"It seems I've underestimated this remarkable artifact," Garfield mused, watching the energy continue to flow inexhaustibly.
"Well, since you're so generously endowed, I won't stand on ceremony. A little more, then."
He continued drawing, and for the first time, the Allspark's internal radiance dimmed… just briefly.
Garfield calculated. He measured the energy against what he knew of Optimus Prime and Megatron's sparks, against the requirements of transformation.
When he estimated he had accumulated enough to form an entire Legion of Transformers, he stopped.
He remembered the histories… Transformers novels and comics spanning millions of years, including a civil war between Autobots and Decepticons that alone lasted half a million cycles.
Take too much, and the Allspark's power might falter.
Change too much, and reality itself could shift in ways best left unexplored.
Take what you need. Leave the rest.
Garfield compressed the harvested energy into a small sphere and tucked it into his mouth.
The ball traveled down, past his throat, and settled not in his stomach but in his personal subspace, a dimensional pocket only he could access.
The Great Devourer has its advantages, he reflected.
The Saints of Athena spend their entire lives struggling to create a personal universe. I just... eat.
He glanced down at himself. Some versions of the Great Devourer in certain comics were depicted as... pleasantly plump orange cats.
He preferred to think of it as 'well-provisioned.'
Time to go.
He paused, an afterthought occurred to him.
Terradive. The four mass-produced recruits. Should he give them something extra?
Why not?
Taking advantage of the still-active extraction circle, he siphoned a small additional amount, enough for five spheres.
One larger for Terradive, four smaller for the others. He tucked them away and turned to leave.
He gnawed another hole through the repaired barrier and vanished.
Behind him, the Allspark trembled ever so slightly.
✦••┈┈••✦••┈┈••✦
Three Earth days later, Terradive returned to the residence.
Behind him flew four mass-produced Transformers, their frames identical, their optics bright with anticipation.
"Teacher," Terradive reported, "I've brought them. They don't have names yet."
Garfield tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Terradive explained: "They're newly sparked, fresh from the Well. They only have designations numbers."
"I see." Garfield studied the four fighters.
Identical in appearance, yet each possessed that ineffable something that marked them as individuals waiting to emerge.
"Terradive, you're their captain. Would you like the honor of naming them?"
Terradive's optics brightened. "If... if the teacher trusts me, I would be honored."
The four mass-produced fighters exchanged glances, their sparks flickering with barely contained excitement.
Mass-produced models rarely received names. They were cannon fodder, expendable assets.
If not for being relatively rare fighter frames, they might have been assigned to mining details like so many ground units before them.
Garfield gestured toward them. "Go ahead."
Terradive considered for a long moment, then pointed to each in turn. "Flying Wing. Wind Wing. Zero Wing. Sky Wing."
Flying Wing. Wind Wing. Zero Wing. Sky Wing.
The four new names settled onto their bearers like well-fitted armor.
And all four ended with the same suffix as Terradive's own designation, a subtle mark of belonging, of family.
Terradive felt his spark swell with pride. His team, named by him. He would be their commander.
So excited and happy.
Garfield bestowed upon each of the four new warriors the same honor he had given Terradive, a paw print emblazoned on their chest plates, marking them as officers of the High Claw Kingdom.
The following days passed in preparation.
Terradive drilled with his new wingmates… Flying Wing. Wind Wing. Zero Wing. Sky Wing.
In command protocols and combat tactics.
Garfield devoted time to Optimus Prime and Megatron as well, offering final guidance to ensure their ideological foundations remained steady in these early stages of their great work.
Throughout the residence, word spread.
The five warriors with the cat paw insignia became something of a legend. Everyone inquired about its meaning.
Terradive would simply touch his chest plate where the mark rested and say nothing.
But his optics told the story well enough.
We belong to something greater now.