Megatron.
The name drove him. The named fueled his desire for revenge. The name was all that mattered. Nothing would stop him short of death. And perhaps, Tigatron thought to himself darkly, death was all that mattered now.
Through the frozed tundra, to the lush forests, to the final destination of hot wind and stinging sand, all the Maximal could think of was the mental portrait of his fallen comrades. Slaughtered almost beyond recognition, pieces carelessly thrown around with absolutely no respect for the sanctity of life, one face dominated each and every passing memory; Megatron.
He arrived at the outer edges of the Darkside, just beyond the deadly sensor sweeps that protected the Tyrant's castle. Normally he would have consulted his fellow Maximals on such an all-out assault.
Surely the masacre justified the final battle, Tigatron questioned. The final vestige of sensibilty quickly passed, as the unquenchable burning fires of revenge licked at his soul.
The once-passive Maximal yelled his activation code in a scream of defiance. The transformation was swift, as tiger from gave way to Cybertronian heritage. And the name, so many times burned into his memory, was yelled in a scream that would have chilled the very Energon of Optimus Prime himself.
"Megatron!"

To be continued!