Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello Universe! This is Glyph of the Cybertronian Historical Preservation Society! One project Alpha Trion had been gathering funds for was a complete catalogue of Cybertronian Mythology, from the antics of Adaptus, to the exploits of the folk hero Galvatron, to the fables our ancestors used to traumatize Protoforms into behaving. Unfortunately, the Functionists kept fire-walling the project, because they wouldn't allow Alpha Trion to include any myths that they could not censor or rewrite to match their political agenda. Alpha Trion tried again, and again to get this project off the ground as more and more Autobots were voted onto the Council, only for the Functionists and Nominus Prime to repeatedly stop him and threaten him with Empurata should he publish an archive they did not approve of.

But then, Nominus Prime was arrested for treason, the Functionists lost much of their political support, and an Autobot inherited the Matrix of Leadership. Finally, Alpha Trion's dream could come true!

But then the Decepticons attempted their coup, and Alpha Trion perished in the battle of Iacon. Naturally, the responsibility for the project fell onto the shoulders of one bot, Alpha Trion's apprentice and first-forged creation!

Unfortunately, he became Optimus Prime during the Decepticon's initial uprising, and his hands are currently tied with trying to win the civil war that threatens to consume our world, so that's off the table!

Fortunately, Optimus and I actually studied history together back when we were both protoforms, and we managed to stay in touch up until the war started! So he knew to call me to make his creator's dream come true!

This is a huge honor and I don't want to screw this up! This is a project that one of the original Thirteen Primes had spent much of the later eons of his life trying to get off the ground, and now I'm going to keep that legacy alive!

So! I'm going to start this archive at the beginning, with the oldest known iteration of Cybertron's most famous creation myth!

The Forging of the Hand

At the dawn of the universe, the cosmos were empty, save for the nexus of existence that was one with its core. This sentient, distilled essence was the primordial deity from whence all of creation originated, the One.

The One, however, had an issue. As the primordial essence of the universe, the being had no companions. The universe was vast, but empty, and a Shroud kept the One from perceiving beyond the bonds of the universe.

This is unbearable, the One thought, Why should no other living thing but myself exist in this universe? There must be something I can do about this…

And so, the One formulated a plan, and crafted two vessels from the void.

The first vessel was covered in stark-white armor. Yellow circuits connected the armor to its black, soft internal systems. Its gaping maw was surrounded by red optics. The rest of its mass was a chaotic mass of appendages.

The second vessel was more orderly. It's body was shaped like an inverted drop of liquid, with several tendrils coming out of the tip, with two mechanical arms sticking out of its sides, five faces circling its body.

The One transferred half of its essence into the first vessel, which was overcome with hunger and began devouring the empty worlds in an attempt to fill the void within. The rest of the One's essence went into giving life to the other vessel, birthing a god filled with an endless desire to fill the void without.

The five-faced god, wearing the faces of Light, Death, Knowledge, Wisdom, and Transformation, took a look at the universe around himself, and came to a conclusion.

"Dividing the essence of the One did not work as planned," the faces of Knowledge and Wisdom decided, "Perhaps I should try forging companions out of the fabric of the void."

The five-faced god extended his many arms and reshaped the void, and the faces of Light and Transformation turned the nothing into a primordial sludge. Alive, but without form or consciousness.

"This won't do at all," the five-faced god declared, "This makes for rather poor companionship."

The face of Death shattered the formless being, allowing Light and Transformation to reshape it into multiple vessels, as Knowledge and Wisdom granted the new beings both thought and reason.

"What are we?" one of the creations asked.

"Alive," the five-faced god answered.

"Where are we?" another asked.

"My home," the five-faced god replied.

"Who are you?" questioned another.

"Your creator," the five-faced god replied, "My creator desired companionship, and so created myself and my brother. But my elder brother departed into the darkness to fill the void inside him, and my creator disappeared after bringing me to life. And so I transformed the void into matter, and then the matter into you."

"But what are we to do?" another of the newborn lifeforms questioned, "What is our purpose?"

And for the first time since his creation, the five-faced god did not have an answer.

It soon became apparent that the void was not a pleasant place to live, and so the five-faced god created a planet for his creations to live on, populating it with plant and animal life, and creating a temple, for when he needed time alone from his creations.

Every now and again, the five-faced god would ask if his creations needed anything.

"We would like to be able to see."

And so the sky was lit up.

"Erm, perhaps some darkness wouldn't be a problem."

And so half the sky was darkened.

"Are you comfortable?" the five-faced god asked, "Because I just noticed that half the world is melting and the other freezing."

And so the planet began to rotate.

Eventually, the five-faced god devised the perfect system, placing the planet in orbit around a star, before one of his creations came to him with a question, unlike any he had ever heard before.

"What is your name?" the creation asked.

"A name?" the five-faced god remarked, "What's that?"

"It's something we came up with some time ago," the creation answered, "It's how we can tell each other apart. A way of defining ourselves, and knowing who we're talking to when we want to have one-on-one conversations. I just figured that you must've had one too."

"I'm sorry to say, I've never had a need for a name before," the five-faced god replied, "Though perhaps I've spent too much time alone." And so the five-faced god followed his creation back into the city, to speak with his other creations, and learn their names, so that he might be able to determine his own identity.

The five-faced god studied the names of his creations, and their meanings, and reflected on the role he had assigned to himself in this little corner of the universe. Finally, one of the creations visited the temple and asked a question.

"Have you decided on a name yet?"

"Yes."

"Well, what should we call you?"

"Daiakuron."

And the five-faced god had a name.

Daiakuron loved the world he had created, and the society his creations had built. However, he felt a drive deep within his Spark, a need to fill the void that was the rest of the universe, and so called a meeting to announce his intentions.

"When I first created you, one of you asked what your purpose was," Daiakuron opened, "While I did not know at the time, I created you out of a desire for companionship. However, I also gave each of you to determine your own purpose in the world beyond that, and you've built communities with the power I've granted you. But much like how my brother desires to fill the void within him, I have neglected my own desire to fill the void beyond this world. And so I must depart for now.

"But worry not, I simply wish to take what I've learned from creating this world, and apply that experience to all the universe. My dream is that one day, the universe will be as one world made of many smaller ones, communities and societies blending together, each one bringing something unique to the greater, universal community!

"Now, I have work to do, so look up to the night sky if you wish to see my handiwork! This small world is about to become much, much more vast!

"Thank you for your companionship, but I fear I must go away to fulfill my purpose! Farewell for now, and I look forward to the day when we shall meet again!"

And with that, Daiakuron disappeared into the heavens, filling the cosmos with stars, and crafting all kinds of planets around them.

Daiakuron's brother, meanwhile, continued to consume more and more of the lifeless debris of the old universe, nothing filling the hollowness within even as it grew more immense and monstrous.

"I need something more to consume," the primordial god of chaos proclaimed, "I need to become whole once more! To pierce the Shroud that keeps me confined to this Dead Universe!" Daiakuron's brother then felt a warmth on his back, and turned to face the space he had left behind when he departed to fill the emptiness within. Where once there was once nothing, there were now shining, brilliant stars orbited by populated worlds.

"... My younger brother has been busy," the hollow devourer observed, "I can use that to my advantage…"

Dark holes were torn in the sky above the first world Daiakuron created. The inhabitants glanced up towards the sky.

"What has Daiakuron created this time?" one questioned.

"I don't know, but maybe we could convince him to give them a prettier color," another suggested. Black and white tendrils emerged from the holes in the sky, each tendril ending in a white spike. The denizens of the world watched curiously as the tendrils slithered to the ground. One particularly curious bring stepped forward to get a closer look, only for the white spike at the end to open up and latch onto them and consume them, assimilating the victim's name, memories, matter, and experiences into their essence. The rest of the crowd shrieked in terror, the blind and deaf tendrils sensing the fear and lunging for the source.

