Work Text:
Despite the bevy of sensory information available to the average Cybertronian, most relied heavily on their optics as first and most trusted sensors.
Though he was obviously as careful and thorough as he always was - if not more so, here, in contested or outright enemy territory - Prowl was relatively confident he had gone unnoticed. All it had taken was a new coat of paint, in oranges and yellows he normally would never have begun to associate with himself, a downloaded scan of a different alt mode which thoroughly changed the shape of his transformation kibble, and a series of micro-transformations to flare or slim plating in ways that confused his silhouette. Along the way, a few had recognized him as a Praxian, with the annihilation of the city fresh on everyone’s processors, but none had linked him at all to Prowl, Autobot Tactical Commander.
The information he sought had been difficult to unearth, as he had anticipated. There were few who believed even sparkeaters were anything more than a story to frighten the gullible, and documentation of sparkeaters was readily available on the holonet and in the archives that had thus far survived the war. What Prowl sought was rarer than even that, and hidden in such secrecy that those already aware of its existence, like Prowl himself, still struggled to find any kind of reliable information. The time off granted by Optimus was put to good use as Prowl donned his disguise and ventured deep into Polyhexian territory, which had fallen into Decepticon hands exactly as he had predicted. This fact was useful for his current goal, and he did not allow himself to focus on any other thought than achieving exactly that. Dwelling on bitter resentment that his warnings had once again been ignored would do no good.
Prowl had already prepared a site, and was on his way there with the last of the materials he needed. Staniz had been damaged in the attack that had taken the city, but the goal had been capture, not eradication, and many buildings still stood, though with the occasional heavy dents or outright melting of the walls and floors. The building he had chosen had suffered more damage than most, and the top storeys had been blown off entirely by some kind of explosion, twisting the remaining struts in a way that made structural instability inevitable. Praxian doorwings gave Prowl a more refined sonar and radar sensory suite than nearly any other frametype on the planet, and he trusted his readings to show him the places he could safely utilize and those that he could not.
He slipped inside and up a half-destroyed staircase, any elevator system completely unusable due to the destruction of the power grid. The room he had picked out for his use must have been intended as a meeting hall of some kind, with enough broad, open floor space for his task once he had cleared some fallen sheeting from the ceiling. With critical optics, he inspected the floor, comparing the shape of the glyphs and the precision of the angles of the blueprint to the guide he had downloaded into his databanks. He did not want a generic summoning circle that would allow for any result, and had carefully carved out the Primal Vernacular glyphs for [hidden/unsensed/unwitnessed], [dexterous/crafty/cunning], and [deceptive/sly/manipulative], which would each narrow the pool of those that could appear when he completed the invocation. For what he had planned, he needed an exceptionally skilled stealth operative that could adapt to any changing situation while still completing their tasks. Some distant part of his processor noted that the final glyph he had chosen was the root of the Neo Cybex glyph the Decepticons had chosen for their faction name, and he felt grim satisfaction that, at the very minimum, he would be putting such a concept to better use than those warmongers.
After all, if he was going to summon a demon, it should be one good at disguising themself and remaining secret.
Prowl knelt at the edge of the circle, doorwings adjusting for balance, and pulled the final component from his subspace. In religious circles, energon was widely considered to be the blood of Primus, though whether that was literal or metaphorical depended on whether one believed Cybertron was the body of Primus or simply his place of origin. Through analogous comparison, dark energon, therefore, was considered the blood of Unicron, the unmaker, and was more often than not instantly destroyed when it was discovered. Dark energon would immediately poison any mech who attempted to fuel with it, often to the point of miserable deactivation unless medical intervention was rapidly received. Even remaining too near it would result in damage after long enough time or in high enough quantities, and any source of dark energon that was allowed to continue to exist was incredibly thoroughly regulated.
What few knew, however, was that it was only through the use of dark energon that a demon could be summoned to the material plane and be bound by contract to the summoner. Any consumption by a normal mech would be deleterious, but demons not only could fuel with it, but required it to form a solid body.
