#so I get to pounce on them to take them down before removing the helm and stabbing down

[ontologic-catgirl]

No no no, you dont understand when you kill people it is a horrific cutting off of possibility an argument against the very notion that a life can be meaningful. When I go off to cut of knights heads and drop their armored corpses at your feet I'm being cute and helpful. I hope this helps.

[mightylauren]

KAW Day 1: Prisoner of the Empire

Zeb had seen the interior to his fair share of brigs and prison cells; it was an occupational hazard after all. The one he'd found himself in this time was fairly unremarkable: the usual gunmetal black walls, the uncomfortably textured grating on the floor, the camera in the corner with its blinking red light reminding him that they were always watching.

It was business as usual in the world of imperial incarceration, at least until they got to the interrogation aspect of this venture and ended his isolation.

He eyed the blinking light dubiously, tempted to destroy the thing just for some privacy. A human probably couldn't reach it, but Zeb was no human. He lifted himself from the floor, stretching his back and arms as he calculated a way to use the walls to reach the infernal device.

The lasat crouched, on the verge of pouncing, when the little red light blinked off and never came back on.

For a couple of minutes, he didn't move, staring and waiting for it to come back on. It wasn't until he heard clear sounds of some sort of scuffle outside that he snapped to attention, rising from his crouched position in time to see the cell door slide from sight.

Beyond it stood a man dressed in death trooper armor, a shock rod in one hand still crackling with energy, two regular storm troopers lie crumpled at his feet.

"We need to move."

Zeb shouldn't have been surprised to hear Kallus' voice, mildly distorted from the helmet, and yet the fact the man was standing heroically atop the fallen guards to spring the lasat from the Empire staggered Zeb. Somewhere in the distance, something exploded, which meant Sabine was likely there as well. This thought spurred him forward, and soon he and the death trooper with Kallus' voice were sprinting through hallways, a couple of which adorned with unconscious storm troopers.

"Spectre four retrieved, enroute to rendezvous point one."

It was here that Sabine turned up, and unlike Kallus, she was not undercover, her armor a bright splash of color in a dark black and white imperial space. As she skidded around the corner to join them, she tossed Zeb his bo-rifle, then unholstered her weapon.

"Loth-cat's out of the bag, gentlemen," she said, adjusting her grip on a bag she had slung diagonally over her. "Let's rendezvous with Hera and get the hell off this boat."

"Hera's here?" Zeb had found his voice, at last, nearly missing a turn in his surprise. "But she's-."

"Very pregnant, yes," Sabine answered, as the three of them slid to a halt by a lift, Kallus jabbing the call button. "Should have thought of that before you decided to go off on your own and attempt a solo break-in of an imperial facility."

In recent months Sabine was starting to sound more and more like Hera. He could imagine the looks she was giving him behind that helmet of hers as they squeezed into the lift.

"I don't suppose you want to tell us why exactly you did this?" Kallus asked, taking the brief respite of the moving lift to remove the black death trooper helmet. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the running, and his hair was a mess from the helmet.

Zeb thought he'd never looked more handsome. He didn't say this; instead, he mumbled out "not particularly" as the lift doors opened.

There wouldn't be more time to discuss it until they managed their escape. It wasn't a particularly spectacular one, considering the many times the Ghost crew had evaded the clutches of the Empire, but it was still a feat.

Sabine rounded on him the moment the cargo bay ramp began to swing closed, the motion of the ghost taking flight, causing them to sway. She dropped the bag off of her shoulder, and it fell to Zeb's feet. Kallus' back was to them, bent over the hatch controls. "The weapon makes sense, but what's with the rock?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

Zeb opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, spared answering when Kallus joined them, the sound of the Ghost entering hyperspace thrumming through the ship. Kallus eyed the lasat, examining Zeb as if to ensure he was whole. "Are you okay?"

"He's fine," Sabine said, unfolding and popping off her vibrant Mandalorian style helm. "I checked the system, and we got there before they got around to interrogation."

"Thank stars," Kallus breathed. He took a step closer, and then there was that hesitation. He curled his fingers and corrected his stance. Zeb had watched his dearest friend shy away from him in this manner many times before. "Mind telling us what was so important in that facility?"

Zeb could hardly hear the query over the roar of his own racing heart in his ears as their eyes met. At his feet, in the bag were the two things Zeb had told himself he needed to show Kallus how he felt. The man had just busted him out like a hero, and yet the lasat was frozen, afraid to confess. He swallowed down a lump in his throat and wet his lips unnecessarily.

Then, in a fit of poorly executed inspiration, Zeb kicked the bag vaguely in Kallus' direction. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Kallus ran his hand through his hair, a nervous tick of his, and moved his gaze from Zeb to Sabine, who shrugged, made an excuse about checking on Hera, and evacuated up the ladder and out of sight into the main ship. Kallus bent low, tugging open the closure of the bag. Zeb knew the moment of recognition, as the human's eyebrows arched high as his fingers wrapped around a familiar weapon grip.

"Garazeb." Kallus' voice was breathy, as the bag fell from around his modified bo-rifle, a weapon he hadn't held since before he'd escaped the Empire at the battle for Atollon. "I was sure Thrawn had taken it whale watching."

Zeb laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, daring to allow himself a step closer. "I thought so too," Zeb said. "It was actually a bonus surprise when I got here."

"Oh good, so you didn't risk your neck just to retrieve this," Kallus sighed, still looking down at the weapon, changing its configuration then snapping it back into place.

Capitalizing on this distraction, Zeb crouched down, fishing into the crumpled bag until his fingers wrapped around the warm planes of the meteorite. It didn't glow quite as bright as it had on Bahryn, and with a fraction of the warmth, but it was whole, and back where it belonged.

Zeb was snapped back into the moment by the clatter of Kallus' newly returned bo-rifle clattering to the deck. His golden eyes were wide and fixed solely on the rock resting in Zeb's hands. He held it out, resting in his upward-facing palms, and without hesitation, Kallus stepped forward and covered it with his hands.

"You kept it."

It was the fact that had kept Zeb hoping, ever since he'd found out. Kallus had kept the meteor.

"It reminded me of you," Kallus said, eyes rising from their hands joined around the meteor to meet Zeb's.

"It reminds me of us," Zeb returns, bending slightly, bowing his head, closing his eyes, an invitation. An invitation the lasat knows full well the human may not understand or accept.

Less than a moment and there was the firm press of Kallus' forehead against his, the ghost of breath mingling just out of reach. "Us."

They stood like this for what felt like a long while, forehead to forehead, warmth of the meteorite held between them. Zeb knew there were words they needed to be saying, feelings that needed expression beyond this gesture. That would come soon, they'd carve out some time for privacy to talk, but for now, they had this.

[rogerblackwolf]

The Fox and the Huntsman

-Year 1889-

The man awoke suddenly to the blaring of the steamship's horn. He reluctantly gets dressed and heads up to the top deck, his eyes adjusting to the dawn light and the smell of seasalt teased his nose. He stretched because he didn't sleep well, the various vertebrae in his back were popping loud enough to be overheard by a pair of crewmen as they went about their morning duties. He then leaned against the rail to further awaken himself, the spray of the sea helped as did the rays of the sun as it made it's ascent above the horizon.

"Up early again, I see." The captain of the vessel said as he descended the steps from the helm of the steamship.

"Didn't sleep well." The man replied

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Soldier's lives are hardly peaceful." The captain said

The man looked at him surprised before asking

"How did you know?"

"Remember when those rebels had an uprising back in 1828 in Brazil? I was in the Royal Marines back then, I just so happened to be in port during it all." The captain says showing a pin from the time.

"I was in the 66th." The man says

"At Maiwand?!" The captain asked stunned

"Yes."

A few moments of silence went by before the captain spoke once again.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, Captain Howard Channing, at your humble service."

"Nathan Andrews. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He says as they shake hands.

The two vets proceeded to chat while the ship continues on its course. The call "Land Hoe!" interrupts their conversation. Nathan looks out to see the horizon turn from ocean to a vast expanse of land, in response he goes below deck to his cabin to collect his things, including an letter with an official seal. He sits down on his bunk reading it one more time.

