The Forge

Copyright 1994, Robert A. Jung
Originally published December 17, 1994

All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...

The lights quickly dimmed as the warrior tapped the control panel. The darkness was not complete; total darkness, as with total illumination, would have made things easier. Instead, there was just enough light to tempt the use of vision, but not enough to make it practical. Another distraction to be ignored.

He turned to look across the chamber and barely discerned the dim outline of his opponent. A soulless beast, wanting only to destroy him, grinning silently as it peered with its empty black eyes. Its skills were the best, its tactics unpredictable, its weaknesses unknown. Like the room itself, this was intentional; warriors could only be crafted in the forge of challenge.

The monster leaped, disappearing into shadow. Unmoving, the warrior stood, then fell to the left as a rush of air blazed past his head. He dropped to his hands, simultaneously lashing out with both feet to strike his foe behind the legs. It dropped wordlessly, tumbling into an upright position, then turned.

An instant later it charged, the gleam of its sword flashing like electricity through the gloom. But the warrior was faster, and he quickly sidestepped the attack in a classic counterstrike defense. A fist swung up, striking his opponent's forearms, and the weapon fell to the floor.

The warrior leaped clear and spun around just in time to see his opponent leap again. It attacked feet first, blades in its boots snapped open. Unthinking, the warrior took a half-step back, snatching the outstretched leg in both hands, and painfully slammed his adversary to the ground with a fierce crash.

The opponent quickly rolled aside, oblivious to the injury. As it climbed upright, the warrior counterattacked with a leap of its own, arms reaching as if to strangle the monster. Still grinning fiercely, it somersaulted away, ready to deliver a killing blow after the warrior fell to the ground.

It never had a chance. The warrior landed hands first and whirled, bowling his enemy on its downward arc. Gracelessly it fell with a second crash; before it could regain its footing, the warrior pounced upon it, the edges of his hands striking its back in a rapid, orderly pattern.

A buzzer sounded as he hit a target point. The warrior stepped away as his opponent fell for the last time. Silently, the lights snapped back on, bathing the chamber in a diffuse yellow glow.

The warrior walked over to the control panel and tapped a few keys. He quickly paged through the display, nodding in satisfaction at the computer's analysis. Absently, he instructed it to devise new countermeasures to the tactics he had employed.

A soft beep echoed through the room. He pressed another button, then spoke. "Yes?"

"Bludgeon, this is Thunderwing. Get down to the auditorium. Strike Force Five is back from their raid on Cervax, and they've brought some 'subjects' with them."

"Amusements, my lord?"

"Of course," Thunderwing's voice was heavy with pleasure. "And who better to help them perform than my best warrior?"

"I'm honored, Lord Thunderwing," Bludgeon replied. "I shall be there immediately."

"Very good." The speaker clicked off suddenly.

Bludgeon turned. From the floor, the Pretender shell climbed to its feet and walked towards him, its grinning skull-head simultaneously impressive and menacing among the alien Nepahn armor. The suit snapped open lengthwise, and a quick glance at the status light told him that all was in order. With practiced ease, Bludgeon climbed in and swung it shut.

He was immediately one with the shell, and once again marveled at the technology that went into its making. Unlike an exo-suit, the Pretender case never compromised the sense of "self"; it gave the benefit of faster speed and greater strength without dulling the reflexes. The only drawback, if it could be called that, was that only a few Cybertronians were capable of properly controlling a Pretender shell. For those whose minds were not compatible, it was an encumbering liability.

An amazing weapon indeed, thought Bludgeon. But the greatest weapons can't compensate for a warrior's own weaknesses. That was a lesson he never forgot, despite his admirations for the shell. By allowing the computers to control it as an enemy drone, he tested its speed and durability in battle conditions, while ensuring that he was not dependent on it. And by having it learn from his previous sessions, he kept his own skills from stagnating.

Picking up his fallen katana, Bludgeon stepped out of the chamber.

The "auditorium" was, technically, incorrectly named. If a human observer was present, he might have instead called it a "stadium." Scaled for Cybertronian sizes, the room consisted of a large rectangular-shaped field, walled and ringed by a series of seats, and topped with a high, arching ceiling.

Jutting out from the stands on one side was a massive, ornately-decorated throne. In it was Thunderwing, the Decepticon Commander for all of Kelsar sector. Though he was answerable to Second Commander Shockwave and High Commander Megatron, here and now he was master of all he surveyed. All of his Decepticon troops not on active duty were present, packed into the surrounding seats, eager for the festivities to begin.

