It was mutual how they both loathed but admired each other. One was the epitome of oppression and the other was the cataclysm of peace. Their swords clashed vigorously each time but at the end of it all, they knew their irony as any formidable warrior would.
A Prime stood up for a planet of armistice and yet he caused many others to divide loyalties in a war-torn battlefront he helped create. A warlord made the caste system crumble for equality among all yet became the very thing he disdained. They were not so different as previously thought. It only took the collapse of their home and the survival of the strongest to realize they were anything but diverse. Morals were the only things that kept them separate but even then, it made little to no change in the eyes of others.
Some believed the destructive magnificence of the war was their drug, to succeed where most could not. Imperishable as they seemed, glory was not their thrill. Their encounters upon the battlefield were nothing but pent up rage and the stubbornness to accept their own failures. That was their way of compensating for the past since at this point, it was the only thing they knew best.
Energon flew with each slash, some erupting from vital areas. But did that stop them? No, in fact the more they cut deep into one another, the more adrenaline and willpower kept them from succumbing to their wounds. How much of their own blood they saw they could not tell. They ignored the pain of it all just to continue.
The blood of others they had seen plenty of however. Each body that fell before them was once a person who held the same Energon, the same gift of life they had but it was stolen because of their pride. When Cybertron fell dark, every soul lost in its devastation was somehow forgotten. They only remembered the blood.
Megatron had no complaints; he had seen the dead before in the Pits. He lived through it every day, even on the Nemesis. His grandeur was praised yet those who worshipped him often did not know why at first until it was too late and his fury got the best of him. Then there was more Energon spilled upon the ground for another meaningless purpose. He did not care about that. He thrived on the gore that littered his army because he knew nothing sweeter than the victor mentality it brought. All his credit resided in the pain and torment of others so the price of blood meant everything to him even if he no longer had his crowds of thousands to cheer him on, calling his name like cries for Primus herself. Among them, he was a god.
Even though Optimus held no skills within the Pits, he proved quite the match for the tyrant he called his brother. But even he had his faults and they showed badly. He was wise but rigorous in nature, using tactics and exploitation of the objects around him to gain leverage in his favor. He meant no harm in this. Unfortunately, this often led him to be far more cynical than he wanted as well as headed to the endangerment of those he cared for but did not show emotion towards in the fear of his adversaries using that weakness against him. Was he ever a "saint" when he had made so many mistakes overlooked by his take-charge personality? In a way, it was in his invisible arrogance many under his command died. He was just too afraid to admit his blunder of judgement. The exaltation of his reputation did not make him happy.
When the blood seeped through his servos he knew they had gone too far. Even if he were to wash away the evidence, the impression it left haunted him and the feeling of it coating his armor did not fade. It was the price for the praise he got, not that he believed he deserved any of it. But he had to do what he must to defend from the likes of Megatron and his tyrannical sense of authority especially when it was directed at such fragile beings that weren't even a part of the war in the first place.
Push came to shove and every bit of Energon began to count. With their flaws, they stood their ground with steam fuming from strained vents and denta bared with animalistic tendencies. They were destined to fight to the end; nothing else mattered between them except the objective that decided the fate of the Cybertronian and human races.
They also both knew what their actions mirrored and why. The Gladiators of Kaon would be proud of their brutality and lust for death upon one another. To them, that's all it was now: a tragic show to perform to the death. Neither of them could disagree with that nor could the Gladiators most likely watching over them from the Well of Allsparks whom they would perhaps meet one day.
With the war so close to being finished, the Energon that tainted its triumph didn't seem so ugly the more they stared at it. The deaths by their servos may have seemed in vain for their stupidity but they fought like Gladiators…like brothers. At least the corrupted glory would go down with them.
AN: The more you think about it, the more you'll hurt yourself. Turns out Optimus may be just as guilty.