Arcee stood, wiping the oozing Energon from her cut shoulder. This was far more of a challenge than she had originally intended it to be. But she liked it! Her opponents approached her, smiling, holding their daggers and many rifles loosely in their hands. She looked around. Almost everyone had gone from the pub; only Maccadam and a few cowering hatchlings had stayed.
She should take out Dirge first. He would be an easy one to wipe from the list. Yeah, go for it! Arcee narrowed her eyes, and drew her Energon sword. Arcee had the optimum physic for a melee combatant, plus the form of the ideal female Cybertronian. Agility and grace marked her path of fulminated destruction, and while the average Autobot avoided killing, the average Autobot also wanted to keep their assorted limbs intact, so they usually let Arcee execute her own battle strategy.
And so she leapt, flipping twice in the air, avoiding the hail of gunfire as it came rushing from bellow. Her target was moving now, running to get a clearer shot at her. Adapt, she thought, and switched her course accordingly.
She landed next to Dirge. Not expecting this, the Decepticon attempted to put some distance between himself and the distempered Autobot. Mistake. Grabbing his arm, Arcee twisted herself until she had him in a headlock, and his arm broke.
The sizzle of the circuits dying gave the raved female great pleasure, and kneed him next in the back. The armor on his back was heavy, but gave way under her power to a flourishing wave of wires and gears. This was the fun part.
Still holding him, Arcee bent down and clutched one of her blue daggers in hand. She began to cut, aiming for the circuits that when cut caused the most pain. Dirge screamed as Arcee sliced a crass path with her dagger from his outer armor directly to his spark. Arcee could not contain a grin.
“There it is,” she whispered softly in his ear and, now caressing his head, gently pulled the spark from his body. The death was instantaneous. His body went limp, and Arcee pocketed the pulsing blue ball of energy in her belt.
Dirge’s murder was met with momentary silence as the other Decepticons processed what had happened. Arcee kicked the corpse to the side, swinging her long dagger in her hand lazily. One of the Decepticons made what most would consider a wise move and ran, crashing out the door. Arcee made no pursuit.
Hmm, she pondered. Should she take out Bludgeon or Blackout next? The former was a very skilled swordsman, and she had dreamt of taking him out ever since she witnessed him in combat; the latter, a veteran war general; plenty of experience in brute force tactics and bladed weaponry. She chose the latter.
To work, then. Arcee crouched low, running now. A third Decepticon raised his blaster, aiming at her head. He fired, though his aim was off, and the missile, first streaking over several tables, landed taking out Arcee’s left shoulder. She screamed, ripping the remains of her arm out of its socket. It was replaceable, though that fact did not stop the pain from shooting across her upper body. Arcee stumbled, the pain overwhelming her. The Decepticon phalanx advanced, blasters and swords at the ready. Bringing her long dagger about, she eyed the armada. Her eyes once again rested on Blackout. He was a tall, lumbering fellow, with a sickly face, and an even more sickly and disproportionate body. His arms were huge, stumpy husks, while his legs were spindly and attenuated.
His form was something that people often overestimated. He was bulky and lumbering, but he was also quick and displayed a nimbleness not normally associated with such a figure. Only a couple of yards now. She could make the strike. Sloppily, Arcee summersaulted, sprang into the air, and slashed down with her sword. It didn’t work. Blackout caught the blade aimed at his head with two of his six fingers and easily flicked it out of Arcee’s hand, sending her flying.
Arcee adjusted her center of gravity, looking for something in that split second to grab on to. Blackout’s arm was lowering; a perfect handhold. Arcee took her chance, grabbed his arm, and scrambled up his humungous form, compensating for her one lost limb via her legs. She manifested a small dagger from her right wrist gauntlet and jammed it into his neck. He barely noticed. A few other Decepticons took a shot at her, and one of them landed on the small of her back.
Cursing, Arcee pulled the knife out. Flipping off of the giant, she spun, twirling in mid-air. Sliding on the ground, she made for the first of the three other combatants. Gripping her knife tightly, Arcee swung her arm about, arcing the blade. The blade made solid contact with the neck of the small combatant, taking his head clean off of his body.
Still sliding, Arcee turned to her second distractor, a tall and lanky green robot. Readying her knife, Arcee used her remaining momentum to carry her to the opponent, slicing down with her knife.
The arc landed from the combatant’s shoulder to his crotch, slicing him diagonally in half (had she her other arm, the arc would have sliced the bot cleanly in half). The strain on Arcee’s form was gaining force, and even as the spark of the dead Decepticon bounced once to the ground, Arcee had to sacrifice her knife in order to catch it. She pocketed it, and turned, dodging a second blast from Blackout to pick up her blade.
