The Rising Darkness

The god of creation, Primus, looked down on the world he'd created, feeling pleased with himself. Cybertron was a beautiful world. The sprawling oceans were interrupted by the masses of the four continents, and by chains of islands. The land masses were teeming with life, based on the life he'd seen other gods creating. He'd brought his dream to life, and the other gods were taking up their roles in governing and ruling it.

His eternal enemy, Unicron, growled from somewhere off in deep space and fired a power flare at Cybertron. It took a complex life-form and twisted it into something else, something dark. Before the creature finished forming, Primus struck at it, managing to give it a core of pure light. Then it finished forming, and there was nothing else he could do. The creature had been born underground, and now it broke the surface. Primus stared at what had been created.

The creature was tall, with black skin and equally black hair. It was humanoid in build, with two arms and two legs, a muscular body, and a slim build. Two eyes, the color of fresh-spilled blood, glowed brilliantly. The creature pushed itself up, revealing itself to be male, despite the lack of certain male extremities. He was completely naked, and covered in dirt from forming underground. When he opened his mouth, Primus saw a set of sharp, curved fangs in his mouth, where his upper canine teeth should be.

"I am...Rodimus," the creature said in a deep baritone voice. He looked down at himself, studying himself. "I am...alive."

Rodimus studied himself and decided that the first order of business was to find himself some clothes. At that moment his stomach growled, reminding him that he needed to eat. After looking around for a moment, he spotted a herd of animals, four-legged, green-scaled creatures with curved horns and claws, nearby, and went into lurk mode, slowly sneaking up on them. One wandered too close, and he pounced, driving his fangs into its throat, drinking every drop of its blood. Once he'd drained it dry, he looked at its hide, judging it unfit to be used as clothing. He left it where it lay and melted into the bushes. Predators began arriving to feed on the carcass. Then he spotted the one he wanted.

The beast looked like a six-legged wolf with three eyes and two tails. It had a thick pelt, and a long coat of fur. He snuck as close as he could, then pounced. The wolf never even knew what hit it. He wrenched its neck at a brutal angle, snapping its spine. Then he dragged it off into the bushes, skinned it, and used his own techniques to tan it. Finally, he wrapped it around his waist, then melted into the bushes. He shifted into a ground-eating trot, and was miles away in a few minutes.

"What is that?" the divine king, Solaris Sunlord, asked, looking over Primus's shoulder.

"I'm not really sure. Unicron twisted it into this form. I saw it feed, and it fed on blood."

"On blood?" Solaris shuddered.

"Yes. On blood."

"Then it must be a vampire."

On the planet below, the vampire named Rodimus thrived, feeding on animals and wearing their skins as clothing. Finally, Primus went ahead with one of his ideas and created a robotic race. For a time, Rodimus avoided them, merely watching. Then he became bolder, and began cornering the bots when they were out hunting. When he drank their blood, he only took enough to satisfy his hunger, leaving his victims alive, if dazed. He never killed his robotic prey. When the robots, who called themselves the Drishora, meaning "The People" in their tongue, discovered him, they dismissed him as a pest. Then one startled him while he was feeding. He spat a mouthful of blood and saliva into his prey's torn throat and fled.

His victim died.

He was buried a day later. Not long after, the grave was checked. It had been disturbed. Something had been trying to get out. Then they saw him.

The dead bot was leaning on a wall, grinning. His eyes were red, and he had a set of sharp fangs. They were just like Rodimus's fangs.

"He turned me," the new vampire explained casually. "He gave me power and immortality. And now I think I'll choose a new name to fit my new life. I think I'll call myself Darkmoon."

He laughed. Then he vanished into the shadows.

Rodimus bristled as he heard movement. Then someone materialized out of the darkness, and became another vampire. He recognized the bot he'd supposedly killed.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" he demanded.

"I am called Darkmoon. As for why I am here, to pledge loyalty to the one who made me a vampire." Darkmoon bowed to him.

