Chapter Text
But we are not so unlucky: we are watchers. We are viewers. We observe, we react, and we march onward.
But unlike the pieces vital to this intricate game of fate, we are not bound by their passage of time.
We can leap back, we can pause vital moments, and in this case? We can leap forward.
Imagine this, just three years later: a galaxy slowly creeping closer towards its day of fate.
Unaware of the coming tide, save for a select few who can only cause ripples, in the hopes that waves will eventually form.
And while the Kanassan's aid in this part of the story is now more or less finished, the same cannot be said for the man who he helped, who helped him in exchange.
A man who's done all he can, who can only keep doing so as fear and paranoia slowly eat away at his essence.
A man with everything to lose.
And right now?
A man on yet another job.
Things had changed for him since Kanassa.
He'd started taking solo missions, more and more.
Whatever his employers could offer, he accepted eagerly, using the opportunities of bloodshed and conquest he had long since gotten tired of to make leaps and bounds in strength wherever and whenever he could absolutely, positively do so.
He kept his team as uninvolved as he could muster too, only ever bringing around those who were absolutely necessary for each mission.
But even so, he would frequently opt out for complete strangers more often than not, much to the chagrin of those he'd come to call comrades. Friends, even.
And yet... he couldn't quite let them go off and do their own thing either.
He kept them close. Trained them as hard as he could.
Put them through every regiment and grueling drill he could.
Not even his wife, the woman whose life he held in the highest regard, was free from this treatment.
In the time since he'd met Toolo, things had only gotten worse.
What he had was... broken.
Repairable, but not like this. Not now.
But he was stronger for it. He had to be.
Maybe they'd never look at him the same way again, but... at least he could keep them alive. Keep them safe. Keep them away from the visions. As far away from them as he could muster.
And he could keep doing that.
All he'd have to do is wrap this mission up... all he'd have to do is finish the job, and then he could go back home and continue his due diligence.
All he'd have to do is end this mark.
All he'd have to do... is kill a reminder of what he'd once had.
But no matter how much he wanted to just lift his arm and fire off a fatal blast... he just couldn't.
Things were a blur after that.
Names. Faces. Chain reactions that he seemed to forget.
And now here he was.
Any moment now, he'd be forced to make a decision: end it quick, get back home, and return to training up himself, Gine, and his squad.
Or fight for three people he barely even knows, all because they remind him of what he cut himself off from ever since Kanassa.
He'd get stronger either way, but... he just couldn't decide.
But fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, he didn't need to have a say in the matter.
A cavalcade of unfamiliar race cars drove onto the scene, each without a single driver at the helm.
One was a six-wheeled yellow racer, who immediately took on his true form.
Blue and white followed next, with his compatriots bringing up the rear.
Bardock and Gas were the only ones who could react fast enough, but alas, they were too late.
Four more cars came at them from the other side and changed form as well, the axe-wielder propelling his gestalt mate up into the air to knock their newest marks out of the sky.
Bardock felt his armor crack from the impact of being thrown back down to solid earth, but forced himself back up immediately.
That... that hadn't hurt as much as he thought it would.
But it still hurt nonetheless.
The axe-wielder then landed back down, a cocky grin on his face and just a hint of confusion in his glowing optics.
"Strange. Most fleshies usually burst apart from that first hit."
"And none of them survive being tossed into the ground either."
"You though... you're different."
"I'm gonna enjoy taking you apart, little dude."
The yellow one then slapped the axe-wielder on the back of his helm.
"Gah, Drag Strip, what was that for?!"
"When the eight of us talk it out with meatbags, I go first, Offroad. We've been over this a dozen fragging times already."
The blue and white one then put a hand on one of Drag Strip's shoulder spires.
"Hey, lay off the kid. He's not exactly been at this as long as us, now has he?"
Offroad nodded in affirmation, but Drag Strip just scoffed.
“He ain’t gonna get better if we keep coddling him, Breakdown. Besides, if he’s plenty old enough to hash it with us, then I think he can handle speaking up for himself.”
The especially crazed looking one was the next to speak up, opening with a hearty guffaw that put even the rest of his team on edge.
“He’s got a point though. Squishies aren’t exactly the toughest thing around, and yet these shmucks,” he stated, pointing at the Saiyan, the Heeters, the two Cerealians, and the Namekian, “are still standing. I don’t think they’re all quite on each other’s level though.”
