They hit the lake at an angle. The last teleport had effectively soaked up a good chunk of the kinetic energy from their plummet, too. And it was water they were hitting rather than solid ground.
Still the impact was hard, jarring Skywarp's systems, setting off a slew of new warnings telling him his frame was not happy about his current activities.
For a fraction of a second, several of his sensors whited out as they had to adjust for a sudden change in environment.
The lake was freshwater, and far more shallow than the saltwater depths surrounding the sunken Victory and the base they had built around its wreck. They hit the sandy, silty ground quickly; the distance between surface and ground measured perhaps two and a half times Skywarp's height standing upright in root.
Even in that brief span of time they were sinking, the stranger continued to dish out some good hits. A kick caught him just below where the glass of his cockpit ended, hard enough to buckle plating and Skywarp released his own bite around the other's wing to hiss and snarl. Bubbles burst from his vents briefly.
Around them, clouds of disturbed sand and shredded algae strands spread. A handful of fish fled away from them. A piece of rotting driftwood sitting on the ground broke apart under Skywarp's pede as he stepped on it.
Then the stranger's denta loosened their hold for a moment, only to move to his wrist and clamp down all the harder. The release of the previous bite actually hurt more he found, especially on his palm, deceptively sensitive as it unfortunately was.
The repairs would be Pit to deal with later, a good servo was delicate work and they weren't exactly flush with spare parts nowadays... But, well, that was future Skywarp's problem, really.
For now, he took advantage of the fact that this new spot the stranger had chosen to bite down on meant his digits -- the three that were still responding properly on that hand anyway -- and their sharp sharp tips now had a much better angle and range of movement to try and get some scratches in on the other's face.
The rest of him eased up his hold, trusting that the water would slow any attempt at fleeing from their scrap, possibly dissuade any attempts to even try. Instead of clinging on tight, he raked the claws of his free hand across the wing he'd bitten in one harsh swipe (admittedly also slowed by the resistance of the water) and tried to brace his knees against the stranger's torso to try and pin them against the ground.
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