In its naturally occurring state, dark energon, like its pure counterpart, was found as crystalline ore in veins beneath the surface of the planet. Also like its pure counterpart, dark energon could be refined into a liquid form, rendering it much more concentrated and potent, and it was this state that Prowl required to complete his summoning blueprint. The refining process had been even more difficult than obtaining the substance in the first place, and had necessitated spending a larger amount of shanix than he had expected in order to procure the necessary machinery. But now that the initial purchase was done, he would in theory be able to refine any further amount of dark energon he needed without any additionally required monetary contribution.
He had found his carvings to be exacting and accurate, and so he carefully tipped the cube of violet liquid so it began to fill the shallow depressions. This cube would be unusable as a container for any kind of fuel or coolant ever again, as the corruption of the dark energon would sink into the plastium in such a way that standard recycling methods would not clear it. Prowl had not been interested in the methods to destroy dark energon when he had needed to acquire it, not remove it, his thoughts focused solely upon his goal. Perhaps once he had set things into motion and he had a modicum of free time, he would learn the skill. Until such a time, he put these thoughts aside.
The broad circle filled with dark energon, wide enough for a mech within a few class sizes of Prowl to stand and move a couple of steps comfortably. He suspected this was overkill, as his chosen glyphs would not lend to the appearance of a particularly large demon, what with the focus on stealth and secrecy. The last carving filled neatly to the brim with faintly glowing violet liquid, and Prowl took a step back, subspacing the remainder. He would not be able to keep it on his person without consequence for too long a time, but its use in the summoning ritual and the difficulty in obtaining it meant he was loathe to waste a drop. When he returned to Iacon he would have to go about finding a place to secure it and the associated refining machinery, perhaps in the hab suite he rarely visited.
He was acutely aware that this was the very last moment before he fully enacted his plan. He would not be able to reverse anything from this moment onward without an exceptional amount of difficulty, when it was not outright impossible. He was already sure in his convictions, and confident enough in his capabilities and meticulous preparations, that he knew he would be going forward as he had intended, but some distant ping of his emotional subsystem showed a trace of anxiety that he found uncharacteristic. He closed the notification as soon as he registered it, telling himself that it was simply from applying information he had not yet personally tested. When it came time to perform the ritual again, he would not be bothered by such unnecessary responses from his system.
All of the information he had found on the subject of the initial invocation suggested that it was most effective if spoken in Primal Vernacular, though the details of the contract itself could be done in a more customary language like Neo Cybex, a fact which Prowl planned on taking full advantage of. Knowledge of Primal Vernacular that had survived through the ages was very fractured and sparse, if it had survived to the modern era at all without becoming corrupted. Unlike modern dialects like Vosian, convenient one-download datapacks did not exist, and so Prowl had to assemble his understanding of grammatical structure and vocabulary piecemeal in a way he found highly inefficient and frustrating. Vaguely, he thought that if he had been closer into the confidence of Optimus, he would be able to take advantage of a true Prime’s Matrix-given knowledge of the ancient language. He had dismissed the idea as soon as it had occurred; even if he had been close enough to request the knowledge, Optimus would undoubtedly want to know what he needed it for, and any investigation into his activities was far from what he wanted.
Prowl reset his vocalizer, humming shortly to ensure that no static remained in his voice. He needed no dramatic gesture or specific pose, and so he folded his arms comfortably behind his back, servos linked to one another just behind his central strut, doorwings relaxed and biolights comfortably dim.
“I:[summoner/commander/master] summon the demon:[servant/subordinate/underling] most [befitting/matching/appropriate] to this blueprint. By [contract/ruling/law], said demon:[servant/subordinate/underling] will not [allow/cause/invite] any [injury/deactivation/damage] to befall me:[summoner/commander/master] through [action/choice/coercion] or [hesitance/refusal/trickery]. Said demon:[servant/subordinate/underling] will [hear/obey/internalize] any [order/command/demand] I:[summoner/commander/master] give.”
As soon as he had let his vocalizer fall silent once more, the dark energon ignited in a burst of fire, and something at roughly chassis height appeared hovering in the center of the circle. It bloomed outward steadily as he watched, a gory procession of fuel and coolant lines writhing around internal components. At one moment, he was watching a fuel pump beat while fully exposed to the atmosphere, pistons moving jarringly among bare struts. The next, the main structure of a helm formed, a grinning rictus of bare dentae slowly hidden as protoform and armor plating bled into existence in layer after layer. And then, in what seemed no time at all, a mech one size class smaller than Prowl was fully formed in midair, curled tight into a ball with his helm tucked between his knees. Fluidly, he uncurled into a standing position, touching down lightly upon his pedes as though he had not been doing anything as unusual as floating at all.
