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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The Echo of an Ancient Flame

The Nevada sun was a merciless, white-hot hammer in the cloudless sky, bleaching the asphalt of Route 14 into a shimmering mirage. For Jack Darby, it was just another Tuesday. At twenty-one, life had settled into a comfortable, if somewhat aimless, rhythm. He’d taken a year off from college, a ‘gap year’ that was stretching into its second, to work and save money, though he wasn’t sure what he was saving for. The world felt vast, and his place in it felt frustratingly small. He lived in a small apartment above the town’s only bookstore, a space filled with second-hand paperbacks and the faint, comforting scent of aging paper and ink. His prized possession, a sleek yellow motorcycle, was his only real escape.

He guided the bike through a turn, the engine a low, contented thrum beneath him. The wind whipped at his brown hair, and for a moment, he felt a sense of freedom that always seemed just out of reach when he was standing still. It was on the open road that the dreams felt less real, the nagging sense of a phantom limb less pronounced.

The dreams were always the same: fire. Not the gentle warmth of a campfire, but an all-consuming, righteous inferno. He dreamt of soaring through skies choked with ash, of a world fractured into floating islands, of a colossal, ten-horned dragon wreathed in golden flames, its roar a sound that shook the very foundations of his soul. And there was always a battle, a desperate struggle against a encroaching, formless darkness. He would wake up drenched in sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs, the name on the tip of his tongue—a name that dissolved like smoke the moment consciousness returned. It was a feeling of profound loss, the grief for a home he’d never known and a life he’d never lived.

He shook his head, trying to clear the lingering images. It was just stress, his mother would say. His therapist would call it anxiety. Jack called it a nuisance. He pulled into the KO Burger drive-thru, the familiar garish sign a welcome anchor to reality. He ordered a burger and a shake, his mind already drifting to his evening plans. Miko Nakadai, his friend and occasional chaotic whirlwind of a roommate, was probably already planning some ill-advised adventure. At twenty, she was a whirlwind of energy, a photography student who saw the world as a series of vibrant, slightly dangerous candid shots. And then there was Rafael Esquivel, a seventeen-year-old prodigy who could probably reprogram the restaurant’s digital menu from his phone if he felt so inclined. The three of them made an odd trio, but their friendship was one of the few constants in his life.

As he waited for his food, his phone buzzed. A text from Miko.

‘Jack! Emergency! My external hard drive with all my term project photos just DIED. It’s making a clicking noise of pure despair! Raf says he might be able to salvage it, but we need to get to his place ASAP. Can you pick me up from the campus?’

Jack sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. Some things never changed. He typed back a quick ‘On my way’ and pulled out of the drive-thru, the forgotten paper bag on his passenger seat. The campus was on the other side of town, a detour that would take him past the old industrial sector. It was a desolate stretch of road, flanked by derelict warehouses and the skeletal remains of failed businesses. It was also, as he rounded a bend, the stage for something impossible.

A police car, its sirens wailing, was in hot pursuit of a vehicle that defied all logic. It was a muscle car, a deep, sinister purple, but it was moving with a speed and agility that no terrestrial vehicle should possess. It weaved through the abandoned lots, tires screeching in protest, and then, to Jack’s utter astonishment, it transformed.

The process was a symphony of grinding metal and shifting panels. The car’s body folded in on itself, legs and arms extruding from the chassis, a head with glowing red optics snapping into place. It stood thirty feet tall, a hulking robot of jagged angles and malevolent design. It was a nightmare given form.

Jack slammed on his brakes, the motorcycle skidding to a halt on the dusty shoulder. His mind refused to process what he was seeing. This wasn’t a movie. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. The giant robot, which the police car’s increasingly frantic driver was now shooting at with a pistol, turned its attention to the insignificant vehicle. It raised a massive arm, a glowing cannon forming on its forearm.

“No…” Jack whispered, his heart seizing in his chest. He was about to witness a murder.

But then, another sound joined the chaos. A high-pitched, electronic whine that quickly grew into a familiar engine roar. A second vehicle, a sleek, sporty model in a brilliant blue, came racing over the horizon. It didn’t hesitate. It, too, transformed, its shift more fluid and graceful than the purple monster’s. It was another robot, this one slimmer and more agile, its form accentuated with black and pink highlights. It was female, or at least, its design suggested a distinctly feminine persona.

“Knock it off, Knock Out!” the blue robot shouted, her voice a synthesized but clearly feminine alto. She tackled the purple robot, sending them both crashing into the side of a warehouse. The building groaned, metal siding crumpling like tinfoil.

Jack was frozen, a spectator to a battle of gods. The blue robot was fast, landing blows that sparked against the purple one’s armor, but the larger robot was stronger. It backhanded her, sending her stumbling.

“Such a tiresome pest, Arcee,” the purple robot, Knock Out, sneered. “Lord Megatron has more important things to do than deal with Autobot interference.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Arcee retorted, recovering her footing.

Their fight was devastating, each blow shaking the ground. Jack knew he should run. Every instinct screamed at him to get away, to forget he ever saw this. But he couldn’t. His eyes were locked on the blue robot, Arcee. There was something about her, a fierce, unyielding spirit that resonated with a deep, forgotten part of himself. It was the same feeling he had in his dreams, the same desperate need to stand against the darkness.

Knock Out managed to land a solid kick, sending Arcee skidding backwards, straight towards Jack’s hiding spot. She tripped, her massive form falling perilously close to his motorcycle. She was down, and Knock Out was raising his cannon again, aiming for a finishing blow.

This was it. The moment of choice. Run, or…

Run.

But his body didn’t listen. His legs were already moving, carrying him out from behind the dusty embankment. “Hey!” he yelled, his voice sounding thin and pathetic in the face of such overwhelming power. “Leave her alone!”

Knock Out paused, his red optics swiveling to focus on the tiny, foolish human. A look of amusement crossed his metallic face. “Well, well. A local offering himself up as a snack. How thoughtful.”

Arcee, struggling to her knees, stared at him in horror. “Kid, get out of here! Now!”

But Jack couldn’t move. A strange heat was building in his chest, a familiar, yet alien, warmth that spread through his veins. It was the fire from his dreams, a simmering ember that was suddenly being stoked into a flame. He felt a surge of protective fury so intense it was almost blinding. This being, this Autobot, was fighting for something. And she was about to die because of it. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.

“Such bravery,” Knock Out mocked, his cannon glowing brighter. “Or perhaps just terminal stupidity. Either way, it ends now.”

A beam of pure, red energy lanced towards Arcee. Time seemed to slow down for Jack. He saw the energy bolt, saw the inevitable conclusion. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, a word, ancient and powerful, echoed in the silent chambers of his mind.

‘Flame…’

The world erupted into a blinding white light. It didn’t come from him, not exactly. It came from the sky. A third figure, impossibly large, plummeted from the heavens, a streak of red and blue that struck the ground between Jack and the energy beam. The impact was cataclysmic, a shockwave of dust and debris that sent Jack flying backwards, his motorcycle clattering to the ground. The energy beam dissipated harmlessly against the newcomer’s broad, outstretched hand.

When the dust settled, Jack could only stare. The new robot was a titan, easily twice the size of the others. His design was noble, powerful, his faceplate a stoic mask of authority. He was a king, a warrior, a living monument.

“Megatron’s dogs will learn to heel,” the titan rumbled, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated in Jack’s bones. He turned his gaze, which glowed a calm, steady blue, upon Knock Out. “Or they will be put down.”

Knock Out, for all his bravado, looked genuinely frightened. “Optimus Prime…” he hissed. He transformed back into his car form and sped away, vanishing into the desert.

The giant, Optimus Prime, watched him go before turning his attention to the blue robot, Arcee, who was now on her feet. “Are you injured, Arcee?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Prime,” she said, though her voice held a new level of respect. She then looked at Jack, who was struggling to sit up, his ears ringing. “But the kid… he tried to help me.”

Optimus Prime knelt, his massive movements surprisingly gentle. His blue optics studied Jack, and in their depths, Jack saw not the coldness of a machine, but an ancient wisdom, a weariness that spoke of countless battles and immense loss. He felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, the fire in his chest receding to a low, warm glow.

“You have shown great courage, human,” Optimus said, his voice softening. “Courage is a rare and valuable commodity in any universe.”

Jack could only nod, his throat too dry to speak. He was on the verge of passing out, the sheer impossibility of the situation crashing down on him.

“We must return to base,” Optimus declared, rising to his full height. He transformed into a massive truck, its engine a low, powerful rumble. Arcee transformed back into her motorcycle form. The driver’s side door on Optimus’s truck cab swung open.

“Get in,” Arcee’s voice said, now emanating from the motorcycle’s speakers. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Jack looked from the giant truck to the sleek motorcycle, then back to his own battered ride. He was in way over his head. But as he climbed into the cab of the colossal Autobot leader, the strange, forgotten warmth in his chest pulsed once, a single, clear thought cutting through the chaos.

This is where I’m supposed to be.

The drive to their ‘base’ was a silent, surreal experience. Jack sat in the passenger seat of a truck that was, impossibly, a living, sentient being. The dashboard was a complex array of glowing lights and holographic displays. The seat was surprisingly comfortable. Outside, the desert landscape blurred past, but Jack’s attention was focused inward. He was grappling with the new reality that had been violently thrust upon him. Giant alien robots were living on Earth, fighting a secret war. And he had just stumbled into the middle of it.

The ‘base’ turned out to be a massive, hollowed-out missile silo. As Optimus drove them down a long ramp and into the cavernous main chamber, Jack’s breath caught in his throat. The silo was a marvel of improvised engineering. Computers and monitors were set up around a central platform, and strange, alien technology was interwoven with human machinery. It was a high-tech command center hidden in plain sight.

Optimus transformed, his movements fluid and precise. Jack climbed out of the cab, his legs feeling unsteady. He saw two other robots waiting for them. One was a large, green and bulky figure, the very picture of a gentle giant. The other was a smaller, yellow robot with a black helmet, who immediately transformed into a familiar Camaro.

“Arcee! Optimus! You’re back!” the yellow one chirped, his voice a series of electronic clicks and whistles that Jack somehow understood. “Who’s the human?”

“His name is Jack Darby,” Arcee said, her motorcycle form rolling to a stop beside him. “He saved my life. Or, at least, he tried to.”

The green robot knelt, his expression kind. “Name’s Bulkhead. It’s an honor to meet a friend of Arcee’s.”

“And I am Bumblebee,” the yellow robot said, his voice a cheerful electronic melody.

Before Jack could respond, a fourth figure emerged from a lower level. He was tall and lanky, colored in red and white, and he moved with a crisp, clinical precision. He held a medical scanner in his hand, which he immediately pointed at Jack.

“Fascinating,” the robot said, his voice tinged with a detached scientific curiosity. “A human. Biological readings are… squishy. And you say he intervened in a battle with Knock Out? The illogical bravery of organic lifeforms never ceases to amaze. I am Ratchet, the chief medical officer of this operation.”

“Jack is our guest, Ratchet,” Optimus said, his tone a gentle but firm reprimand. “He will be treated with respect.”

“Of course, Prime,” Ratchet said, lowering his scanner. “But his presence here complicates things. Our primary directive is to remain hidden.”

“We’ll deal with that,” Optimus said. He then turned his full attention to Jack. “Jack Darby, I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. We are refugees from a war on our home planet of Cybertron, a war that has followed us here. What you witnessed today was a skirmish in that conflict. We are the Autobots, and we fight to protect this world and its inhabitants from our enemies, the Decepticons, who seek to exploit its resources.”

Jack listened, his mind reeling. It was too much, too fast. Cybertron, Autobots, Decepticons. It was the stuff of science fiction, but it was real. The giant robot in front of him was real. The sincerity in his voice was real.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Jack finally managed, his voice hoarse. “This is insane.”

“Your reaction is understandable,” Optimus said. “You have seen things today that no human was ever meant to see. For your own safety, and for the integrity of our mission, we must ask for your discretion.”

“You mean you want me to keep quiet,” Jack said. It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact.

“We would not ask you to carry this burden alone,” Optimus replied. “But your knowledge of our existence makes you a target. The Decepticons would not hesitate to harm you to get to us.”

A cold dread washed over Jack. His life, his simple, aimless life, was over. He was a part of this now, whether he wanted to be or not. He looked at the Autobots, at the diverse group of beings who had made this strange place their home. He saw the nobility in Optimus, the fierce loyalty in Arcee, the gentle strength in Bulkhead, the cheerful spirit in Bumblebee, and even the prickly dedication in Ratchet. He saw a family, fighting a lonely war far from home. And the fire in his chest, the echo of an ancient flame, stirred once more. He couldn’t turn his back on them.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jack said, his voice firm with a conviction that surprised even him. “I promise.”

Before Optimus could respond, the base’s main alarm blared. Ratchet rushed to a console. “We’ve got a problem! Two more human life signs just entered the silo’s perimeter! They’re with the kid’s motorcycle!”

Jack’s heart sank. Miko and Raf. He’d completely forgotten about them. He’d told Miko he was picking her up. She must have gotten worried when he didn’t show up and tracked his phone.

“They’re my friends,” Jack said quickly. “Miko Nakadai and Rafael Esquivel. They must have followed me.”

“This is a disaster!” Ratchet groaned. “One human is a security risk. Three is a catastrophe!”

The main entrance to the silo slid open, and two figures stood silhouetted against the bright desert sun. Miko, with her vibrant pink hair and ever-present camera, was staring wide-eyed at the giant robots. Raf, a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, had a look of pure, unadulterated glee on his face.

“Jack…” Miko said, her voice a hushed whisper. “You have some explaining to do.”

Raf, however, was already moving forward, his eyes fixed on Ratchet’s console. “Is that a quantum harmonic resonator? And is that a Cybertronian data-stream? This is… this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”

Optimus Prime watched the two newcomers, his expression unreadable. He then looked at Jack, a flicker of something like understanding in his blue optics. The situation had escalated far beyond his control. But as Jack looked at his two friends, one terrified and one ecstatic, he felt a strange sense of rightness. His life had been small, but now, it was expanding, becoming part of something much, much larger.

He didn’t know what the future held. He didn’t know the dangers he would face. But as he stood there, in the heart of an alien command center, surrounded by giant robots and his two best friends, the feeling of being lost, of being a small piece in a vast, uncaring universe, began to fade. He was still Jack Darby, a twenty-one-year-old from Nevada. But he was also something more. He just didn’t know what yet.

The dreams, the fire, the feeling of a forgotten life—it was all connected to this. He was sure of it. And as he looked up at the towering form of Optimus Prime, a sense of profound, unshakeable trust settled in his heart. He was where he was supposed to be. The journey to remembering who he truly was had just begun.

Chapter Text

### **Chapter 2: The Weight of a Secret**

The silence that fell over the Autobot base in the wake of Miko and Raf’s arrival was a tangible thing, thick with unspoken questions and the low, steady hum of alien machinery. Ratchet was the first to break it, his hands flying across his console with agitated clacks.

“A catastrophe!” he boomed, his voice echoing in the vast space of the silo. “Optimus, this is a security breach of the highest order! One human was an unforeseen complication. Three is a liability we cannot afford! Their presence compromises everything we’ve built here!”

“Ratchet, stand down,” Optimus’s voice was a calm counterpoint, a deep, resonant thrum that seemed to soothe the very air. “The situation is… unprecedented, but it is not a disaster.” He turned his massive helm, his blue optics regarding the three humans with an unreadable expression. “You are Jack Darby’s friends. That means you are now under our protection.”

Miko, who had been frozen in a state of wide-eyed shock, finally found her voice. It wasn’t a scream of terror, but a whoop of pure, unadulterated glee. “Protection? Dude, this is the greatest day of my life!” She raised her camera, which had been dangling from her wrist, and started snapping pictures, the flash going off like a tiny, frantic star. “Raf, look at this! The lighting is perfect! Bulkhead, you’re a genius! Can you do a pose? Something, like, stoic?”

Bulkhead, the gentle green giant, looked down at the tiny, excitable human and chuckled, a sound like rocks grinding together. “Uh, sure? Like this?” He flexed a massive hydraulic arm, striking a pose that was more awkward than intimidating.

“Brilliant!” Miko squealed.

Raf, meanwhile, had completely ignored the potential danger and was inching closer to Ratchet’s main console, his eyes wide with a kind of scholarly hunger. “The energy signatures are off the charts,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Is that a stable trans-warp field generator? And the data-packet architecture… it’s not binary, it’s… it’s quantum-entangled. That’s how you can process so much information so fast, isn’t it?”

Ratchet stopped his frantic typing and stared at the seventeen-year-old. For the first time, his irritation was replaced by grudging surprise. “You… you understand the principles of our data-streams?”

“Understand? I wanna marry them!” Raf exclaimed, finally looking up from the console. “Can I? Please? I just want to run a diagnostic, see how you’ve integrated terrestrial tech with Cybertronian systems without causing a catastrophic feedback loop. It’s beautiful!”

Jack watched his two friends, a wave of fond exasperation washing over him. Only Miko could see a thirty-foot-tall alien robot and immediately think about her photography portfolio, and only Raf could see a potential global crisis and get excited about the computer code. He stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of them, a protective instinct he didn’t know he possessed kicking in.

“Okay, everyone, just… breathe,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. He looked up at Optimus. “They’re with me. Whatever this is, we’re in it together. But Ratchet has a point. What are we going to do? We can’t just… live here.”

“For the time being, that is precisely what you will do,” Optimus stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The Decepticons are aware of your presence. Knock Out will have reported his encounter with you, Jack. They will be looking for you. To leave the base now would be to sign your death warrants.”

The gravity of his words settled over the room, dampening Miko’s enthusiasm and even giving Raf pause. They weren’t just visitors; they were prisoners. A very specific kind of prisoner, perhaps, but prisoners nonetheless.

“However,” Optimus continued, his gaze softening as it fell on Jack, “you are not our captors. You are our allies, whether you chose to be or not. We will do everything in our power to ensure your safety and to find a way to return you to your lives. But until that time, there are rules.”

He proceeded to lay them out. No one was to leave the base without an Autobot escort. No communication with the outside world beyond what was absolutely necessary and could be securely routed through their systems. And most importantly, no one could ever know. Their lives, and the lives of everyone on Earth, depended on their silence.

It was a lot to take in. Jack felt the weight of it settling on his shoulders, a heavy mantle of responsibility. He looked at Miko and Raf, saw the fear and excitement warring in their expressions, and knew he had to be the strong one. He was the oldest. He was the one who had brought them into this.

“We understand,” he said, meeting Optimus’s gaze. “We’ll follow your rules.”

***

Hours later, the initial shock had begun to fade into a strange, new normal. Miko had claimed a corner of the base as her own, already arranging her camera equipment and trying to teach Bulkhead the finer points of composition. Raf was, to Ratchet’s eternal dismay, practically glued to the med-bay’s main computer, firing off questions and occasionally offering a surprisingly insightful suggestion that had the old medic muttering about “organic anomalies.”

Jack, however, felt restless. He wandered the edges of the main chamber, his hand trailing along the cool, corrugated metal of the silo walls. He was a man adrift, his entire world view shattered and rebuilt in the span of a single afternoon. He found himself standing near the platform where Optimus often stood to oversee the operations, watching the leader of the Autobots stare at a large holographic map of the world.

As if sensing his gaze, Optimus turned. “You are troubled, Jack Darby.”

Jack gave a wry, humorless laugh. “Is it that obvious? I just… I keep thinking about my mom. She’s going to think I’ve been kidnapped. And my bike… it’s probably still sitting out there on the side of the road.”

“Your possessions have been retrieved,” Optimus said, gesturing with a massive hand to a corner where Jack’s yellow motorcycle and Miko’s scooter were parked, looking like children’s toys next to the Autobots. “And Agent Fowler, our human liaison, is… ‘handling’ the situation with your families. He is skilled at creating plausible deniability.”

“Agent Fowler?” Jack asked.

“Our government contact,” Optimus explained. “He ensures our continued secrecy and provides us with intelligence. He is… not pleased with the current situation.”

“I can imagine,” Jack said. He fell silent again, watching the holographic map. A red dot blinked ominously over the Pacific Ocean. “What’s that?”

“A Decepticon energy signature,” Optimus said, his voice growing grim. “An Energon deposit. A source of power and life for our kind. The Decepticons will stop at nothing to claim it.”

Jack looked from the map to the Autobot leader’s face. He saw the lines of weariness etched around his optics, the heavy burden of leadership that seemed to press down on his massive frame. It was a look he knew, not from experience, but from the echoes in his soul. The look of a warrior who had seen too many battles, lost too many friends.

“It never ends, does it?” Jack said softly. “The fighting.”

Optimus was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant. “No,” he finally conceded. “It does not. It is a heavy burden, to be responsible for so many lives. To make choices that you know will send good people—good beings—into harm’s way. Every victory is tinged with the memory of the cost. Every loss is a scar upon the spark.”

The word ‘spark’ resonated with Jack, a strange, familiar vibration. He felt a flicker of that inner warmth, the phantom fire from his dreams. It wasn’t a memory, not yet. It was just a feeling, a deep, instinctual understanding of what Optimus was saying. The weight of command. The sorrow of a king.

“I think I understand,” Jack said, the words feeling more true than he expected. “Not the… giant robot part,” he added with a small, self-deprecating smile. “But the rest. The responsibility.”

Optimus looked down at him, his blue optics seeming to pierce right through to the core of him. There was a flicker of surprise in their depths, followed by something else. A flicker of… recognition? It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but Jack had seen it.

“You carry a wisdom beyond your years, Jack Darby,” Optimus rumbled. “It is a quality that will serve you well in the days to come.”

Before Jack could respond, Ratchet’s voice cut through the air, sharp with alarm. “Optimus! I’m picking up a groundbridge activation! Not ours! It’s a Decepticon signature, and it’s close! Too close!”

The holographic map flared, a new, ominous red portal icon appearing just a few miles outside of town. “They’re searching for us,” Optimus stated, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant from weary philosopher to battle-ready commander. “They believe the humans may lead them to our base. Arcee, Bumblebee, with me. Ratchet, maintain the groundbridge. Bulkhead, you are on base defense.”

“What about us?” Miko asked, her earlier excitement replaced by a tense fear.

“You will stay here,” Optimus commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It is the safest place for you.”

But Jack knew it wasn’t. Not really. If the Decepticons found them, this silo would become a tomb. He looked at Raf, who was already typing furiously on his laptop, trying to interface with Ratchet’s systems. He looked at Miko, who was clutching her camera like a talisman. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he couldn’t just stand by and wait.