Their attention was focused on three robots on the field below. They were standing shackled, their weapons at their feet, waiting in a recessed area in the wall opposite the Decepticon leader. With them were Needlenose and Fearswoop, watching guard, and Trojan, who stood with a holocam to record the proceedings.

Thunderwing raised his arm, and the amused mutterings of his troops quickly stopped. Satisfied, he sardonically addressed the robots, "Let's get down to business. As ridiculous as it seems, you three rusted wrecks think you're capable of being Decepticons. Since I'm bored tonight, I've decided to give you a chance."

He pointed to a patch on the field near his side, and a floor panel before him slid open. A few seconds later Bludgeon appeared, raised by a submerged platform. He faced the captives, oblivious to the crowd.

Thunderwing said, "Your injuries have been treated and weapons provided to you. Each of you will now fight one-on-one against Bludgeon until you hear this bell." He pressed a button on his throne; the arena was suddenly filled with a loud, harsh clang.

He silenced the bell and sternly continued, "When you hear that bell, you WILL stop fighting. If you don't, you'll be destroyed immediately." On cue, the attending Decepticons cheered and yelled, waving a myriad of weapons into the air, taunting the newcomers to ignore the edict and give them target practice.

Thunderwing waited for the crowd to fall silent once more, then finished, "After the bell, if you have what it takes, then you can join our ranks."

One of the robots shouted back, "And if we don't?"

"Then you'll be dead before you hear the bell." Thunderwing grinned while the audience laughed, then asked, "Are there any more stupid questions?"

The subjects stood in silence. Thunderwing pointed to the one who had spoken. He was a broad-shouldered mechanoid, painted black and white with orange trim, his face half-hidden by the visor on his helm. To him, Thunderwing said, "You will be first."

The Decepticons cheered and whooped and guffawed as Needlenose unshackled the robot and Fearswoop handed him the photon rifle at his feet. He took two hesitant steps forward; a translucent blue force field snapped on, surrounding the combat zone.

Bludgeon asked, condescendingly, "What's your name, fool? Or are you too scared to have one?"

The robot's hesitation melted into fury as he shouted, "I'm Roadmaster, and you're roadkill!" His arm suddenly snapped up, and he fired the photon rifle.

Bludgeon dove under the shot, spun, and slid forward, kicking hard into Roadmaster's leg. As Roadmaster fell, Bludgeon rolled upright and pulled out his sword. He turned and swung, but Roadmaster had transformed into a four- wheeled vehicle, speeding away before the blade fell.

"Time to die!" Roadmaster bellowed as he turned. A laser turret on his top fired at Bludgeon, who leaped aside and ran parallel to the turn's arc. Roadmaster straightened out and barreled towards Bludgeon as the turret tracked for another blast.

Bludgeon held his ground. Roadmaster gunned his engine, then fired. In one fluid motion, Bludgeon ducked the searing green bolt, kneeled, and leaped into the air. He landed on Roadmaster's roof and caught the laser's barrel for support.

Astonished, Roadmaster swerved into the nearby wall, riccocheting wildly off it with his left side. Sparks flew as metal rubbed against metal, but Bludgeon refused to be knocked loose. Instead, he grabbed his katana in one hand, then swiftly plunged it through the windshield and into the dashboard.

Roadmaster screamed. He bounced off the wall once more, then veered sharply to the right. Bludgeon twisted the blade and drove it deeper, eliciting another scream, then harshly yanked it out. He leaped off just before the pain-blinded Roadmaster plowed into the opposite wall with an explosion that drowned out the cheers of the audience.

Bludgeon picked himself off of the ground, then walked towards Roadmaster, who had reverted to robot mode and was lying prostrate on the ground. Without a word, Bludgeon picked him up and slammed him against the wall.

A heartbeat later, Bludgeon drove his sword into Roadmaster's chest cavity, then brought it up sharply to bisect the head. As the corpse fell, Bludgeon bowed to Thunderwing, who asked, "Your assesment?"

Bludgeon looked up. "A blustering fool, my lord, fit only for scrap."

"I agree." Thunderwing gestured to Needlenose and Fearswoop. "Get that junk out of here; we've got two more to go."

The force field winked back into existence as the second candidate entered the arena. Bludgeon studied him in a glance: the mechanoid was colored in various shades of violet, and a pair of thin blades from his back hinted at a flying vehicle mode. In each hand he held a small, black gun, while the stranger appeared properly cautious of the impending duel without allowing himself to succumb to fear.