Prowl surveyed the demon that had been summoned to his specifications. He had the kibble for a common vehicle alt mode, neither a speedster build, nor something heavily armored or industrial. The anonymity would be helpful. Though he fluttered and flared his doorwings to send multiple waves of sonar and radar pings, the mech did not register to Prowl's sensors even when he was looking directly at him, which was extremely promising. There were doorwings upon his back, but not the Praxian variety, as his contained glass that would not allow for the necessary spread of sensors. Audial horns in the style common to Polyhexian frametypes emerged from the top of his helm, suggesting a sensitivity of hearing that would be useful. He had blue biolights and a visor in the same shade either atop his optics or in place of them, and the rest of his face visible beneath it was unmarked and unremarkable.
Those lipplates quirked into a lazy smirk as the demon observed him right back. “Heard someone new was looking into summoning,” he commented, voice pleasantly smooth and noticeably Polyhexian in accent.
Tacnet noted the second variable implying a region of origin for the demon, but offered no definitive conclusions without more data.
With a tilt of his helm downward to indicate the conditions on possible summons carved into the floor, the demon continued, “Interesting choice of glyphs, there. Not often a summoner seeks out a [deceptive/sly/manipulative] demon intentionally.” His grin grew until fanged dentae were bared, and he jeered, “Don’t you know that’s how someone careless ends up offlined?” His EM field flared in a posturing flash of judgement/contempt.
Prowl did not rise to the taunt, keeping his own EM field carefully contained close to his frame. “I am not careless,” he responded simply. “Will you agree to form a contract with me, or need I summon another and leave you bound within the circle?”
The demon laughed easily, shifting his weight backwards and rocking on his heels. His frame language remained open and casual, but Prowl remained starkly aware that death was always a risk for a summoner that angered a demon. “Let’s hear what you want and then we’ll see if we need to test how “bound” I really am,” the demon replied, fangs still readily displayed.
Prowl did not need the implied threat to be any more explicit. He had cross-referenced multiple sources in order to create the summoning circle, but the demon's previous words were true. Demons were already famous for their ability to find exclusions and loopholes in the wording of their contracts. The glyph beckoning an especially conniving demon amplified that danger. He had been aware of this the moment he had settled upon which glyphs he intended to carve, and had considered the risk worth it.
“You are aware of the war,” Prowl began, and when the demon made a showy tilt of his helm that brought to mind rolled optics though his were obscured, he continued, “I aim to end it. Your skills utilized at my order will have devastating effect upon the Decepticons, and in their moment of weakness the Autobots will be able to defeat them once and for all.”
The demon stared at him for a moment, still grinning with bared fangs. Before Prowl’s optics, his doorwings began to warp and shift, and soon the glass had vanished and they were indistinguishable in model from Prowl’s own. Twitching the newly Praxian doorwings demonstratively, the demon asked, “Got a personal stake in this, mech?”
The jolt of anger he felt at that was not enough to trigger the overflow failsafe, and he would not allow it to control him, either. Unable to fully stop himself from letting his own doorwings drop downward in angle and lock into position at the widest spread, he stiffly replied, “If everyone who had a personal stake in this war was willing to do what it took to end it, as I am, it would not have gotten to this point. I have simply decided I will allow this to go no further, and have taken steps to ensure it.”
Lifting one servo and repeatedly flexing and sheathing claws from his digit tips, the demon said, “You want me to hurt the Decepticons enough that they can be taken out for good. But there’s only one of me." His helm tilted at Prowl in a way that implied he was looking at him from under his optical ridges, though they too were obscured by the presence of the visor. This demon seemed fond of expansive gestures of frame language, which immediately made Prowl wary. It was as possible to lie with frame language as it was with any other method of communication.
Still posed in such a way to suggest direct optic contact, biolights pulsing slowly, the demon warned, "They’ve got multiple demons permanently bound on their team. You know that, right?”