“Prime,” Jack said, his voice firm. “Let me come with you.”

Every optic in the room swiveled to face him. Ratchet made a strangled noise of protest. “Absolutely not! Are you malfunctioning, kid? It’s a warzone out there!”

“He’s right, Jack,” Arcee said, her voice soft but firm as she transformed and rolled up beside him. “This isn’t a fight for humans.”

“It’s my fight now,” Jack countered, his gaze locked on Optimus. “They’re looking for me. If I’m with you, I can be the bait. I can draw them out. It’s better than them stumbling into a populated area.”

It was a reckless, dangerous plan. But it was also the only one that made sense. He was the reason this was happening. He had to see it through.

Optimus studied him for a long, tense moment. The silence was heavy, broken only by the hum of the computers and the distant wail of a siren from the town below. Jack held his gaze, refusing to back down. He wasn’t a child. He was an adult, and he would not be coddled.

Finally, Optimus gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Your courage is commendable, Jack. And your logic is… sound. But you will not be bait. You will be an observer. You will stay with Arcee, and you will do exactly as she says. Understood?”

“Understood,” Jack said, a surge of adrenaline and relief washing over him.

“Jack, no!” Miko cried out.

“I have to do this, Miko,” he said, turning to his friend. “Stay here with Raf and Bulkhead. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

He swung his leg over Arcee’s seat, the familiar feel of her chrome frame a strange comfort. “Hold on tight,” she warned.

Ratchet activated the groundbridge. A swirling vortex of green energy erupted in the center of the room, a gateway to a place unknown. Optimus and Bumblebee transformed and plunged into the portal without hesitation. Arcee revved her engine.

“Ready?” she asked.

Jack took a deep breath, the scent of ozone filling his lungs. “Ready.”

She shot forward, and the world dissolved into a blur of light and color. The sensation was disorienting, like being turned inside out and then snapped back together. In an instant, they were through.

They emerged in a dusty, abandoned quarry, the air thick with the smell of rock and stagnant water. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, eerie shadows across the landscape. Optimus and Bumblebee were already taking up defensive positions. And standing on a ridge above them were three Decepticon drones, their purple and grey forms menacing against the twilight sky. Vehicons.

“Autobots,” the lead Vehicon sneered, its voice a harsh electronic rasp. “Lord Megatron sends his regards. And he requests the presence of the humans you’re harboring.”

“The humans are under our protection,” Optimus declared, his battle mask sliding into place over his face. “You will not have them.”

The Vehicons opened fire, their blaster bolts screaming through the air. Optimus returned fire with his ion blaster, the massive weapon kicking back against his shoulder. Bumblebee, a blur of yellow and black, weaved through the barrage, his own blasters spitting a steady stream of return fire.

Arcee stayed back, her engine a low growl. “Stay down, Jack! Let us handle this!”

Jack crouched behind a pile of rubble, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it. A real battle. He watched as the Autobots fought, their movements a deadly ballet of power and precision. Optimus was a force of nature, his every move a display of overwhelming strength. Bumblebee was a whirlwind of agility, his attacks precise and lethal. Arcee was a graceful, deadly predator, her blasters barking as she picked off targets with chilling accuracy.

But the Vehicons were numerous, and they were coordinated. One of them broke off from the main group, its red optics locking onto Jack’s hiding spot. It had seen him.

“Arcee!” Jack yelled out a warning.

The Vehicon raised its weapon, aiming directly at him. Arcee turned, but she was too far away, engaged with another drone. Time seemed to slow down again, just like it had on the road. He saw the energy bolt building in the Vehicon’s cannon. He saw the inevitable outcome.

And then, the fire in his chest roared to life.

It wasn’t a gentle warmth this time. It was an inferno. A blazing, righteous heat that surged through his veins, so intense it was almost painful. His vision swam, the quarry dissolving into a haze of gold and crimson. For a fleeting, impossible second, he wasn’t Jack Darby, a twenty-one-year-old from Nevada. He was something else. Something ancient. Something powerful.

He felt the phantom sensation of wings unfurling from his back, vast and feathery. He felt the weight of a dragon’s head atop his own, a crown of horns. He felt a name, not on his tongue, but in his very soul, a name that was a battle cry and a prayer all at once.

*‘BurningGreymon…’*

The word was a whisper of smoke and embers in his mind.

The Vehicon fired. But in that same instant, Bumblebee, having dispatched his own opponent, lunged into the path of the blast. The energy bolt struck his shoulder, sending him stumbling back with a pained cry of electronic whistles.

The vision, the fire, the phantom wings—it all vanished as quickly as it had come. Jack was left gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribs, the lingering warmth in his chest a fading echo. He was just Jack again. Shaken, terrified, but utterly, profoundly changed.

“Bee!” Arcee cried out, rushing to the fallen Autobot’s side.

Optimus, with a final, devastating blast, took out the last of the Vehicons. The battlefield fell silent, the only sounds the crackle of cooling metal and Bumblebee’s pained whimpers.

Optimus transformed and knelt beside his wounded soldier. “Ratchet, prepare the med-bay. We are returning.”

He then turned his gaze to Jack, who was still struggling to his feet, his mind reeling from the experience. There was no accusation in Optimus’s optics, only a deep, abiding concern.

“Are you harmed, Jack?” he asked.

Jack shook his head, unable to find the words to explain what had happened. How could he? ‘I think I turned into a dragon-man in my mind for a second’? They’d think he was crazy.

“No,” he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t. He was far from fine. He looked down at his hands, half-expecting to see them glowing with residual fire. They were just hands. Human hands. But he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that something was waking up inside him. The dreams weren’t just dreams. They were memories. And the fire that had saved him in his past life was stirring once more, ready to be reborn.

Chapter Text

**Chapter 3: The Ghost in the Machine**

The return to the base was a grim, silent affair. The green vortex of the groundbridge spat them out into the cavernous silo, the air inside suddenly feeling cold and sterile compared to the dusty heat of the quarry. Bumblebee, leaning heavily on Arcee, was the first to stumble through, his normally vibrant yellow frame marred by a scorched and gaping wound on his shoulder. Wires sparked like angry nerves, and a steady drip of a luminous blue fluid—energon—stained the concrete floor.

“Ratchet! Med-bay, now!” Optimus’s voice was a thunderclap, stripping away all pretense of calm. He transformed, his massive frame moving with an urgency that sent a jolt of fear through Jack.

The old medic was already there, his manipulator arms extended and whirring with precision. “Get him on the berth! Don’t just stand there, help him!” he barked, his usual gruffness amplified by a frantic, professional edge. Bulkhead moved forward, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he helped Arcee guide the wounded scout to the medical platform.

Jack stood frozen near the entrance of the bridge, the scent of ozone and burnt metal filling his lungs. His gaze was locked on the pool of blue energon spreading on the floor. *That’s my fault.* The thought was a lead weight in his stomach. Bumblebee had been hurt because of him. Because he had been reckless, because he had insisted on coming. The fire in his chest, the phantom memory of a dragon’s roar, felt like a mocking echo now. What good was a forgotten power if it only got his friends hurt?

Miko and Raf, who had been watching from a safe distance, rushed forward. Miko’s face was pale, her usual boisterous energy replaced by a wide-eyed, trembling fear. “Bee… is he going to be okay?”

Ratchet didn’t look up from his work, his laser scalpel humming as he carefully cut away melted armor plating. “He’s lost a lot of energon. The blaster bolt cauterized the wound, but it’s done significant damage to his shoulder gyros and internal circuitry. He’ll be in stasis lock for a while. Now, give me some space!”

Raf, however, had his eyes fixed on the diagnostic screen hovering above the berth. His expression wasn’t just fear; it was intense, analytical focus. “The energy feedback from the blast is causing a cascade failure in his secondary motor relays,” he said, his voice quiet but clear. “If you reroute power through the tertiary backup system, you can stabilize the long-range communications array before it shorts out.”

Ratchet paused for a fraction of a second, glancing at the human teenager. A flicker of something—surprise, maybe even respect—crossed his face before he returned to his work. “A logical, if rudimentary, suggestion,” he grumbled, but his hands were already moving to implement Raf’s idea. A series of beeps from the console confirmed the young prodigy was right.

Jack felt a surge of gratitude for his friend. Raf’s brilliance was a small beacon of light in the suffocating darkness of his own guilt. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, his feet feeling like they were encased in concrete. He had to see. He had to face what he had done.

He stopped at the edge of the med-bay, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He watched as Ratchet worked, his movements a blur of practiced efficiency. He saw the pain in Bumblebee’s dimmed optics as the medic worked to repair the damage. He saw the worry etched on Arcee’s face as she stood vigil, her hand resting near Bee’s uninjured arm.

And then he felt a presence beside him, a shadow that fell over him like a protective blanket. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The sheer scale, the quiet, dignified aura, could only belong to one being.

“He will recover, Jack,” Optimus Prime’s voice rumbled, a low, soothing frequency that seemed to calm the frantic beating of Jack’s heart. “Ratchet is the best medic in this or any galaxy. Bumblebee is strong. He will pull through.”

Jack couldn’t speak. He just nodded, his throat tight. He kept his eyes fixed on the wounded Autobot, the guilt a physical ache in his chest.

“This was not your fault,” Optimus said, as if reading his mind. His tone was not accusatory, but gentle, understanding. “You did not fire the weapon. You did not ask for this fight. The Decepticons are the authors of this violence, not you.”

“But he was protecting me,” Jack finally managed to choke out, the words thick with emotion. “If I hadn’t been there…”

“Then you would be dead,” Optimus finished for him, his voice firm but not unkind. “And Bumblebee would have to live with the knowledge that he failed to protect an innocent life. I know him. He would rather endure a thousand such injuries than bear that burden.”

Jack looked up at the Autobot leader, his vision swimming. He saw the truth in Optimus’s blue optics, a deep and unwavering conviction. It didn’t erase the guilt, but it shifted it, reshaping it into something else: a profound sense of responsibility. He had been given a gift, a chance at life he didn’t understand. He couldn’t waste it. He couldn’t let others get hurt because of his weakness.

He spent the next few hours in a self-imposed exile, finding a quiet corner of the base behind a stack of massive shipping crates. He sat on the cold concrete, his back against the metal, and tried to make sense of the impossible. The vision in the quarry kept replaying in his mind’s eye. The searing heat, the feeling of feathery wings, the crown of horns. The name *Aldamon* echoed in the silence, a ghost from a machine he didn’t know he possessed.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. He tried to summon it, to understand it. He concentrated on the warmth in his chest, the ember that had blazed to life in the face of danger. He pictured the flame, feeding it with his focus, his desperation.

For a moment, it worked. A faint warmth spread through his veins. He felt a tingling in his shoulder blades, the phantom sensation of something trying to push through his skin. He saw a flicker of an image in his mind’s eye—not a dragon this time, but a humanoid figure encased in red and orange armor, its face hidden behind a visor. It was standing in a sea of fire, its fists clenched, a warrior born of flame.

The image vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him breathless and dizzy. He slumped against the crate, his head pounding. It was too much. He was Jack Darby. He worked a dead-end job, rode a motorcycle, and hung out with his friends. He wasn’t a warrior. He wasn’t… whatever that was.

But the memory of Bumblebee falling, the sight of his own energon on the floor, pushed him forward. He couldn’t be a liability. He had to find a way to help, to contribute. He had to learn to control… whatever this was inside him.

His resolve was solidified a short while later when Ratchet announced that Bumblebee was stable, but would be offline for at least a cycle while his systems repaired. The news was met with a collective sigh of relief, but it also left a hole in their defenses. They were a team, and one of their key members was down.

It was in that moment of vulnerability that the next alarm blared. Not the Decepticon alert, but a different, more insistent tone.

“Optimus!” Ratchet called out, his fingers flying across his console. “I’m picking up a Cybertronian energy signature falling through the atmosphere! It’s a relic! A powerful one!”

A holographic display appeared in the center of the room, showing a map of the local region with a red, descending trajectory. “It’s going to land in the desert, near the old Hawthorne army depot,” Ratchet reported.

“The Decepticons will be after it,” Optimus stated, his battle mask sliding into place. “We must retrieve it before they do.”

“I’m going with you,” Jack said, his voice loud and clear, surprising even himself.

All optics turned to him. Arcee, who had been standing by the med-bay, shook her head. “No way, kid. It’s too dangerous. Bee’s out of commission. We need to be at our best.”

“I know,” Jack said, stepping out from behind the crates. He met Optimus’s gaze, his expression set with a determination he hadn’t felt before. “That’s why you need me. I can’t fight, I get that. But I’m human. I can get into places you can’t. The army depot… it’ll have tight corridors, security systems, places where a thirty-foot-tall robot can’t fit. I can be your eyes and ears on the ground. Let me help. Let me make this right.”

He was pleading, but he was also demanding. He was done being a spectator.

Optimus studied him for a long moment, his blue optics searching Jack’s face. He saw the guilt, the fear, but beneath it all, he saw an unshakeable resolve. He saw a flicker of the same courage he had witnessed on the road, the same courage that had made him step in front of a blast to save Arcee.

“Your logic is… compelling,” Optimus conceded. “But the risk is immense. You will obey my commands without question. You will stay with Arcee at all times. If I say retreat, you will retreat. Is that understood?”

“Understood,” Jack said, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him.

“Then we move out,” Optimus commanded. “Arcee, you and Jack will approach the depot from the west. I will provide a diversion from the east. We secure the relic, we return. No engagement unless absolutely necessary.”

***

The Hawthorne army depot was a relic of a bygone era, a sprawling complex of low-slung concrete buildings and rusting hangars, surrounded by a ten-foot-high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. The moon was a sliver in the sky, casting long, skeletal shadows across the compound.

Optimus’s diversion was a masterpiece of subtlety. A series of controlled explosions on the far side of the base drew the attention of any potential guards, both human and electronic. It was their opening.

Arcee transformed, her engine a near-silent purr as she navigated the desert terrain. “Stay low, stay quiet,” she whispered through her comm system, her voice a direct buzz in Jack’s ear via a small earpiece Ratchet had provided. “The depot’s automated security system is still active. Raf is trying to loop the camera feeds, but we can’t rely on it.”

Jack nodded, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He felt a strange mix of terror and exhilaration. This was real. He was on a mission.

They found a weak spot in the fence, a section where the desert sand had eroded the base. Jack slipped through, Arcee following a moment later, her massive form surprisingly nimble. They moved through the shadows, hugging the walls of the buildings. The air was cool and smelled of dust and decay.

“The energy signature is coming from that hangar,” Arcee said, pointing with a headlight nudge towards a large, corrugated metal structure in the center of the complex. “The doors are sealed. I can cut through, but it’ll make a lot of noise.”

“Let me find another way,” Jack whispered. “There has to be a service entrance or a ventilation shaft.”

He scanned the building’s perimeter, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He found it: a small, rusted access door, almost completely hidden behind a tangle of overgrown weeds. It was locked with a heavy padlock.

“Stand back,” he murmured. He took a deep breath, then kicked the lock with all his might. The metal groaned, but held. He kicked it again, and again, the sound of each impact echoing like a gunshot in the quiet night. On the third kick, the hasp tore free from the rotten wood frame. The door creaked open.

“I’m impressed,” Arcee’s voice buzzed in his ear. “Not bad for a squishy.”

Jack managed a weak smile as he pulled the door open and peered inside. It was dark, but he could make out the shape of catwalks and machinery. “I’m in.”

He slipped inside, Arcee transforming back to her robot mode just outside the door, a silent sentinel. He was in a maintenance corridor, narrow and cluttered with old equipment. He followed the hum of active power, moving deeper into the hangar. The air grew warmer, and a faint, pulsing light began to illuminate the corridor ahead.

He found the source in the main hangar bay. In the center of the vast, empty space, a single object hovered a few feet off the ground, bathed in an ethereal blue glow. It was a gauntlet, a piece of armor that looked like it was made of polished chrome and intricate circuitry. It pulsed with a gentle, rhythmic light, the air around it shimmering with heat.

“That’s it,” Arcee’s voice confirmed. “The Phase Shifter. A relic that allows its user to pass through solid matter. Be careful, Jack. We don’t know what kind of security it has.”

Jack approached it slowly, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The gauntlet was beautiful, mesmerizing. He felt a strange pull towards it, a resonance that vibrated in his bones. It felt… familiar. Like a long-lost piece of himself.

He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against the cool, smooth metal of the gauntlet.

And then, a voice, dripping with condescending malice, echoed through the hangar. “Well, well. What have we here? A little mouse trying to steal the cheese?”

Jack froze. From the shadows above, a figure dropped down, landing with a cat-like grace on a nearby crane. It was Starscream. The Decepticon’s silver frame gleamed in the gauntlet’s light, his red optics fixed on Jack with a predatory glee.

“An Autobot pet,” Starscream sneered, unfolding his null-ray cannons. “How quaint. Lord Megatron will be most pleased with my find. Both the relic… and the human who knows its location.”

Before Jack could even think to move, a familiar engine roar filled the hangar. Arcee burst through the main doors, her blasters blazing. “Get away from him, Starscream!”

The Decepticon commander dodged her fire with an infuriatingly graceful laugh. “Always the protector, aren’t you, Arcee? So predictable.” He fired back, his energy bolts striking the concrete near Jack’s feet, forcing him to dive for cover behind a stack of rusted oil drums.

“Jack, grab the relic and run!” Arcee yelled, engaging Starscream in a whirlwind of motion.

Jack scrambled from behind the drums, his eyes locked on the Phase Shifter. He had to get it. He lunged forward, his fingers closing around the gauntlet. The moment he touched it, a jolt of energy shot up his arm. The gauntlet dissolved into a stream of blue light that flowed up his arm and solidified around his own hand. It was a perfect fit.

He didn’t have time to marvel at it. Starscream, having momentarily disengaged from Arcee, saw him. “Foolish human! You have no idea how to wield that power!”

He lunged, his clawed hand outstretched to snatch the gauntlet from Jack’s arm. Jack stumbled back, tripping over a loose piece of debris. He fell hard, his head cracking against the concrete floor. Starscream loomed over him, a triumphant smirk on his face. “Game over.”

This was it. The end. The fear was cold and sharp, but beneath it, something else stirred. The ember in his chest, the ghost in his machine, roared to life, fed by the raw terror and the desperate, primal will to survive.

The world dissolved into a haze of fire and fury. The hangar vanished, replaced by a nightmarish landscape of volcanic rock and rivers of lava. He was no longer Jack Darby, lying on a concrete floor. He was a beast, a monster of myth and legend. He felt the weight of a powerful, draconic body, the feel of thick, armored hide, the beat of colossal wings. He felt fire building in his throat, a destructive force that could melt steel.

The name that echoed in his soul this time was not a whisper, but a roar.

*‘BURNINGGREYMON!’*

The power was overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat and rage. He couldn't contain it. It had to go somewhere.

He screamed, a raw, guttural sound of pure agony and unleashed fury. And with the scream came the fire.

It didn’t come from his mouth. It came from his entire body. A visible wave of intense, shimmering heat erupted from him, distorting the air like a mirage. The concrete around him blackened and cracked. The rusted oil drums he’d fallen near glowed red-hot, their contents igniting with a deafening *WHOOSH*.

Starscream, who was just about to grab him, was caught in the full force of the thermal blast. It wasn’t a flame, not exactly. It was pure, concussive heat. He was thrown backwards as if hit by a physical train, his silver frame screeching in protest as the superheated air warped his armor plating. He crashed into a far wall, his systems sparking and hissing in alarm.

“By the Unicron… what is this?!” he screeched, his voice a mixture of pain and utter bewilderment.

Arcee, having dispatched a squad of Vehicons that had arrived with Starscream, turned to see the spectacle. She saw Jack, lying on the floor, his body glowing with a faint, golden aura. She saw the air around him warped by an impossible heat. And she saw Starscream, one of the most dangerous Decepticons, recoiling in terror from a mere human.

“Jack…?” she whispered, her voice filled with disbelief.

The fire receded as quickly as it had come. The vision of BurningGreymon faded, leaving Jack gasping on the floor, drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted. The gauntlet on his arm felt heavy, dead. He looked at his hands, then at the scorch mark that radiated outwards from his body in a perfect circle. He had done that. He didn’t know how, but he had.

Optimus chose that moment to burst through the hangar doors, his ion blaster at the ready. He took in the scene in a single glance: Arcee standing over Jack, the smoldering remains of the oil drums, and a dazed and damaged Starscream struggling to his feet.

“Retreat, Starscream!” the Decepticon hissed, transforming and taking to the air, his flight path erratic. “This isn’t over!”

He vanished into the night sky, leaving the Autobots in the smoldering, silent ruins of the hangar.

Optimus transformed and knelt beside Jack, his massive frame a comforting shadow. “Jack… are you alright?”

Jack looked up at him, his mind a maelstrom of confusion and fear. He saw the concern in Optimus’s optics, the same concern he’d shown after the quarry battle. But there was something else now, too. A question. A deep, profound bewilderment.

“I… I think so,” Jack stammered, pushing himself into a sitting position. He looked at his hands, then at the Phase Shifter on his arm. “Prime… I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Optimus didn’t press. He didn’t demand answers. He simply placed a giant, gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that was more comforting than any words.

“We will figure this out together, Jack,” he said, his voice a low, steady promise. “You are not alone in this.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the wreckage of a battle he shouldn’t have survived, with the ghost of a fiery beast raging in his soul, Jack believed him. He was lost, but he was not alone. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 4: The Shifting of a Soul**

The ride back to the base was suffocatingly quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony of battle that had just concluded. Jack sat hunched in the passenger seat of Optimus’s alt mode, the vast, empty desert night a canvas for the cold, distant stars. The Phase Shifter, fused seamlessly to his arm, felt less like a trophy of war and more like a brand, a mark of an irrevocable change. It was cool to the touch, its intricate circuitry dark and dormant, yet he could feel a low, thrumming potential beneath its surface, a power that was now irrevocably linked to his own biology, his own soul.

He had done… *something*. The memory was a chaotic blur of sensation, a fever dream burned into his consciousness. He remembered the phantom weight of a draconic body, the feeling of feathery wings beating against a sky choked with ash, the roar of a name—*BurningGreymon*—that felt both alien and deeply, primordially familiar. He remembered the searing release of an energy he hadn’t known he possessed, a wave of pure, concussive heat that had sent Starscream, a being who could tear apart fighter jets with his bare hands, fleeing in terror. It was exhilarating and horrifying in equal measure, a taste of godlike power that left him feeling profoundly, terrifyingly human.