Bludgeon advanced on the waiting robot. "Your friend didn't fare very well."

"He was no friend of mine."

"And what makes you think you'll do any better?" Bludgeon grinned wickedly.

The other made no reply, though Bludgeon caught him tensing for an instant. He admired that; this one was able to keep his temper in check, and was not prone to rash acts.

Bludgeon pointed the tip of his sword at the robot as he got closer. "Are you going to just stand there and die, nameless one?"

"The name's Spinster," the robot replied.

Bludgeon raised the sword over his head and instructed, "Then turn your head to the right, Spinster; it'll be less painful."

His opponent remained immobile. Bludgeon stopped just out of arm's reach and paused. He gazed deep into Spinster's optics; there was still no sign of fear, nor was there the false bravado of overconfidence. Though he knew that a ploy was involved, Bludgeon decided to play it out.

In an instant, he brought the blade down. Spinster leaped to the right, dodging the stroke, and transformed into a slender helicopter. He buzzed high across the field, then pivoted quickly and belched flames from twin cannons on the sides.

Bludgeon ran under the blast and leaped. He caught a landing strut with one hand, then swung himself up and locked his legs around the tail. But before he could attack, Spinster spun again and transformed. His grip on the tail vanished, and Bludgeon was thrown across the field.

As the audience gasped, he landed gracefully on his hands and tucked into a roll that stopped just before the north end. As he picked himself off the ground, Bludgeon spotted a flicker of orange to his left. Instinctively he bounded to the right, barely dodging another blast of fire. He spun to face Spinster, now charging with both weapons smoking.

Bludgeon somersaulted backwards, braced his feet against the wall, then sprang forward an instant later. He caught Spinster in total surprise and tackled him, and the two fell down in a chaotic tumble. A quick lash with the leg knocked one flamethrower spinning away, but the challenger lashed with his freed hand and caught Bludgeon in the side of the head.

The two rolled apart. While Bludgeon scrambled to his feet, Spinster remained lying on his back and fired again with his remaining gun. Undaunted, Bludgeon vaulted over the burst, twisted in midair, then landed hard into Spinster's chest. Spinster buckled violently from the impact as the crowd roared their unanimous approval.

Bludgeon kneeled quickly, pinning Spinster with his knees. He brought his sword overhead for a decapitating stroke as the bell rang.

He stopped, frozen for a second, then climbed off. Dazed, Spinster staggered to his feet, whereupon Bludgeon guided him down the field to face Thunderwing's throne. The Decepticon commander smiled as Bludgeon bowed, then asked, "Your assessment?"

Bludgeon looked up. "Untempered but strong, my lord. Like raw ore, he needs only your guidance to be molded into a powerful weapon."

Thunderwing nodded, then spoke, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Welcome, Spinster, to the Decepticons."

The audience cheered.

Bludgeon faced the final candidate with no overt signs of fatigue. He had declined Thunderwing's offer of a half-cycle rest, insisting firmly that he was quite capable of finishing the trials. Such endurance and dedication endeared himself to the Decepticon Commander, though to Bludgeon it was all part of his own trials as a warrior.

Once more, a single glance at his opponent was all that was necessary. This robot was painted in a garish combination of green and purple and black. His head fronted by a pasty white face that mirrored Bludgeon's own horrific appearance, and wicked-looking protrusions covered his stocky body.

Bludgeon bowed towards him; just low enough to be polite, but not enough to signify any sort of submission. "No weapons? You're either very brave or very foolish."

The stranger smiled slyly. "You'll have to find out, won't you?"

"Hrmph. Your tongue is rather loose; perhaps I'll cut it out."

"If you can."

Bludgeon scowled and unsheathed his katana, holding it ready to strike or parry as needed. His opponent took three steps forward and took a defensive stance, resting lightly on the balls of his feet.

Neither mechanoid moved. A long silence passed between them as they stood still, assessing each other, waiting for the battle to begin. A quiet murmur stirred among the attending Decepticons, which grew louder with their impatience. Some glanced curiously at Thunderwing, but he sat over the proceedings without response.

In a wink, Bludgeon lunged, a feint that the other robot quickly sidestepped. That opening was filled by Bludgeon's leg, which knocked him hard in the side. The challenger teetered but quickly recovered his balance.

