Drabblefic; Focus
It was night. He felt it best to wait until the others - Safeguard as well - were sleeping, and the City was as quiet as it would ever be. Then, he opened the window, and stepped out.
He rose. Higher, and higher still until he was upon the building's roof, and then he alighted upon the flat surface. It was cold, being still the winter season, but dressed in full garb...
That was how he was seeing it, now. It was as close to himself as he would get. The other clothing he wore over this human chassis, it was nothing more than fabric paling in comparison to his true form. Even the garb, that which he was Ported in with - coat and straps and disc and pieces that earned one strange looks when outside, when he felt tired of blending and wanted nothing more than to be true to his god-crafted form - was nothing more than a pale imitation.
But in the garb, he did not mind the cold as much. He still felt it, but it was perhaps staved off better in these lighter fabrics that were not designed for cold. For the ones that were, were bulky and heavy and unnatural, and these...
These were only fitting for him trying to reconnect to something he had thought lost.
"You just have to focus."
He had tried, before. He had spoken with Starscream and told him of the Cyber Caliber that could cut through space and time, his greatest and most valued of tools - Rhisling. He had held out his hand and felt as a fool and nothing had happened but him believing that the Porter had cut him off from that which was his.
He held out his hand once more.
"Is this one not your own, now?"
Scathach had helped him become acquainted with human form. To discover that programming still lingered, that he was still a fighter. He had wondered how he would still fight, still perform his duty without his blade and in a body that retarded his abilities, where he could barely fly and yet...
"You will simply have to make it your own."
However much it was a lesser form, it was still his own. And however much his power was limited...that, too, was still his own.
"Come to me," he breathed, before closing his eyes and searching within himself for his birthright.
"I am sworn to stand against Darkness...if you would stand by it regardless of form then I stand against you as well."
He had made a promise. In spirit, if not in words. Though he still held belief that the forces here would be enough to stand against the Darkness. Against Evil. Destruction. That which he was created to combat, and even if he hadn't been certain he could do so in his full power he was still willing to do it. He had to. Anything else would be betrayal.
"Come," he said again, closing his eyes.
The power was there, he felt it - as he forgot the chill of the night and turned his mind and processor and spark both in and out, he felt spacetime. The fabric of reality, around him, the slow but ever-steady turn of the gears of Time and the machine upon which it was a part. Oh, it was thin, but his connection was still there, and he could see this City in his mind's eye - the places which he had walked. There was where he had followed Metabee and Bumblebee in their tank escapade, there was where he had taken a run and Ocelot, and there were where the Decepticons resided, and he could not understand why there were still factions here but that was not why he was focusing.
"Come to me, weapon mine."
He was a Guardian, and a warrior, and these needed tools with which to perform their functions. He had told himself he would find a way to perform without them, and he had, but he had always felt as though something was missing. Safeguard's arrival had filled that void for a time - how could it not? - but it had returned, and he had tried to ignore it. To convince himself it was a side effect of this world, and that - powerless or not - he would find a way to guard the children of his father.
"Then I trust you will not interfere with whatever I do here, should you believe it a course of natural events."
There were times when a course of natural events required observation, if nothing else. Preparation for correction, for if these natural events suddenly became out of hand, suddenly affected his own realm, then he would have to intercede. Such as what could happen if Blackarachnia abused this power she had borrowed from him, even as he was unaware of its lingering existence...
He inhaled the night air. So close. All it required...
"TO ME, RHISLING!"
Green fire erupted from his hand, but did not burn. It shot out in a line before him as he felt the power respond to his call, his summoning, his focus, and then there were no flames at all.
He opened his eyes to see moonlight reflecting off steel. For a few moments, he simply stood there, holding the blade before him and hardly daring to breathe - then, he grasped the hilt with the other hand, holding it before his face.
A different form - much like his own. But still his weapon. No matter what shape or form either of them held, they were a set, and now they were One again.
With a practiced slash, he brought it down in powerful, two-handed slash - and with that formed a hole in the world, ringed by more of the green flames. They weren't truly flames at all, merely a manifestation of the power, but as Vector Prime saw the familiar not-reality through the hole he had made he felt his Spark leap in joy as a strange wetness formed at his eyes.
