The Dark Ages [Dark Data]

[Okor]

An axe forged of blackened steel whistled through the air, the sharpened edge digging deep into his mummified flesh. The force of the blow elicited a grunt from the giant as he staggered backwards, parasites already slithering from the rent in his leathery skin. Corrupt claws wrapped around the shoulder of the sable-clad darkling, bringing them in close as Okor’s horned helm drove itself forwards, a crack resounding through the arena as the knighted nightmare fell backwards, their armour dented under the impact. The plagued paladin struck out with his greaves, hooking one leg around the darkling’s leg and pulling it out from under them, lifting his blighted blade high in the air, the tainted tip prepared to be driven through the abomination’s heart.

A crossbow bolt embedded itself in his wrist as he drove the blighted blade downwards, driving it off its deadly path. It skittered off the stones as the Axe-wielding warrior clambered to his feet, another quarrel thudding into his breastplate to cover the retreat of the Archer’s brethren.

”Honour among rogues?” Okor gurgled, ripping the poisoned projectile free from his wrist, its serrated tip dripping with white blood and black toxins. ”Such a rarity these days.”

Sluggishly, a hand reduced to nothing more than bone, animated by the maggots still feasting upon scraps of festering flesh, raised a single silicon chip and jammed it inside a crack upon his envenomed vambrace.

Slime-slick biomechanical horrors breached through his much-abused armour, lamprey-like maws latching on to his gauntlet, their pallid bodies squirming and glowing from within as tainted lightning arced from his blighted body. It coalesced in front of an outstretched palm, twisting into runes of ruin and sigils that promised an eternity of suffering.

”And a shame it will end so… suddenly.”

Lances of entropic energies spat from his palm, turning armour and flesh alike to dust with their passing, the axe-wielder’s discipline preventing him from releasing anything more than a soft grunt while leprous lightning impaled them. Flesh turned to dust in the blink of an eye, errant bolts of electrical bile gnawing holes through a raised shield, motes of steel turning to dribbles of rust as the devoted darkling protected his massive master. Burning coals shined from within the Black Knight’s helmet as he turned to face the being that would dare strike him.

The thrill of power ran through ruined veins, the lightning-leeches adhered to his gauntlet slowly slithering away, corrosive fangs gnawing at the earth as they sought out the dark nexus of energies within this realm. He stepped over the fallen knight, his blighted blade screeching against the stone beneath them as he shambled closer, slowly building up speed as he charged.

His momentum was arrested when a haft slammed down across his neck, the previously fallen axeman pressing himself against Okor’s bulk, holding the plagued paladin in place while his master deigned to bless the Marine with his presence, a sword the size of Okor himself raising overhead for the deathblow.

Mortarion’s son struggled under the tender caress, the blackened helmet shuddering as it came to rest next to his pauldron, eyes like star-swamped galaxies staring out at him from within the sable steel. “Nebula’s light shall shine eternal,” came a hoarse whisper, as time seemed to slow: The glint of the two-handed blade descending from on high, the press of the axe haft against his throat, the steel plate against his back.

The transparent blade slicing through the wrist of his would-be captor.

Okor fell forward as he was released, along with the severed hand as the Black Knight’s blade careened through the Darkling’s shoulder, cleaving through the air where Okor had previously stood, and the armour of his underling with equal ease. A roar resonated through the arena as the Knight’s prey was denied, mimicked by its minion as it clutched its axe in one remaining hand, star-spun pseudopods flowing from the breach in their armour.

Hiro stood at his side, jumping from foot to foot, adrenaline pounding through too-human veins as he clutched his sword of glass, knuckles whitening his darkened skin. He turned to Okor, a grin shining beneath the increasingly complex series of goggles and sights as the ambulatory shrine to entropy slowly rose from his knees. “Not yet, Big Guy.” Hiro paused for a moment, contemplating patting the plague marine on the back, before his sense of self-preservation prevailed, wrapping both hands around the hilt of his exotic weapon.

The two crusaders stood together against the world, one wielding a shining sword of sculpted glass, the other holding a battered blade of corroded iron. All was silent for a moment, both sides taking a moment to regroup their strength as they gazed at each other with unrestrained fury.

A blast of energy forced the knight wielding a morning star to stumble as the torrent of power broke against his breastplate, the darklings starting to surge forward in retaliation for this indignity. Samus screamed out over the din as the hunter sunk to one knee, laying down suppressing fire for her luddite companions.

“Stop posing and get fighting!”

864 words. Made use of the Firing Zone Battlechip acquired after the Centaur fight that I horribly butchered the name of.