"Sergeant Nathan Andrews

By the order of the Elders, and the will of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria of England, you are to be sent to the colony of Hong Kong, China to hunt a vengeful spirit that has been causing trouble for many of the locals; one village in particular has expressed great concern about this spirit. Your mission is to travel to this village and determine the nature of this spirit. If it is possible, relocate it somewhere away from civilization; if the spirit is hostile you have permission to kill it. May your hunt be a success and your travels safe.

-Elder J."

Nathan then folded the letter and packed it away before checking his weapons. His single shot carbine, his 6 shot webley revolver, and finally his bayonet. As he did this, a second letter fell from his pack, this one from a woman he was engaged to in London. He had hoped this this hunt would be short so he could return quickly.

By the time he got back topside, Nathan realized that the steamhip had managed to dock.

Once the anchor was dropped and the gangplank lowered, Nathan was among the first to disembark along with several of the crew. The captain waved him off and wished him luck as Nathan surveyed his new surroundings. Unquestionably Hong Kong was a beautiful city, the streets were full of people from food vendors to clothing salesmen, and shops. The mountains however captivated and startled him reminding him of a time he wished he could forget.

Thankfully he was brought back to reality by a tapping on his shoulder. Nathan turned and was met with a short portly man dressed in a suit with a dark overcoat and a wide brimmed hat.

"Sergeant Andrews I presume?" He asks whilst nervously extending his hand.

"Yes." Nathan answered a little on edge

"Oh jolly good, I'm Reginald Collingwood. The Order saw fit to elect me as your guide and interpreter." The portly man explained as they shook hands. Mr. Collingwood then went on to explain the situation as he understood it from his own investigation.

"It started some weeks ago, the villagers all told me they witnessed a young woman come into town for supplies. The day after she left several young men became bedridden and had episodes of convulsions; I, myself, was able to cure this with some help from a local monk, curious fellow. Still though the villagers believe until this spirit is found and destroyed they will be in danger."

"Do you have any idea what I should be looking for? Aside for some strange woman?" Nathan asked

"Well I'm certain the villagers would be keen to assist you. We're heading there now." Reginald responded as he brought Nathan to a cart, the driver ready to take them to their destination.

The sun was directly above their heads by the time Nathan and Reginald had arrived at the village. With some assistance from the villagers the two Engishmen found themselves welcomed into the Elder's home. Nathan was fascinated by the many rituals that went into serving a single cup of tea, not to mention he was also served a bowl of rice with some sort of meat coated in a spicy sauce.

"Mr. Collingwood, I'd like to begin my hunt as soon as possible." Nathan insisted after they each had their fill

"Alright alright, I'll translate for you so don't worry." Reginald stated before asking the Elder about the spirit.

The elder and Reginald spoke for some time with Reginald stopping every so often to explain;

"He said that a mysterious woman came from the wilderness looking for rice, meat, and incense. She didn't leave til evening but when night came, the first of several young men began having convulsions and talking in their sleep. They kept saying the same thing.."Shen Li". Curious if you ask me." Reginald stated

"Is there nothing else he can tell us?" Nathan asked gesturing to the Elder.

"He said that the woman went North and the only place that he can think of is an old shrine that no one has visited in decades. Perhaps that would be a good place to start?" Reginald questioned

"Better than nothing." Nathan spoke.

After everything was said and done, the two men thanked the Elder for his help. Nathan decided to leave Reginald with the village for his safety, after all it was just an animal he was hunting. Taking his weapons, Nathan traversed to the northern parts of the countryside eventually arriving at the ruins of an old temple. The stonework was noticeable despite the multitude of vines and overgrowth, on the inside was wooden pillars holding up a stone roof and a shrine had freshly lit candles and incense.

"Someone was here...where are they now?" Nathan asked himself before deciding to lay in wait at the back of the temple. When night came so did the keeper of the shrine. Dressed in a loose white robe with long black hair, Nathan could barely make out a feminine figure in the low light. Only when he made himself known did he see her face, her eyes captured his attention the most. Their silver glow striking him in a way that made him blush embarrassed, even making him lower his weapon.

"Who are you and why are you here?" She asks in English.

"You speak English?" Nathan asked

"Should I not when faced with an English Man?" She replied.

"Hmph, you got me there." Nathan said.

"You have yet to answer my question." The woman responded.

"Right you are, I am Nathan Andrews and I was sent to hunt a spirit that may have come from this temple." He explains

"Do you intend to kill this spirit?" The woman asked as she locked eyes with him as if studying him

"If this spirit is a danger then yes...I won't hesitate." He said after a pause.

"We have not been introduced, I am Shen Li and I am a Hulijing, a fox spirit." She says, revealing her long tail and ears.

"I am Nathan Andrews. A Huntsman from England." Nathan said

"For being polite I will give you an explanation. You have earned that much." Shen Li says.

As Nathan sits with her, Shen Li explains that her magic is random in terms of enchanting men. In many cases men tend to forget her and move on with their lives due to her reclusive nature but sometimes men become annoyingly obsessed and refuse to leave her alone. Shen Li then goes on to say those particular men she tried to ignore but their cries and pleas are not deaf to her, she had to physically remove the enchantment herself. Thankfully there was a Englishman and a monk who cured the men she accidentally enchanted recently.

'Hmm, guess Reginald wasn't entirely useless.' Nathan thought.

"Well...what do you think? Am I a threat?" Shen Li asks him.

Nathan contemplated silently weighing the evidence of both her testimony and Reginald's investigation. As he thought he couldn't stop looking at her as if absentmindedly memorizing the curve of her cheeks, the smoothness of her skin, and her lengthy black hair but above all he found her eyes the most pleasing. He was so lost in them he didn't realize she was staring back at him, as if looking for something hidden.

"I think you're misunderstood, and despite your abilities you are not a threat. If you wish, I will gladly leave you be." Nathan says finally.

"I do enjoy my life here but it does get lonely. I would not be opposed to you returning whenever you wish. It is late, you may remain in the temple til morning. Get some rest, I must hunt for food." She says before turning into her fox form. Nathan would be surprised but he was already tired to begin with, he watched Shen as her silver fur glistened in the moonlight and with a pounce out the entranceway she was gone.

Once Nathan had lied down he began to slowly dose off but this night he didn't have any nightmares, for the first time in many months he was able to have a peaceful sleep. Nathan stirred from his slumber by the rays of morning, as he went about having some rations for breakfast he saw no sign of Shen. He decided to head back to the village since his work had been done, the only thing left to do was to deliver his report. As he traversed the path Nathan felt at ease, again a first in a long time. When he arrived back at the village he was welcomed by the people and Reginald.

"Mr. Andrews! Great to see you again old chap. Did you find the spirit?" He asked

"I did, and I have a report to write and send." Nathan responds

"Of course, at once." Reginald said as he showed Nathan to a office where he could write. It took maybe an hour before Nathan emerged once again and gave the letters to Reginald.

"You know what you have to do. Ensure the Order gets the report first. The second one I will not fault should it arrive late." Nathan said

"Yes of course, and where will you be going?" Reginald asked as the wagon was brought to the residence the two men were staying at.

"To have a chat with someone I met." Nathan said before he gave Reginald a handshake and a pat on his shoulder before walking back off into the woods.

Reginald also saw a silver furred fox sitting on a rock at the edge of the woods, even he could tell there was something not normal about it. When Nathan got close to the fox it let him pet it's head gently before both disappeared into the forest.

"Hmm, Curious." Reginald said to himself as the wagon leisurely made it's way to Hong Kong's port.

[boisoup-blog]

something more than a favour, chapter 2  /  READ ON AO3  /  CHAPTER 1 fandom: Assassin’s Creed Odyssey pairing: Brasidas/Kassandra additional tags: everyone lives au, fake marriage au, unrequited feelings, slightly nsfw, best read on A03 in case it gets flagged

Kassandra didn’t know where she was, when she got there or how she got there but, regardless. she was enjoying herself. Lying on her back on the surprisingly soft ground, her feet were planted, lifting her hips towards her paramour. She was too enthralled by pleasure to look who was down there but she’s had someone else’s tongue lapping at her clit enough to know what they’re doing. Kassandra is also sure she felt hair scratching the skin around her slit, like a beard.  

