8.April.06

The Beginning

By: Sinead

~< Part Five >~

Trumpets and the Cybertronian version of them blazed through the air. That was their cue.

Awn’néad, Cyclone, and Stormblend walked into the arena with heads held high, shoulders squared and back, and an utterly calm look on their faces. For Awn’néad and Stormblend, the look was genuine. In spite of the general truth, Cyclone was only faking it. He had told Awn’néad that he was scared stiff at the sight of so many fierce bots with so many forms of destruction . . . aka: weaponry. And not to mention the totally different techniques of killing. When Steele had walked over to say that he most likely wouldn’t be back at their stilted boarding house/school for the Guardians, Sub-Guardians, etc. for maybe an hour, on account of the fact that he’d most likely be scrapped after a few duels, Cyclone hid behind Stormblend. He hadn’t recognized Steele in his performance battle armor. All that was visible were his optics, and even then there was a mesh screen in front of them, masking their true color.

The crowd cheered wildly as Awn’néad bowed to them. They silenced immediately, however, as Awn’néad recited her much-practiced ceremonial speech that Stormblend had told her to memorize. They had worked upon it together, making it easy for Awn’néad to remember.

“We, both Cybertronians and humans alike, are here not to celebrate the varying ways of destruction, but the beauty of the art. Knowing and anticipating the adversary’s next move is a talent that some lack, but others exceed in. These are the ones who have pulled together anticipation, quick thinking and reactions, the art of their weaponry, and most importantly, their sense of honor, and used them to become the highest in their home arenas. If these combatants had no honor, none would be here. They would’ve killed each other off as soon as they could. But, no. That would be cowardice. And thus, these dire-warriors should know that they are now recognized with honor, pride, and admiration. Let the duels begin.”

Each Combatant, wether Maximal or Predacon, turned as one and bowed to Awn’néad, who was the acting master of ceremonies, as she turned and walked back to the doorway from which she had just come. The crowd never saw her turn towards one of the newly-titled dire-warriors and smile at him, wishing him luck in a tiny whisper.

The first battle lasted no longer than three minutes. Metal mesh covered the arena to catch any stray quasar shots and ground them. The rest of the following battles were almost like the first, the variations being mainly weaponry. This was the weeding out of those who weren’t strong enough at this time, and was used as a type of teaching method.

The rules were simple: No literally cutting the legs out from under your opponent, or for that matter, no going below the belt; No going for the Spark, the punishment is a life sentence or death; and finally: Winner must bring the relinquished to a CR chamber.

~*~

Surprisingly, Steele had won all of his duels. He was just about to walk to the arena door and find out his position when a luring female’s voice reached out to him from the shadows. “Hey, there. You’re a cute one, aren’t you? Can I see your face?”

Steele almost turned around, but saw a pair of slanted vermilion optics watching from the shadows in the corner of the room where the CR chambers resided, in the reflection of a chamber door.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, coming out of the shadows. She was everything that a male bot would want. The exception being Steele, who saw only evil in her eyes. “How about you and me celebrate privately after your triumphant and courageous victory? I can make sure that you win.”

Steele sneered and put his helmet on quickly, angrily, concealing his face. He then turned around and growled, “Hmph. Pathetic approach, pathetic overall. I already have plans that hold a deeper promise to them, and there is no way that you can deter me from completing them.”

And with that, he left her with her mouth hanging open. She stormed around, and said into the shadows in a shaky voice, “You’re a fool, Revengence. How the Pit will the boss take this, huh? You’re the one explaining this time. Smelter knows that you’re practically his pet! Primus, I don’t believe I just did that . . . ugh . . . that was nauseating.”

A nasally voice echoed from the shadows. “Fine. Let’s go. I’ll need your help with a few more experiments, femme.”

“Oh, really?”

“Let’s leave already, Night Shadow!”

“Fine. These guys scare the slag outta me. They always have . . .”

She glanced over her shoulder once, wishing that conversation with that younger bot, that fighter, had never happened . . .

~*~

Awn’néad walked down out of the balcony that she was sitting in with Raynah, Optimus, and the rest of her Guardians. The final fight was about to take place. The arena was lit by cutting-edge hover-lights of all colors between fights and white lighting during the duels.

The lights dimmed, and Awn’néad walked into the arena. She was standing completely still, her face calm, with Stormblend and Cyclone standing beside her. Holograms gave the appearance of the arena filled with mist.

With a flash of blue holographic fire, spotlights shone on the three beings, and the mist thinned and became no more. Awn’néad spoke out with a clear, confident voice.

“As is normal in every rising of the sun, surprises are woven into the fabric of our everyday lives. And, I too, have a surprise: These top two dire-warriors have proven themselves to be the fastest, strongest, and most cunning. Their opponents’ defeats were stunning, completed with grace, style, and honor. I have discussed the topic with my Head Guardian, Optimus Prime, and we have made an agreement: They will become full Sub-Guardians, if that is their wish, before the final ceremonies conclude. They will be given choice to whom they wish to protect and whom they wish to learn from, in order to become a full Guard of the highest order. I give to you two warriors from the Matrices Arena. Neither have met, and neither have been defeated in the past year. From Section Alpha, Dire-Warrior Steele. And from Section Echo, Dire-Warrior Altaire.”