Prowl’s lipplates compressed into a thin line. “I had suspected.” To have the knowledge confirmed was unfortunate, but not enough to derail the general path of his plans. Already tacnet was applying the new variable and adjusting details and probabilities.
As if disinterested, the demon returned to examining of his own claws. He turned his servo one way and then another, flicking his digits in a rippling wave, all while the metal of his claws shone just slightly in reflected light. “So what could you possibly offer me that’d make going up against multiple of my kind worth it? I’m very good, but courting death for a master with more arrogance than sense just ain’t my scene, you see?”
This was the biggest gamble of the whole scenario. Prowl reached into his subspace and removed a four-clawed cylindrical device about the size of his forearm. The demon watched with no discernible reaction as he displayed the apparatus, indicating the complex control mechanism on the opposite side to the claws. “This machine can extract the spark from any mech in less than thirty klicks. It is one of the few in existence, and I am one of only two who know how to use and to maintain it.” He noted a stillness to the demon’s stance and a complete stop to the rhythmic pulsing of biolights that he interpreted as close attention. It was another datapoint that seemed to contribute to the idea that the demon exaggerated or faked frame language to convey what he wished rather than what he truly felt. Tucking the information away, Prowl continued, “As I understand it, you require that the sacrifices that keep you physical originate from me. This machine can circumvent that, allowing you to extract the sparks of the Decepticons you eliminate upon my orders. Give them to me upon completion of your tasks, and then I will formally offer them back to you as sacrifice.” He could not stop the small twitch at the corner of his intake into a self-satisfied smile or the subtle flap of his doorwings as he presented a well-thought-out proposal. “I believe your kind are fond of loopholes such as these.”
Laughing sudden and loud, the demon clapped his servos to his hip struts. He watched Prowl silently for a moment, helm tilted to one side. There was a brush of curious EM field, but Prowl did not respond, and it withdrew shortly. He did not doubt that the demon was scanning him with other sensors he could not sense in turn, and he passively allowed it to happen. The demon would find no hint of untruth or fear in his frame. “Pit of a claim you’re making there,” the demon said. “What if you’re full of slag, and that machine doesn’t do a thing? Where’s that leave me?”
Prowl met the gaze of that visor with clear and determined optics. “Agree to a contract with me, and your first task will be a trial run of sorts, free from any contact with any enemy demons. If the spark extractor does not work, then you will simply have to wait for the sacrifice of the dark energon to run out, and return to incorporeal form. All you will have wasted is a bit of time.”
He did not mention the other way a summoning could end. They were both perfectly aware.
The demon stepped forward to the edge of the summoning circle, touching one servo to his intake as he actually leaned forward to study Prowl more obviously. Time spread into long, slow moments in Prowl's perception, making it feel as if he had been scrutinized for breems and not klicks. Either finding what he had been searching for, or else not finding something he had not wanted to see, the demon mused, “I’m amazed it took you so long to turn to summoning, with schemes like that. If you’re Praxian, you’re far from a newspark. Been wasting the megavorn away, when you could have done so much by now with just a bit of help from us.”
Prowl did not allow himself to think about a demon finding him uniquely suited to summoning, or what that meant about his personality and morality. “Do we have a deal?” he pressed, tucking the spark extractor up against his chassis and out of reach, though the demon should not be able to extend servo beyond the boundaries of the circle. His own biolight routines wanted to pulse them restlessly, and he suppressed them sharply.
Crossing his arms, frame language going casual in the studied way that was growing familiar, the demon said, “Hang on a klick! I like knowing the names of my summoners before agreeing to anything.”
Prowl knew that he had passed whatever test the demon had devised for him. It would be foolishness to trust the demon completely, but as an agreement seemed imminent, he could relax just slightly from complete hypervigilance. Feeling tension uncoil from his cables and pistons, his doorwings releasing from their locked-in position, he replied, “My designation is Prowl.”
The demon tilted his helm, and a brief flash of reflection glowed upon his still-lit visor. “You can call me Jazz,” he said. He grinned again, and it was less taunting and more invitingly conspiratorial this time. “I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun together, mech.”
Regardless of the "fun" the demon might have, Prowl knew they would accomplish much together. He would allow no other result.