Family of Steel - Man on Fire

[Proto Man]

The newest arrival at the rim of the volcano was an unsettling figure.

At over six feet tall, he towered over the two robots. Instead of a robotic visage or Proto Man’s youth, the man looked weathered. His unkempt hair stuck out from beneath an old fur hat with untied ear flaps. Scruffy facial hair covered his visage, and his eyes, while sharp and almost sinister, betrayed years of unending strife and adversity. A scar on the left side of his face revealed metallic bone beneath, betraying at least some degree of robotic origin. To further complicate the situation, his attire was oddly suggestive of a shared heritage with the other machines. Beneath a ratty, weathered kaftan, he wore a dull gray bodysuit over his clearly muscled physique. In certain areas, the fabric was torn away to reveal the heavily corded muscles.

Thicker, metal padding protected his joints, and his hands and feet were concealed in thicker gauntlets almost identical to those of most Robot Masters. While Proto Man could often polish his metallic surfaces to a clear luster, this man’s forearms and forelegs were scorched and scrapped beyond simple repairs.

From the look on Heat Man’s face, it was obvious that the Robot Master either knew the man or knew of him. Either way, Proto Man didn’t enjoy the anxiety he saw on the face of the heat-themed machine. Turning to the bizarre figure, the red andriod asked the all-important question. “Who are you?”

The question caused the man to furrowed his brow and smirk. “You know nothing of me?” He asked, his thick soviet accent making the question sound far more sinister than it should have. “I know much of you, the prodigal son of two inept American scientists. In my world, your country is a nuclear wasteland.”

Proto Man scowled himself as he tried to decipher the puzzle in front of him. Despite aesthetic similarities, this man had been from another world before being drawn into the Omniverse. That raised far more questions than it answered.

“He’s a prime from some dystopian future,” Heat Man spoke aloud as the smaller robot tried to look tougher. The machine’s next remarks were softer, intended only to be heard by Proto Man. “He tracked down Quick Man and Metal Man’s operations and essentially strong armed his way into things. They’re afraid of him...he’s got enough power to go toe-to-toe with those armored marines. Plus we all enjoy being alive again and don’t want to gamble our lives on standing up to him.”

A smile spread across the man’s visage. “I can hear you, you know,” he said as he placed a hand against his ear. “Even without a helmet, I have good ears.” The nonchalance with which he spoke stressed the fact that he cared little about Heat Man’s opinion of him.

“Why are you here?” Proto Man asked.

“I was curious about you, of course,” the man replied, as if the answer should have been obvious. He lifted a gauntleted finger and pointed at Heat Man. “They’re all intimidated by you as well. They made you seem like a fearsome warrior, but I can see that you're just like the rest of them...a small metal child playing with grownup weapons.”

Proto Man lifted his eponymous blaster and frowned. He didn’t know who this machine-man was, but he wasn’t an ally. Without realizing it, the red robot had edged in front of Heat Man, shielding the smaller android from their mutual adversary. With a chuckle, the man opposed to them lifted a gauntleted fist. His palm slid open to reveal what seemed to be the barrel of a gun, and with a hum and a glow of yellow light, it became obvious that he had weapons of his own.

“I was born Nicholai Immanuel Volkov,” he shouted as a powerful blast erupted from his hand and exploded a few feet below the two smaller robots, causing the ground to shudder beneath them. “As Mother Russia burned around me, I was taken and my broken remains became Cell Delta, a marriage of youth and machine. I rose from enslaved beginnings to destroy the armies of the enemy and claim lordship of nearly half the world. I am Constantine XIII, last tsar of the Russia, sultan of the revived caliphate, philosopher-king of the east asian principalities, and raj of the subcontinent. I am the destroyer of the Fourth Reich, and the Emperor of the Three Romes! I survived when the world was reduced by the hordes of the jackbooted, and I survive in this purgatory.

“The question is…” the cyborg asked, his voice falling back down to normal. “Will you?” Proto Man saw the flash of the man’s gun-hand, but before he could react, the volcano erupted beneath them.