Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

--Caminus--

    A golden statue of Beta, the first Mistress of Flame, was the centerpiece of the aptly-named Beta Memorial. At her feet rested a plaque that bore all the names of past Mistresses, as well as the dates of their tenure. Carved into the bottom of the plaque were the words, "Viva la Solus" -- a dedication to the ancient Prime who had founded the colony of Caminus thousands of years ago.

    Rung was drawn to the statue not for its beauty -- although it was certainly stunning -- but for its posture. While statues of renowned figures on Cybertron had them standing proudly, this statue had Beta crouched down and looking at the plaque, her hands gripping the edges. It was certainly a unique design, one which no doubt had some sort of hidden meaning.

    Lost in wonder, Rung almost hadn't noticed the white and blue mech also staring at the statue until they turned to regard him.

    "Ever the artist, that Bricolo."

    Rung bit his lip, pretending to not recognize the voice. "He sculpted this, did he?"

    "At Beta's request, yes. He did similar sculptures for some of the tribe leaders -- such as the Prima statue that used to reside in the Grand Imperium."

    "Ah. Yes, I can see his influence -- it's all in the facial features... or lack thereof." Rung then turned to look at the other mech, his eyebrows furrowing in consternation. "So. You're still alive."

    "You sound surprised," Froid replied, casually examining his servos.

    "I thought you had died," Rung said. "The last time I saw you was over two centuries ago, when you left for a psyche examination at Garrus-6. High Command lost contact with your ship and the staff at Garrus-6 said you never arrived."

    "Hm. Yes, you can thank the Decepticons for that. I can see how one would be unable to survive a Heavy Brigade assault... but I managed. As did my patient."

    Rung tilted his head. "Patient."

    "Yes, he's been under my care since that event -- although I've allowed him to interact with these Camiens on his own." Froid tapped the side of his head. "I've still got my optics on him, though. So far he's been fine."

    Still trying to wrap his processor around all this, Rung shifted his gaze to a pair of beads hanging from Froid's neck. "Are those Primal Beads? I thought you were an atheist."

    Froid wagged a finger in Rung's face. "Now, now. Time and place for everything. I want to hear a little from you now, Rung. What have you been up to recently?"

    Before Rung could answer, Froid's comm suddenly started to beep. He answered it, raising his wrist to his speaker mouth.

    "Froid, here. Yes.... Uh-huh.... Oh.... I see. Right, of course. I'll be right over."

   "What is it?" Rung asked as Froid ended the call.

    "Trouble in the medibay. Apparently one of the patients just threw a major fit."

*  *  *

    "Is everything all right in here, Velocity?" Overcast asked as he entered the medibay with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus close behind. "I got your call, but I was in the middle of speaking with Afterburner and you know how he is with interruptions...."

    An aqua-green femme emerged from one of the wards, a disquieted look on her face. "Oh, everything's fine. Just nearly got killed is all."

    "I thought I heard screaming and swearing when you called me," Overcast muttered. "So what happened? Did a patient wake up berserked?"

    "Something like that." Velocity beckoned the three mechs into the ward and they walked in to find an unconscious red mech laying on a berth, a large dent in his faceplate. The hulking blue femme standing watch over him was no doubt to thank for that.

    Both Rodimus and Ultra Magnus looked upon the patient with shocked expressions. "Skyfall?" Rodimus blurted. "What's he doing here?"

    Velocity raised an optic at him. "You know this bot?"

    "He's an Autobot-- Cybertronian, like us," Ultra Magnus said. "He used to work at Kimia before being exposed for illicit business. He was then transferred to Garrus-9 to work as a prison guard, until it was overrun by Decepticons."

    "Skids told me he ran into him and two others at Garrus-16," Rodimus said. "He never saw them again after it got blown up."

    "Well, we picked up him at Talrus, though he had been unconscious at the time," Velocity said. "I don't know what caused him to wake him up now, but I don't think I want him to again."

    "How exactly did he react?" Magnus asked. "Did he actually attack you or simply acted violently in general?"

    "Try a bit of both. He seemed to be under the impression I was torturing him or something." Velocity then folded her arms and frowned. "Then again, he also called me a 'filthy Autobot.'"

    At this, Rodimus and Magnus both exchanged concerned looks.

    "In that case," the former said, "we'd better get Ratchet. This calls for someone with real medical expertise."

    "Oh, there's no need for that," Overcast said. "Firestar's crew already picked up a highly qualified medic. He was the one who confirmed Thunderclash's passing for us."

    "Oh. What's his name?" Rodimus asked.

    "Probably one you know better than I do, since he's Cybertronian like you. He calls himself Pharma."

--Outpost One--

    "Hey. Hey."

    Ricochet groaned as he strained to lift his head up from the steel cold floor. The room was dark -- and his nightlights weren't functioning for some reason -- making it difficult for him to see the other bot in the cell with him, save for their blue optics.

    "If you can understand me, flash your headlights."

    Ricochet did as told. The other bot let out a relieved sigh.

    "Good. About time I finally spoke with someone who still had their processor running properly. Did you tell him anything?"

    "Huh?" Ricochet replied.

    "Mesothulas. Did you give him any intel?"

    "What does it matter to you? How do you even know Mesothulas?"

    "Same way you do. I used to work with him."

    At this, Ricochet straightened up. "Wait. You're with the Secret Service?"

    There was a long pause before the other mech's response. "Yes. Yes, I am."

    "How long have you been here? Did Prowl send you to capture Mesothulas as well."

    "Tell you what," the other bot said. "Help me escape, and I'll give you the answers you need."

    "Do you have a plan?" Ricochet asked.

    "Yes. And it's a heck of a one. All I need you to do is to put yourself into stasis lock."

    Ricochet frowned. "How do I know I can trust you with my unconscious body?"

    "Believe me, the worst things I could do to you aren't even half as bad as what Mesothulas could do."

    "Yeah? Why should I buy that?"

    "Look down."

    Ricochet did so and cast his gaze to the floor. He immediately screamed. Staring straight at him, imbedded into the cell floor, was the lifeless face of a Cybertronian. He took a step back, only to scream at another face, then another. Then another one. The floor was made up of nothing but faces.

    Ricochet put a hand over his mouth, switching off his optics to be rid of the horrific imagery. For once, he was grateful Artfire wasn't here; the big white lug would be teasing him right now.

    Artfire.... Turning his optics back on, Ricochet looked back at the other mech, who was looking back at him patiently.

    "My partner," Ricochet said. "We can't leave without him."

    "Do you know where he is?"

    Ricochet blinked. "No...."

    "Then I'm sorry, but he's as good as dead. Mesothulas rarely leaves his prisoners in... good condition. I don't know why he spared you -- or me, for that matter -- but it's something we should take advantage of. Sooner rather than later."

    Ricochet clenched his fist, his face contorting into a rictus of anger. "I am not going anywhere without him."

    "You're not going anywhere but the Pit if we don't act now. Mesothulas will be back here any minute now to do God knows what to you. And I highly doubt you're going to survive a second encounter with him."