Rodimus eyed him suspiciously. The muscles in his back and arms were as tense as harpstrings tuned too tightly. His crimson eyes narrowed. He clearly didn't trust Darkmoon in the least.

Of the two vampires, Darkmoon was the more violent. Only Rodimus could control him. And even then his control was tenuous. Finally he became colder and more savage, and soon had Darkmoon behaving himself.

"I for one will not let these monsters feed off of me!" one of the younger Drishora roared. "They kill our livestock, drink our blood, and think we will bow to them!"

Angry roars of agreement rose from the watching crowd. They were becoming more dangerous by the minute.

"I say we destroy them before they destroy us!"

The roars blended into a deafening thunder-like noise. The Drishora scattered to gather weapons, then marched off to where Rodimus and several other vampires were living. Crying out with anger, the mob stormed the modest structure. Two vampires were caught completely off guard. They were dragged down and hacked to pieces. The other vampires came running out to see what was going on. They were slaughtered. Rodimus came out in time to witness the slaughter. The sight of his people being butchered before his eyes woke something deep in his soul. And it wasn't pleasant.

His eyes blazed, redder than they'd ever been. Throwing back his head, he let out a furious roar, then launched himself into battle.

The Drishora soon discovered that the methods of killing that worked on the other vampires didn't work on him. On the other hand, his methods for killing them worked perfectly. The death toll began to climb. He was tasting blood full of hatred and anger, and was influenced by it. He lost himself in the thrill of battle, savoring the taste of hate-tainted blood. He went through them like a harvester's scythe through grain. Finally, the survivors lost heart, turned, and fled, leaving thousands of their own dead on the plain in front of the structure. Rodimus stood in the midst of the carnage, his skin covered in blood, panting, his chest heaving, staring after them with eyes full of battle-rage. Then he turned and surveyed the results of the massacre.

Over six thousand Drishora lay dead and dying. Once the very thought of killing so many would've made him ill. Not this time. As he surveyed the death he'd caused, he felt a strange sensation running through him, but it wasn't remorse.

It was pleasure.

He smiled to himself. Then he got to work, creating more vampires, creating an army. Once he'd made all the vampires he could, he began training them to fight. Like their predecessors, they were utterly loyal to him. He was their only lord. They called him Prince of Darkness. He corrected them, ordering them to call him the Shadow Lord.

Rodimus stood on a rock spire, looking out over the four thousand seven hundred nineteen vampires below. They were all watching him, waiting for his orders. He grinned coldly, eyes flashing with anticipation.

"Those who live in the valley below slaughtered your brothers and sisters, and tried to kill me! They are the enemy!" he roared. "Now it is time for us to avenge those they butchered! Kill those who resist! Enslave the rest!"

The waiting army burst into cheers and yells. A chant started from somewhere in the crowd.

"Death! Death! Death! Death!"

"Attack!"

The vampire army broke over the unsuspecting city like a tsunami. The city dwellers were taken completely by surprise, and offered little resistance. They were swiftly conquered.

The city's leaders were brought to Rodimus and forced to kneel before him. The vampire lord was seated on a throne made of animal bones, wearing a skirt or kilt made of the skins of his victims. The throne was borne on the shoulders of eight other vampires. His eyes blazed with triumph as he gazed at the Drishora kneeling on the blood-soaked ground.

"You tried to destroy me," he purred, savoring the way the trembled with fear at the sound of his voice. "But you failed. I was born from a dark god's dream and a light god's nightmare. I cannot be killed. Now you must pay the price for your stupidity!"

The oldest of the city leaders glared at him. "We will never serve you!"

Rodimus's grin was that of a predator with its prey in its teeth. He raised a single finger. Instantly, another vampire tore the rebel's throat out.

"I am the Shadow Lord, king of vampires, and the new lord of Cybertron! You will obey me or you will die!"

