"Showtime..."
Martin lounged back with a self-satisfied smirk, surrounded by towering Transformers.
Overhead, a swarm of Cybertronians breached Wakanda's shield dome, raining down long-range firepower while surging forward like a tidal wave of steel titans.
"What a massacre," Dr. Bruce Banner muttered, strapping an ocular visor over his eyes, more to avoid the unfolding carnage than to analyze it. It wasn't a battle; it was an extermination.
In the face of the Transformers' sheer might, Wakanda's hundred-thousand-strong army looked like primitive tribesmen, caught in a storm of gods and machines.
They stood with vibranium-tipped spears in hand, vibranium-weave cloaks swirling around them, tribal war paint streaked across their faces.
"Attack! Hold the line!"
King T'Chaka's roar was ferocious. Wakandan warriors engaged their vibranium armor's energy shields, trying to resist the withering onslaught. In tandem, their spears unleashed devastating energy blasts, a fierce counterstrike amid the chaos.
All of Wakanda responded, automated defense systems sprang to life. Hidden cannons emerged from high-rise towers, launching volleys of concentrated energy blasts into the invading Cybertronian ranks.
Every barrage tore through several enemies. But it wasn't enough.
The Transformers kept coming.
"Constructicons, merge! Show them the might of the Demolition Division!"
Six green-and-purple Decepticons—Scavenger, Bonecrusher, Mixmaster, Long Haul, Hook, and Scrapper—moved with precision, locking limbs and systems into place. In seconds, the towering Devastator stood, a mechanical giant, nearly 60 feet tall, built for pure destruction.
The Constructicons weren't front-line soldiers. They were Decepticon engineers, combat-capable laborers whose job was to tear cities apart brick by brick. Now, they would do the same to a nation.
"Alright, team, aim the Solar Thermal Repeater at the shield. We make a hole and punch right through it!"
Hook, acting as Devastator's head, issued the command with natural authority. The others grumbled but obeyed, syncing their systems.
"Excellent plan. Let's burn them out with our strongest weapon."
"Tch, I had the same idea. You just said it first…"
With a synchronized motion, Devastator raised a colossal rifle, the Solar Thermal Repeater, a weapon capable of generating temperatures over 10,000 degrees Celsius.
To put that in perspective, adamantium, the rarest metal in the universe, melts at just 1,500°C. Earth's molten core only reaches about 6,000°C. A direct hit from this weapon could incinerate virtually anything, only beings of sub-Skyfather class or above could hope to endure it.
BOOM!
A blazing rupture tore open Wakanda's dome shield. Devastator let out a guttural, synthesized roar and charged forward. Every step he took shook the earth, and every stomp crushed dozens of Wakandan warriors beneath him.
Where he passed, blood sprayed and bodies broke. The battlefield became a slaughterhouse of shattered flesh and torn metal.
Even Wakanda's concentrated firepower—energy blasts, kinetic disruptors, anti-matter shells—could do little more than dent his frame.
"He's a monster... How do we stop a monster made of steel!?"
"Even our strongest plasma cannon only left a scratch!"
Panic gripped the Wakandans. Their formation fractured. Fear spread like wildfire beneath the looming shadow of the metallic juggernaut.
Then, movement.
A blur of motion shot from the lines. King T'Chaka donned the Black Panther suit, sleek and glinting with kinetic energy. His figure was agile, honed and lethal.
His people cried out, their voices primal and filled with awe and desperation. Their king was charging into the heart of destruction.
Devastator cackled, six discordant voices merged into one brutal harmony. His massive hand shot out and caught T'Chaka mid-air, crushing him in his grip.
But the vibranium suit retaliated, dispersing kinetic force back into Devastator's arm. It wasn't enough.
"Vibranium has its limits! Hold him, I'll finish this!"
Another of Devastator's limbs raised the Solar Thermal Repeater, locked it on the struggling king, and fired.
CRACK!
The heat blast struck point-blank.
T'Chaka's vibranium armor superheated, buckled, and disintegrated. His skull liquefied, his upper torso vaporized in an instant.
No scream. No farewell. Just death.
"FATHER!!! You monsters—!"
T'Challa's eyes burned red with rage. But the royal guard captain seized him, tears streaking his face.
"Your Majesty… From this moment on, you are king. Run. So long as you live, so does hope for vengeance!"
T'Challa's mind buzzed with white noise. He turned, and what he saw hollowed him out:
His once-proud army, hundred thousand strong, was being hunted down by Cybertronian war machines with cold efficiency. Some were shot. Others were crushed. None were spared.
The Decepticons weren't fighting. They were playing, like cats with mice. Laughing. Taunting. Slaughtering.
And then came Megatron.
The Decepticon Warlord entered the fray with a thunderous stride, his fusion cannon unleashing a single blast that annihilated over a hundred Wakandan warriors in an instant.
It was over.
Wakanda had fallen.
"Your Majesty, there's still hope. The gods are with us. We must reach the Sacred Realm and call upon the Panther God's protection!"
General Okoye's voice broke with emotion as he dragged T'Challa toward the jungle, toward the last secret of Wakanda.
Behind them, the nation burned.
Their people died.
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