    "So you're saying I should just abandon him?" Ricochet snapped. "That I should just let Mesothulas do as he pleases to him?"

    "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made," the other bot said, and Ricochet could tell he was starting to walk towards him. "If your positions were reversed, would you not want him to do the same?"

    Ricochet opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by a hand falling on his neck, while something else pressed against his helmet.

    "I'm sorry I have to do this, but trust me when I say it's for both of our benefits."

    Ricochet then felt a pulse and everything went dark.

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

--Caminus, Grand Hall--

    "I think it's going to be a while before we get to meet the Mistress of Flame."

    "And the Great Detective solves yet another elusive mystery," Whirl said, tapping his head against the wall. He had already had had enough of all the bots pouring into the Grand Hall, they're bright colors and curvy frames being too much for his single optic. "I wonder what mystery he'll solve next? The location of Optimus Prime's trailer? The true colors of Rumble and Frenzy? The actual spelling of--"

    "Whirl, we get it," Nautica snapped, leaning against the wall with her left foot propped against it. "You don't want to be here. Don't we all. Just keep your mouth shut and maybe--"

    "What did you just say to me?!" Whirl roared, spinning around to get into Nautica's face. "Did you just tell me to shut my mouth? Huh?" He gestured to his face, which only bore an eye; no mouth to speak of whatsoever. "Those are fighting words, pal. You wanna pick a fight with me?"

    "People are starting to stare," Nightbeat muttered, seeing the numerous faces turned towards them. "You two might wanna break it off. Or, better yet, stand on complete opposite sides of the room."

    Whirl and Nautica remained glaring at each other for a moment until the former finally backed off and strode away from the other two, vanishing into the growing crowd of Camiens. Once he was gone, Nautica allowed her frame to relax.

    "I'm surprise he actually listened to you," she murmured. "Even Ultra Magnus can't always get him to obey."

    "I suppose it just depends on the mood, he's in," Nightbeat said. 

    He then stepped aside as a large, blue and white Camien came over and set down an engex distillery unit next to him. Once she had hooked it up and got it running, the Camien poured a glass and handed it to him. Nightbeat shook his head as he waved a dismissive hand.

    "Thanks, but I'm not--"

    "Oi, it's not fer you, mate!" the femme snapped. "I was givin' it to Nautica. Yer just in the way."

    Nautica reached over and took the glass. "Thank you, Starfield. Say, you haven't seen Overcast anywhere, have you? He left to speak with someone after getting the news and I haven't seen him since."

    "Nay, I'm afraid I haven't," Starfield replied. "You might try asking Skystriker. He's...." Her speech suddenly trailing off, Starfield tilted her head at something out of Nautica's line of sight. "Oh. Look who it is."

    Nautica frowned, not turning around. "Who?" she asked quietly.

    "Turn your blasted noggin and see fer yourself," Starfield grunted, taking a hold of Nautica's head and turning it.

    It wasn't difficult for Firestar to stand out from the rest of the crowd. This was owed in part to her "flame hair", a modification to her helmet which made her detectable from a mile away. It also helped that she carried herself as if she was better than everyone else in the room, as if she were the host of a party or something.

    Then again, she probably was. The way she was giving directions to others certainly gave Nautica that impression.

    "That's Firestar, ain't it?" Starfield asked. "The two of you are s'posed to be Amica Endurae, right?"

    "Yeah," Nautica murmured. "We are."

    "Well, go on then!" Starfield gave her a small push. "Go talk with her! You've got thirteen hundred years to catch up on."

    "Joy." Left with no choice -- and Nightbeat watching her curiously -- Nautica started to make her way towards Firestar, silently praying to Solus that everything would go curiously.

*  *  *

    "Excuse me. Pardon me. Coming through."

    Rung pushed his way through the crowd, trying hard not to bump into anyone or cause any grief. Luckily, no one seemed to take notice of him. Sometimes, he was grateful for the knack for inconspicuousness he always seemed to have.

    Eventually, he came out into a clearing within the crowd and found Swerve in his natural habitat: working at the bar. Upon seeing Rung, the white and red minibot grinned and waved him over.

    "Howdy, partner. What can I get for you?"

    "Why, dare I ask, are you running a bar in what's supposed to be a funerary service?" Rung asked. "And to think I would ever have to ask a question like that...."

    "The femme with the head on fire told me that Thunderclash wanted to be remembered in the same way he had lived: with much glory and splendor. In other words, a party."

    "Ah. And you're in charge of refueling."

    "Hey, no one else was up for the job, so I volunteered. At least it's something I'm good at." Swerve frowned as he scanned the crowd. "Now if only someone would come by with that engex distillery."

    Rung cleared his voicebox. "Well, I hate to cut this conversation short, but I'm looking for Fortress Maximus. He had been just with me a minute ago."

    "I think I saw him walk out with Ratchet. Don't ask me where they've gotten to though," Swerve replied. "Although, speaking of looking for people, some mech was just by here looking for you."

    Rung lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Did they say why or who they were?"

    "He didn't say why, just that he wanted to meet you at the Beta Memorial on the fifth floor. I didn't catch his name, but he was a real spindly fella in white and blue... and a speaker for a mouth."

    Rung took a step back, putting these descriptors together in his head. No, it can't be. It can't be him.

    Adjusting his spectacles, Rung thanked Swerve before reentering the sea of bots, making his way for the exit.

*  *  *

    "Well, well, look who it is."

    Nautica stopped cold in her tracks, having not realized that Firestar had seen her approach. She quickly put on a cheerful smile and waved back at the red femme. "Hey, Firestar! Long time no see!"

    Firestar laughed as she came forward. "No kidding. Last I heard from you, you'd just finished your exams at the Monoplex Academy."

    Nautica's expression wavered, processing her friend's words. "Monoplex...? Firestar, that was over a thousand years ago. I've sent you probably a dozen more since then."

    Firestar's own grin dropped from her faceplate, becoming an orange blank slate. "Oh. I guess I never got them. Was probably too busy or... something."

    "You... you didn't think I had forgotten about you, did you?" Nautica asked, frowning. "That I had put everything behind me when I left?"

    "No. No, of course not." Firestar laughed, though it hardly sounded genuine. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not that kind of bot. We both had our own lives to live, and I suppose it's easy to get caught up in them."

    "Maybe so," Nautica murmured. "But I still sent messages to you, at least one every year. I only stopped because of the war and--"

    "I understand." Firestar rested a hand on her shoulder, still wearing that unconvincing smile. "I do. Really. You don't need to explain yourself. It's all good."

    The two Camiens held each other's gaze for a moment until Nautica returned the smile with her own. "Okay. If you say so."

    Dropping her hand from her best friend's shoulder, Firestar then said, "So. Overcast tells me you're searching for the Knights of Cybertron as well. Have you made any progress?"

    "Uh, funny you say that." Nautica rubbed the back of her head. "So far this is the only progress we have made -- getting here to Caminus. Our captain wanted an audience with the Mistress of Flame, but... that seems to have been postponed."

    Firestar hummed, her face unreadable. "Yeah, we had just been over Troja Major when Thunderclash started... failing. We had been about to visit an antique collector who was said to have knowledge on the symbol Thunderclash had been seeing in his dreams."

