Megatron discards the note, running his servo along the length of the sword. Crude but tough, enough to get the job done without losing its edge right away. It reminds him of the one he carried before upgrading to an arm-mounted blade, also of Kaon.
He’ll keep this and take the text to read himself to recharge with, all the while pretending that its sender is anonymous.
On Muse A’s 18th birthday, a trickster (Muse B) appears and claims their parents offered to give them their newborn child as part of a deal…18 years ago.
Above them, the sister moons cast a soft glow upon the world below. Yet the light was cold and distant, and the wind moaned fearfully through the lonely alleyways of Kaon. The two mechs stood across from one another, one a gun-metal gray and the other crimson-and-cobalt. The latter held himself tall. Yet despite his bright colors and decorated plating, he looked to be exactly where he belonged and intended to be.
“You were promised to me long before your forging, young one,“ the other-worldly mech rumbled. “Your creators begged for my favor, and I granted them as much. Now I have come to collect…”
Megatronus dropped the datapad he’d been reading, staring at the mech before him. No… This thing surely wasn’t a mech. His finials arched and twisted over his helm and into the ether, like the antlers made from the branches of an ancient tree. Never having been to Earth, the young fighter could hardly comprehend such organic forms.
“What do you mean… promised to you?” He took a step back, away from the thing pretending at being mechanical. “I am no trinket to be sold, no payment to be bartered… The creators you speak of are long-since dead, and I refuse to be… claimed!” Megatronus unsheathed his sword, but took another step back.
“I would hope that certain warlords know that, while I consider certain young recruits dear to my spark, I have no intention of trying to take your place in said recruit’s spark…”
Megatron's back up 