One of her hands heads down her body towards her lover, to grab at surprisingly short hair. One thing she deduced was that it was a Spartan down there, a braid prominent on the top of his head. However, her investigation was stilted by a finger pushing through her folds, instantly hooking and dragging along her walls. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hand tightened in his hair, probably messing up the braid, and she moaned, it wasn’t very loud but it was enough for her lover to growl. With that one sound, two things happened, her core tightened as she moaned again, and she figured out who was pleasuring her so.

This must be a dream, she thought to herself, although she ultimately did not want to wake up. Removing her hand from his head, both hands went to his shoulders as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, to look down at Brasidas of Sparta. His eyes were dark, hooded and predatory, the hair along his upper lip covered in her. Her hands slid from his shoulders, (unfortunately his cuirass covers most of his upper body, what a wet dream this is,) to his neck, then up to cup his face, beard soft beneath her fingers.  

Brasidas opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead of words, he barked. And barked again. Every time he barked, it became more and more dog-like, until her eyes shot open, Kassandra finding herself in bed and alone. Spurred by a chorus of dogs, she swung her legs out of bed and ran her hands over her face before she stood up and marched to the window. Two dogs were sat barking at nothing. Absolute. Nothing. Grinding her teeth and scowling, she reached out of the window, grabbed the shutters and slammed them closed.  

Aphrodite must be playing with her; she’s tired, angry and sexually frustrated. Gods watch over whoever angers her today because she’s in the mood to punch someone.  

After getting dressed, Kassandra stomped into the kitchen, Brasidas nowhere in sight, only a selection of fruits and a small loaf of bread sat on a plate. He must’ve thrown something together before leaving to do whatever it is he does in the morning. Stupid Brasidas of Sparta, he manages to make her feel better without even doing anything. Still, she took the bread and a few of figs and apples, managing to carry them outside so she could stuff them in the saddle bag she recently brought for Phobos.  

She wasn’t going to do anyone any good by sitting and letting her frustration fester like an infection in an open wound. Kassandra isn’t some helpless maiden who wallows in self-pity, instead, she’s the kind of woman who goes and beats the shit out of something with a stick. Alexios also happened to be taking care of the Adrestia whilst she completes her duty as a wife, (or deals with "malakas marital bullshit," as her beloved little brother liked to put it.) either way, she knows Alexios would be put for a little sibling rough housing.  

Kassandra rushes through Sparta, the wind nipping at Phobos’ heels as they rode toward Gytheion. Fortunately, the people of Lakonía know how to get out of the way of a pent up misthios and her horse.  

She finds the Adrestia exactly where she left her, Eagle figurehead standing proud (Ikaros also perched on his mirrors head, plucking feathers,) and Barnabas and his men running around the ship. Alexios, however, was stood at the helm leering over the bees working around him. If Kassandra had to guess, he’s been barking orders all day and not doing anything himself, but did she really expect anything else?

She dismounted Phobos and stepped over the gap between the dock and ship, Barnabas chirping at her happily, welcoming her back home. If life hadn’t gone her way and she never spared Nikolaos (and subsequently spared Stentor,) never found her mother and never spared Deimos, the Adrestia would’ve been there to welcome her home. Fortunately, fate, the Gods, whatever it was, smiled on her and everyone came home safe.

“Kassandra, what brings you to my boat?” Alexios greeted with a vicious smile, trying to egg his sister into confrontation as he did. Alexios is not Deimos but, he still clings to parts his former identity; Kassandra thinks it’s like a safety blanket, he has known nothing but violence and when all else fails, resorts to it because it’s what has the highest success rate.

Regardless, Kassandra crossed her arms as she responded, “firstly, this is my ship.” Alexios’ smile got bigger, his eyes narrowed on his sister, getting the rise he wanted. “Secondly, I need to hit something.” Alexios paused for a moment, smile faltering before being replaced by a booming laugh.

“Oh, you can try.” Alexios jumped over the railings from the helm to the deck, a large thud when he landed. One day, either Alexios or Kassandra are going to go straight through the deck down to the rowers. “Marital bullshit finally gone to shit?” He asked, shoving into his sisters' shoulder, forcing her arms to uncross as she grunted a reply to him. If she were anyone else, she would’ve gone flying into the deck. (“Gods blood,” Barnabas probably thought as he tried to usher them off the ship and onto solid land.)

The two of them had unspoken rules about sparring: no weapons, no hair pulling, no kicking private areas and, most importantly, no breaking bones, except noses. As misthios, both of them needed all their bones in working order to do misthios things, like hold a sword, kick someone, count drachmae, etc.  

On solid land, the two of them circled each other, Barnabas off to the side holding all their weapons. Alexios was still very impatient, looking like he was going to pounce any moment but, Kassandra has beaten him before and she’ll be damned if she lets him win today. A smug smirk on her face, she motioned for her brother to come at her with her hands before bawling them back into fists. Apparently, that’s all she needed to do as Alexios charged into her, knocking both of them on the floor.  

For a brief second, Kassandra felt all the air leave her lungs before she gasped for air, throwing her arms over her head to protect it. Alexios immediately tried to prize her arms apart, sitting on top of her so she couldn’t escape.  

“Stop. Being. A. Coward.” Alexios argued, his plans to break down her defences going nowhere. However, being so bull-headed and impatient to win, Alexios made the mistake of bending his head down. Kassandra immediately broke her guard, grappling her brothers head, the inside of her elbow pressing on his neck. Using his neck as leverage, she managed to shake his balance and roll them over so she could let go of him and stand up.

“I’m not a coward, just patient,” Kassandra finally teased, shaking her arms out as Alexios stood up, scowling at his sister. They started circling each other again, Alexios momentarily rubbing the front of his neck, leaving Kassandra snickering. “Did I hurt you, little Alexios?” she teased again, she knew he hated the idea of being belittled, and it spurred him into making mistakes.

As planned, he ran at her, flurrying hit at her as she ducked under his wider swings, jabbing him in the side. However, what she did not expect is him to swing wildly behind him, the backs of his knuckles hitting her straight in the eye. She tumbled to the floor, completely shocked and bewildered, her hands over her eye, as Alexios stopped, concerned before teasing, “Did I hurt you, little Kassandra?”

That's when Kassandra removed her hands from her eye and scowled at Alexios, every ounce of aggression in her body ready to come out at once. “I’m going to make you wish mater was here,” she threatened, “so you could hide behind her skirts!”  

It was sun set when Brasidas finally sat down on the edge of their bed, hands running over his face. It had been a long, long, long, long, long day. Training young Spartans at the ass crack of dawn, rushing off to a military meeting with Archidamos and Agesipolis, then rushing off to another meeting with other Spartan generals. He then had 10 minutes to eat before continuing with his schedule. What made this day so much worse is how he work up this morning.

Kassandra was sound asleep, tucked against his side, hair all across her face, occasionally snoring. At first, he thought he was dreaming but, the more he woke up the more he realised it was real and she was real. His heart started an unbearable pace that kept fading and reappearing at the worst times. He was mid conversation, listening to the young King Agesipolis when the image of Kassandra drifted back into his mind, near enough making his heart skip a beat.

Brasidas finally flopped back on the bed, my mind like an ocean just filled with thoughts of her. This has never happened before, both waking up with her against him and not being able to shake her from his thoughts. He’s always been able to be professional when working, pushing whatever thoughts back to the deep recesses of his mind. But Eros & Aphrodite seemed to making it their mission to plague him with thoughts of her.

He was unsure of how long he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts doing backflips, swinging from strategy and war to Kassandra, sleeping peacefully. However, he heard movement downstairs in the entrance, then thudding as if someone was stomping their way through the house. There was only one person who moved like an elephant when they think they’re alone.  

And there she was, Kassandra, with a black eye, looking exceptionally pissed off. Brasidas fought the urge to bolt up off the bed and interrogate her until she told him what happened, instead carefully rising up from his lying position, concern painting his features. “What happened?” he asked, standing up and moving towards her.