    "Symbol?" Nautica asked. "Dreams?"

    "Yeah, you'd have to ask Velocity about it. All I know is that it's some weird gear shape."

    "Interesting. Well, at least you guys have something to go off of. All we've got is some slapdash map Drift came up with."

    Firestar chuckled. "I'll admit, I'm surprised we've gotten this far without one. All we have to go on is Thunderclash's visions and hunches."

    The two friends then fell silent, both trying to think of another topic to discuss. While they had been talking, someone had started playing music -- "Hymn of the Wingless Angel" by Sir Lukarios V -- and the lights had been turned off to bring out multi-colored ones. Already bots were starting to dance to the beat. Pretty soon there'd be no good place to stand without colliding into a blind dancer.

    "Well then," Firestar said, already turning to leave. "I'd better go back to preparations. Want to make sure Airwave doesn't play anything offensive again. Last time we had a party, he played The Chaos Bringers' 'Cybertron's On Fire (And Mortilus' My Conjunx).' Needless to say, Afterburner had a field day."

    Nautica chuckled lightly. "Then you'd better get going. I'll see you around, yeah?"

    "Of course. Later, Naughty Nautica."

    Firestar left with those words, leaving Nautica standing there with a smile that didn't know what to do with itself, that looked like it didn't belong.

    It was a smile that told you the person wearing it was feeling anything but happiness.

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

--Outpost One--

    "So little Ragnarok's gotten himself on the loose, has he?" Tarantulas chuckled to himself as he moved about his lab. "Ah, children. Can't live with them, can't live without them."

    Gigatron sneered, standing by the door with his arms crossed. "You are offensively calm about the situation. Ragnarok is out there in the galaxy unattended. Unsupervised. Wreaking havoc to Mortilus knows how many worlds."

    "Why do you sound so concerned about that?" Tarantulas asked, looking over his shoulder at him. "You're a Decepticon warlord. Havoc is part of the game for you."

    "Yes, but Ragnarok isn't a warlord; he's a simple-minded experiment who is unable to look after himself. Without supervision, his power can prove just as dangerous to us as it is useful."

    "You underestimate him, Gigatron." Tarantulas skittered from a table, having retrieved a scalpel, and moved towards the deactivated Artfire on the medical slab. "He may be no Shockwave, but he's considerably smarter than a Vehicon."

    Gigatron snorted. "Regardless, we must find him as soon as possible. Do you have any sort of tracking device on him?"

    "If I did, we would not still be standing here," Tarantulas said as he set to work. "But not to worry. I've already prepared a set of trackers for a situation such as this."

    "In that case, give them to me and I shall--"

    "Oh, pardon me. I did not mean to imply they were ordinary tracking devices." The spider bot shifted over to hit a control panel, which transmitted a private signal. "They're much more than meets the eye. And they're waiting for you in hangar six."

    Gigatron scowled. "What kind of game are you playing at, bug?"

    Tarantulas cackled as he set about slicing up Artfire's head. "The best kind. The one which I win every single time."

--Caminus--

    "So, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly brings you lot to Caminus?"

    Rodimus quickened his pace to catch up with Overcast, who was still walking with Nautica down the Citadel's silver and blue hallways. "Well, we're on a quest, you see."

    "Ah, those are always fun," Overcast said. "A quest to find what?"

    "Not what, who," Rodimus said, grinning. "We're searching for the Knights of Cybertron."

    "That right? Funny."

    Rodimus frowned. "I know it might sound ridiculous, but--"

    "No, no, no," Overcast said hastily. "You misunderstand me. I'm not making fun of you or your quest... I was just remarking on the fact that you're the second ship to arrive today with the same mission."

    Rodimus blinked. "I... beg your pardon?"

    "No more than a minute before you arrived, a group of shuttles from the Vis Vitalis landed in our hangar. They're searching for the Knights of Cybertron as well."

    This brought Rodimus to a cold, dead stop. Everything ahead of him suddenly seemed to be a hundred miles away and he could not find the energy to press forward. While the others simply moved past him, Drift came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

    "Hey. Is everything all right?"

    Rodimus did not reply and instead rushed back over to Overcast. "Wait, you mean to tell me Thunderclash is looking for the Knights of Cybertron?"

    "Yeppers."

    "Then what's he doing here? If he's had Camiens like you and Windblade and what not on board, that means he's already been to Caminus before. Why would he come back here instead of, you know, making progress?"

    "Now that, I don't know," Overcast said. "I had not been informed beforehand of their arrival, which makes me think there's been some sort of emergency."

    "Ha! That's rich!" Rodimus said dryly. "Thunderclash never has emergencies. He's the greatest Autobot that ever lived. Even Optimus Prime looks up to him. Heck, people say Omega Supreme goes to him for advice. Omega fraggin--"

    Overcast raised a finger to silence him, holding another to his comm. "Hold that thought, I'm getting a call. Yes, Lightbright?"

    The Camien listened patiently to the bot on the other end, saying "Yes" and "Uh-huh" sporadically. Then he said "Oh" in a tone that was usually used whenever bad news was received, and the "I see" which followed gave Rodimus the impression something seriously bad had happened. Finishing up with "Okay, I'll be there soon," Overcast ended the call and looked to the others.

    "I hate to end the tour before it's even begun, but we have to go to the Grand Hall, asap."

    "Why?" Rodimus asked. "What happened?"

    "Thunderclash is dead. The funeral is being held in three hours."

--Earlier--

    In all his life, Afterburner could not recall ever being in a good mood. Regardless of what period the universe was in -- war or peace -- he could simply not muster the "positive energy" that his fellow Camiens encouraged him to show. He woke up every day with a burgeoning sense of dread, fearing that something somewhere was going to go wrong for him. And nine times out of ten, nothing came about to justify those fears.

    So it just figured that, the one day he got out of his recharge station actually feeling optimistic and good about himself, a bombshell like this was dropped on him.

    Propping himself against the balcony's railing, he rubbed the top edge of his mouthplate, sighing deeply. "You're absolutely certain he's dead?"

    "He's already succumbed to rigor morphis," said the red and orange femme behind him, the flame emitting from her helmet flickering. "We've done multiple scans on him and none show any sign of spark activity. He's dead, Afterburner. No doubt about it."

    Letting go of the railing, Afterburner turned around to face Firestar fully. "Any idea what caused it?"

    "Our best guess is the spark injury he suffered at the Fall of Grindcore. However...." Firestar shifted her feet slightly, her optics darting. "For the past few months, every bot we've had visit Thunderclash to serve their honors have died. Countdown, Peritus Maximus... even members of our own crew, such as Vertex and Photon."

    "You have some sort of epidemic going around?" Afterburner asked.

    Firestar shook her head. "I don't think so. None of our scans on the ship have picked up anything, and the bots who have died look to be in perfect health-- besides the fact that they're dead, of course."

    "Radio the Vis Vitalis to come down and I'll order an inspection," Afterburner said. "In the meantime, we should bring this news to the Mistress of Flame."

