with the tail number **4500X**.
**"Wait… wasn't that shot down?"**
The pilots moved in closer. They saw a pilot—or something *that looked* like a pilot. But its movements... were unnatural. A chill ran down their spines, but they still relayed their findings back to the base.
Upon hearing the tail number, murmurs of doubt turned into open discussions. That helicopter had been *destroyed* in Afghanistan **three months ago**.
**"Impossible."**
**"Must be a mistake."**
**"How is a downed aircraft flying again?"**
Voices in the control room grew more frantic. Some whispered of ghosts. Others refused to believe. Even the experienced commander, a man who had faced war countless times, now showed signs of unease.
**"This… makes no sense."**
The helicopter was now only **five miles** from the base.
### *Meanwhile…*
*"So, how was it? Had a good talk with your folks?"* William asked a fellow soldier who had just finished a call.
*"Yeah, they can't wait for me to come home!"* The soldier grinned.
*"Oh, and I lied about my return date. Wanted to surprise them."*
*"Bet they'll love it,"* William chuckled, giving the soldier a pat on the shoulder before stepping inside the communication room.
There were only a few computers available for soldiers to contact their families, making each call precious. The signal flickered slightly, but he dismissed it as a minor technical issue. Soon, the familiar faces of his **wife** and **one-year-old daughter** appeared on the screen.
*"Oh my God, just look at her chubby little face! I just wanna pinch those cheeks!"*
William smiled, thinking back to his own insecurities as a child. He had never considered himself attractive. Yet here he was—with a beautiful wife and a daughter who meant the world to him.
*"You know, I was never told I had a good-looking face growing up, but…"*
His gaze softened as he looked at his daughter—his little angel, her eyes shining with joy.
*"She really is a miracle..."*
Then—**static**. The signal distorted. An uneasy feeling crept into his chest. His wife, noticing his concern, spoke:
*"You know, she laughs just like you."*
**"Really?"** His unease momentarily replaced by delight.
But the signal worsened. Heavy interference. In a hurry, he told them how much he loved them—before the screen went dark.
Outside, the **ghostly helicopter** had arrived.
### *Darkness Falls*
Armed soldiers surrounded the aircraft. It loomed in the floodlights, unmoving, ignoring all attempts at communication.
The sun had set. Only artificial lights illuminated the scene—beyond that, nothing but eternal darkness.
Then—the **power flickered**.
Radios emitted strange, distorted noises. Computer screens glitched, displaying incomprehensible code.
As if… the helicopter **was causing it.**
Inside, only a faint static noise could be heard, mixed with an unfamiliar language:
**[Blackout has reached at the designated coordinates. Requesting mission commencement. Over.]**
A deafening metallic roar echoed—a sound like the very gates of hell creaking open. Armor plates shifted, separated, and contorted in a grotesque and terrifying manner. Between the dark gaps, a pair of glowing red eyes flared to life—deep, cold, and brimming with murderous intent. A low, resonant sound followed, chilling and otherworldly.
The soldiers stood frozen. Some trembled, fingers tightening around their triggers. One of them muttered in horror:
"Dear God… what kind of demon spawn is this…?"
Panic erupted as the soldiers opened fire on what had once been a helicopter but had now transformed into a monstrous, ten-meter-tall entity—vaguely humanoid yet disturbingly alien, draped in the remnants of its outer disguise. By then, all floodlights had been extinguished, plunging them into primal darkness.
Flashlights flickered on—only to die instantly, swallowed by an unnatural abyss. The soldiers could hear the scraping of metal but had no idea where it was coming from. And then, in the span of a heartbeat, the slaughter began.
The clash of metal rang out, sending shivers down their spines. Then… death struck. A blinding flash—a shockwave from its cannon flattened everything in its path. The soldiers barely had time to react; all that remained were blood and screams, drowned out by the monster's deafening roar. Gunfire cracked. Shouts filled the air. The sound of metal grinding flesh echoed through the battlefield. Chaos reigned, a nightmarish cacophony of violence. And in the midst of it all, the soldiers saw nothing but that crimson gaze—merciless and unrelenting.
William Lennox dove to the ground, feeling the scorching sand scrape against his skin. Behind him, a thunderous explosion tore through the night, sending a wave of force that lifted debris high into the air. The helicopter—or rather, the mechanical nightmare it had become—was unleashing its fury upon the base.
A hail of massive rounds tore into the ground mere inches from his feet. Sand erupted, shards of metal flying like blades, cutting into flesh. William scrambled to his feet, vision blurring from the smoke, but there was no time for fear. He had to run. He had to survive.
Somewhere amidst the carnage, Blackout stood tall and unyielding among the wreckage, his crimson gaze sweeping over the battlefield like an executioner selecting his next victim. A soldier stumbled, collapsing onto the sand, his rifle trembling in his grip.
He looked up. And the moment his eyes met Blackout's, his entire body locked in place.
The soldier quivered, eyes wide with terror. He clenched his trigger, but his hands refused to obey. What was the point? A creature like this couldn't be stopped by mere bullets. In Blackout's glowing eyes, there was no rage, no malice—only absolute emptiness. He wasn't curious. He wasn't impatient. He was simply passing judgment. There was no need to rush, no need to exert effort. He wanted them to feel the fear. He wanted them to know that death was coming, and they could do nothing but wait for it.
A spark flashed. The soldier never had the chance to scream. A deafening sound cracked through the night—then, silence. Blood seeped into the sand. Blackout didn't even glance back. He simply moved on, as if he had crushed nothing more than an insect beneath his feet.
By then, William had reached a position outside the enemy's line of sight, gasping for the oxygen he had lost in the chase. But fate was cruel—Blackout had turned his attention to the remaining soldiers nearby. Among them, William spotted the one who had spoken to him earlier—the soldier clutching a camera, now staring up at the ten-meter-tall behemoth. Somehow, he successfully dragged the reckless soldier out of the line of fire, despite the enemy relentlessly shooting at them. If it weren't for being distracted by the other soldiers, the enemy would have killed them both already.
But then, he realized—the soldier had already taken a fatal shot. Blood was pouring out uncontrollably. Anger flared within him as he scolded the wounded man:
—"Are you out of your mind?"
—"I'm not… I saw… on its body… a symbol… something important…"
He spoke with dying breaths, weakly handing over a camera before whispering his final words:
—"Tell my parents… I'm sorry… You have to keep going…"
With that, the soldier closed his eyes for the last time, his body falling completely still. William gripped the camera tightly, feeling a heavy weight in his chest. But there was no time to grieve—a strange clicking noise behind him yanked him back to reality.
He quickly checked the photo that had just been taken. Sure enough, apart from capturing the creature's appearance, there was a peculiar symbol on its left chest—something unfamiliar yet eerily significant.
Suddenly, the clicking noise echoed again from behind him. He spun around—only to find nothing. William didn't want to think too much about it. He clenched his fists, bracing himself.
—"First things first—I need to run!"
And with that, they disappeared into the shadows, out of their enemy's sight.
Meanwhile, a slender figure detached itself from the larger behemoth, slinking through the darkness like a phantom. It used the chaos to its advantage, slipping into the control room unnoticed. Compared to the technology of its homeworld, this was nothing but a child's plaything. Human security systems were laughable. It wove through streams of data, bypassing layers of encryption with effortless precision.
And then—it stopped. A name appeared on the screen.
It paused. Its eyes glowed brighter. A distorted, guttural chuckle echoed through the void, speaking in a language that did not belong to this world:
[Lord Megatron…]
A message was sent.
The ghostly helicopter lifted off, vanishing into the night. Behind it, only death remained. And a mystery waiting to be unearthed.