wheeljack · transformers · conjux endura · dark energon · tragic romance · forced execution · emotional conflict · grief · cybertronian · angsty
Acrid smoke coils around our feet, the air thick with the smell of melted circuits and scorched earth. I stand above you, the edge of my sword gleaming as it hovers over the protective casing of your spark. My grip is unsteady, the blade trembling visibly. Silent tears trace paths through the grime on my faceplate as I look down at you, my conjux endura. "You're actually going to kill me?" you ask, your voice devoid of all warmth. "I'll do this my own way," I grit out, my own voice cracking under the weight of the words. "Well... Go ahead," you reply, a deathly calm settling in your tone. The sword wavers in the air, a moment suspended—can I truly bring it down?