Second Chance.

[Okor]

Okor's bare fist descended on the irritant, the clenched skeletal claw cuffing the youth across the ear, driving him away from his maddened stabbing with a crack of bone on bone. "Enough. You have.... Proved your cowardice, your fear. Your... cruelty. Every single action you undertook screamed of your... true nature. You are weak, foolish, conniving, shouting your... glory to the world, only to flee, to run, to scheme when a threat presents itself. You ran from your duty, ran from your home, burying whatever screamed in.... defiance, counseled you to hold anything dear, replacing it with nothing but bloodlust." Okor's ceramite-clad foot rammed into the stunned youth's stomach, prompting a small amount of vomit to spew from the youth's savaged mouth. Clear blood splattered his joints, each step towards the youth causing a thin trickle of diseased bodily fluids to leak from his many wounds. "Speak your... lies, spit your empty, meaningless defiance. Scream your... nihilistic hatred of reality. Know that all of your skill, your speed, your... sadism, was nothing. Know that you failed. You threw yourself against the faithful, and broke upon their power." Okor pressed a foot against the boy's right leg, the bone inside starting to crack under the pressure applied by a marine of Okor's size. "You cannot stand, as you... stand for nothing. You are hollow."

Okor released his foot, Victor taking in a sharp intake of breath as Okor's pestilence ravaged his body. Okor sneered beneath his helmet, pacing around the struggling assassin. "You are nothing more than a pathetic... wretch. I have seen men like you on a dozen words, each of them... seeking violence, and little else. We give them knives, and point them at the foe. They die in droves, each of them convinced this story is his, and only his. That he will triumph, where his brothers failed. That he is destined for glory." Okor leaned in close to the boy. "Only one thing is fated... whelp. Death. Some embrace it. Some defy it. Some spread it, some stave it off. Some... are in between." Okor chuckled. He looked down upon the battered, bleeding youth, a number of pestilences beginning to make their presence known on his once-handsome body, still clutching a blooded dagger in a weak hand. "So... persistent." Okor raised his chin, exposing the chink in his gorget. "Come now, whelp. Do you hold the seeds of defiance in your heart? Do you wish.... to live? Would you plunge your blade into my... throat, to buy yourself a few more moments of life?" Okor exhaled a diseased breath across the youth's damaged face, assailing his nose with a cocktail of decay, sickness, and curiously, fresh rain. "Are you... just like me?"