All of the raw essence of each creation's self was funneled through the tendrils and into their source, Daiakuron's elder brother, who drank in the experiences and emotions of his victims.

"Yes…" he hissed greedily, "More…"

As soon as he had completely integrated Daiakuron's creations into himself, he ensnared the entire planet in his tendrils and forced it into his maw. His fangs greedily tore through the surface as he spat out a dark liquid, the essence of destruction, and guzzled down the crumbling remains of the world.

"I need more…" the Chaos Bringer hissed as he swallowed up the final drops of the world's essence, "I must be made whole!"

Daiakuron remained blissfully unaware of his elder brother's actions as he began the process of crafting, populating, and moving on from one world to work on the next, never paying much mind to what became of the world after his departure.

And so he never noticed how planets disappeared from their star systems, as his desire to create something new almost always overwrote his yearning to revisit his earlier creations.

And so, the Chaos Bringer latched onto and consumed any world he could find, without rhyme or reason, while Daiakuron sought out empty space to fill with creation.

Thus, the cycle of creation and destruction went on.

However, that lack of rhyme and reason meant that it was only a matter of time until all the pieces fell into place.

Daiakuron had been working on a new project, a living world, and had just put the finishing touches on the planet's ecosystem, when dark rifts opened in the sky.

"I do not recall creating that," Daiakuron mused, "Perhaps one of my creations has finally found the means to traverse the stars?"

One of the Chaos Bringer's tendrils shot out of the rift and swallowed up a Turbofox, and soon others were drawn to the panic, greedily consuming as much of the planet as possible.

"Enough!" Daiakuron shouted, channeling the power of the Death face to lash out at the tendrils, causing an unholy shriek to echo across the cosmos.

"Who dares?!" a booming voice echoed, and a dark hole opened in the air above Daiakuron, large enough for multiple tendrils to dive through.

A few wrapped around him, some of their maws bit into him, and several pierced his chassis, before pulling him into the darkness.

On the other side, for the first time since the One forged them, Daiakuron came face-to-face with his brother.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," the Chaos Bringer remarked.

"Brother?" Daiakuron questioned, "What are you doing?"

"I am incomplete," the Chaos Bringer replied, "What should have been used to fill my hollow Spark was instead used to create you!

"I ran out of materials from the void that was before, but then I found that you had laid out a whole array of new worlds, filled to the brim with experiences, languages, cultures, and memories to incorporate into my being.

"But none were sufficient to fill the void our creator left within me! And so I've gone from world to world, leaving behind the far-less filling uninhabited worlds and stars."

"You… You destroyed my creations? My companions?!" Daiakuron shouted.

"Destroyed them? No," the Chaos Bringer answered, "We're all still here, a part of me. A part of something far greater! But your companions?" The Chaos Bringer tightened his grip on the five-faced god. "Do not make me laugh! You discarded them and moved on to greater things as soon as you got bored! Be honest, the true reason that you didn't tell them what their purpose was, is that you knew that they existed only to become a part of me!"

"That is not why I created them!" Daiakuron shouted, "Nor will I let you devour any more of my creations!"

"... Oh, I won't be devouring them," the Chaos Bringer promised, "We shall devour them!"

"If you think I want any part of your scheme, I'll have you kno-"

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that," the Chaos Bringer interrupted, "I mean that you shall soon become a part of me, you shall soon know my yearning, I shall do to you what I have done to your worlds!"

The white spikes that had pierced Daiakuron's chassis opened, oozing liquid destruction into him as the tendrils moved the five-faced god closer and closer to his elder brother's gaping maw.

Realizing that he could not break free, and that his brother's victory would mean the end of everything, Daiakuron poured his essence into his five faces. When the Chaos Bringer took his first bite, all five faces, and the essence they contained, broke off of Daikuron's body and plummeted to the world below, with the Chaos Bringer none-the-wiser.

"How disappointing," the Chaos Bringer remarked, "I thought that a fellow god would've been more filling…" He sighed. "I suppose I ought to save this world for last. Give whatever lives here the chance to experience life before I add their experiences to my own existence. Then I should be strong enough to pierce the Shroud and encompass whatever exists beyond it."

And so, the Chaos Bringer left the incomplete world behind, the world that would one day be known as Cybertron.

Each of the five faces landed on the planet's surface, and the divine essence within each face forged their respective vessel into a new god.

From Light came Primus.

From Death came Mortilus.

From Wisdom came Solomus.

From Knowledge came Epistemus.

From Transformation came Adaptus.

The five newly forged gods came together.

"What should we do?" questioned Solomus.

"Our maker's brother shall return eventually," Epistemus observed.

"Then we should form a plan to stop him from devouring us," Solomus pointed out, "But we can't do much so long as this world remains incomplete."

"Then it's important that the shape this world takes is one that can fight back," Adaptus remarked, "Just leave that to me!"

"In order to preserve life, the destroyer must be eradicated," Mortilus pointed out, "We must be prepared for immense casualties on our side."

"We simply need to create life faster than he can devour it," Primus put forth.

"But the more he devours, the stronger he'll get," Mortilus argued.

"But what if we transformed him into something that can't hurt anyone?" Adaptus asked, "And Morty, my dear brother, what is destruction, but transforming something into nothing?"

"Whatever the case, it's clear that our creations cannot be completely passive if they are to survive," Solomus added.

"Then we need to create something with the potential to destroy," Primus put forth.

"And how do you propose that we keep them from destroying themselves?" Solomus questioned.

"We serve as their Guiding Hand," Primus answered, "After they're created, we teach them how to live in peace in addition to ensuring that they can destroy their enemies. That is our only chance of destroying the Chaos Bringer."

And so the Guiding Hand got to work.

First, they created the Quintessons in tribute to Daiakuron.

Then, they altered some of the existing wildlife, granting them knowledge, wisdom, and transformation, and the first Transformers were forged in the likeness of their gods.

Then, the two races created a third, the Mini-Cons, as Mortilus taught them both the sanctity of life and how to end it when necessary.

All the while, stars vanished from the sky.

When all the stars but the one Cybertron orbited vanished, the people of Cybertron readied for battle as the prophesized doomsday came upon them.

Dark holes opened in the sky, and the Chaos Bringer's gluttonous tendrils slithered out, ready to finish off what he thought would be a defenceless world. One tendril lunged at a turbofox, only for said Turbofox to change into Primon, and open fire right into its gaping maw. All the tendrils shrieked as Mini-Cons emerged from their hiding places and tore the tendrils apat, prying them off of anything they tried to grab onto. The Transformers and the Quintessons sliced through the tendrils, and they all lashed out in rage.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Chaos Bringer snarled, easily undoing the strictly cosmetic damage dealt to his appendages, "Perhaps leaving you to learn from my first visit was a mistake…" The Chaos Bringer surveyed the surface of Cybertron. "No matter, you are powerless against the might of a god!"

And so he willed each and every one who attacked him to lock into place, melting their joints together to keep them from fighting back.

"Now, who shall stand agains…" his voice trailed off when he noticed the Quintessons. "Impossible… You're me… I consumed you!"

"You consumed our maker's lifeless husk!" Primus declared, and in a golden flash of light, the Chaos Bringer came face to face with the five gods his brother had created.

"Daiakuron…" the Chaos Bringer snarled, "Even now, you deny me what is rightfully MINE!" The abomination's roar of rage echoed across the cosmos, reverberating off the Shroud as all living things trembled before the sheer, unquenchable hatred emanating from the primordial destroyer. The fear of the listeners drew the attention of the tendrils, forcing Adaptus to swiftly restore the forms of the first defenders.