“Oh, you know, Alexios,” she said nonchalantly, folding her arms across her chest, as she did, “I felt like hitting someone but, unlike most people, he knows how to hit back.” She was posturing it as if nothing was wrong, however, as a frequent culprit himself, Brasidas knows when there's something wrong. Plus, despite Kassandra’s ardent belief that Alexios and Deimos are different people, Brasidas can’t look at her younger brother, without squeezing the wound on his leg and thinking of Pylos and he can’t even remember what happened at Amphipolis. (Kassandra continually ignores his question of what happened, glancing off to another topic.) Brasidas did not trust Alexios and would personally murder the man if he left Kassandra with any lasting wounds.

However, Brasidas took her word for it, although, he was intrigued as to why she wanted to hit something. He supposed that she is a misthios and fights on a near enough day to day basis, maybe she just wanted to keep herself sharp, just in case. “Let me go get a cloth,” Brasidas said, before briefly going down stairs, grabbing a cloth, soaking it in the bucket of clean water, ringing it out and returning to Kassandra. “Hold it over your eye, it should reduce the swelling.” He told her, folding the cloth and placing it over her eye until she held it herself.

“I could’ve done this myself,” she told him, herself sufficient attitude surfacing. He assumes it something that growing up on Kephallonia taught her, not to rely on others when you can rely on yourself. Whereas Sparta, for all it’s tough love, teaches camaraderie and protecting your fellow soldier. Brasidas sometimes wonders if their relationship would be different if she was raised in Sparta. What would they be? Who would she be?

“Thank you,” Kassandra said, taking the cloth off her eye for a moment, blinking and putting it back on, “for the cloth and for breakfast this morning.” Brasidas, sat back on the edge of the bed, taking his grieves off, looked up at her for a moment and smiled softly.

Between the two of them, they cooked a rabbit for dinner, Kassandra kept trying to tell him that it was going to burn but, Brasidas kept telling her that he had cooked hundreds of rabbits and has never burnt one. It was a little burnt. Throughout dinner, she kept telling him, “I told you so.”  

Brasidas went up to bed first, sitting under the sheets reading war plans to go over tomorrow at a meeting, the candle light making it only just visible. Kassandra soon followed, (her armour removed earlier that evening) and she sat next to him, reading over his shoulder, taking the cloth off her eye. “That’s... a lot of troops,” she said, sounding a little surprised, “are you going to be one of them?”

Brasidas put the plans down, “yes, Archidamos wants experienced Generals to defend Arcadia from Athens.” He knew, that for once, the weakening of Arcadia wasn’t Kassandra’s fault, it was some pesky mercenary that Athens hired. “With luck from the Gods, it shouldn’t take too long.” He sighed, knowing that it would be a difficult campaign, even with Lagos still Archon, but it would be a vital foothold for Sparta.

“Well, if you need help, you know where I am.” Kassandra offered. Brasidas knew how much she had helped (and hindered) Sparta in its conquests, mostly in Megaris, Pylos and supposedly Amphipolis. “For Drachmae, of course,” she teased, elbowing him in the side, chuckling.

“For all you joke, Sparta may actually need you,” he replied, a little seriously for what she was probably expecting. He looked over at her; the black eye, given to her by Alexios, looked as if it was starting to go down. “Let me have a look,” he said as he leaned forward, then looked back, having a different angle but a better look at her eye. “Archidamos will want an exciting story for that black eye,” he warned, a hint of teasing in his voice as he directed the conversation away from battle plans.

“And he’ll get one,” she started, a victorious smile on her face, “of me pommelling my malakas brother!”  

Brasidas let out an unexpected bark of a laugh, the look on Kassandra’s face went from amused to confusion. Was he not meant to find it funny? Did she actually beat her brother into the ground? Either way, Brasidas was sure the change in the look on her face was not a good one, so he asked, “What’s with that look? Was that not meant to be funny.”

Kassandra quickly put herself back together, a placid look on her face, although whatever she was feeling was betrayed by the blood rising to the top of her ears. She lay down, pulled the sheet over herself and abruptly said, “it’s nothing, good night.”  

Brasidas was the epitome of confusion, spending a moment dwelling on what he said, what he did before accepting that he’d never figure it out. He blew out the candle and settled to sleep himself.

[black-strike-otp]

part 65

Ohohohohoho~ A long chapter awaits you, dear readers~

“Good to have you back in charge around here, Blackout,” Guard acknowledged with soft-spoken relief as signs of strain alleviated from his tired vintage form. A comforting shine moved through his darkened cobalt optics as he reached forward to grasp the slightly larger mech firmly on the shoulder.

The undefined smile on Satan’s face grew more pronounced. He felt caught up in a dream. A couple nights ago he was admitting his deepest affection and feelings to the femme he trusted to show his true self to and now it felt like he hadn’t stopped smiling since.

Now back on duty, he had tasks and chores to perform once again. He longed for the work a fraction of which he longed to have Nova and Scorponok and all these bots in his life, but he felt incomplete without a function and this was his. Helping to run the Rising Star gave him that sense of purpose he would always crave; a duty to be served.

“Glad to be back, sir,” he addressed the worn bot he would always consider his superior no matter their titles.

Guard grinned in response, chuckling as he shook Blackout’s shoulder gently. “Going a bit stir crazy stuck under medical care, hmm?”

“Quite, sir,” he admitted.

“Blackout, what did I say about all these ‘sir’s?”

“Apologies Guard. It’s habit.”

“All bots are equal on this ship, Blackout,” Guard reminded him. “It’s simply the commanders who help to define the order and make sure every bot is accommodated for and given their fair share of work to relaxation so we don’t delve into chaos.”

“Of course, sir.”

Rolling his optics, the elder mech gave a short vent and chuckled. Blackout offered a slightly uncertain shrug in response. He wasn’t exactly lying; it was certainly a difficult habit to break. He spent his life serving and respecting those he viewed above himself. Guard of all the bots he’d met deserved the utmost respect. He’d lived a long life prior to even the unrest of the Autobot/Decepticon war, even remembering the Golden Age in the depth of his processor.

A hard life like that and still managing to function and to support and command order among these bots; some faster and stronger and more capable than himself, he claimed his spot through determination and care. Guard was the most selfless and understanding mech. To not honor him was a crime.

“I understand your need to get up and move around,” the old bot reasoned with a nod. “I go a bit loony spending too much time sitting too.”

“Really?” Blackout drawled teasingly. “I never would have guessed.”

“Son if I had half the energy I did only a few vorns ago, I would bring your sarcastic aft to the ground,” Guard threatened with a hearty laugh.

Optics flashing, Blackout grinned as he mused, “I’m sure you still could, sir.”

“Oh, right,” Guard agreed with a scoff. “With my bum leg, I’m sure.”

Blackout shrugged in response. He would never underestimate that old mech, that’s for sure.

“I’ll leave you to your business here in the bridge, then,” commented the old mech. “You seem to have everything under control.”

“Doing my very best, sir,” Blackout confirmed as his shadowy red optics flared with life.

“I know you are,” Guard agreed, squeezing his shoulder gently. He gave a final pat on the ebony mech’s thick armor before turning with a smile and hobbling towards the door.

Blackout watched him go with some concern before turning his gaze back onto his datapad. Maybe later he’d see about those prisoners and get some measurements. One of them just might have the right size appendage to give Guard a little more pep back into his step.

~

“What ya smirkin’ so much for short stuff?”

“Maybe I’m just in a good mood today,” Novastrike responding, sticking out her glossia to the mech. “Now am I going to get a ride over to the Revenge II, or are all of you going to pester me all day about how happy I appear?”

Sniggering, a few of the mechs bumped shoulders lightly as they looked between each other.

“Gettin’ frisky in the berth, ain’t ya?” a femme chimed in.

“Guys, don’t project your own aroused thoughts on me and sick fantasies,” the little femme huffed, shuttering her optics as she gave a disappointed shake of her helm.

“I don’t need to,” a mech purred, grinding the side of his hip against one of the mech’s standing close to him. “I have a pretty healthy interface life.”

“Gross.”

