Transformers Galvatron Self Insert (TFP)

Location: Verdant Prime – Autobot Settlement POV: Kup

Verdant Prime was a sanctuary. Its emerald forests stretched endlessly, their vibrant hues glowing under twin suns that bathed the landscape in golden light. The Autobots had carved out a quiet existence here, building their settlement among the towering trees and crystal-clear rivers. For decades, the planet had been their refuge—a place to heal, to reflect, and to dream of a life free from the horrors of war.

But today, Verdant Prime felt different. The air was heavy with tension, the usual hum of energon processors and laughter replaced by the metallic clatter of weapons being readied. Kup stood at the settlement's edge, his battle-worn frame blending into the rocky outcrop that overlooked the valley.

He scanned the horizon, his optics taking in the rows of ships parked in the clearing below. Younger Autobots bustled around the vessels, hauling supplies and running pre-flight checks. Kup's grip on his rifle tightened.

"They're eager," Hound said, stepping up beside him. His green frame cast a shadow over the rocky ground, his usually relaxed demeanor replaced by a quiet intensity.

"Too eager," Kup muttered, his voice gruff. "Look at 'em. Scramblin' like a bunch of turbofoxes caught in a storm. Eagerness won't stop a Decepticon cannon blast."

Hound followed Kup's gaze, his optics narrowing as he watched Moonracer direct a group of scouts. "Can you blame 'em? Most of these bots haven't even seen a real fight. They grew up hearin' stories of the Great War—stories we told to make 'em proud. We didn't tell 'em about the energon stains, or the friends we buried."

Kup's jaw tightened. "No, we didn't. Maybe we should've." He turned, his optics locking onto Hound's. "You think we're ready for this? Really ready?"

Hound hesitated, his optics flickering. "We don't have a choice, Kup. The Council's right about one thing: Galvatron's not like the Decepticons we knew. He's somethin' else. Somethin' worse."

Kup snorted, turning back to the valley. "I've seen worse. Thought I'd buried worse. Now it feels like we're diggin' it back up." He paused, watching as Moonracer's group finished loading a crate onto a transport. "Keep an optic on 'em, Hound. They'll need someone to steer 'em right when things go sideways."

---

Location: Autobot Training Grounds

POV: Moonracer

The training grounds were makeshift—a patch of flattened dirt surrounded by dense forest, with target dummies crafted from salvaged parts. Moonracer stood in the center, her vibrant teal armor glinting in the sunlight as she adjusted her grip on her rifle.

A group of younger Autobots gathered around her, their optics wide with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Most of them were barely out of their first upgrades, their frames gleaming with fresh plating that had never seen combat.

"Alright, listen up," Moonracer said, forcing a smile as she raised her rifle. "This is your standard-issue energon blaster. Reliable, accurate, and easy to handle. Aim, fire, and repeat." She demonstrated, firing a perfect shot that disintegrated the target dummy's head. "Easy, right?"

One of the younger bots raised a shaky servo. "What if the Decepticons shoot back?"

Moonracer's smile faltered. Her optics flicked to the treeline, as if searching for an answer among the shadows. "Then... you shoot faster," she said, her voice softer.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their excitement dimming. Moonracer sighed, lowering her rifle. "Look, I know it's scary. But you're Autobots. That means somethin'. We've faced worse than Galvatron before, and we've always come out stronger. Just trust your instincts and stick together."

The sound of heavy footsteps made her turn. Hound approached, his imposing frame a stark contrast to her slender build. "Mind if I step in?" he asked gruffly.

Moonracer nodded, stepping aside as Hound addressed the group. "Alright, rookies. Here's the deal. This ain't a game. Out there, you'll see things that'll make your servos shake and your energon run cold. But you don't run. You don't freeze. You look out for the bot next to you, and you keep movin'. Got it?"

The younger bots nodded, their fear giving way to determination.

As the group dispersed, Moonracer turned to Hound. "Thanks," she said quietly. "They needed to hear that."

Hound shrugged. "They'll need a lot more than words to survive what's comin'."