His laws were enforced with the whip and fang. The Drishora were forced to build him a palace of black stone. The only black stone was mined in a quarry miles away. The enslaved Drishora were forced to cut massive stone block and drag them to the site of the new palace. They worked under the merciless eyes of the vampires, and were at the whim of the Shadow Lord himself. The prettiest females were his personal slaves. He used them as he pleased, and fed off them at his leisure. His overseers always wore armor, and the slaves were always chained, so there was no chance of a rebellion. At night they were chained wrist and ankle and left out to face the elements while Rodimus slept in a tent, on a warm bed draped with the pelts of his prey.

The palace took six months to plan and begin. Construction took three years. During that time dozens succumbed to illness or to the blood-thirst of the vampires. Once the palace was finished they were put to work building a city below the palace, and growing crops. The vampire populations grew quickly. Their armies spread out to conquer more and more cities and territory. They were never defeated. Soon the entire continent was under their rule, and hundreds of thousands of peoples had succumbed to vampiric rule. The Shadow Lord held their lives in his fist. He was utterly ruthless, and could kill thousands without batting an eyelash. For twenty million years the vampires ruled the continent.

Then a new enemy arrived.

Rodimus's senses had been screaming warnings for days before the first glimmers of light appeared in the night sky. The tiny specks were moving, streaking across the sky, heading right for them.

"My Lord, what are they?"

"I don't know. But I do know they bring danger."

The vast armies gathered warily watching the specks approach. Special underground caverns were prepared in case the vampires had to go into hiding. They prepared to fight.

Their new enemies brought the fight in a way not even the vampires could counter. They attacked from the sky, firing blasts of energy at the vampires below. The shots disintegrated many vampires. Many fled into the caverns. Rodimus was dragged into the safety of the caves. Those who didn't make it were killed.

The Quintessons had arrived on Cybertron.

Quintesson warlords went to inspect the palace, and found it a place of death and nightmares. The place gave them nightmares. They were a ruthless race, but that palace surpassed anything they'd ever seen or caused in all their travels. They avoided it. The city below was leveled, and factories were built over its ruins. The factories were soon put to work building robots for sale as slaves offworld.

"We can't let them get away with this!" Rodimus raged, pacing furiously. "This world is ours!"

"They have laser weapons," another vampire pointed out. "Not even we can stand up to that. They'll slaughter us."

"I never said we'd take them on directly." Rodimus showed his fangs. "We're masters of stealth, remember? We can get into their compounds and raise holy hell without ever being seen. We'll weaken them bit by bit until they have no choice but to leave."

That statement was met with grins and evil laughter. The vampires prepared to move out.

The Quintessons soon found themselves being sabotaged left and right. They found their slave-bots and guards dead, puncture marks on their necks, expressions of utter terror on their faces. No matter what they tried, they never caught the culprits. Whoever it was always managed to avoid the security cameras.

"Deploy the Sentinels!"

Not even the Sentinels could stop the saboteurs. They only reported a cloud of thick mist that flowed down the corridors, melting locks and scrambling computers. One swore he'd seen a pair of red eyes watching him from within a mist cloud.

"Clouds don't have eyes!"

"No, but I've heard people say that the vampires who ruled here could turn into mist."

"Vampires are only fairy tales!"

Two days later, the Quintesson who'd called vampires myths was found dead, fang punctures on his major bloodlines. Terror was forever frozen on his face.

Chilling laughter echoed through the night.

Little by little, the vampires cut down the Quintessons' numbers. Finally, the slave-bots decided they'd had enough, and rebelled. With the subtle help of the vampires, they eventually won the rebellion, driving the Quintessons off the planet. Instead of thanking the vampires for their help, the Transformers took over the planet. They built cities and fortresses, factories and strongholds. They lived in an era of peace they called the Golden Age.

After millions of years of peace, war broke out. The vampires, who'd been surfacing, went back underground. As the years passed, several wars erupted, devastating the continent.

"Who do these creatures think they are?"

"They dare usurp our rightful territory!"

Rodimus clenched his fists, growling. "They must be taught a lesson! They will learn to respect us!"

Transformers on both sides of the war felt the bite of the vampires' fangs. Bots were killed or turned, cities were sabotaged, machinery went missing or ended up torn to pieces. No one had a clue as to what was happening.

