It is a sparse team of Predacons that arranges itself in the cleared-out floor of the rainforest: the Revolutionaries are missing a lieutenant, not to mention their former commander. Clouds are settling in the sky above; the sun begins to surrender, and shadows fall over the dark-hulled starship that gazes out over the battlefield. The group gathered is one hungry for conflict; after losing rather shamefully to Maximal forces, these Predacons are eager to see some good mech spilled in their race's name.
The new recruit, Stahldrache, has been a Predacon less than a day; he is too new to choose a favorite in the match. From what he sees both competitors seem worthy: Upgrade, who repairs and reprograms, master of drones, and possessed of—an unnatural addition, so it seemed—thick, burly arms too large for his six-and-a-half foot frame; his opposition, Epitaph, the seven-foot mystic with the black wings, glowing staff, taloned hands, and Decepticon demeanor.
Sellsword has taken his stand next to Angel, and leans over in her direction. "Thirty credits says Epitaph."
Angel laughs a little at that remark; Epitaph has Transmetal II power at his disposal, making his opponent the dark horse. But, what was thirty credits? "You're on."
Upgrade makes a show of taking his stance, popping his knuckles as he watches his opponent. He glares thickly when he notices Epitaph preparing his staff. "You're not bringing out that glowstick, are you?"
Epitaph stands his full height, matching Upgrade's stare across the battlefield. He answers as if he had no idea to what the hornet was referring. "Pardon?"
"Lose the staff. It's cheap. You don't wanna win CHEAP, do you?"
"I'll accept that. But YOU can't use your arms." Epitaph doesn't believe Upgrade will agree to a condition like that...
"No problem," Upgrade responds, stretching his arms out behind his back to hear the joints pop. "I'll take you out with both of 'em behind my back, so long as you let the Yellowjackets play."
Epitaph is suddenly uncomfortably aware of the possible score of stinger-wielding drone bees staring at him from the trees above. "No drones."
"No staff."
"Fair." Epitaph tosses his staff aside, right in the direction of the uncharacteristically attentive Oblivion, who snatches it from the air.
"Now we're talking."
Sellsword is obviously somewhat surprised to see Epitaph agree to the condition, but undaunted. He leans over toward Angel again... "Tell you what; I'll go double with you, but if you lose, you gotta provide a FAVOR."
At that remark, Sellsword finds himself the recipient of an uncomfortable punch to the face.
Upgrade sets his stance: "Ready?"
On the opposite side of the circle, Krakken, in his beast mode, lowers his head behind his lobster claws and shakes in his shell...
Epitaph nods in response. "Ready."
There is a hush that falls over the circle. Upgrade rolls back his arms, pumping energon through their veins, and there is a very audible, very visible strain as they breathe to accommodate the energy. Though he shifts a little in his stance, drops low, and moves, Epitaph is like a rock. Angel finds herself gasping a little at the intensity of the taller Predacon as he raises a single hand, his left, from beneath his folded wings, and it along with his staring eyes glows with a purple light. He takes only a moment to stare at his opponent through the glow...
And pushes his hand forward, firing energy out through his palm. The first purple streak misses Upgrade entirely, but the hornet is already on the move, diving fist-forward into Epitaph's strike as quickly as his Transmetal wings can propel him. The second strike connects with the advancing form, but in the heavily armored shoulder, where damage is minimal. And, at last, finally, Upgrade's punch meets its target...rather abruptly, as it connects not with Epitaph's face, but his right hand, which had been waiting to make the block. Through it all, Epitaph has taken not a step, and there is a pause that feels like eternity... With Epitaph's amazing reflexes, it is doubtful he will lose...
But Upgrade doesn't waste time to stare. He takes another step, redirects the force of his punch, and grabs with his other hand... ripping Epitaph's right arm clean from the socket.
Those Predacons with jaws feel them drop to the dirt. Angel gawks... "Holy slag; I'll take you up on that, Sellsword!!"
Upgrade has his opponent stunned, and takes another move, this time using his fist the way he had originally intended, and smashing Epitaph in the face. He then takes the initiative and grabs at Epitaph's left arm, hoping to nullify his greatest remaining weapon by removing it entirely. Epitaph's eyes go wide for a moment—Not there! Not that side!—and he pushes energy into his spark, igniting his entire arm in violet flame. Fire licks across Upgrade's armor as he strains, unable to get a grip on the energized weapon-arm, and he falters long enough for Epitaph to escape his grasp and shift to Beast Mode. Now a pterodon, Epitaph dives aside.
Upgrade chuckles a little; through all the flame and fury, he is barely scratched. "Like playing with fire, do we?" He reaches behind his shoulders and pulls out a heavy blaster, pulling on the trigger and igniting the area before him in true, red flame. When he sees Epitaph dodge the flamethrower and swoop to the sky, he is unfazed, but instead pulls out a second blaster. One shot flies wide, a second CUTS the air...
And connects. The damage, ice, and chilling to the spark, is too much for the already-weakened Epitaph to handle. Still in his pterodon mode, he shudders violently, then drops silently to the ground.
Upgrade laughs gleefully, popping another shot off in the direction of Epitaph's discarded arm. He walks over to kick the pterodon's downed form, then gestures in Krakken's direction with the tip of his ice cannon. "Get this pile of scrap into repair cycle!"
Krakken peeks out from behind his claws, and shudders. "Y-y-yes, sir.. Com—commander, sir!!"
Upgrade kicks the body again, so it rolls over, then marches triumphantly back toward the ship. "All Predacon meeting, MY bridge, ONE megacycle. Be there or lose limbs."
As he leaves, he places his guns back into their hidden holsters, and takes a moment to scrutinize the form of Oblivion, who was encrusted entirely with cold in the crossfire of the wild ice blast. He pries open the Fuzor's icy fingers, removing Epitaph's staff and carrying it with him back to the ship.
Angel shoots Sellsword a wry grin. "That's sixty credits, loser."
Sellsword frowns, rubs his aching jaw, and follows her onto the ship to make the transfer.