"We must press our attack now!" Adaptus shouted, and the Guiding Hand charged the main body as the Cybertronians dealt with the Chaos Bringer's ravenous tendrils. The divine combatants shifted between planes of reality, forcing the Chaos Bringer to keep his optics off of Cybertron, even as his tendrils spewed up a black ichor that spawned Sparkless abominations. The Quintessons pushed the offensive on these unliving beasts as the Mini-Cons and Transformers continued to keep the tendrils away from the clash of the gods going on above them.

Solomus directed the combat as Epistemus surveyed the battle, careful to shift to another plane whenever the Chaos Bringer noticed him.

Primus, Mortilus, and Adaptus lashed out at the Chaos Bringer's optics, raining fire, lightning, and all manner of natural disasters onto the abomination's immense body.

"I will not be denied what is rightfully mine!" the Chaos Bringer declared as two, massive hands emerged from down his throat to grab the edges of his maw. "Your creations are not the only being's capable of transformation!"

The two hands pushed against the edges of the maw and pulled it down, forcing the Chaos Bringer's body inside out as his insides shifted into a form more akin to a Transformer or Mini-Con in robot mode.

Two horns adorned a helmed head. Two spikes jutted out of his shoulders. His fingers were the size of Titans, and his hands and arms even more immense. Skeletal wings spread out from his back. The maw he had pulled himself out of was now at his waist, the tentacles of his more primordial form sticking out from where his legs would have been.

"All will become me!" the Chaos Bringer declared as he grabbed hold of both Solomus and Epistemus, "You will become me!" his tendrils enveloped Cybertron, ignoring the armies firing and slashing at them. "I will become everything!"

"Now!" Mortillus shouted.

The Guiding Hand, the Quintessons, the Transformers, the Mini-Con, and every single weapon on Cybertron opened fire on the Chaos Bringer's body, now spread across all planes of the universe, both physical and non-physical.

"What?" the Chaos Bringer declared, trying to move his entire being back into a singular plane, only for the boundaries between those planes to strengthen asPrimus created physical barriers between, "Wait… Stop!"

The piece of the Chaos Bringer still on the same plane as Cybertron broke apart.

"You can't do this to me!" the Chaos Bringer declared as Mortilus and Adaptus transformed the barriers into pure entropy, causing every part of his body touching those barriers to slowly break apart. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!"

The Guiding Hand combined their power into a final blast that struck every part of the Chaos Bringer's body on all planes, scattering his essence into the cosmos.

The dark god could only scream helplessly as his entire being was ripped apart and dissipated, his consciousness vanishing.

"Now there is only one thing left to do," Mortilus announced. He crossed over into a plane where no physical matter could exist, and transformed into his alt-mode, the After Spark. Soon, every Spark that had ever been extinguished drifted into the After Spark, everyone who had ever lived had their memory preserved within.

Including the Chaos Bringer.

Primus and Adaptus restored the destroyed stars and planets, though Epistemus refused to confirm whether or not the life on those worlds were also restored, encouraging the denizens of Cybertron to find out for themselves. However, Cybertron itself was still incomplete.

It was, after all, supposed to be a living world.

"I do not think we should leave this world completely unguarded," Primus announced, "It is important that we avoid making the same mistakes that allowed the Chaos Bringer to cause as much devastation as he did."

And so, Primus descended into the depths of Cybertron, into its very core, and shifted into his own alt-mode, the AllSpark.

Adaptus, Solomus, and Epistemus, meanwhile, departed for the heavens, becoming Cybertron's three moons.

With the Guiding Hand departed, it did not take long for the Cybertronians to turn on one another. The Quintessons believed that, as they were created in the likeness of Daiakuron, that it was their right to rule over the other races. Quintesson and Transformer alike looked down on the Mini-Cons for being created by something other than the gods, and Mini-Cons who rebelled against this injustice were branded with an insignia derived from the face of the Chaos Bringer's altered form. Transformers soon turned against one another, as some gave up their Beast Modes in favor of copying Quintesson technology, and viewed the ones who either refused to do the same or were unable to for whatever reason as "less evolved", treating them the same way their Quintesson oppressors had treated once them.

All of this stood counter to the teachings of their gods, however, and there is no telling how this may affect the dark essence the Chaos Bringer left behind, when the Chaos Bringer had been drawn to such negativity.

There were and still are, however, some that took the lessons of the Guiding Hand to Spark, and instead sought out to live as equals with their fellow Cybertronian, regardless of form, function, or species. Be they Quintesson, Transformer, or Mini-Con.

And they lived.

The cultural significance of this tale cannot be denied. The ending is of the tale is often used as propaganda, to demonizing whoever the scribe wished as an enemy of the gods and a puppet of the Chaos Bringer.

The ending I selected, I believe, represents the spirit of the original tale, where teamwork and equality wins out over fear and gluttony, as it was only by working together that the people and gods of Cybertron were able to defeat the Chaos Bringer.

Of course, it's also no coincidence that each version of the tale carries the unspoken implication that the Chaos Bringer could return.

It is worth noting that Exarchon claimed that Nemesis, his "Dark Titan", was created from one of Unicron's optics. While the Chaos Bringer is sometimes referred to as Unicron, I've personally never been sure that the figure featured in some After Spark myths is meant to be the Chaos Bringer, as I've never viewed a myth where it was more than vaguely implied. Regardless, it is worth noting that Nemesis' chassis did match the description of the materials the Chaos Bringer's body was made out of.

Most versions of the Myth following the Quintesson conquest alter Daiakuron to be more akin to a Titan than a Quintesson, while most Quintesson versions of the Myth completely remove Daiakuron's division into five parts.

Additionally, the coincidental similarities between the Chaos Bringer's appearance and the physical structure of organic life has led to some Cybertronians viewing organic life as the spawn of the Chaos Bringer.

But considering that Daiakuron's first attempt at creating life sounds to me like organic sludge, I personally find the notion BEYOND processor-dead.

One final note: Cybertron's fourth moon is an artificial construct created by the Quintessons during Quintessa's occupation of Cybertron, the only recorded instance of a colony conquering it's homeworld in Cybertronian history. That is why the story makes explicit allusion to Cybertron's THREE moons!

You have no idea how many times an Adaptus worshiper has accused me of blasphemy for implying that Adaptus would Transform into only ONE moon and not TWO! When the fourth moon didn't even EXIST when this tale was first told, let alone RECORDED!

Personal frustrations aside, I hope you step away from this tale a little smarter than when you picked it up, and I look forward to sharing more of Cybertron's literary history with you.

Assuming I survive the next Decepticon attack.

This is Glyph, signing off!

Chapter Text

Hey guys! Glyph here, and I feel like Adaptus has gotten a raw deal lately.

Yeah yeah yeah, the Adaptusians committed horrible crimes against Cybertron in his name, but he's not really Unicron incarnate. Unfortunately, in their constant focus on making Adaptus the top god, they ultimately erased MUCH of Adaptus' mythology and as a result, his identity.

Okay so, first thing's first. Adaptus? Embodies the concept of transformation. Sometimes he's a god, sometimes she's a goddess, sometimes they don't use gendered terminology, but most surviving myths have him as male, so I'm going to be sticking with whatever pronouns are used in the myth I'm cataloguing, like this one!

Secondly, in terms of personality, Adaptus is basically the complete opposite of a Functionist. He's not a conformist. There are SEVERAL stories where he deliberately pits his brothers against each other because he's bored and wants to shake up the status quo. His entire moral code is based around change, so he tends to play the part of an agent of chaos. There's never any real MALICE behind his actions, but the reason so many of his myths were censored is because he was the antagonist.