---

Location: Galactic Sector Delta – Void

POV: Lockdown

The Nightmare's Prize was a vessel of contradictions. Its exterior was a fearsome display of jagged armor and concealed weaponry, a warship designed to strike fear into even the bravest opponent. But its interior was something else entirely—a chaotic amalgamation of trophies, weapon caches, and bizarre curiosities from Lockdown's countless exploits.

Lockdown prowled the bridge, his claws clicking against the deck as his optics swept over the displays. The Galactic Council convoy blinked in red, their sluggish formation almost laughable against the Prize's predatory precision.

Behind him, the bridge crew worked with a quiet efficiency that bordered on unnerving. Each member of his crew had been handpicked—mercenaries, bounty hunters, and deserters from factions across the galaxy. They weren't loyal in the traditional sense, but they respected Lockdown's power and shared his ruthlessness.

Near the tactical console, a heavily-armored mech named Forge monitored weapon systems. His hulking frame was covered in mismatched plating, a patchwork of salvaged armor that made him look more like a walking scrapheap than a soldier. Despite his brutish appearance, Forge's hands moved with surprising precision as he calibrated the plasma cannons.

To his right, an agile femme named Shade perched on the edge of her station, her sharp optics darting between screens. Shade was an infiltration specialist, her lithe frame designed for stealth and sabotage. She had a habit of spinning one of her many knives in her servo when she was bored—a habit that Forge found irritating.

"Do you have to do that all the time?" Forge grumbled, his deep voice rumbling through the bridge.

Shade smirked, her optics never leaving her screens. "What's the matter, big guy? Afraid I'll slip and nick your shiny plating?"

"Shut it, both of you," Lockdown growled without looking back. His voice was enough to silence the exchange, the crew returning to their work with renewed focus.

The bridge was just one part of the chaotic labyrinth that was the Nightmare's Prize. The ship's corridors were lined with display cases and storage compartments, each filled with trophies and artifacts from Lockdown's hunts. There were shattered Decepticon insignias, cracked Autobot badges, and even fragments of alien technology whose purpose was long forgotten.

In the main hold, a massive stasis pod stood at the center, its surface etched with alien runes. No one aboard the Prize knew what was inside—not even Lockdown—but its presence cast an eerie shadow over the room. Surrounding the pod were racks of weapons, from standard-issue blasters to experimental prototypes stolen from Council labs.

The crew quarters were equally eclectic. Shade's room was a cluttered mess of scavenged trinkets and surveillance equipment, while Forge's was meticulously organized, each weapon and tool stored with military precision. Other crew members added their own flair to the ship's patchwork aesthetic—a medbay filled with experimental energon vials, a cargo bay converted into a training ground, and even a makeshift cantina where the crew occasionally gathered to share tales of their exploits.

Back on the bridge, Lockdown watched as the convoy drifted into range. The Council frigates moved sluggishly, their shields flickering with intermittent power surges.

"Power up the main cannons," Lockdown commanded, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the ship. The crew sprang into action, each mech moving with practiced efficiency.

Forge's hands flew over his console, the plasma cannons charging with a low, menacing hum. "Cannons primed. Target locked."

Shade leaned back in her seat, spinning her knife idly. "This is almost too easy. You sure this isn't a trap, boss?"

Lockdown smirked, his optics narrowing as he stared at the tactical display. "If it is, they're even dumber than I thought. Fire."

The first volley struck with pinpoint accuracy, plasma bolts ripping through the lead frigate's engines. The ship bucked violently, its hull splitting apart as secondary explosions erupted along its length.

The second frigate returned fire, its lasers scoring a glancing blow against the Prize's shields. Forge muttered a curse under his breath, his servos flying across the console.

"Shields holding at 92%," he reported. "Permission to obliterate them, Captain?"

"Granted," Lockdown said, his tone dripping with amusement.

The Prize's cannons roared again, a concentrated blast striking the second frigate's bridge. The explosion sent debris scattering, the ship's lights flickering before it went dark.

The remaining cargo ships attempted to scatter, their engines flaring as they veered off in different directions. Shade leaned forward, her optics gleaming. "Want me to disable their engines, boss? I can make it messy."

"Save your tricks," Lockdown replied. "Let them run. They'll lead us straight to their outpost if they're stupid enough to send a distress signal."

