The Dark Ages [Dark Data]

[Okor]

Fresh from his victory over the axe-wielder, Okor charged forward, his corroded cleaver clutched tightly in his claws, every step sundering the stone beneath, a clumsy tidal wave of maggot-ridden flesh and war-forged steel compared to the graceful motions of his companions. His gangrenous gaze was fixed upon Nebula’s champion, the shot-riddled shield bearer interposing himself between his dread master and the plagued paladin descending upon him, fearless in the face of nigh-assured destruction. The Darkling’s noble sacrifice was denied as Hiro’s hack distorted reality, a red spear drenched in black bile and loops of binary sequences rising from the earth and running the abomination through.

What passed for blood coursed through the remains of Okor’s veins, rotten hearts pounding in his chest as the world seemed to fade away to nothing more than himself and his titanic foe. Sable steel covered the giant from head to toe, the blade held in the Black Knight’s gauntlet larger than Okor’s own body, its dread length seemingly absorbing the light, sight gravitating towards it. There was nothing more than the two warriors and their blades as they closed the distance, skill matched against strength.

Unfortunately, the Death Guard neglected to factor in speed. Hiro had no shortage of it; a blur striking at the lesser foes as Okor sought to go blow-for-blow with the giant, slowly bleeding their corrupted vitality away with a thousand cuts of his glass blade as they hung suspended through his techno-sorcery. Okor, however, had no such celerity, as he discovered when the Knight broke his crimson bonds and sought to repel the impertinent marine. The Black Knight’s blade was like the death of the sun: Sudden, terrifying, inevitable, plunging all that ever was into darkness. The two-handed blade tore a great rent in his armour, shrapnel flying from the impact as Okor was sent tumbling backwards, bouncing off the unforgiving stone, a symphony of shattered bones accompanying him.

”Pathetic,” snarled the sovereign of this tainted realm as he advanced forwards, Hiro’s lightning-fast flurry of blows ended as his blade was caught in the morning star’s chains, fending what remained of the axe-wielder off with a kick to the gut. Samus’ shots sped through the air towards the wounded crossbowman as she launched herself from the shieldbearer’s barrier, an armour-clad claw reaching out to drag her back down to earth.

”I can see what you are, Paleblood,” the Knight hissed, his now blood-drenched blade hoisted over his shoulder, eager to deliver the killing blow. ”The sorry excuse for your life. Every betrayal, every murder, the thousand of thousand failures that stitch together the sad saga of your existence.” His blade was raised high now, preparing to crash down and end the suffering of the son of Mortarion. ”Before I end your misery, tell me one thing, just one thing: Why?” The smirk beneath the giant’s helmet was palpable, the voice echoing throughout the arena melodious and noble, almost hypnotic. ”Why do you persist? Why do you insist on blighting us with your continued existence? Why do you still shamble through the realm of the living, when you belong in the cold, dead earth?”

The sword scythed down as Okor raised his battered head, his single eye staring out at the foe, filled with blood, pus, and undying hatred as he snarled out his answer.

”Because my legs are not yet broken.” Fragmented fingers jammed a shard of silicon ebbing and flowing with corrupt energy into his bracer, black flames consuming him entirely as the power of Nebula flowed through him. Tortured souls shrieked as he bolted forwards, the Black Knight stumbling backwards as infernal fire crashed against him, the conflagration coalescing into charred armour and bone, skeletal fists raised overhead as they hammered down upon his helmet. His own sable-steel gauntlet reached up, prying the pyroclastic warrior from his face, throwing them to the unforgiving earth.

Fire-blackened boots ground against the stone as the marine landed on his feet, drawing a blade slick with dark oil, sizzling off the stone as it ate away at all it touched. The claimant of Camelot ran a gauntlet over his face, feeling the dents beaten into it. ”What kind of Demon possesses you, to force you to fight against such odds?” He soon resumed a fighting stance, both hands wrapped around the hilt of their blade. ”Tell me, so that I may exorcise it.”

Okor laughed as he spread his arms, what was not consumed by wrong black fire covered in soot and ash. ”Sheer bloody-mindedness.”

The black blade descended downwards, scything through the air and cracking against the stone as Okor stepped around it, the weapon whistling past his torso. He planted one skeletal hand upon the flat of Alondite as the knight swung it to the side, vaulting himself over its length as he raised his own blighted blade. A million battles upon a thousand worlds had taught him the ways of war, and freed from the fragility of flesh, he was free to exercise this experience. As the pretender to Aragorn’s throne attempted to recover from his wild swing, Okor plunged the blade into the tainted titan’s stomach, the corruption within the armour and upon his own blade meeting, as the aspiring god of Nebula and the foreign Lord of Decay began their invisible war of contagion.

Okor smiled as he pressed the attack, swinging his plagued blade with precisely applied brutality, revelling in his newfound perfection, his corrupted cleaver carving into joints and cracks, seeking to leave the false king crippled and contaminated with the greatest of Nurgle’s gifts:

Despair.

959 Words. Fiery charge dark chip used. 2 Order points used to activate The Burned Man (+2 ATK, DEF, SPD, and +4 TEC), 11/16 Order points remaining, by my count.