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Chapter 403: Enough
2022-10-19 Author: Great Demon Spirit
Starscream was enraged. He snarled, "Shockwave, I am still your superior officer. You are merely a scientist in the science division. Either you hand over the console to me now and let me formulate the attack plan, or I will go directly to Lord Megatron and have him revoke your special privileges!"
"And another thing, don't think so little of me. At the very least, I am a member of the Decepticons. I know how to prioritize!"
Shockwave's single eye flickered repeatedly. He then slowly rose, turned, and walked away, leaving behind a single sentence: "Your response is highly logical. This station is now yours, Adjutant Starscream."
"You damn robot."
Only after Shockwave was a good distance away did the grim-faced Starscream dare to mutter a curse under his breath.
He would bet that Shockwave had just updated his internal file on him, perhaps adding a few things he couldn't even guess.
No one knew what calculations were running through Shockwave's cold processor.
To be honest, Starscream was still somewhat intimidated by Shockwave. This particular Decepticon was a true polymath.
Scientific research, strategic planning, unwavering loyalty, supreme logic, and a complete lack of personal emotion. His special abilities were also terrifying—he could detect any and all radiation on Earth. His combat power was off the charts; although he had a Type III chassis, Shockwave had already modified his genetic code and performed minor upgrades on his frame.
His overall power data was only a sliver below Megatron's.
Starscream felt a heavy pressure weighing down on him.
"You hexagonal poker-face, you'll never take my position!" Starscream cursed under his breath as he strode to the console and entered a command.
"This is Adjutant Starscream. Display battlefield overview."
"Command rejected. All programs have been locked."
Hearing the mechanical response and seeing the red countdown timer on the screen, Starscream froze for a moment, then flew into a rage. "Shockwave, I'm not done with you!!!"
...
Throughout the entire base, every incubation chamber opened. As many as four thousand Transformers joined the battle, coordinating with the massive cannons positioned on the base to inflict devastating casualties on the soldiers of Atlantis.
The people of Atlantis could die, they could feel fear, and their combat effectiveness would drop when they were injured. The Transformers... they could too, but the lower-level bots had neither the right nor the time to hesitate.
In their processors, there was only one directive: receive orders, fight, fight, fight.
Moreover, for a silicon-based lifeform like a Transformer, as long as its Central Processor and chest weren't destroyed, it could continue attacking the enemy even with only half an arm remaining.
Atlantis was caught completely off guard, staring in dazed confusion at the massive number of robots that had suddenly erupted into violence. Many attacked with all their might, but under the concentrated energy fire, they became incredibly fragile.
Mutilated corpses flew through the air, only their horrified and panicked eyes forever frozen on their severed heads.
"How can this be? How can such a race exist on Earth...!"
A warrior who had mastered magic had just finished his roar when a Transformer slammed into him. A multitude of blades pierced his body, rupturing his internal organs. He was not far from death.
Amid the fierce firefight and constant artillery bombardment, waves of fighter jets could be seen diving down, unleashing a volley of cannon fire before immediately ascending again.
Even if they were shot down by the Atlanteans, they would instantly transform into their humanoid form, their metal bodies bristling with guns and blades. Crashing into the crowds, they would always manage to kill several enemies.
More ruthlessly, some of the more ferocious bots would detonate the Spark in their chests just before death. The frenzied explosion of life energy would take out anywhere from dozens to hundreds of enemies, instantly clearing a small vacuum in the battlefield.
Three hundred Transformers charged fearlessly into the Atlantean ranks, savagely killing their foes. From a distance, they used cannons; up close, they drew battle blades for melee combat. Their metal bodies granted them immense power and speed.
What was even more terrifying was that each of these lowest-level Transformers could be called a master of combat. Every slash of their blades, every chop of their swords, seemed as if it had been honed through a thousand trials.
Their silicon-based bodies gave them muscular stability far beyond that of humans; at the very least, their weapons wouldn't tremble slightly when held aloft.
Within their heads, they possessed a central processing unit—a brain comparable to a first-class computer—capable of instantly calculating the optimal defensive maneuvers and angles of attack.
Every attack was the result of massive, complex calculations. Every move was far more cunning than that of Earth's top warriors.
Although their generally large size might make these low-level bots seem less than satisfactory in terms of agility, their durability was especially horrifying.