Sure enough, as their names were announced, Steele and the female called Altaire walked into the arena when their names were called. Steele banished any and all thoughts about his uncanny encounter with the seductress in the CR chamber room. As he reached Awn’néad he saw Altaire. They pulled their helmets off, and held them in their left hands. In their right they held swords while their shields and extra guns and such taking up room in sub-space.

Altaire saw Steele’s face for the first time. In it, she didn’t see the fierceness of a warrior in his crimson optics. Then she saw why: he was looking at Awn’néad. Altaire suspected that the two knew each other, but didn’t know why or how. Steele caught her gaze and the ferocity returned with surprising force. Altaire narrowed her optics immediately and glared back. Both averted their gaze at the same time and looked at the young human.

Awn’néad took the tips of their swords, crossed them as custom demanded, and said quietly, “Just as surely as these swords are crossed, something’s telling me that we’ll get to know each other really well. Good luck, both of you. You’ll both win, in a way, so don’t hurt each other too badly, all right? There are things that have to be talked about after this and I don’t feel like talking to the CR chamber door. They don’t talk back and remind me to stay human, which to you guys, means to be annoying.”

As both grinned at her statement, she let go of the swords and said in a voice loud enough for the minute microphone pinned to her sleeve, “Separate and prepare yourselves for your duel.”

Altaire donned her battle helmet simultaneously with Steele, walked over to her corner of the arena, and turned, pulling her shield out of sub-space. The rules were spoken out again from the judges once more and the buzzer rang for the battle to begin. Altaire immediately started circling to her left, finding Steele’s optics. Their gaze locked and stayed locked, their optics narrow, glowing slits.

Steele bellowed a battle cry, and rushed forward, holding his sword above his head, ready to send it crashing down upon Altaire. Altaire held steady until he was almost upon her, then jumped to the left, slashing at Steele’s side as he sped past. She encountered his shield instead. The femme evaded attack after attack, and led many of her own. Neither bot was tired, but they were trying to overburden the other with strenuous close combat.

The two bots went back to circling each other, this time to the right, watching for signs of weaknesses in their stances. Steele frowned, as was his nature in battle. He saw very few, if any, weak spots or openings on this female. He was so infuriated at the fact that he was matched with combat skills, he could just spit if he had that luxury. Suddenly, she attacked. Totally silent, she held her sword at her side, pointing at Steele’s abdomen. Steele ran to meet her attack, but flipped over her head and landed on her other side.

Altaire was expecting this, so she reached up with her sword and snagged the Predacon’s shield when he was in mid-air, slicing a furrow into the front. Steele growled his displeasure, readjusting his grip upon it so that he could adjust where she would hit it, or, if possible, trap her sword and disarm her.

The battle continued on just like that: Each trying to over power the other, and each attempt failed. Altaire knew that this could go on forever, and she also knew that they must come to an agreement sooner or later. So, she walked to just out of reach of Steele’s sword and spoke. “As hard as it is for me to say and accept it, we match each other.”

“Agreed,” Steele snarled in return. “And we should call armistice, you are suggesting?”

Cries from the crowd encouraged the bots to blow each other’s core out, eat the others’ Spark, etc. Both ignored the shouts.

“Either that or keep fighting. I don’t think that we’ll get very far without breaking that silent promise we made to Awn’néad. She wants to speak to us directly after the fight . . . without delay.”

Steele bit his lip in frustration of always trying to understand. He drew mech-fluid. By Predacon standards he was soft, and this action of calling a tie was a pure embodiment of that fact. But by now, none of the Predacons he knew brought up his heritage around him, about the fact that he was one-fourth Maximal, each knowing that he would all but kill he who threw the first stone, if you will. Many Predacons weren’t of pure Predacon blood. Most could trace at least one line in their family to a Maximal or Autobot ancestor. The same was true for most Maximals, save for a very few who were of old families.

“A tie it is, then,” he said finally, and took off his helmet to show that he meant it. Altaire did the same. They clasped each other’s hand and looked up at the balcony, but didn’t see Awn’néad.

A quiet chuckling rose up behind them. Steele turned and saw Awn’néad, Optimus, Stormblend, and everyone else who was sitting up in the balcony standing behind them.

“You should know amigo, that there are always two doors in an arena,” Awn’néad said, smiling.

Steele shook his head and saw Pyrofreeze. The short bot winked at Stormblend from the crowd, and cheered with all the rest as Awn’néad gave out the medals and awards to all the rest of the winners. She delivered the final speech, closing the ceremony, and bowed. The holographic mist returned to the arena.

