TFP: Legends Never Die

Chapter 1: Cynderfire

Time Vocabulary Used:

Click: minute

Nano-click: second

Breem: ~hour

Orn: day

Vorn: year

Chapter 1: Cynderfire (2,300ish words)

The hardest part about killing is the waiting.

I entered the walkway, my talons lightly clicking against the metal below. My mind was somber and clear but I couldn't stop a small guttural growl of unease. I had traveled through the dank hallways many times before, but it never made the process any easier. I knew what they wanted. They wanted me to kill.

The shadows that lurked behind the bars were the bipeds, the standard cybertronians, the guards, or as I liked to call them, those without remorse. They held little to no emotion, merely concerned with getting their job done.

I glanced behind me, looking back at my cell before moving forwards again.

Good luck out there, yeah? A friendly voice called out as I passed his cell. I paused to acknowledge the good luck from a fellow predacon, although I couldn't delay. I knew what the bipeds were capable of, and their misplaced anger was often directed at those that were about to fight to rile them up more.

I will, I said, continuing down the walkway.

I walked with no outward complaint, but my mind was everything but compliant. Given the chance I would run. I knew the guards would slip up one day, and all it took was one mistake. I would be gone, out of this hellhole I had grown up in.

I knew very little about the outside world, but surely it was better than the bright lights, loud noises and the energon prods that forced me to comply with the demands of my masters. Kill.

At the end of the hallway was a small metal cage, just large enough that I could fit inside but small enough that I had to tuck my tail and wings close so they wouldn't be trapped when the gate closed.

Just on the other side of the opaque metal door was the arena. I could see small streams of light poking through the edges of the door, creating almost a halo effect. This light was no savior however, the light on the other end of the door was certain death. It was either I kill, or I would be killed.

The metal around me shifted, and I growled uneasily. This was my least favorite part of the fight, the unnecessary waiting. Some orns I waited for what seemed to be breems on end, while on others the doors would swing open in a few clicks. Regardless, I couldn't afford to rest during this time, they could open at any moment and I had to be prepared to charge.

I waited for what seemed like half an eternity before the cage creaked, the sign that meant the door would be opening soon. My tail lashed behind me, my plating puffed up, and I snorted. I waited to rush out, hopefully catching my opponent off guard and gaining the edge I desperately needed.

While my armor was powerful enough to withstand a few blows and I could breathe fire, I was still at a disadvantage. My wing joint was still loose and sore from my last battle, the medics were unwilling to get close enough to fix it and I was unwilling to let them touch it. Every injury I sustained would be left to self repair, no matter how badly I was leaking.

The first couple of fights I was slower, unwilling and more hesitant to kill. That cost me in the form of several scars, one such scar above my chest plating where I was lucky enough to have dense armor to protect my spark. Without the powerful plating we were known for, I would have perished.

I almost offlined afterwards, not from energon loss but from a nasty rust infection. The cure, which was cheap, could be administered with my normal energon and was the only reason I still function today.