    "Actually, I think we should let everyone know," Firestar replied. "Thunderclash is respected greatly by all Camiens, more so than any Cybertronian besides Optimus Prime. It's only fair that the whole world knows about it."

    Afterburner sighed. Although he had never thought much of Thunderclash unlike most, he knew Firestar had a point. Turning on his comm, he said, "All Cityspeakers, this is Commander Afterburner. I have some news I want you all to know...."

--Now--

    "Oh my god. Oh my god."

    Skids poked his head out the Rodpod to see Rapid Run staggering, holding herself up against the ship. Frowning, he asked, "What's wrong?"

    "It's Thunderclash," she replied, her voice softer than a whisper. "He's... he's dead."

    "What?" Skids exclaimed, incredulous. "Are you serious? How do you know this?"

    "A Cityspeaker just radioed me. Said it was spark failure." Rapid Run towards the Citadel, her optics filled with sadness. "Apparently that's why the Vis Vitalis is here."

    "Wow." Skids leaned against the door frame, shocked. "That's just... wow."

    "Pretty much. They're holding a funeral in the Grand Hall in three hours."

    "Are you gonna go? I don't mind, you know. I've already got company."

    "I probably should. Except...." Rapid Run shook her head, turning away from the tower. "No. I should stay here. I have a duty."

    "You sure?" Skids looked to see other Camiens moving towards the Citadel, clearly having received the call as well. "Seems like everyone else is leaving their post."

    "Which is precisely why I should stay. Someone has to keep a look out for any unwanted visitors."

    "Does Caminus get those often?"

    "Well, no," Rapid Run murmured, rubbing the back of her head. "The last one we had was... about a century ago. It was a ship full of organics trying to sell us illegal tech. They were completely harmless, just, you know... pushy."

    "So, given that, what are the odds of a Decepticon warship dropping from the sky and bombarding the planet?" Skids asked, smirking slightly.

    Rapid Run huffed, crossing her arms. "Enough to not make me take any chances."

    "Fair enough," Skids said, turning to leave. "Trouble does tend to always strike when you have your back turned."

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

--Caminus--

    If one had to use only a single word to describe Caminus, it would have been beautiful.

    The surface of the planet was coated with a vibrant silver sheen, made only brighter by the gleam of the sun. Crystal structures sprouted from the ground appearing almost translucent in the daytime. In some areas, organics blue growth could be found, usually in the form of small forests. This was all that remained of Caminus before it was colonized by Cybertronians several millennia ago.

    As the Rodpod traversed the stunning landscape, those on board stared at it in awe, mesmerized by such beauty. Even Cyclonus seemed taken aback by it all. After a long bout of wonder-strucked, open-mouthed silence, it was Whirl who finally voiced his opinion on this display of splendor and elegance.

    "This place sucks. When do we go home?"

    "Quiet, you!" Nautica reprimanded him, slapping him upside the head. "At least let some of us have our moment. Windblade and I haven't been here in... how long has it been, Windy?"

    "Too long," Windblade murmured, her hand on the window as she stared down at her old homeworld. "I've forgotten how... beautiful it was."

    "Do you think any of our friends are still here? Swift, Lightbright, Maxima...."

    "Who can say? I just hope Maxima hasn't forgotten our bet."

    The Rodpod continued to make its way across the Camien landscape with some direction from Windblade. In short time, the glowing capitol of Caminus -- the spiral-shaped Citadel of Flame -- laid straight ahead. For a fleeting moment, as the Rodpod sped forward, Rodimus felt his enthusiasm return, as if reenergized by now being one step closer to fulfilling their quest.

    Then he glanced to his left and it all went away again.

    He counted four, maybe five shuttles, done up in the same color scheme as the Vis Vitalis flying towards the Citadel. Down below, native Camiens were cheering on the procession with such excitement and energy, one would think Primus himself had just descended from the heavens.

    But that wasn't the case, was it? No, it was because Thunderclash had arrived.

    Ultra Magnus seemed to have seen the ships as well, for he was already looking at Rodimus. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

    "Yeah," Rodimus said, tearing his gaze away from the ships. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just fine."

    "Be sure to land over there," Windblade said from behind him, pointing over his shoulder to a landing zone fifty miles away from the Citadel. "Only reserved ships are allowed to land in the hangar. Those that aren't get shot down."

    "Yeesh, I thought Camiens were supposed to be a peaceful lot," Swerve said. "Y'know, the kind who'd swear off guns and the sort."

    "You're thinking of Paradron. Besides, they aren't that lethal; just strong enough to bring them down so that security can apprehend them."

    As Windblade explained all this, Rodimus noticed with some annoyance that the five Vis Vitalis shuttles had not been shot down and were entering the Citadel's hangar. With a small grunt to himself, he proceeded to bring the Rodpod down onto the landing pad, where a group of Camien greeters awaited them.

    "Oi! Is that who I think it is?" Nautica pressed her face to the window to get a better look at the entourage. "White chassis, big blue chest... oh, spark, it is him."

    "Don't tell me," Windblade said, rolling her optics. "Your old Conjunx is here."

    "He's not my--! We never--! No!" Nautica stammered. "We were just friends. That's all. Nothing more than that."

    "Really? I didn't know 'just friends' went on for hours about how great their 'just friend' was. I think you talked more about him than you ever did your actual Amica Endura."

    "That doesn't mean anything," Nautica murmured, crossing her arms in discomfort.

    "Not the way I see it."

    "All right, everyone settle down," Ultra Magnus ordered. "We must be on our best behavior if we're to get on the Camiens' good side."

    "Easier said than done," Skids muttered. "After all, we brought Whirl along."

    "Okay, 'dad,'" Whirl said sardonically. "I'll be good this time. Promise."

    Soon, the Rodpod touched down on the landing pad and the twenty bots gathered at the back of the ship, where the exit ramp was. Just as he was about to open it, Rodimus murmured a quick prayer to himself (he would never consider himself religious, but it couldn't hurt) before hitting the control panel and lowering the ramp.

    Standing before them was a group of three Camiens. In the lead was the mech Nautica had described and behind him were two femmes, both yellow while one was a large bulldozer, the other a small motorcycle. All three of them wore an Autobot badge.

    "Welcome to Caminus!" the lead mech greeted them. "My name's Overcast, and these two are Treadbolt and Rapid Run."

    "Hi, Overcast, I'm Rodimus. Captain of the Lost Light." He gestured to Ultra Magnus, Drift, and then the others. "This is Ultra Magnus my first mate, Drift my left-hand-bot, and seventeen of my crew."

    "Just seventeen, huh?" Overcast said, studying the crew members. "How big is your crew?"

    "About two hundred strong," Rodimus said proudly.

    "Two hundred? Impressive." Overcast looked over at Treadbolt. "Is that a record?"

    "Well, Thunderclash had three hundred and thirty-two crew members when I was on board the Vis Vitalis," Treadbolt replied. "Though that's not counting me, so that would make it thirty-three...."