Arcee then leapt back onto the lumbering giant and made for the small of his back. Her versatility in combat allowed her crude access to his circuitry beneath his heavily armored back. Blackout grunted, reaching behind him and grabbing her by the waist. He flung her around, now holding her at arm’s length.
Arcee, still holding her dagger, thrust her arm up, jamming the knife into the bottom of Blackout’s forearm. He let go, and while his screams occupied his train of thought, she managed to come around to his back again and slice away, grinning as she did so.
A complex tesseractal net heavily guarded his spark core. She now produced a small versatile welding torch from her hip and, holding the knife in her mouth, heated the blade. Seven thousand degrees kelvin should be enough to melt him. She replaced the torch, and stuck the broiling blade into Blackout’s back. While his screams of anger over his wounded arm were fierce, the cries that came out of him now were such that even Arcee could feel the slightest tingle of remorse course through her body.
And then she twisted the blade, and assaulted upward into his neck. His screams became shriveled wines as his vocal processors were slowly being twisted around the sticky searing blade. He fell forward, Arcee nimbly jumping off. Blackout landed with a thud, and she wrenched out his spark from his lifeless shell. Trophy number four.
Arcee pinpointed the Decepticon who had severed her arm. This one was cowardly through looks alone, and his personality did nothing to dissuade that certainty. He met her eyes, and his face turned from readiness to shock, as he saw the heated powered-up welding torch fly towards his face. The screams were sickening, though sicker still was the image of the poor combatant’s face as the torch landed, immediately eviscerating his eyes, then moving quickly over his entire head. Then Arcee was there, standing over the headless warrior. She knelt and, holding his body down with one foot, ripped open his chest with her hand. A hollow creaking sound followed. She yanked past the inner armor and wires that preserved his spark and yanked the glowing blue ball out of his chest. She looked at it, smiling. She liked these symbols of life: such tiny things were to give life to such monstrous creatures such as herself.
She felt the impact as she pocketed the spark; a fist collided with her abdomen and she flew back, unable to right herself. Standing, she looked around to see whose hand she should cut off. Bludgeon, a tall lanky samurai-looking robot, whose head was that of a skull, came lunging at her, sword in hand. She sidestepped. The assailant summersaulted behind her, spinning as he did so, swiping his sword around to slice her in two.
Arcee felt the blade enter the left side of her chest, clean and deadly. She fell, her remaining hand shooting out to nurse the open wound. Bludgeon would have smirked had he muscles to allow for such minute articulation. Instead he looked down upon her with that hideous monotonous grin that accompanied those red hollow eye sockets. Arcee rolled, ignoring the pain of the wounds she had sustained, grabbing her sword on the way. Managing to get back up onto her feet, she met the next swing with her own blade. If Bludgeon’s eyes could emote, surprise would have flickered through them only for an instant. He advanced, jabbing teasingly at his opponent.
Arcee parried his attacks with the motions of like-mockery, though her face emoted no amount of wit. Bludgeon spun, a roundhouse kick colliding with Arcee’s chest, making the open wound that much more seditious, as now more Energon leaked from the cut. Falling, Arcee looked up to see Bludgeon raise his sword for a killing strike.
The sword came down!
Arcee’s hand caught hold of Bludgeon’s arm, twisting and guiding it, along with the sword, into Bludgeon himself. Caught by surprise, the samurai reeled back, grabbing at his wound. Arcee leapt, came down and dropkicked her foe by the hilt of the wound-generating sword. The sword sunk deeper into Bludgeon’s chest, while Arcee landed nimbly on the balls of her feet. A further roundhouse kick was all it took to incapacitate Bludgeon, knocking him to the ground. Arcee wrenched the sword out from Bludgeon’s form, the tip of the blade carrying his spark. Arcee stood, smirking. The other Decepticon combatants didn’t move.
“He was our bravest,” one of the Decepticons said, referring to Bludgeon.
“Then I guess you guys must be bottom tier on Megatron’s list if that was all you could give,” said Arcee. She didn’t really mean it. Her back and chest were cut deeply, and her entire left arm was no longer hers to wield! These guys were certainly top notch.
“Megatron will hear of this evisceration, He will come after your head! He’ll send hordes of troops after you for what you have done! He’s coming.” The dominion departed, plumes of smoke and jet exhaust followed in their wake.
Arcee looked up at the retreating army. “He knows where to find me,” she whispered, cradling the five sparks on her belt.