The sabotage went on for years. No suspects were ever caught.

The Autobot Optimus Prime came to power. He was set on solving the mystery of the sabotage. He had special cameras set up in one of the most frequent targets, and caught a mist cloud appearing out of nowhere in a place where there shouldn't have been any mist. Then a bot stepped out of the mist.

According to the sensors, the bot had no life signs.

"No life signs? That's impossible! How can a corpse be up and walking?"

"What's he doing?"

One of the guards had rushed the bot. The bot neatly sidestepped, then delivered a hard kick to the torso, doubling the guard over. The bot flashed an impressive set of fangs, then drove them into the guard's neck. The guard screamed. The bot fed off him, leaving a drained body on the floor. Before returning to mist, the bot looked up at the camera and smiled, exposing his fangs and the blood on his jaw.

Kup, one of the older Autobots, paled. "He's a vampire!"

"Kup, vampires are only stories."

"There's no story about them. They're real. Very real. Long ago they ruled this entire continent. They were ruled by the oldest of their kind, a vampire they call the Shadow Lord. He was utterly ruthless. The Quintessons drove them underground, but their influence helped us win the rebellion. Now they want us gone."

"Can they be reasoned with?"

"I don't know. No one's ever gone into the Shadow Lord's presence and survived to tell the tale. No one even knows where he is."

"Is there any way to catch a vampire?"

"Because they can turn to mist, probably not."

"We'll see."

Prime set a trap. When the vampire came back, a cage of forcefields surrounded him, preventing him from leaving. The Autobot leader went to face the vampire.

Blue optics met red eyes. The vampire flashed his fangs, but made no move to attack.

"What do you want?" Prime asked.

"For you to get off our land! This is our home! You're destroying our home with your pointless wars! We want you to stop your fighting and get off our continent! We ruled here long before you ever existed! This land belongs to us! You've had your time here, now get lost! Give us back our home!"

"I see no claim to this land."

"Have you not seen the black palace on the mountainside? It is our lord's home. It was built there eighty million years ago. The Quintessons drove us out with their ships and guns. Now it is time for us to reclaim what is rightfully ours." The vampire's eyes flashed.

"I want to speak with your lord."

"You want to die?"

"I want to speak with him."

The vampire frowned. "You are bold. Let me out. I will take your request to him."

Prime let the vampire go. The vampire dissolved into mist and was gone.

"Do you believe him?" Jazz asked.

"Nightfire says that palace was built at the exact time the vampire said. If vampires really are immortal, it's a good bet he saw it being built. Which means he's telling the truth."

Two days later, the vampire returned.

"Well?"

"In two days you will go to the ruins of the Palace of Thorns, the fallen Quintesson stronghold. He will meet with you there."

"At what time should I go?"

"At nightfall." His message delivered, the vampire vanished again.

At the appointed time, Prime went to the ruins.

Soft whispers of movement reached his ears. Then he saw torchlight. Slowly, he approached it.

Several vampires were waiting there. Three or four held torches burning white-hot. All wore protective armor.

"I can hear your heart beating," a cool voice informed him. "Come out of the shadows."

Obediently, Prime emerged from the darkness, stepping into the circle of light. The vampires parted, revealing the one who must be the Shadow Lord.

He was black, the black of a starless night, of obsidian. His hair was the same black. Eyes of cold ruby surveyed him cooly. He was sitting on a makeshift throne draped with animal skins, and dressed in leather made from the hides of past victims. Gold and gems adorned his arms and hands. A crocodile fang hung from one ear. He had the aura of power around him. Prime could see a vast intelligence in those eyes.

"Why would a mere mortal want to see the most powerful vampire?" the Shadow Lord asked.

"To see if an agreement can be worked out between our two peoples."

"And why would you want an agreement?"

"To stop the conflict between your race and mine. So we can live in peace."

"You are our prey. Long ago we held your ancestors as our slaves. Why should we consider peace when your kind can be conquered now as you were once before?"

