He was half again Bludgeon's height.

He wielded a sword like he had been imprinted with the skills from the moment of spark-birth.

Even his name, Saber, bespoke his skills.

And Bludgeon was out-classed.

As Saber dodged out of the way of Bludgeon's own attacks, using his energo-sword to knock back another burst of energy, turning a roll into the set-up for a jump that catapulted Saber four heights into the air, then swinging his sword in a tight arc aimed at Bludgeon's too-slow chassis, firing short bursts of energy from the blade like a repeating laser blaster, Bludgeon had to admit, this Saber guy was good.

Better than good. Better than phenomenal. Better than him.

It was quite disconcerting. The way of the Ultimate Warrior allowed only for excellence. There were no peers for a master of Metallikato. And yet, Saber was not only a peer, he outmatched Bludgeon in every category.

Speed? Strength? Energy bursts? Bludgeon had these all, but Saber made Bludgeon look like a catatonic umber, sealed against any transmission of power. For vorn after vorn, Bludgeon had been the best single and small group combatant in the Decepticon army. To learn that there was a better warrior out there not only angered him and injured his pride, it frightened him.

It was almost all Bludgeon could do to avoid Saber's lunges, strikes, sweeps, kicks, punches, rolls, throws, bursts of fire, and parries. His own pitiful retaliatory strikes barely did cosmetic damage.

If Bludgeon didn't try something drastic, and soon, he would lose this fight. And not only that, but he would die. Either by Saber's hands or his own; Metallikato held no room for failure or mediocrity.

"The only teacher is the enemy." Bludgeon half-quoted to himself. Well, if so, Bludgeon was learning a lesson, all right.

Saber's strikes were too fast and powerful for him to get close long enough to do more than scratch his paint. His hail of energy blasts worked just as suppression fire was supposed to, keeping him either huddled behind cover or running for his life. He couldn't get in to attack him, he couldn't stay far away and attack him--Saber hadn't been hit by even one of Bludgeon's bursts. Bludgeon was at his wit's end. He had not been beaten by an opponent in a long time. He had almost forgotten how it felt.

If he were a different Decepticon, perhaps the mere fact that his opponent was an Autobot would have sent him into a blind fury. But he was Bludgeon. Metallikato dictated that a warrior think his way out of a fight before committing to an attack, and never allow his emotions to control him. But the anger and the humiliation and the fear mingled too freely in his core. Only a spark-less machine felt no emotions. How could Bludgeon escape the icy grip of his fears?

By cutting out his spark?

Half distracted, Bludgeon ducked behind a string of ruins, older than this current fight, but utilized by each combatant as cover or even a weapon. It was a ridiculous thought: all Cybertronians were granted life by their sparks. To remove a spark would be to kill himself.

Well, I reckon I may have to do that, if I can't beat Saber!

It was true. One of the precepts of Metallikato was "Satisfaction for success, and death for failure." So far, Bludgeon had never failed. But it was looking more and more likely as each astrosecond ticked by.

Finally, Saber found Bludgeon's hiding place. Bludgeon used his own sword as a shield momentarily, knocking Saber's blade away from its mark. Saber's strike still came perilously close to injuring Bludgeon, though. Another stab of anger and fear and humiliation surged through him. He leapt away, higher than most could without hydraulic springs in their legs. Not as high as Saber.

But Bludgeon had actually counted on that, this time. "Fight smarter, and harder," was another precept of the Ultimate Warrior. As Saber followed Bludgeon into the air, Bludgeon kicked out. Saber had jumped up as high as Bludgeon, but with more speed, more force. Bludgeon's kick reached Saber's face, and bounced Bludgeon forward, and Saber back.

When Bludgeon landed, he rolled to absorb most of the impact, and cast about for sight of Saber. So far, nothing. But that didn't keep Bludgeon rooted to the same spot. He ran for cover again.

I'm going to die. He'll kill me, or I'll kill myself. And behind that, another thought: Spark removal was suicide.

Except that wasn't true. Not entirely. The Martyrs had disconnected their sparks, and they still continued to function.

