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Cor Stella Scriptor

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The silver cybertronian screamed. The sound carried in the air. All the pain, anger, hatred, and grief he felt, he screamed it to the sky. It hurt. It reminded him of what he failed.

He collapsed, falling to his knees, arms wrapped around himself, sobbing, his frame trembling and wings drooping low, almost touching the floor.

The mech’s optics held pain in them. The sky seemed to be of the same emotions, for gray rumbled ominously. Soon, rain poured down on the earth, lashing at anything, leaving nothing spared.

He was gone, and there was NOTHING that could bring him back. The wind whipped and swirled around him, everything clouded by the snow.

He was gone. And he was dead as well.