“What do you think, Dead End?”
The bored looking robot just shrugged.
“I think you’re probably right, Wildrider. Doesn’t matter though: they’ll all end up like the rest we’ve taken down anyway,”
As the first five of the Stunticons continued to engage in their weird form of banter, another pair - seemingly their own little clique from within - started holding a discussion of their own.
"Tch. These idiots have those organic shmucks right where we want them, and they can't take the time to actually finish the job? I swear, it's like the standards for Decepticon conduct have gone down since the first cycles of the revolution." The bulky silver 'con with blue and red accent marks grumbled.
"Ah, cool your exhaust port, Slashmark. Those four've been at it longer than either of us, and we both know the sway they've got on what gets done. Besides, they'll all be crushed beneath our pedes sooner or later, so why rush it?" His pure gunmetal grey partner replied, rolling his blood-red orbs at the complaints being thrown about as he jabs a digit at the Saiyan and everyone else the ‘Cons had lumped him in with.
“Easy for you to say, Heatseeker. You barely think with that puny processor of yours as it is, so I can see why you’re so keen to let everyone around you do the thinking instead.”
“Not my fault I don’t have a rod up my afterburner port, you sod.”
The bickering between the Stunticons then continued on, with even the last of their number finding himself being dragged into the verbal sparring match taking place before him; seeing how distracted the eight car-robots had become before him, Bardock seized the opportunity laid out before him, now armed with enough wiggle room to finally breathe.
He sees Monaito holding his broken arm, Muezli grasping her head and trying to push through the induced concussion, and Granolah, still unconscious and scuffed but not too worse for wear, on his left.
On his right? The Heeters in varying degrees of injured, with Elec clearly having been left the worst off, even if his siblings had taken the brunt of the impact.
The Heeters were definitely strong, but he couldn’t count on them to not stab him in the back. Monaito wasn’t exactly in great shape either. And so, he turned to pretty much the only one he could honestly trust.
“Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?”
Muezli blinks several times, but she’s able to muster up an answer.
“Uuuuhhhhh… seven?”
Bardock looks at the single hand he was using, and cringed a little. But still, he couldn’t really complain.
“Good enough, I guess. Look, those guys over there,” he said, pointing at the Stunticons, “have us on the ropes as it is, but I think you, your kid, and the green guy can make a break for it if things go according to plan.”
“Don’t know about those four,” he added, jabbing a thumb at the Heeters, “but they’ll probably be fine too. Just stay as far away from them as you possibly can, and you’ll do fine.”
The cerealian nodded, priming herself to run as fast and as far away as she could with the only other survivors left.
The Heeters looked like they were coming up with a similar plan.
Gas and Oil began to growl as their powers slowly surged forth, their muscles bulging from the effort to do so.
Thankfully, the noise of whatever the Stunticons had going on drowned them out, but nonetheless, it still put Bardock on edge.
Could he could make use of the distraction they'd provide? Yeah, for sure.
But if they caught on too early, then he'd be done for.
And so he waited, slowly charging an orb of energy within his hands, but making sure to leave it just under the threshold for activation.
He waited and waited and waited, until finally, one of the Stunticons caught on to what some of their intended victims were up to.
Or at least… two of them, anyway.
Offroad was surprisingly the first to notice, having said his piece and simply being too entranced with the car wreck going on before him to do so until now.
He nudged the last of their number to have joined to get his attention.
“Uuuhhhh, Black Jack.”
The purple-helmed and blue-visored sports car turned, mouth halfway open to tearing the pickup truck a new one, only to have it be slammed shut by the tiniest Heeter’s savage upper cut.
Offroad found himself in a stupor from the surprise, but tore his processor out of the fog and gathered his bearings, swinging his axe down to try and cleave the little organic in half, only to be bashed out of the way by a charging Oil.
The Decepticon skidded across the solid ground, righting himself as he put up his axe to block the berserker’s blows.
Every so often, the occasional wild punch or kick would often sneak its way in, actually denting his plating and even leaving his head ringing too.
But it wouldn’t be enough.
And Bardock knew it.
But he was prepared.
He launched the energy ball in his hands, hitting Dead End dead on and knocking the Stunticon down, but that wasn't its main purpose.
He raised his arm into the air, closed his open hand, and shouted as loud as he could.