As mindless computers. Not as thinking, living machines. And yet, by a certain reading of the precepts of Metallikato, a mindless computer was what was needed to become the Ultimate Warrior. A computer could still reason. A computer could still mimic life. To a stranger, it could seem like a real person; before the war, there were many drones that had been treated as members of the household by their owners.

It was ridiculous. The only reason the Martyrs had been able to do it was because their sparks were special. They were capable of generating energy with them. Disconnecting their sparks from their laser cores had been possible because of the energy generation properties they had. Only because of the Martyrs' sacrifice had the Golden Age come to pass. The near infinite energy generation possible afterwards had been like a dream.

These and other, unrelated thought spooled through Bludgeon's head as he tried to think of a way to beat Saber. He could come up with nothing. He was too busy thinking through the possibilities of uncoupling his spark.

He heard Saber in the distance, finally approaching his hiding place. It would be soon, now.

"You follow the way," Saber's voice came to him as though from a great distance. Bludgeon was distracted! He couldn't fight distracted! Shaking his head, he forced himself back to the present, to the fight. Saber had spoken. Was he trying to provoke a response? Did he expect Bludgeon to reveal his location?

"Metallikato. The way of the Ultimate Warrior. The Way of Death."

Yes, the Way of Death. That was one translation of Metallikato. It was not the only one, of course, but it was apt.

"It is a foolish way. My master told me of the last follower of the way. She misjudged the strength of her energy bolts, and fried herself. And she could have stopped it easily, if she had only discharged the bolt. It was as though she wanted to die."

Of course, you idiot. Misjudging the strength of her energy bolt? That would have been failure. "Death for failure." I'm a failure. I must die.

But how do you define death? A cessation of operation?

Or separation from your spark?

Thinking of it that way, it somehow became easier. He was just disconnecting a superfluous piece of his composition. It was like a repair. Mere maintenance.

Bludgeon stepped out into the open. "You do not understand the way."

Saber nodded. "And I hope I never do."

"Hope?" Bludgeon laughed. "There is no hope. There is no desire. There is nothing but life, and death, and all life is conflict."

And with that, Bludgeon charged Saber.

For a moment, for less than a moment, Saber was surprised. And then he brought up his sword in a block, but as soon as their blades made contact, Bludgeon moved again, pushing Saber's blade away, twirling into Saber's personal space. He was either dead or he wasn't. And as long as he lived, he would fight.

No more running.

No more hiding.

No more fear, humiliation, or anger.

There was nothing.

Just his sword, his enemy, and his spark.

And like that, the three became one.

He swiped at Saber just as Saber brought his sword around for the only attack possible from that angle . . . and Saber's blade pierced Bludgeon's body and slid through his components and found his laser core and his spark . . .

And Saber's sword split them.

At the same time, Bludgeon's own sword met no real resistance as it slipped into Saber's body. A fueling repository was slashed in two, spilling liquid energon internally.

They had beaten each other.

If Saber did not receive emergency refueling and repairs soon, his power would slowly leak out of him.

While Bludgeon was no longer alive at all, by the strict definition of Cybertronian life. His spark had gone offline.

But they were both still operational. Saber's optics blinked, rapidly, as his central diagnostic units worked overtime to divert energy away from minor tasks, all in the hope of keeping his body alive. Bludgeon's own optics flared, then went a dull white, and then faded to grey, and finally to black. They glowed black.

And his laser core and CPU were still online. He could access memories of his entire operational span. He still contained his knowledge. He was incapable of emotion, and yet he still felt, perhaps not strongly, a sense of satisfaction.

He had done it.

"Satisfaction at success," after all.

As the moments passed, Bludgeon quickly tested it. No, he felt no fear. He felt no anger. Not even the humiliation, nor even regret. He had done it.

As a crew of Autobots arrived to rescue their comrade, Bludgeon felt a cold smile spread on his face. And as they extricated Saber from him, he thought, I am the Ultimate Warrior!

His body was left behind as Saber was removed from the battlefield. Finally he tested his range of motion.

He sat up. He stood. He swung his sword. He kicked at shadows, punched the wreckage. He jumped.

He was better than alive. He was perfect.

He was a master.

END OF PART FIVE