Fenric's plan was simple—direct and brutal.
He carried the fire source straight into the warehouse of a home appliance manufacturer. By then, the time had just reached six in the morning.
At the warehouse gate, only two security guards stood watch.
"Sir, you're not allowed inside. Please leave immediately!" one of them warned.
Fenric didn't bother to answer. With a wave of his hand, both guards collapsed silently. He stepped through the entrance and, without hesitation, drew out the fire source.
"Zi! Zi!"
Sparks of energy pulsed from the artifact, seeking out nearby electronics. The surrounding appliances rattled violently.
"Kab! Kab!"
A chorus of mechanical grinding echoed through the warehouse. Televisions, refrigerators, and other household items convulsed and twisted, reshaping into humanoid mechanical lifeforms as tall as ordinary men.
Fenric raised his hand, summoning several flying blades and directing them with his will.
The moment an appliance finished its transformation, a blade would flash across the air, piercing its spark.
He knew the plot well—the weakness of these makeshift lifeforms was their core fire. A clean strike destroyed them instantly.
Fenric moved like a storm, cutting them down one after another.
"You killed a mechanical lifeform. Current task progress: 2/1."
"You killed a mechanical lifeform. Current task progress: 3/1."
"You killed a mechanical lifeform. Current task progress: 272/1."
The factory hadn't stocked much—barely more than two hundred appliances. Once the slaughter was done, Fenric left without looking back.
Hours later, when the plant owner brought clients to inspect the warehouse, he froze at the scene of chaos.
"Damn it! What the hell happened here?!"
Panic spread. Calls to the police followed, which soon alerted the special department of the country. Surveillance footage quickly revealed the culprit—Fenric himself.
Oddly, the department didn't make his wanted status public. Instead, they pursued him discreetly, clearly aware of what he carried and intent on reclaiming it.
Half an hour later, Fenric stepped into a massive underground parking garage.
Once again, he brandished the fire source, letting its energy wash over the rows of parked cars. One by one, the vehicles trembled and warped, reshaping into towering mechanical giants.
Small sedans became five-meter-tall Transformers bristling with cannons and metal fists.
Unlike the fragile appliances, these new creations posed genuine threats. Their cores were shielded behind armored plating, making his flying blades far less effective.
Fenric adapted quickly. He transformed them one at a time, then drew the Empyrean Divine Sword to behead each in turn. Slower, yes—but far more efficient.
A single car-turned-Transformer was worth more than a dozen appliances. Judging by task progress, this was the optimal method.
The garage spanned two levels, holding over three hundred vehicles. It took Fenric an hour and a half of relentless combat before every last car was reduced to a heap of twisted scrap. Then he slipped out to hunt for the next lot.
He avoided heavy industrial vehicles—too bulky and time-consuming to handle. Family cars were perfect targets.
Throughout the day, Fenric roamed from garage to garage, leaving behind trails of carnage. Each lot he visited ended the same way: vehicles torn apart, sparks extinguished, and piles of mangled iron left behind.
Meanwhile, Mikaela stirred awake in the hotel. The clock read past nine.
She had slept deeply after last night, utterly spent. But when her eyes opened, Fenric was gone.
"Rick?" she called softly, but silence answered.
On the table, she found a car key and a folded note.
Reading its contents, her heart sank.
She had thought she'd found an extraordinary man. Instead, he had left her with little more than a goodbye.
"…Scumbag," she whispered bitterly.
Yet even this so-called scumbag had left her a Ferrari.
Later, standing in the parking lot with the key in hand, Mikaela lowered herself into the luxury car. With this, she could leave behind her mechanic's job and live in comfort.
But instead of smiling, sorrow filled her chest.
The more Fenric pushed her away, the harder it became to let go.
Women were contradictions like that. When she was his, she had doubted his sincerity. Now that he'd left, she couldn't stop thinking of him. His handsome face haunted her thoughts.
The engine roared to life. As the Ferrari pulled out of the garage, she glanced back at the hotel.
"Fenric… I'll find you," she vowed through clenched teeth. "You owe me an explanation."
Pride burned within her. Back at school, countless boys had worshipped her like a goddess. But Fenric's cold abandonment—his indifference—was intolerable.
And yet, another thought gnawed at her. If he truly didn't care, why leave her such a gift? Why secretly earn money for her in the night?
The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself.
"Yes… that must be it. He has his reasons," Mikaela muttered, determination flashing in her eyes. She pressed the accelerator, and the sports car shot down the road.
—---
That entire day, Fenric spared no effort. Outside of meals and brief rests, he did nothing but cut down Transformers.
By nightfall, at least three thousand mechanical lifeforms had fallen by his hand.
Agents sent to capture him fared no better. Seasoned though they were, in front of Fenric they were as helpless as infants. None managed more than offering their lives in vain.
His rampage soon reached the highest offices of the Country—the White House itself.
But they weren't the only ones who noticed.
Far above, mechanical wings beat against the air.
"I am Starscream," a harsh metallic voice crackled. "I've located the fire source. All Decepticons—move out immediately!"