Chapter 62: Fanaticism

Loki barely dodged Logan's feral slash, scrambling away before leaping off the edge of Stark Tower. But Logan didn't hesitate for a second, he dove right after him, forcing Loki to curse under his breath.

Midgard is crawling with troublesome pests, he thought bitterly. Far more than I expected.

"Not again…"

A sudden sharp pain pierced Loki's skull. He immediately turned his gaze toward the source and locked eyes with Professor X, his expression darkening with deep wariness. Thankfully, the scepter in his grip, the Scepter of Mind, amplified his psionic defenses.

"The Transformers are joining the battle… excellent. That means Martin's forces have entered the field as well." Loki's demeanor twitched with a near-manic glee, though the hatred carved into his features was unmistakable.

He would never forget who those monstrous machines once served, a tyrant as cruel as he was sadistic.

From the blazing Ground Bridge, tens of thousands of Transformers surged forth, their forms cold and metallic, unleashing relentless volleys of firepower in every direction.

Having received orders to annihilate, the Decepticon warriors showed no hesitation. Their crimson optics gleamed with savage delight, each of them radiating bloodlust and eagerness.

"Slaughter and destruction, things the Decepticons are naturally superior at compared to the Autobots," Martin observed from afar, his tone calm, almost amused. "But even that gap… can be closed."

Bathed in the stench of blood and gunfire, Martin's face wore a look of twisted satisfaction. To him, the Chitauri, Outriders, and Sentinels were mere cannon fodder, warm-up acts for the true war to come.

"These things are too powerful. Each of them is on par with a JARVIS-level AI. I need to finish the anti-Transformer armor yesterday—wait, is that… a human face insignia on their chassis?"

Tony Stark's gaze sharpened as he conducted a rapid scan. In seconds, a flood of data filled his HUD, drawing his full attention. Something had shifted, something he hadn't anticipated.

Across the chaotic battlefield, the air was thick with agony and thunder. Screams and explosions merged into a single, unrelenting cacophony. Shattered skyscrapers collapsed into rubble, raising walls of dust that cloaked the battlefield in apocalyptic gloom.

Transformers roared with fervor, eyes blazing. Some locked onto avenues and unleashed relentless barrages. Others climbed the remnants of towers, swinging colossal blades down upon their foes. One leapt off a skyscraper and cleaved a floating behemoth clean in half with sheer brute force, an act of dominance writ large.

Two towering figures emerged last from the bridge—silent, imposing, watching.

Megatron's crimson optics whirred, adjusting rapidly as internal calculations fed into his cognitive core. He could feel it, his very systems were behaving erratically, yet exhilaratingly. His energon output had surged by 27%. His Spark was pulsing with a 23% increase in excitation…

"My body is undergoing mass recalibration," Megatron growled, tapping his cranial plating as he scanned his internal database. "Optimus, I can feel it… excitement."

Optimus Prime said nothing at first. He reached behind his back and drew a massive sword, its polished blade humming with power.

"I do not seek war," he said, voice steady as ever, "but if it must come, I will never shy from it."

Without another word, Optimus charged into the fray. Swinging his sword in sweeping arcs, he carved down Chitauri with merciless precision. Backed by Tier-4 firepower and a towering frame, he tore through enemy ranks like a force of nature.

Megatron could no longer hold back. He reared his head and let out a thunderous roar, primal and fierce. His optics glowed like twin blood suns as he beheld the battlefield, a vision soaked in flame, fury, and carnage.

Above him, enemy craft spiraled in smoke-trailing death throes. The skies teemed with foes, from foot soldiers to aerial monstrosities. Wave after wave poured from a massive wormhole, flooding the battlefield with grotesque alien giants.

And yet, to Megatron, it was glorious.

This world, awash in chaos and ruin, was his true home.

His roar reverberated across the battlefield, not a high-pitched screech, but the deep, guttural bellow of a beast in its element.

The sound drew swarms of enemy aircraft toward him. Chitauri soldiers swooped in, unleashing salvo after salvo of plasma fire.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

The blasts hit Megatron dead-on, blows that would have vaporized tanks and fighter jets in an instant. But the Decepticon Lord barely flinched. He didn't even move.

"Die, you miserable crawling filth!! HAHAHAHAHA!!"

With a mad cackle that split the sky, Megatron launched himself into the air, a living battering ram. His fists were wrecking balls, his fusion cannon a storm of annihilation.

The battlefield's soundtrack—howls, screams, gunfire, explosions—seemed composed just for him.

Skyscrapers crumbled. Enemy lines broke. Firestorms swept the concrete plains.

Transformers, in every shape and size, fought with unrelenting savagery. Together, they turned Earth's defenders into prey, waging a war of total devastation.

Blood-soaked. Relentless. Real.

This wasn't just conflict. It wasn't just a fight.

This was war, the kind that could turn even a shining city like New York into a hellscape worthy of the Pit itself.

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