"To conquer us would result in the deaths of many of your people. No good commander or lord wants to risk too many casualties. If you went to war with us, many vampires would perish. Our enemies, the Decepticons, can fly. They can attack from the air, as the Quintessons once did. According to Kup, one of our elders, that type of attack was what forced you underground when the Quintessons arrived."

Rodimus's hands clenched into fists. "Why tell me this?"

"I don't want to cause more bloodshed. I was hoping that we could join forces to finish off the Decepticons, then work on the issue of land ownership without having to go to war."

The Shadow Lord considered that. "Go on."

"Once the threat of the Decepticons has been neutralized, we can work out a peaceful solution to who owns what land, and prevent more unnecessary killing. We'll help reinforce your palace's defenses to withstand Decepticon attacks. Iacon is a permanent city, but we can work something out. Or you can join us in Iacon."

Rodimus frowned thoughtfully. He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he looked up.

"Agreed. Expect us at dawn."

Prime bowed to him, then withdrew. The vampires also left.

"Well?" Kup asked.

"He agreed. They're coming at dawn."

At dawn, all Autobots were on Iacon's walls, looking for any sign of the vampires. Then Blaster spotted them.

"Here they come!"

Rodimus walked in the lead. With him came over three hundred vampires.

"Once they numbered in the millions. Now these are all who remain."

"Fate has been cruel to them."

The Autobots accepted the vampires as their comrades. The vampires began making friends among the Autobots. Rodimus was often with Prime, Perceptor, and Grapple, planning new defenses for the palace. The Autobot armsmasters were busy forging armor for the vampires. The Autobots were determined to protect the survivors.

Rodimus looked at Prime curiously. "We once enslaved your kind, killed you for food, and conquered your peoples. Why would you take such steps to defend us, your ancient rivals?"

Prime looked at him solemnly. "It's our nature to protect those who are in danger. There are barely three hundred of you left. Your populations are so low you're in danger of becoming extinct. We can't allow that to happen. You are a noble race. You kill to survive. We understand that. And we know how you were treated before you began conquering other races. You were hunted and killed by races who feared you. The first slaughter left you the sole survivor. We won't let that happen again."

The vampire king stared at him, startled by that admission. "You would fight to keep us alive?"

"We would."

"No one has ever been so kind to us before. This is a new experience for me."

The Autobot leader smiled. It was visible in his eyes even if his mask hid it from view.

Slowly, the gentle bot Rodimus had once been began to resurface. He was curious about everything. Perceptor shared his curiosity. The Autobot scientist began asking about Rodimus's origins. Rodimus wasn't able to tell him much. He didn't know where he'd come from. He just knew he'd suddenly awoken, underground, and had dug himself out.

Inside Prime's chest compartment, the Matrix pulsed.

"Prime?"

"It was Primus. He told me that Rodimus was created as a tool for evil by Unicron, the god of chaos and destruction. Primus gave him a soul of light, breaking Unicron's hold over him and setting him free. Now Rodimus is his own master."

"I was created by a dark god?"

"Yes, you were."

Rodimus's brow creased. "I know of Primus, but I've never heard of Unicron before."

"Unicron is Primus's ancient enemy. Unicron is a destroyer. He cannot create life, but he can twist it. He is called Planet-Eater as well as Chaos-Bringer."

"Ah. Even gods have enemies."

"Yes, unfortunately. And they are forbidden from interfering in our lives."

"I can understand the reasoning behind that. They gave us the gift of free will. To interfere would be to betray the trust they placed in us. We have to choose our own destinies. We can only ask them for guidance, and it's up to them whether they answer or not."

"You understand them better than we do."

"I've lived in their shadow far longer than you have."

Prime laughed. "Then we shall choose our own destinies. I think Fate has chosen to entwine the destinies of our two races. Allies?" He offered his hand.

Rodimus looked at him for a long moment. Then he took Prime's hand. "Allies."

The treaty was signed several days later. The two races became allies. They formed bonds nothing could break. Those bonds held for many eons into the future.

Fin.