He glanced at the dashboard, at the holographic displays that flickered with data he couldn’t comprehend. He was inside a living, sentient being, a refugee from a war across the stars, who was now his protector. His life had become a science fiction epic, and he was the confused, side-character who had stumbled onto the main stage with no script and no idea what his role was.

When they arrived at the silo, the atmosphere was thick with a tension so palpable it felt like a physical weight. Ratchet was waiting for them, his optic ridges furrowed with a mixture of professional anger and scientific curiosity that warred for dominance on his face. As soon as Optimus completed his transformation, the medic was upon Jack, his scanner whirring with an aggressive intensity.

“Stand still, human,” Ratchet commanded, his voice sharp enough to cut steel. “Do not move a single muscle. I need to get a reading. Do you have any conceivable idea what you did? The energy signature from that depot was off the scale! It registered as a localized thermal event, but the wave pattern was… organic. Sentient, even. It defies the laws of thermodynamics and biology as we understand them!”

Jack didn’t resist. He stood there, a statue in the center of the command center, as the blue light of the scanner washed over him, its beam tracing the lines of his body, lingering on the gauntlet. Miko and Raf watched from a distance, their faces etched with a worry that transcended the usual teenage drama. Miko had her camera hanging unused around her neck, her usual boisterous energy silenced by the sheer gravity of the situation. Raf wasn’t looking at a computer screen; his wide, intelligent eyes were fixed on his friend, his mind clearly working a mile a minute.

“The readings are… impossible,” Ratchet muttered, stepping back and staring at the holographic display that materialized in the air before him. It was a complex web of graphs and numbers, all glowing a frantic, warning red. “Your cellular structure is in a state of quantum flux. There’s residual energy saturating every cell, but it’s not damaging. It’s… integrating. Rewriting your very DNA on a subatomic level. And this…” He gestured wildly at the Phase Shifter. “This relic has bonded with you on a molecular level. The neural pathways are irrevocably fused. I can’t remove it. It’s as much a part of you now as your own arm. Attempting to separate them would likely result in your complete cellular dissolution.”

Jack looked down at the gauntlet, a cold dread seeping into his bones. He flexed his fingers, and the metal plates shifted with him, a perfect, seamless extension of his will. It wasn’t a tool he was wearing. It was a part of him. “What does that mean? Ratchet, what does that *mean*?”

“It means you’re a walking, talking scientific impossibility!” Ratchet threw his hands up in a gesture of pure, unadulterated frustration. “It means I have no idea what it means! You’re a human who can channel enough thermal energy to scramble a Decepticon’s sensors and melt solid concrete! You’re bonded to a Cybertronian relic of immense power! You’re a paradox! A biological fusion reactor waiting to have a meltdown!”

“Ratchet,” Optimus’s voice was a low, calming rumble that cut through the medic’s tirade like a hot knife through butter. “That is enough. Your distress is understandable, but it is not helping.”

The Autobot leader stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long, reassuring shadow over Jack. He placed a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder, the touch a grounding force in the storm of confusion and fear. The metal was cool, but the contact sent a warmth through Jack that had nothing to do with temperature. It was the warmth of stability, of unwavering presence.

“What you experienced in that hangar, Jack… it was more than just the relic,” Optimus said, his voice softening. “Was it not?”

Jack looked up, up into Optimus’s deep, searching blue optics. He saw no judgment there, no fear, only a profound and searching empathy. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to tell him everything, to unburden the secret that was tearing him apart from the inside out. The dreams, the fire, the phantom wings, the names that echoed in the caverns of his mind.

“I… I see things,” Jack began, his voice barely a whisper, hoarse with emotion. “In my head. When I’m scared, or angry… I see another me. Not human. Something… else. First, it was a man in red armor, a warrior. Tonight… it was a monster. A dragon, made of fire. And when I saw Starscream about to… to hurt Arcee, I felt its power. It wasn’t me. It was him. I just… let it out. I opened the door, and the fire came pouring through.”

He expected Ratchet to scoff, to dismiss it as a psychological stress response to trauma. But the medic was silent, staring at his scanner’s readouts with a new, intense focus, his previous frustration replaced by a dawning scientific horror. Raf, however, stepped forward, his laptop already open in his hands.

“The energy wave,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, cutting through the tense silence. “It wasn’t just heat. I was monitoring the base’s external sensors when it happened. There was a data component. A faint, complex signal layered underneath the thermal output. It was like… a scream. But not of sound. Of pure information. Like a digital ghost crying out.”

A digital ghost. The words sent a shiver down Jack’s spine, a cold, eerie resonance that vibrated in his very bones. It was the most accurate, the most chillingly perfect description he could have imagined.

Optimus’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder, a gesture of quiet solidarity. “A ‘digital ghost’,” he mused, his voice thoughtful, laced with an ancient weariness. “Jack, what you are describing… it is unlike anything I have encountered in my long cycles. But I have seen the impossible become real. I have seen sparks of life endure across the void of space. I have seen worlds born and die. I believe you.”

The simple declaration, spoken with such unwavering conviction, was a balm to Jack’s frayed nerves. Optimus believed him. He didn’t understand it, he couldn’t explain it, but he believed him. And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

“We need to know what we are dealing with,” Optimus continued, his gaze shifting from Jack to Ratchet. “Run every diagnostic you can. Cross-reference the energy signature with our deepest archives, with the records of the Thirteen Primes themselves. If this is a known phenomenon, from any corner of the universe, we will find it.”

“And what do we do with him in the meantime?” Ratchet gestured to Jack, his exasperation returning. “Keep him locked in a stasis pod until he either explodes or turns into a kaiju and levels Jasper?”

“He will stay with me,” Optimus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was not a suggestion; it was a command, spoken with the quiet authority of a king. “I will monitor him. We will figure this out together.”

The finality in his voice settled the matter. Ratchet, though still muttering about quantum entanglement and biological paradoxes under his breath, returned to his main console, his fingers flying across the controls with renewed purpose. Miko and Raf approached, their faces a mixture of profound relief and lingering fear.

“Dude,” Miko said, her voice uncharacteristically soft, her usual bravado completely gone. “That was… intense. Like, *way* more intense than your usual ‘almost get run over by a giant robot’ intense. Are you okay? I mean, *really* okay?”

“I think so,” Jack said, managing a weak smile that felt more like a grimace. “Just… trying to process the fact that I might be a digital ghost who can shoot fire out of his hands.”

“If the energy signal had a data component, I might be able to isolate it,” Raf offered, already pulling up a complex waveform on his laptop screen. “Maybe I can decode it. Figure out what this ‘digital ghost’ is trying to say. It might be a language, or a memory, or… something.”

“Thanks, Raf,” Jack said, a genuine wave of gratitude washing over him, so potent it almost brought tears to his eyes. He had the best friends in the world, human or otherwise. He wasn’t alone.

***

Later that night, long after Ratchet had given up his diagnostics for the cycle, declaring the data “an affront to logic itself,” and the others had settled into their respective corners of the base, Jack found he couldn’t sleep. He wandered the silent, cavernous silo, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He ended up on the catwalk overlooking the main chamber, a metal walkway that gave him a panoramic view of the Autobots’ hidden world. Below, Ratchet was hunched over his console, the blue light of the screen illuminating his weary face. In the distance, beyond the silo’s open doors, the city of Jasper glowed in the dark, a quiet sea of lights that seemed a world away, a lifetime away.

He heard the soft, almost silent whir of hydraulics behind him. He didn’t need to turn. He knew who it was.

Optimus transformed, his movements silent and deliberate, and joined Jack on the metal walkway. For a long time, they just stood there in comfortable silence, the only sound the low, steady hum of the base’s life support systems and the faint, rhythmic ticking of cooling metal.

“You are afraid,” Optimus stated, not as a question, but as a simple, compassionate observation.

Jack let out a short, humorless laugh. “Wouldn’t you be? I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like there’s a stranger living in my skin, and he’s a lot stronger and a lot more dangerous than I am. What if I can’t control him? What if I hurt someone? What if I hurt *you*?”

“I understand the fear of the power within,” Optimus said, his gaze distant, fixed on the holographic star chart that was projected on the far wall, a map of a home he could never return to. “Before I was Optimus Prime, I was Orion Pax, a simple data clerk from the city of Iacon. I spent my days in the great archives, surrounded by the recorded history of our world. I never sought power or conflict. I only sought knowledge and believed in the possibility of a just and peaceful society.”

He paused, his voice growing quieter, more intimate, as if he were sharing a secret held for millennia. “I had a friend once. Megatronus. We shared a dream of a better Cybertron, but our paths diverged. He sought change through violence and tyranny, believing strength was the only currency that mattered. I sought it through knowledge and hope, believing that wisdom could light the way. When the war came, I was… unprepared. I was a scholar, not a soldier.”

He turned his full attention to Jack, his blue optics soft, filled with an ancient sadness that seemed to hold the weight of a dead world. “But I was given a choice, a chance to make a difference. I was bestowed with the Matrix of Leadership, the sacred artifact that contains the wisdom of the Primes who came before me. It… changed me. It filled me with their memories, their burdens, the weight of their wars. In that moment, Orion Pax, the simple data clerk, died. I was reborn as Optimus Prime. The name I was born with became a memory, a ghost. The name I carry now is a duty, a promise to all who depend on me. I am still Orion Pax, in the depths of my spark. But I am also Optimus Prime. The two are not mutually exclusive. They are two parts of a whole, and I have spent my entire life learning to balance them.”

Jack listened, mesmerized. He had never heard Optimus speak so personally, so vulnerably. He wasn’t just the mighty Autobot leader, an infallible symbol of hope; he was a person who had struggled, who had known fear and doubt, who had been forced to become something new to survive.

“How did you do it?” Jack asked, his voice thick with emotion. “How did you learn to control it? To not let the memories, the power… swallow you whole?”

“I did not do it alone,” Optimus said, a faint, sad smile touching his lips, a subtle shift in the metal of his faceplate. “I had friends. Allies who reminded me of who I was, of the core of my being, even as I was forced to become something new. They were my anchor. And in time, I learned that the power did not erase Orion Pax; it simply gave him the strength to become Optimus Prime.”

He looked at Jack, at the Phase Shifter on his arm, a symbol of his own impossible transformation. “This ‘digital ghost’ you speak of… this fire within you. Perhaps it is not a stranger. Perhaps it is a part of you that has been dormant. A past life, a forgotten strength. Do not fear it, Jack. Seek to understand it. And know that you are not alone in this. We are your anchor.”

The sincerity in his voice was overwhelming. Jack felt a lump form in his throat, his vision blurring. He looked at Optimus, at the noble, weary face of a warrior who had fought for millennia, who had sacrificed his own name, his own identity, for the sake of others, and felt a connection so deep it was almost physical. It wasn’t just gratitude or admiration. It was something more. A sense of coming home, of finding a safe harbor in a storm he hadn’t known he was sailing. He felt an absurd, powerful urge to reach out and touch the Autobot’s face, to feel the warmth of the metal beneath his fingers, to offer some small comfort in return for the immense one he was being given. He quickly shoved the thought away, his cheeks flushing with heat.

“Thank you, Optimus,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “For… everything.”

“It is my honor, Jack,” Optimus replied.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, the unspoken bond between them strengthening with each passing moment. Jack felt the fear recede, not vanishing, but being put into perspective, replaced by a newfound resolve. Optimus was right. He couldn’t fight this alone, and he didn’t have to.

***

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity and a strange, new kind of normalcy. Raf, with Ratchet’s grudging and increasingly fascinated assistance, worked tirelessly to decode the data signal from Jack’s energy burst. He made some progress, isolating fragments of what looked like a complex, non-binary language, but it was like trying to read a single word from a library that had been burned to ash. The symbols were elegant, flowing, and completely alien.

In the meantime, Jack focused on the one thing he could control: the Phase Shifter. Under Arcee’s watchful eye and Raf’s technical guidance, he began to experiment. At first, it was clumsy. He tried to phase his hand through a wall and ended up getting it stuck halfway, the bizarre sensation of being simultaneously solid and ethereal making him dizzy and nauseous.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Arcee advised, her voice a patient buzz in his ear. “The relic responds to intent, not just conscious thought. Don’t try to *force* your hand through the wall. Just… want to be on the other side. Feel the space on the other side of the steel. Make it more real than the steel in front of you.”

Jack took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He stopped thinking about the mechanics, the physics, the sheer impossibility of it all. He just focused on the simple desire to have his hand in the open space on the other side of the solid steel crate in front of him. He felt a strange, tingling sensation, a brief moment of coldness, and then… it was done. He opened his eyes. His hand, encased in the chrome gauntlet, was protruding from the other side of the crate.

He did it. A small, triumphant smile spread across his face. It was a small victory, but it was his. It was a piece of control in a life that felt completely out of control.

He practiced for hours, phasing small objects, then his entire arm, then, with a deep breath, his whole body. The first time he did it, he fell straight through the catwalk grating, landing with a yelp on the level below. Bulkhead, who was nearby, polishing his wrecking-ball hands, let out a booming laugh.

“Whoa there, Jack! You gotta watch your step! One minute you’re there, the next you’re… not!”

But Jack was laughing too. He was learning. He was adapting.

His progress, however, had not gone unnoticed by the enemy.

Aboard the *Nemesis*, the Decepticon warship hidden deep within the crushing pressure of the ocean depths, the mood was grim. Starscream stood before Megatron’s throne, his silver frame still bearing the scorch marks and warped armor from his encounter at the depot.

“He generated a thermal blast, my lord,” Starscream reported, his voice a sycophantic whine that did little to hide his own terror and confusion. “Not from a weapon. From his own body. The energy was… unlike anything I have ever encountered. It felt ancient. Primal. As old as the universe itself.”

Megatron sat on his throne, his massive frame exuding an aura of barely contained fury. He watched the recording of the event, his red optics narrowed, processing the data with a cold, calculating intellect. “A human. Wielding a power that can repel a Decepticon commander. This is an unacceptable variable. An anomaly that must be controlled.”

Soundwave, standing silently beside the throne like a wraith of shadow and circuitry, displayed a new set of data on the main screen. It was a detailed analysis of the energy wave, far more sophisticated than what the Autobots could have generated.

“Lord Megatron,” Soundwave’s monotone, synthesized voice echoed through the chamber, devoid of emotion but heavy with implication. “Energy signature analysis complete. Data pattern matches no known Cybertronian source. However, it contains elements consistent with theoretical dimensional travel. And… a biological imprint.”

Megatron leaned forward, his interest piqued, a cruel curiosity replacing his fury. “Biological? Explain.”

“The energy is not purely technological,” Soundwave elaborated, his single, glowing optic unwavering. “It is alive. It carries the imprint of a living organism. A powerful one. The human is not merely a conduit. He is the source.”

A slow, cruel smile spread across Megatron’s face. This was better than he could have imagined. Not a new Autobot weapon, but a new source of power entirely. One that could be captured, studied, dissected, and… weaponized.

“Starscream, your failure has provided us with a greater opportunity,” Megatron rumbled, his voice a low, menacing growl. “This human is no longer a simple target. He is a prize. Soundwave, locate the human. We will acquire him. I will personally unravel the secrets of this ‘living energy’ and turn it to the glory of the Decepticon cause.”

***

The opportunity came sooner than anyone expected. Optimus, seeing the strain the constant confinement was putting on the humans, had agreed to a supervised outing. A simple trip to a local park, a chance for Miko to take some nature photos and for Raf to get some fresh air. Jack, Arcee, and Bulkhead were their escorts.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, carrying the scent of cut grass and wildflowers. For a few hours, they could almost pretend they were normal. Miko was chasing a particularly iridescent beetle with her camera lens, and Raf was sketching circuit diagrams in a notebook, a blissful look on his face. Jack was sitting on a bench with Arcee, who was in her motorcycle form parked beside him, watching over his friends with a quiet, protective vigilance.

It was the perfect, peaceful moment for an ambush.

It didn’t come with a bang, but with a hum. A high-pitched, electronic whine that filled the air, making the back of Jack’s teeth ache. He felt a strange sensation, a pins-and-needles feeling that spread across his skin, like a limb waking up.

“Arcee, do you feel that?” he asked, his voice tight with sudden alarm.

“Feel what?” she replied, her engine sputtering. Then her systems whined, a sound of distress. “What the… my systems are lagging. I’m losing power.”

Raf’s head snapped up from his notebook, his face pale. “It’s an EMP! A localized one! It’s targeting Cybertronian technology! It’s designed to disable you guys without hurting us!”

As if on cue, three Vehicons emerged from the trees, their purple and grey forms menacing against the green backdrop of the park. Their weapons were drawn, but they weren’t aiming at the Autobots, who were now slumped and disabled, their lights flickering weakly. They were aiming at the humans. A net of glowing blue energy, crackling with electricity, shot out from one of their cannons, heading straight for Miko, who was frozen in terror, her camera forgotten at her feet.

“MIKO!” Jack screamed.

Time seemed to slow down, stretching like taffy. He saw the net flying towards his friend, a shimmering deathtrap. He saw Arcee, her systems disabled, unable to intervene, her voice a static-filled garble of curses. He saw Bulkhead, staggering as the EMP field washed over him, his massive form slumping against a large oak tree with a groan of stressed metal.

The fear was there, a cold, sharp dagger in his heart. But it was quickly consumed by something else. A white-hot, blinding fury. It was one thing to attack him. It was another thing entirely to threaten his friends. His family.

The fire in his soul erupted, but this time it was different. It wasn’t the chaotic, explosive rage of BurningGreymon. It was focused, refined, tempered by a singular, overwhelming purpose: *protect*.

He stood up from the bench, the Phase Shifter on his arm glowing with a brilliant, defiant blue light. He didn’t think. He acted. He activated the relic, phasing, the net passing harmlessly through his ethereal form. He re-solidified in front of Miko, spreading his arms wide, a human shield.

The Vehicons were surprised, but only for a moment. They were soldiers, disciplined and ruthless. They raised their blasters, aiming directly at him.

And that’s when the memory hit him. Not as a vision, but as an *integration*.

He felt the power of Agunimon, the swift, fiery warrior, his movements a dance of deadly grace. He felt the raw, bestial strength of BurningGreymon, the untamed power of a living inferno. And then, he felt them merge, combining into something new, something greater. The fire and the warrior, the beast and the man, fusing into a single, perfect whole. The control of the champion and the power of the ultimate, synthesized into a new, transcendent form.

The name that echoed in his soul was not a whisper or a roar, but a clear, resonant declaration.

*‘ALDAMON!’*

The Phase Shifter flared with incandescent light, a swirling vortex of orange and gold energy. The air around Jack shimmered, not just with heat, but with a dual energy of fire and light. His body was still human, but it was outlined in a blazing aura, his eyes glowing with a fierce, inner fire. He felt the knowledge of an ancient technique settle into his mind, a memory of a weapon forged from a soul, a synthesis of his past selves.

The Vehicons fired. Three bolts of red energy screamed towards him, a coordinated volley designed to leave no room for escape.

Jack raised his gauntleted hand. He didn’t try to dodge. He met the attack head-on. The energy bolts struck his palm, and instead of obliterating him, they were absorbed into the aura surrounding him. The power flowed into him, a torrent of energy that he didn’t fight, but channeled, his body acting as a conduit and a crucible.

He clenched his fist, the combined energy of the Vehicon attacks and his own inner fire swirling around his gauntlet, coalescing into a sphere of brilliant, destructive power. He felt the name of the attack form on his lips, a memory from a life he’d never lived.

“Atomic Inferno,” he whispered, the name feeling natural, right, a part of him.

He thrust his hand forward. A swirling vortex of fire and light erupted from the Phase Shifter. It wasn’t a wild explosion; it was a focused, controlled beam of pure, annihilating energy. It struck the ground in front of the Vehicons, not hitting them directly, but detonating with the force of a small bomb. The shockwave sent the three Decepticons flying, their frames crashing into the trees, their systems fried and warped by the sheer intensity of the blast.

Silence returned to the park, broken only by the crackle of the smoldering crater where Jack’s attack had landed and the weak, sputtering sounds of the disabled Autobots.

Jack stood there for a moment, his arm still outstretched, the aura of Aldamon flickering around him like a dying ember. Then, the power receded, draining out of him as quickly as it had come, leaving him empty and exhausted. He stumbled back, his legs giving out from under him. He would have fallen if Miko and Raf hadn’t caught him, their small bodies supporting his.

He looked at his hand, at the Phase Shifter, now dark once more. He looked at the disabled Vehicons, at the smoking crater. He had done that. He had controlled it. He had chosen the form, channeled the power, and executed the attack.

And for the first time, as the memory of a warrior named Aldamon settled clearly into his mind, he didn’t feel fear. He felt a dawning, terrifying, and exhilarating sense of recognition. He was starting to remember who he was. And he was starting to understand what he was capable of. The shifting of his soul had begun.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 5: The Weight of a Warrior's Soul**

The silence that fell over the park was a sacred, fragile thing. It was the quiet that follows a storm, a stillness born of shock and awe. The air hung thick with the acrid scent of ozone, burnt grass, and the metallic tang of fried circuitry. Jack knelt on the ground, his body trembling with a profound and bone-deep exhaustion, his friends’ arms supporting him. The Phase Shifter on his arm was cool and inert, its inner light extinguished, but the memory of its power, the feel of the Aldamon form, was seared into his very soul.

Miko was the first to break the spell, her voice a shaky whisper. “Jack… that was… you were…”

“Awesome?” Raf finished, his voice a mixture of terror and pure, unadulterated scientific glee. He was already looking at the smoking crater where Jack’s attack had landed, his mind clearly trying to calculate the energy output required to create such a blast. “The energy signature was incredible! It was like a controlled fusion reaction! The data stream was so much clearer this time! I think I got enough to start building a lexicon!”

“Lexicon?” Miko squeaked, finally letting go of Jack to poke at a piece of shrapnel from a disabled Vehicon. “Raf, our friend just turned into a human torch and blew up the bad guys! This is not the time for vocabulary lessons!”

But Jack barely heard them. His gaze was fixed on the three disabled Vehicons, their dark forms slumped against the trees like discarded toys. He had done that. He had channeled the power, focused it, and unleashed it with a precision that terrified him. The chaotic rage of BurningGreymon was still there, a raw beast in the back of his mind, but Aldamon… Aldamon was different. It was control. It was synthesis. It was the warrior and the beast, the man and the monster, fused into a single, perfect weapon. And he had wielded it.

