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Darth Vadertron
"What is your bidding, my master?"
Level 5 Decepticon
Darth Vadertron's Bio
Exiting the harsh light of the ships hallways, an unknowable figure stepped through an entrance as it hissed open, revealing an unlit room. It’s simulated breathing forced and mechanical, yet it made no other sound as it moved with exact purpose. The brief flash from the chamber opening presented a forbidding silhouette. Save for an archaic array of switches on its chest giving the circular room a faint red and blue tinge, light feared to tread within this sanctuary. Casting a foreboding shadow it stood for a brief instant, laboured breathing performing an unsettling rhythm that brought on a hopeless submissiveness to all that had the misfortune to hear it, and the door slammed closed behind him, returning the darkness.
Hidden in its favoured element, it sent a silent command to a black vault in the centre of the room which split on the horizontal and with a violent painful screach it heralded the return of surgically white light, contrasting a throne of rigid ink-black metal as featureless and smooth as the figure now moving to sit upon it.
With the wave of a hand, white noise flooded the chamber and a holographic effigy burst into life above the silhouetted form. A violet vision of horror, constantly changing and twisting with obsidian tendrils, bore down upon the alert figure who hastily moved to kneel, reverently drawing into the amethyst glow, finally becoming visible. It was cloaked in black armour, mechanical but ancient and alien, as if given a visage of an evil from generations past. The reflection of the abomination above almost gave life to his black-lensed optics as they flickered with its movements, and the angular facemask gave off refracted shards of light that illuminated slices of an empty room.
A conversation in a language now millennia-lost began. One would have regarded it as a disagreement if not for the illuminated figures unwaveringly submissive tone. These untranslatable discussions of dark intent brought a somber yet victorious air to the vault. The instructions terminated by a single nod, the nightmarish image dispersed in an instant and in its wake a hissing and crackling, as a pair of cogs materialised on the ground at the figures feet, ancient and emanating power. Oblivious to the scorching heat, a black hand reached out and caressed the ancient gift of a dark god, placing it a delicately onto a cushion as one handles a newly-birthed protoform. Its work here was done, and the figure rose and departed its sanctuary.
...
Within another command chamber on a Warmoon much nearer, a far smaller figure struggled with a dark robe, muttering obscenities to itself as it awkwardly dressed in an unfamiliar garment. His subterfuge was almost complete and his newest soldier was nearly indoctrinated, but there was one last duty to perform. He nodded towards a boxy mech next to him who keyed a complicated sequence into a console, and receded into the darkness save only to silently count down from three with his fingers cueing up the tiny mech before him.
The instant the final finger dropped, the lights dimmed and a face like a well polished upturned bucket appeared on the screen before the diminutive despot, Psychout.
“Announce yourself.” Psychout coldly demanded.
A barrage of machine code followed, and Psychout flicked his gaze to Mal Practice in annoyance who darted back the the console and apologetically flicked a switch.
The code garbled and tuned into a voice that returned the demand with an unknown. the voice was even more artificial than a standard vocaliser, having been repaired off-world by those with little knowledge of the Transformers but an ancient understanding of droids and starships from a galaxy far, far away, its previous form killed by an infected maximal in the zombie plague and shot into space to avoid contamination.
The experessionless lines of the helmed face on the screen before him, as smooth as polished marble, uttered forth four words and within the near-infinite storage banks of the Cassetticon leader of WarPorn Industries, the Necronomitron, auditor of reality, and business partner and detainee of Psychout, stirred with glee.
The little leader continued, "Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Burnius 'the wise'?
"I thought not. It's not a story the Jedi would tell you. It's a Sith legend. Darth Burnius was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful and so wise he could use the Force to influence the Spark to create unlife... He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from the zombie plague.
"The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.
"He became so powerful... the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice, Wingz, everything he knew, then his apprentice bit him in his sleep.
"It's ironic he could save others from death, but not himself."
The speech was returned with an obedient silence, and Psychout repressed a sigh. If only all his minions had been this easy...
"You have the core systems and structure of one of us but appendages, organs and dermal plating created by fleshlings. You are the delicate balance between life and death. You will set a course for Neo Kaon at once and deliver to me the relics of the Necronomitron. Then, finally, you may be allowed to behold your true master, Darth Vader...tron.
Darth Vadertron's recent battles
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| ARENA HISTORY |
| Darth Vadertron does not currently have any arena logs available. |
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