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CHAPTER DROP: Gladiators of Kaon Ch 1
IT IS LIVE
A soundwave x Cybertronian!Reader x Megatronus fic that's GOING PLACES lemme tell you. They've already surprised me and ursurped my intended storyline twice, and I'm totally okay with that.
Takes place in the city of Kaon, back before the Decepticons were formed. Tumble about the dark impoverished bones of Cybertron with two hot deadly mechs, and take care of a sizeable collection of adorable energetic Minicons.
This area was apparently the local gladiator's armoury. Makes sense as there's an auditorium on the opposite side #pompeii #gladiators #history #historynerd #italy🇮🇹 (at Ancient City Of Pompeii)
And here is the auditorium on the other side. The views were amazing from here! #pompeii #gladiators #history #historynerd #italy🇮🇹 (at Ancient City Of Pompeii)
Malec week day 2Â Ancient Rome
Gladiator malec with and without blood.
Eater of Kings, Phantom Tyrant
Lightning flashes harshly in the sky, throwing angry illumination over bare rock and steep canyon walls, bristling in bruised thunderhead bellies.
Far below the river is oily, turbulent, pumping angrily down its vein like rotten earthly blood to distant stagnant arteries.
Furious howls erupt on the cliffs above: two titans are at war.
Tyrannosaurs. Living walls of cataclysmic predation, both nearly sixty feet long. Their screams are far beneath the audible range for humans—no, these creatures throw sonic earthquakes at each other in challenge—sound so groundshakingly loud as to make bones quake, rattle.
Their immense bodies dance in gravity-defying quickness: eagle grace made draconian in scope. A ritualistic gladiatorial cacophony with stomping feet, smashing tails, crunching jaws.
One is dark as midnight. Smooth but armored hulk an almost grotesque obsidian, slashed by mulchy blood red stripes down heaving flanks. Gnarled, thorny quills proceed down his ancient spine. Endless scars, each more horrific than the last, etched on that grizzled keratin muzzle. He is old. Old as the righteous thunderstorms, old as the badlands dust storms and swampy marshes. He is the Eater of Kings, an ancient rogue known to devour his foes, his wasteland den marked by countless Tyrant corpses..
The other is pale white, a living predatory phantom. She is marked by her own parade of near-killing blows and would-be-deaths from snout to tail tip. A singular, muscular forelimb hangs beneath her barrel-chested form. Her remaining eye burns angrily in its sunken socket, disturbingly watchful—and aware. She is the Phantom Tyrant. Killer of the warlords of the swamp, eradicator of the jungle fiefdoms. She is a living testament to prehistoric regicide.
Thunder smashes in roiling sky, eager for blood and brutality.
Jaws lock, teeth splintered into broken shaprnel clattering onto bleached ground, formidable meathook claws slashing at fortified flesh. Bodies slam against one another like living battering rams, caving bone into muscle, and rupturing organs; blood flowing from mouths as if they were some horrendous gothic fountains..