He looked at his hands, expecting to see them glowing with residual power, but they were just his hands. Human. Flawed. Covered in a fine layer of dust and sweat. The disconnect was jarring. He was Jack Darby, a twenty-one-year-old college dropout from Nevada. And he was also Aldamon, a being of immense power from a life he couldn’t remember. The two identities were warring within him, and he was the battlefield.

“Autobots to Jack,” a voice crackled in his ear, the sound a lifeline in the overwhelming silence. It was Ratchet, his voice strained with a concern he tried to hide behind a veil of gruffness. “We’re picking up massive energy readings and a complete systems failure from your location. What in the name of Primus is going on out there?”

Jack fumbled for the earpiece, his fingers clumsy. “We’re… okay, Ratchet,” he said, his voice hoarse. “The Vehicons are down. But Arcee and Bulkhead… they’re disabled. Some kind of EMP.”

There was a pause, filled with the sound of furious typing. “An EMP? That’s new. And sophisticated. I’m opening a groundbridge to your coordinates. Stand by. And try not to blow up any more of the local flora. The paperwork is a nightmare.”

A few moments later, the familiar green vortex of the groundbridge erupted in the middle of the park, a swirling portal of light and energy. Ratchet stepped through, his medical scanner already in hand, his expression a mixture of fury and professional dread.

“Great Cybertron in the cosmos,” he muttered, his optic ridges furrowing as he took in the scene. He scanned the disabled Vehicons, then the Autobots, his scanner beeping frantically. “Their systems are fried. Completely. It’ll take cycles to get them back online.” He then turned his attention to Jack, his scanner whirring as it passed over him. “And you… of course. Your energy readings are… stable. Remarkably so. Considering you just unleashed enough power to level a small city block.”

“I didn’t level it,” Jack said, a little defensively. “I was… controlled.”

Ratchet grunted, but his eyes were fixed on the holographic display. “The energy signature is different this time. More complex. It’s not just thermal. There’s a photonic component, a fusion of light and heat. And the data stream… Raf was right. It’s clearer. More structured.” He looked at Jack, a flicker of something like awe in his optics. “You’re not just channeling it, are you? You’re… synthesizing it.”

Jack didn’t have an answer. He just nodded, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him.

“Let’s get you all home,” Ratchet said, his voice softening slightly. He transformed, his alt mode a familiar ambulance, and opened his back doors. “In you get, humans. And we’ll have to tow the others. This is going to be a long night.”

The ride back to the base was a somber affair. Jack sat in the back of Ratchet’s alt mode, Miko and Raf flanking him, their presence a comforting weight. He watched as the medic, using a magnetic tow line, pulled the inert forms of Arcee and Bulkhead through the groundbridge, their massive frames looking like fallen giants. He felt a pang of guilt. They were his protectors, but tonight, he had been the one who protected them. The dynamic had shifted, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

***

Back in the silo, the mood was one of grim determination. Arcee and Bulkhead were placed on recharge berths, their systems hooked up to diagnostic machines that blinked with ominous red lights. Ratchet was already buried in his work, muttering about fried circuit boards and the sheer audacity of Decepticon engineering.

The humans gathered in the main command center, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on them. Optimus stood before them, his massive frame a pillar of strength in the face of the unknown.

“Report,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Jack took a deep breath. He knew he had to be the one to explain. He had to make them understand. “The EMP… it disabled them. The Vehicons were going to take Miko. I… I couldn’t let that happen.”

He described the feeling, the fusion of his past memories. He spoke of Agunimon, the swift warrior of flame. He spoke of BurningGreymon, the raging dragon of destruction. And then he spoke of Aldamon, the synthesis of the two, the fusion of man and beast, control and power. As he spoke, the names felt more natural, more real, as if he were reclaiming a part of himself that had been lost.

“When I became Aldamon, it was different,” he explained, his voice gaining confidence as he articulated the experience. “It wasn’t just rage. It was… clarity. I knew what I had to do. I could feel their energy, the Vehicons’ attack, and I knew I could absorb it, use it. The Phase Shifter… it acted as a focus. A lens. And the name of the attack… ‘Atomic Inferno’… it just came to me. Like a memory.”

Raf, who had been typing furiously on his laptop, looked up, his eyes wide. “That’s it! That’s the key! The data stream wasn’t just a scream this time. It was structured. Like a language. I’ve cross-referenced the symbols with known ancient cuneiform and fractal patterns. It’s not a perfect match, but the syntax is consistent. ‘Agunimon,’ ‘BurningGreymon,’ ‘Aldamon’… they’re not just names. They’re designations. Ranks. Levels of power.”

He turned his laptop to show Optimus. The screen was filled with the elegant, flowing symbols Jack had seen in his visions. “And this one,” Raf said, pointing to a particularly complex symbol, “this one keeps showing up in the background of the data stream. It’s different. More… foundational. I think it’s the source. The origin.”

Jack looked at the symbol, and a jolt of recognition shot through him. It was a name, a name that felt older than the mountains, older than the stars. A name of immense power and profound sacrifice.

*Emperorgreymon.*

The name echoed in his mind, not as a roar or a whisper, but as a deep, resonant hum. It was a name of a king, a guardian, a being of ultimate power. But it was also a name that carried a heavy burden of sorrow, a memory of a final, desperate battle. He didn’t know the details, but he felt the weight of it, the gravity of a life lived and lost.

“I… I think that’s who I was,” Jack said, his voice barely a whisper. “Before all of this. Before I was Jack.”

The revelation hung in the air, a silent, staggering truth. Miko and Raf stared at him, their faces a mixture of awe and concern. Ratchet, who had been listening with rapt attention, simply shook his head, his processors struggling to comprehend the sheer scope of it all.

Optimus was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the symbol on Raf’s screen. He then looked at Jack, his blue optics filled with a depth of understanding that went beyond words.

“To carry the memory of a past life is a heavy burden, Jack Darby,” he said, his voice gentle. “To carry the memory of a past life as a warrior, a king… is a burden that would crush most sparks. But you are not most. You have faced this truth with courage and humility. You have used this power not for glory, but to protect those you care for. That is the mark of a true leader.”

The praise was a balm to Jack’s troubled soul, but it did little to quell the storm raging within him. He was a king? A warrior? He was just a guy who wanted to finish college and maybe get a dog. The disconnect was laughable, tragic.

Later that night, long after the others had gone to their respective resting places, Jack found himself once again on the catwalk overlooking the main chamber. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the world through the eyes of Aldamon, felt the power of the Atomic Inferno coursing through his veins. And a part of him, a dark and terrifying part, had enjoyed it. The feeling of absolute power, of being able to level his enemies with a single thought… it was intoxicating. And that scared him more than anything.

He heard the soft whir of hydraulics behind him. He didn’t need to turn. He knew who it was.

Optimus transformed and joined him on the walkway, his massive presence a comforting weight in the vastness of the silo.

“You are troubled,” Optimus said, his voice a low, gentle rumble.

“Am I that obvious?” Jack replied, a weak smile playing on his lips.

“You carry the weight of a warrior’s soul, Jack,” Optimus said, his gaze fixed on the distant city lights. “It is a heavy burden. The power, the instinct to fight, to destroy… it can be a seductive call. It can make you forget the person you are.”

Jack looked down at his hands, at the Phase Shifter that was now a permanent part of him. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “When I was Aldamon… it felt… right. Like I was finally whole. But there was a part of me that liked it. The power. The feeling of being unstoppable. What if that part takes over? What if I forget how to be Jack?”

Optimus was silent for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “When I first took the Matrix of Leadership,” he began, his voice quiet, introspective, “I was overwhelmed. I felt the collective consciousness of the Primes who came before me, their memories, their battles, their triumphs, and their sorrows. I felt their power, and it was immense. For a time, I feared I would lose myself, that Orion Pax would be nothing more than a ghost, a forgotten echo in the mind of a god.”

He turned to face Jack, his blue optics filled with a deep, ancient empathy. “But I learned that the power does not erase the person. It reveals them. The Matrix did not make me a leader; it simply gave me the strength to be the leader Orion Pax always had the potential to be. The fire within you, Jack, it does not make you a monster. It simply gives you the strength to be the hero you already are.”

He reached out, his massive hand gently enveloping Jack’s. His touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool metal of his frame. His thumb gently traced the lines of the Phase Shifter, a gesture of such tenderness and intimacy that it took Jack’s breath away.

“The fear you feel is not a weakness,” Optimus continued, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “It is a testament to your character. It is the part of you that is Jack Darby, the compassionate, loyal human who would risk his life for his friends. Do not ever let that fire extinguish that fear. Let it guide you. Let it remind you of what you are fighting for.”

Jack looked up at him, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was lost in the ocean of Optimus’s blue optics, in the depth of his wisdom and the warmth of his touch. He felt a connection so profound, so overwhelming, that it transcended friendship, transcended the boundary between human and machine. It was a meeting of souls, a recognition of a shared burden, a shared loneliness.

Without thinking, he reached up with his other hand, his fingers brushing against the cool, smooth metal of Optimus’s faceplate. It was a bold, impulsive gesture, but it felt right. It felt necessary.

Optimus didn’t pull away. He simply leaned into the touch, his optics softening, his hand still holding Jack’s. The silence that stretched between them was charged with an unspoken emotion, a current of longing and affection that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

In that moment, under the glow of the holographic stars, the slow-burn romance ignited into a quiet, steady flame. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not yet. It was a promise. A promise of understanding, of support, of a bond that would not be broken by war or by the ghosts of past lives.

Jack was no longer just a human caught in the middle of an alien war. He was a partner, an equal, a warrior in his own right. And Optimus was no longer just his protector, his mentor. He was his anchor, his confidant, the one being in the universe who understood the weight of a soul that was not entirely his own.

***

Aboard the *Nemesis*, the atmosphere was one of cold, calculated fury. Megatron stood before the main viewscreen, his red optics narrowed, processing the data from the failed ambush. He watched the recording of Jack’s transformation into Aldamon, his expression a mask of intense concentration.

“Fascinating,” he rumbled, his voice a low growl. “The human is not merely a conduit. He is a catalyst. He is synthesizing the energy, shaping it into a new form.”

“The energy signature of the ‘Atomic Inferno’ is unique, my lord,” Soundwave reported, his monotone voice devoid of emotion. “It is a fusion of thermal and photonic energy, channeled through the Phase Shifter. The human is evolving. Adapting.”

“Evolving,” Megatron mused, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. This was better than he could have ever imagined. The human was not a static prize to be captured; he was a dynamic weapon to be forged. And Megatron was the greatest smith in the universe.

“The brute force approach has failed,” he declared, turning from the screen. “The human’s connection to the Autobots, and to the other humans, makes him a formidable opponent when they are threatened. We will not attack him directly. We will attack his heart.”

He looked at Starscream, who was cowering by the throne, and at Knock Out, who was polishing his claw with a look of bored indifference.

“Knock Out,” Megatron commanded. “You are an expert in the weaknesses of the human form, are you not?”

Knock Out straightened up, a gleam of professional interest in his optics. “I am, my lord. Fragile, squishy creatures. So many ways to incapacitate them.”

“Good,” Megatron said, his smile widening. “I want you to find out everything you can about our human. His family, his home, his life before the Autobots. Every weakness is a potential lever. We will not take his power by force. We will make him *give* it to us. We will break his spirit, and then we will remold it in the image of the Decepticon cause.”

He turned back to the viewscreen, his gaze fixed on the image of Jack Darby. The boy thought he was a warrior. He thought he was a hero. He was about to learn that in a war, even the strongest spirit can be shattered. And Megatron would be the one to hold the pieces.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 6: The Shattering of a Soul**

The trap was sprung with a Decepticon’s signature blend of clinical precision and theatrical cruelty. It began, as most of their troubles did, with an energy signal. A faint, unstable Energon signature, pulsing from a series of abandoned caves in the Kaibab Plateau. It was too small to be of strategic value to the Decepticons, but too pure to ignore for the resource-strapped Autobots. It was the perfect bait.

With Arcee still undergoing repairs for the damage inflicted by the EMP and Bumblebee assigned to a long-range recon mission, the field team was lean. Optimus, burdened with command duties, remained at the base. That left Bulkhead to lead the excursion, with Jack and Miko providing human support. Raf, glued to his console back at the silo, would provide overwatch and technical analysis.

“It’s weird, you know?” Miko said, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous entrance of the main cave. She was adjusting the settings on her camera, the lens a hungry eye peering into the gloom. “Usually, these places are crawling with ‘Cons the second we show up. It’s… quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Jack murmured, his hand resting near the Phase Shifter. The gauntlet was a constant, cool presence on his arm, a reminder of the power that now slumbered within him. He had spent the last few days practicing, learning to feel the ebb and flow of its energy without letting it consume him. He could now phase small objects with a thought, a small trick that felt like a magician’s party piece compared to the earth-shattering power of Aldamon. The memory of that form, of the control and clarity it represented, was a beacon in the confusing fog of his new reality. But beneath it all, the memory of BurningGreymon’s rage still simmered, a beast in a cage.

Bulkhead, in his massive green robot form, scanned the cavern with his high-powered optics. “Energon readings are strong, but they’re… weird. Not like a natural deposit. It’s almost like it’s being… broadcasted.”

“Broadcasted?” Raf’s voice crackled over their comms. “Like a loop? That’s a classic Decepticon tactic, Bulkhead! It’s a trap! Get out of there!”

But it was too late. The entrance to the cave shimmered, a wall of solid energy slamming down with a deafening *thud*, sealing them in. The walls around them groaned, and hidden panels slid away to reveal a dozen Vehicons, their blasters already charged and aimed. From the shadows of the cavern ceiling, a figure dropped down, landing with the predatory grace of a panther. It was Breakdown, Knock Out’s hulking, brutish partner, his one good optic glowing with malicious glee.

“Well, well, well,” Breakdown’s voice was a gravelly growl. “Look what we have here. The Wrecker, a squishy, and the little shutterbug. Lord Megatron sends his regards.”

“Breakdown!” Bulkhead roared, transforming his hands into his signature wrecking balls. “You’re a long way from your manicurist!”

The fight was brutal and depressingly one-sided. Bulkhead was a powerhouse, but he was also protecting two humans in a confined space. He swung his wrecking balls, crushing two Vehicons, but for every one he took down, two more seemed to take its place. A blast from Breakdown’s fusion cannon struck Bulkhead’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back with a cry of pain.

“Jack! Miko! Get behind me!” he yelled, his voice strained.

Jack didn’t hesitate. He activated the Phase Shifter, pulling Miko with him as a volley of blaster fire passed harmlessly through their ethereal forms. But the effort was immense. Maintaining the phase for two people was like trying to hold back a tidal wave. He could feel his energy draining, the gauntlet growing hot against his skin.

Miko, however, was not one to hide. She scrambled out from behind him, her face a mask of defiant fury. “Leave him alone, you big chrome bully!” she screamed, picking up a loose rock and hurling it at Breakdown. The stone bounced harmlessly off the Decepticon’s thick armor.

Breakdown laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Feisty one, ain’t ya? I like that. I’ll take you first. Knock Out wants a new lab assistant, and you’ve got spirit.”

He lunged, his massive clawed hand reaching for Miko. Bulkhead, seeing the threat, threw himself in the way, taking the full force of Breakdown’s tackle. The two giants crashed to the ground, a tangled mess of grinding metal and furious blows. Vehicons closed in, their blasters aimed at the helpless pair.

Jack knew he had to do something. He reached for the fire within him, for the memory of Aldamon’s control. *‘Atomic Inferno,’* he thought, trying to summon the power. But the gauntlet on his arm flickered weakly. He was too drained. The power wouldn’t come. He was just Jack Darby, a terrified human watching his friends get beaten.

A stun blast from a Vehicon struck Miko, and she crumpled to the ground with a cry. Another hit Bulkhead, and his struggling ceased, his systems going into emergency stasis. Jack was alone, defenseless, his power gone. A Vehicon grabbed him from behind, its metal grip like a vise.

“Hold him,” Breakdown commanded, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “The Lord Megatron has special plans for this one.”

***

The atmosphere aboard the *Nemesis* was one of cold, oppressive dread. It was a world of sharp angles, stark shadows, and the constant, low hum of a war machine that had been running for millennia. Jack was dragged through the echoing corridors, his heart a cold stone in his chest. He saw Miko and Bulkhead being carried away in a different direction, their forms limp and lifeless.

He was taken to a vast, cavernous chamber that served as Megatron’s throne room and personal arena. The Decepticon leader sat on his throne of twisted metal, a figure of terrifying majesty. His red optics fixed on Jack, a look of cold, calculating curiosity on his face.

“Ah, the human anomaly,” Megatron rumbled, his voice a resonant bass that vibrated in Jack’s bones. “Welcome to the *Nemesis*. I have been looking forward to our meeting.”

Jack was forced to his knees before the throne. He refused to show fear, lifting his chin and meeting Megatron’s gaze with a defiant glare. “Where are my friends?”

“They are… being prepared,” Megatron said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “But they are not why you are here. You are a fascinating specimen, Jack Darby. A human who wields a power that should not be possible. A power that I will claim for myself.”

He gestured to two Vehicons, who hoisted Jack to his feet and dragged him towards the center of the room. Above them, a massive steel cage was lowered from the ceiling. It was small, designed for a creature much larger than a human, but for Jack, it would be a prison of helplessness. They threw him inside, the clang of the door echoing in the vast chamber. The cage was then hoisted back up, leaving him dangling like a lantern, a spectator to his own impending nightmare.

He could see everything from his vantage point. He saw Miko and Bulkhead being brought into the chamber. They were thrown into a holding cell at the far end of the room, their forms still unconscious. He saw Knock Out and Breakdown enter, their expressions a mixture of professional pride and sadistic glee.

“As you know,” Megatron began, his voice a lecturer’s, addressing Jack as if he were a student in a particularly cruel class, “power is a matter of will. But will, in turn, is forged by emotion. Fear, anger, love… these are the crucibles in which true strength is shaped. My scientists believe your power is linked to your emotional state. A fascinating hypothesis. One that we are going to test.”

He nodded to Knock Out. The Decepticon medic approached Bulkhead’s cell, a sinister-looking prod humming with energy in his hand. “Let’s start with something simple, shall we? The Wrecker is known for his… durability. Let’s see how durable he truly is.”

“No!” Jack screamed, grabbing the bars of his cage. “Don’t you touch him!”

Knock Out ignored him, entering the cell and prodding Bulkhead’s inert form with the energon prod. The Wrecker’s massive body convulsed, a strangled cry of pain escaping his vocalizer even in stasis. The smell of burnt metal and ozone filled the air.

“Stop it!” Jack yelled, his voice raw. He pulled at the bars, his muscles straining, but it was useless. He was trapped. Helpless.

Knock Out continued his work, his movements precise and methodical. He wasn’t just inflicting pain; he was collecting data, his scanner recording every flicker of Bulkhead’s energy readings. Each prod, each convulsion, was a fresh wave of agony for Jack to witness. He could feel the fire in his soul stirring, a low, angry growl. He tried to reach for it, to summon the power, but the cage seemed to be lined with some kind of energy-dampening field. The Phase Shifter on his arm was cold and dead. He was just a boy, watching his friend being tortured.

“Remarkable,” Megatron commented, his tone one of detached interest. “The Wrecker’s spark is incredibly resilient. But everything has a breaking point. Knock Out, increase the voltage.”

The prod glowed brighter. Bulkhead’s convulsions became more violent, his pained groans turning into guttural screams of agony. Jack could feel his own control slipping. The rage was building, a tidal wave of fury that threatened to drown him. He saw visions in his mind’s eye—flames, destruction, the red eyes of a beast. He was BurningGreymon, and he wanted to tear the ship apart, bolt by bolt.

But he couldn’t. The cage held him. The rage was a fire with no outlet, burning him from the inside out.

“This is proving most informative,” Megatron said, his gaze fixed on Jack. “I can see the fire in your eyes, human. But it is a contained fire. Useless. Perhaps we need a more… delicate instrument to crack you open.”

He gestured towards Miko’s cell. “Your turn, Knock Out. The female. Let us see if the sounds of her suffering will succeed where the Wrecker’s has failed.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. “No… No, not her! Take me! Do whatever you want to me!”

“Ah, but that’s the point, little human,” Megatron purred, his voice dripping with venom. “This is not about what happens to you. It is about what you are forced to watch.”

Knock Out approached Miko’s cell, a cruel smirk on his face. He opened the door and stepped inside, the humming prod casting a sinister glow on her pale, unconscious face.

“Miko!” Jack screamed, his voice breaking. He threw himself against the bars of the cage, his body a weapon of desperation. “Leave her alone! Miko, wake up!”

He saw Knock Out lean over her, the prod descending towards her. He saw her eyes flutter open, confusion turning to terror as she saw the Decepticon looming over her.

And then she screamed.

It wasn’t a scream of defiance or anger. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated pain and terror. It was a sound that shattered something deep within Jack’s soul. It was the sound of his world breaking apart.

The fire that had been simmering within him erupted. It was not the controlled burn of Aldamon, not even the chaotic rage of BurningGreymon. It was something more. It was the fire of creation and destruction, the fire of a star being born and dying in a single, cataclysmic instant.

The Phase Shifter on his arm exploded, not with light, but with darkness. A swirling vortex of black energy consumed him, the metal of the cage dissolving into nothingness as it touched his skin. He fell from the cage, but he did not hit the floor. He hung in the air, a nexus of impossible power.

His human form began to dissolve. It was not a painful process, but a terrifying one. He felt his bones turning to light, his skin becoming digital code, his memories of Jack Darby—his mother, his apartment, his yellow motorcycle—becoming just one data stream among billions. The human he had been was being burned away, consumed by the soul of the warrior he had always been.

The transformation was a vortex of fire and shadow. A massive, draconic form coalesced in the center of the chamber, its hide a mosaic of crimson armor and black, digital markings. Two vast, feeathered wings unfurled, beating once and filling the room with a gale of hot, sulfurous air. A long, serpentine tail whipped through the air, shattering a console. The creature’s head was that of a beast, a crown of horns jutting from its brow, its maw slightly open to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

And its eyes. They were not the wise blue of Aldamon or the intelligent gaze of a human. They were two burning coals of pure, bestial rage.

BurningGreymon had been reborn.

But this was not the BurningGreymon of Jack’s memory. This was the beast unchained, the monster without a master. The rage of seeing his friend tortured, the agony of hearing Miko’s scream, had fused with the ancient, primal fury of the dragon. It was beastial rage of BurningGreymon, a force of nature, a living embodiment of wrath.

