“What the hell is going on here?”
Pipebomb exclaimed, utterly confused.
“First scorching heat, now freezing winds! Ignitus would say we’re trapped in a meteorological madhouse! With no obvious means of escape, Ignitus believes we must wait out the coming storms.”
Split grabs Spectrum and Sparkles and steps onto the dias quickly, before any of them could fall into the lava.
As the weather changes, Split frowned. “What in the name of Primus is going on?”
The white sphere’s surface ripples; it pulls itself apart and divides into four smaller orbs.
Fortress looked for a way to depressurize and open the hanger. He’d be most useful outside.
Spectrum peered at the orbs curiously. “T-Touch?” she asked.
“Touch, poke, prod, lick, whatever!” Topside says. “Whatever gets us out of here.”
The arena had become a hellscape: the edges of the central dais glowed white-hot from the molten rock lapping at it from all sides, though much of the floor had cooled into patches of black stone that would support the weight of an average-sized cybertronian- particularly around the four obelisks on the arena’s perimeter… Heat from the lava rose to meet the arctic air blowing in from above, forming small twisters that picked up shards of obsidian, ash, and flame.
Inside the ancient station’s artificial atmosphere, depressurization wasn’t necessary.
Fortress opened the hanger door and stepped to the edge, scanning the space before him for oncoming threats.
Tired of all the craziness that had been going on, Pipebomb forcefully touched one of the new small orbs.
Pinpricks of light shine far off in the void: the light of the nearby star reflecting off of thousands of incoming terrorcons. Along Salvation’s sides, massive guns swivel around to point ends of their barrels at the horde.
The black tendrils on the orb’s surface turn red, and lights of the same color come to life on one of the obelisks.
Spectrum poked one of the orbs.
This orb lit up with a blue glow, as did another one of the obelisks.
Split rubbed his chin, pressing a third orb.
This orb sprang to life with a green light, as does another obelisk.
Fortress dropped his targeting visor and took aim. His shoulder turrets swiveled into place, and twitched as they made small adjustments to track various targets. His mass driver cannons took aim and each prepared a slug. His chest catches flipped open revealing two salvos of missiles. He stood in waiting. Ready to open fire with everything he had once the hoard was in range.
“Ignitus believe these spheres may represent the omega keys we have been searching for.”
The gestalt noted as he poked the final orb.
Salvation’s weapons get a lock on the terrorcons before Fortress does; her laser cannons shoot blue lances into the void that burn through the horde. Missile batteries launch clusters of warheads that light up the approaching mass of undead like the nighttime skyline of Iacon.
This orb turns gold, and corresponding yellow lights come to life on the last obelisk. The hectic maelstrom of ice, fire, wind and rock continues to rage, however; our heroes needed to do something else with the spheres.
“Targets locked. Weapons primed. Open fire!”
Fortress bent his elbows and put his fists by his sides. Four large hooks flipped out from each foot. Two from the front, two in the back. They dug into the floor, ensuring he wouldn’t be moved by the force of his own guns. His chest missiles all fired off, scattering into the void. Each one locked on to a different terrorcon and hunted it down. His mass driver cannons fired off into the hoard, likely ripping through dozens of undead husks with every slug. And his shoulder turrets opened fire, spraying a hailstorm of bullets into the hoard.
“What the hell are we missing?”
Pipebomb cried out.
“The omega keys alone are powerful. But only together do they have the power to save us. These spheres were once one a moment ago. Perhaps they must become so again.”
Ignitus used his large hands to cup the four orbs. Two in each hand. He then slowly and gently brought them together, hoping that they would become one once more.
“Obelisks light up when an orb is triggered!” Garand yells over the storm, “Try bringing them to their matching monument!”
Ignitus finds no success in his endeavors; the orbs insisted on remaining separate. It’s likely that Garand has the right idea. Each orb needed to be carried across the precarious environment the arena had become, to one of the obelisks at the edges of the chamber.
Fortress’s assault rips into the approaching terrorcons, reducing many to flecks of metal and freezing slivers of Dark Energon, but hundreds more were rapidly approaching Salvation. Some flew under their own power by way of jets or antigravity machines, while others hung off of these flying undead to hitch a ride to their shared prey.
Other crew members join Fortress on Salvation’s hull, standing in the shadow of their ship’s guns and shooting at the terrorcons who were starting to come in range of more traditional weaponry.
“It was a good guess big guy.”
Pipebomb said.
Ignitus sighed, and instead tried to grab each orb and push it to its respective obelisks.
Fortress continued his assault, though the support from the others didn’t go unnoticed.
Though as the hoard grew closer, he decided to take a more direct approach. Putting a pause to his attack, he released the hooks from one foot, then stepped out on to the hull of the ship, replying them to lock him in place. Then doing the same with the other foot. Step by step, he slowly walked across the exterior of the Salvation, until he was in an optimum position. He retrained his weapons on the enemy and opened fire once more, ready to get physical if any of then came close enough.
Gatecrasher takes on of the orbs and moves to place it in its slot on an Obelisk.
The orbs don’t make it off the dais; they’d need to be carried to their obelisks.
The divot in the obelisk where the orb was likely meant to go becomes inaccessible as a metal iris snaps shut over it. A new ancient sentinel machine teleports in front of the pillar, looking much like the one Gatecrasher had just killed, but with ashen grey armor built around vein-like conduits that burned with a fiery orange light.
The drone raises its arms to reveal flamethrowers mounted over its hands, which spit plumes of fire at Gatecrasher.
For each cluster of terrorcons Fortress shot to pieces, groups of a hundred or more were now starting to land onto Salvation and the surrounding docking structure. Their old age and deteriorating bodies did little to slow them down as they swarmed toward crew members stationed outside. Twenty undead Knights of Cybertron, some still carrying swords and axes which had long-ago lost their edge, charge at Fortress’s legs.