The battlefield was littered with the remnants of yet another Decepticon ambush. Sparks flickered and faded, leaving only the eerie silence of metal twisted and broken. Bloodbash stood amidst the aftermath, his armor splattered with the dark residue of his enemies, his claws still faintly dripping with their venomous fluid.

He took a steadying breath, his mask hiding the weariness in his optics, though his fangs were still visible, slightly bared from the intensity of combat. The Relic of Rage thrummed faintly within him, as if acknowledging his victory, keeping his boiling anger in check after the fight.

Turning away from the fallen, he began his lone trek back to base. Each step was heavy, deliberate, and resonant, echoing through the silent landscape. He’d almost made it to the clearing when something unusual caught his attention—a faint rustling, just beyond the tree line. Bloodbash’s optics narrowed as he froze, his senses sharpening, claws at the ready