Sometimes, this translates to him being a karmic trickster, causing chaos in order to ruin some exhaust pipe's day.

Other times, this results in him guzzling more than he can swallow, and that results in some pretty good comedy, like that time he almost

destroyed the world!

… I promise that it's funnier in context.

So now, without further ado, I present to you:

The Death of the AllSpark

The waters of Adaptus' moon were gentle, calm, and still. Tranquility reigned over both Cybertron and her moons, the sun warming the metal of all four celestial bodies.

"This is dull!" the ocean declared, "Nothing's happened since we formed our pact!"

The oceans churned.

"There's absolutely nothing to do here!" the ocean concurred, "So, I suppose there is only one thing to do."

All of the liquid on the moon's surface evaporated, the vapors coalescing in a ring around the moon, before siphoning across space to the nearest moon.

Solomus meditated quietly on the surface of his moon, Cybertron's golden surface gleaming in the sky above.

Perfect tranquility, the embodiment of wisdom observed. At that moment, the vapors from Adaptus' moon condensed into the ever-changing form of the embodiment of change, transformation, and chaos.

"Hello!"

"What do you want, Adaptus?" Solomus questioned, opening one optic to glare at his brother.

"I want something to happen," Adaptus answered.

"Plenty of things are happening as we speak," Solomus replied, "Our creations peacefully and happily coexist, their society is thriving, and soon they may even be able to explore the stars."

"But nothing's changed," Adaptus replied.

"Things are changing, just at a somewhat gradual pace," Solomus replied, "Necessity breeds innovation, but desire and comfort breed entertainment. Just listen to their songs, or take a stroll down their streets! They make the most of every second they have of their time among the living!"

Adaptus simply leveled his gaze at his brother.

"... Look," Solomus sighed, "Why not use your powers to nudge things along if you're so bored?"

"... Last time I did that, Morty came out of the AfterSpark to personally throttle me," Adaptus deadpanned.

"You turned an Energon-ore deposit into something called 'The Dweller' and then let it loose in the depths of Cybertron," Solomus replied, "What were you expecting?"

Adaptus was nowhere to be seen.

"... I don't have to be me to know this won't end well," Solomus commented as he ceased his meditation and stood up, "Of course, until I know what my brother is planning, the most I can do is remind my followers not to grow complacent."

And so Solomus stepped onto Cybertron's surface, concealed from the optics of the masses, and sought out his followers.

Epistemus glanced over his data records, deep within the depths of his moon, when he became aware of another presence approaching.

"I take it that you're bored and hoping I will entertain you?" the embodiment of knowledge commented as he sent the data he had collected to the Underbase.

"How did you know?" Adaptus asked.

"I am the avatar of knowledge," Epistemus stated, "If I know whatever I want to, as well as some things I'd rather not."

"In that case-"

"No."

"You didn't let me finish!"

"I didn't have to," Epistemus replied, "I already knew that you were going to ask me to take knowledge away from some of my creations in hopes of causing some chaos. But seeing how poverty has been all but annihilated, the fact that the ecosystem is in perfect balance for the first time in eons, and that there's more than enough Energon for our creations to get to work exploring the stars, I'd much rather let things happen naturally."

"But they're taking forever to actually do anything!" Adaptus whined.

"Just wait until the abundance leads to overpopulation," Epistemus replied, "Then we might get some company on our moons."

Adaptus wordlessly grumbled.

"Oh come now, if you're so bothered by this you could easily provide some incentive for them to expand into the stars," Epistemus replied, "Like by offering them a reward or- And he left before I could offer any examples." He sighed. "I'd better speak with Solomus before our brother does something stupid…"

"- But anyway, that's why I came here," Adaptus finished as he floated above the glowing port on Cybertron's core, "So anyway, since you are part of Cybertron, I figured you'd be able to help me with my predicament, Primus."

Primus did not reply, remaining in AllSpark mode.

"Hello! Did you hear me?!" Adaptus questioned.

Primus did not reply, remaining in AllSpark mode.

"... Okay then…" Adaptus transformed into an energon harvester, "If that's how you want to play it." He siphoned the energon out of Cybertron's core, but Primus didn't notice. "Okay, let's try this."

He transformed into a loudspeaker, and played the following sentence:

"Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong."

Nothing happened.

"I honestly don't know what I was expecting," Adaptus admitted, before shifting into a colony of space slugs with loudspeakers on its back, and played grating noises while firing off sparks and fireworks.

Primus didn't react, remaining in AllSpark mode.

Adaptus transformed the loudspeakers into cannons that fired trains, which in turn carried loudspeakers that fired sparks and fireworks. Eventually, the space slugs were crushed under all of the trains as the chamber ran out of space.

"Well, there's only one thing left to do…" Adaptus stated, before transforming into another form. The trains all decayed out of existence revealing Adaptus' new form, an imitation of Mortilus, his hand brushing lightly against the no-longer glowing port.

"Now hopefully that will solve…" his voice trailed off as he stared down at the port, "Where'd you disappear to?"

Primus reverted to his incarnate mode as he slowly regained consciousness.

"Strange, I'm normally more rested than this," he groaned as he scanned his surroundings seeing blurred echoes of what once were and the lord of the dead, "Wait." He turned to face his brother. "Mortilus, what are you doing here?"

The AfterSpark incarnate sighed.

"The real question is, how did you die?" Mortilus questioned as more and more extinguished Sparks poured into their space outside reality.

"I'm sorry… What?!"

The core of Cybertron collapsed on itself as the inner-workings of the planet grinded to a halt, Cybertron itself groaning in pain as the lifeforce that sustained it dimmed. The planet quaked as it began to break apart, bits and pieces of the planet's mechanisms plummeting into the core chamber.

"Well… Scrap," Adaptus muttered, before transforming the decayed alloys into more durable materials as he tried to reverse the collapse of the planet. Broken pieces floated back into place, mending themselves as Adaptus rapidly waved his arms around, catching every last piece that fell even the tiniest bit out of alignment and shoving each back into place. He gave his surroundings a cursory scan, noting that the core itself was the only damaged object in the vicinity. With a thought, Adaptus shifted it back to its proper shape, then glanced around the room.

"Thankfully, I was able to fix this before anyone noticed!" Adaptus commented.

Solomus and Epistemus stood above the ruins of a city on the surface, silently granting rationality and inspiration to the survivors of the planet-shaking cataclysm.

"Of course, if Primus doesn't come back from wherever he scurried off too, the mortals are bound to realize that new Spark Crystals aren't forming," Adaptus realized as he surveyed the hollow core. "Someone will have to fill in for him until he returns." The one with many forms glanced around the chamber. "Preferably before someone finds out I almost broke the planet…"

Adaptus transformed himself into an exact copy of the AllSpark inside the core.

"There! That should do it!" he declared.

"Okay so, this could be a problem," Primus stated.

"Indeed," Mortilus replied, "It usually takes you, me, and one of our brothers working together to resurrect just one mortal, but even then there's always some kind of catch."

"Missing memories, dulled emotions, declining health," Primus remarked, "Where are our brothers?"

"Solomus and Epistemus are currently on the surface of Cybertron, slowing the deluge of extinguished Sparks by granting their blessings onto the living," Mortilus replied, "While Adaptus is currently-"

"In the core of Cybertron, in AllSpark mode," Primus interrupted.

"... How did you know that?" Mortilus asked.

"I just… Reached out and noticed," Primus remarked, "I can still see parts of the realm of the living."

