The Elfbone Extraction [M]

[Okor]

Okor chuckled as he pressed close to the monster, their blades scraping against each other as the two warriors struggled for supremacy. Astonishingly, the foul being's strength was more than a match for Okor's own, as his own rusted blade began to falter under the Draconian's onslaught. He began to laugh, as the Draconian began to gain the upper hand. "Strategy?" Okor stepped to the side, allowing the Xenos' accumulated strength to propel it forward, swinging its blade through the air, where Okor's torso had been moments before. His right foot careened into the beast's calve, stumbling it. It quickly whipped around, its blade scything into Okor's left pauldron. The steel blade remained lodged inside of the rotten ceramite, its tip worrying its way into Okor's flesh. "This is... war, child. At this level, there are no grand schemes. No nobility." His bare hand grasped the Draconian's blade, its steel cutting into his palm, prying it loose from its prison of decay as he swept his blade laterally against the creature's exposed stomach, cutting into the soft scales. "There is only death. Either your own, or... what lies in front of you."

He began to step forward, rot beginning to bubble up from his joints, the necrotic filth flowing over his body. The substance seethed, boiling away as Okor began to laugh, his voice warping and twisting as the vox systems of his armour began to distort and corrupt. The ooze turned into a foul green steam, leaking away from Okor, as he was reborn. Several inches of solid ceramite coated his superhuman physique, but even the thick armour was not enough to fully mask the hum and whirr of machinery lurking beneath the surface. Terminator Armour. In the Dark Age of technology, it was little more than an impractical deep-space repair suit. In the Fourty First Millenium, it was a weapon of war. The machine and Okor were as one, static and gurgling laughter filling the air as they exulted in their newfound strength. His verdigris-coated blade fell to the ground at his side as he spoke in tongues, his mortal mouth filling with blood as it channeled words not meant for this reality. The Draconian looked on in shock as Okor's armoured fists began to drip with filth. "You are no King here, beast." A sound that can only be described as a radio laughing underwater emerged from Okor. "A king needs his... subjects. A warrior... he needs only a foe. And I have found mine."

The Draconian, recovering from his moment of shock, charged forward, his shining blade rebounding off of Okor's heavy plate. Laughing raucously, Okor's thick gauntlets, dripping corruption, locked themselves around Axorn. As the virulence began to seep into Axorn's skin, he began to spin. His heavy boots pounded against the floor as he used the Draconian as a counterweight, the creature keeping its wings close to its body so as to prevent damage. With another chuckle, he released, sending the beast careening through a plate glass window. While its wings would undoubtedly save it, there were more pressing matters to attend to. He activated his subvocal Vox, transmitting a message across Legion frequencies. "The artifact is acquired. Do not... be overly distracted. Locate... exfiltration." The grinding of gears and the clashing of steel produced from his march filled the air. A moment later, said air was filled by falling shards of glass, and the Draconian. His armour preventing him from moving as quickly as he would otherwise, he was unable to dodge, or even parry the incoming attack. Obviously having used the brief break in the battle to its advantage, the Draconian had located a gouge in his armour, and was capitalizing on it. The long, bloodstained blade used the advantage of the creature's momentum to pierce Okor's thickened armour, spearing through the weakened ceramite, the Black Carapace, his Fused ribs, and two lungs. Roaring in rage, Okor's fists grabbed towards the beast that was long since gone. Turning around, the tip of the long gunblade shining through his pestilential carapace, his single, baleful eye gazed out from behind the red lens of his armour. Screaming a wordless, primal howl, he threw himself against the Draconian once more, his fists curled into infectious claws.

Used Tier One Transformation: Grave Warden (+2 ATK, +2 DEF, +1 TEC). 1 SP used, 1 SP remaining.
Axorn's gunblade is currently impaling Okor. Should Axorn be able to fire it, the result will likely destroy Okor's chest, and open his atrophied Organs to attack. It won't kill him outright, but it will definitely put him on the back foot, to say the least.