The two metal behemoths clash swords. The heat and impact causing sparks that bounce harmlessly off the machines and onto the otherwose idyllic grassy plain they've made the place of their final duel. The one with the upper hand, gleaming white and gold, adorned in religious iconography, puts all it's power into this sword swing. It pushes down with killing intent on it's kneeling opponent; an identical model more visibly battle-worn with less care in its slapdash repairs, and most striking of all, shoddily repainted pitch black, the way someone might cut their own hair in the bathroom mirror just so they no longer recognize their reflection.
Now in range for communications, the white paladin's pilot hails his opponent with a small digital blip sound almost inaudible through the groaning of the armor and gears as their stalemate continues, eternities passing every second.
The black knight answers. "What have you to say to me now? Gloating doesnt become you, brother," she says almost offhandedly as she focuses more on checking her levels, rerouting power, buying more time until she can find some magical third option that isn't Somehow, with the power of yelling a big loud attack name, overcome the objectively stronger mech or Eat shit and die.
The speaker crackles to life and a familiar voice seething with hatred erupts out of it. "Do not call me that, you foul creature. Nothing you have been running around doing for the last year has become you! You were our best, our brightest, our hope! Where is your honor? You used to be faithful!"
This distracts her and she finally stops holding back all that she promised herself she wasn't doing this for. "Faithful to What exactly?"
Another eternity. The paladin pretends he wasn't just struck speechless and replies "To our goddess, of course!"
"Our goddess? Is that right? Did the goddess stick us in these infernal machines? Teach us to kill in her name? Demonize anyone that doesn't bow in fealty to her holy order? Funny, I could have sworn it was those crusted old farts we grew up hating together in seminary. The ones who we swore to be better than! The ones even you questioned."
Nearly drowned out over the growing metal groans and numerous warning alarms from her console, her old friend can only spit back an "I never-"
"YOU NEVER WHAT? Criticized the order? Endlessly quoted her sacred texts in a fury when we were alone in our studies? Practically poking holes in the scroll with your finger saying 'How can they get away with this? This cannot be Her will! We have to make things right!' I have never once faltered from my faith and it has led me here where I find you no longer by my side, but at my throat. So I ask you now...What are YOU faithful t-"
The black blade breaks, though at the scale of these monsters it is more akin to a great explosion. The built up momentum of the paladin's attack comes crashing down all at once, and the white knight comes down with it atop the black scrap metal of his opponent.
He doesn't move. He waits for the dust to settle and the metal to stop yelling. Another gastly eternity and muffled outside the cockpit is the sound and vibration of the top half of his former sister's saber landing into the earth, its tip cleaving into the field like butter. A monitor off to the side of his cockpit comes to life, detecting some kind of movement from it. It's a light source dancing in the reflection of the blade. The sparks had started a fire that now engulfs the two of them in this otherwise serene location neither could appreciate stuffed into dark cockpits.
The comms are still open. A faint echo as their microphones, detecting no human voices, create a building whine of feedback echo that seems to coincide with the geyser of emotions erupting through the paladin's body. Years of traumatic mental training kicks in as he fighta with all his might to remain a stoic warrior of the Goddess. However, almost as if the words itself were prying their way out of his mouth, he gives a single choked sob, painful only from the failed efforts to stop it, and replies "I have not known for quite some time, my sister. Maybe I have never..."
Eternity upon eternities. The cockpit heating up more as the flames lap at the metal meant to protect, but now broiling the pilot within. Just as the whining feedback begins to build again, it is cut off this time from the black machine. She responds, clearly half-dazed and injured, "I've got...more paint back at my hideout. What's your favorite color?"