Shade pouted, spinning her knife one last time before holstering it. "You're no fun."

Forge chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the bridge. "I like this plan. Let's see how far they get before they realize they're already dead."

As the convoy's wreckage drifted into the void, the Nightmare's Prize moved in to scavenge. Boarding pods latched onto the cargo ships, disgorging Lockdown's crew into their holds. Each member moved with practiced efficiency, their loyalty not to each other but to the promise of a cut from the spoils.

In the cargo bay of one transport, a younger crew member named Wrench inspected a crate of energon cells. "These Council types don't skimp, do they?"

"Load it up and move on," Forge barked, his massive frame blocking the doorway. "Captain doesn't like delays."

In another ship, Shade sifted through a pile of weapons, her optics gleaming as she picked up a sleek prototype blaster. "Think he'll let me keep this one?" she mused aloud.

"Not if you don't get back to the Prize in the next thirty seconds," Lockdown's voice growled over the comms.

Shade sighed, tossing the blaster into a crate. "Spoilsport."

Lockdown's quarters were a shrine to his conquests, the walls lined with trophies from his countless hunts. Blades, broken armor plates, and even the shattered optics of former prey adorned the room. He poured himself a measure of dark energon, the glowing liquid swirling faintly as he leaned back in his chair.

With a flick of his claws, he activated the comm system. A hologram of Drachen appeared, the crimson optics of Galvatron's lieutenant glaring out from the display.

"What do you want, mercenary?" Drachen growled.

Lockdown swirled his drink lazily. "Information. The Council's next move, to be precise. I'll trade you the convoy's location—for a price."

Drachen's optics narrowed. "Lord Galvatron doesn't negotiate with scavengers."

Lockdown chuckled, leaning forward. "Then consider it a gift. A show of good faith. But remember, Drachen—good faith only lasts as long as I get what I want."

The comm cut off, leaving Lockdown alone with his thoughts. He stared into his glass, his smirk fading into a contemplative scowl.

"Two sides, one war," he muttered. "Let's see who pays better."

---

Location: Galactic Sector Epsilon – Planetary Assault POV: Galvatron

The command deck of the Decimator was alive with precision activity. Operators moved seamlessly between consoles, relaying orders and analyzing battlefield data as the massive holographic display cast an eerie glow across the chamber. Galvatron stood at its center, his crimson optics locked on the image of the Galactic Council stronghold below.

The enemy planet was a fortress, its skies teeming with defensive platforms, drone clusters, and interceptors. On the surface, vast fortifications bristled with anti-air cannons and shielded bunkers. But Galvatron saw only opportunities.

"Report," Galvatron commanded, his voice cold and measured.

Drachen's hologram flickered to life, his crimson optics gleaming with determination. "Creator," Drachen began, his tone reverent yet precise, "their orbital defenses are scattered, but they've fortified key installations. Anti-air platforms will complicate the deployment of ground forces."

Galvatron's optics narrowed as he processed the data. "What of their ground forces?"

"They've amassed a significant defensive line near the central city," Drachen replied. "Heavy armor, shielded infantry, and entrenched artillery. They're preparing to make a stand."

"Good," Galvatron said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "A stand means they believe they have something to protect. It will make their collapse all the sweeter."

Thunderblast's hologram appeared, her grin as sharp as her cannons. "Their skies are a mess, my Lord. Drones, interceptors, missile platforms—nothing organized. Shall we sweep them clean?"

Galvatron turned to her, his optics burning with command. "Take the Seekers. Clear the skies and drive their ships into our guns."

Thunderblast saluted with theatrical flair. "Consider it done."

He shifted his gaze to Drachen. "Deploy the ground forces. Cut through their lines and dismantle their defenses. This planet belongs to Cybertron."

"It will be done, my Lord," Drachen said, his voice resolute.

Galvatron turned back to the holographic display, his clawed hand resting on its edge. The battle would be won in stages, each victory feeding into the next until the Council's resistance crumbled entirely.

