Also, contrary to popular belief, thou, thee, thy, thine and its like is the sort of language you speak to an inferior, not a superior. Just wanted to straighten that out.
It was a peaceful place, the metal polished to shine brightly, yet high windows allowing light to be only reflected in misty, lazy beams. Upon the checkered floor stood statues, abstract pieces of metal, twisted and formed by those who claimed to understand such things.
To a Maximal they seemed, as art, to be symbols of peace.
To a Predacon they seemed, as twisted metal, to be monuments of death.
Such a Predacon paced among the monuments, gaze raised proudly. Tall and black, with a feathered cape capable of forming wings draping his shoulders. He stood in the misty light, fearless, and looked at the shadows flitting between the monuments.
"I am here."
The Predacon turned to a shadow with golden optics, as bright, as calming, as deadly as the star Cybertron now orbited. "Claw," he greeted the assassin.
"Night Hawk," the assassin greeted the warrior.
The Predacon sauntered to the shadow, a Maximal draped in shadows. "So 'tis to be our final meeting?"
"Aye, as friends." The shade turned away, melting away like ice in summer.
Night Hawk, proficient with the assassin's habits, followed him into the darkness. "Your choices are yours, and yours alone, but I do not claim to understand them."
"As if I e'er expected thus of Thou..." A knife's glint, the flash of a firey optic.
"You intend to kill me in this holy place, under an oath of friendship?" asked the warrior calmly.
"Nay... To slay a Predacon in a Temple of Primus would be a sacrilege from which even I could not be exempt."
Night Hawk narrowed his optics, a dark glare building. "Claw..."
"Dost Thou hate me, Predacon, for my betrayal? Wouldst Thou kill me?"
"Ne'er. Friends we were, and friends we remain, at least until the day is done. A foe you are not, nor a warrior. I only battle those of my cast."
Claw hissed softly, flitting between his native shadows. "Wither in fear, then, soldier, for 'tis my knife, an assassin's knife, that shall bring about Thy death, moreso than any of the swords that ne'er came Thee close."
"Wherefore do you threaten me, Shadow Dweller, and speak of me like a servant? I am your superior, whether foe or friend." He looked at the assassin narrowly.
"And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth," muttered Claw softly, flitting from shadow to shadow, like a ghost afraid of dawn.
Night Hawk growled. "Play not wise nor virteous with me, Shadow Dweller; an assassin's lot is darkness and in darkness you shall remain."
"Not Thy place to know, old friend," laughed the raven assassin. "Alas, a mere Predacon to place himself above a Maximal? And then day shall never dawn again..."
"Spare me your prophecies, your gloomy bigotry. Hold me back, aye, oppress me, but dare not to speak of me as a slave." Proud Night Hawk caught Claw's gaze and held it.
Answered guileful Claw, "'Tis all Thou art. Scuttle on home, Predacon. The peaceful way of Maximal life is not for you."
"Mistaken, old friend, and with a mere slip of the tongue to prove me correct. Wherefore have you turned your once-noble back 'pon your brethren?"
"I am with my brethren. Nobility is still my cloak."
"Ah, yes... The nobility of the hired killer. Your ethics are decayed, Shadow Dweller, and I fear 'tis ne'er to change. Farewell, then; stay with Thy noble Maximals." He turned away, wrapping his cloak about himself.
"And thus we part, as friends, for the final time," sighed Claw.
"Never more," whispered back at him from the turned back.
Claw laughed, shifting and changing, taking off into the firey, fatal sunlight. "Qouth the Raven, Never more."