"BURST OPEN AND MIX!!"
And the sphere of ki did just that.
Bardock could already feel the changes setting in, but still had enough of his mind intact to immediately turn around towards Monaito, Muezli, and the groggy Granolah.
"RUN!"
His eyes turned blood red as they did just that, bolting in the direction opposite of where Macki and Elec were heading.
Fur grew all over his body.
Teeth sharpened into perfectly symmetrical, jagged fangs.
His jaw developed into a fullblown snout.
And most importantly of all? He grew massive.
Bardock slammed a fist down on where the red Stunticon stood, only narrowly missing thanks to Wild Rider's interference.
He roared as he attempted to grab Breakdown, missing only by mere inches.
He was strong now. Faster too.
But even with the Oozaru's benefits in mind, its cumbersome bulk would most assuredly prove to be a problem.
Still, he couldn't back down. Not now.
He kept swinging and stomping, stomping and swinging, trying to give the Cerealians and Namekian as much distance as they could muster.
But the Stunticons had fought bigger and tougher before.
He could kill them if he played his cards right.
But they could do the same.
Drag Strip immediately took command, barking orders left and right.
"Slashmark, Heatseeker, hunt down those blue fleshies! If they make it off of here, then we aren't gonna have the element of surprise!"
"Breakdown, Dead End, go after the green one and his friends! Maybe we can wring some info out of them about their planet's resources... just try to keep them intact for once!"
"And Wildrider, you're with me! We'll need everything we got to take this giant hairball down."
"Is that understood!?"
The five Stunticon cars nodded in understanding, before they first four quickly transformed into their respective alt modes, driving after their designated targets like madmen down the dirt roads.
Meanwhile, Wildrider's servos rummaged through one of the many, many metal slots on his body, before he finally pulled out just what he was looking for.
“I swear, it’s like you always have an energon grenade on you.” Drag Strip muttered.
The red faced Stunticon madly grinned at the remark, tossing around the deadly explosive in his hands.
“Well, you know what they say, Drag.”
He then primed the device, lobbing it at Bardock, who had to put up his arms to block as it exploded.
“Better safe than sorry, am I right?”
The smoke then cleared to reveal that the massive Oozaru only had singed fur.
Having raised his power to its fullest as he just barely avoided the blast zone, it was really only the heat that did its work.
Drag Strip grimaced as he pulled out his two swords, glowing a bright blue from the special energon flowing through them.
“Well, your aim clearly needs work.”
“I bet that if you put as much processing power into lining up your shots as you did hoarding junk, we’d have at least blinded him.”
Wildrider simply rolled his optics, pulling his thermal spread shot out from its holster.
“And I bet that if we don’t find a way to bring down the hairball over here, then we’re gonna be scrap.”
Drag Strip scoffed as he set his sights on the Oozaru, now on his two feet instead of all fours.
Much to their surprise, it was able to speak. In fact, it was as able to speak as he was before the change.
“If you two could finish shooting the air, then that’d be great. I only have so much time in a day, and I’m not wasting anymore of my breath doing you two in.”
Drag Strip was as surprised as Wildrider was excited, before he then followed the latter’s example in giving a wide grin at the sight before him.
His swords glowed a rich light blue, crackling with electricity as arcs of lighting flashed around them.
“Ohohohoho. I’m gonna enjoy carving you up like a turbo-fox.”
Wildrider cocked his shotgun, energon pumping through his systems as he let out a mighty guffaw.
“Make sure to leave me a piece this time. I think I’d like a pelt hung up in my hab suite too.”
With a snarl and a shout, the two cars then leaped into action, with Bardock lunging forward, mouth open as a beam charged up within his gaping maw.
Upon his unleashing of the attack, Drag Strip and Wildrider leaped out of the way, transforming into their vehicle modes and circling the raging Oozaru.
Wildrider’s roof opened up to reveal his shotgun, blasting away at the giant target.
Bardock winced in pain as he worked to put out the fires growing on his fur, while Drag Strip switched in and out of his two states, using his alt mode’s speed until the last moment, where he then switched back to his robot mode to land cuts and slashes where he could.
And when Bardock got too close for comfort?
He simply transformed back into his alt mode, using the speed of his car form to make a quick getaway where he can.
Wildrider followed suit, weaving in and out of the stomping Oozaru’s attacks as he singed more and more patches of fur and skin.
