The Dark Ages [Dark Data]

[Okor]

The seat creaked beneath his weight, now-tarnished wood screaming in defiance of the mounting pressure of the pestilent paladin. Two hands that were little more than a thin veneer of leathery skin atop a seething swarm of symbiotic insects raised a steaming pie to his maw, thin tendrils of steam rising into the jagged chasm that stood in for his nostrils. What remained of his olfactory senses remained were alight.

Syrup-drenched fruits, sugar in such excess that it formed its own crystalline continents beneath the surface, the ineffable element of love.

Blood and Fire.

The distinct sounds of the hunter’s arm-cannon resonated through the big-top, only to be drowned out by Okor’s sigh as his feast was denied, the pie held in his hands falling to the table, flaky crust breaking apart as sliced apples slid from the pulverized pastry, aloft on a tide of syrup. He rose, claws carpeted by the carapaces of a thousand ravenous parasites, the decrepit flesh of their host no longer sufficient.

”Well, let’s do this, then.”

One of the brutes seated at the table lunged towards him, fatty flesh and muscle crushing any remains of civility beneath his bulk as pastries evaporated into a fine pulp of crust and filling, smeared across a too-tight tunic. Fists the size of ham joints careened towards his ruined face, a crack of bone impacting bone echoing throughout the tent as all fell silent. Strands of sickly white blood dripped from his maw as his head slowly  turned back to face his attacker, every inch of his flesh wriggling as a manic grin formed upon his festering face.

A hungering claw lashed out in return, wrapping itself around the back of the once-mighty man’s head, some of the seething mass of symbiotes jumping ship, swarming the unfortunate’s skull even as it was driven through the table, splinters flying in the air as the crowd within the tent began to move. Screams and shouts reverberated through the tent as the huddled masses of humanity charged forward, daggers drawn and clutched in clenched fists. A roar of rage drowned out their din as his own fists hammered down, sending lesser men crumpling to the ground beneath, his stride unimpeded by the knives clattering off his ceramite armour or slicing through his leathery skin.

The Jester that had hosted the event capered towards him, a club painted with a grin held in one hand, a sickle slick with a dark, purplish fluid held in the other. The fool leapt over the heads of the horde, curved blade descending in an arc towards the marine’s bared throat.

“Leaving so soon? But you’ve barely even scratched the crust of our little competition!”

The sickle sunk inside, its acidic coating hissing and sizzling as it burnt at dessicated flesh, maggots and stranger writhing in pain as they melted under its caress. A smile spread across the Jester’s face, eyes too focused on the devastation his alchemy had wrought to notice the claws wrapping around their arm.
With a jolt, they jester was pulled away, the blade still lodged in the marine’s neck as he went about his bloody work. With the familiar crack of bones and a disquieting slorp, the fool’s arm came free in a spray of gore, the remainder of the body being sent careening into the crowd, the severed appendage already starting to feed the worms even as it cracked an approaching assailant over the head.

Move. Strike. Bleed. Break. Crush.

Okor could fight in his sleep: a swarm of peasants armed with slivers of steel held no threat, and the poison eating away at his flesh was doing so at a noticeably slower pace than his own host of parasites. There was nothing here that could challenge hi-

This train of thought was interrupted by a solid thunk. The hilt of a truly titanic axe struck the earth, its massively obese wielder holding it in a single hand, their eyes reduced to pinpricks of purple light, a permanent piggish squint. “Boss-man sez you gotta get chopped up. Ruined plenty pies. You’s gonna be made into more.” The brute hefted the axe, slowly striding towards the septic soldier, sunlight streaming in through the top of the tent glinting off their shining blade.

He was summoned. He could not delay aiding his allies in favour of duelling some hapless brute. His hunger burned within his gut, writhing, gnawing, like a thousand thousand barbed lashes driving him deeper down this bloody path.

Skin split. Bones broke and reshaped themselves, fossilized ribcages stretching wide, tearing what remained of his stomach apart as the seething morass of maggots and fleshy tendrils within lashed out, Nebula’s minions fully exercising what little capacity for terror they possessed, screams echoing throughout the tent.

”You wanted me to eat?”

A maw packed with tainted teeth, bared in a devilish grin. One eye, mad with hunger. A nigh-infinite amount of lesser lifeforms that would nonetheless outlive all other species. Perhaps three dozen prey left standing.

One possible outcome. Death cries competed with a guttural roar for auditory domination, the latter winning out by pure virtue of being the only sound save the dripping of blood and the splash of greaves through sanguine pools of gore after a few seconds.

Okor emerged from the entrance to the tent, ragged flaps of flesh covering the hollow of his stomach, crimson staining his armour, a slowly expanding line of acidic erosion spreading from the Jester’s blow. His companions fought against the other peasants, their attachment to their mortal flesh denying them the somewhat lax approach to self-preservation the Corrupted Crusader could indulge in.

He backhanded a screaming zealot away from him, sending them sprawling to the cobblestones, knife clattering to the ground as shimmering streams of Omnillium wrapped around his arm, coalescing in his palm. A flash of iridescent light followed as it extended, grew, and reshaped, filth and decay consuming it as what was once pure, ever-changing potential devolved into a solid mass of rusted Iron.

The Pestilent Paragon stumbled forward, raising the hammer as it began its inevitable arc towards the solid oaken gates of the castle, the locks upon it still awaiting the approval of the contest’s officiants.

Entropy waited for no man, however. Gripping the shaft in both near-skeletal hands, servomotors within his armour screaming in rage alongside him, he brought the hammer down upon the sealed portal, warp energies coruscating around the head as it descended.

Gigaton Hammer used for 2 order points. Requesting a summary of our order points next update, if possible, please.