    "Huh. It was only one hundred and thirteen when I joined. Though that would have been when he first arrived...." Overcast then turned back to Rodimus, who now bore a sour expression. "Anyway, never mind that. It's not about the number, but the people anyway. I look forward to becoming associated with each and every one of you."

    "Well, from my understanding, you already are with two of them." Rodimus stepped aside to allow Windblade and a very shy Nautica to step forward. "They were actually talking about you on the way here."

    "Was not," Nautica said in an undertone.

    Overcast tilted his head at them, his visor narrowing. "It's Wingblade, right? Wingblade and... Naughty Nautica?"

    "Windblade," the red femme firmly clarified.

    "And... it's just Nautica," the purple one murmured.

    Overcast laughed, spreading his arms out wide. "Ah, I'm just messing with you two! I could never forget your names... or nicknames," he added with a nod to Nautica.

    Nautica revved quietly to herself before speaking. "Um, yeah. So... how's it been, Overcast?"

    "Pretty good, actually. Not much happens here on Caminus these days-- heck, we only just heard last week that the war ended." Overcast then stepped over to Nautica and pulled her over to him, throwing an arm over her shoulders as he walked her in the direction of the Citadel. "But enough from me. I can't wait to hear all about your adventures."

    While Overcast and Nautica walked towards the Citadel, followed closely by a dour Windblade, Rodimus and the others were stepped from proceeding by Rapid Run, waving a scanner in her hands.

    "Hold it right there, folks," she said. "I'm gonna have to ask you to remove your weapons."

    "What?" Rodimus said incredulously. "Why?"

    "Ever since the assassination attempt on the Mistress of Flame ten years ago, non-Camiens are no longer allowed to have weapons inside the citadel." Treadbolt held out her hand. "Please. If you don't mind."

    The eighteen bots complied and turned in their weapons, which Treadbolt stored away on her person. Rapid Run was still waving her scanner however, glaring up at Skids.

    "Please remove all weaponry, sir," she ordered.

    Skids sighed. "I can't. They're built into my body. It would take wickedly precise incision to remove them without killing me."

    "Then I'm sorry, but you'll have to stay out here."

    Rodimus looked over to Skids sadly. "Skids...."

    "No, no, it's okay. I don't mind waiting with the Rodpod." Skids waved his hand dismissively. "Really. It's fine."

    "Well, I'd hate to leave you without company," Rodimus said. "I'll have Ariel stay behind with you. From what I've gathered, the two of you have formed something of a bond."

    Skids smiled at Ariel, who meekly smiled back. "Yeah, we have."

    "Hey, I'm a people-person too," Rapid Run said cheerily, losing her stern demeanor. "You can always chat with me if you want."

    Rodimus chuckled. "Well then, since you're all set...." He converted to his alt mode and revved up his engine. "Let's roll."

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

--The Lost Light--

    "That's enough. No more for today."

    "I beg to differ." Rung moved over to Fortress Maximus' bedside, gently pushing him back down. "We've barely even started."

    The former warden of Garrus-9 scowled. "We've been at this for three hours now."

    "Yes, and what have we accomplished in those three hours?" Rung asked, lifting an eyebrow. "You still haven't told me what happened at Garrus-9 and Garrus-16."

    "I told you what happened. The Decepticons attacked and they slaughtered us. End of story."

    "No, there must be more to it than that. I need details, Fort Max. First-hand accounts. You're the only bot who can give them to me."

    Fort Max said nothing, staring at the ceiling above him.

    Rung sighed as he sat back down in his chair. "Let's try a different approach. We'll start from the beginning: when, where, and how were you created?"

    "How is that relevant?" Fort Max grunted.

    "I understand it's a personal thing to ask," Rung said, reaching over and picking up a model craft from his desk. "But you're story of creation is different from most, I take it. You weren't always called Fortress Maximus, correct?"

    "Right," Fort Max muttered. "I used to be called Cerebros. Cerebros of Stanix."

    "Stanix," Rung murmured. "That city fell to the Decepticons early on in the war, didn't it?"

    "If by early, you mean a century in, then yes. The 'Cons wanted Stanix since it had produced a hot spot and they wanted to take the sparks for themselves. A team of Autobots intercepted them and were able to recover some of the sparks -- mine included -- before being forced to retreat when the 'Cons threatened to destroy the hot spot."

    "I see." Rung flipped the model over, frowning at the absence of a particular piece. "What after then? What was your first assignment during the war?"

    Fort Max narrowed his optics as he struggled to remember. "My first assignment was... it was...."

    A loud beeping sound cut him off. Rung sighed as he silenced the timer and stood up from his chair. "That's all the time we have for today. I'll see you again in twenty-four hours."

    As Fort Max sat up and swung his legs over the berth, he gave Rung a pointed look. "I've heard that we've reached Caminus."

    "So have I, and no, you're not going," Rung said sternly. "You are in no stable condition to--"

    "To what? To meet and greet with people? It's not like we're heading into some kind of warzone. It's Caminus; they've never heard of war."

    "That's a rather unfair generalization... but I see your point." Rung readjusted his spectacles as he thought over this. With a resigned sigh, he finally said, "Very well, you may go down to Caminus... on the condition that I accompany you."

    "Fine by me." Fort Max got to his feet and started to head out the door, only to stop and look back at Rung. "What about Ariel? Isn't she your next patient?"

    "Yes, but I suppose her session will have to wait until we leave Caminus. I'll ask Skids to bring her along as well -- she's under his care right now."

    "Since I know you're going to ask: I had no idea about her," Fort Max said as he and Rung stepped out into the hall. "She wasn't part of the Garrus-9 staff and, to be honest, she doesn't strike me as someone who would work at Garrus-16 either."

    "I find that understandable," Rung murmured. "She is somewhat... special."

    Fort Max looked at him curiously. "In what way?"

    Rung waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind. We should get down to the hangar bay before Rodimus leaves without us. He tends to get rather impatient...."

*  *  *

    Rodimus was in no hurry to leave.

    Normally he'd be jumping off the walls in excitement for finally reaching the first destination on their quest. A part of him still wanted to. But seeing Thunderclash's ship had killed his enjoyment faster than a fusion cannon to the face.

    As such, he didn't particularly mind when Whirl got into a blazing row with Cyclonus while boarding the Rodpod. Or when Swerve "accidentally" left an oil mark on Ultra Magnus' leg. Or when Glyph nearly bit Nautica's head off for giving her and Tailgate a funny look. Or when Chromedome and Rewind got into an argument over who sat where. Or when Getaway gave Ratchet an unwanted bomp.

    He didn't mind it at all. Anything that prolonged an encounter with Thunderclash was fine by him.

    "And Nightbeat makes twenty," Ultra Magnus said after finishing his headcount. He grimaced at seeing so many unruly bots crowded together in one space, half of them those he strongly disliked. "Primus preserve me," he muttered. "If I don't go insane from this trip...."

    "Hey, don't feel too bad," Rodimus said as he took the controls. "I'm right there with you."

    "I thought you were looking forward to this visit."

    "I was. I am."

    Magnus frowned at him, raising an optic ridge. "Is this about Thunderclash?"

    "No," Rodimus lied. "Don't be ridiculous."