“Steele, you have no idea how glad I am that this is all over,” Awn’néad said as she walked back to the winner’s private R pool room with the rest of her friends. It was empty and waiting, as per protocol, for the winner and their company to relax in. Altaire got out of her over-armor easily, hopped into a reserve pool, and sighed blissfully.

Awn’néad and Optimus helped Steele out of his armor by his instruction, simply because he was more injured than Altaire. When he was fully free of it, Awn’néad helped him to another R pool.

Altaire watched out of the corner of her eye, and saw that he was more hurt than he let on when he was in the arena. He was leaning on Awn’néad somewhat for support, and when he got into the R pool, he closed his eyes, apparently falling asleep as the liquid eased the aches in his joints while nanomachines started repair. Apparently, he could take some serious damage and keep going for quite a while. On the other hand, she couldn’t take the abuse as easily, so she trained herself to be quicker than most of the other fighters. That was the main difference to their fighting styles.

Optimus stayed while the rest of the bots left. Raynah had met her family members, and had said good-bye, for the time being, to live with an aunt and her son back on Earth. Her mother had awakened, heard that her daughter was safe and with Awn’néad, and all the other bad news as well. She was being moved to Earth as soon as possible so that human doctors could oversee her recovery. Both mother and daughter would visit as often as she could, but it wouldn’t be as often as they  wanted it to be.

Awn’néad went into an adjoining room, then emerged a moment later wearing a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. She sat down next to Altaire. “I’ve never been to any of the B.S.C. Competitions. Are they always like this one?”

Altaire looked at Optimus, as if asking permission to tell her. Optimus smiled, and said on a Cybertronian frequency, “I haven’t found a way to keep her from asking questions yet. And she will do everything that’s anything to get you to answer her.”

“I’ve tried and lost,” Steele growled fondly on the same level, not opening his eyes.

That meant that none of them saw that Awn’néad was following their mini-conversation.

“Well now,” Altaire started, “usually, they’re worse. Last year alone, five bots were terminated. Three were accidental, and the other two were intentional. The three bots who committed the accidentals, were given thirty Decacycles in prison, and the other two were terminated.”

“How did you know if they were accidental or not?” Awn’néad asked.

She rubbed at her head before stretching sore arms over her head. “Well, the three who killed their opponents by accident ripped off their helmets and their opponent’s as well, and then started sobbing. They also picked the adversaries up and walked into the surgeon’s wing, then waited outside, still in their armor.” Steele looked over at Awn’néad and Altaire, who was still talking. “And the ones who intentionally killed their opponents, well, one of the bots had totally disarmed the other, then killed him without honor. The other had slain their opponent by breaking all the rules of combat. Neither took their adversary to the surgeon, but just stood over them while they died. I had the privilege to drag one of those beasts to holding cells.”

Awn’néad was silent for a few moments, then said, “But this year no one was killed.”

“Gotta be on your best behavior around the daughter of Sinead,” Altaire said, winking at Awn’néad.

~*~

Two weeks later, Altaire and Steele were battling each other in an arena while Awn’néad and Optimus looked in from the viewing stands.

They saw Steele separate from the battle and show a move, which Altaire copied almost perfectly. They then started again. Three minutes later, though, Altaire stopped and demonstrated what looked like a difficult move with her sword. And it was. What she did was a triple slash, going left-right-left, a twist-thrust from her left side using her left hand to add to the momentum, then a flip over Steele’s head, turning and slashing diagonally from her right shoulder towards her left hip. The first time that Steele tried it, he fell flat on his face, unable to compensate for the continued momentum of the thrust. Altaire looked as if she was chuckling, then reached down and helped Steele up, much to his displeasure. They were learning how to fight in a pair so that they would be able to enter the newest level of arena fighting: two on two, with non-fatal traps set around the arena.

Optimus turned a smiling face to Awn’néad. “You would like to learn that?”

Awn’néad nodded, and said, “Yeah. Steele’s style that he uses. I saw them yesterday and thought that it would be a good talent to try out, just in case I get in trouble or something.”

“I’ll ask them tonight, then. C’mon, let’s let them have their privacy,” Optimus said, and started walking away. Awn’néad followed him almost reluctantly, but brightened up when she saw Cyclone waiting by the Matrices Arena door, smirking haughtily.

“Oh-no,” Awn’néad said, feigning shock when she and Optimus reached Cyclone. “What has the ‘terror of the Guardians’ done now?”

Cyclone told the two of his latest prank: He had sent a virus into Electra’s laptop. He had made it so that whenever Electra tried to turn it on a picture of Pyrofreeze popped onto the screen, looking as he was just about to ask her to go out on a date with him. Again.

Which meant that she would reply to him, again, “When you’re older, runt.”

The trio laughed just as Steele and Altaire joined up with them. Cyclone told Steele what he did, and the four bots and one human walked back to their stilted house, all in a good mood.

Click here for part 6