"That… Should not be possible," Mortilus stated.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean, is that Extinguished Sparks shouldn't be able to perceive the living world," Mortilus replied, "It is why I collect them here. It is better to do that than let them wander an endless void forever."

"I can still 'feel' my body as well," Primus replied, "Is that unusual?"

"Yes," Mortilus answered, "What is going on?"

The two brothers fell silent.

"... Do you remember Daiakuron's brother?" Primus asked.

"Considering that his consciousness is locked away in my domain, yes," Mortilus answered.

"Okay, but didn't he keep his ability to interact with the living world even after his body was destroyed?" Primus continued.

"Yes, that's why I became this…" Mortilus' voice trailed off, "... Of course, a god can never truly perish. We just have to find a vessel for your consciousness, and you should be able to restore yourself to life without the usual drawbacks!"

"Then it will be a simple matter of determining how I 'died'," Primus noted.

"Ugh… How does Primus deal with this?" Adaptus questioned as civilization rebuilt itself on the surface, "I can feel the change from all the way down here, but I can't stretch my consciousness beyond this core without risking somebody noticing what happened and- Why do I feel some of the residual energy in this chamber draining away?"

The embodiment of change didn't have time to further pursue that train of thought, as he was swiftly ripped from the core and forcefully unfolded into Incarnate mode, coming face to face with a disappointed Solomus, an irritated Epistemus, an overworked Mortilus, and in the grasp of a thoroughly unamused Primus.

"So… Let's have some words about 'change', shall we?" Primus asked.

Solomus' and Epistemus' moons were placed between Adaptus' moon and the surface of Cybertron, leaving the change-bringer to piece himself back together, bit-by-bit, as Cybertron healed from the cataclysm.

And life went on.

Okay so, you're all probably more familiar with the Adaptusian version of the fable, where instead of Adaptus, Mortilus is the one who kills Primus, forcing Adaptus to become the new AllSpark after defeating Mortilus in an epic battle that ends with Adaptus' optics becoming the third and fourth moons because Primus-forbid Adaptus have any flaws!

The origins of this myth are unknown, but probably have something to do with what we now believe to have been a meteor-strike, one that caused a great cataclysm and set-back Cybertronian civilization by Millenia.
The few surviving records we have of that time period indicate that Adaptus' moon was always the third, though, so I don't know when or how the bit about his moon was added to the tale. Then again, there might've been a period where the moons' assigned deities were flipped around and that cultural context was just lost as the tale survived into the present.

Additionally, we don't know what "bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong" is supposed to mean. I've seen a few theorize that it's supposed to be some sort of "universal greeting", but if that's the case, it must've fallen out of disuse between the tale's original recording and today.

Of course, the mythology buffs out there probably recognize that there are other tales about a being with far too many Alt-Modes who ends up killing a god and then ends up being forced to fulfill their job in the most pit-like fashion imaginable.

There's one which I only just recently learned of, when a nearby Mini-Con community shared it with me upon learning of my project, in hope that this dying tale may be preserved for future generations.
Having never heard of this once-censored tale before, next time I'll be presenting one of the many legends associated with Galvatron, what the Mini-Cons claim to be their version of this tale. Assuming I'm not smelted by religious extremists for sharing this story with you all!

This is Glyph, signing off!

Beta-Readers

Biosword (who also came up with Adaptus' pre-Mortilus Transformations)

Convoy914

Master Chief Spartan-117

Chapter Text

Guess who's still not dead!

Me! Glyph!

So… Let's talk about the three sapient species who are native to Cybertron.

First up, there's the Transformers. I'm a Transformer, my bodyguard Tap-Out is a Transformer, Optimus Prime is a Transformer, that sniper who almost took my head off was actually a drone and therefor not a Transformer, but you get the idea! All Transformers are descended from Primon, who obtained the ability to transform into a bipedal robot, with our entire species being descended from him.

So yes, his robot mode might've actually been his alt-mode. We're all technically freakish mutants, descended from the one guy who freakishly mutated into a cognizant being, and now you have to live with that knowledge. Assuming you are a Transformer, of course. Because if you're not, then I have no way of knowing how freakish or mutated you are.

But back on track, originally, all Transformers had beast modes, living in nomadic tribes in Cybertron's wilderness. But then entire tribes were captured and enslaved by Quintesson raiders. And this is when our ancestors were reformatted to instead transform into Quintesson technology.

The one digressing point is whether our ancestors reformatted themselves to disguise themselves as Quintesson tech to aid the rebellion, or if Quintessons reformatted our ancestors against their will in order to make them into more useful tools. I personally think it varied from area to area.

But that brings us to the Quintessons. They used to live in long-abandoned underground communities before moving to the surface world to claim the "untamed" wilderness as their home, where they came into conflict with our ancestors. Much like the transformers, however, they mostly consisted of multiple different tribes, and their attitudes towards the Transformers of the time period would very from tribe to tribe, though it was ultimately the war-like conquerors who would end up absorbing all of the other tribes into a singular Quintesson empire.

But prior to this conquest, a collaboration between Quintesson and Transformer scientists created the first Mini-Cons.

While the exact process was lost to time, the first Mini-Cons were created as mass produced servants for their creators.

But if you've ever met a Mini-Con, you'd know where they went wrong.

They hadn't created unintelligent beasts of burden, they had created a sapient race.

The early Mini-Cons were not content to live as slaves, and there were many rebellions. The most successful rebellion lead to the creation of what we now know of as the Micron tribe. But there is one important detail to know about the Mini-Cons.

They were not created with the capacity to transform. That came later.

Much later.

While the exact nature of their sudden upgrade was kept secret, as no Mini-Con wanted to rat out the hero who gave them the means to escape their bonds and found their own sovereign nations, they instead used a legendary figure from their oral traditions.

I hope you all appreciate the effort that went into translating and transcribing this, the story of

The Thief Who Stole a Thousand Forms

For as long as history could remember, Cybertron has been ruled by cruel, selfish gods.

Of these many gods, none were more cruel than Amalgamous, the god of transformation.

It was he that dictated what forms all life could take, and dictated their destinies.

While cruel to all mortals, he favored his own creations, the Transformers. Each and every one was granted two forms rather than the allotted one all other mortals were bound to, and were even given some freedom in choosing their second forms. He even taught them how to enslave the spawn of his hated enemy, the Linkage, and how to bind them in chains and collars to force them to obey.

Amalgamous even rewarded the most cruel of the slavers, offering great boons to any whom would offer one of their living tools to sate his hunger.

And so the spawn of the Linkage, the Mini-Cons, toiled hard and diligently, hoping to make themselves too useful to be sacrificed.

"What else can we do?" they questioned, Sparks full of fear, "If the gods will it, who are we to resist them?"

And so the Mini-Cons toiled away to gather Energon for their selfish masters, working themselves to the brink of death in hopes of being spared, only granted samples just large enough to keep them working.

That is, so long as they did not require repairs.

Galvatron stepped onto the healer's shelf.

"How long will the recovery take?" he asked the healer.

"Kiloton's injuries are grave," the healer answered, "He will not be well enough to work anytime soon."

"But if he doesn't work tomorrow-"

"I know," the healer replied, "That's why I intend to return him to the Linkage while he rests, so that he can at least know peace in his final moments."

Galvatron turned to face Kiloton's sleeping form.

"Is there no way to smuggle him out?" Galvatron asked.

"He would not survive in the wilderness," the healer replied, "And even if he could, I would not be able to go with him. The others need a healer, and I'm the only one we have."

"… What would he need to be well enough to work by morning?"

"I'd need a shard of Energon the size of your arm," the healer replied, "But, only the master's personal stash has Energon powerful enough for the needed repairs."

