Queens, New York – Aftermath of the Battle
The battlefield was deathly still, like the air itself had been scorched into silence.
The acrid stench of burnt tal lingered, carried on the faint crackling of circuits that still sputtered weakly in the ruins. Twisted steel and shattered armor littered the streets, their blackened husks reflecting the eerie glow of dying fires.
Among the scattered wreckage, the only human sounds were hushed whispers, heavy with disbelief.
"All... all of the Decepticons... wiped out?"
"That was... too much."
"Over a hundred... gone just like that?"
The crowd of onlookers stood rooted in place, unable to even trust their own eyes. It was as though ti itself had fractured, leaving them trapped between awe and dread.
Even the mutants—veterans who had long since grown accustod to Alex's frightening displays—were paralyzed. They had seen him strike down enemies, had felt his presence bend the rhythm of battle before, yet this was different. This was beyond what any of them could have imagined.
Two minutes.
That was all it had taken.
In the space of two heartbeats and a breath, 135 Decepticons had been annihilated, reduced to fragnts and ash.
Earthmover, Hawkeye, and Slash stared at Alex as if staring at sothing not entirely human. Their throats had gone dry, their hands trembled despite themselves, and the unspoken doubts they had once carried—the murmurs questioning whether Alex truly deserved the title of "Strongest Mutant"—were gone, burned away with the wreckage.
Now, all that remained was awe.
And fear.
"Alex… this is your real strength?" Banshee whispered. His voice trembled, barely audible, as if even speaking the words might draw Alex's gaze and invite a storm. "What even are you?"
Even after everything—after battles fought and victories won—this was the first ti they had seen him unleash his power without restraint. It wasn't re energy, nor was it a mutant gift. What they had witnessed was raw, inexorable force—a natural disaster made flesh, a cataclysm given will.
"Well," Charles finally broke the silence with a slow, disbelieving grin, "that's certainly… one way to end a crisis."
Beside him, Erik chuckled, the sound low and edged with dark amusent. His eyes glead with a strange pride, though even he could not fully mask the unease curling in the pit of his stomach.
Whatever their ideological clashes, this much was undeniable: Alex's strength was now mutantkind's greatest weapon.
And if one mutant alone could erase an entire Decepticon battalion in less than the ti it took to prepare a counterstrike…
Then no military, no governnt, no hidden cabal in the shadows of the world would ever dare provoke them again.
"Emma," Charles called out telepathically, his tone calm but sharpened by urgency, "give us the next location."
A mont later, the Blackbird roared to life, its turbines echoing like thunder across the ruined district. The sleek jet lifted into the sky, leaving behind only a graveyard of burning husks—
—and a crowd of humans left staring upward, their faces pale and wide-eyed, as though they had just borne witness to a god walking among mortals.
---
Broken Neck Mountain – gatron's Stronghold
"W-What?!"
Starscream's shrill voice cracked, static buzzing through the transmission. His wings quivered as though even speaking the words drained him.
gatron's optics narrowed into slits of crimson. His towering fra cast a shadow across the war table, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of iron and inevitability.
"Report."
"Clutch's entire squad…" Starscream faltered, his voice trembling. "Gone. All of them."
For a long, terrible second, the only sound was the low hum of gatron's fusion cannon as energy pulsed through its core. His clawed hand flexed slowly, tal grinding against tal, the sound grating and sharp.
"Impossible," he growled. His voice thundered like an avalanche. "They numbered 135!"
Starscream swallowed hard, his wings twitching with nervous spasms. "I saw it myself," he stamred, nearly choking on the words. "I flew over the wreckage. Nothing remains but slag… nothing."
gatron stood frozen, his great fra motionless, yet trembling faintly. For once, it was not the rage of a warrior burning within him, but sothing colder. Sothing far more alien to his nature.
Fear.
One hundred and thirty-five elite warriors. Veterans forged through countless campaigns. A force that could have crushed cities.
Erased.
In less ti than it took to align orbital cannons.
"It was him," Starscream whispered, as though uttering the na risked summoning the monster itself. "The mutant. Alex."
gatron's optics dimd for a fleeting mont, as if his very processors struggled to reconcile the truth. The warlord of Cybertron, who had stood unshaken against armies and gods alike, faltered. His steel lips moved, the words erging ragged, almost broken.
"This world…" His voice was low, unsteady, carrying a weight his lieutenants had never heard before.
"…should not have given birth to sothing like him."
Starscream fell silent. For once, he had no sarcastic remark, no ambition-laced sche. The silence between them was heavy, oppressive, filled only with the echo of despair.
After what felt like an eternity, gatron spoke again—his voice hollow, stripped of its usual venom.
"Recall all units. Imdiate withdrawal. Full retreat."
The words fell like rusted chains, heavy and bitter. Once, he had roared of conquest, of Earth bowing beneath Cybertronian might. Once, his very na had been enough to make worlds tremble.
Now, he was running.
Not from an army. Not from the combined defense of Earth.
But from one man.
Because if they stayed, Alex would co for them.
And when he did… there would be no escape.
The Decepticon legacy itself would be ground into dust, rembered only as the enemy that dared provoke a god.
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