But as they steadily ramped up the aggression behind their attacks, their movements, and their tactics, they started to get sloppy.
Drag Strip’s wild swings and slashes, Wildrider’s rabid shots and stunts: sooner or later, they’d have to slip up.
And eventually? They did.
Wildrider soared through the air, aiming his shotgun at Bardock’s red eyes to blind and finally begin finishing him off once and for all.
But in his deranged drive to deal out as much damage on the giant Oozaru as he could, he’d failed to notice the massive hand coming his way, swatting him down into the ground.
Wildrider’s plating cracked from the impact, and he could feel energon leaking out from the wounds.
If he’d focused on the pain just a second longer, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid the stomping foot that tried to squash him flat.
Thank Primus he hadn’t held back the recoil on the weapon like everyone else told him to.
Drag Strip attempted to gouge out the giant ape’s brain with his swords in response, but the latter’s giant tail simply slapped him away and into a nearby hillside.
The yellow Stunticon gripped his head, a blue eye peering out from his cracked red visor as he massaged his metal noggin.
A voice then rang through his inner comm systems: Breakdown, grunting in exertion, the sounds of a massive fight going on in the background.
“Drag Strip, you there?! We’re getting hit left, right, and center!”
“Two more organics ambushed us, both female! One of them’s copying your- gack! One of them’s copying your style! Got two giant swords and everything!”
“I- I think they’re with that giant ape guy! They’ve got tails too! Just like him!”
“If you could come over and help us, that’d be great!”
Then another voice made its presence known: Slashmark.
“You think you got your hands full with two extra?! Try us with three!”
“Forget my brother: we need your help more!”
“The blue organic, the fem, she’s gone berserk!”
“And these three extra monkey guys aren’t letting up either!”
Drag Strip grinded his metal teeth in frustration, looking around him as he heard the chaos going on in the background.
Offroad and Blackjack were holding their own, but clearly still had trouble with their own respective opponents.
Gas especially seemed to prove most troublesome.
But as he heard the constant salvo of Wildrider’s shotgun emptying its clip into the Oozaru, he realized that the biggest threat before him was quite literally the biggest threat before him, first and foremost.
Drag Strip finally responded with a snarl, the frustration in his voice clear as can be.
“Listen! We’re taking a beating out here as well! Just hold your own, and we’ll try to do what we can after! Got it?!”
The two Stunticons tried to form a rebuttal, but Drag Strip hung up too quickly, forcing himself out of the rubble as he brandished his blades yet again.
He looked to Wildrider, who understood immediately and whipped out a set of heavy duty energon pistols.
Speed would be key to surviving. And speed was just the thing they were all capable of.
Drag Strip let out a mighty battle cry of a roar, throwing himself back into the fray once more.
He wasn’t going to lose out to an organic of all things. Not here, not now, and not ever.
And so, he fought on.
“Drag?! Drag Strip?! Dammit!”
Breakdown cursed under his breath at the audacity, but couldn’t exactly focus on his petty revenge for later.
Right now, he had to make sure he could survive to fight another day to begin with.
He used his alt mode’s cameras to look behind him, and found a surprisingly startling sight: one of the monkey people, or “Saiyans” as the databases he’d pulled up on the go called them, was flying behind him, holding up an absolutely massive boulder.
She then threw the massive rock with all of her might, taking care to make sure that it landed just in front of the blue and white super car.
Breakdown immediately skidded out of the way, drifting into an open clearing as he shifted forms and pulled out a blue plasma rifle, getting off a few shots before he returned to his alt mode once again.
Fasha was able to dodge a majority, but was still nicked by several rounds.
The sheer heat cauterized her wounds immediately, but the resulting pain kept her from being completely on guard when Breakdown rammed into her full speed, knocking the wind out of her.
The Stunticon then plowed through as many trees as he could, hoping that enough concussive force would knock her out so he could get this over with.
But he’d failed to notice the smug grin on her face.
And unfortunately for him, his awareness only kicked in when her two gloved hands gripped his front bumper, leaning back and slamming him roof-first into solid earth.
The sheer force sent his transformation cog into overdrive, immediately knocking him back to his less armored robot mode just in time to be put on the receiving end of a ki blast barrage.
Pushing through the pain, Breakdown tapped into more of his energon reserves to throw up a kinetic shield, deflecting just enough of the attacks to make his getaway.