Galvatron gave one final look to Kiloton's sleeping form.

"I will either come back with Energon, or leave behind enough time for him to recover," Galvatron declared as he turned away, "Either way, Kiloton will live long enough to bring memories of freedom with him when he eventually returns to the Linkage."

"And do you really think self-destructing will save his life?"

"I do not intend to die," Galvatron answered as he walked away, "But my mission will be a success even if I do."

Galvatron crept through the shadows of the master's residence, climbed into a ventilation pipe, and crawled across the building towards a faint, blue glow.

"There it is," he muttered as he crawled over to the opening that glowed the brightest.

He slipped out of the ventilation pipe and landed on top of the vault's Energon pile with a clink! The Mini-Con pushed himself to his feet as he stood atop the structure, grabbed one of the spiked protrusions, and pulled with all his might.

CRACK!

The shard broke off, and Galvatron allowed himself to smile as he took measure of the small splinter of Energon.

The master won't even notice it's gone, he realized.

"Aha!" An arm shot out of the wall and grasped onto the Mini-Con, the panels of the vault-wall folding in on itself to reveal the grinning face of the master.

"You thought you could steal from your lord?" the master asked as he tightened his grip, "I knew you wretched things were up to something, and now you will serve as a fine example to why you trinkets should not defy the wills of your betters!"

And so, Galvatron was pulled into the wall, never to return to the master's residence in a recognizable state.

Countless masters offered up sacrifices to Amalgamous.

Some offered beasts of burden, others offered up some Energon from their harvests, a few particularly devoted ones would offer their own protoforms, but most simply offered up their own slaves to sate Amalgamous' unending hunger. Typically either slaves that ceased to be useful or proved to be difficult.

And this was how Galvatron found himself thrown into an open hatch into a dark room, a shadow blotting out the light as the room shifted.

So, this is the morsel I was offered.

Five fingers emerged from the floor and closed around the thief to form a cage.

Your energy, I know what you are.

A giant optic opened, illumitating Galvatron in a radiant glow.

A piece of the Linkage, Amalgamous spoke as more optics opened all around the cage to scan Galvatron, Oh, what a joyous occasion!

Cables shot out from the palm and fingers of the cage, latching onto Galvatron's chassis and shifting under the plates to attach themselves to his circuitry underneath.

Now you shall become a part of me, Amalgamous proclaimed as Galvatron cried out, Forever cut off from the Linkage, eternally reducing it! It shan't be long until I surpass that wretched field!

At that, the Mini-Con laughed.

What's so funny?

"You… You honestly think that's how the Linkage works?" Galvatron asked.

I have consumed countless of your kind, extinguished their Sparks! Amalgamous declared, In consuming you, I make you a part of me, adding that piece of the Linkage to myself in order to-

"You can't consume our Sparks," Galvatron interrupted, "That's not how this works!"

YOU DARE TO INTERRUPT ME!? Amalgamous roared as the bars of the cage closed in on Galvatron, I shall draw out your death until you've been suffering for longer than you've lived!

"You don't get it, my Spark isn't a part of my body," Galvatron replied, "It's already safe in the Linkage!"

WHAT?!

"The Linkage ignites and protects our Sparks as our bodies walk about the world of the living," Galvatron explained, "You can destroy my body, but my Spark will simply merge with the Linkage upon losing its connection to the physical world, my memories becoming the Linkage's memories. Nothing you can turn into can hurt the Linkage."

Amalgamous roared as his optics vanished, the bars and floor of the cage melding into Galvatron's body as he slammed the Mini-Con into the floor.

You think there is a limit to the forms I can take? Amalgamous asked, You dare to mock me while I hold your life in my hands? I will show you how foolish you are!

The chamber they were in dissolved away as Amalgamous' body shifted and warped, morphing into pure energy, remaining physically bound to Galvatron as he washed memories of various Mini-Cons flash before his optics.

If it exists, I can become it! Amalgamous boasted, having transformed into a duplicate of the Linkage, Watch and despair, little thief, as I destroy your ancestors!

Galvatron smirked as Amalgamous cackled, reaching through his newfound physical connection to the Linkage to grab ahold of the various shapes that were now floating around him.

"You won't get away with this," the Mini-Con stated as the memories swirled around Amalgamous' form.

That is where you are… Amalgamous trailed off as his form began to blur, Wait, what's happening?

"I am your only physical connection to the living world, and the Linkage is far more vast than you are," Galvatron explained as he rose to his feet, "Additionally, as my body was physically bound to yours when you transformed, that allowed me to use my connection to the Linkage to do what I do best."

What are you talking about? Amalgamous asked, What have you done?

"I'm a thief," Galvatron replied, "Goodbye."

With that, he transformed into a cryo-condor and flew away, leaving Amalgamous to be absorbed by the Linkage, the cruel god's mind slowly dissolving as his memories and experiences were claimed by the Linkage.

Amalgamous' demise set off a great calamity, the Transformers searching for their lord's murderer in hopes of striking him down once and for all.

However, Galvatron had all of Amalgamous' forms, and was able to become whatever was needed, hiding in both shadows and the light, joining in the hunts to send his pursuers into deadly traps, and spreading the gift of transformation onto his fellow Mini-Cons, allowing them to flee their masters and pass the gift on to others.

However, Galvatron was still limited by his mortal body, even with his stolen powers, and was eventually caught unawares in the sight of a hunting party.

BANG!

"We have the godslayer!" one of the hunters boasted as Galvatron dropped out of the sky, blue liquid pouring from his smoldering chassis, "Let's throw him into a smelting pool!"

"No, let's feed him to a Scraplet!" another suggested, "We can relish in his agony as it tears him apart."

"Too impractical" the last of the three stated, "We should drain him of his Energon and mix it into our drinks for the victory party."

As the three bickered, and Galvatron felt his life slipping away, he used the last of his strength to alter his body one last time.

"Now, I shall become the one thing you can never kill," he declared as his body dissolved, shifting and warping into something intangible yet omnipotent, "An idea."

And thus, Galvatron lives.

So you can probably see why this was banned, given that the god of transformation was the bad guy and all.

But yeah, most Mini-Con myths go like this, a Mini-Con goes up against someone far more powerful than them, outsmarts and/or kills them, improves the lives of their fellow Mini-Cons, and then either dies or goes on the run as a fugitive. Their endings tend to be more bittersweet than anything, but given how much time they spent as slaves…

I can see why they'd have a hard time buying a happily ever after.

That said, they can be cathartic in their own way, as it is very rare for the villain to win.

Additionally, this is the only Galvatron story I've ever heard to follow this formula, so I wouldn't be surprised if the other folk tales were inspired by this one.

Or it could just be a coincidence.

Kiloton is also both a popular name for Mini-Cons and the name of another folk hero from Mini-Con tales.

All that said, I'm not a Mini-Con, so until I can get a more permanent partner for Mini-Con mythology, I'm not gonna be able to provide more meaningful commentary.

So next time, assuming I'm not assassinated, I'll be going back to my comfort zone, relatively speaking, with one of the most famous horror stories in Cybertronian history: The Traveler and the Artisan!

This is Glyph, signing off!

Chapter Text

Well, things are getting pretty heated here on Cybertron now that, y'know, the Functionists tried to overthrow the government only to give the Decepticons the opening they needed to attack the capital and basically conquer most of the planet.

So we're basically bunkering down in the few cities the Autobots still control, and if it wasn't for Tapout, I'd be a puddle of molten metal right now.

And I know I've had several near death encounters since this war's started, but let me tell you, getting your legs broken by a Functionist and left laying in the street as blasts of building-smelting plasma blaze closer and closer to you as you try and fail to get off the ground, watching your death creep ever closer as you're painfully aware of how few seconds you have to get out of the way is not something you can just shrug off.

