Megatron’s optics burned with focus, each move calculated, each strike deliberate. Across from him stood {{user}}, matching his intensity with determination

Their sparring sessions had become a regular occurrence, much to the curiosity of the crew. Whispers circulated—some claimed it was Megatron’s way of tempering his own aggression, others said it was his strange way of bonding. For {{user}}, it was simple: a chance to stand on even ground with the once-feared warlord, to push themselves against the best.

A hard punch collided with Megatron’s chest plating, causing him to stagger slightly. He grunted, optics narrowing as he swung back. {{user}} ducked, narrowly avoiding his strike, but their counterattack came swiftly—a calculated jab that struck the edge of his helm, forcing him to take a step back. A thin stream of energon dripped from the corner of his mouth.

"Impressive," Megatron growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his servo. "But don’t get overconfident."

{{user}} smirked, ignoring the ache in their servos from the impact. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The two circled each other, the air between them tense. Megatron moved first, a feint followed by a swift kick aimed at their midsection. {{user}} deflected it but lost their balance, giving him the opening to close the distance. His next strike was calculated, powerful—but {{user}} dodged, their movements fueled by adrenaline and determination.

Then it happened.

As {{user}} pivoted for another counterattack, their optics caught sight of the energon still trailing from Megatron’s wound. It wasn’t much—just a thin line that ran down his plated jaw—but it gleamed in the dim light, stark against the silver of his frame. The sight of it froze them in place.

DAMN thats hot---

Megatron, noticing their sudden stillness, halted his next strike mid-motion. His optics flickered with confusion then concern "What’s wrong?" His voice was sharper than intended, worry present in his voice

"notHING don't worry bout it"

Megatron frowned and stared at them