"Wakey wakey, birddog."
Silverbolt started at the sound of the female voice, familiar, sinister. His eyes rolled open, and the first sight they took in was the form at his right side. Blackarachnia, her eyes open, but dark, her body slumped against the dim metal wall. She was off-line. The one that had addressed him was leaning into his face; the angular features of the Predacon Stalker. She was scraping her claws over his chest, threatening to rip it apart. Silverbolt looked at Blackarachnia again, unmoving, frozen beauty, and swallowed. Fear and anger welled up inside him.
A madman's laugh echoed through the room, the most disgusting sound Silverbolt knew. "Hoping you'd wake from the nightmare, were you?"
Stalker joined the laughter for a moment. "Your plan must have backfired, Maximal."
From behind her, Tarantulas, the source of the hideous laughter, approached. He pushed Stalker to one side so the pair could taunt the Maximal together, then leaned over the fallen body of Blackarachnia. He reached a single clawed finger into her now-empty spark cavity, and brought it out wet with the mech fluid that had collected in the wound. Just to raise Silverbolt's ire, he rubbed the dirtied hand across her breast, then flicked the remaining fluid into the paladin's face.
Siverbolt's eyes narrowed in rage. He did not even blink. "I won't rest until you are defeated, Tarantulas."
Tarantulas laughed again, gesturing to where blue spider-webs were wrapped tightly around Silverbolt's legs, and shackling his arms behind his back. "Defeat me? I dare to you STAND!"
Silverbolt did not struggle against the bindings, and a pure coldness began to gather in his spark. "I can defeat you still, with both hands behind my BACK."
Stalker saw a glow beginning to gather above the Maximal's spark. She interposed herself between Silverbolt and Tarantulas, and put her foot over the red-shielded cavity, pushing Silverbolt onto his back. "Tables have turned. You came here to kill MY love, and look what happened. Don't push your luck any farther."
Silverbolt stammered a moment, trying to parse what he had just heard. "You... You can't be... You... you've been deceived! To think that..."
The fangs in the lady fuzor's mouth glittered in the dim light. "Have I been?"
A momentary pause as Silverbolt stared in shock. Had she honestly said "Love"? Was it possible that...
"Something bothering you?" Tarantulas asked.
The knight's stunned expression hardened again. "You are not CAPABLE of love, you fiend. To think that you've tricked this female to your end, it's...unthinkable."
Tarantulas laughed. "Remarkably coherent when we're next to death." His stance shifted a moment, and he took his place next to Stalker again. "Luckily for you, I'd planned to make you a deal."
Silverbolt and Stalker were both surprised at this, though neither altered their stance or expression. With exaggerated confidence, Tarantulas traced his still-fluid-wet claw along the line on his chest, a cut Silverbolt's sword made in his casing in their previous conflict, which had not yet been repaired. As he reached the spot where his center eye was shattered, he continued his speech. "You are, after all, a good fighter. Why bother battling on behalf of dead Maximal dreams, when you could be the champion of a god?"
Silverbolt gave a low laugh. "You have aspirations."
Stalker pushed her weight onto Silverbolt's body to hold back the insult; Tarantulas snapped. "I am talking about my CREATOR, imbecile!"
While Silverbolt adjusted to the increase of pressure, Tarantulas adjusted his composure. "The deal is this," he said. "The sacrifice...sad, really...has been made. No rule says it has to be PERMANENT. You aid us in gathering our next victim. ...Next two, actually, and I'm certain you won't mind terribly where we are aiming." He pointed over Silverbolt's shoulder to the wall behind him, gesturing to the three remaining sacrifices. Next in line, a Predacon symbol, a Predacon sacrifice. Beyond that, the shape of a dragon… Megatron. It was the seventh symbol, however, that worried Stalker the most, the circle-and-cross that represented the Pit-bound, a child or follower of Unicron. "After that, your duty is complete." Tarantulas chuckled, as he chuckled at nearly everything. "They brought ME back, you know, and we have at least a hundred priestesses more than capable of giving Blackarachnia her life again."