“Mmm mech you know it~”

“Called it.”

“Classy mech, classy.”

“All of you need to seriously find things to talk about,” Nova murmured with a slight shudder. “I didn’t need to know all that.”

“All that?” echoed the mech with a gleam in his gaze. “Femme I could give you some tips~”

“Oh please don’t.”

“No bot needs the nitty gritty mech.”

Nova dragged her servo over her faceplate. She cared for each and every bot on this ship, but sometimes, they were the worst roommates and family.

“All of you need your processors defragged,” she quietly grumbled.

“Ha! Defragged, I get it-”

Raising her arm, Novastrike pointed an index digit to the ceiling as she shook her helm. “Ahh. No.”

“But-”

“Stop.”

“But-”

“Cease immediately,” she vented heavily. “I just need a lift over to the Revenge II. Could any of you just provide me a ride before we get distracted again?”

“I got ya tiny,” a femme flier spoke up, stepping forward. “By the way, I’m sorry on behalf of these bots. They’ve got their processors in their interface panels.”

“Like ya ain’t ever got down and dirty with sparks flying as you-”

Novastrike shut off her audios, staring impassively at the mech speaking up before another reached over and grabbed his helm, laughing as he pushed him down. She didn’t trust to turn her reception back on until she was sure everyone was either caught up in laughter or their mouthplate wasn’t moving as though talking.

“I’m ready now,” Nova proclaimed as she set her gaze upon the femme.

Nodding her helm somewhat timidly, the bigger femme took a step back and shifted around her armor until she transformed fully into her flier alt-mode. She was bulkier and much boxier than Blackout’s alt-mode, but definitely smaller; only offering a single seated section upon her cockpit.

Taking a few steps back, Novastrike calculated the angle of her jump and pounced, landing in the cockpit just as the femme opened up the hatch.

“Woah- nice jump but uh, careful inside there,” the femme laughed. “Don’t want to land on the right button or something.”

“Right, sorry,” murmured the smaller femme. Like she didn’t have experience inside of a flier.

Seating herself, Novastrike remained patient as the hatch came down and locked upon her. The femme’s engines roared to life and came to a quiet purr. Some of the gauges, levelers, and blinking lights flashed on the control panel in front of the little femme and she raised an optic ridge curiously.

Lifting up from the docking bay’s floor, the flier zipped out with a burn of her thrusters into the darkness. Nova turned her optics up at the tethers that latched the Revenge II to the Rising Star, anchoring it to the small transporter. The battle cruiser was being tugged along fine by all measures. Gravity was helping it along now more than the motion of the Rising Star as they just barely were burning their own fuel at the moment to conserve it rather than try lugging the larger ship after it.

“The fasteners been checked today on the connections?”

“Yes ma’am,” the flier responded cheerfully. “All connections secure and sturdy, no wear or tear on the chains.”

“Glad to hear that,” the small femme reported with a nod.

As they sped up and zoomed past the Revenge II, Novastrike glanced along the exterior of the vessel. It looked worse day by day as more and more destroyed panels broke away to reveal just how hammered the ship had been. Not to mention that the members of the Rising Star had been excavating it and replacing their own battered hull with its thicker armory platting. Before long there was going to be bare bones and mostly shattered and blackened plates left. What good panels may remain after they finished their own repairs was probably still going to be removed and set aside in case of future use.

The flier took a fairly sharp turn as they made their way to the lower hatch beneath the ship. There was clearly a wide berth of space of them to dispatch many fliers and seekers all at once. She cruised slowly up the lowered section of metal and settled on to the floor.

As the cockpit opened and Novastrike climbed out, her optics whisked around the empty room.

“Where’s the crew?” Nova whispered, inhaling slowly to bring in the swirling scents that may still be in the room.

“Maybe they’re changing shifts, ma’am?” the flier asked with confusion.

“No no no, they change shifts on the floor,” Novastrike insisted, shaking her helm. Her audios straightened, making minute adjustments in direction as she hopped off the femme and looked around.

“Ma’am?” the large femme cautiously whispered, her voice shaky.

Novastrike turned back towards the flier, offering a gentle smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she informed the femme quickly, “But perhaps head back to the Rising Star and speak with one of the other commanders, see what’s going on. We can’t get comm’s through to the Rising Star from this distance with the Revenge II’s electronic interference system since we’re not on the bridge.”

“Right away, miss,” the bulky femme barked in response. Her thrusters growled back to life as Novastrike took a few hurried steps away so that she could lift up and turn around to exit the ship.

Lifting her servo up in the air so the femme’s viewers could spot her, Novastrike held the smile on her faceplate. She waited until the flier had disappeared from her view entirely before turning her sharp gaze back, looking in every direction of the room.

It was empty. No palettes waiting for transport, no freights or deliveries or supplies, no nothing. It was completely deserted. Not a single bot in sight.

She inhaled deeper, drinking in the air as she casually walked towards the door that would lead her inside the ship. Her pedes hesitated a few steps as she moved closer to the entryway.

Reaching down to her hips, a pair of gun handles popped up from her thighs. She grasped the carefully, pinging the entry code to the entrance so it would open.

A wafting aroma of blood-energon assaulted her senses.

Bringing her pistols together so that they merged into her assault rifle, Novastrike stepped into the Revenge II.

~

Strolling down the corridor, Nova felt a prickly sensation like she was being watched. There were no signs of the troops from the Rising Star sent to maintenance and oversee the ship anywhere, yet the lingering odor of blood remained thick in the air. With each room she passed there was no evidence of any bot. It was simply a ghost town.

Chills racing down her spine, Novastrike headed towards the one area she felt she might get the answers she was looking for: the containment area.

Trotting quickly past rooms, Novastrike looked through the open thresholds and blasted open areas still scarred and scorched from battle. No matter which direction she looked, there didn’t seem to be any bot on the ship.

What the slag was going on over here?

Huffing loudly, the small femme bounded up to the only closed door on the entire vessel: the prisoner’s keep.

“This is Novastrike, requesting entry.”

The door remained sealed, the red light indicating it was locked.

“Novastrike, requesting entry.”

Nothing.

Venting, the femme locked her rifle against her backside and swung her arms back and forth. Her hips swiveled slightly, tail lashing, and then she jumped, barely managing to clutch her digits against the rim of the locking system.

Grunting, she raised a single servo and slapped it against the scanner.

A beam of light fluxed out and the light for the room turned green. “Identity Novastrike acknowledged. Welcome, commander,” a recorded monotone greeted her.

“At least something’s still working around here,” she muttered, dropping down from the scanner and to the floor.

Bouncing lightly on her pedes, Nova gave herself a slight shake as she reached back for her rifle and entered into the jail room.

Walking down the passageway, she scanned each room as she passed with a haunting realization.

There was no bot in here.

Not a single one.

“By the Allspark,” she breathed, feeling queasy.

A sudden crash from behind her sent shockwaves rippling through the floor and a bolt of adrenaline laced fear racing up Novastrike’s backstrut.

“Good guess,” a grating voice sneered. “Because that’s exactly where you’ll be heading next.”

Spinning around, Novastrike raised her rifle up to the mech who stood behind her. His elongated clawed digits reached down to pull a weapon hanging from his hip.

Flicking her optics around with confusion, Nova quickly realized where the fragger had come from. There were gouges in the ceiling above her.

Stupid, he must have been magnetized and clinging up among the beams to keep himself hidden.

Next time look up you fragger, she cursed herself.

Letting out a hail of plasma-fire on the mech’s servo, he hissed in pain and retracted his digits from his weapon. It fumbled and fell to the floor in front of him.

To the left and right of the mech, the air suddenly seemed to shimmer.

Slag, cloaking devices.

Reaching back, Novastrike placed her rifle back on her backside and ran as hard and as fast as her pedes would carry her as plumes of fire bellowed out from nowhere.

Skating by the first mech’s pedes as he tried to stomp her, Novastrike swiveled and pulled free her gun to fire upon the invisible forces, directly in the position that the flames came erupting out of.

The cloaking devices fritzed as the flamethrowers exploded in a gaseous shower of sparks and fire, burning up the mechs holding the weapons with shrieks of surprise.