He opened his maw and roared. It was not a battle cry. It was the sound of a world ending, a seismic blast of pure sonic fury that shook the very deck plates of the *Nemesis*. Lights flickered and shattered. Decepticons stumbled, their audio receptors overloaded.

Megatron was on his feet, his fusion cannon raised, a look of shock and fury on his face. “Impossible! What is this monstrosity?”

BurningGreymon didn’t answer. He acted. He lunged, not at Megatron, but at Knock Out, who was still frozen in terror by Miko’s cell. The dragon moved with a speed that defied his size, a blur of crimson and black. He swatted the medic aside like a fly, Knock Out’s purple form crashing into a wall with a sickening crunch of metal.

He then turned his attention to the Vehicons. They opened fire, their energy bolts striking his thick hide and dissipating like raindrops on a hot rock. He breathed a torrent of fire, a stream of napalm-like plasma that incinerated a squad of them where they stood. He was a whirlwind of destruction, his claws tearing through armor, his tail smashing consoles, his every move an act of pure, unadulterated violence.

Megatron, recovering from his shock, fired his fusion cannon. The blast struck BurningGreymon in the chest, staggering the great beast. But it did not put him down. It only made him angrier.

He turned his burning red eyes towards the Decepticon leader. This was the source of the pain. This was the one who had ordered the torture. He let out another roar, this one filled with a new, focused hatred, and charged.

Megatron met his charge, the two titans colliding with the force of a meteor strike. The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, knocking Decepticons off their feet. They were a blur of motion, a dance of impossible strength. Megatron was a master warrior, his every move precise and deadly. But BurningGreymon was a force of nature, his attacks wild, unpredictable, and overwhelmingly powerful. He was all instinct and rage, a berserker with no concept of self-preservation.

He clawed at Megatron’s chest, his talons leaving deep gouges in the Decepticon’s armor. Megatron retaliated with a punch that could have leveled a building, but BurningGreymon simply absorbed the blow, his head snapping back before he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into Megatron’s shoulder.

The Decepticon leader cried out in pain and surprise, a sound few had ever heard. He had never faced an opponent like this. An opponent who felt no pain, who knew no fear, who wanted nothing more than his complete and utter annihilation.

BurningGreymon, with a final, mighty heave, threw Megatron across the chamber. The Decepticon leader crashed into his own throne, the metal groaning under the impact. He struggled to his feet, his armor battered and broken, his expression a mask of disbelief and fury.

But BurningGreymon’s attention was already elsewhere. The rage, for a moment, had subsided, replaced by a primal, instinctual need. He turned away from the defeated Decepticons and walked towards the cell where Miko and Bulkhead were being held. He ignored the blaster fire from the few remaining Vehicons, their shots bouncing harmlessly off his back.

He stood before the cell, a massive, terrifying guardian. His red eyes were still burning with rage, but there was something else in them now. A flicker of recognition. A deep, instinctual knowledge. These were his. His to protect. He lowered his head, his massive frame blocking the cell from the rest of the room, a living shield of fire and steel.

It was in that moment that the Autobots arrived.

The groundbridge erupted in the center of the chamber, a swirling vortex of green energy. Optimus Prime, Arcee, and Bumblebee charged through, their weapons at the ready. They stopped dead, their processors struggling to comprehend the scene before them.

The chamber was a wreck. Decepticons lay strewn about like broken toys. Megatron himself was leaning against his throne, his body damaged. And in the center of it all stood a monster, a dragon of immense size and power, its hide the color of blood, its red eyes burning with an inner fire.

And it was guarding Miko and Bulkhead.

“What in the name of Primus is that?” Arcee gasped, her blasters trained on the beast.

“Decepticon weapon?” Bumblebee chirped, his cannon whirring.

Optimus said nothing, his optics scanning the scene, his tactical mind analyzing the devastation. He saw the size of the creature, easily matching his own. He saw the sheer, raw power it had unleashed. He saw the way it was positioned protectively in front of the cell. And he saw the Phase Shifter, now fused into the armor on its left arm.

“Hold your fire,” Optimus commanded, his voice low and tense.

BurningGreymon turned his massive head towards the new arrivals, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His red eyes narrowed, seeing them as a new threat.

“Don’t shoot!” a weak voice cried out from the cell. It was Miko, struggling to her feet, her face pale but her eyes filled with a fierce determination. “Don’t you dare shoot him!”

“Miko?” Arcee said, her voice a mixture of relief and confusion.

“That’s Jack!” Miko screamed, her voice echoing in the silent chamber. “Something happened! He changed! That’s Jack!”

The Autobots froze. Jack? That impossible, terrifying monster was their human friend?

Optimus lowered his weapon slightly, his mind reeling from the revelation. He took a cautious step forward. “Jack…?” he said, his voice gentle, a soft query in the midst of the chaos.

The beast’s head tilted, a gesture of confusion. The growl in its chest subsided slightly. The name… it resonated. A flicker of blue fought its way through the red of its eyes.

Miko, seeing the change, stumbled forward, ignoring her own pain. She pressed her hand against the energy field of the cell, her eyes locked on the dragon. “Jack? It’s me. It’s Miko. You’re okay. You saved us. You can stop now. You can come back.”

Her voice, filled with a genuine, unwavering faith, was a key turning a lock in the beast’s soul.

Optimus took another step forward, his presence a calming, authoritative wave in the turbulent sea of the dragon’s rage. “Jack Darby,” he said, his voice full of the wisdom of Orion Pax and the strength of Optimus Prime. “The fire within you does not have to be a rage. It can be a light. Let it be a light. Find your center. Find yourself.”

The beast stood frozen, a war being waged within its very soul. The red of the beast and the blue of the warrior fought for dominance. Miko’s voice, Optimus’s words, they were anchors in the storm, pulling him back from the brink of oblivion.

Slowly, miraculously, the red in his eyes began to fade. It was like a tide receding, revealing the calm, clear blue of the ocean beneath. The bestial rage subsided, replaced by a profound, intelligent awareness. The dragon let out a long, shuddering breath, the heat of it warming the air.

He was BurningGreymon. But he was also Jack Darby. And he was so much more.

A flood of memories crashed into his consciousness, a tidal wave of information that would have shattered a lesser mind. He remembered it all. The Digital World, a land of data and dreams. He remembered the Ten Legendary Warriors, the spirits of the Ancients who had saved their world. He remembered his own spirit, the Spirit of Fire, passed down through generations. He remembered Cherubimon, the betrayal, the fight. He remembered his life as Agunimon, the fiery hero. He remembered his evolution into BurningGreymon, the struggle to control the beast within. He remembered the final fusion, the ascension to Aldamon, and then to his ultimate form: Emperorgreymon. He remembered the final, desperate battle, the sacrifice he had made to seal away a great evil, a choice that had led to his rebirth in this new world, as a human boy named Jack.

He was Emperorgreymon. He was Aldamon, BurningGreymon, and Agunimon. He was Jack Darby. The memories were not separate; they were layers of a single, incredible existence. He was a Digimon, a digital monster, millennia old. And he was a twenty-one-year-old human from Nevada. The two truths were not in conflict. They were one.

He looked at his massive claws, then at Miko, her face pressed against the energy field. He looked at Optimus, his blue optics filled with a deep, ancient understanding. He was home. He had found his pack, his herd, his friends. And he would protect them.

He let out a soft, low rumble, a sound not of rage, but of reassurance. The fight was over.

Megatron, seeing the tide of the battle had irrevocably turned, and facing an opponent he could not possibly defeat, made a tactical decision. “Retreat!” he snarled, his voice a mix of pain and fury. He transformed and flew out of the chamber, the few remaining Vehicons scrambling to follow.

The Autobots watched them go, but their attention was on the dragon. On Jack.

Optimus approached cautiously, his weapon still lowered. “Jack… are you… you?”

The dragon’s head nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. He then looked at the Phase Shifter fused to his arm, and a soft, golden light enveloped him. The massive form of BurningGreymon dissolved, shrinking, coalescing into a new shape.

It was not the form of Jack Darby. The human was gone, his body sacrificed to fuel the ultimate transformation. In his place stood a new being, a perfect synthesis of his past and present. He was about Optimus’s height, his form humanoid but clearly not human. His armor was a brilliant red and gold, the design reminiscent of Agunimon but more intricate, more regal. His face was hidden covered by a prominent silver helmet with crimson or red stripes/accents. The helmet features a set of distinct, Greymon-species horns: The head has a bird-like beak, which is, however, unseen it is filled with razor-sharp teeth. Hair: Spiky red hair (or a mane-like crest) is visible on the back of its head, similar to WarGreymon's design as they are of the same digital family line It was the form of Emperorgreymon but it was more than that. It was Jack’s true form, the form of a legendary warrior who had finally found his balance.

“We need to go home,” Jack said, his voice a resonant blend of his own and the deeper, ancient tone of the Digimon he had become.

Optimus nodded, his expression a mixture of awe and profound relief. “Ratchet,” he said into his comms. “Open the groundbridge. And… prepare the med-bay. We have… a lot to talk about.”

As the green vortex of the groundbridge opened, Jack looked at Miko and Bulkhead, who were now being freed from their cell. He walked towards them, his new form feeling both alien and right. He was no longer the boy they knew. He was a protector, a guardian, a friend. And he would never let them down again. The shattering of his soul had led to the forging of a new one, stronger and more resilient than ever before.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 7: The Echoes of a Fallen Star**

The journey through the groundbridge was a silent, surreal procession. The swirling green vortex of trans-dimensional energy, once a terrifying unknown, was now a familiar, if unsettling, passage. But this time, everything was different. Jack, or what was now Jack, walked through under his own power. His new form, a magnificent synthesis of crimson, gold, and silver armor, stood tall and proud, its height easily matching Optimus Prime’s. Every footstep was a soft, resonant *thump* on the metal grating of the bridge, a sound that spoke of immense weight and contained power. He moved with a strange, deliberate grace, his every motion careful, as if he were still adjusting to a body that was both brand new and anciently familiar.

He carried Miko. Her small, limp form was cradled gently in one massive, clawed hand, his armored fingers curled protectively around her, a stark contrast between the delicate human and the formidable warrior. Bumblebee supported a similarly unconscious Bulkhead, his yellow frame straining under the Wrecker’s considerable weight. Arcee brought up the rear, her blasters still drawn, not aimed at Jack, but at the empty space behind them, a final, paranoid guard against a Decepticon ambush.

They emerged into the Autobot base, the familiar hum of the silo’s systems a welcome anchor to reality. Ratchet was waiting for them, his medical tools already whirring, his expression a mask of grim anticipation. But when he saw Jack, his optic ridges shot up, and his jawplates went slack. The scanner in his hand emitted a series of frantic, confused beeps before falling silent.

“By the AllSpark…” Ratchet whispered, the words a hoarse, electronic gasp. He stared, his processors clearly unable to reconcile the being before him with the human boy he knew. He scanned the massive, armored form, the noble, masked face, the glowing blue optics. He saw the Phase Shifter, no longer a separate gauntlet but seamlessly integrated into the left arm, its circuits pulsing in time with the being’s very spark. “Jack…?”

The being nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. “It is still I, Ratchet.”

His voice was the same resonant blend Optimus had heard on the *Nemesis*, a dual-layered sound that held Jack Darby’s youthful timbre and the deep, ancient echo of a warrior who had seen worlds burn. It was the voice of Emperorgreymon, but the soul behind it was Jack.

“Miko! Bulkhead!” Raf cried, rushing forward from his console, his laptop forgotten. He stopped short, however, his eyes widening as he took in the full sight of the transformed Jack. “Whoa…” he breathed, his fear for his friends momentarily eclipsed by pure, unadulterated awe. “The energy signature is… stable. Incredibly dense, but stable. It’s not just power, it’s… structured. Like a living computer program made of pure light.”

Jack gently placed Miko on a nearby medical berth, his movements impossibly gentle for a being of his size. He then looked over at Bulkhead, who Bumblebee was carefully laying down on another platform. A wave of guilt, cold and sharp, washed over him. He had been too weak, too human, to prevent this. It had taken the shattering of his soul and the sacrifice of his humanity to save them. Was it a fair trade?

“Ratchet,” Jack said, turning his full attention to the medic. “Their injuries are my fault. Please, do everything you can.”

Ratchet, shaking himself from his stupor, immediately sprang into action, his professional demeanor overriding his shock. “I always do, you overgrown firefly. Now stand back. Your energy field is interfering with my scanners.”

Jack complied, stepping back into the shadows of the command center. He felt like an outsider in his own home, a monument to a battle that had already been won. He watched as Ratchet and Raf worked, their movements a blur of practiced efficiency and youthful genius. He saw the worry etched on their faces, the focus in their eyes. These were his friends. His family. And he would protect them. No matter the cost.

***

Hours later, once the immediate crisis had passed and Ratchet had stabilized Miko and Bulkhead, placing them in stasis chambers, the team gathered. The debriefing that followed was one of the most surreal moments in the long, storied history of the Autobot war. The humans and Autobots assembled in the main command center, their faces illuminated by the glow of Ratchet’s console. Jack stood before them, a figure of myth and metal, and began to speak.

He told them everything. He spoke of the Digital World, a realm born from human communication networks, a universe of living data. He spoke of the Ten Legendary Warriors, powerful Ancients who had saved their world from a cataclysmic evil. He described his own spirit, the Spirit of Fire, passed down through a lineage of heroes. He recounted his life as Agunimon, the fiery champion who fought for justice. He spoke of the struggle with the beast within, his evolution into BurningGreymon, the rage-fueled dragon who had nearly lost himself to the fire.

He described the synthesis, the ascension to Aldamon, the perfect fusion of man and beast, control and power. And finally, he spoke of his ultimate form: Emperorgreymon. The name felt right on his tongue, a crown of power and responsibility. He told them of the final, desperate battle against a world-ending threat, a sacrifice so great it had shattered his very being, scattering his data across the dimensions.

“And a piece of that data,” Jack concluded, his voice quiet but resonant, “a fragment of my soul, found its way here. It was reborn. As a human. As Jack Darby. The memories were dormant, buried under a new life. The Phase Shifter, the Decepticons’ attacks, Miko’s scream… they were all catalysts. Keys that unlocked the door to who I truly am.”

He looked at them, his blue optics—so like Optimus’s—scanning their faces. Ratchet was frantically taking notes, his scientific curiosity warring with his existential dread. Miko and Raf were watching him with an unwavering, almost fierce loyalty. And Optimus… Optimus was just watching him, his expression one of profound understanding.

“So… you’re like, a thousand years old?” Miko asked, her voice filled with a strange kind of wonder.

“Older,” Jack corrected gently. “Much, much older.”

“Fascinating,” Raf whispered, typing furiously on his laptop. “So your human form wasn’t a disguise. It was a genuine reincarnation. Your spark was literally reborn in a human body. That’s… that’s the most beautiful and scientifically terrifying thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I am still me,” Jack said, his voice firm. “I remember my mother. I remember learning to ride my bike. I remember the first time I met you all. Those memories are real. They’re just… not the only ones I have anymore.”

***

After the debriefing, the team slowly dispersed, each member left to process the impossible revelation in their own way. Jack found himself standing alone on the overlook, the same spot where he had shared so many quiet moments with Optimus. He stared out at the holographic map of the world, a world he now felt a much deeper, more ancient connection to. He was a guardian, a protector. It was in his code, in the very fabric of his being.

He heard the soft, almost silent whir of hydraulics behind him. He didn’t need to turn. He knew who it was.

Optimus transformed and joined him on the walkway, his massive frame a comforting, familiar presence. For a long time, they just stood there in silence, two titans watching over their sleeping domain.

“You carry the weight of a fallen star,” Optimus said, his voice a low, gentle rumble, not a question, but a statement of profound understanding.

Jack looked at him, his blue optics reflecting the holographic stars projected on the far wall. “I don’t know who I am,” he confessed, his voice a raw whisper. “I have the memories of Emperorgreymon. I remember the Digital World, the fight against Lucemon, the sacrifice… it’s all there, as clear as yesterday. But I also remember being Jack Darby. I remember my mother’s smile, the taste of cheap coffee, the feeling of the sun on my human skin. It feels like I lived two different lives, and now they’re both crammed into this… this body. I’m a ghost in my own soul.”

Optimus was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant, as if looking back across the eons of his own long existence. “When I first took the Matrix of Leadership,” he began, his voice quiet, introspective, “I was overwhelmed. I felt the collective consciousness of the Primes who came before me, their memories, their battles, their triumphs, and their sorrows. I felt their power, and it was immense. For a time, I feared I would lose myself, that Orion Pax would be nothing more than a ghost, a forgotten echo in the mind of a god.”

He turned to face Jack, his blue optics filled with a deep, ancient empathy that went beyond words. “But I learned that the power does not erase the person. It reveals them. The Matrix did not make me a leader; it simply gave me the strength to be the leader Orion Pax always had the potential to be. The fire within you, Jack, it does not make you a monster. It simply gives you the strength to be the hero you already are.”

He reached out, his massive hand gently enveloping Jack’s. His touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool metal of his frame. His thumb gently traced the lines of the golden Phase Shifter, a gesture of such tenderness and intimacy that it took Jack’s breath away.

“The fear you feel is not a weakness,” Optimus continued, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “It is a testament to your character. It is the part of you that is Jack Darby, the compassionate, loyal human who would risk his life for his friends. Do not ever let that fire extinguish that fear. Let it guide you. Let it remind you of what you are fighting for.”

Jack looked up at him, his heart—his spark—aching with a profound sense of connection. He saw not just the mighty Autobot leader, but a kindred spirit. A being who understood the pain of sacrifice, the weight of a name, the loneliness of a soul that carried more than it was meant to.

He reached out, his sharp, talon-like fingers hesitating for a moment before gently touching the cool, smooth metal of Optimus’s faceplate. It was a bold, impulsive gesture, but it felt right. It felt necessary.

Optimus didn’t pull away. He simply leaned into the touch, his optics softening, his hand still holding Jack’s. The silence that stretched between them was charged with an unspoken emotion, a current of longing and affection that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks, now amplified by their shared transformation.

In that moment, under the glow of the holographic stars, the slow-burn romance ignited into a quiet, steady flame. It wasn’t a kiss or a declaration of passionate love. It was something deeper, more profound. It was the meeting of two ancient souls, two leaders who had found in each other a reflection of their own strength and their own sorrow. It was a promise of support, of understanding, of a bond that would not be broken by war or by the ghosts of past lives.

“I am here, Jack,” Optimus whispered, his voice a vow. “You are not alone.”

“And I am here with you, Optimus,” Jack replied, his voice resonant with the truth of his dual existence. “Always.”

***

The next morning, the base began to stir with a new, fragile rhythm. Jack, however, found he did not need to recharge. His new form drew energy from the very air around him, a constant, low-level hum of power that kept him alert and aware. He was drawn from his meditations by the sound of a soft groan from the med-bay. He turned to see Miko sitting up on her berth, rubbing her head. She looked groggy, but her eyes were already scanning the room with their usual fiery curiosity.

“Jack?” she called out, her voice a little hoarse. “Raf? Bulkhead? What happened? My head feels like a rock concert in a tin can.”

Jack walked towards her, his heavy footsteps causing her to look up. Her eyes widened as she took in his full form, the towering armor, the glowing blue optics. For a moment, she was silent, her mouth slightly agape. Then, a slow, wide grin spread across her face.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice filled with a familiar, mischievous admiration. “Look at you. Final form much? That’s a serious upgrade, buddy.”

Jack felt a warmth spread through his chest, a feeling of pure, unadulterated relief. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t repulsed. She was Miko. She saw her friend, no matter what he looked like.

“Something like that,” he rumbled, a smile touching his own lips, a subtle shift in the metal of his faceplate.

He knelt beside her, his massive frame shrinking to her level. “Are you alright? They didn’t… hurt you too badly, did they?”

Miko waved a dismissive hand, though he could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. “Pfft, I’m made of tougher stuff. A little zappy-zap never hurt anyone. Besides,” she said, her voice growing softer, more serious, “you saved us. You were… incredible. Scary, but incredible.”

She reached out and placed her small hand on his armored forearm. The contact was a jolt, a connection between the human and the divine, the mundane and the magical. “You’re still Jack, right? In there?”

“I’m still Jack,” he confirmed, his voice gentle. “I just… have a lot more baggage now.”

“Hey, we all have baggage,” Miko said with a shrug. “Yours is just a little more… epic. Now, are you going to help me up or do I have to climb down from here myself, your majesty?”

A low chuckle rumbled in Jack’s chest. He offered her his hand, and she took it, her small fingers disappearing into his massive palm. He helped her down with a gentleness that defied his size.

Their reunion was interrupted by the sound of a groan from the other berth. Bulkhead was stirring, his green optic flickering online.

“Ugh… my head feels like it was used as a wrecking ball,” the Wrecker groaned, trying to sit up.

“Easy there, big guy,” Jack said, moving to his side.

Bulkhead’s optic focused on Jack, and it took a moment for his processors to catch up. “Jack? Is that you? Whoa… you got… big.”

“Long story,” Jack said, placing a reassuring hand on Bulkhead’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I went ten rounds with Devastator,” Bulkhead grumbled, but then a look of profound gratitude washed over his face. “But you saved us, kid. I saw you. That big dragon thing… that was you?”

“It was,” Jack confirmed.

Bulkhead let out a booming laugh, a sound that was pure, unadulterated relief. “Well, I’ll be. The little squishy is a bigger squishy! That’s the Wrecker spirit right there! Never thought I’d see the day someone would toss Megatron around like a scraplet.”

He reached up and gave Jack a (gentle, for him) pat on the back that would have staggered a Cybertronian tank. “Good on ya, Jack. Real good.”

The acceptance of his friends was a balm to Jack’s troubled soul. They saw past the monstrous form, past the immense power, and saw the friend they had always known. They were his anchor, his connection to the humanity he had lost.

***

Aboard the *Nemesis*, the atmosphere was one of cold, simmering fury. The throne room was still a wreck, a testament to the power that had been unleashed there. Megatron stood before the main viewscreen, his arms crossed, his red optics fixed on the recording of the battle. He watched it again, and again, and again. He watched the human’s transformation, the raw, untamed power of the beast, the final, devastating control. He watched himself being thrown like a common drone.

Knock Out and Breakdown stood to the side, their frames repaired but their spirits battered. They dared not speak.

