re_alignment_logs | [Semi-closed/open] Don't attack the level boss alone, it's a bad idea.

WHO: Ramjet, Vector Prime, anyone else though the Vector/Ramjet fight is closed.
WHERE: A bit outside Haven, a hill has taken on a decidedly odd look ~~look he can't just sit around in the Badlands and enhancing it, it gets boring~~.
WHEN: Pretty much now.
WHAT: Vector is stupid, Ramjet whups some ass. Anyone else who wants to meet a thirty-foot tall, melty, evil jet?
WARNINGS: Violence, naturally.

The Badlands were all well and good, but that was established territory, and thus not very interesting. So Ramjet had found a tunnel-riddled hill (which he wasn't entering) and set about judiciously spending his time there.

It was starting to look a bit... wrong. Nevermind the area around the hill, which had strange holes and tears which didn't look so much "attacked" as just... lacking. He didn't really need to do that, but atmosphere was important after all.

Technically, Ramjet didn't even need to do much yet, as his mere presence was disturbing the reality around him, but he was getting bored, even if he could be patient.

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"You'll have to do better than that, Vector. Rhisling alone bit deeper, cut sharper than this." Touching the closing wound, which reveales nothing that it should but rather just twisting blackness and intermittent flares of fiery energy in the wound itself before the "normal" outside restores itself.

"Ah, that." Ramjet grins at the obvious confusion, spreading arms and sword wide as he looks his opponent over. "The lit darkness outside the angles of reality eats it, Vector. It's gone now, that piece. Diminished." Ramjet chuckles and levels his sword at his opponent, ready to spring again.

Of all things...

The taunting raises Vector's ire, overriding his caution. His optics slit, the thin, cold smile he wore before now an ugly expression of abhorring. "It can be repaired," he growls, raising his swords, twirling them in his hands once before sinking in to a battle stance. "I cannot say the same for what my Blades will do to you-!"

tick

Speaking of which, they're glowing, just a bit. Golden energy moving from the hilts down, fully encompassing the swords-

tock

-and then he's rushing forwards once more, launching another aggressive assault. This time, when the blades cut through the air, they're cutting through more- they leave thin tears in their wake, ones that heal quickly enough, but Vector Prime is actually cutting the fabric of the very world in an effort to ensure that Ramjet won't be able to regenerate.

It's a small comfort that it's able to heal, thanks the power shunt, but Vector's counting on this to ensure that when he wounds again - it'll stay wounded.

Ramjet just laughs at that expression, the tone a clear invitation, even when he can feel the different quality of Vector's attack, even when he's forced - lets himself be forced - onto the defensive. His blade slashing bright, painful arcs through the air as Ramjet blocks, and parries, each time their swords meet, the wingblade becomes a tiny amount more... deformed.

Vector Prime might not remember what he said elsewhere, elsewhen, about two of the mechs right now present in the Haven. It might be better if he had, perhaps. Convoy Super Black, Nemesis Prime he'd condemned as the spark of Primus shard within him corrupted and dead.

Ramjet, the Herald of Unicron this version of Vector Prime was facing? An uncertainty to what the, perhaps former, cybertronian even was any more. Convoy was more flexible... was clearly not beyond the touch of Primus' light.

Ramjet, as tiny flicks of Vector's swords gets through his guard as the wounds bleed black light and nothingness, pulsing in time to a rhyhm that shouldn't be..? Unhealed they may be forced to stay, but out of those wounds, white and blue tentacles slide, nearly... shyly.

They don't belong here, and yet, on this twisted abomination, who's neither pure of spark or wholly Unicron's any more, even less Primus', they fit.

"Regretting it yet, Vector Prime? Angles, boxes, flows and time, what you deal with I am beyond!" The wounds stay unhealed as Ramjet teleports, diving down at the same time as he unleashes another beam of uncreation.

It's a lot stronger, a lot larger than the first one.

Vector Prime has tried to seek lost memory before. Ever since learning of his presence in other worlds, their presence, some of his time has been devoted to understanding such...

So far, nothing. His research has been forestalled, with the more pressing threat of the Lambda and the Badlands. Such thoughts have been reluctantly pushed back, in exchange for others...

The threats at hand do far more to take up his attention. Such as this one, which will simply. Not. Fall.

Ramjet is anathema in all senses of the world. His presence is abhorrent. And Vector Prime is learning, much to his dismay, that it may not be something he can handle on his own.

But he will not back down. Even as he grimaces in the face of his foe, slits his optics in the face of his power...

"I," he seethed, "am Vector Prime. And I will not fall, not to the likes of y-"

His words are cut off as he's thrown backwards, a golden-black streak falling across the sky.

"If I could turn back time~" The words have a rudely sing-song note to them and then Ramjet laughs as he watches Vector fall for a brief moment.

Then his expression focuses and he tosses himself downwards, teleporting at the same time to appear right above the larger jet, momentarily faceplate to faceplate.

"But falling you are, old mech. It seems time makes you less... arrogant. What a pity." A blue, clawed hand reaches out, just barely brushing down the sides of the Firstforged's helm before they dig in and Ramjet's wingsword stabs down and in, a last, parting indignity as Vector's own speed is the only thing to pull him off the blade as Ramjet pauses long enough to allow that to happen.

The crater's going to be gloriously large.

Beaten, but not broken; overwhelmed, but not yielding. Even as he falls, Vector's struggling to regain his balance, his posture, anything he can use to continue the fight-

The undeniably young face looks at Ramjet, distressed but not afraid. Whatever comes, though he may dread it, there is a determination there that will not break...

Even as he gasps at the grasp, and then outright screams at the final stab. There is pain there, and the damage takes its toll as he streaks downwards, grasping at the hole- no. The void within his midsection, the circuits and machinery that are simply no longer there but wail in agony nonetheless, echoing his cries...

At least, until he hits the ground. There is the sound of collision, of metal groaning and creating as the crater does not disappoint...

And then silence from the still, unconscious form.

[Semi-closed/open] Don't attack the level boss alone, it's a bad idea.

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