He gave himself as much distance as he could and then spun into a sharp u-turn, using his alt-mode’s rocket boosters to build up enough speed to pull off what he was trying to do.
Charging up his blue plasma rifle as far as it could go without blowing itself up, he proceeded to use the shot to launch himself into the air.
This, combined with the momentum he’d already built up to begin with, allowed him to turn into a missile. One aimed at the leotard-wearing annoyance who’d been pissing him off.
Breakdown stretched his legs out as far as he could, hitting the Saiyan dead on.
The drop kick was devastating, and would’ve been the end of Fasha herself… had Deadend not been launched through the air as well, colliding with Breakdown and preventing the worst of the damage from taking hold.
The red car’s purple visor was cracked, and his face plate was chipped, showing off some of his youth’s facial scarring for all to see.
There were hints of a grimace behind his otherwise blank expression, as he gripped his gash-ridden left arm.
Functional, but damaged nonetheless.
A figure then caught Fasha, urging her to stay awake as Monaito made his way over.
It took a lot out of him to do so, but he was at least able to replenish his current ally’s stamina. Just a bit.
The fourth then finally arrived, her outfit torn up but still intact despite the struggles she’d been going through.
Breakdown was surprised by her most of all: at least the other two were fighters, and the greenie was smart enough to keep his distance.
But just how had she, seemingly one of the weakest among their number, been able to persist?
Much to his surprise, she’d responded to his silent inquiries.
“Didn’t think it’d be so hard to put us down, huh?”
“You’re tough. Tougher than any game I’ve put down, and harder to hit too.”
“I’ll give you that much.”
“But I know your kind: bastards who think they can just walk around and take as they please.”
“I hate you, and I hate people like you too. You take, and you take, and you just keep on taking more and more and more until there’s nothing left.”
“You’re worse than scavengers. At least they do the planet a service.”
Breakdown’s brows furrowed at the Cerealian’s audacity.
“You don’t get to say anything about what I or any of my team get up to, squishy.”
“You work with the same people who killed your friends and family.”
“You call us worse than scavengers, but at least we aren’t hypocrites.”
“I wonder what your people would say if they saw you now?”
Muezli grimaced, but her resolve had already been steeled.
“Nice try with the mind games, but it'll take more than that to faze me.”
“Besides, these two here aren’t the ones who did the deed. At least, not directly anyway.”
“And even if they were, I think I can trust them.”
“After all, if they really wanted me dead, then what would have stopped them from just letting us have at it before they take out the victor?”
Fasha then walked over, next to where the Cerealian stood, hacking up a wad of ichor that splattered on the ground.
“Actually, we’d have probably just taken the both of you on at the same time. But she’s right.”
“We don’t want her dead. We don’t need to kill her. All we want is to beat you down into the ground.”
“That, and it’d be a shame to see someone as cute as her get crushed by a giant metal lug like you.”
It took Muezli a good moment to process the comment, but when she finally did, she felt a blush form on her face in response.
Gine joined the two, rolling her eyes at Fasha’s antics.
“Seriously? This isn’t exactly a pub, Fash.”
“Ah, you’re no fun.”
The Saiyan then entered into her usual stance, Gine following suit as she brandished her twin butcher knives, and then Muezli as well.
Breakdown sneered at their continued resistance, mostly due to the amount of damage he’d piled up and how easy it could’ve been to avoid.
If only he’d had enough energon to function at full capacity.
And Motormaster just had to keep pushing them forward to, “not lose their momentum.”
That fragging glitch would be the death of them all sooner or later… but not today. Not this cycle.
“Hey, Dead. You still able to function?”
The red car-bot nodded, before offering a question of his own.
“Why? What’re you thinking?”
Breakdown chuckled.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m thinking we end this, once and for all. Leave them flat on the ground, buried six feet under, turned to ash, anything.”
“And I think I know exactly how we can do that.”
Breakdown’s hands then grabbed onto his fellow teammate, lifting him up into the air as they began to change.
Dead End’s arms merged back into his torso, as his legs shifted to take up the gap.
Breakdown’s arms did so as well, but the torso went an extra step and folded down, launching cables to drag Dead End down onto him.
Two ‘Cons had merged into one.
An energon-heavy symbol of unity that summoned a level of power much needed for the battle taking place before them.