“Incredible,” Megatron finally rumbled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. He wasn’t looking at his own defeat; he was looking at the cause. “The energy signature… it is not Cybertronian. It is not of this world. It is a power of pure evolution. A physical manifestation of will and data.”

“My lord,” Soundwave reported, his monotone voice cutting through the silence. “Cross-referencing the energy signature with the Covenant of Primus and the tales of the Thirteen has yielded… a single, fragmented legend. A tale of a world not of this dimension, a world of living data. A legend of ten great warriors who fought against a world-ending darkness. The records are corrupted, ancient. But the description of one warrior… a warrior of fire… matches the creature we faced.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed. A legend. A precedent. This was not a random anomaly. This was a piece of a cosmic puzzle he had never known existed. And he would possess it.

“This changes everything,” he declared, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “The human is no longer a prize to be captured. He is a key. A key to a power beyond even the Matrix of Leadership. We will not simply attack him again. We will understand him. We will learn his origins, his weaknesses. We will find the source of this ‘Digital World’.”

He turned from the screen, his mind already racing with new, more insidious plans. “And if we cannot turn him,” he purred, his voice dripping with venom, “we will find a way to create an army of our own. An army of monsters to tear down this world and build a new one in its ashes. The age of the Decepticons is coming. And this… ‘Digimon’… has just handed us the key to our victory.”

***

Thousands of miles away, in a quiet suburban house in Odaiba, Japan, a different kind of alarm was sounding. It wasn’t a loud, klaxon-like siren, but a soft, insistent beeping from a complex array of computer monitors. The room was a tech-lover’s paradise, filled with servers, wires, and glowing screens. A young man with wild, brown hair, Izzy Izumi, stared at one screen in particular, his glasses perched on his nose.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered, his fingers flying across a keyboard. “The energy levels are off the scale. It’s like a Dark Master-level signature, but… it’s not. It’s clean. Pure. It feels… familiar.”

In the center of the room, a group of kids and their Digimon partners looked on, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern. Tai Kamiya, his brown hair still spiky even after all these years, stood with his arms crossed. Beside him, Agumon sniffed the air.

“I feel it, Tai,” Agumon said, his voice a low growl. “A powerful fire. A really, really powerful fire. But it’s not like a bad fire. It’s… warm.”

Kari Kamiya, now a young woman, her Gatomon perched on her shoulder, closed her eyes, focusing on her own unique connection to the Digital World. “It’s ancient,” she said, her voice soft. “It feels like one of the Legendary Warriors. But… different. New.”

Davis Motomiya, ever the impulsive leader, slammed his fist into his palm. “Well, whatever it is, it’s huge! Veemon, you feel it?”

“You bet I do, Davis!” Veemon cheered, striking a pose. “It’s making me want to digivolve, just standing here!”

Ken Ichijouji, his expression calm and analytical, pointed to the screen. “Izzy, can you triangulate the source? The energy signature seems to be emanating from a specific point in North America. Nevada.”

“I’m working on it, Ken,” Izzy said, his eyes glued to the code. “But it’s strange. It’s not a purely digital signal. It’s interfacing with the real world, with physical matter. It’s like… a Digital Gate has opened, but only halfway. Something is bridging the gap between our world and theirs.”

He finally got a lock. The screen displayed a satellite map of a remote desert in Nevada. In the center of the map was a single, blinking red dot.

“That’s it,” Izzy said, his voice filled with a mix of awe and trepidation. “Whatever this is, that’s where it’s coming from.”

Tai looked at the screen, then at his friends. A familiar, determined look settled on his face. The look of a leader ready for a new adventure.

“Well,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “I guess it’s time for a reunion.”

***

Back in the Autobot base, the new reality was beginning to set in. Jack stood with Optimus on the overlook platform, looking out at the holographic map of the world. He had accepted his new form, his new existence. He mourned the loss of his human life, but he embraced the power he now wielded, the power to protect his friends, his new pack.

He was no longer just Jack Darby. He was Emperorgreymon. He was a legendary warrior, a protector of two worlds. And he was not alone.

He felt Optimus’s hand cover his, a gesture of quiet solidarity. He looked at the Autobot leader, at the noble faceplate and the wise, compassionate optics, and felt a love so deep and profound it was almost painful. It was a love forged in shared sacrifice and mutual respect, a bond that transcended worlds and species.

“We will face what comes together,” Optimus said, his voice a low, steady promise.

Jack nodded, his blue optics glowing with a newfound resolve. “Together.”

They stood in comfortable silence, two ancient beings, two leaders, two souls who had found their equal in the vast, lonely expanse of the cosmos. The war was far from over. New enemies were rising, new allies were approaching. But in that moment, they were ready. They were home.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 8: The Mother’s Gaze**

The silence in the Darby household was a physical entity, a heavy, suffocating blanket woven from worry and unanswered questions. June Darby, a woman who had spent her career facing down medical emergencies with a calm, steady hand, found her own composure fraying at the edges. It had been days. Not since the incident at the army depot—that had been covered up with a flimsy, laughable story about a gas leak and a classified weapons test by a stiff government agent named Fowler. No, it had been days since she had *seen* her son. Jack was gone. His apartment was empty, his phone went straight to voicemail, and Agent Fowler’s reassurances that Jack was “safe and serving his country” felt like a bitter pill made of lies.

She sat at her kitchen table, a cold cup of coffee in her hands, staring at a framed photo on the mantelpiece. It was Jack, maybe sixteen years old, grinning that lopsided grin of his, a smear of grease on his cheek from working on his beloved motorcycle. That motorcycle was gone too. It was as if her son had been erased from the face of the Earth, leaving behind only a ghost and a government cover story.

A mother’s intuition was a powerful, irrational thing. It wasn’t science; it was a primal, unshakeable knowing. And her intuition was screaming that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Driven by a desperate need to *do* something, she got in her car and drove. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to move. She found herself cruising past Jasper’s main drag, past the KO Burger, past the high school. It was a fool’s errand, a wild goose chase, but it was better than sitting at home, drowning in silence.

And then she saw it.

A flash of yellow, a distinctive racing stripe. A Camaro, model year recent but with a classic design. It was a car she’d seen before, always parked in a suspiciously out-of-the-way spot near the canyon. It was just turning a corner, heading out of town. And as it took the turn, the window rolled down for a moment, and she saw him.

Raf Esquivel. Jack’s young friend. He looked nervous, glancing around as if afraid of being followed.

Every maternal instinct, every nurse’s diagnostic sense, went on high alert. This wasn’t a coincidence. Raf knew where Jack was. Without a second thought, June pressed her foot to the accelerator, her sensible sedan keeping a careful distance as she followed the yellow Camaro out into the desert.

The Camaro was fast, but June was a patient and determined driver. She followed it for miles, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The car took a turn onto a dirt road that led to what looked like an abandoned missile silo. There was no one around for miles. It was the perfect place to hide something.

She parked her car behind a rocky outcropping, killing the engine. She watched as the Camaro stopped before the massive silo doors. And then, the impossible happened.

The car transformed.

Metal panels shifted and reconfigured with impossible speed and precision. Wheels became feet, a chassis became a torso, and a head emerged. It was a robot, a living, breathing robot, standing at least twenty feet tall. It was the boy from the TV news reports, the one they called Bumblebee. And Raf was climbing out of its hand.

June’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Her mind, a mind grounded in science and logic, refused to process what her eyes were seeing. It was a hallucination. It had to be.

But then, a swirling vortex of green energy erupted in front of the silo. A groundbridge. Bumblebee and Raf stepped through it and vanished. The portal began to shrink.

It was now or never. Acting on pure, terrified adrenaline, June threw her car into drive, slammed on the gas, and shot forward, weaving through the closing portal just as it collapsed into a shower of green light.

The transition was sickening, a lurching, disorienting sensation that made her stomach churn. When her vision cleared, she was no longer in the Nevada desert. She was in a cavernous, circular metal structure. A base. And it was filled with them.

Giant robots were everywhere. A green one that looked like it could bench-press a tank. A blue and pink one that was sleek and feminine. A red and white one with a medical cross on his shoulder, who was currently staring at her arrival with an expression of sheer, unadulterated horror.

“Human!” the medic bot bellowed. “I knew it! I told you this was a security breach of catastrophic proportions!”

June slammed on her brakes, her car skidding to a halt in the middle of the command center. She was frozen, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her heart hammering so loudly she was sure they could all hear it. She was a mouse who had just stumbled into a den of lions.

And then she saw him.

Standing near the largest robot of all—a noble, blue-and-red figure who radiated authority—was another being. One that made her breath catch in her throat and a cold dread wash over her. It was immense, a bipedal colossus of a warrior, easily a head and a half taller than even the massive blue robot. Its form was heavily armored, humanoid, a masterpiece of crimson plate accented with intricate gold and silver filigree. Its head was unmistakably of the Greymon-species, but noble and regal, crowned with a magnificent, golden mane-like crest that flowed down its back. Its eyes, a brilliant, intelligent blue, burned with an ancient, weary power. It didn't hold a cannon, but rested in a handguard at its hip was the hilt of a massive sword, the RyuuGonken. Its shoulder pauldrons were shaped like draconic skulls, its greaves like wyvern heads. It was a living god of war.

It was talking to the large blue robot, its voice a deep, resonant hum that vibrated in the very air. But as her car screeched to a halt, the being turned its head. Its optics, a brilliant, intelligent blue, locked onto her.

And in that instant, June knew. It was impossible. It was insane. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“Jack…?” she whispered, the name a fragile, broken thing in the vast, echoing space.

The colossal being froze. For a moment, it did nothing. Then, it turned its full body towards her. It saw the terror on her face, the way she was clutching the steering wheel as if it were a life raft. And in that moment, it wasn’t a legendary warrior or a terrifying monster. It was her son.

The reaction was immediate. A soft, golden light began to emanate from the massive form, a gentle, controlled glow that was the polar opposite of the terrifying power she had felt emanating from it. The transformation was not a violent explosion, but an elegant, deliberate folding of light and data. The immense form began to shrink, the heavy armor plates reconfiguring, flowing like liquid metal. The process was silent, beautiful, and utterly mesmerizing.

When the light faded, the thirty-foot titan was gone. In its place stood a new figure. Still not human, but far less intimidating. He was about eight feet tall, his form lean and athletic, clad in intricate red and orange armor over a black bodysuit. His face was covered by a mask-like helmet that left his strong jaw and mouth exposed, and a cascade of long, blond hair flowed down his back. His eyes, the same intelligent blue, were filled with a concern that was purely, unmistakably Jack. This was Agunimon.

He took a step towards her car, his movements fluid and careful. “Mom,” he said. The voice was the same dual-layered tone she had heard before, but it was softer now, gentler, suffused with a concern that was purely, unmistakably Jack.

The driver’s side door of her car was wrenched open—not by force, but by a small, green-haired whirlwind. Miko.

“Mrs. Darby! What are you doing here?!” Miko cried, her usual energy tinged with panic.

At that moment, another groundbridge opened, and a man in a sharp suit stumbled through, straightening his tie. “Alright, what’s the all-fire alarm this—” Agent Fowler stopped, his eyes widening as he took in the scene: the panicked nurse, the giant robots, and the eight-foot-tall armored being standing by her car. “—Oh, for the love of… Darby! I told you to keep your family on a need-to-know basis!”

“Fowler, this is hardly the time!” the big blue robot—Optimus Prime—rumbled, his voice a calm anchor in the chaos.

June finally found the strength to open her door and step out, her legs feeling like jelly. She ignored everyone else, her eyes locked on the armored figure that was her son. “Jack… what… what happened to you? What *are* you?”

Jack looked down at his gauntleted hands, then back at her. He saw the fear, but also the unwavering love in her eyes. He had to make her understand.

“I’m still me, Mom,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m still Jack. I just… have more of a history than I thought.”

“History? Jack, you’re eight feet tall and made of metal!”

“It’s called Digivolving,” Raf piped up from the side, where he was standing next to Bumblebee. “And this is just his Champion level form! Agunimon!”

Jack nodded, a gesture that seemed both ancient and boyish. “Raf’s right. My real name… the name I was born with… is Emperorgreymon. But I was reborn as Jack Darby. The memories are all coming back now. We’re called Digimon. And we can change our forms. We digivolve to become stronger. But those of us who are older… we can control it.” He looked at his own armored body. “We can devolve, too. This is my Champion level form. Agunimon.”

***

Thousands of miles away, in a quiet suburban house in Odaiba, Japan, the frantic energy of the Digital World’s discovery had coalesced into a focused, determined plan. The Digidestined, now young adults, were gathered in Izzy’s high-tech lab, the glow of the monitors casting long shadows across their faces.

“A school break,” Tai Kamiya was saying, his arms crossed over his chest, a familiar, determined grin on his face. “It’s perfect. We can tell our parents it’s a camping trip or something. Izzy, can you get us there?”

“I’m already on it, Tai,” Izzy said, his fingers flying across a keyboard. “I’ve chartered a private jet under a dummy corporation. We can get to Nevada in under twelve hours. The hard part won’t be getting there; it’ll be getting close without tripping whatever government agency is running that base.”

“My family has some connections,” Matt Ishida offered, his expression serious. “I might be able to pull some strings, create a diversion if we need one.”

“We need to be prepared for anything,” Ken Ichijouji added, his gaze calm and analytical. “If this being is as powerful as the readings suggest, and if it’s allied with the giant robots… this could be a new kind of threat. Or a new kind of ally.”

Kari looked at the blinking red dot on the satellite map, a soft, worried expression on her face. “It felt… sad,” she said quietly. “The energy. So powerful, but so lonely.”

Tai’s grin softened. “Then we’ll go find out why. We’re the Digidestined. It’s what we do.”

***

Back in the Autobot base, June stared, her mind struggling to wrap itself around the concepts. Digimon. Digivolving. Champion level. It was too much. Fowler was sputtering incoherently about national security and alien-non-alien lifeforms. Ratchet was frantically scanning Jack, muttering about impossible energy signatures.

Jack could see it was too much, too fast. He needed to show her, not just tell her. To show her that he could still be small. That he could still be *hers*.

“It’s still a lot, I know,” he said, his voice soft. “But it’s not the only form I have. I can be smaller.”

He closed his eyes, focusing. The Agunimon form began to glow again, the light even brighter this time. The eight-foot frame shrank, the intricate armor dissolving into nothingness. The colors softened from a fiery red and orange to a warmer, gentler gold and red. The helmet and mask vanished completely.

When the light faded, a new figure stood before them.

He was tiny.

Only three-and-a-half feet tall, with a small, humanoid, monkey-like physique and peach-colored skin. He had a wild, bushy tail of pure orange flame that swayed gently behind him. His large, spiked orange hair had only stunted horns, not a full helmet, and his pointed, elf-like ears were pierced with simple gold hoops. His green eyes were bright and inquisitive. He wore simple red ankle-length pants, a black belt with a silver buckle bearing the fire symbol, and red gauntlets and shoulder pads. This was Flamemon. The rookie.

The reactions were instantaneous. Miko let out an involuntary “AWWW!” Raf’s eyes went wide with renewed scientific fervor. “The data compression is incredible! It’s like he’s condensing his entire being into a more stable, energy-efficient form!” Ratchet threw his hands up in the air. “Another one?! How many forms does he have?!” Agent Fowler simply sat down on the floor, his head in his hands, completely defeated by the sheer absurdity of it all.

But June’s reaction was the only one that mattered. The fear that had gripped her finally, completely shattered. In the place of the terrifying titan and the imposing knight stood this… this small, non-threatening being. And she knew, with every fiber of her being, that this was her son. This was the little boy who used to scrape his knees and run to her for a bandage.

She took a hesitant step forward, then another. She knelt down on the cold metal floor, her eyes level with his. She saw the way his head tilted, a gesture of curiosity and affection. She reached out a trembling hand and gently placed it on his small, armored head.

“Oh, Jack…” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “My baby boy.”

Flamemon leaned into her touch, a soft, happy electronic chirp escaping his vocalizer. It was a sound filled with a decade of love and a millennia of memory.

Optimus Prime watched the scene, his blue optics filled with a profound, quiet warmth. He saw the way the small, rookie form of the legendary warrior sought comfort from his mother, and he saw the way June Darby accepted her son, no matter his form. It was a powerful, deeply human moment in the heart of their alien war. He felt a surge of affection for Jack, for the strength of his spirit, a bond that had now transcended mere friendship and alliance.

He stepped forward, his massive presence a comforting, protective shadow over the reunion. He placed a gentle hand on June’s shoulder, a gesture of respect and solidarity.

“He is safe here, Mrs. Darby,” Optimus said, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. “He is home. And he is not alone.”

June looked up at the towering Autobot leader, then back at the small, armored boy leaning against her hand. She was still a mother who had just discovered her son was a millennia-old digital monster from another dimension. But she was also a mother who had her son back. And as she knelt on the floor of a secret alien base, surrounded by robots and government agents, she held him close and knew, somehow, that everything was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 9: A Convergence of Legends**

The hum of the private jet’s engines was a monotonous drone, a stark contrast to the chaotic, vibrant energy buzzing within its cabin. It was a containment field for legends, a pressurized tube of recycled air and anticipation. Tai Kamiya, no longer a boy but a man with the same restless spirit, stared out the window at the vast expanse of clouds below. His reflection showed the familiar spiky hair, but his eyes held a deeper, more seasoned gravity, the weight of worlds saved and lost reflected in their brown depths.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Matt Ishida murmured from across the aisle, his blond hair falling over his eyes as he tuned his bass guitar, the soft notes a familiar comfort in the unfamiliar tension. “Sneaking out of the country on a chartered jet, chasing a ghost signal halfway across the world. My dad would have a coronary.”

“Your dad has faced down Myotismon and the Dark Masters, Matt,” Sora Takenouchi said gently, offering him a small, warm smile. Her Biyomon peeped softly in agreement from the seat beside her. “I think he can handle a little interdimensional intrigue.” The underlying message was clear: they had faced worse together. They could face this.

“I just wish we knew more,” Kari added, her voice soft and contemplative. She was staring at her hands, as if she could still feel the faint, ancient echo of the fire spirit that had drawn them all here. “It felt so… alone. And so powerful. A beacon of incredible strength, tinged with a sorrow so deep it felt like it had its own gravity.”

“It felt like *you*,” Gatomon stated from her perch on Kari’s shoulder, her voice a soft, raspy purr of absolute certainty.

“Which is why we’re going,” Tai said, turning from the window, his expression set with the familiar, unshakeable resolve of a leader. “A DigiDestined is in trouble. A powerful one. We don’t leave our own behind. Not ever.” The sentiment was echoed by everyone present, a silent, unanimous pact. Davis Motomiya was practically vibrating in his seat, his Veemon beside him mirroring his eager energy. “I can’t wait to meet this guy! A Legendary Warrior! Do you think he can teach me any new moves? Vee-headbutt of Justice!” Yolei was trying to explain the concept of ‘aliens’ and ‘robots’ to a bewildered Hawkmon, while Ken Ichijouji and Wormmon sat in quiet contemplation, their minds already working through the strategic implications of this new variable. Even little Cody Hida, now a teenager but with the same serious, thoughtful demeanor, was listening intently to Armadillomon’s theories on extraterrestrial life.

In the cockpit, Izzy Izumi was in his element. His laptop was connected to the jet’s navigation systems, which he had seamlessly integrated with a powerful satellite uplink of his own design. “Got it!” he called back to the cabin. “I’ve locked onto the energy signature again. It’s stable, but… complex. It’s like tracking a star that’s also a computer program. We’re on the right vector. ETA to Jasper, Nevada: two hours.” The jet began its descent, cutting through the clouds to reveal the arid, brown landscape of the American West. It was a world away from the green hills of Odaiba. As they landed on a private airstrip Izzy had procured under an impressive array of shell corporations, the group felt the shift in reality. They were here.

“Okay, plan,” Tai said, once they were gathered on the tarmac, their duffel bags at their feet. “We can’t just walk into town asking for the giant robot base. Izzy, you and I will scout. The rest of you, find a place to lay low. We need to figure out the exact location of that energy source without drawing attention.”

“Agreed,” Matt said, shouldering his bag. “Be careful. Both of you.”

Tai nodded, then looked at Agumon. “Ready, partner?”

“Ready when you are, Tai!”

Izzy pulled out a tablet, its screen displaying a topographical map of the Jasper area with a pulsing red dot. “The signal is strongest in this sector. A lot of abandoned government facilities. Perfect for a secret base.”

With a final nod to their friends, Tai and Agumon set off, Izzy trailing behind them, his eyes glued to his tablet. The rest of the DigiDestined and their partners melted into the small town, a group of unusually well-dressed tourists with some very strange-looking backpacks.

***

Back at the Autobot base, the fragile peace had settled into a new, strange routine. June Darby, after a tearful and ultimately accepting reunion with her son, had been sworn to secrecy. She had, in a move that stunned everyone, immediately shifted into a professional mode, demanding to be allowed to check on Bulkhead and Miko and offering her medical expertise to Ratchet, who was both horrified and begrudgingly impressed.

Jack, for his part, was splitting his time. He spent hours on the training grounds, but his main form, his default state, had become the colossal, powerful figure of EmperorGreymon. It was the form that felt most natural, the truest representation of his ancient soul. He stood a head and a half taller than Optimus, a bipedal colossus of a warrior, his heavily armored, humanoid form a masterpiece of crimson plate accented with intricate gold and silver filigree. His head was unmistakably of the Greymon-species, but noble and regal, crowned with a magnificent, golden mane-like crest that flowed down his back. His eyes, a brilliant, intelligent blue, burned with an ancient, weary power. Resting in a handguard at his hip was the hilt of his massive sword, the RyuuGonken. His shoulder pauldrons were shaped like draconic skulls, his greaves like wyvern heads, his vambraces like nagas. A spirit mark that read "Blaze" was visible on his breastplate. He was a living god of war, yet he moved with a grace that belied his size.

He was currently sparring with Optimus, a clash of titans that would have been terrifying to any outside observer. Their movements were a dance of immense power, a controlled test of strength and strategy. Optimus’s ion blade clashed against the RyuuGonken, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground.

“Your form is impeccable,” Optimus rumbled, parrying a powerful strike. “You have regained control of your power.”

“It feels like coming home,” Jack’s voice resonated, the deep, ancient tone of EmperorGreymon layered with the familiar warmth of his human life. “This is who I am. But it’s not all I am.”