    "I'm just saying. Your mood's been dour ever since we spotted the Vis Vitalis." Magnus tilted his head. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

    "There's nothing to talk about," Rodimus muttered as he set about starting up the ship. "Look, it's nothing, all right? Let's just... let's just get this over with. We've had enough diversions already."

    Magnus continued to stare at him concernedly but did not press the matter further. Eventually, he ended up striding over to separate Whirl and Cyclonus from each other again. The engines then started up and the Rodpod was soon out the hangar.

--Outpost One--

    "That's enough. No more for today."

    The torture device obediently retracted and Ricochet let out a weak whir from his damaged vocal processor. Through his equally broken optics, he could make out the shadowed form of his torturer hovering over him.

    "Congratulations. We're finally making progress. You've given me quite a lot of info -- info that would be extremely useful and dangerous in Decepticon hands."

    Ricochet tried to gather the strength to break free from his bonds but could not find it. His captor chuckled as a clawed hand gently stroked his face.

    "But I am no Decepticon. I have no use for the details you have given me. I need something more juicy -- something that I can use against Prowl. Maybe tomorrow you'll do better."

    A switch was hit and the binders around Ricochet's hands snapped open. As the Autobot dropped from the raised medical slab, a set of arms caught him and hauled him up, bringing him face to face with his captor. Ricochet forced his facial struts to form a sneer.

    "May Mortilus have your spark," he growled.

    "How touching," the hellspawn of a robot replied. "You think I still have one."

    He then waved his hand and Ricochet was dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming all the way.

*  *  *

    Artfire could hear people screaming.

    He was alone in a dark room, bound to a raised slab. His guard had told him that his tormentor would be here shortly, after they were done with Ricochet. Artfire had been in the midst of praying for his friend when he first heard the screams.

    A sudden tremor flipped the room on its side and the table Artfire was on was dislodged from the floor. One of his binders broke off and he was able to rid himself of his other restraints. Getting to his feet, he made his way towards the door, which had already been disconnected slightly. Once he had pried it all the way open, he was greeted by a rather peculiar sight.

    A giant floating hand had all five fingers wrapped around a scared-looking Decepticon while another spoke panickedly into its comm.

    "I repeat: we have an invader on Sector D1! Send backup immed--"

    "I don't think so." In quick succession, the giant hand squeezed its victim until he popped before flipping over and changing into a twin-headed dragon, crushing the other bot beneath his feet. The dragon then let out a deafening roar as it called out the name of Artfire's captor.

    "TARANTULAS! Come out here now before I tear this place apart with my bare hands!"

    "I'm coming, I'm coming." Descending from the ceiling on a strand of web was a giant arachnid, its eight eyes gleaming with malice as it came to directly face the dragon. "Patience has never been one of your stronger suits, has it, Gigatron?"

    The dragon snarled. "You've deceived me, Tarantulas."

    "Have I?" the arachnid said, feigning surprise. "Please, do enlighten me."

    "You lied to me about Ragnarok. You said he would give me the power I sought, but I spent three months studying him and nothing! Nothing came about it!"

    "Only three months?" Tarantulas chuckled. "Well, there's you're problem right there. I would've spent at least three years or--"

    Suddenly, the dragon transformed into a hulking robot, grabbing the spider by the head and tearing it off of its web. As Tarantulas was thrown onto the ground, he changed into his robot mode as well and glared at Gigatron as he got to his feet.

    "Right. I understand that you're upset. Perhaps we can talk this out. But before we do so...." He inclined his head to where Artfire was standing. Gigatron followed his gaze and narrowed his optics at the Autobot.

    "I don't suppose you could show our guest to his room?"

    Without further prompting, Gigatron returned to his dragon mode and the last thing Artfire saw was the enormous beast bearing down on him.

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

--The Lost Light--

    "No, no, no! Faster! More intense!"

    Crosscut fumed as he stormed onto the stage. This display of anger caused some of the actors on stage to back away, fearful of what their director was going to do.

    "Pincher, you're supposed to be fighting Smokescreen, not awkwardly wrestling with him. Throw some punches, be rough, get down and dirty."

    "Hey, I didn't sign up to be a punching dummy," Smokescreen protested. "My role is small enough as is."

    Crosscut stepped towards the blue and red bot and glared at him. When Smokescreen did not back down, the director said, "Fine. I guess I'll just have Rad do it then."

    Smokescreen blinked before finally stepping back, grousing a half-hearted, "Fine, whatever."

    Satisfied, Crosscut then moved on to his next cause of grief: a grinning, wide-eyed Clutch sitting on a set piece that was meant to be a bench of sorts.

    Crosscut huffed as he stood before the self-proclaimed Swerve fanboy. "Clutch, you're supposed to be Pincher and Smokescreen's best friend. You don't want them to fight. You're telling them to stop."

    "I did," Clutch said, not breaking from his smile. "I said my lines, didn't I?"

    "Yes, but you shouldn't be grinning when you say them! You're supposed to be distraught, dismayed by this conflict!" Crosscut then ran a hand over his faceplate, knowing he was going to regret even asking: "Why are you smiling anyway?"

    "Because I've never been in a play before! This is my big break! I'm going to be famous!"

    Crosscut started to say something but then stopped himself. He would have to choose his words carefully if he wanted to get anywhere with this.

    "Yes, I understand that," he finally said. "But if you want to be a famous actor, then you have to be a good one. And a good actor always hides his emotions."

    "Got it," Clutch said, still smiling. "I'll do my best."

    Crosscut severely doubted that, but he decided to let the matter rest. Besides, there was yet another thing of consternation for him to handle and he turned to Sprocket, his camerabot, to express it.

    "Where the slag is Tailgate with those props? He should have been here half an hour ago!"

    "If I were to wager a guess, I'd say he's probably with his girlfriend," Sprocket muttered.

    "Girlfriend?" Crosscut asked. "What's a girlfriend? What is that word? I don't know that word. Stop using words I don't know. I'm the playwright here, not you."

    "Girlfriend, sparkmate, Conjunx Endura-to-be, whatever. Point is, I have yet to see him without that blue femme clinging onto him. It's... bizarre, to say the least."

    Crosscut huffed, rolling his eyes. "Fine. I guess we'll just have to make do for--"

    "ATTENTION, ATTENTION!" An ear-splitting voice clamored from the intercom, causing everyone to cover their audio-receptors. "ALL HANDS, REPORT DIRECTLY TO THE BRIDGE! RODIMUS HAS AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE! REPEAT: ALL HANDS--"

    "Gah, who's bright idea was it to make Siren the PA system?" Smokescreen griped. 

    "Who cares?" Crosscut muttered, already walking off the stage. "Let's just go before I lose my hearing as well as my mind."

*  *  *

    "Glyph?"

    "Hmm?"

    "What are you doing?"

    Glyph lifted her head up from Tailgate's shoulder, her optics twinkling as she smiled at him. "Cuddling you."

    "What's a cuddle?"

    "It's what couples do when they love each other."

    "Really? I don't see Chromedome and Rewind do this."