---

POV: Thunderblast

The skies above the Council world erupted into chaos. Thunderblast led her Seekers into the fray, their sleek forms weaving through the enemy's defensive grid. The first volley of laser fire tore through a formation of interceptors, sending them spiraling into fiery oblivion.

"Stick to the plan!" Thunderblast barked over the comms. "Push them toward the Decimator!"

Her Seekers moved with flawless precision, their maneuvers forcing the Council ships into tighter and tighter clusters. The Decimator's forward cannons roared, obliterating the trapped vessels with devastating accuracy.

A missile lock warning blared in Thunderblast's cockpit. She rolled sharply, the missile streaking past her and detonating against an enemy drone.

"Amateurs," she muttered, looping back around to target a fleeing interceptor. Her cannons fired in quick succession, shredding the ship's engines.

Above her, the Council's orbital platforms struggled to maintain their bombardment. The Decimator's smaller support ships swarmed them like predators, tearing through their shields with coordinated strikes.

---

Location: Planetary Surface – Central Battlefield POV: Drachen

The ground quaked as Decepticon drop ships slammed into the surface. Their ramps lowered, unleashing waves of PBMs and Vehicon infantry. Drachen led the charge, his energon blade glowing with crackling energy as he carved through enemy lines.

"Advance!" Drachen roared, his voice amplified over the comms. "Leave nothing standing!"

The Council's forces responded with desperate ferocity. Artillery fire rained down on the advancing Decepticons, and shielded infantry dug in, firing volleys of plasma rounds. But Drachen was undeterred. He cut through enemy ranks with precision, his movements a blur of deadly efficiency.

Behind him, the Combaticons unleashed devastating firepower, their combined form of Bruticus towering over the battlefield. The massive warrior smashed through tanks and bunkers, his cannons raining destruction upon the enemy.

"Resistance is crumbling," Drachen reported over the comms.

"Good," Galvatron's voice replied. "But remain vigilant. They may yet have a surprise to spring."

As if on cue, a deafening rumble shook the battlefield. The ground split apart as a colossal war machine emerged—a towering construct of metal and fire, bristling with weaponry and encased in shimmering energy shields.

"All forces, hold position!" Drachen ordered, his optics narrowing.

---

Location: Battlefield Core

POV: Drachen

Drachen watched from the front lines as the war machine advanced, its cannons firing salvos that decimated entire squads of Vehicons. The Decepticons held their ground, their firepower concentrated on the machine's shields, but it showed no signs of faltering.

Galvatron's voice crackled over the comms. "Hold the line."

Drachen turned his optics skyward as a streak of silver shot from the Decimator. Galvatron descended like a meteor, transforming mid-flight and slamming onto the machine's torso with a thunderous impact.

The battlefield seemed to pause as the two titans clashed. Galvatron's servos tore into the machine's armor, sparks flying as he ripped through its plating. The machine swung a massive blade, but Galvatron caught it, his servos straining briefly before he twisted the weapon free and drove it into the machine's core.

Drachen couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle. "The Creator makes it look like sport," he muttered.

The machine retaliated, firing a barrage of missiles at point-blank range. Galvatron roared as the explosions engulfed him, but he emerged unscathed, his optics burning with fury.

With a snarl, he tore the machine's head free and hurled it into the distance. The construct collapsed in a heap of smoldering wreckage, its final groan echoing across the battlefield.

Galvatron stood atop the remains, his frame crackling with energy. "Decepticons!" he bellowed. "Transform and Rise Up!"

---

Location: Decimator – Private Chamber

POV: Galvatron

The battle was over, the Council's forces annihilated. The Decimator drifted in orbit above the conquered world, its hull aglow with the faint energy of victory.

Galvatron sat alone in his private chamber, the holographic display of the tactical map flickering before him. His optics burned with quiet intensity as he reviewed the campaign.

The victories had come easily—too easily. Even the war machine, for all its spectacle, had failed to challenge him.

"What is the point of conquest," Galvatron murmured to himself, "if no one is worthy to stand against me?"

His claws tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his throne. The galaxy was vast, its powers fractured and weak. And yet, in their weakness, they only highlighted his strength.

A/N

(Sorry if this chapter sounds weird I was in hospital but Merry Christmas and a happy new year.)