Stalker was shocked; she turned her eyes off the Maximal beneath her feet, and gave Tarantulas an incredulous look. Silverbolt choked; he stammered. Would Tarantulas really make that promise? Would he follow through with it? And Blackarachnia...
No, of course he would not. He would lie, as he always does, always did. "You only ask for my aid to satisfy your twisted sense of humor, spider."
Tarantulas chuckled again. "I never claimed otherwise." He leaned forward into Silverbolt's face, reveling in his defeat. "It's not really such a hard choice, is it?" Another laugh. "You'll give up your honor, but is it SO worth it? When Blackarachnia's very SPARK is still at stake?"
He saw Silverbolt's gaze still resolute, his resolve firm, and the paladin's head shook, imperceptibly. As his jaw was set, only his eyes spoke. Never.
Tarantulas gave Silverbolt an unconcerned look, and stood to full height. "Of course you have another option. Stalker, why don't you go ahead and open him up?"
Stalker smiled, and kneeled at the knight's side. She scraped at the bright armor over his spark, then cut in with her claw, scoring along the edges to remove the disruptive panel. Silverbolt yelped in pain at the first cut in the sensitive area, and Stalker chuckled, her female laugh gaining an eerie resemblance to that of her partner. Silverbolt whimpered as the final cut was made, and winced as she ripped the panel off, exposing his spark.
The sudden light filled the room. The Predacons drew back in pain, wincing terribly, covering their blinded eyes. Stalker was on her knees, shaking...doubled over. A night-black hand, wrinkled and clenched, shielded Tarantulas's face from the glow, and he hissed like a demon as he pulled away. The light was too powerful, too pure, for the Pit-bound to endure, and it was the only chance Silverbolt still had. He pushed all his energy into his spark, and let it go. The force of his remaining love for Blackarachnia, the greatest power in his possession, cut through the air with a brilliant flash, and slammed into Tarantulas's body. The force surrounded the Predacon, and he writhed in pain, and screamed a high-pitched, tortured wail. His smoking frame dropped to the ground.
Stalker lashed out in fury, her Transmetal II powers welling to the surface as a reflex action. She fired a burst of shining red at the white knight, cold fire from the blaster she carried at her side. Silverbolt pushed with his wing, hoping for a miracle, and the blast crackled on the wall above him. He looked up, where inches above his head the metal was frozen in a sheet of crimson ice. He gave Stalker a pleading gaze. "Stop! Hold your fire!"
The lady fuzor responded through clenched fangs, adjusting her eyes to the glaring light. "Why the Pit should I listen to you?" She looked over Tarantulas, trying to guess at the damage. He was charred, silent, not moving. She growled.
Silverbolt struggled against the spider-web bindings, but they merely strained, then, elastic, returned to their original shape. "I never intended to harm you; please, listen!"
Stalker trained her gun on the struggling knight, and in a low, dangerous, snarling voice, reiterated. "I asked you a question, Maximal. Why in the Pit should I listen to you?"
Silverbolt searched for the words to explain. "You... You ARE a Maximal, are you not?"
She laughed. "I was once, for all the 'good' it did me. Answer my question."
"If you were a Maximal, why not listen to me? I'll tell you the truth, at least, something he never will."
Another laugh welled up in the Predacon, rising from her stomach to her lips. "He's shown me truth you couldn't comprehend."
Silverbolt faltered, and his eyes softened. "...And you really are in love with him."
Stalker smiled at him, the first truly sincere smile she had allowed herself in a long time. "I went into the Pit after him. They let me be the one to bring him back. He asked that it be that way."
The Maximal nodded, adjusted, sat up, in his bindings. He could not pull them apart, but, maybe... "Then you know…you know what I must feel right now, or you can suppose. But despite what he may have told you, he can't offer you love. Only pain and disappointment."
"I have seen what he can offer me. I understand his...pain. Almost as well as I can understand YOURS." She took a single step forward, and her unarmed hand lingered over the hilt of her sword. "Which is why I am going to do something... NICE for you."
"I am not afraid to die. I will be with Blackarachnia again. But it is your pain, your choice." Silverbolt set his gaze, and the weight of every word hung in the air. "Kill me and I am free. Kill HIM, and you are free."