    Glyph giggled, a melodious sound that Tailgate always enjoyed for some reason. "That's 'cause it's a private thing, silly. It's not meant to be seen by others."

    "Why not?" Tailgate asked, suddenly anxious. "Will we get punished if we get caught?"

    "No...." She rested her head on his shoulder again, closing her optics blissfully. "It's just something best shared alone by two."

    "Oh. I see." Tailgate fell silent for some time, savoring this special moment as he laid on his recharge slab with Glyph at his side. He then titled his head towards her and said, "Glyph?"

    "Mmm-hmm?"

    "Remember that time when you... when I was cured of Cybercrosis and you... did that thing?"

    Glyph lifted her head to look at him. "You mean when I kissed you?"

    "Yeah, that." Tailgate looked back at her sheepishly. "Do you think you could... do that again?"

    A bright smile curved across her gold faceplate. "Of course."

    She then leaned into him, bringing her face closer to his....

    "ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ALL HANDS, REPORT DIRECTLY TO THE BRIDGE!"

    Glyph sighed as she pulled away, though she kept her smile as she got off the recharge slab. "Maybe later," she said as she sauntered out of the hab suite. Tailgate followed her closely, only to stop when he saw a tall, violet mech coming down the corridor, his red optics set on the couple.

    "Oh, uh, hi, Cyclonus," Tailgate said, waving at his roommate. "How's it goin'?"

    "What were you two doing in there?" Cyclonus growled.

    "Nothing. Just talking."

    "Talking counts as doing something."

    "Well, it was just that. Just talking."

    "So that's what they're calling it now. Why were you 'talking' in our hab suite rather than somewhere else?"

    "Would it make a difference?"

    Cyclonus sneered. "Yes. It would mean I would not severely hurt you right now."

    Tailgate stared at the ancient mech, fearing that he was actually about to hurt him. Whether he was or not, he was stopped from doing so by a green and orange mech bumping into him.

    "Oi, keep a move on, mates," Hoist said as he walked down the hall. "Wouldn't want to keep Rodimus waiting now, would we?"

    Cyclonus simply grunted, giving Tailgate and Glyph one last glare before following after Hoist. Tailgate did not dare to move until Glyph pulled at his arm.

    "Come on," she murmured. "Let's go."

*  *  *

    "Slapdash... Waverider... Dipstick... Gears...."

    Rodimus let out an audible sigh of exasperation. "Do you really have to do this?"

    Ultra Magnus shushed him before continuing. "Hound... Chromedome... Grapple... Pipes...."

    While Magnus continued his headcount of everyone on the bridge, Rodimus looked over to Drift, standing by his side. "Have you got my speech prepared?"

    Drift nodded. "I've transmitted it to your processor already."

    "Ah, thank you." Rodimus waited until Magnus was done before stepping up to address the two hundred odd bots standing before him.

    "Everyone, I have fantastic news to share! Progress has been made! After the countless detours we have made over the two past weeks, we have finally reached the first destination on our map: Caminus!

    "For those who don't know, Caminus is one of the first thirteen Cybertronian colony worlds, said to have been discovered by Solus Prime herself. Many Camiens prescribe to the Way of the Flame, a religion that idolizes Solus and her fellow Primes and, yes, the Knights of Cybertron.

    "From what Drift and our resident Camien Windblade have told me, the Mistress of Flame -- Caminus' leader -- is said to bear knowledge of the Knights that no Cybertronian alive has. As such, she is paramount to the future of our quest.

    "So stand tall and keep your chins up! We may have gone through some tough times so far, but I assure you things can only look up from here. So with that out of the way... till all are one!"

    The gathered crew (save for Cyclonus) echoed him. As Rodimus turned back to face Caminus, visible through the viewport, he frowned upon seeing another spacecraft coming into view portside. Its deco was white and blue with yellow accents.

    "Please tell me that's not who I think it is."

    Mainframe leaned over the sensor screen and studied it. He then looked back at Rodimus. "It's the Vis Vitalis."

    "I said 'please.'"

    "The Vis Vitalis?" Ultra Magnus repeated. "That's Thunderclash's ship."

    "Pretty please. With an iron bolt on top."

    "What luck!" Drift said cheerily. "I've heard great things about Thunderclash. Maybe with his help, we can finish this quest in no time!"

    Tuning both mechs out, Rodimus said to Mainframe, "Just take us towards Caminus."

    "Are you sure you don't want to hail them?" Blaster asked. "Let them know of our presence?"

    "No."

    While Mainframe flew the ship forward, Rodimus seated himself int the command chair and made an irritated noise. In the matter of seconds, this day had become the best and worst of his life.

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VI, Prologue

PROLOGUE

--Outpost One--

    This mission could certainly have gone better.

    Blaster fire peppered the hallway, plasma bolts ricocheting off the walls. Ricochet winced as one narrowly missed his head and hit the control panel behind him, permanently sealing the door shut.

    "No way out," he said to his partner, who was crouched down across from him, returning fire. "We're trapped here."

    "Just as well," Artfire muttered. "There's no turning back at this point."

    Ricochet grimaced, knowing what he meant. This mission was a dangerous one, a mission no one else could perform. If they failed, then there would be no hope for anyone else who followed in their shoes.

    Primus forbid on that last part.

    Just as Ricochet was about to return fire again, something unexpected happened: the gunfire stopped. Exchanging a look with Artfire, he risked a peek around his cover.

    Their enemies were retreating. Not out of fear however; they were moving much to orderly for that to be the case. No, this was planned. This was part of their defense, as if they had been prepared for this.

    That was when it hit him. In more ways than one.

    Ricochet let out a scream as he was suddenly pulled up into the air. Electrical shocks coursed through his systems, frying each component. Artfire joined him and both Autobots were convulsing in mid-air. Over their screams, a sly voice spoke over the intercom.

    "Hello, you two. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

    Ricochet wanted to deny it, but he knew that voice. It carried a a different, more sinister edge to it now, but it was unmistakable. The current pain he was in prevented him from saying the name.

    "You've probably already figured by now, but I had been expecting you." A low chuckle came over the intercom. "Prowl thinks he's got his eyes on me, yet he doesn't realize I have eyes on him. Six more than he does, in fact!"

    This gave way to a loud cackle, one which sounded like it was teetering on the edge of sanity. Once it was finished, the voice returned to normal -- or as normal as it could get.

    "Now then, you might be wondering what I'm going to do to you. I could kill you, for one. It would be ridiculously easy to do so -- so easy, it wouldn't be funny."

    Suddenly, the electrical pulses stopped and both mechs collapsed to the floor, smoke emitting from their bodies.

    "But on the other hand... imagine what juicy details I could glean from your processors. Imagine all the dirt I could accumulate and use against Prowl. Oh, I can already see the look on his face. Be still my spinnerets...."

    Just to the side, a panel in the wall slid open. Ricochet then felt himself being lifted up and taken towards the opened door, Artfire right beside him.

    "Come in, please. Make yourselves at home." The voice belted out another deranged laugh. "I want you to show me something naughty."