Their sparring match was interrupted by a frantic alarm from Ratchet’s console. “Optimus! I’m picking up multiple new energy signatures! They just appeared out of nowhere! And they’re… biological. But not human. And not Cybertronian.”

Optimus and Jack stopped, turning their attention to the main screen. On it, Izzy’s topographical map was displayed, the red dot of Jack’s energy now joined by several smaller, but equally complex, blips.

“I will go,” Jack said, his voice firm. He didn’t need to devolve. In a flash of golden light, his immense form began to shrink, the heavy armor plates reconfiguring, flowing like liquid metal. The process was silent, beautiful, and utterly mesmerizing. When the light faded, the thirty-foot titan was gone. In his place stood a new, yet familiar, form.

He was bipedal and muscular, a dragon-like warrior with avian characteristics, covered in crimson armor inlaid with silver panels and gold etchings. His head was mostly covered by a silver helmet that featured crimson stripes and the traditional horns of his species. His eyes were a sharp, intelligent blue, and a bird-like beak filled with razor-sharp teeth was visible. Sharp claws adorned his hands and feet, and his forearms were equipped with the prominent, golden triangular weapons known as the Rudriya Darpana. Two "Fire Wings," appearing flaming and feathered, were folded against his back, and a thick, armored tail swayed slowly behind him. This was BurningGreymon, his Ultimate level, now fully under his control. He was a whirlwind of contained power, a beast who had found his master.

“I will be faster in this form,” Jack stated, his voice a low growl. He turned to Optimus. “Stay here. Let me see who it is first.”

He phased through the wall of the silo, his form dissolving into data and reconstituting on the other side in a fraction of a second. He ran towards the desert entrance, his powerful legs covering the ground in immense strides.

He skidded to a halt behind a rock outcropping, peering out at the approaching figures. It was a small, orange dinosaur-like creature. It was walking on two legs, its claws digging into the dirt. It stopped, sniffing the air, its eyes wide and curious.

“Agumon,” BurningGreymon whispered, the name a memory from a life he hadn’t lived but knew intrinsically.

Before he could reveal himself, a flash of pink and blue shot past him. Arcee. She transformed, landing directly in front of the bewildered Digimon, her blasters raised. “Identify yourself,” she commanded, her voice sharp and hostile.

“Whoa! Hey, take it easy!” Agumon said, taking a step back, his claws raised in a gesture of peace. “I’m not looking for trouble! I’m looking for a friend!”

“Your kind isn’t welcome here,” Arcee said, her optics narrowed.

“My kind?” Agumon asked, genuinely confused. “What do you mean, your kind?”

“Arcee, stand down!”

Jack’s voice, now the deeper, more resonant tone of his Champion form, cut through the tension. He had devolved and digivolved in a single, fluid motion, stepping out from behind the rocks. He stood tall, his form lean and athletic, clad in intricate red and orange armor over a black bodysuit. His face was covered by a mask-like helmet that left his strong jaw and mouth exposed, and a cascade of long, blond hair flowed down his back. His eyes, the same intelligent blue, were filled with a concern that was purely, unmistakably Jack. This was Agunimon.

Arcee looked from Jack to the small orange dinosaur and back again, her confusion evident. “Jack? You know this… creature?”

Agumon’s eyes went wide as he looked at Jack. He felt it immediately. The same energy. The same fire spirit. But different. Older. More complex. “You… you’re the one we felt. The fire spirit.”

Jack nodded, a gesture that seemed both ancient and boyish. “I am. My name is Jack. But I was also once known as EmperorGreymon. The memories are all coming back now. We’re called Digimon. And we can change our forms. We digivolve to become stronger. But those of us who are older… we can control it.” He looked at his own armored body. “We can devolve, too. This is my Champion level form. Agunimon.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Tai’s voice called out as he and Izzy came running over the ridge. “Agumon, what’s going on?”

They both skidded to a halt at the sight before them. An eight-foot-tall armored warrior, and a sleek, giant robot with her weapons still trained on their partner.

Tai’s eyes locked onto Jack. He wasn’t a tech expert like Izzy, and he didn’t have Kari’s sixth sense. But he was a leader. He could feel the power, the authority, the sheer *weight* of the spirit radiating from the armored figure. It was like looking at a reflection of what he could one day become.

“I’m Tai Kamiya,” he said, his voice steady, ignoring the giant robot and extending a hand towards Jack. “And you’re one of us.”

Jack looked at the human’s outstretched hand, then at his own gauntleted one. He slowly reached out and took it. The contact was electric. A jolt of recognition, of shared purpose, passed between them. The bond of DigiDestined, forged in a digital world a lifetime ago, reforged in this new one.

“I am,” Jack confirmed, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t name. He let a small, amused wink touch his lips. “I am the legendary Warrior of Fire, Agunimon. But you can call me Jack.” He paused, looking at the assembled group. “What the Digidestined may know me as is one of the ten Legendary Warriors. But I am… older than that. The Digimon might know me more by my more ancient incarnation. AncientGreymon.”

The name hung in the air. For the humans, it was just another name. But for the Digimon partners, it was a shockwave. Agumon gasped, taking a step back. Veemon’s jaw went slack. Biyomon fluttered her wings in astonishment.

“AncientGreymon?” Patamon whispered, his eyes wide. “From the dawn of the Digital World? One of the beings who existed before the Digital World was even formed?”

“A fable,” Gatomon breathed, her voice filled with awe. “A Digimon more fabled than even the Sovereign Azulongmon.”

Jack nodded, a somber, ancient gesture. “I am that, too. It is a long story.”

***

The scene inside the Autobot base when the full group arrived was one for the history books. The DigiDestined, a dozen strong, poured into the silo, their Digimon partners creating a chaotic, colorful, and utterly bewildering spectacle for the Autobots.

Ratchet looked like he was about to suffer a full system crash. “Organic… synthetic… they’re both! They’re… they’re impossible!” he sputtered, his scanner emitting a frantic, nonsensical string of beeps.

Miko, however, was in heaven. “Davis! Veemon! This is AWESOME! I have to get a picture of you with Bulkhead! It’ll be the ultimate crossover shot!”

June Darby, ever the nurse, was immediately kneeling beside Patamon, who looked a little winded from the trip. “Are you alright, little one? You look a little pale. Do you need some water?”

The leaders, however, were engaged in a silent, intense summit. Optimus Prime stood facing Tai Kamiya, Matt Ishida, and Jack. The three of them, a trinity of command from three different worlds.

“So,” Tai began, his arms crossed over his chest. “Giant robots. A secret war. And Jack is a reincarnated Legendary Warrior who’s even older than that. Is that about the size of it?”

“In essence,” Optimus rumbled, his gaze thoughtful. “Though the war predates your friend’s arrival by millennia.”

“And now Megatron knows about the Digital World,” Jack added, his tone grim. He had devolved back into his main form, EmperorGreymon, to establish the gravity of the situation. His towering, crimson-and-gold form dwarfed even Optimus, a symbol of immense power. “He’ll be looking for a way in. Or a way to create his own ‘Digimon.’”

The weight of that statement settled over everyone. This wasn’t just a rescue mission anymore. It was the dawn of a new, far more dangerous front in an already endless war.

Later that evening, after the basics had been explained and a temporary, fragile alliance had been formed, Jack found himself on the overlook platform once more. He was in his EmperorGreymon form, a compromise between his past and his present. He was watching the DigiDestined interact with his Autobot family. He saw Izzy and Ratchet huddled over a computer, their heads together, speaking a language of pure technobabble. He saw Miko trying to teach Armadillomon how to strike a pose for her camera. He saw his mother explaining human anatomy to a fascinated Biyomon.

He felt… whole. For the first time since his transformation, the two warring halves of his soul were at peace. He was Jack Darby, the human. He was EmperorGreymon, the Digimon. And he was surrounded by his people, all of them.

He heard the soft, almost silent whir of hydraulics behind him. He didn’t need to turn. He knew who it was.

Optimus transformed and joined him on the walkway, his massive frame a comforting, familiar presence. For a long time, they just stood there in silence, two titans watching over their sleeping domain.

“It is a remarkable sight,” Optimus said, his voice a low, gentle rumble. “To see you with your… clan. They understand you in a way we cannot.”

“They do,” Jack agreed, his voice quiet. “But you understand me in a way they can’t.” He turned to face Optimus, his blue optics meeting the Autobot’s. “You understand the weight of a name. The sacrifice of a former self. You understand the loneliness of command.”

Optimus was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant, as if looking back across the eons of his own long existence. “When I first took the Matrix of Leadership,” he began, his voice quiet, introspective, “I was overwhelmed. I felt the collective consciousness of the Primes who came before me, their memories, their battles, their triumphs, and their sorrows. I felt their power, and it was immense. For a time, I feared I would lose myself, that Orion Pax would be nothing more than a ghost, a forgotten echo in the mind of a god.”

He turned to face Jack, his blue optics filled with a deep, ancient empathy that went beyond words. “But I learned that the power does not erase the person. It reveals them. The Matrix did not make me a leader; it simply gave me the strength to be the leader Orion Pax always had the potential to be. The fire within you, Jack, it does not make you a monster. It simply gives you the strength to be the hero you already are.”

He reached out, his massive hand gently enveloping Jack’s. His touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool metal of his frame. His thumb gently traced the lines of the golden Phase Shifter, a gesture of such tenderness and intimacy that it took Jack’s breath away.

“The fear you feel is not a weakness,” Optimus continued, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “It is a testament to your character. It is the part of you that is Jack Darby, the compassionate, loyal human who would risk his life for his friends. Do not ever let that fire extinguish that fear. Let it guide you. Let it remind you of what you are fighting for.”

Jack looked up at him, his heart—his spark—aching with a profound sense of connection. He saw not just the mighty Autobot leader, but a kindred spirit. A being who understood the pain of sacrifice, the weight of a name, the loneliness of a soul that carried more than it was meant to.

He reached out, his sharp, talon-like fingers hesitating for a moment before gently touching the cool, smooth metal of Optimus’s faceplate. It was a bold, impulsive gesture, but it felt right. It felt necessary.

Optimus didn’t pull away. He simply leaned into the touch, his optics softening, his hand still holding Jack’s. The silence that stretched between them was charged with an unspoken emotion, a current of longing and affection that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks, now amplified by their shared transformation.

In that moment, under the glow of the holographic stars, the slow-burn romance ignited into a quiet, steady flame. It wasn’t a kiss or a declaration of passionate love. It was something deeper, more profound. It was the meeting of two ancient souls, two leaders who had found in each other a reflection of their own strength and their own sorrow. It was a promise of support, of understanding, of a bond that would not be broken by war or by the ghosts of past lives.

“I am here, Jack,” Optimus whispered, his voice a vow. “You are not alone.”

“And I am here with you, Optimus,” Jack replied, his voice resonant with the truth of his dual existence. “Always.”

***

Later that night, long after the Digidestined had been settled into temporary quarters and the base had fallen into a quiet rhythm, Jack sought out his mother. He found her in the med-bay, sitting by Bulkhead’s recharge berth, reading a datapad on Cybertronian anatomy. He devolved, his massive EmperorGreymon form shrinking, the armor dissolving and reconfiguring into his smallest, most vulnerable form. Flamemon.

He was only three-and-a-half feet tall, with a small, humanoid, monkey-like physique and peach-colored skin. He had a wild, bushy tail of pure orange flame that swayed gently behind him. His large, spiked orange hair had only stunted horns, not a full helmet, and his pointed, elf-like ears were pierced with simple gold hoops. His green eyes were bright and inquisitive. He wore simple red ankle-length pants, a black belt with a silver buckle bearing the fire symbol, and red gauntlets and shoulder pads.

He quietly padded up to her. “Mom?”

June looked down, a soft smile gracing her lips. She set the datapad aside and patted the edge of the berth. “Hey there, sweetheart. Couldn’t sleep?”

Flamemon climbed up and sat beside her, his small legs dangling over the edge. He leaned against her, and she wrapped an arm around his small, warm shoulders. It was a strange, surreal sight, the human woman and the tiny, flame-tailed digital monster, but the affection between them was palpable.

“I just wanted to be… small for a while,” Jack admitted, his voice the high, youthful chirp of his rookie form. “To remember what it felt like.”

June squeezed him gently. “You don’t have to be big for me, Jack. You never did.” She kissed the top of his spiky orange hair. “You’re my baby boy. No matter what you look like.”

Flamemon leaned into her touch, a soft, happy electronic chirp escaping his vocalizer. It was a sound filled with a decade of love and a millennia of memory. In the quiet of the med-bay, a mother held her son, and for a moment, the weight of two worlds, of two lifetimes, lifted, and there was only peace.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 10: The Forging of a Monster**

The new normal in the Autobot base was a symphony of controlled chaos. The air, once thick with the scent of ozone and hot metal, now carried a new, vibrant aroma—the ozone and hot metal were still there, but they were joined by the sweet, sharp scent of ozone after a lightning strike, the warm smell of a forge, and the faint, electric tingle of pure data. It was the smell of the Digital World, bleeding into the physical one.

The main training ground, once a barren expanse of concrete, was now a vibrant arena of clashing powers. MetalGarurumon, Matt’s colossal Ultimate form, was locked in a test of strength with Bulkhead. The two giants grappled, their feet scraping grooves into the concrete floor, a contest of pure, unadulterated power that shook the very foundations of the silo. Neither was giving an inch.

“He’s got a lot of power, Matt,” Tai called out, a grin on his face. “But Bulkhead’s got experience. Try using your speed! Don’t just meet him head-on!”

MetalGarurumon roared, a sound of twisting metal and raw energy, and instead of pushing, he dropped low, using his massive metal frame to sweep Bulkhead’s legs out from under him. The Wrecker went down with a surprised, ground-shaking *THUD*.

“See?” Tai cheered. “Technique over brute force!”

“Impressive,” Optimus rumbled in agreement, his optics analyzing the flow of the battle. “Their fighting styles are disparate, yet complementary. Your DigiDestined bring an adaptability, a fluidity that we, in our more rigid forms, sometimes lack.”

On the other side of the arena, Arcee was a blur of pink and blue, her movements a graceful, deadly dance as she weaved through a complex assault course. Sora, with Biyomon perched on her shoulder, was calling out instructions.

“Left, Arcee! There’s a low-hanging cable! Use your grapple to swing over it!”

Arcee complied without question, her grapple shooting out and embedding itself in a ceiling girder. She swung through the obstacle course with an athletic grace that mirrored Sora’s own tennis-pro agility.

“You’re a natural at this!” Sora laughed.

“I’m just following instructions,” Arcee’s voice buzzed back. “Your tactical awareness is… surprisingly sharp.”

“We’ve been dodging bad guys since we were kids,” Sora said with a shrug. “You learn to see the whole field.”

In a corner that had been quickly dubbed ‘the Nerd Nexus,’ Ratchet, Izzy, and Ken were huddled around a console, a flurry of frantic energy and overlapping jargon.

“The energy matrix of a Digimon’s ‘Digi-core’ is fascinating!” Izzy exclaimed, his fingers flying across a holographic keyboard. “It’s not just a power source; it’s a self-perpetuating data loop! It’s like a living computer program that rewrites its own code to become more efficient!”

“Fascinating, yes, but also a logistical nightmare!” Ratchet retorted, waving a data-claw in the air. “How do you patch a wound in a being made of pure data? My medical protocols are based on physical matter, not… sentient software!”

“Maybe that’s the key,” Ken interjected, his calm voice a soothing balm to Ratchet’s frantic energy. “You don’t patch it. You debug it. You isolate the corrupted data and replace it with a clean subroutine. I have some experience with… corrupted data streams.” He didn’t elaborate, but the somber note in his voice was enough to make both Ratchet and Izzy pause.

Jack, for his part, was splitting his time. He spent hours on the training grounds, cycling through his forms with increasing ease. But his main form, his default state, had become the colossal, powerful figure of EmperorGreymon. It was the form that felt most natural, the truest representation of his ancient soul. He stood a head and a half taller than Optimus, a bipedal colossus of a warrior, his heavily armored, humanoid form a masterpiece of crimson plate accented with intricate gold and silver filigree. His head was unmistakably of the Greymon-species, but noble and regal, crowned with a magnificent, golden mane-like crest that flowed down his back. His eyes, a brilliant, intelligent blue, burned with an ancient, weary power. Resting in a handguard at his hip was the hilt of his massive sword, the RyuuGonken. His shoulder pauldrons were shaped like draconic skulls, his greaves like wyvern heads, his vambraces like nagas. A spirit mark that read "Blaze" was visible on his breastplate. He was a living god of war, yet he moved with a grace that belied his size.

He was currently observing the sparring matches, his towering form a silent, commanding presence. He was not sparring. He was observing, learning, re-acquainting himself with the flow of battle in this new world. He watched Tai’s leadership, Optimus’s strategy, Matt’s raw power, Sora’s tactical mind. He saw how they all fit together, a complex, beautiful machine of heroes.

He felt a profound sense of peace. This was what he was meant for. Not just fighting, but leading, guiding, protecting. He was a bridge between these two worlds, a living embodiment of their alliance.

***

Aboard the *Nemesis*, the atmosphere was not one of alliance, but of cold, obsessive creation. The throne room had been converted into a blasphemous laboratory. Vats of glowing, purple liquid—Dark Energon, the very lifeblood of Unicron—bubbled ominously. In the center of the room, a massive, spherical chamber constructed of CNA (Cyber-Nano-Cells) hummed with a malevolent energy. Wires thick as a man’s torso snaked from the vats to the chamber, pumping the corrupted substance into its core.

Megatron stood over the console, his red optics fixed on the readouts, a look of triumphant, god-like glee on his face. Knock Out and Breakdown stood at a respectful distance, their expressions a mixture of awe and terror.

“Incredible,” Knock Out whispered, his diagnostic scanner trembling slightly in his hand. “The CNA is adapting. It’s using the Dark Energon not just as a power source, but as a template. It’s… rewriting its own fundamental structure to mimic the data signature we acquired from the human.”

“He is creating life,” Breakdown rumbled, his one optic wide. “Or something like it.”

“Not life, you simple-minded brute!” Megatron snarled, without turning. “I am creating a *weapon*. A tool of pure, unadulterated destruction. The ‘Digivolution’ of the human-Jack was a process of synthesis, of fusing spirit and data. I am merely… streamlining the process. Removing the cumbersome ‘spirit’ and leaving only the raw, malleable power.”

Soundwave, silent as ever, manipulated the primary controls. His tentacles flew across the console, his single, unblinking optic processing trillions of calculations per second. He was the midwife to this monstrous birth.

“The template is unstable,” Soundwave’s monotone voice echoed through the chamber. “Requires a catalyst. A biological component to ground the data construct.”

Megatron smiled, a cruel, terrifying expression. “I have anticipated that.” He gestured to a side chamber. “Breakdown, bring in the test subject.”

Breakdown nodded and walked over to the chamber, returning a moment later dragging a struggling, terrified Vehicon. The drone’s red optics were wide with panic, its vocalizer emitting staticky cries of protest.

“No! Lord Megatron, please! I have served you faithfully!”

“Your faith is about to be immortalized,” Megatron purred. “Your physical form will be deconstructed, its CNA used to provide the stable biological framework for our new warrior. Your sacrifice will be for the glory of the Decepticon cause!”

The Vehicon’s screams were cut short as it was thrown into the spherical chamber. The CNA walls glowed brighter, and the purple light of the Dark Energon intensified. The Vehicon’s form dissolved into a cloud of shimmering nanites, which were then violently absorbed into the churning energy.

The chamber began to shake violently. Alarms blared. The energy readings on Knock Out’s scanner went off the scale.

“It’s… it’s overloading the core!” he shrieked.

“Let it!” Megatron roared, his voice filled with ecstatic fervor. “Let the power be forged! Let my will be made manifest!”

There was a blinding flash of purple and black light. A shockwave of pure, malevolent energy erupted from the chamber, sending the Decepticons stumbling back. When the light cleared, the chamber was empty. The glass was gone, shattered into dust.

And standing in its place was a new being.

It was large, easily the size of Megatron, its form a grotesque parody of a Greymon-species. Its armor was a jagged, mismatched mess of dark purple and corroded silver, like it had been assembled from scrap. Its form was hulking and awkward, its musculature unnaturally bulging. Its head was a nightmare version of EmperorGreymon’s noble helm, the crest broken and twisted, one optic a glowing red sensor, the other a messy, gaping wound. It didn't have a sword, but its hands were massive, jagged claws, crackling with purple energy. It had no tail, no wings, just a raw, unfinished power.

It took a shuddering, uneven step forward, its movements clumsy, filled with barely contained rage. It let out a roar, but it wasn't the mighty, soulful cry of a dragon. It was a distorted, static-filled shriek of agony and mindless fury.

“What… is it?” Breakdown stammered.

“It is… ChaosGreymon,” Megatron breathed, his voice filled with a dark, paternal pride. “My masterpiece. A creature of pure instinct, pure destruction. Unburdened by a soul, by conscience, by memory. It is a perfect soldier. It knows only one thing: how to obey my command.”

He pointed a clawed finger towards the main viewscreen, which displayed a map of Jasper, Nevada. “See that, my beautiful monster? That is your target. The human power grid. Go there. Unleash hell. Draw the human-Jack out. Show him the true, terrible potential of the power he so foolishly wields.”

ChaosGreymon’s red optic swiveled to the screen. It let out another distorted shriek and, in a clumsy, loping gait, it began to walk towards the hangar bay, its heavy, uneven footsteps shaking the very floor of the Nemesis. It was a monster born of a monster’s ambition, a twisted reflection of a legendary hero, sent to poison the world Jack had sworn to protect.

***

Later that evening, after the Digidestined had been settled in and the base had fallen into a quiet rhythm, Jack found Optimus on the overlook platform. He was in his EmperorGreymon form, a comfortable middle ground. He was watching the Digidestined interact with his Autobot family. He saw Izzy and Ratchet huddled over a computer, their heads together, speaking a language of pure technobabble. He saw Miko trying to teach Armadillomon how to strike a pose for her camera. He saw his mother explaining human anatomy to a fascinated Biyomon.

He felt… whole. For the first time since his transformation, the two warring halves of his soul were at peace. He was Jack Darby, the human. He was EmperorGreymon, the Digimon. And he was surrounded by his people, all of them.

He heard the soft, almost silent whir of hydraulics behind him. He didn't need to turn. He knew who it was.

Optimus transformed and joined him on the walkway, his massive frame a comforting, familiar presence. For a long time, they just stood there in silence, two titans watching over their sleeping domain.