Talons turned back to her with his weapon in servo now, ugly mug sneering. Before Nova could manage an ‘oh scrap’, the gravity compression gun went off with a bang.

Flying down the hall, Novastrike went crashing into the floor and hurtled senselessly along until she came to a slow stop near the end of the lengthy chamber.

“I’m goin’ to enjoy crushin’ you like a bug,” the mech laughed, strolling after her. To his left and his right, scorched figures slowly limped after him with menacing grins.

Lifting her helm, Novastrike peered at the trio with a grimace. Pressing her pede to the floor, she jumped to her pedes as the center mech lifted his weapon to her.

The floor blasted in every direction. Fragments sank into Novastrike’s frame and pelted the three mechs.

Snapping her rifle up, Novastrike let loose a barrage on the three as they brought their arms away from shielding their optics.

Roaring with fury, a mech shifted his arm into a re-modified scatter blaster attachment. The wide ray of explosive slugs had Nova hopelessly dashing down the hall to try avoiding the onslaught.

“Slag slag slag slag slag,” the femme huffed, charging down the hall as fast as she could. Each blast of the scatter blaster came with a chorus of laughter as she weaved wildly to avoid the flying debris that came with it and the whizzing sound of its energy-based explosive material flying by her.

Jumping from the floor to the opposing wall, she whipped around to leg out a spray of plasma upon the mechs.

One mech raised up his arm, producing a shield from a compartment on his arm. The other reached to his chassis compartment to pull out a photon displacer.

Novastrike offlined her audios just a hair fraction before the displacer went off. Her senses suddenly went erratic from the frequency notes; optics blacking out into white-noise.

She drove their scents sharply as she onlined her audio receptors again.

Her ear twitched and she dropped and rolled to the right as the scatter blaster went off again. Blinded she could only jerk to avoid some of the shrapnel flying at her backside, flinching as it tore into her protoform.

Vibrations moved through the floor.

Leaping back, Novastrike narrowly missed being pancaked by one of the mech’s pedes.

“No reason to play hard to get now,” snarled a mech.

Novastrike flicked her ears erratically. She pitched to the left and dove forward as two bots made a grab for her. There was a distinctive thud of metal against metal as the pair collided, cursing each other angrily.

Dashing forward still, a blast from the scatter blaster hit the floor and had the two arguing mechs howling with anger and pain as they were coated in molten metal and flying waste. Novastrike clumsily raised her rifle nanokliks later, adjusted slightly, and fired.

“FRAG!”

Swinging her gun over her shoulder, she fired again.

Another bot cursed.

“Do you even know how to use that photon displacer you slagger? She can still see!”

“No she can’t, look at her optics! They’re colorless!”

“Then why does she still know where we are?!”

Pivoting, Novastrike fired again and jumped, feeling the ground shake beneath her. Something slid beneath her pedes, she couldn’t determine what, but she wasn’t going to play the guessing game on it and lose focus.

Flipping around, she popped off a few more shots as one of the mech’s sucked in too heavily.

“Primus be fragged!”

Fractures of light and distorted colors began to flicker into Novastrike’s vision as she landed.

Something was off. A smell, a new smell, there was a fourth-

Whoever they were, they were far more nimble on their pedes. Before she could pick up on their exact position they were upon her, and as she tried to dart out of the way, something hit her. Hard.

Energon splattered out of Novastrike’s mouth as she hit the floor. Something made an unsavory snap and crunched inside of her as part of her chassis was pulverized by the blow.

She went to roll over, clutching her chassis. More images were beginning to flicker into her optics gradually; the scraps of metal on the busted up floor coming in and out of vision and the look of energon dripping on the floor from her mouth.

Some bot hit her again and she went sprawling useless across the floor.

A low whistle emitted from one of the mechs. “Nice nucleon shock gauntlets, femme. Haven’t seen those in a long time.”

“I thought they were illegal.”

“They are,” purred a feminine voice.

“Mind if I give ‘em a try-”

“No. We can hardly expect you morons to take care of one- what is that?- minicon?”

“But she’s fiesty,” whined one of the mechs.

“And so am I,” the femme icy stormed in retort.

Rolling over to her back, Novastrike let out an exhale, coughing on energon. Her ears were ringing with pain, but her sight was returning to her now. She could make out the definition of ceiling, and the shapes of the bots shadows as they moved to approach her.

She couldn’t just remain laying here, feeling sorry for herself and wallowing in agony.

Arching her back, Novastrike flipped backwards and on her pedes.

As she looked up, the figure of the femme looking at her came into view. She cocked an optic ride down to Nova and the foggy appearance of her cruel smile flowed through the small femme’s fuzzy gaze.

“You know, I like you tiny,” the pirate femme remarked with a grin. “You got spunk. Tell you what: you give up now, I won’t break your pretty face. I can get you on some bot’s good side. What do you say?”

Hacking up a mouth full of energon, Novastrike spat it on the floor as she reached down to pick up her rifle from the floor.

“I’ll pass.”

The ruthless grin stretched sickeningly on the femme’s faceplate and she rolled her helm around on her shoulders.

“Very well.”

Saturation begin to bleed into Novastrike’s vision as the femme charged for her. Behind her, the triplet blockhelms raised their scatter blaster, gravity compression weapon, and photon displacer- which the later realized might not be the best of arsenal in a group fight and quickly replaced it to his subspace to transform his arm into a cannon.

Playing his thoughts to the wove pattern of her attackers, Novastrike dove to the side and rolled into a kneel to let fire at the mech’s standing back. Two ducked to the side easily but one was caught in a splatter of plasma, lurching with pain as he stumbled back.

Flicking her ears back, Novastrike lunged forward as the femme’s knuckled came crashing down where she’d just been. Stumbling to her pedes she turned, flinging her arm with her digit on the trigger.

The femme howled with torment as her face was splashed directly with the corrosive acid. Tilting to the side, Nova ran shots from the floor to the mech’s pedes and up their chassis.

One fired their scatter blaster. Sprinting recklessly Novastrike dropped and slid by, curving her arm around to discharge her weapon along the mech’s legs and spines as she skipped and did a frontal past them.

Sparks fluttered off the mechs. One kicked out at her and missed as she jumped over his swing and fired into his knee joint.

As he stumbled and his friends began to circle around, she jumped up the mech’s chassis, scaled part of his armor and as he went to slap at her leaped up and fired at the mech’s throat.

Energon spewed out. Nova dropped down to the floor as the mech clutched his neck, gagging on his life substance.

One of the others went to snap up his gravity compressor. Novastrike fired into the muzzle before the mech could even think about firing. It exploded outward into the mech’s arm and he gave a shriek of pain.

Dipping, the little femme winded around to avoid the other mech’s shield as it clipped the ground just a breath away from her as though he intended to squash her.

With a groan as pain flared up like fire in his veins, Nova darted to the side as the mech’s pede came upon the crumbling floor. A torrent of metal shards went hurtling in every direction as part of his pede was swallowed by a hole it created in the floor.

A particularly gnarly splinter for a bot was like a sword to the tiny femme. One speared her in the leg and she sucked in a breath, dropping to her good knee as she fell. Energon gushed out of her leg and puddled to the floor.

As the offlining mech finally collapsed face first into the floor, the other two turned their furious gazes towards Novastrike.

She didn’t hesitate. Reaching to the side of her leg, she ripped out the shard and a trail of energon and sparks and ripped circuits followed it.

With cat-like speed and reflex as shards of metal still tumbled to the floor, Novastrike chucked the piece of metal like a throwing knife. The mech gurgled and squealed, clawing at his face as the metal shard exploded his optic into glassy fragments and pierced his processor.

Coiling his arm back like a viper ready to strike, the final mech snapped his servo into a fist and raised his shield. He made to strike at Nova as she stumbled back, but even as he missed, something struck him from behind as a shadow fell over both him and the small femme.

Nova barely had time to throw herself out of the way as the femme’s fist struck the ground; the power of the nucleon shock gauntlets devastating the floor into further disarray and buckling metal.