ALL THAT GLITTERS

Part I: With Friends Like These

Star Wars Endgame: Finale, Epilogue

EPILOGUE

--Tython--

    Applause erupted from the audience as the newly-wed Anakin and Tahiri Solo joined lips in marital union. The ovation followed the couple as they went down the aisle and out the temple.

    Toah Jarsan sat by and watched as one by one the grand hall was deserted of people as they all left for the reception. Soon, only Toah remained to keep the lingering Grand Master of the Jedi Order company. Rising to his feet, Toah walked over to Jacen Solo, who was preoccupied with a very large book splayed out in front of him on the podium.

    "You aren't actually reading that, are you?" Toah said as he approached Solo. "You're just trying to look smart."

    Jacen chortled as he closed the book, making a loud thud. "Are you saying I'm not?"

    "Hey, I'm not the one who went on a five year sabbatical, got hitched and had a kid, met some old guys, all while people were busy fighting Glorians and Sith and whatnot."

    Jacen sighed. "You know, when you say it like that, it really does make me look like bantha dung."

    Toah put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, relax. I'm just teasing. If you hadn't gone on your trip, you wouldn't have found out what you did about Taral and we may have been worse off. And you may have not been there on Jakku to help us defeat Atha."

    Jacen blew out his breath. "Yeah, speaking of which...." He raised his eyes to meet Toah's. "He's gone."

    Toah blinked. "What do you mean?"

    "I mean he's...." Jacen stopped to recollect his thoughts. "They've been holding him on Coruscant for the past few months. Wallen visited his cell yesterday and saw that he had vanished. Actually, let me rephrase that: Mammon Hoole is still there, but he's dead. It's the armor that's gone."

    Toah stared at him incredulously. "You're serious."

    "Yes."

    Toah huffed, running a hand through his hair. "Who else knows about this?"

    "Besides us and Wallen? Only Shadow and Xemer. They've been working on covering it up before the Alliance can find out and start their own investigations."

    "And the Mindspear?" Toah asked, growing tense.

    "Don't worry, it's been destroyed. Unless Atha has a whole cache of saved up Vorath copies, which I find unlikely, he would have no way of finishing what he started."

    "I do hope you're right," Toah muttered. "For once I'd like to live the rest of my life in peace, without worrying about the next Vorath or Palpatine or whatever."

    Jacen smiled as he put a hand on Toah's shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll make sure you won't have to. I hear they have nursing homes on Chandrila you can check into."

    Toah glared at him. "Don't start with me, Solo. Your dad's going into one before I ever will."

    Jacen laughed as he came around the podium and started to walk down the aisle alongside Toah. "I hope your new apprentice isn't giving you a hard time as well."

    "No, but give her time. She certainly has the same kind of 'Solo spunk' that you and your siblings have, which sometimes makes me wonder...."

    Jacen raised an eyebrow at him. "Makes you wonder what?"

    Toah shook his head. "Never mind. It was a silly thought." He went silent for a moment before saying, "We should probably hurry. I don't want to get there and have there be no more cake left. I've seen how your dad and sister eat sometimes."

    Jacen chuckled as the two stepped out into the fresh Tythan daylight. "Then let us not waste any more time, old friend."

--Damosus--

    Green eyes watched from afar as the four-year-old ran around gleefully in the front yard of his home, watched closely by his equally jovial mother. His father could be seen on the roof with other men as they worked on remodeling their house to be more accommodating.

    The old woman sighed wistfully to herself. Her work here was done. She had helped the couple in settling down and starting a new life, free from the burdens of the past. It was fortunate that Damosus was as secluded as it was; few on the planet even knew what a Sith was, let alone heard of Darth Taral.

    As far as anyone in the galaxy was concerned, Darth Taral was presumably dead. Darth Sedriss was also gone. Their Sith Orders had ceased to exist, with its remaining members either dead or renouncing their teachings, as most of Sedriss' fellow Masters had done.

    There was only one last thing to do....

    "You are naive if you think they will be safe from me."

    Brisha Syo sighed as she turned away from her window and faced the floating mass of armor before her. "You're naive if you think there's anything you can do to hurt them."

    "I may have lost the Mindspear, but that is a minor setback," Atha Prime said. "I can still use them. I can still shape him into what he was meant to be."

    Brisha laughed at this. "I'm sorry, but I can't decide if that's either funny or just really sad."

    A low growl emitted from the armor as it moved closer to her. "Your dismissive attitude hides your fear."

    "Really? News to me." She smirked at the entity. "I'm not afraid of you, Atha."

    "You should be," the armor said as it started to wrap itself around Brisha. "You will be. Everyone shall be afraid of me when I lay down my vengeance upon the galaxy and--"

    "Tell me, Atha," Brisha interjected, the armor having fully encased her with the helmet only a few centimeters away from her head. "Have you ever possessed a master of the dark side before?"

    Atha Prime said nothing. When the realization finally set in and the armor started to peel away, it was already too late. Lightning released from Brisha's body and went into the armor's systems.

    Atha Prime shrieked in agony while Brisha simply closed her eyes and prepared for the fate that awaited them both. She let the lightning run its course before darkness finally consumed her.

*  *  *

    Varon's breath caught in his throat as he stumbled back, nearly falling over the edge of the roof. One of the workers caught him by the arm, saving him.

    "Easy, pal," the older man grunted. "You feelin' all right?"

    "Yeah," Varon lied, panting slightly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... nerves, is all. Heights make me uneasy sometimes."

    "You should get down and get some rest," the worker said. "Don't worry; me and the other guys can handle this."

    Varon nodded his thanks before climbing down the ladder. Once he had touched ground, Lysira was at his side, grabbing him by the arm.

    "I felt it too," she whispered.

    Varon frowned as he turned to face her. "What do you think happened?"

    "I don't know. It...." Lysira paused to think for a moment. "It didn't feel like natural causes. It... it felt like...."

    "A sacrifice," Varon finished for her. "Like she was dying to protect us from some threat."

    "But what?" Lysira murmured, pulling him closer to her. "What could that threat have been?"

    Before Varon could answer, he heard their son say, "Mama? Papa?"

    The couple looked down at their son, who was looking back at them in concern. "Is everything all right?" he asked, sounding slightly perturbed.

    Varon exchanged a look with his wife. Already their son's sensitivity to the Force was showing, indicated by his increased sense of empathy. Varon then bent down to pick up his son, holding him up to his shoulders.

    "Yes, buddy," he said with a smile. "Everything's okay."

    The boy's eyes brightened. "Is Papa happy?"

    Varon's grin only grew wider as he wrapped an arm around Lysira, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

    "Yes, Kalon. I couldn't be happier."

THE END

----

Whelp, this is it. The conclusion to not only Endgame but also the Destiny Trilogy. I hope anyone who's read this enjoyed it.

Note that this isn't the end to my Star Wars stories, just the one I set out to write involving my character Toah Jarsan and others that came along the way (such as Kadar, Shadow, and Wallen Nix). There will be more, specifically one centered on what Salvan Tai's been up to since joining Sidon Ithano's crew, as well as others. Think of this as less of an ending and more of a new beginning.

Or something cheesy like that.