A Powerlink.
Dead Break had arrived onto the battlefield.
And oh boy, was he ready to fight.
Heatseeker grimaced as he read his hud, seeing that Breakdown and Dead End’s spark signatures had merged into one.
Things had really gotten that bad?
The additional barrage of yet another salvo of energy attacks from the four combatants (and one guy with an energy pistol) seemed to more than suffice as an answer.
Heatseeker responded in kind, unleashed a flurry of missiles right back at the three Saiyans and two Heeters.
Explosions rang across the battlefield, indicating that at least a few of his rockets had hit their mark, but the rest has either been shot down or sent flying into the surrounding geography.
Even a brute like Heatseeker knew that this sort of couldn’t be sustained for much longer.
And Slashmark knew it as well.
In fact, he was driving straight towards Heatseeker as a desperate last gambit, hoping that crashing into the other Stunticon would somehow jumpstart the combination process.
Heatseeker hoped so as well, and transformed in response.
His speed kept rising and rising.
The rocket boosters he used were burning hotter and hotter.
And his desperation only grew as their opponents got closer and closer.
Until finally… they collided.
The shrieking of whirring combination cogs and shifting metal followed suit, as an even greater titan now stood before the Saiyans and Heeters.
The mass shifting that came with the combination process had clearly done them some favors.
Heatmark roared as he rushed towards the quartet, slamming them down into the dirt with his mighty metal limbs and giving them a beating like what they’d given him just moments prior.
The only ones who’d been able to move out of the way were Toma and Macki, their smaller builds just that bit more agile than those of Borgos and Shugesh.
The latter pair coughed up blood from the impact, as Heatmark began wailing on them with no restraint.
It was only through exploiting the giant’s inability to fly and his fractured mind that the two were able to get away, just barely able to avoid its leaps toward them.
All four of the fighters were left panting, with Elec being especially scared out of his mind.
“We-we need… we need to go back to the ship, now. Get off planet, find someone, anyone, to warn.”
Macki agreed, but had to point out the one flaw behind his plan.
“And how do you l suppose we get to it when that thing’s still lurking around?”
“And don’t say Gas. We don’t know if he’s still fighting that one guy or not.”
The two Heeters were left pondering their next move, and the Saiyans did as well.
Until finally, a most unexpected source gave a potential solution.
“The answer’s quite simple, actually.”
The sudden appearance of two new figures prompted the Saiyans and Heeters to immediately turn around, their energies raised in case of yet another fight knocking on their door.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
“I ain’t looking to pick a fight.”
"And neither's my partner."
"I'm Jiya. A Galactic Patroller."
"And this is Chiwak. A new recruit of ours. Relatively speaking, anyway."
"Tell me: what brings a bunch of Frieza Force soldiers, let alone some of Frieza's business partners, out to this sector of space?"
Shugesh balled one of his fists and winded it back, responding with a snarl before he did anything too brash.
"Question for a question; we could ask the same for you patrollers."
In response, Toma quickly put himself between the two figures, making sure to try and keep what little peace in the ever growing group he could.
"We were just out here on a job by Frieza. Those two," he said as he directed Jiya's attention to the eldest Heeter and his little sister, "and their brothers were probably out here as surveyors of the aftermath- to see if they could sell it to anyone who needs a new world, you know?"
"And you?"
Chiwak seemed to roll his eyes at the inquiry.
"What do you think, Saiyan?"
He then nodded over at Heatmark, who'd finally had enough of trying to close the distance between himself and his marks, and instead opted out for unleashing his arsenal of ranged weaponry onto them.
Twin double-barrel forearm blasters popped out of his metal limbs, and shoulder cannons made themselves visible as well, before he unleashed a wild assault into the air as he aimed wildly for the Saiyans and Heeters.
Once again, they weren't able to dodge everything, but at least the missiles seemed to be a non-issue with two extra pairs of eyes and hands around.
Jiya himself made use of a rifle slung around his body, melting each and every single projective he could into superheated slag.
Chiwak, on the other hand, preferred to go about things in a manner much more precise than his mentor, freezing the projectiles mid-air with well places shots from his dual pistols.
It wasn't too surprising to see that they were able to simply bob and weave out of the way of the rest of the attacks that came as well, considering the fact that they were in perfect health compared to the Saiyans and some of Frieza's most common business partners, but still... that sort of speed wasn't found in most patrollers to begin with. Or most anyone save Frieza's elite and the tyrant emperor himself.
