Day One - Part 2

[Okor]

Okor sat crouched in the fortified structure, wrapping his remaining arm over his battered ceramite. Shame. That was the chief feeling wracking him. Out of the three proud Astartes that had stepped into this competition, reveling in the bonds of brotherhood, the glories of days long past, only he remained. It was what he was. The last killer standing. When the sons of Sanguinius claimed the nine others in his squad, he had remained, his bolter barking irradiated shells into their ranks before the orders came to give ground. Acidic bile dripped from his jawless maw, the belcher's gland producing a corrosive substance that hissed away at the rockcrete substance beneath his feet. He stumbled to his feet, his necrotic stump still flailing in cohesion with his ceramite-clad appendage. He looked through the boarded window at the battleground which had claimed his brother. Already, rain was starting to pelt the ground, a torrential downpour scouring the bare earth. He made a pitiful wheezing, hissing noise, a pale, warped reflection of his previous boisterous laughter. What a lovely day. I do hope the mortal enjoys it as much as I have. He turned away from the window, looking towards the battered corpse of Tartaros. He wrapped his hand around the marine's pauldron, and dragged him into the more fortified room, leaving a trail of slick blood behind him.

Dropping the corpse, Okor clasped a piece of rockcrete in his armoured hand, and straddled the body of his brother. Some rituals had to be obeyed, even in this strange land. Bringing down the piece of stone on his fellow's breastplate, it barely dented the armour. Clang. He brought it down again, smashing it against the steel. Clang. Again. Clang. Again. Clang. Clang. Clang.

Several minutes later, Tartaros' torso was laid bare, battered steel pushed to the side of the area of interest. He gurgled sadly, looking at the ruined mass of bloodied flesh that was once a noble face. He clasped a sharpened stake of steel in his hand, a crude instrument, the only thing capable of penetrating what was needed in this clinic. Very little else would have any effect on the skeletal structure of a marine. Unable to speak any final words, or anything that gave this any ceremony, save a single, blood and parasite infested tear, Okor began to tear of Tartaros's flesh and bone, seeking out the geneseed buried in his body.

It took fourteen minutes to free the organs. His lone hand was covered in blood, as was everything else in the surrounding area. The sacred organs were secured in a medical freezer, which would have to do. He leaned against the solid wall as the noise of rain filled the air. That bastard would pay. He gripped the bloodstained, bent shiv, gurgling in a pantomime of laughter. He would pay.