Stalker heard the words and felt them brush against her spark. But she did not consider it, not for a moment. "I did not say you were afraid to die. I told you I was doing something nice, didn't I?" She drew her blade; it caught the glow from Silverbolt's spark, and guided the light away from her eyes so she could approach without fear. "Think on this, quickly. He is what set me free. He has given me the truth." She began to laugh again as nervous energy built up in her system, then choked, somewhere between a cough and a sob, "and he is the ONLY one to understand me."
Just then a leg on the great spider twitched. The hopelessness hit Silverbolt in a wave; he'd poured all his light, and he still could not reach her, couldn't make her understand. But maybe, now, there was, even a glimmer of hope... He willed himself not to cry. "Then you've already chosen. Do as you WISH with me."
And the blade plunged into his exposed spark.
Stalker was unable to see after the glow that rushed into her eyes: unbearable, blinding, and pure. She dropped her sword, and, eyes closed and aching, felt her way across the floor, collapsing over Tarantulas with a terrible sob. She sighed relief when she felt him inhale heavily, then cough. He rolled onto his side, and reached up to her face, feeling for her without the aid of his injured optics. He coughed again, and realized the source of the final flash. "...Killed him, did you?" He laughed meekly. "Pity. I'd like to have seen more of it."
Stalker, her sight returning, made a concerned sound, a mammalian flutter of air. "I'm sorry."
Tarantulas chuckled at her apology. "It's all right." He raised himself on one arm, and stumbled.
"I... he hurt you." The female reached her arm around her partner, and braced his armored shoulder against hers. She struggled, and helped him to his feet.
Tarantulas leaned into Stalker, holding a gash in his abdomen. "He did that a lot." He let go, cautiously, of his support, and approached Silverbolt where he lay on the ground. The paladin's body had slumped over his mate's, and looked unconcerned, peaceful. Then Tarantulas did a remarkable thing: he closed Silverbolt's eyes. "I'm going to miss having him as an adversary." Another weak laugh, and Tarantulas leaned toward Stalker again, putting his arms around her. "But their time is up. They should have known there was only room for ONE great love in this living universe."
Stalker gave him a slightly bewildered look; acting romantic toward her was not so unusual, but his choice of words seemed like they came from somewhere far away. Looking into his eyes with a deep concern, she touched his stomach, where he'd let go of his wound. Mech fluid ran out and covered her hand, and she felt the pain through their link as he drew away from the touch. "Can I... can I try to help?"
"Ooo..." He laughed again, the only way he'd ever had of dealing with pain. "Careful, that's tender..."
She wrapped her arms around him, carefully, purring concern. "I should have shot him sooner... I'm sorry..."
"It's all right. Touch all you like." Holding her shoulder with one hand, he put the other over the cut and slumped back against the wall, lowering himself to a seated position. Stalker put her hand over his, pulled his own away, and saw the biggest problem: he was losing fuel. As he gritted against the pain she tied off the line, and pushed paneling in around it. He sighed deeply, rolling back his head. She noticed that his joints were loose and weary, and the orange in his optics had faded to a dull red. He was weak, drained.
Stalker put her hand under Tarantulas's chin, and turned his gaze to face her. At the same time, she leaned her head to the side, exposing her neck. When he gave her a confused stare, she shook her head, looking into his eyes, then down, gesturing to the spot where neck met shoulder.
His eyes questioned her for another moment, then widened as he understood. "...Oh. Oh." And his dulling optics sparkled with excitement; no one had ever made such a fabulous offer before! He sighed with pleasure as he sunk his six-pronged mandibles into the metal of her neck. Both winced, as the pain hit them both at once, but Stalker was the one who clenched her teeth, who wrenched her hands as the terrible bite did its work, tearing through wire and pipe to siphon the fuel from her body to his. He drew back, the light returning to his eyes, and shoved those same fingers of mandible into Stalker's mouth, crawling around her lips and jaw with a motion like a kiss, and pouring the taste of her own fuel right back into her.
As gruesome the gesture, she returned the kiss.