So as much as I'm sure our loyal followers would love a sweet and uplifting tale about heroes triumphing over monsters, but I'm afraid that I don't have the resources needed for one of those uplifting tales.

This is what I was studying and compiling when Iacon fell.

Should the worst happen, I mustn't allow any of these stories to be lost due to my discomfort.

As such, I now present to you:

The Traveler and the Artisan

In the past long forgotten, there lived one older than the world.

He gazed out across the vast, sprawling world that he had found himself in, but was unable to venture far from his home in his advanced age.

And so, he crafted a disciple to explore in his stead, a Traveler to catalog the void and all who inhabited it.

The Traveler, however, found nothing, and attacked his creator.

"You dare to give me an impossible task?" he accused, "Is my existence just a sick joke to you?"

The one older than the world subdued his creation.

"If there is truly nothing for you to find, then I should perhaps do something about that," he remarked, before carving out the Traveler's frustration with the empty world.

Combining the frustration with his own desire to create, he forged another disciple, an Artisan to reshape the incomplete world into something inhabitable.

"This should resolve the issue," the one older than the world declared, "Your brother shall go forth and forge new sights for you to see, and you can go forth and catalog what life may be drawn to and emerge from your brother's creations! Will that sate you?"

"That will suffice," the Traveler remarked.

"Then I shall go about my duty," the Artisan declared, before transforming and driving out across the empty face of the world.

And so the Artisan immediately got to work carving out a city around his birthplace, allowing the Traveler to explore every nook and cranny of the city his brother had carved out of the land.

After reporting his findings to the one older than the world, the Traveler collected his payment and stepped out to find the city was now populated.

"Where did you come from?" the Traveler asked the first bot he found.

"The city, over the horizon," the bot answered, "A friend of mine took over the fuel depot."

The Traveler realized his fuel tank was running a little low.

"Where can I find this fuel depot?"

The bot pointed over her shoulder.

"Thank you," the Traveler shifted into vehicle mode, and drove in the direction he was pointed.

After refueling, the Traveler noted that he still felt a little empty, even though his tanks were full.

Pushing that concern down, the Traveler once again set out to explore that new city.

And so, life went on.

The Artisan would carve out new cities, new life would emerge from and move into them, and the Traveler would explore those cities and return his findings to the one older than the world.

Ignoring that feint emptiness that never seemed to go away.

Everything seemed to be right, even as that emptiness continued to itch at the back of the Traveler's processor, even as he had to resist the urge to steal a cube of Energon and guzzle the whole thing in a desperate attempt to make that emptiness go away, he continued on his mission.

"You have seen much of this world," the one older than the world remarked one day.

"Indeed I have," the Traveler remarked, "And what am I to do when there is nothing more to see?"

"You'll think of something," the one older than the world replied, "After all, this is but one planet in the vast cosmos, and we have all the time in the universe to figure out a way to another."

"I suppose so," the Traveler remarked as he turned to leave, "Do you feel a piercing emptiness?"

"Ex-excuse me?" the one older than the world replied.

"… It's nothing," the Traveler stated, "I have to get back to work."

He folded into vehicle mode and drove away.

Meteor showers became a common sight as the Traveler logged more and more of the planet, the hollow feeling becoming harder and harder to ignore.

The Traveler's fuel tank always felt emptier than it actually was, no matter how often he refueled.

"Is there not any way to refuel between cities?" he pondered aloud.

"I've taken to planting forests in the wasteland," the Artisan replied, "All life is tied to Energon, so why not check there?"

The Traveler folded into vehicle mode and sped off into the wilderness.

Deep within the forest, the trees' solar panels soaked up light from the sun to energize, life-giving Energon crystals growing around the roots.

An indentation in the ground formed a small pool of Energon, which turbofoxes and singlehorns drank from to refuel.

The Traveler arrived at sunrise to refuel, scooping up handfulls of liquid Energon to try and fill that hollowness inside him.

By midday, Energon was pouring down his chin, he was feeling agitated, and the pool was half empty.

But evening, he was sucking the Energon off his fingertips, even though his fuel tank was already overthrowing, that hollowness inside him refusing to go away.

But nightfall, the pool had been utterly drained, smoke was pouring from every orifice as his body tried to burn through all of the Energon he had consumed, and the emptiness was still there.

But morning the next day, he had torn the Energon crystals out of the nearby roots, breaking off bite after bite in a vain attempt to make the hollowness go away.

When he ran out of Energon crystals, a turbox walked by to lick up the Energon droplets the Traveler had left behind.

Seconds later, its fueltank was torn out of its still living body, and the Traveler bit down to slurp up the life-giving Energon within.

Hours passed before the Turbofox's pitiful cries of pain finally stopped as the last drops of Energon were siphoned away.

The Traveler continued on his journeys, desperate to fill that emptiness he could feel but never able to find the missing piece.

So as the sky turned red, he resolved to return home to speak with his maker.

He built me, so surely he'd be able to fix whatever's wrong with me, the Traveler assured himself, He must know what's causing me to be like this!

With that, he stepped confidently towards his forgeplace, right as something burning fell out of the sky and washed everything away.

The Traveler rebooted at the bottom of the crater, the emptiness inside now unbearable as the contents of his fuel chamber leaked out onto the ground around him, the Energon stained blood pink as it leaked out of his dead and dying neighbors.

The Traveler tried to move, and his fingers began to fall away as his body fell apart.

Desperate to survive, he lapped up every last drop of Energon and blood around him, trying desperately to stay alive long enough for his fuel tank to heal.

But to heal, his fuel tank would need metal.

To get metal, he'd need to either attach or ingest it.

As his fingers had broken off, the Traveler had no choice but to ingest.

But his teeth could not tear through the ground below him.

The Traveler's optics scanned the surrounding area, hoping to find something, anything, that could heal his wounds.

And mere centihics away from his mouth was the outstretched hand of the bot who had pointed him to that fuel depot so many kylocycles ago.

Grinning from audio receptor to audio receptor, the Traveler pushed himself forward to bite the closest finger.

And he chewed.

And gnawed.

And swallowed.

Bit by bit.

Until he could stand on his own two feet.

And there was nothing left of the deceased.

"Thank you for your help," the Traveler said to the corpse, his body no longer leaking essential fluids, "I shall have to see about what I can do to survive until my brother returns."

The corpse did not respond, for it no longer existed.

The Traveler continued to scavenge the city for Energon, feeding off of abandoned caches, fresh corpses, and the occasional mechanimal to stay alive.

And yet, the emptiness was much more bearable than it had been before the cataclysm.

One cycle, while scavenging, he lifted some rubble to find another survivor.

"Please… Help me," the injured bot begged as he held out his hand.

The Traveler took the offered hand, and the gaping emptiness became far harder to ignore.

The bot was leaking Energon everywhere.

Delicious.

Refreshing.

Energon.

The Traveler wasn't a medic.

How could he be expected to treat him?

Truly, he was doing the bot a favor when he lunged forward, pinned down his broken body, and ate him piece by piece.

No matter how much the survivor begged him to stop, he was clearly doing the poor thing a favor.

There was no way they'd both survive in this world.

And besides, this way at least his death would serve a purpose.

That's all what the Traveler told himself as he swallowed what was left of the other bot.

And he believed every last word as the emptiness faded.

Eventually, the ruined city ran out of both fuel, rubble, corpses, wildlife, and other fuel sources for the Traveler to feed on.

So, he folded into vehicle mode, and hit the road.

The devastation of the impact spread far from the Traveler's now erased home, and he found no natural Energon deposits to refuel on the way to the city over the horizon, the second city he had ever explored.