Nevertheless, doing so seemed to still be quite the close call for either of them. Especially for Chiwak himself.
"Damn. Way closer than we were told to expect. Think he was lying to us, sir?"
"No. I think things just advanced far faster and far further than he expected. That's all."
Jiya then turned a dial on his semi-automatic rifle, its color changing from a rich orange to a bright blue.
He redirected his attention towards the Saiyans and Heeters as he did so, a serious expression etched across his metal face.
"Now, before we go all in, let me give you the run down on a couple of questions that I know you're probably thinking of."
"No, this isn't standard Galactic Patrol equipment. It's something an old friend of ours has been supplying us in exchange for our help."
"What we're doing here isn't under the Patrol’s orders either: getting the rest of them involved would take too much paperwork and red tape, and if that guy down there is any indication, then we need all the time we can get."
"To bring that guy down, we need to break him apart. His connection point is in the center of his torso: it's the location of their respective combination cogs, the anchors for the two bots to be able to merge into one. Not as tough to break apart as the bigger mergers of its kind though."
"Still, we'll need to weaken it as much as we can before one of us makes the final blow to split them back up."
"Hit that specific point on the center of its torso hard enough once its defenses have been lowered, and it'll jar them back to normal."
"And finally, if you're wondering why we're so strong... well, we can't spill every little secret to some random strangers, now can we?"
He then entered into a horse stance in the air, ready to fly down and lay the pain upon the powerlinked Decepticons just as he was taught to be able to do.
"Now then, the rookie and I need to know this: can we trust you to work with us and take down that raging beast, or do you lot value your pride so much, you'd rather take your chances chipping away at its defenses by yourselves?"
Normally, this level of snark wouldn't exactly roll well with any of the people before him. Especially the eldest Heeter.
But at this point? They were just desperate to survive, and it showed.
Toma was the first to respond.
"Think you can lead the way?"
The answer came in the form of Jiya cocking his rifle.
"Sure. Now let's see if you can keep up."
The Galactic Patroller then proceeded to fly into battle, his apprentice and partner following suit with the Saiyans and Macki, still carrying Elec, just behind them.
They unleashed a salvo of kikoha and energy bolts as they did so, forcing Heatmark to have to actually defend from the attack by way of blocking.
The distance between them now being too short for his heatseeking missiles to actually be effective forced him to have to rely on his other half's unique abilities: rings of green energy, perfect for either tossing at unsuspecting targets at mid range or tearing apart your most hated enemies up close.
The powerlinxed Decepticon began to wildly swing about from there, his tougher body allowing him to endure their counterattacks as he nearly lopped off heads, arms, and legs alike.
Macki landed a nasty overhead blow to his metal temple, staggering him as she continued to wail against his metal exterior with reckless abandon.
Heatmark grabbed onto her in response, throwing her against the charging Borgos and sending the pair flying over the horizon.
Quick to recover, they joined back in by laying down much needed cover fire, all while Toma and Shugesh kept the freshly merged Stunticon from being able to recuperate up close.
It wasn’t too hard to break past their defenses, but no matter what he did, they just wouldn’t stay down.
And even though he could repeatedly force his way past through the pony-tailed Saiyan and his stout comrade, he also found himself being repeatedly forced back by a hail of energy bullets and orbs of ki.
The Patrollers were doing the most damage especially: the shots of frost and flame, the constant fluctuation of temperatures on his frame. It was starting to damage his armor’s integrity.
He was slowly whittling away at the Patrollers and their newest allies, but they were starting to do the same to him.
It went back and forth, forth and back, each pair swapping in and out of their respective positions.
One moment, it was the rapid fire combos doled out by Toma and Shugesh; another, it was the savagery of the berserk Macki complementing the much more evenly tempered Borgos as they tore away at his plating, dealing out as much damage as they could, the latter staggering him through sweeping out the metal monstrosity’s legs from underneath him and setting up the former to rip and tear until she was forced to avoid the swings of his green rings.
Sometimes, the Patrollers even decided to let up from dealing out damage with their blasters, instead opting out to simply tear away at him with a spear and twin swords respectively.
