Masterforce: Arena

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by kingjace, Nov 2, 2008.

  1. kingjace

    kingjace Well-Known Member

    Oct 29, 2007
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    Masterforce: Arena


    Welcome to Earth, a planet of ruined cities and harsh wilderness, forged into a harsh wasteland through centuries of conflict. The perpetual storm of Ragnarok rages across the oceans, churning tidal waves kilometers high and brewing smaller typhoons that spread across the globe. The shattered tectonic plates brush jaggedly against each other, raging the land in molten magma and volcanoes. So harsh was the environment that most of the planet's population evacuated the planet to go to the newly terraformed world of Mars. Those who stayed where either killed outright,or suffered a much more horrible fate, mutated by the radiation of countless nuclear fallouts and strange gases from deep beneath the chambers of Earth's molten core. What were once continents are now shattered splinters of their former selves, all but unrecognizable, inhabited by these mutations. A horrible fate for a once blue world.

    But, according to the legends of the ancients, it wasn't always like this. Once, in a far flung memory, there was peace, until they came. They fell from the sky, wreathed in a halo of fire, brandishing the gears of war that sent the planet into a hundred thousand years of death.

    It all started during the Great War, a conflict that lasted eons between the ancient robotic beings from the planet Cybertron. These machines were once a peaceful and industrious race, ruled by the chosen one to guide them in the light of their god. It is said that the chosen one disappeared, and in his absence, the people were divided into a feudal society. A mighty and feared warlord rose to power among the Cybertronians and gathered a following with his doctrine of hate and conquest, while a stalwart leader emerged from the masses to spread his message of hope and peace. They say the conflict was, at first, an isolated war, but so great were the two commanders' influence that the planet was soon engulfed in flames, the people divided right down the middle, branding either the crimson emblem of protection that marked them Autobots, or the purple emblem of war that named them Decepticons.

    So great was their battle that they ravaged their planet and brought it to it's end, killing off most of their people in the process and flinging the survivors into the depths of space. it was our dire misfortune that the leaders of the two factions fell to our world, and like the fatal flame of the candle, attracted all their surviving followers like moths. At first, they kept their presence hidden, their battles drawn out in secret, able to disguise themselves as vehicles. But eventually, they made their presence known, exposing the world to a reality it was better of not knowing, and their ability to change from robot to vehicle earned them the name Transformers. The Autobots were known as protectors, defending the humans from the terror of the Decepticons. But it wasn't long until we started to take sides as well, brandishing either the Autobot or Decepticon coat of arms as we went to war against our fellow man alongside these alien machines. It was during this time that the transectors were developed, lifeless machines resembling transformers but powered by a human pilot known as Masters, who either took the form of the transector's generator or head. The Masters bolstered the numbers of both sides, like gasoline to a campfire.

    It wasn't long before world leaders met in secret, arguing about the planet's impending doom in the hands of these machines. Instead on turning on both forces which could be catastrophic to the human race, the leaders decided to abandon the planet in a mass evacuation to Mars, where newly fortified defenses and shelters can house the people and protect them from the Cybertronian war. As the population slowly began its exodus, many of the Masters dropped out of sight from both sides to join their fellow humans as well. When word of this reached the Decepticon commander, he was so enraged by the betrayal that he ordered the extermination of the evacuees. All would have been loss if it wasn't for the quick actions of the Autobot commander, whose selfless reaction to the news was to support the humans in their escape.

    The war raged, and like Cybertron, our planet was soon broken, until all the transformers were destroyed save for their two commanders, whose last battle over the pacific ocean ignited the storm of Ragnarok, and were never heard from since, long ending millions of years of hate. The surviving humans, traumatized by the bloodshed endeavored to create a society of peace, starting anew in the now blue world of mars. But war was inherent to all living things, and absolute peace was found to slip their grasps, slowly dividing Mars into City States, the four strongest being Absalom, Unionberg, Freidland and Novastark.

    The planet was on the verge of another war, that is, until the arena system arose. Using the arcane Transector technology from the great war, each city state produced one Master and Transector to participate in the grand tournament, a free for all, no holds barred fight between all the city states held once every twenty years, the whole of the planet serving as battle ground. The winning city state would be deemed the ruling body of mars until the next grand tournament, thus fulfilling man's need for peace and war with one stone.

    Present time, the City State of Blues Rhapsody, 8:00 AM, 17 hours before Zero Hour...