But he smiled, and he stepped through without another second's hesitation.
Takes place after this.
He rose. Higher, and higher still until he was upon the building's roof, and then he alighted upon the flat surface. It was cold, being still the winter season, but dressed in full garb...
That was how he was seeing it, now. It was as close to himself as he would get. The other clothing he wore over this human chassis, it was nothing more than fabric paling in comparison to his true form. Even the garb, that which he was Ported in with - coat and straps and disc and pieces that earned one strange looks when outside, when he felt tired of blending and wanted nothing more than to be true to his god-crafted form - was nothing more than a pale imitation.
But in the garb, he did not mind the cold as much. He still felt it, but it was perhaps staved off better in these lighter fabrics that were not designed for cold. For the ones that were, were bulky and heavy and unnatural, and these...
These were only fitting for him trying to reconnect to something he had thought lost.
"You just have to focus."
He had tried, before. He had spoken with Starscream and told him of the Cyber Caliber that could cut through space and time, his greatest and most valued of tools - Rhisling. He had held out his hand and felt as a fool and nothing had happened but him believing that the Porter had cut him off from that which was his.
He held out his hand once more.
"Is this one not your own, now?"
Scathach had helped him become acquainted with human form. To discover that programming still lingered, that he was still a fighter. He had wondered how he would still fight, still perform his duty without his blade and in a body that retarded his abilities, where he could barely fly and yet...
"You will simply have to make it your own."
However much it was a lesser form, it was still his own. And however much his power was limited...that, too, was still his own.
"Come to me," he breathed, before closing his eyes and searching within himself for his birthright.
"I am sworn to stand against Darkness...if you would stand by it regardless of form then I stand against you as well."
He had made a promise. In spirit, if not in words. Though he still held belief that the forces here would be enough to stand against the Darkness. Against Evil. Destruction. That which he was created to combat, and even if he hadn't been certain he could do so in his full power he was still willing to do it. He had to. Anything else would be betrayal.
"Come," he said again, closing his eyes.
The power was there, he felt it - as he forgot the chill of the night and turned his mind and processor and spark both in and out, he felt spacetime. The fabric of reality, around him, the slow but ever-steady turn of the gears of Time and the machine upon which it was a part. Oh, it was thin, but his connection was still there, and he could see this City in his mind's eye - the places which he had walked. There was where he had followed Metabee and Bumblebee in their tank escapade, there was where he had taken a run and Ocelot, and there were where the Decepticons resided, and he could not understand why there were still factions here but that was not why he was focusing.
"Come to me, weapon mine."
He was a Guardian, and a warrior, and these needed tools with which to perform their functions. He had told himself he would find a way to perform without them, and he had, but he had always felt as though something was missing. Safeguard's arrival had filled that void for a time - how could it not? - but it had returned, and he had tried to ignore it. To convince himself it was a side effect of this world, and that - powerless or not - he would find a way to guard the children of his father.
"Then I trust you will not interfere with whatever I do here, should you believe it a course of natural events."
There were times when a course of natural events required observation, if nothing else. Preparation for correction, for if these natural events suddenly became out of hand, suddenly affected his own realm, then he would have to intercede. Such as what could happen if Blackarachnia abused this power she had borrowed from him, even as he was unaware of its lingering existence...
He inhaled the night air. So close. All it required...
"TO ME, RHISLING!"
Green fire erupted from his hand, but did not burn. It shot out in a line before him as he felt the power respond to his call, his summoning, his focus, and then there were no flames at all.
He opened his eyes to see moonlight reflecting off steel. For a few moments, he simply stood there, holding the blade before him and hardly daring to breathe - then, he grasped the hilt with the other hand, holding it before his face.
A different form - much like his own. But still his weapon. No matter what shape or form either of them held, they were a set, and now they were One again.
With a practiced slash, he brought it down in powerful, two-handed slash - and with that formed a hole in the world, ringed by more of the green flames. They weren't truly flames at all, merely a manifestation of the power, but as Vector Prime saw the familiar not-reality through the hole he had made he felt his Spark leap in joy as a strange wetness formed at his eyes.
But he smiled, and he stepped through without another second's hesitation.
Takes place after this.