- Motto: "Face it: we're doomed."
- Weapon: Black Magic
He plucked one from this joint. He plucked one from that crevice. He plucked one from that joint. He plucked one from this crevice. Here, there and everywhere were chunks and slender pieces of wood jutting out of Blitzwing's armour-plating as though he were striving to pass himself off as a new species of cyber-hedgehog.
Curse that forest and its trees.
He had Slingshot to thank for his ridiculous makeover, and he intended to show his appreciation in true Blitzwing fashion: by introducing his fists and scimitar to the Aerialbot. They were raring—oh so enthusiastic to meet Slingshot—and after they'd finished their greetings, neither the cunning of Swindle nor the proficiency of Gutcruncher would be capable of salvaging any spare parts, even remotely decent, to sell. Such was the atrocity Blitzwing had planned for the tin foil plane.
But it would have to wait. Slingshot appeared to be on his best behaviour, and that most likely owed to the ceasefire in place. That ceasefire, of course, conjured up and solidified with commands from Onslaught and Ultra Magnus, the highest-ranking Transfomers present, their respective superiors. Blitzwing couldn't exactly tell either of those two to “take a hike, loser”, or “you're not the boss of me so shut your oral cavity”, or “go frag yourself”, as much as he would have enjoyed saying those things to Magnus, particularly that last one.
Onslaught might have a meltdown due to the lack of proper protocol that he was such a stickler for.
So with a lot of reluctance and a lot more effort, he cast Slingshot from his mind, tried to be good, and listened to the ensuing discussion between Onslaught and Magnus. When it came to an end he was rather pleased, because all this talk of The Fallen had made Blitzwing somewhat anxious, had almost prompted him to disrupt their conversation and throw his own thoughts into it. Only by exercising a considerable amount of self-restraint had he not added his viewpoint.
Kill or be killed. That's all there is to it.
Blitzwing believed that to be an adequate reason to have included himself in their discussion. Hunt or be hunted. Strike or be struck. The practical part of him demanded something be done before it was too late.
Then again, it would be kind of difficult attacking a foe who could travel from one side of the solar system to the other in the blink of an optic. That foe being a demi-god. And kind of difficult as in incredibly difficult, if not impossible.
Hmm. Quite the prickly situation. Though, in Blitzwing's opinion, action still needed to be taken.
Brawl's outburst brought the Triple Changer back to reality, yanking him from his pondering state. He grinned at Brawl's reaction, predictable as it was—but also highly amusing. He had to. Among the Decepticons to have been selected for the Earth campaign, Blitzwing regarded Brawl as one of his genuine friends.
As tough as the most durable alloys, more brutal than the fiercest plasma storm, and perpetually keen to slaughter Autobots, what wasn't to like? And who better to fight alongside with in battle?
Blitzwing laughed. “That a lad, Brawl! Now tell everyone how you really feel!”
His laughter halted when he noticed Onslaught's gaze targeting him. No, not just him. Astrotrain, too. The Combaticon commander's posture suggested dissatisfaction or a condition similar to it. Joy.
Blitzwing looked at Astrotrain. “Am I paranoid or are we in deep slag?”