Wakanda had mobilized its entire military, an army of one hundred thousand warriors standing in formation.
This wasn't just a defense force. This was the full might of the nation, laid bare. All five tribes had answered the call. Every ounce of energy from the protective dome was being funneled to maximum output, bracing for the oncoming storm.
Martin walked forward with his hands clasped behind his back, his pace unhurried, like he was taking a casual stroll through a botanical garden rather than approaching the front lines of war. His face was calm, his gaze indifferent, as though this were merely a spectacle for his entertainment.
Behind him, an army numbering in the millions assembled, their eyes gleaming with merciless intent. Gigantic cannons, gleaming blades, and advanced weaponry extended forward, all trained on the shimmering shield that enclosed Wakanda.
"This is a decent piece of tech. Not nearly strong enough, but rare enough to be noteworthy."
Martin stepped right up to the dome, completely ignoring the 100,000 warriors garbed in traditional attire who stood ready to defend their homeland. With no hesitation, he raised his hand and pressed it against the shield.
"He's signing his own death warrant!"
"Fool! This isn't some passive defense system, this shield is built with annihilation protocols. Its energy field will vaporize anything it touches!"
Wakandan eyes zeroed in on Martin, full of anticipation and cold fury.
After all, this was no ordinary barrier. The energy source powering it lay deep underground, Wakanda's seemingly infinite supply of Vibranium. The shield's destructive capacity was beyond imagining. And yet this man had the audacity to touch it with his bare hand?
They could practically see him being incinerated on the spot.
But in the very next second, the crowd's expression shifted, shock, disbelief, and growing dread painted every face.
Martin's hand remained on the shield.
The energy did surge around his palm, crackling with raw, destructive power, but he remained perfectly unharmed.
"How… how is that possible?"
"His abilities shouldn't grant physical durability. If anything, someone like him, someone with immense psychic power, should be physically fragile. He should've been torn apart instantly!"
Wakanda's leadership stood in stunned silence. Confusion gave way to creeping fear.
According to Shuri's analysis, Martin was this army's greatest vulnerability, much like Professor X. A mind of immense power housed in a fragile vessel. A simple blade across the throat could kill him.
But this... this changed everything.
Not only was his psychic power terrifying, his body was just as formidable.
"Impressive firepower."
Martin withdrew his hand, thoughtful. The shield's attack didn't concern him in the slightest. Not when the AllSpark fused within his core rendered such energy trivial, a mere ripple compared to the cosmic furnace burning inside him.
He raised an arm and made a simple gesture.
The command transmitted instantly.
Millions of Transformers opened fire in unison. Energy cannons, plasma bursts, railguns, every kind of advanced weaponry roared to life, unleashing chaos upon the dome. Explosions rippled outward in massive shockwaves, but the barrier held, absorbing the barrage.
"To hand a Vibranium mine like this over to savages… what a waste."
Martin swept his gaze over the battlefield and exhaled softly. "Megatron. I'm going to get some coffee. This one's yours. And as for rules of engagement…"
He paused, voice hardening.
"There are none. Kill them all. I want this place wiped clean, scorched of every last primitive. Leave no survivors. Burn the corpses. Who knows what kind of filth clings to these vermin... and you know me, I have a bit of a cleanliness obsession."
He took a step back, waving Megatron off as casually as one might hand over a remote. Then he turned, walking away at leisure, searching for a vantage point to enjoy the show.
One Transformer rolled up immediately, transformed into a state-of-the-art espresso machine on the spot.
Others followed, reconfiguring into ergonomic chairs, climate-controlled parasols, and more. It was less a battlefield and more a luxury suite.
Martin wasn't leading an assault. He was enjoying a front-row seat to an execution.
At last, the Decepticon horde surged forward.
Their optics gleamed with bloodlust. At Megatron's roar, they charged.
"I don't want weaklings!" he bellowed. "Anyone who breaks through the shield alive earns a place in my new Decepticon legion! That's the only way you become one of my warriors!"
Megatron's tone was brutal, pitiless. This wasn't just war, it was natural selection by fire. A culling.
He didn't care if their spark origins were humble, or if their frames were flawed. If they could survive this, if they could force their way through Wakanda's ultimate defense, then they were worthy.
Those who made it would be granted access to the Protoform Pods, their CNA gene strands rewritten, reforged into elite Cybertronian warriors.
One after another, Transformers hurled themselves at the barrier.
The shield retaliated instantly.
Some were reduced to molten scrap, disintegrated by the vibrational feedback. Others made it halfway through, only for their frames to shear in two, unable to endure the energy distortion.
Still, none retreated.
The Decepticon army kept charging, piling atop one another, layer upon layer, like a living siege tower. Driven by madness and conviction, they began to tear the shield apart, inch by inch.
"This… this is suicide…"
Even hardened Wakandan warriors faltered. Fear flickered in their eyes. And, more disturbingly, so did a flicker of awe.
The sheer ferocity, the blind, berserker commitment of the Decepticons stunned even Wakanda's proudest fighters. These were people raised in a culture that revered strength and valor, and yet, the madness of the enemy had shaken them to their core.
"The shield… it's giving out."
King T'Chaka and Prince T'Challa stood side by side, staring at the breach forming in the dome.
More and more Decepticons were breaking through, opening fire before their metal limbs even touched solid ground.
With grim faces, father and son shared one last look.
Then, T'Chaka gave the final command.
"Wakanda Forever!!"
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TN: I smell racism here.
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