“The base feels… different,” Optimus said, his voice a low, gentle rumble, breaking the comfortable quiet. “More whole. Your presence, Jack, it has brought a light to this place that has been absent for a long time.”

Jack looked at him, his blue optics reflecting the holographic stars. “It feels more whole to me, too. Seeing my worlds... my families... start to merge. It’s a peace I never thought I'd find. I owe you for that, Optimus. You didn't just see a weapon; you saw… me.”

Optimus was silent for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful. He slowly reached out, not to Jack’s shoulder, but to the center of his chestplate. His massive, warm hand came to rest over the glowing “Blaze” spirit mark. The touch was gentle, almost reverent.

“I see a kindred spirit,” Optimus murmured, his voice barely a whisper, a confession meant only for Jack. “One who understands the weight of a legacy that was not chosen. In you, I see a reflection of a path not taken, and a strength I sometimes fear I have lost.”

Jack’s own hand, a massive, sharp-clawed thing, rose to cover Optimus’s. It was a gesture of immense trust, of reciprocation. “You haven’t lost it,” Jack’s voice resonated, deep and sincere. “It’s right here. You’re the anchor, Optimus. In all the chaos of my memories, you’re the one constant that keeps the fire from burning everything away.”

Optimus leaned in slightly, his brilliant blue optics softening, the ancient weariness in them replaced by a warmth that was solely for Jack. “And you, Jack Darby, EmperorGreymon… you are the flame that reminds this old spark what it is fighting for.”

The space between them shrank, the air thick with unspoken emotion. It was a quiet, almost romantic moment, a fragile bubble of peace and profound connection in the heart of a secret war. They were two ancient beings, two leaders, who had found in each other a mirror to their souls, a sanctuary from their respective burdens. Optimus’s thumb gently stroked the crimson armor, and Jack leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his vocalizer.

Before anything more could be said, before the moment could culminate, a new, more frantic alarm blared through the base. It wasn't a Decepticon alert. It was a terrestrial emergency signal.

“Optimus! Jack!” Ratchet’s voice boomed, filled with a new kind of panic. “All major power grids for the entire state of Nevada just went offline! It’s not a Decepticon attack, the energy signature is… wrong!”

Izzy’s voice cut in, sharp and alarmed. “He’s right! I’m seeing it from here! It’s Digimon energy, but it’s… corrupted. Twisted! It’s like a mirror image of a Digimon, but all the data is inverted, malignant!”

The fragile bubble of peace was shattered. Jack and Optimus pulled apart, the moment broken, their expressions instantly shifting to ones of grim readiness.

Jack felt a cold dread wash over him. He knew what that was. He felt it in his very code. A perversion of his own power.

“Where is the epicenter?” Jack demanded, his voice hardening, the deep rumble of EmperorGreymon vibrating in the very framework of the base.

“It’s Jasper!” Raf cried out. “It’s tearing through the town’s main substation!”

Without another word, Jack and Optimus moved. The groundbridge opened, and they charged through, the rest of the Autobots and DigiDestined right behind them. They emerged on the outskirts of Jasper, to a scene of devastation. The substation was a wreck of twisted metal and exploding transformers. And in the center of the destruction stood the source.

It was a monster. A hulking, purple and silver abomination that looked like a grotesque mockery of his own forms. It was ChaosGreymon. It turned its mismatched head towards them, its single red optic locking onto Jack.

And Jack felt a wave of pure revulsion. This was his power, his heritage, his very soul, twisted into a mindless weapon of destruction. It was an abomination.

“Megatron…” Jack growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble of pure fury. “He dared.”

ChaosGreymon let out a distorted shriek and charged, its clumsy movements belying its raw, chaotic power.

Tai and Agumon flanked Jack’s left side. Optimus stood on his right. The rest of the Autobots and DigiDestined spread out behind them, a united front of heroes from two worlds.

Jack raised the RyuuGonken, the Dragon Soul Sword glowing with a righteous, golden light. He looked at the monster, a perversion of everything he was, and felt a cold, clear certainty settle into his soul.

“This ends now,” he declared, his voice the sound of a warrior king preparing for battle. “For the honor of the Ancient Warriors, and for the peace of this world.”

The two legends, the two leaders, and their allies stood ready to face the monster forged in the dark heart of their enemy. The battle for the soul of this new war had begun.

Chapter Text

***

### **Chapter 11: The Dragon's Soul and the Prime's Heart**

The air in Jasper, Nevada, tasted of ozone, burnt sugar, and fear. It was a toxic cocktail that clung to the back of the throat, a miasma born from the clash of two worlds. The once-quiet town was a warzone, its streets scarred with craters, its buildings groaning under the stress of a conflict they were never designed to withstand. At the epicenter of it all stood a nightmare, a perversion of a legend, and a testament to a tyrant’s boundless ambition.

ChaosGreymon was a grotesque parody of Jack’s noble forms. Its hulking, purple and silver frame was a patchwork of mismatched armor, its movements a clumsy, loping gait that spoke of a mind devoid of grace or strategy. It was pure, unadulterated instinct, a walking engine of destruction fueled by Megatron’s will and the corrupted essence of a murdered Vehicon. Its single, glowing red optic swept the battlefield, locking onto any source of energy, any sign of life, with a mindless, predatory focus.

“Unleash havoc!” Megatron’s voice boomed from the heavens, his form a menacing shadow against the moonlit clouds, circling overhead in his jet alt mode. “Show them the futility of their hope! Show them the glory of chaos!”

ChaosGreymon responded with a distorted shriek that tore through the night. It raised a massive, jagged claw and slammed it into the asphalt. The ground didn’t just crack; it exploded, sending a shockwave of dirt and debris fifty feet in every direction. A parked car was flipped into the air like a child’s toy, crashing into the front of a diner with a sickening crunch of metal and glass.

The combined forces of Autobots and DigiDestined met the charge with a unified roar of defiance. MetalGarurumon, Matt’s colossal Ultimate form, was the first to meet the monster, his own massive frame a testament to controlled power. He met ChaosGreymon’s charge head-on, the two titans colliding with a sound like a mountain range collapsing. The ground shook violently, cracks spiderwebbing out from the point of impact.

“It’s strong, but it’s clumsy!” Matt’s voice grunted from within his metal shell. “It has no technique!”

“Then we give it a target it can’t handle!” Tai yelled, his voice a clarion call of leadership. He stood atop a building, Agumon at his side, his eyes scanning the chaotic battlefield like a general. “Garurumon, keep it busy! Sora, Biyomon, see if you can find a weak point! Izzy, analyze that energy signature! I want to know how it works!”

“On it!” Sora shouted back, her voice sharp and clear. She and Biyomon were a mobile unit, darting through the wreckage, their movements a fluid dance of agility and purpose. “It’s radiating energy from its chestplate! Like a corrupted core!”

“Corrupted CNA and Dark Energon!” Izzy’s voice crackled over the comms from his position behind a makeshift barricade with Ken and Wormmon. “It’s a living battery with a leak! The energy is unstable!”

The battlefield was a maelstrom of color and light. Arcee and Bumblebee were a blur of blue and yellow, their blasters firing precise shots at ChaosGreymon’s joints, trying to slow it down. Bulkhead, recovered from his earlier ordeal but still bearing the scars, swung his wrecking balls with furious abandon, each impact a deafening gong that made the monster stagger, but never fall.

From the sky, a squadron of Vehicons dove, their blasters adding to the chaos. But they were met by the DigiDestined. Veemon and Wormmon launched themselves into the air, their bodies glowing as they digivolved.

“VEEMON DIGIVOLVE TO… EXVEEMON!”

“WORMMON DIGIVOLVE TO… STINGMON!”

ExVeemon, a sleek, dragonoid warrior of pure velocity, weaved through the Vehicon fire, his Vee-Lance spearing through one drone’s chest. Stingmon, a heavily armored, insectoid warrior, raked his tail spikes across another, sending it spiraling to the ground in a shower of sparks. The sky became a second front, a desperate aerial battle to keep the Decepticons from supporting their monstrous creation.

Through it all, two figures stood like pillars against the storm. Optimus Prime, his blue and red frame a beacon of unwavering resolve, and EmperorGreymon, Jack’s true and ultimate form. He was a magnificent, imposing sight, a head and a half taller than Optimus, his heavily armored, humanoid body a masterpiece of crimson, gold, and silver. His Greymon-species head was noble and regal, crowned with a large, golden, mane-like crest that flowed down his back. His sharp, angular features held blue eyes that burned with an ancient, weary power. The RyuuGonken, the Dragon Soul Sword, was held in a ready grip, its dragon-themed armor components—the Tiamat Head pauldrons, Wyvern Head greaves, and Naga Head vambraces—gleaming in the fires of the battle. The spirit mark that read "Blaze" was visible on his breastplate, a testament to his very soul.

“He is an abomination,” Jack’s voice resonated, the deep, ancient tone of EmperorGreymon layered with the cold fury of Jack Darby. “A mockery of everything I am.”

“Then we will grant it the oblivion it deserves,” Optimus rumbled, his ion cannon humming with charging energy. “Together.”

They moved as one. Optimus fired his ion cannon, a blast of pure, concentrated energy that struck ChaosGreymon’s chest, causing the monster to stagger back with a pained shriek. In that same instant, EmperorGreymon moved, his speed defying his immense size. He was a crimson and gold blur, his movements fluid and deadly. He didn’t swing his sword wildly; he struck with surgical precision, the RyuuGonken slicing into the monster’s shoulder, severing a cluster of corrupted wires that sparked and hissed like dying snakes.

ChaosGreymon retaliated with a blind, furious swing of its massive claws. Optimus caught the blow on his forearm, the force of it sending him skidding back several feet, his feet tearing grooves in the asphalt. EmperorGreymon ducked under the swing, his form flowing into a low spin, his leg sweeping out to take the monster’s feet out from under it. ChaosGreymon fell with a ground-shaking crash, but was immediately scrambling back up, its single red optic burning with mindless rage.

The battle became a deadly, grinding stalemate. For every blow the heroes landed, for every piece of armor they stripped away, ChaosGreymon’s sheer, relentless power and the supporting fire from the Decepticons took their toll. MetalGarurumon’s armor was dented and scored. Bulkhead’s shoulder sparked where a lucky shot had connected. Even Optimus had a deep gash in his chest plate where ChaosGreymon’s claws had raked him.

Jack, in his EmperorGreymon form, felt the drain. The battle was not just physical; it was a war of wills, a constant struggle to impose order on the chaos the monster represented. He could feel the corrupted energy of the Dark Energon, a psychic poison that tried to seep into his own data stream, to corrupt his own spirit. He was fighting on two fronts, and the strain was immense.

He parried a wild swing from ChaosGreymon, the screech of metal on metal echoing through the night. He locked eyes with Optimus, a silent communication passing between them in the heat of battle. They couldn’t win this way. They would eventually be worn down.

“I have to end it,” Jack’s voice said over their private comm, strained with effort. “I have to use everything.”

Optimus’s blue optics met his, a flicker of concern in their depths. “The attack you described… the Pyro Dragons. Is it safe?”

“For us?” Jack replied, blocking a punch that would have shattered a building. “No. For the world? Yes. I have to purge it. The corruption… it’s an affront to the Digital World itself. I have to cleanse it.”

“Then we will give you the opening,” Optimus declared, his voice ringing with command. “Autobots! Digidestined! All fire on Megatron! Drive him back! Give EmperorGreymon the time he needs!”

The plan was insane, a desperate gambit that would leave them vulnerable. But they obeyed without hesitation. All available firepower—Optimus’s ion cannon, Arcee’s blasters, MetalGarurumon’s Giga Missiles, even Paildramon’s Mjölnir Hammer—was turned to the sky. Megatron, caught off guard by the sudden shift in focus, was forced to evade, his triumphant circling turning into a desperate dance of avoidance.

The ground battle stilled for a precious few seconds. ChaosGreymon, without its master’s direct command, seemed confused, its single optic swiveling between the heroes and the sky. It was the opening Jack needed.

He planted his feet, the RyuuGonken held vertically before him. He closed his blue eyes, focusing inward, past the battle, past the pain, past the fear. He reached into the very heart of his being, into the legacy of the Ancient Warriors. He reached for the dragon souls sealed within his sword, the primordial power that was his birthright.

The air around him began to hum, a low, resonant frequency that made the teeth ache. The ground at his feet began to glow, a soft, golden light that spread outwards in intricate, web-like patterns. The very spirit mark on his breastplate, the "Blaze," began to burn with the intensity of a newborn star.

“九頭龍陣,” he whispered, the ancient words a prayer and a command. *Kuzuryūjin. Nine-headed Dragon Array.*

The earth itself screamed. Eight massive veins of incandescent, golden energy erupted from the ground around ChaosGreymon, not from Jack, but from the very soul of the planet. They were not beams of light; they were tangible, serpentine forms, ethereal dragons of pure data and energy, their bodies coiling and writhing with a life of their own. They erupted from the ground, surrounding the monster in a brilliant, golden cage, their majestic forms a stark, beautiful contrast to the monster’s twisted ugliness.

ChaosGreymon shrieked, a sound of pure terror and confusion, as the eight dragon veins converged on it, their ethereal bodies phasing through its corrupted armor, binding it, searing it with a purity it could not withstand.

And then, from the RyuuGonken, came the final dragon. It was not of fire, but of pure, celestial light, a form so brilliant it was painful to look at. It was the ninth head, the master of the array, the soul of the dragon god. It shot from the sword, a spear of divine light, and merged with the other eight, creating a single, overwhelming entity of pure, cleansing energy.

“飛九頭龍陣!” Jack’s voice boomed, a god’s final judgment. *Hikuzuryūjin. Flying Nine-headed Dragon Array.*

EmperorGreymon leaped into the air, his form a silhouette against the blinding light. He raised the RyuuGonken high above his head, the sword now a conduit for the combined power of the nine dragons. He brought it down in a single, devastating slash.

The slash did not hit ChaosGreymon. It passed through the space where it was, and the nine-headed dragon of light followed. The impact was silent at first. A wave of pure, white energy expanded outwards from the point of impact, a silent, all-consuming tide. It didn’t burn; it *deconstructed*. The very atoms of ChaosGreymon’s being were unmade, its corrupted data purged, its twisted form dissolved into nothingness. The Dark Energon fueling it was neutralized, its CNA framework erased. There was no explosion, no debris. There was only a fleeting, silent scream of static, and then… nothing.

When the light faded, ChaosGreymon was gone. In its place was only a shallow crater filled with shimmering, golden motes of light that slowly faded into the night air.

In the sky, Megatron stared, his red optics wide with a mixture of fury and a terror he had not felt in millennia. He had not just been defeated. He had witnessed a power that could unmake creation itself.

“Retreat!” he snarled, his voice a choked, guttural sound. He transformed and shot into the sky, a coward’s flight against a god’s wrath. The remaining Vehicons, their master gone and their monstrous weapon destroyed, broke and fled.

The battlefield fell silent, save for the groaning of metal and the weary, heavy breathing of the victors. EmperorGreymon landed heavily, his massive frame sinking to one knee. The RyuuGonken slipped from his grasp, clattering to the asphalt. He was drained, not just of energy, but of spirit. The attack had taken a piece of him, a fragment of his ancient soul.

Optimus was at his side in an instant, his massive hand resting on Jack’s pauldron. “It is over, Jack,” he rumbled, his voice filled with a relief so profound it was almost pain. “You did it.”

Jack could only nod, his blue optics dim. He looked around at the devastation, at his exhausted friends and allies. They had won. But the cost was etched into every broken street, every wounded friend.

***

The return to the base was a solemn, weary procession. The groundbridge shimmered, and the heroes stumbled through, a procession of the wounded and the weary. MetalGarurumon devolved back to Matt, who immediately sat down on the floor, his head in his hands. The other Digidestined and their partners were in similar states of exhaustion, their youthful energy burned away by the intensity of the battle.

The med-bay was a scene of controlled chaos. Ratchet was a whirlwind of frantic motion, his scanners whirring, his medical tools flying. “Multiple fractures in Bulkhead’s left leg! Miko has a severe concussion! Arcee’s shoulder actuator is fused! This is a catastrophe!”

But moving through the chaos with a calm, steady grace was June Darby. She was no longer a visitor; she was part of the team. She was at Miko’s side in an instant, her experienced hands checking her pupil reflex, her voice a soothing balm against Ratchet’s panicked diagnoses.

“She’s stable, Ratchet,” June said, her voice firm. “Just a concussion. She needs rest. Now, let me see that shoulder.”

Ratchet stopped, his optic ridges furrowed, but he stepped aside. He watched, astonished, as June, with a calm directive, instructed him on which tools to use and how to apply a cooling gel to Arcee’s fused joint. She treated Biyomon for a singed wing and Patamon for exhaustion with the same gentle competence she’d shown a thousand human patients. She was an anchor in the storm, a grounding force of pure, unadulterated competence.

In the center of it all, on a reinforced medical berth designed for a Titan, lay EmperorGreymon. He was not physically damaged, but he was utterly, completely drained. His magnificent crimson and gold armor was dull, his blue optics dark and offline. He was a monument of exhaustion, a sleeping god.

June finished her initial triage and walked over to his berth. She looked up at his immense, sleeping form, at the noble, regal face, and saw only her son. She reached up and gently placed her hand on his massive, armored ankle. There was no response, but she didn’t need one.

“Rest now, my sweet boy,” she whispered. “You’ve earned it.”

***

Hours later, the base was finally quiet. The wounded were stabilized and resting in their quarters. The only sounds were the low hum of the computers and the soft, rhythmic beeping of life support monitors.

In the main med-bay, EmperorGreymon slept. But his sleep was not peaceful. It was a storm of fragmented data, of echoes from the battle, of the ghostly scream of ChaosGreymon as it was unmade. He twitched, his massive fingers clenching, a low, pained groan escaping his vocalizer. The corrupted energy of the Dark Energon had left a stain, a psychic poison that was festering in his dreams.

He was woken by a sudden, sharp spike of pain in his core, a phantom echo of his ultimate attack. His blue optics flared online, glowing with a panicked, disoriented light. He sat up, his massive frame groaning in protest. He was alone in the med-bay, the only light the dim glow of the monitors. The silence was oppressive, the weight of his own power a crushing blanket.

He needed air. He needed space. He carefully, quietly, slipped off the berth, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked out of the med-bay, his heavy footsteps the only sound in the sleeping base. He found his way to the overlook platform, the place that had become his sanctuary.

He was not surprised to find he wasn’t alone.

Optimus Prime stood on the walkway, his back to the entrance, his massive frame silhouetted against the vast, star-dusted desert sky. He wasn’t in his battle-ready mode; he was simply standing, a lonely king looking over his quiet kingdom.

“You could not rest either?” Optimus’s voice was a low, gentle rumble, not a question, but a statement of shared understanding.

Jack, still in his EmperorGreymon form, walked to stand beside him. He didn’t say anything, just looked out at the same sky. For a long time, they stood in a comfortable silence, two ancient beings sharing the weight of a long, hard day.

“It was… a lot of power,” Jack finally said, his voice a deep, weary rumble. “The Pyro Dragons. I felt the souls of the dragons, the very code of the Digital World, flowing through me. It felt… right. But it also felt like I was tearing a piece of my own soul away.”

“I have felt a similar sensation,” Optimus replied, his gaze distant. “When I unleash the full power of the Matrix. It is a part of the Primes who came before me, a legacy of unimaginable energy. To wield it is to touch the divine, but it is also to lose a small piece of yourself in the process.”

He turned his massive helm to look at Jack, his blue optics soft and filled with a profound empathy. “I feared for you today, Jack. Not that you would be defeated, but that the power you command would consume you. That in the face of such a monstrous reflection of yourself, you would lose the light that makes you who you are.”

Jack looked at him, at the noble, weary faceplate, and felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with his fire power. It was the warmth of being seen, of being truly understood.

“I was afraid of that too,” Jack confessed, his voice quiet. “But then I thought of you. I thought of my mother, of Miko and Raf. I thought of Tai and the others. You’re all my anchor. You’re the reason the fire doesn’t burn everything away.”

He reached out, his massive, sharp-clawed hand hesitating for a moment before gently resting on Optimus’s forearm. The touch was not electric or passionate; it was grounding, a simple, profound connection.

Optimus covered Jack’s hand with his own, his touch a gentle, reassuring weight. “And you, Jack Darby, EmperorGreymon… you are the reason this old soldier’s spark still feels hope. In this long war, I have faced down gods and monsters, but I have never faced anything as terrifying as the day I thought I might lose you.”

The confession hung in the air between them, raw and honest. Jack felt his breath catch, his blue optics widening slightly. He saw it in Optimus’s eyes, the same vulnerability, the same deep, aching loneliness that he felt. They were two leaders, two ancient souls, who had found in each other a reflection, a sanctuary.

“Optimus…” Jack whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he was only just beginning to understand.

Optimus leaned in slightly, his massive helm coming closer to Jack’s. The space between them felt charged, filled with the unspoken words of countless battles and shared burdens.

“I find my thoughts turning to you, Jack,” Optimus murmured, his voice a low, intimate confession meant only for him. “In the quiet moments, when the war fades to a hum, I see your face. Your human face. And I see this one,” he gently touched the side of Jack’s helm. “And I feel a peace I have not known in millennia. A sense of… rightness.”

Jack leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his vocalizer. “And I to you, Optimus,” he replied, his voice resonant with the truth of his entire, dual existence. “In all my memories, all my lives, I have never felt a connection like this. You are my home, Optimus. In any form, any world.”

He looked up at the Autobot leader, at the noble faceplate and the wise, compassionate optics, and felt a love so deep and profound it was almost painful. It was a love forged in shared sacrifice and mutual respect, a bond that had transcended worlds and species, and had now, in the quiet aftermath of a terrible battle, blossomed into something beautiful and real.

Optimus’s hand moved from Jack’s to gently cup the side of his face, his thumb stroking the smooth, crimson metal of his cheek. It was a gesture of infinite tenderness, a promise whispered without words.

“Then we will face what comes together,” Optimus vowed, his voice a low, steady promise. “As equals. As partners. As… more.”

Jack closed his blue optics, leaning his face into Optimus’s massive, warm hand. “Together,” he agreed, his voice a soft echo.

They stood in comfortable silence for a long time, two ancient beings, two leaders, two souls who had found their equal in the vast, lonely expanse of the cosmos. The war was far from over. New enemies would rise. Old wounds would ache. But in that moment, under the quiet, watchful gaze of the stars, they were ready. They were home.