01-21-2018, 02:45 PM
The gangrenous giant’s gauntlet rose up to his horned skull, spine cracking as he slowly, gently snapped his own neck to face the sister his bared, bony claw was gripping. His skin gently smouldered, his ancient corruption suffering under the shining light of her undeniable purity. A single eye set into the bent and broken bones that forged his face settled on the childlike crusader, scarlet sclera swimming with barely-visible parasites staring into her very soul. Festering fangs split the malformed maw apart, skin stretching and tearing as broken teeth twisted themselves into a Cheshire grin.
”At long… last,” the bubonic beast spoke gravely, leprous limbs holding the Sister in place. Evangeline struggled, trying to push the plagued paladin away, her hand caught in a grip like rust-coated iron.
”Do you know how long I have wasted away in this Gods-forsaken realm, alone?” A mad gleam shone in his eye, an entropic aura intensifying around the infected iconoclast, the once-pure dream sickening and withering around him. The Sister’s eyes narrowed, panic and fear replaced by years of intense training. A knife-like hand descended on the wretched wrist that held her in place, a retina-scorching light erupting on the point of contact, burning away cursed flesh and blasted bone.
Okor lifted his newly cauterized wrist, tumorous, tentacular growths struggling to slowly writhe up out of the charred stump, sizzling and scorching beneath the ever-present purity of this psyche. “For far less time than you deserve, Heretic,” spat the Sister, her voice wavering, yet an undercurrent of strength and faith remained, lending strength to her words. She was still small, still trembling in apprehension. But she was not without strength within her own mind: angelic wings rose from her back, a faint halo of shining light resting above her brow.
A cancer-ridden chuckle answered her accusation, noxious smoke rising from his impure flesh as he basked in her pure radiance. ”Good, good. Hate has not yet abandoned you. It is the first thing this accursed realm will steal from you.” A confused scowl answered the statement, Evangeline’s youthful form entering a combat stance, fists raised as she stared down the Terror-inspiring titan. “Speak what you mean, blasphemer. In the God-Emperor’s name, I demand you speak the truth.”
The gangrenous grin only seemed to grow, rotting hide tearing itself further asunder as jaws filled with further festering fangs were revealed. ”The Truth? My… dear, I will tell you nothing but the Truth. It will be painful. It will be unwelcome. But from these long-dead lips, nothing but the truth comes.”
His hands came together, one still slick with the festering fluids of its rebirth, the other clad in corrupted ceramite, pulling tight a shimmering skein of pure potential, swirling iridescence resplendent across its surface. Spires of steel rose to blot out the sun, Astartes bearing strange sigils kneeling before a robed master. Stone platforms, buoyed by crystals sailed through the sky as scholars from a thousand races banded together. Endless dunes stretching past the horizon, tangled green forests overrunning any hopes of civilization, vast crystal-clear seas beneath which abyssal creatures lurked, ashen steppes adorned with the charred bones of a thousand champions. There were a hundred vistas within this accursed realm to show, each of them devoid of what both the Divine Champions were accustomed to: Faith, fury, fire.
”This is a realm without the Emperor. Without the Gods. Without hatred,” he snarled, spitting a gobbet of rotting flesh to the ground. ”Each day, I look over this wretched realm, I start to forget. I forget the pain I have… suffered. I forget the justice I have sought. I forget my brothers. I forget my hatred.”
His face was more fang than flesh now, a torn and tattered tongue running over gnarled masses of broken teeth.
”I am Okor Paleblood, born of Barbarus, son of the Fourteenth Legion, Chosen of Nurgle. Remember who you are, Slave to an absent Emperor, for the Smiling One has taken everything from you but yourself.”
He leaned in close, his breath rank, impossibly real for a mere dream.
”And together, we shall take everything from him.”
”At long… last,” the bubonic beast spoke gravely, leprous limbs holding the Sister in place. Evangeline struggled, trying to push the plagued paladin away, her hand caught in a grip like rust-coated iron.
”Do you know how long I have wasted away in this Gods-forsaken realm, alone?” A mad gleam shone in his eye, an entropic aura intensifying around the infected iconoclast, the once-pure dream sickening and withering around him. The Sister’s eyes narrowed, panic and fear replaced by years of intense training. A knife-like hand descended on the wretched wrist that held her in place, a retina-scorching light erupting on the point of contact, burning away cursed flesh and blasted bone.
Okor lifted his newly cauterized wrist, tumorous, tentacular growths struggling to slowly writhe up out of the charred stump, sizzling and scorching beneath the ever-present purity of this psyche. “For far less time than you deserve, Heretic,” spat the Sister, her voice wavering, yet an undercurrent of strength and faith remained, lending strength to her words. She was still small, still trembling in apprehension. But she was not without strength within her own mind: angelic wings rose from her back, a faint halo of shining light resting above her brow.
A cancer-ridden chuckle answered her accusation, noxious smoke rising from his impure flesh as he basked in her pure radiance. ”Good, good. Hate has not yet abandoned you. It is the first thing this accursed realm will steal from you.” A confused scowl answered the statement, Evangeline’s youthful form entering a combat stance, fists raised as she stared down the Terror-inspiring titan. “Speak what you mean, blasphemer. In the God-Emperor’s name, I demand you speak the truth.”
The gangrenous grin only seemed to grow, rotting hide tearing itself further asunder as jaws filled with further festering fangs were revealed. ”The Truth? My… dear, I will tell you nothing but the Truth. It will be painful. It will be unwelcome. But from these long-dead lips, nothing but the truth comes.”
His hands came together, one still slick with the festering fluids of its rebirth, the other clad in corrupted ceramite, pulling tight a shimmering skein of pure potential, swirling iridescence resplendent across its surface. Spires of steel rose to blot out the sun, Astartes bearing strange sigils kneeling before a robed master. Stone platforms, buoyed by crystals sailed through the sky as scholars from a thousand races banded together. Endless dunes stretching past the horizon, tangled green forests overrunning any hopes of civilization, vast crystal-clear seas beneath which abyssal creatures lurked, ashen steppes adorned with the charred bones of a thousand champions. There were a hundred vistas within this accursed realm to show, each of them devoid of what both the Divine Champions were accustomed to: Faith, fury, fire.
”This is a realm without the Emperor. Without the Gods. Without hatred,” he snarled, spitting a gobbet of rotting flesh to the ground. ”Each day, I look over this wretched realm, I start to forget. I forget the pain I have… suffered. I forget the justice I have sought. I forget my brothers. I forget my hatred.”
His face was more fang than flesh now, a torn and tattered tongue running over gnarled masses of broken teeth.
”I am Okor Paleblood, born of Barbarus, son of the Fourteenth Legion, Chosen of Nurgle. Remember who you are, Slave to an absent Emperor, for the Smiling One has taken everything from you but yourself.”
He leaned in close, his breath rank, impossibly real for a mere dream.
”And together, we shall take everything from him.”
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