Both the mech behind the mad femme and Nova before her looked terrified as she turned her furious dark optics upon Nova. There was holes in her faceplate leaking energon, some of which had leaded over her one of her optics that had cracks webbing over the surface.

“Here, kitty kitty,” the femme snarled, launching herself forward.

Novastrike reacted on instinct, bringing up her rifle as the femme’s fist connected with it. She was hurtled back, slamming into the far wall with a loud whoosh of air escaping her in shock and pain.

Shaking the dazed feeling out of her processor, Nova looked up a nanoklik too late.

The femme pummeled a fist into Novastrike’s chassis, slamming her rifle into her. She sucked in sharply, gasping as energon coughed up from her mouth. The wall behind her warped inward with a loud moan as she indented into the metal itself.

With a gleam in her optics, the femme raised her other servo.

Novastrike knew she didn’t want to be hit by those fists again.

The barb on her tail slid open and she impulsively began to stab into the gauntlet snaking up the femme’s servo and knuckles that was pressed into her. She retracted and stabbed again and again wildly, shrinking back against the wall despite the femme’s fist coming to her.

It stopped part of the way as the femme suddenly yanked backward. Charges and sparks filtered out of the gauntlets as it began to overload. And when those things overloaded...

Peeling herself from the wall as the femme desperately tried to rip the gauntlet from her arm, Novastrike staggered awkwardly and collapsed on the floor. She dragged in air, feeling each breath bring a fresh wave of agony tearing through her and more energon dripping from her maw. In her haze, she’d dropped her rifle somewhere on the floor.

There was a sudden explosive bang behind her and Novastrike flinched, looking back at the femme as she let out a sob. Her arm was just... missing. From around her elbow down, it was simply gone where the nucleons had burned up and exploded outward.

“I’ll kill you, you stupid bitch!” the femme screeched, slamming her only servo to the floor as she lurched forward, intending to crawl if she had to.

Terror suffocated the little femme. Flipping onto her aft, she scooted backwards as the femme tried to stand up, her optics mad with rage.

The only mech left online was on his pedes now, and grimacing as he stepped around the femme. She grabbed at his leg and he kicked her off, bringing up his shield and cannon as he gestured down to Novastrike.

“I wish I could say it’s been fun, but it hasn’t,” the mech stated. “And we got work to do, little femme.”

“Don’t you dare kill her, that femme is mine!”

Ignoring his furious partner, the mech shrugged as he brought up his cannon. “Say g’night, tiny.”

She was defenseless. Her optics widened a small fraction as she brought her arm up, as if that would keep her safe from the blast.

“Goodnight,” a venomous growl rumbled in the air.

That voice...

Novastrike brought her arm away from her faceplate just in time to see Guard raise up his cannon and fire at the mech. Behind him, three other mechs were fanned out, raining carefully timed blasts at the pirate as he went to try backpedaling.

The white-armored femme’s mouth went agape. Where was Guard’s cane? What was the old mech doing?

She whipped her helm back to the Rising Crew member’s and then to the mech that Guard was facing off with, witnessing as he dropped to his knees. Novastrike flinched as Guard grabbed his helm with one servo and placed his cannon against the side of the mech’s helm and fired, splattering his processor and energon like a horrific crime scene all over the ship.

Guard turned his blazing optics on to the femme. She pressed up against the wall, raising her servos in surrender.

“Please, spare me-”

With a blank expression, Guard brought up his cannon. “I don’t think so,” he grunted, firing.

Nova cringed at the carnage.

Just as her voice crackled, trying to find words, the three mechs rushed forward. One made for Guard, and the other two came to Novastrike’s side, dropping down beside her.

Keeping her optics on the old commander of the Rising Star, she watched as the mech offered Guard his cane and tried to help keep the mech standing as a crutch. Guard pressed a servo to the wall for support and whispered something she couldn’t hear over the mech’s questioning her and reaching out tentatively as if to touch her.

Slapping the mech’s servos away, Nova forced herself to stand. She spat the energon out of her mouth that coated her glossia and hobbled forward uncertainly. She swept her gaze over the brace on Guard’s leg and up to his faceplate. What had just been stern and completely sparkless was now embarrassed and gentle as he tried waving off the mech trying to offer him his cane.

“Guard? What are you doing here?”

The old mech turned his optics down towards Nova, raising an optic ridge.

“The femme flier who couriered you over here came to me saying you had a report to bring to the first commander she spotted. I just so happened to be close to the hatch bay. Although it appears bringing a small squadron like I did may have been an under-sight considering the condition of this ship...”

“Sir,” Nova strained patiently as she reached down to rub her aching leg. “You’re in no condition to-”

The old mech’s optics grew extraordinary bright as he snatched his cane from the mech. Waving it at Nova, he tapped it upon the floor as he straightened his posture.

“Never tell an old mech what he can’t and can do,” he sternly stated. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She was stumped. Clearly she couldn’t argue with him, when he’d just offlined two Decepticons in front of her as casually as if taking a stroll down the hall.

“Yes- Yes sir,” she stammered.

“Good,” the elderly mech stated with a nod. “Now, I think we should head towards the jail cells-”

“Sir, there’s no one in the cells. I can’t find a bot anywhere. These goons-” she gestured to the deceased bots strewn about, “came after me. Two were using cloaking devices and one dangling among rafters in the cell, and the femme came out of nowhere in the middle of the brawl.”

Giving a sharp nod of his helm with understanding, Guard looked up at the three mechs. He turned his optics on to each one in turn.

“Two of you stay behind and check every room for any bots who might be hiding, damaged, or otherwise anywhere on the ship. There were crew from the Rising Star here too keeping watch. The other one, return to the Rising Star and get more help. Novastrike and I will head for the bow of the vessel and see if we can’t get out a message as well to the Rising Star and see if there’s any bots up there trying to make contact or Primus forbid, get this cruiser operational and running again.”

Hesitating, Guard turned his faceplate down to Novastrike once more. “Unless you’re too injured. I would understand young one. Can you walk on your leg?”

“I’m fine, commander,” she assured him swiftly, moving her damaged leg. “I might limp a bit, but it’s just a flesh wound.”

The old mech grunted, and then chuckled in response. “You’re a strong little femme,” he commented. “I’d be wreathing in pain back in my youth over a wound like that.”

She wanted to. Primus, she wanted to. Her leg was throbbing. But she wanted to see this through.

“Take their weapons,” Guard stated towards the mechs. “Stay safe.”

“Shouldn’t you take a weapon, sir?” one of them cautiously asked.

Guard gave a wave of his servo. “We’ll be fine. Make sure that whoever goes back to the ship fetches Blackout. He’s our best fighter; and I’m sure he’ll want to come for himself to make sure Novastrike’s okay.”

If her helm wasn’t aching so much and she wasn’t feeling the pulse of pain move with each throb of her spark, she might have blushed.

“Aye, Guard, sir.”

Ambling carefully over the structurally unsound floor, Novastrike picked up her plasma rifle. She inspected it’s exposed canister carefully and looked over it. Although somewhat bent, it seemed okay. She supposed she wouldn’t know until she fired it, or tried transforming it back into her pistols.

Turning back carefully, she glanced up to the mech as he faltered over on his bad appendage over to her. His smile was softened but his optics spoke of concern.

“I’m sorry I had to do that in front of you,” he said quietly.

Nova shrugged in response. “Don’t worry about it, sir,” she vented. “How do you think the other two came to be offlined?”

The mech frowned slowly. He appeared dreadfully sorrowful for a moment.

“I’m sorry you had to do that. I know it is not your choosing to-”

“It’s fine,” she cut in. “I’d rather not discuss it. Or at least, not right now. Let’s head to the bridge.”

Bowing his helm deeply with respect, the old mech spoke with kindness as he usually did as he agreed: “Let’s, young one.”

~

Shuffling down the passageway and over the rubbish from the hard-fought battle, the duo skimmed over the rooms they passed as they made their way through the Revenge II. Just as Nova had seen before, the room’s appeared empty that they passed as they made their way to the upper deck and to the bridge.

“It’s empty,” Nova noted as the doors opened in front of them. “Where else could all the bots that had been be? Where could they have gone?”