    It was a nice sunny day, the hustle and bustle of everyday life coursing through the city as the rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, the mirrored space stations high in space were hard at work to mimic the solar cycle of an Earth day on the far planet of Mars. People in yellow uniforms were sweeping the streets as vehicles passed in the normally empty morning roads carting things for the big celebration. As the light grew brighter, streamers and banners hung between buildings became visible, wreathing the city in color as the scent of cooking began filling the air. In the City square, a huge platform was being set up as well as countless pavilions for the dancing and feasting, musicians practicing their instruments added a lively rhythm to the usual buzz of the nearby factories. The atmosphere was heavy and cheerful, as the time for the Zero Hour Festival drew near, when the ruling city state Unionberg would step down from power and mark the beginning of the Arena tournament.

    People started to fill the streets to go about their tasks, all wearing smiles and greeting each other warmly. Fred Bweller, a balding, mustached old man with a scarf, who sat on a stool next to his news stand nodded to familiar faces with a smirk as they bought the daily paper and the odd magazine from him. “It's that time again,” He said quietly, sipping on his cup of coffee as he spoke to a man standing next to him, whose face was hidden by the newspaper he was reading. “You'd think I'd be use to this in my age, but this tourney always did give me the jitters.” He eyed the man to his side who only grunted in reply, flipping the page. “They say Absalom is the favorite to win this year, what with Unionberg's star Master retiring last time.” Fred took a long sip of his brew, “I hope not, those were some hard times when Absalom was in power, what with all that marxi-whats-it-called they keep spouting around.”

    There was silence, then the stranger spoke, his voice was gruff, with a strange, hard accent to it. “I wouldn't worry about Absalom winning this year.” He flipped the page again, “Here's a tip, word says that Grendelschhrard is the city state to beat, I'd bet my money on that, old man”

    Fred cocked an eyebrow then laughed heartily, almost gasping for breath.

    “What's so funny, old man?” The stranger said, not looking away from his paper.

    “You ain't from around here are ya?” Fred said teary eyed from his luaghter.

    “Whose to say I'm not?”

    “Because then you would know, that the city state to beat,” Fred began, then pausing to drink from his cup, “Ahhh... Is Blues Rhapsody!”

    The stranger crumpled the paper he was reading in his grasp as he heard the old man say that. His face was scarred, hard angles outlining a solid jaw trimmed with a short beard. He wore a long black coat that seemed too hot for the weathher. His tone was dangerous “You don't say?”

    “I do say,” Fred continued, not catching on to the stranger's anger. “This time around, we're putting forward a Master worthy of the title, his name is- Oh, excuse me, here he comes now.” He reached at the back of the stand and took out a comic book. The stranger was about to ask what he meant when he noticed a small dust trail in the distance, rapidly getting closer.

    “Hey, Gramps!” The runner was a young boy, barely past his teenage years. He had short red hair that grew like spikes, green eyes and an idiotic grin plastered on his face. He wore a black bomber jacket with a white shirt and baggy jeans. “You got my stuff?!!”

    “The Invincible Supernova #143, right here!” Fred yelled back with a grin, holding out the comic in front of him. The boy whizzed by, grabbing the comic in mid run and leaving a cloud of dust in his trail. “>Cough Cough< Hey, watch it, Natsuke!!”

    “Sorry, Gramps!! In a hurry! Put it on my tab!” Natsuke said over his shoulder, almost running into a lamp post as he disappeared behind a corner.

    The stranger watched the altercation in mild amusement, then grunted, blowing out his bushy mustache. “You're kidding, right?”

    “Eh?” Fred replied, dusting off his sleeves. “Oh, you mean him. Well, Natsuke Harada may seem a little over energetic but he's got the skill of his father to back it up.” He turned to see the stranger had vanished, a few coins were left on the stand as well as the crumpled news paper. “Hmph, tourists.” He said as he continued drinking his brew.

    Meanwhile, across the corner of the block, the stranger's eyes followed the dust trail beforehe turned to disappear into a back alley. “Natsuke Harada, eh?” He said coldly while unbuttoning his coat. He entered a small door on the side of the building into a dark room. Feeling for the switch, he turned it on, revealing a wide space, a tarped vehicle lying in the center with bedraggled living quarters in the corner. He threw off his coat to reveal he was wearing a bulky exoskeleton, black and orange in design with a large backpack generator. Walking towards a table on the side, he picked up a visored, skull like helmet and snapped over his head onto his suit, hearing the hissing sound of the airtight lock. “Come Zero Hour, you will be the first to die at the hands of Baragne Hollers of Grendelschhrard.”

    Prologue END

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