The pairs even seemed willing to swap partners with each other, so just when Heatmark had found himself a decent rhythm, he’d be forced to adapt yet again.
But they weren’t exactly getting out of this unphased either.
He couldn’t land as many attacks on them as they could on him, but what Heatmark lacked in speed, he easily made up for in sheer strength and durability.
Every backhand against vulnerable torsos that cracked ribs.
Every leaping kick he landed to slam his opponents into the ground and force them to cough up blood.
Every gash he opened with his rings.
They were signs of progress. Slow progress. Steady progress even. But it was working.
Flesh against metal.
Energon vs blood.
Sparks vs souls.
And to think… this was only one of many to come.
Dead Break slammed his arms into the ground, revving the tires attached to them in order to kick up as much dust as he could.
He then leapt from the fray and up onto a nearby rocky outcropping, his arms pointed out and turning into a dual set of neutron assault rifles.
The whirring of the barrels was only drowned out by the collective battle cries of his targets.
The Saiyans and Cerealian were followed by two Patrollers, equipped with dual SMGs and a shotgun respectively.
He sighed inside, cursing himself for thinking that a basic powerlinx would be more than enough to finish the job.
Because of course the universe would decide to work against him today of all days.
When it became clear that the hailstorm of bullets wouldn’t suffice, he then opted out for the only other close combat option at his disposal.
Dead Break then raised his arm blades up to block, skidding back as Gine and Fasha launched a flying kick straight for the center of his torso.
The impact shook him up a lot more than he’d care to admit, even with his narrow success at a block kept in mind, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on that when he was immediately being assaulted with gunfire and ki bolts alike. Not now, anyway.
Too big to really dodge any of them, he instead decided to make the most of his naturally high durability to simply barge through.
He attempted to gouge out the guts of Calamis and Irico at the same time, but the Patrollers were able to sidestep out of the way.
More shots from Muezli rained down from above, pelting Dead Break and keeping him in place long enough for a two pronged attack from the Saiyans.
Metal against metal rang through the air as Gine and Fasha, the latter now wielding the other half of Gine’s set of twin butcher knives, swung their blades at the opposing superheated energon swords.
Dead Break began to struggle, surprised that his armaments hadn’t immediately melted through their weapons.
Sweat poured down the pair's thoroughly bloodied and bruised heads as they felt the heat themselves.
Neither knew they were subconsciously channeling their energies into either oversized cleaver, but it kept them in the fight all the same.
A whirlwind of stabs, slices, parries, and blocks broke out from there, their noises of clashing metal and rabid blows separated by grunts of pain and the whirring of energy based attacks.
Dead Break was soon finding himself having to defend from all sides: two at his front, one on the left, one on the right, and always one from the back.
Sometimes it was the Cerealian, hitting his weakest points and momentarily cutting off energon flow to certain parts of his body at key moments.
Other times, it was one of those pesky little patrollers, shooting away at his frame with all sorts of ammunition; some of it burned, others were colder than ice, and more still sent jolts of lightning through his entire system. They even had the audacity to bring out melee weapons and get up close and personal with the Powerlinx Decepticon: a battleaxe that glowed as bright as any energon-based weapon for Calamis, and a pair of glowing energy-knuckles for Irico. Both dug in as equally deep and proved as equally painful to the Powerlinx, who would quickly turn around and attempt to swat them away.
But the most infuriating of all? The Saiyans.
They weren't anything particularly special. Strong? Yeah. But they didn't have the ability to seemingly pinpoint just where his weakspots were.
And they definitely didn’t have weapons that could burn, freeze, or shock away at the Powerlinx either.
And yet no matter what he did, they just wouldn’t. Stay. Down.
It was through sheer force of will that they were able to persist, slashing and hacking away until Dead Break forced them to back off by attempting to skewer them alive.
But not even that could keep them away forever.
For every pest he could get to back off from one spot, another was there to take its place.
And all the while more, other parts of the group shifted accordingly.
Close range, long range, mid range: it didn’t matter. All of their efforts were dedicated to bringing him down.
But Dead Break was certain of one thing, and one thing alone.
He wasn’t gonna be the one to fall. Not here, not now, and not ever.
And so, he too persisted, swinging around his dual energon swords with the skill and precision only millions of years spent entrenched in war could bring about.
All he had to was land one hit.
One hit on each of them. Five in total.
He just had to keep going.
He had to.