Categories > Cartoons > Transformers
This war has gone too far. He knows it as if it were his only breath, feels the fact within his body like a blade cutting through flesh and bone. Gone are the majestic temples, the vast oceans, the castles that have guarded their place since the beginning of time. Gone are the laughter and the dreams. Everything is gone. Nothing remains.
His eyes roam the ruins of a major city, watching as flames consume the homes of millions, dispassionately making sure that no survivor escapes. He is aware that even his own troops fear him more than death. Somehow the thought amuses him. It would have made him chuckle were it not against the unspoken rules of his caste to express such emotions.
Once upon a time, before the war began, he was proud to be born into his caste. It had been an honour to be called a Decepticon warrior back then. An unimaginable honour, but also a duty that, when fulfilled in the way it deserves, demands a price that not many are able to pay.
Once upon a time, there was peace, there was a just reign between the two castes of Cybertron. He shared the throne with his brother in all but name, for a warrior can never be Prime. It was his duty to make the decisions that his gentle Prime-brother could not. He had to protect all of Cybertron. Even sometimes from the truth.
Thus began the war.
He admits to falling into battle fever, to becoming a small bit of a delusional madman. He admits to feeling pleasure when hunting and killing his enemies. He also admits to destroying the trust of the only being that still held his broken soul in any regard, though it is probably the only thing he regrets doing. He can still remember the day his heir ran away to follow the Prime.
Only a few days ago he had heard of his boy becoming Prime's second. He can joyfully admit that this city's destruction was a celebration of that fact. He is sure that the young one will not be very happy about it.
He wonders why he no longer cares.
His eyes roam the ruins of a major city, watching as flames consume the homes of millions, dispassionately making sure that no survivor escapes. He is aware that even his own troops fear him more than death. Somehow the thought amuses him. It would have made him chuckle were it not against the unspoken rules of his caste to express such emotions.
Once upon a time, before the war began, he was proud to be born into his caste. It had been an honour to be called a Decepticon warrior back then. An unimaginable honour, but also a duty that, when fulfilled in the way it deserves, demands a price that not many are able to pay.
Once upon a time, there was peace, there was a just reign between the two castes of Cybertron. He shared the throne with his brother in all but name, for a warrior can never be Prime. It was his duty to make the decisions that his gentle Prime-brother could not. He had to protect all of Cybertron. Even sometimes from the truth.
Thus began the war.
He admits to falling into battle fever, to becoming a small bit of a delusional madman. He admits to feeling pleasure when hunting and killing his enemies. He also admits to destroying the trust of the only being that still held his broken soul in any regard, though it is probably the only thing he regrets doing. He can still remember the day his heir ran away to follow the Prime.
Only a few days ago he had heard of his boy becoming Prime's second. He can joyfully admit that this city's destruction was a celebration of that fact. He is sure that the young one will not be very happy about it.
He wonders why he no longer cares.
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