Second Chance.

[Okor]

Okor did not dignify Victor with a response, only chuckling once more. He drove his adamantite-clad fist into Victor's nose, creating a satisfying crunch, and driving the youth back. Blood and mucous seeped from the broken olfactory organ, as Okor swung his rusted blade towards the youth. To his credit, the child retained the presence of mind to dodge to the side, causing the blade to rip through chain mail and a layer of pectoral muscles, rather than cleaving the youth in twain. Okor circled around the reeling Victor, his eye gazing down in disappointment. "And to think, your world believed you to be.... skilled." Victor hurled himself at Okor, his glowing daggers scrabbling across ceramite, seeking an opening. A blade sunk itself through his malformed ribs, emerging covered in clear blood. his other blade, glowing golden, skittered across his gorget, unable to penetrate solid ceramite. As Okor moved to tear the youth from his body, Victor jumped away, pausing for a moment to analyze the situation before charging forward. Okor swept his blade horizontally, aiming for Victor's stomach, taking advantage of his seeming madness. Before the corroded blade kissed his flesh, Victor dropped to his knees and slid, stabbing a knife into Okor's knee, swinging around his back before assailing his joints with a fusillade of steel, needling every weak point with an inch of blade, rewarded with a small amount of pestilential vitae with every stroke. Moving as fast as he was capable, Okor spun around, only to watch Victor to leap away.

The foe was nimble, that was for sure. Any natural talent he may have possessed had been amplified tenfold by the infusion of Omnillium. He had some kind of innate skill, but he was still oh-so-foolish. He was ill-suited to combating a member of the venerable Death Guard, and it showed. His assault would have slain a lesser warrior, but against Okor, all it did was weaken himself. He was slight, thin. The toxins would slow him, propelled through his body by a redlining circulatory system, hastening his inevitable end. There was little hope for Victor. While his speed was impressive, it would fail him, simply evaporating as entropy claimed him.

"Impressive. But your method is... flawed." Okor advanced forward, hefting his rusted blade. "Every assault expends your energy. With the... rot spreading through your body, your fatigue is multiplied." He raised his plague blade towards his foe. "The way I perceive it, you have but two... choices. You can stand and fight, which you cannot afford to do. Or... You can run. I doubt I would chase. It's no... fun, chasing common murderers." Okor laughed, as his tongue tore itself apart again, as he spoke the words he heard in his rare dreams, the words of power. "DAAL'AK'ATH MEL CAENGR'ALL." As the words tore themselves free of his mouth, his hands dripped with necrotic slime, promising an unpleasant experience, to say the least. Okor spoke with a bloodied tongue, paying the price for power. "Now, show me what passes for skill amongst your misbegotten kind."