Colosseum - Quarterfinal - Okor vs the Bandit

[Okor]

Booming laughter flowed from the desecrated abyss of the ancient warrior’s shattered jaw, splintered remnants of teeth joining the corrosive spittle seeping from his ravaged maw. His stomach split, flesh and skin tearing itself apart to reveal ever-hungry teeth, eagerly sinking yellowed fangs into the scarred flesh of the bandit, rending calloused skin in an uncontrolled frenzy of long-repressed hunger. Winding tendrils of a digestive system no longer able to be sustained on anything save the capricious eddies of the immaterium ensnared her hardened limbs, pulling her deeper into his ravenous chasm. She sunk deeper and deeper into the abyss into which all ends, to be consumed and reprocessed, remade in a form more pleasing to the Lord of All.

And then, she broke her fetters.

Ragged remnants of entrails fell from her muscled frame, grinning as the fever began to enter her eyes, streaks and flecks of her own infected vitae infiltrating her vitreous humours. She cocked back a bloodied fist, preparing to drive it into the eternally grinning visage of the plague marine. It did so, careening into his rotten face, a wet squelch emanating from the impact. Putrescent slime dripped from her fist, new bloody momentos carved upon it by the unyielding stone beneath the liquified form of Okor.

Blow upon blow rained down upon his gelatinous frame, splintering the cobbles beneath, fragments of pavement embedding themselves in her worn knuckles. In her frenzy born of a myriad of maladies assailing her mind, she continued her assault, oblivious to the slow slithering of the chosen’s effluent mass, his pestilential matter slowly accumulating behind her.

As the last of his corporeal form slid into place, the bandit turned, snarling through foam-flecked lips at the sudden repositioning of her hatred’s focus. With one of the last few bursts of speed her ravaged body possessed, her powerful hands wrested a weapon from the nearby market stall, turning a supportive pillar into a pointed stake.

Surging forward, accompanied by a savage cry, a roar of defiance of all that Okor and his patron embodied, they plunged their makeshift weapon down towards the gap between his battered gorget, and his equally damaged flesh.

The multi-dimensional rainbow of Omnillium he held in his hand quickly tarnished and broke, falling apart as it dripped with noxious effluence, becoming nothing more than a twisted point dripping with filth. It was perfect. The blade rose upwards towards the raised morass of scars adorning her abdomen, its tip resplendent with diseases so potent, any mortal sickness would scream in dim terror as they fell upon it, tearing them apart in a microscopic orgy of destruction.

Their two disparate blows connected. Splintered wood tore into the plague marine’s throat, ripping apart his esophagus, scratching his reinforced spinal column as it twisted and turned, rending and ripping infected flesh in its quest for death. At the same instant, a septic dagger plunged into her gut, its toxic payload spreading into her already-corrupted bloodstream, while the savage construction of the weapon itself embedded itself in her entrails. They stood there in a shared embrace of impalement, the constant worrying of her makeshift weapon nullifying his rampant regeneration.

The necrotic knight leaned in, translucent blood slowly seeping from his ragged lips, and the wound carved in his neck, adhering to his short protrusion of facial hair. A stench like the primordial swamps of ancient Terra, ridden with the dead and decaying, yet suffused with life, emanated from the abomination that could only tangentially be called a mouth.

”You still fight.” He rasped, the instrument of murder obstructing his trachea no more an impediment than the cysts and phlegm his voice forced its way through routinely. ”His essence… suffuses you. You say that life is struggle? That it is pain?” His chuckle was stilled by the pointed obstruction, emerging as a hacking, bloody cough. ”What you suffer is what I… survive every moment. Every torment inflicted upon the faithful is insubstantial, for.. Grandfather shields us. We rot so that their blades can no longer hurt us.”

He twisted the crooked blade, causing blood to begin to seep from the abdominal incision created by the shiv, partially translucent vitae falling to the cracked stones beneath. ”Of all the things this cracked and broken… realm can throw at you, there is only one thing you need to accept.

Let him help you.”

Used Tier one supermove: Septic Shiv. 1 SP remaining.