A small number of bots could be easily surrounded, killed, and dismantled by the ferocious Atlanteans, but organized formations of Transformers were capable of employing coordinated tactics with no blind spots.
All it took was a quick calculation in their powerful Central Processors to find the optimal solution: swing the blade, kill the person.
A Transformer suddenly ducked its head and, in a bizarre motion, turned to slay two soldiers behind it, completely ignoring the enemy charging at it from point-blank range.
Before the Atlantean warriors could even show a hint of joy, a massive shadow fell over them. Another Transformer leaped over in a single bound, killing the Atlanteans who had been on the verge of success.
This kind of astonishing coordination, a perfect understanding that produced textbook tactics without a single word of communication, was all too common across the entire battlefield.
The more organized a Transformer legion was, the more their coordination and rapport made one's skin crawl, and the more terrifying their combat achievements became.
Shockwave stood in the pouring rain, the horrifying red light of his single eye reflecting scene after scene from the battlefield, devoid of a single emotional fluctuation, as cold as an iceberg.
He was waiting in silence.
In Shockwave's eyes, all these soldiers were expendable. If the situation truly required it, Shockwave would abandon these bots without a moment's hesitation.
These warriors, who were enough to make any faction on Earth insanely jealous, who would be treated like precious treasures by any other power, were nothing more than the lowest grade of cannon fodder in Shockwave's eyes.
Cannon fodder must have the value of cannon fodder. The meaning of their existence was to be a consumable, to be sacrificed for the sake of the overall battle, a humble fate to which they were destined.
And this coveted cannon fodder could be mass-produced.
They had already secretly constructed dozens of bases on Earth similar to the one beneath Shockwave's feet. In each base, vast numbers of low-level warriors lay dormant.
Megatron had already slipped quietly onto the battlefield, waiting for something.
A stunning bolt of electricity shot toward the sky. The current, as thick as a water bucket, was terrifyingly large, surging from the depths of the sea directly into the clouds.
A terrifying tidal wave, three hundred meters high, rose abruptly from nothing. A burly figure stepped out from the wave, wielding a trident from which massive bolts of electricity erupted, illuminating the entire battlefield.
"Enough, you despicable air-breathers!"
(end of chapter)
2022-10-19 Author: Great Demon Spirit
Starscream was enraged. He snarled, "Shockwave, I am still your superior officer. You are merely a scientist in the science division. Either you hand over the console to me now and let me formulate the attack plan, or I will go directly to Lord Megatron and have him revoke your special privileges!"
"And another thing, don't think so little of me. At the very least, I am a member of the Decepticons. I know how to prioritize!"
Shockwave's single eye flickered repeatedly. He then slowly rose, turned, and walked away, leaving behind a single sentence: "Your response is highly logical. This station is now yours, Adjutant Starscream."
"You damn robot."
Only after Shockwave was a good distance away did the grim-faced Starscream dare to mutter a curse under his breath.
He would bet that Shockwave had just updated his internal file on him, perhaps adding a few things he couldn't even guess.
No one knew what calculations were running through Shockwave's cold processor.
To be honest, Starscream was still somewhat intimidated by Shockwave. This particular Decepticon was a true polymath.
Scientific research, strategic planning, unwavering loyalty, supreme logic, and a complete lack of personal emotion. His special abilities were also terrifying—he could detect any and all radiation on Earth. His combat power was off the charts; although he had a Type III chassis, Shockwave had already modified his genetic code and performed minor upgrades on his frame.
His overall power data was only a sliver below Megatron's.
Starscream felt a heavy pressure weighing down on him.
"You hexagonal poker-face, you'll never take my position!" Starscream cursed under his breath as he strode to the console and entered a command.
"This is Adjutant Starscream. Display battlefield overview."
"Command rejected. All programs have been locked."
Hearing the mechanical response and seeing the red countdown timer on the screen, Starscream froze for a moment, then flew into a rage. "Shockwave, I'm not done with you!!!"
...
Throughout the entire base, every incubation chamber opened. As many as four thousand Transformers joined the battle, coordinating with the massive cannons positioned on the base to inflict devastating casualties on the soldiers of Atlantis.
The people of Atlantis could die, they could feel fear, and their combat effectiveness would drop when they were injured. The Transformers... they could too, but the lower-level bots had neither the right nor the time to hesitate.
In their processors, there was only one directive: receive orders, fight, fight, fight.