With a pondering expression, Guard limped ahead of her. He gingerly leaned into his cane as he reached out, tapping a few keys on the command console.

“According to the logs, nobody’s been in here recently trying to operate the systems,” he muttered thoughtfully.

The two exchanged glances.

While Guard moved to stand by the door, Novastrike walked around the room. She extended her senses; coughing on the energon coating her insides and making it hard to get a good reading with her olfactory sensors. Her ears weren’t picking up on anything unusual and no matter what she looked in or under, there appeared to be no bot in the room. There was even some layers of dust and dried energon not moved since the ship had been shut down and the bots surrendered.

“I don’t get it,” she hissed with frustration. “Did everyone but those four just, disappear?”

“That’s not possible,” Guard fumed, pacing in a shambling walk in front of the door. “We had bots over here, good, hard working bots keeping an optic on everyone. How could they all have just left? They wouldn’t do such a thing. Somebot would have wanted to report the disturbance. Tell me, did anything appear unusual down in the jail cells?”

“No, not at all. No signs of trauma or struggle, no bodies, nothing. They were just... empty.”

Stroking his chin, Guard paused in front of the door. “How very strange...”

A warble came through Novastrike’s comm and she jumped. She’d forgotten that communication’s worked inside the ship, just didn’t project out of it.

“We... need help...” rasped a voice, “please.”

Novastrike and Guard’s optics met.

“The two seekers you had inspect the ship,” Nova voiced with worry.

Pressing a digit to his helm, Guard spoke feverishly, “Where are you? Tell us where you are, we’ll come for you.”

There was no response.

“Think, where could they be, where would bots go on this slagging ship,” the old mech asked in exasperation, dragging his servo now over his helm as though he intended to rip into is helm for the answer.

The two were silent. Musing. And then, Nova remembered something.

“This ship has an evacuation area,” she suddenly shouted, surprising even herself. “What if the bots escaped? What if they took the escape pods and left?”

“That’s a far stretch, how would that many bots-”

“Sir, where else is there? The destroyed docking station? The medic’s station?”

Taken aback by the fierce determination in the femme’s words, Guard nodded fiercely. His optics were wide for a moment and then he seemed to smile for a split nanoklik. He seemed to like the fire in her, the commanding presence.

“Alright, lead the way,” he confidently answered. “You’ve been over here more than I have to keep bots in line, and you knew of the area of the ship I wasn’t even aware of.”

The very idea of continuing to walk made Novastrike cringe internally. Her leg was killing her. She hurt all over. She was no warrior; this was not her calling. She just wanted to get patched up, be sent back to her room and curl up on Blackout’s chassis where it was safe and warm and he would praise her endlessly and lull her into a good recharge despite her whining.

But the praise wouldn’t be worth it, sweet and true if she couldn’t do this. There were mechs in trouble on this ship, and many more missing members of her ship and crew. She had to make sure they were okay, her own wanting could wait.

Nodding her helm, Nova vented shortly as she answered, “Certainly, sir.”

Hurrying in front of Guard and ignoring her jostling leg, the femme tracked her way down the corridor and down to the lower levels. She tried not to make it obvious as she glanced over her shoulder to keep an optic on Guard. When he started falling too far behind, she tried to limp a little more and play on her injury. She could move better on it then she pretended too despite the pain, but she didn’t want to seem like she was pitying the old mech and offend him for his sluggish hobble.

Whether he realized what she was doing or not, she couldn’t determine from their brief moment’s of optic contact. He simply looked intense and focused to his core. Mouth set, optics bright and staring forward.

It made her spark swell with pride. This was the sort of mech to follow. True and courageous; a fighter as well as a protector. He didn’t speak words, he held them to his spark and he did what he could for the good of those around him. She only prayed she could be more like him with time.

“This way, commander,” she urged, skipping down a few steps. “The chamber’s just over here to our left.”

Guard grunted in response. He grimaced down at the stairs, and Novastrike hesitated and came to a complete pause as she waited for him to make his way down the five single steps to meet her.

That feeling of being watched prickled on her senses. She looked to the ceiling and around her wearily. Spitting out the energon from her mouth, she kept it slightly open to help bring in the swirling air around her, inhaling to get a better sense of what was around her.

Novastrike instantly doubled over and vomited.

Panicked by her strange reaction, Guard hastened down the last few steps and dragged his leg after himself as he hurried over towards her.

“Novastrike? Nova? Nova, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Oh... it stinks,” she gasped through the energon dripping from her mouth, shivering violently all over.

“What stinks?”

Desperately trying not to breathe in, she wheezed out her next words: “Don’t you smell the rot?”

Raising his optic ridges, Guard glanced left and right. Novastrike suspected he was taking in the senses through his olfactory senses as well.

Light flickered in his optics sharply and he grumbled unpleasantly.

“Something’s been offline down here for a while,” he muttered.

“Not something. Somebots,” Nova insisted. “Many of them.”

The twosome turned their optics slowly to the door to their left.

“Novastrike, stay here-”

“And let you go in there alone?”

Guard appeared both desperate, and stern all at once. “I’m commanding you to stay put!”

“You can’t order me around,” she reminded him in a snappy voice. “I’m a commanding officer too!”

That seemed to have thrown him for a loop. He opened his mouth, closed it, baffled.

“For your own good, youngling, please,” he urged. “There’s no telling what’s behind that door-”

A loud thud hit the door, causing the pair to jump.

“It’s fine; I’ll be fine,” she persisted, stepping towards the door. “Now come on, someone’s on the other side of that door and they might need help.”

Her ears swiveled back, hearing the curse quietly beneath Guard’s breath. She marched forward and held her breath despite his concerns. She could handle this. These were her friends and family too, she deserved to know if they were okay and what was going on.

The door opened as Guard tapped a single button, and a mech came sprawling out. Novastrike yelped, jumping back.

“Neutroboost?” Guard stated with alarm. “By the Primes, mech, you’re online!”

Coated in foul energon, the scrappy mech scrambled to his pedes. His optics were wide as he looked around, gasping for cleaner air.

“There was so many of them,” he babbled. “I- I tried to fend them off but I couldn’t-”

“Slow down, mech, easy. Tell us what happened,” Guard offered, reaching out to the startled younger commander.

“Don’t touch me!” Neutro shouted, almost angrily from Nova’s perspective as he reared back.

“Neutro, it’s fine, it’s only me,” the old mech encouraged with a soft-sparked smile as he extended his servo. “I’m not afraid of a little bit of bad energon-”

“I said don’t touch me!”

Twitching her ears towards the room, Novastrike turned her optics to see in horror the stacks of bodies thrown over each other. It was a massacre.

“By the Allspark, who did this?” she choked, stepping on top of part of a shattered back of a slaughtered bot that had fallen out of the homicidal scene and out of the room. She scanned the bloodbath that covered almost every inch of the room, with few spaces not crammed with stacks of bodies. There was bad energon on nearly every inch of the room.

Guard seemed to have stopped trying to insist on helping Neutroboost and stepped behind Novastrike, looking in. Although Nova wasn’t looking up to him, from the sudden exhale he made she could clearly imagine the look of terror and dismay on his face.

“All these bots...” he spoke quietly, voice trailing off.

Careful where she stepped, Nova moved over some of the bodies to follow a nearly bodiless trail that lead towards the escape pods. She glanced over them, noticing not a single one had been deployed.

Then she flinched, looking into the offlined optics of a bot on the very top of one of the piles. She knew that face.

She gazed around the room.

“The crew,” she whispered softly with terror. “The crew... is all right here.”

“Bless the souls of all these sparks lost too soon,” Guard spoke quietly as he followed behind Nova. She could hear him mistakenly step on sections of bots broken armor with his pedes as metal and glass crunched softly beneath his pedes. And behind him, there was the anxious shuffle of Neutro’s pedes.

“Do you recognize any bots from the Revenge II?” the elder mech asked quietly.

Peering at the faces with fear and a spark-wrenching sadness, Nova tried to see if she could identify anyone else. As she turned around, one of the piles began to shift and move.

A glint of a blaster caught her attention, and Novastrike let out a petrified scream as the thunderous blast went off.