Tag: gore

mylovelyrainblog:

Warning: major character death

Title: Dream Sequence

Optimus dreamed.

Sometimes he dreamed of good things. Sometimes the bad. Then, there were sometimes the undefinables.

Battleground, covered with singed bodies, severed limbs. Spilled energon running in rivulets, tinting the soil pinkish. Optimus roamed the dead land. There were no more sound, but the occasional cracks of burning corpses. Pillars of black smoke rising high into the hanging clouds. Optimus roamed the land of wasted sparks, searching, while unsure of what he was searching for.

Until abruptly, he saw it, his target.

Unassuming, inconspicuous, the great Megatron lay on the battleground. Though, it was not really Megatron, but a malformed imitation of the form of the very mech, a maimed mess of wires and compartments, mingled and lifeless.

An explosion perhaps ended his life, clean and simple.

Optimus had been having this same dream countless times. It was always like this, searching, searching aimlessly, until the finding.

He would, like always, stand before it, for some long time. Sometimes, it felt like an eternity. The end of an era, he would contemplate, while all around them morphed into a speeding blur. But he and the imitation of Megatron would stay unaffected.

It had always ended like that: his dream would fade, or he would wake up with a mild, ambiguous discontentment, a ghost fretfulness under the plating.

He never knew how to correctly classify it. Good or bad, he could not tell. He put it under “unknown,” assuming the dream would always end like that, without anything tangible.

He was wrong.

This time, this time the dream did not stale or fade.

Optimus stood before the fallen body of his life-long enemy, like every single time. A strange pull at the center of his spark. It had… always been there. He understood now.

And he knew what to do, like the clouded sky of the day, like the darkened sky of the night. It was natural and spontaneous. Without a thought or doubt.

He reached down to grab the severed faceplate, the faceplate of stormed climes, of the best of dark and bright, which met in the once glowing red.

He woke up, this time without a trace of discontentment or fretted inching.

Just a despondency.