Moreover, for a silicon-based lifeform like a Transformer, as long as its Central Processor and chest weren't destroyed, it could continue attacking the enemy even with only half an arm remaining.
Atlantis was caught completely off guard, staring in dazed confusion at the massive number of robots that had suddenly erupted into violence. Many attacked with all their might, but under the concentrated energy fire, they became incredibly fragile.
Mutilated corpses flew through the air, only their horrified and panicked eyes forever frozen on their severed heads.
"How can this be? How can such a race exist on Earth...!"
A warrior who had mastered magic had just finished his roar when a Transformer slammed into him. A multitude of blades pierced his body, rupturing his internal organs. He was not far from death.
Amid the fierce firefight and constant artillery bombardment, waves of fighter jets could be seen diving down, unleashing a volley of cannon fire before immediately ascending again.
Even if they were shot down by the Atlanteans, they would instantly transform into their humanoid form, their metal bodies bristling with guns and blades. Crashing into the crowds, they would always manage to kill several enemies.
More ruthlessly, some of the more ferocious bots would detonate the Spark in their chests just before death. The frenzied explosion of life energy would take out anywhere from dozens to hundreds of enemies, instantly clearing a small vacuum in the battlefield.
Three hundred Transformers charged fearlessly into the Atlantean ranks, savagely killing their foes. From a distance, they used cannons; up close, they drew battle blades for melee combat. Their metal bodies granted them immense power and speed.
What was even more terrifying was that each of these lowest-level Transformers could be called a master of combat. Every slash of their blades, every chop of their swords, seemed as if it had been honed through a thousand trials.
Their silicon-based bodies gave them muscular stability far beyond that of humans; at the very least, their weapons wouldn't tremble slightly when held aloft.
Within their heads, they possessed a central processing unit—a brain comparable to a first-class computer—capable of instantly calculating the optimal defensive maneuvers and angles of attack.
Every attack was the result of massive, complex calculations. Every move was far more cunning than that of Earth's top warriors.
Although their generally large size might make these low-level bots seem less than satisfactory in terms of agility, their durability was especially horrifying.
A small number of bots could be easily surrounded, killed, and dismantled by the ferocious Atlanteans, but organized formations of Transformers were capable of employing coordinated tactics with no blind spots.
All it took was a quick calculation in their powerful Central Processors to find the optimal solution: swing the blade, kill the person.
A Transformer suddenly ducked its head and, in a bizarre motion, turned to slay two soldiers behind it, completely ignoring the enemy charging at it from point-blank range.
Before the Atlantean warriors could even show a hint of joy, a massive shadow fell over them. Another Transformer leaped over in a single bound, killing the Atlanteans who had been on the verge of success.
This kind of astonishing coordination, a perfect understanding that produced textbook tactics without a single word of communication, was all too common across the entire battlefield.
The more organized a Transformer legion was, the more their coordination and rapport made one's skin crawl, and the more terrifying their combat achievements became.
Shockwave stood in the pouring rain, the horrifying red light of his single eye reflecting scene after scene from the battlefield, devoid of a single emotional fluctuation, as cold as an iceberg.
He was waiting in silence.
In Shockwave's eyes, all these soldiers were expendable. If the situation truly required it, Shockwave would abandon these bots without a moment's hesitation.
These warriors, who were enough to make any faction on Earth insanely jealous, who would be treated like precious treasures by any other power, were nothing more than the lowest grade of cannon fodder in Shockwave's eyes.
Cannon fodder must have the value of cannon fodder. The meaning of their existence was to be a consumable, to be sacrificed for the sake of the overall battle, a humble fate to which they were destined.
And this coveted cannon fodder could be mass-produced.
They had already secretly constructed dozens of bases on Earth similar to the one beneath Shockwave's feet. In each base, vast numbers of low-level warriors lay dormant.
Megatron had already slipped quietly onto the battlefield, waiting for something.
A stunning bolt of electricity shot toward the sky. The current, as thick as a water bucket, was terrifyingly large, surging from the depths of the sea directly into the clouds.
A terrifying tidal wave, three hundred meters high, rose abruptly from nothing. A burly figure stepped out from the wave, wielding a trident from which massive bolts of electricity erupted, illuminating the entire battlefield.
"Enough, you despicable air-breathers!"
(end of chapter)
