03-17-2016, 09:44 AM
The fury of heaven itself flowed from the sky, angelic power manifested in a coruscating beam of light, threatening to scorch the retinas of onlookers as The Harbinger vanished underneath the ravages of rapture, the smallest of smiles forming on Kanda’s face.
It was all too quickly banished as the smoke cleared, the shimmering yellow energy cocooning the bringer of death slowly dissipating, the skull-faced slayer of worlds remaining unfazed by the assault, weapons materializing into its claws as it strode forward towards its sacrifices. His face a mask of grim determination, Yu was forced to ask himself how else things could go wrong.
The problem with such a question, is that there’s always an answer.
A snarl split both of Okor’s mouths, hungering teeth bared in anger, hungering tendrils eagerly seeping from his stomach, their barbed lengths seeking to entwine the Exorcist’s flesh, as he spat his hatred. ”Home? You would call this damned hell a home?” Caught off-guard by the assault, it was only Kanda’s nigh-supernatural skill which saved them from the worst of the Plague Marine’s terrors, silvered blade flashing again and again to sever the withered appendages. ”This is our… Prison.” Shredded, hollow skin flew through the air, the aegis of his blade seemingly defying the inevitability that was rot and corruption.
But of course, it takes but a single misstep to fall from the path of grace.
A tentacle wrapped around the Black Orderly’s ankle, wicked barbs sinking into his flesh as desiccated hands wrapped around its base and heaved, sending the warrior flying towards his tormentor. Their lithe form impacted on the nothingness of the nexus, bouncing off of the emptiness as their Katana sliced through the air, a hungering sprite spawning forth as he tore through the thin barrier between worlds that kept it contained to its own reality.
It quickly entangled itself in the gangrenous giant’s entrails, its fleshless form gnawing at desiccated innards as its master tumbled past the rotting hulk, verdigris-coated armour constraining pallid, leathery flesh. Cadaverous claws dipped inside his exposed abdominal cavity, dripping pestilence as he tore the unwelcome guest from his intestines, scraps from the hollow organs falling from its needle-sharp teeth.
”Vermin.” With a crack, the beast was crushed to powder in his gauntlet, bonemeal trickling down to the hollow floor as the battle raged behind them, the unearthly power of harbinger bringing ruin to the betrayers. ”How… appropriate.”
“How could you side with that… Demon?” Spat the holy avenger, pain suffusing his side, a gift from the massive marine that even now turned to face him, antiquated armour restricting his movements, every mechanical complaint it issued heralding the cyclopean eye that now fell upon the Exorcist.
Grating laughter came unbidden from the warped vox system of his helmet, a match to the shriek of steel on steel as he drew his blade. Sickness seeped from every syllable, the pestilence infusing his essence palpable. ”What is a Demon, but an Angel from… another angle?” The black-clad hunter surged forward, his skill and speed undeniable, even after Okor’s attentions. The Chosen’s rusted cleaver attempted to parry the strike, his sluggish speed denying him the opportunity as it bit into his throat, the tip of the blade slipping inside of his gorget and summoning forth a spray of translucent arterial blood as it ripped through his papery skin. It was a masterful blow, one that would have ended any mortal man, a slash that would have qualified for some kind of immortalization in art, the epitome of swordplay.
Unfortunately, Okor was no mortal man. Twinned hearts began to hammer in his decrepit chest, a toxic sludge of combat stimulants joining the tainted blood within his veins, a twisted, blackened grin forming beneath his helm, as his wound began to seal itself shut, flesh knitting itself back together with unholy speed.
He was Astartes. An Angel of Death.
A boney backhand merely grazed the samurai’s face, the dress-wearing demon-hunter struggling to bend out of his necrotic embrace, the plague marine roaring with laughter, coughs and wheezes failing to stop the near-deranged cackling, merely blending into the chorus of corruption. ”Are you afraid, traitor!?” Heavy with the weight of aeons, his blade was brought down in a scything arc, crashing against the Nexus surface as Kanda sidestepped his rightful end.
The Exorcist responded with a blow of his own, his sword slicing through Okor’s papery husk and mummified flesh, the hardened bones beneath denying him as he parted the champion’s flesh. Through gritted teeth, they spoke as a helmet slowly swivelled, turning its baleful gaze upon them. “You heard that… thing. It will destroy this world. Everything that’s been built, everything we’ve all worked for, will be consumed in hellfire!” It ended on a scream, a desperate plea of a man unable to see the truth before his eyes.
Outstretched arms greeted him, writhing maggots filling his wound, vomiting foulness to repair his battered body. ”You still don’t get it, do you? This is not a… home, not a second chance. This is our prison.” The twisted tip of his rusted blade rose, pointing itself at the harbinger as it roared its hatred of the world, threatening to deafen the combatants. ”And that will break our chains.”
“Are you insane? That demon will kill us all!” They shouted, struggling to comprehend the twisted viewpoint of his opponent.
”How naive are you, to believe that Angels are saviours, rather than destroyers?” Came the words, sickly sweet with cancerous corruption. ”How many lies must your gods tell you to get you to bloody your hands?” He laughed as their blades clashed, the Exorcist little more than a blur as they surged forward in rage, their anger driving them to recklessness, the katana crashing down again and again on rusted metal, each blow knocking a new jagged edge into its length.
