Colosseum - Round 1, Group A - Okor vs Weiss Schnee

[Okor]

Okor’s eye, sheltered behind a piece of sullied glass, widened in surprise as Weiss pulled the trigger. What did not surprise him in the least was her prompt cry of pain, as the recoil took its toll on her slight wrist. A chuckle rose unbidden in his cut throat, which began to die as the bolt round streaked towards the cloud of volatile glasses he resided in. Gods dammit. He could do little but watch as the shell broke apart in front of his rotten face, the searing cloud of phosphex igniting his gaseous environment, tearing apart his mortal form, shattering his coffin of steel. His symbiotes screamed in agony as they were disintegrated, corpulent maggots incinerated by the cleansing flame. The Plague Marine let out a roar of anger as the fire consumed him wholly. Weiss began to smile, victory finally within her reach.

Then, he moved.

A largely skeletal foot landed heavily on the sandy surface of the coliseum, the dead meat wrapped around the rotting bones charred and blackened, its regenerative abilities cancelled out by the purifying touch of fire. The remainder of the chosen marine’s corpse fell out from the clearing smoke, embers and isolated pockets of flame resplendent on his charcoal-like hide. Broken remnants of his warplate had been fused by the heat to his skin, still glowing with residual thermal energy. A gauntlet, crimson with the inferno’s caress, pounded into a burnt fist, as a scorched helmet looked impassively towards the wailing warrior, her face betraying the despair that was sinking its claws into her still-beating heart, a stark contrast to Okor’s own damaged organs. She didn’t run. Her breathing came ragged, the once pure-white of her garments burnt, bloodied, and torn. The Plague Marine loomed over her, black flakes of skin falling from his incinerated frame. The femme fatale’s pale eyes looked into the feverish gaze of Okor, betraying her horror and disbelief. “Well… fought.” He slurred, even his impressive, yet ultimately mortal form too ravaged to sustain coherent thought. “See again… maybe. You are something more than just a… prime. You are… Worthy.” The giant blinked, attempting to remember what remained of his past as his present slowly cooled, the molten remnants of his armour still steaming. “Was called worthy… once. Fought, ran, fell. Got up. If you are to… lose all hope, succumb to fear as the skies rain blood, and the end draws near… Then get back up. Don’t matter if you fall. So long as you… rise.” Okor rose unsteadily to his feet, slowly limping into the back rooms, white mages flowing into the theater to deal with the rapidly fading life signs of his former foe.

None of them dared to approach the Chosen of Nurgle, his stride implacable, as the air around him became suffused with the stuff of nightmares, the atmosphere becoming slick and sulphurous. As a familiar pain etched itself on every agony of his being, his genome screaming in agony as it was torn apart and remade in a form more pleasing to his patron. What remained of his face twitched in a smile, as he staggered away from the prying eyes of the crowd, and collapsed into a heap, spasming and drooling as he warped and twisted, his skull splitting apart, and armour coalescing around him as toxic vapours and sullied Omnillium surrounded him.

All he felt was exultation that his Gods were still by his side.