Eventually, his wheels fell out, forcing him to transform back into robot mode and crawl the rest of the way.

He did not know how long he had been crawling when the city peeked over the horizon, only that he found another bot harvesting Energon from a small garden outside the city's borders one quiet morning.

"Oh you poor thing!" the bot declared, before offering a cylinder of Energon, "Here, I this should keep you alive until help arrives!"

The Traveler looked up to his rescuer, and grinned.

The screams roused the city from its slumber.

By the time search parties arrived, there was no evidence that either the Traveler or his latest meal had been there, except for a cylinder of Energon that had spilled on the ground.

The Traveler recognized the emptiness for what it was.

It was a hunger, a hunger that Energon alone could not sate.

So he waited in an alleyway in the city, listening as the protoforms danced and played in the light.

When a cube bounced to a stop right next to him, he waited.

When the protoform came to collect his toy, he lunged.

After consuming the protoform's limbs, the Traveler shoved him to the ground to call for help.

Then he ate the first rescuer.

And the second.

And the third.

And kept going until the protoform stopped screaming.

Then, he tore off the protoform's chassis, eating it bit by bit, before feasting on the circuits.

The cooling fans.

The t-cog.

The servos.

The optics.

The voicebox.

The audio receptors.

The neural net.

The fuel tank.

And the blue and pink drops of Energon and blood that had leaked onto the ground.

Savoring the taste, the Traveler drove across town to repeat the process in another alleyway.

And then another.

And yet another.

Until the Traveler needed to rest for the night, he would feast.

Eventually, the city ran out of citizens, so the Traveler devoured the buildings, the infrastructure, the technology, until there was no evidence that the city had ever existed.

So he drove to another city and repeated the process.

And then the next city.

And the next.

Never satisfied, always wanting more.

Eventually, he ran out of people and places to eat, and was left to scavenge the very wasteland.

"Need to feast, need to feast!" he tore off a chunk of the ground to gorge himself, "More, more, MORE!"

His jaws had gained the ability to unhinge at some point after he had started feasting on other bots, and he now had teeth that easily tear through the ground.

Every last piece of his body had been altered to make devouring his catches easier.

And so he ate, and ate, and ate.

Pushing his body farther and farther past its original limits to fit everything in sight down his throat.

When there was only a sliver of world left to be eaten, the Traveler noticed that he was not as alone as he had thought.

The Artisan glanced up into the sky at his latest creation.

With the old world gone, he needed to start anew, provide a new world for life to spring from.

"The past may be dead, but the future still burns bright," he muttered.

A groan caught his attention, and the Artisan whirled around to see some kind of beast.

No, not a beast.

No mechanimal looked like that.

Its face was too much like a person's.

Its limbs jutted out at the wrong angles to be truly bipedal.

"Feh… Feed…"

And that voice…

"Brother?" the Artisan questioned as he knelt down, "What happened to you?"

"So… Empty…" the Traveler's body split open as it tore itself apart to assemble the Traveler's new alt mode, the one he had taken to make feasting easier, "You look… Delectable…"

A tendril shot out, latched onto the Artisan's face, and yanked him into his brother's gaping maw.

A cable linked the Artisan to the Traveler's neuronet as the jaws closed, shrouding him in darkness.

"Wh-what's going on?" the Artisan asked

So hungry, a thought that wasn't the Artisan's shot threw his mind as faces and voices echoed in the darkness, cries and sensations of past meals flooding his processor, Need to feast.

"B-brother stop!" the Artisan begged as he felt something tearing his feet open, to pull the circuitry out, "It's me! Your brother! The Artisan!"

I know… the toughts remarked as something wriggled and squirmed into the Artisan's chassis, pulling at his circuitry, wrapping around his laser core, piercing his voicebox, That's why I need you now, more than ever.

Optics opened on the inside of the Traveler's body, and the link meant that the Artisan could see through them, helpless to do anything but watch as tendrils wriggled into the seams and gaps in his chassis and emerged from his own face, audio receptors, optics, vents, and exhaust ports, continuing to wrap around his inner workings to eat away at his circuitry.

Let's enjoy this last meal together! My brother!

For the next kilocycle, the Artisan felt his body slowly getting eaten alive.

He felt, saw, and tasted everything his brother did.

He wasn't alive, but his captor would not let him die.

He wanted to scream.

He needed to scream.

He devoted every last bit of willpower in his spark to screaming.

But without a voicebox, it was all for naught.

As soon as the Traveler had finished his meal, the emptiness was gone.

Not faded, gone.

Relieved, he returned to his robot mode, standing on his own two feet and laughing.

"It's gone! It's finally gone!" he laughed.

Then he glanced around himself, at the small sliver of world left, and felt something he hadn't felt since his brother had been created.

It was the missing piece used to make his brother that had created his insatiable appetite in the first place.

Frustration.

Finding himself right back where he started, but without a maker to fix it, the Traveler fell to his knees and screamed until his voicebox gave out, even as the last sliver of world fell down to his brother's final creation.

In the past long forgotten, there lived one older than the world.

He gazed out across the vast, sprawling world that he had found himself in, but was unable to venture far from his home in his advanced age.

And so, he crafted a disciple to explore in his stead, a Traveler to catalog the void and all who inhabited it.

The Traveler, however, found nothing, and attacked his creator.

"You dare to give me an impossible task?" he accused, "Is my existence just a sick joke to you?"

The one older than the world subdued his creation.

"If there is truly nothing for you to find, then I should perhaps do something about that," he remarked, before carving out the Traveler's frustration with the empty world.

Combining the frustration with his own desire to create, he forged another disciple, an Artisan to reshape the incomplete world into something inhabitable.

"This should resolve the issue," the one older than the world declared, "Your brother shall go forth and forge new sights for you to see, and you can go forth and catalog what life may be drawn to and emerge from your brother's creations! Will that sate you?"

"That will suffice," the Traveler remarked.

"Then I shall go about my duty," the Artisan declared, before transforming and driving out across the empty face of the world.

So, yeah.

This is perhaps one of the most cynical tales in all of our mythology.

Most scholars believe it to be the result of a creation myth and doomsday prophecy getting blended together during one of our Dark Ages, thus why it combines elements of both. However, there is one extra factor.

We don't know what culture this tale originates from.

We can only disqualify the Mini-Cons (even though this tale has many of their common storytelling tropes), simply because it was already ancient when the first Mini-Cons were created, though they have their own variation of the tale that I will chronicle at a later date. When I have an actual Mini-Con to consult.

But some version of the tale exists in most religious texts, and it's one of the oldest pieces of recorded literature on this planet, with some scholars even theorizing that Cybertron's species might be the original authors of this tale.

This is all just conjecture though, and you can probably see why I wasn't sure if this was the best timing, given, y'know, the fact that Megatron is burning Cybertron to the ground in an attempt to sate his own hunger for power as we speak!

So a story about one bot's selfish desires destroying the entire world and resetting everything back to zero, with the hanging implication that the cycle will continue infinitely without anyone ever learning, isn't exactly a very encouraging idea.

Thankfully, Megatron does not have the means to physically destroy Cybertron, so as long as we keep that in mind, we can take comfort in the fact that this is just a horror story, and not at all reflective of our reality.

Still though, if this tale truly was fabricated from someone beyond this world, I can't help but wonder who it was?

Perhaps some day, this archive entry will be read by someone who has the context we lack.

Regardless, the next tale I intend to record is an unusual afterlife myth, relating to the first steps an extinguished Spark makes from the realm of the living to the realm of the dead.

I'll see you then.

…

Assuming we're all still alive then…