"Devastator? Seriously?!"
A Combiner-class Transformer, now that was a battlefield juggernaut.
Individually, the six Constructicons weren't particularly powerful, certainly no match for the likes of a Prime. But once they combined into Devastator, they formed a towering engine of destruction, capable of rampaging through enemy lines like a living siege weapon.
Granted, if you excluded the Seacons, who dominated naval combat but were practically useless on land, Devastator had the unfortunate distinction of being the weakest land-based Combiner in recorded Cybertronian history.
He was infamous for falling apart at critical moments. Among the Combiners, he was something of an embarrassment. Still, even with all his flaws, Martin considered him a welcome addition to his growing army.
With a wave of his hand, Martin summoned him. A glowing interface lit up in his mind, quickly rendering a schematic—six figures took form before him.
Six lime-green construction vehicles materialized, each transforming into a robot in front of Martin:
A sweeper.
A concrete mixer.
A dump truck.
A crane.
An excavator.
A bulldozer.
These six were the components of the Combiner Devastator.
...
[Devastator]
Faction: Decepticon Demolition Division (Combiner)
Personality Profile: Chaotic (Intellect 45%, Coordination 65%)
Height: 18.28 meters
Energon Output: 8.4 million units
Status: Optimal
Combat Rating: Tier-4 (Pseudo)
Signature Quote: "Thinking and winning are not the same thing."
Evaluation: A groundbreaking product of Decepticon genius, Devastator was the first successful trial of Combiner technology. At his peak, he posed a serious threat to the Autobots. Before being decisively defeated by Megatron, he reigned as a battlefield behemoth. His greatest flaw lies in his unstable cognitive framework, each of his six component minds fights for control over the shared body. Be cautious when deploying him; friendly fire is not just possible, but probable.
...
Martin rubbed his temples as he reviewed the specs. To be fair, the strengths and weaknesses lined up exactly with what he expected.
Normally, when a Combiner forms, only one consciousness takes over, usually the dominant one, while the others fade into a passive, observational state. They can see and hear, but not act or speak.
Devastator, of course, had to be the exception. His six component minds remained active, and all retained executive control over the body. As one might imagine, this led to… complications. Tripping over his own feet wasn't just a risk, it was routine.
"Ah, my revered Creator! Your glory dazzles my sensors! My creations are monuments to your enemies' defeat, it is my honor to serve you!"
The Bulldozer took a gentlemanly bow as he spoke, reciting one of his oft-quoted catchphrases.
Ridiculous as it sounded.
Martin sighed again, massaging his brow.
"Megatron, they're yours. As chaotic as he is, Devastator's still a powerful asset, if used correctly."
Megatron marched forward, exuding raw menace, frost practically forming in the air around him. He'd already pulled Devastator's full dossier from his onboard databanks, and unsurprisingly, he was unimpressed.
Only one Combiner earned Megatron's respect, the monstrous titan of legend, the only one whose individual components could go toe-to-toe with a Prime in single combat. A behemoth so powerful he had slumbered since the Age of Primes: the ultimate Combiner, the myth, the terror—Predaking.
Now that was perfection.
By all estimates, a fully-synchronized Predaking likely ranked in the sub-Skyfather tier of power, and that was without the aid of external relics or divine enhancements.
Compared to him, these six glorified garbage trucks were just scrap metal.
"Ah! Lord Megatron, an honor to meet you! We pledge ourselves to your will!"
The Sweeper tried to butter him up with clumsy flattery, which only made things worse.
"Listen up, you six high-functioning rejects," Megatron growled. "Your orders are simple—charge. You will keep charging until you hit the damn shoreline. Anyone who slacks off or screws up, I will personally rip them apart and replace their component with another Decepticon. Got it?!"
His crimson optics flared violently. The sheer intensity in his voice sent a chill down the steel spines of the six cowed Constructicons.
Behind them, the invasion force finally emerged from the surf.
One after another, titanic machines clanked ashore, forming an endless tide of Decepticons. Hundreds of thousands of warriors had marched across the ocean floor to get here.
Many bore severe structural damage. The oceanic pressure had taken a brutal toll, marching from the depths of the Atlantic all the way to Africa was no small feat. Many had been crushed into scrap metal and left behind, entombed forever on the ocean floor.
"You're already dead. Might as well let me borrow what's left."
One Transformer, alt-mode a red Ferrari, glanced over at a neighboring Cadillac-bot. Without hesitation, he ripped the other's arm off and attached it to his own mangled frame.
It was a common scene.
These mechs were in such poor condition they were shedding bolts and components with every step. The weak ones were little more than walking junkyards.
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