Bludgeon charged forward, his sword slashing down violently in a blazing white arc. The stranger sidestepped it to the left with the smallest of motions, then lashed out with his bare hands. A set of fingertips struck Bludgeon in the upper arm, while the edge of the other sliced him in the lower back.

Surprise and shock filled Bludgeon's mind; the impact from those two blows was far stronger than he would had expected. He stifled a yell and hopped away, gaining precious microseconds as he assessed the situation. He was still functional, but it was clear that there was more than met the optics.

Bludgeon turned around just as the other robot swung at him. He ducked with uncanny speed, then plowed forward and smashed into his opponent's torso. The challenger fell, but elegantly tucked into a roll, tumbled backwards, and flipped himself upright. The spectators hooted and whistled their admiration.

There was no pain then, Bludgeon realized. That ruled out many possibilities, including electrostatic fields and neuro-net disrupters. Other, more powerful weapons were unlikely -- they were too large to be completely embedded in a Transformer without some sign of their presence. What's his secret?

Even as these thoughts flowed through his mind, Bludgeon charged. He swung with his left fist, which the robot dodged, then followed with a slashing stroke from his sword, which connected resoundingly.

The challenger stumbled backwards in agony, then lunged forward, grabbed Bludgeon's right arm with one hand, and chopped his forearm with the other. Once more, the blow was much more painful than it should have been; Bludgeon felt as if a plasma blade had sliced into his arm.

He cried out suddenly and dropped the katana. As he reeled, the mechanoid grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms to his sides. Bludgeon buckled as his opponent began kneeing him in the back, driving sharp spikes into his body with each blow. "Whatsamatter?" his attacker taunted, "Out of smart remarks?"

Bludgeon grunted as the knee impaled him once again. Then, without warning, the Pretender shell cracked open and Bludgeon leaped clear. As everyone else watched in surprise, the case snapped shut while he dove for the ground and immediately transformed into his tank form.

A moment later, the turret snapped around, and Bludgeon's shell doubled over to flip the astonished robot off its back. Then the tank fired, intercepting the airborne robot with a high-explosive grenade. The challenger crashed to the ground and was immediately pelted by more bombs in rapid succession. Explosion after thundering explosion filled the room, matched by the cheers of the bloodthirsty audience.

Only the bell was louder. As soon as it began, the shelling stopped, though the crowd took considerably longer to die down. Bludgeon transformed back into his robot mode, then stepped past the fallen robot and climbed into his Pretender shell. Encased in it once again, he walked over to Thunderwing's throne, trailed by Fearswoop and Needlenose, who carried the semiconscious robot between them.

With a little bit of effort, they had him standing next to Bludgeon. Satisfied, Thunderwing held up his hand, and the chamber fell silent. Bludgeon bowed, and once more, Thunderwing asked, "Your assessment, Bludgeon?"

He rose, then looked at the dazed and battered mechanoid. The choice was his to make; a terse word would be enough for Thunderwing to throw the stranger into the smelting pool. But the Lessons taught otherwise: The Warrior has no secrets from his Master. Only the dishonorable give lies as truth.

Bludgeon turned back to Thunderwing and said, "A fine warrior, my lord. Certain to bring you glory in all of your endeavors."

Thunderwing nodded and faced the other robot. "What's your name, stranger?"

With an effort, the candidate straightened himself. He looked up at Thunderwing, then turned to lock eyes with Bludgeon. "My name's Banzai-tron ... Master of Crystalocution."

Thunderwing mused at that. "You must be a master, Banzai, to hold your own against Bludgeon. Perhaps you two are kindred spirits." His voice raised as he declared, "Welcome, then, to the Decepticons!"

Among the ruckus of the excited audience, Needlenose guided Banzai-tron towards the infirmary for needed repairs. Bludgeon watched him go, lost in his own thoughts. That was his secret -- the art of attacking metal fracture points. A rare skill indeed.

He reminded himself to see Trojan later and get a copy of the holo. Though he had not lost any of the duels, he would study it in search of defects in his strategies. He also silently thanked Thunderwing for linking Banzai with himself. Now he had an opening to study by his side, possibly learning about Crystalocution himself.

But whether he would befriend Banzai was another matter. There was no question that the new Decepticon was highly skilled and worthy of Bludgeon's respect. Yet, at the same time, those talents also made him a deadly foe and a danger to himself.

Should the need arose, he would attack Banzai in an instant. But Bludgeon wondered if he would survive such an encounter...