A twist of his blade, and Kanda’s katana found itself caught in the notched blade, a bare claw placing itself over it, holding it in place as pale blood seeped from his nigh-immediate attempt to free it. The marine leaned in, foetid breath fouling the air as he spoke. ”This is the truth. There is no redemption here, no righteousness… There is but retribution and death. All of your falsehoods have been flayed away, and the bones of your god lie in front of you, demanding to be anointed with blood.” With a heave, the blades were wrested from their hands, clattering against the void as Okor drew his bolter, its hungering maw facing down Kanda.
”But my God is hungrier, coward. Taste of his gifts, before the end.”
It was all too quickly banished as the smoke cleared, the shimmering yellow energy cocooning the bringer of death slowly dissipating, the skull-faced slayer of worlds remaining unfazed by the assault, weapons materializing into its claws as it strode forward towards its sacrifices. His face a mask of grim determination, Yu was forced to ask himself how else things could go wrong.
The problem with such a question, is that there’s always an answer.
A snarl split both of Okor’s mouths, hungering teeth bared in anger, hungering tendrils eagerly seeping from his stomach, their barbed lengths seeking to entwine the Exorcist’s flesh, as he spat his hatred. ”Home? You would call this damned hell a home?” Caught off-guard by the assault, it was only Kanda’s nigh-supernatural skill which saved them from the worst of the Plague Marine’s terrors, silvered blade flashing again and again to sever the withered appendages. ”This is our… Prison.” Shredded, hollow skin flew through the air, the aegis of his blade seemingly defying the inevitability that was rot and corruption.
But of course, it takes but a single misstep to fall from the path of grace.
A tentacle wrapped around the Black Orderly’s ankle, wicked barbs sinking into his flesh as desiccated hands wrapped around its base and heaved, sending the warrior flying towards his tormentor. Their lithe form impacted on the nothingness of the nexus, bouncing off of the emptiness as their Katana sliced through the air, a hungering sprite spawning forth as he tore through the thin barrier between worlds that kept it contained to its own reality.
It quickly entangled itself in the gangrenous giant’s entrails, its fleshless form gnawing at desiccated innards as its master tumbled past the rotting hulk, verdigris-coated armour constraining pallid, leathery flesh. Cadaverous claws dipped inside his exposed abdominal cavity, dripping pestilence as he tore the unwelcome guest from his intestines, scraps from the hollow organs falling from its needle-sharp teeth.
”Vermin.” With a crack, the beast was crushed to powder in his gauntlet, bonemeal trickling down to the hollow floor as the battle raged behind them, the unearthly power of harbinger bringing ruin to the betrayers. ”How… appropriate.”
“How could you side with that… Demon?” Spat the holy avenger, pain suffusing his side, a gift from the massive marine that even now turned to face him, antiquated armour restricting his movements, every mechanical complaint it issued heralding the cyclopean eye that now fell upon the Exorcist.
Grating laughter came unbidden from the warped vox system of his helmet, a match to the shriek of steel on steel as he drew his blade. Sickness seeped from every syllable, the pestilence infusing his essence palpable. ”What is a Demon, but an Angel from… another angle?” The black-clad hunter surged forward, his skill and speed undeniable, even after Okor’s attentions. The Chosen’s rusted cleaver attempted to parry the strike, his sluggish speed denying him the opportunity as it bit into his throat, the tip of the blade slipping inside of his gorget and summoning forth a spray of translucent arterial blood as it ripped through his papery skin. It was a masterful blow, one that would have ended any mortal man, a slash that would have qualified for some kind of immortalization in art, the epitome of swordplay.
Unfortunately, Okor was no mortal man. Twinned hearts began to hammer in his decrepit chest, a toxic sludge of combat stimulants joining the tainted blood within his veins, a twisted, blackened grin forming beneath his helm, as his wound began to seal itself shut, flesh knitting itself back together with unholy speed.
He was Astartes. An Angel of Death.
A boney backhand merely grazed the samurai’s face, the dress-wearing demon-hunter struggling to bend out of his necrotic embrace, the plague marine roaring with laughter, coughs and wheezes failing to stop the near-deranged cackling, merely blending into the chorus of corruption. ”Are you afraid, traitor!?” Heavy with the weight of aeons, his blade was brought down in a scything arc, crashing against the Nexus surface as Kanda sidestepped his rightful end.
The Exorcist responded with a blow of his own, his sword slicing through Okor’s papery husk and mummified flesh, the hardened bones beneath denying him as he parted the champion’s flesh. Through gritted teeth, they spoke as a helmet slowly swivelled, turning its baleful gaze upon them. “You heard that… thing. It will destroy this world. Everything that’s been built, everything we’ve all worked for, will be consumed in hellfire!” It ended on a scream, a desperate plea of a man unable to see the truth before his eyes.
Outstretched arms greeted him, writhing maggots filling his wound, vomiting foulness to repair his battered body. ”You still don’t get it, do you? This is not a… home, not a second chance. This is our prison.” The twisted tip of his rusted blade rose, pointing itself at the harbinger as it roared its hatred of the world, threatening to deafen the combatants. ”And that will break our chains.”
“Are you insane? That demon will kill us all!” They shouted, struggling to comprehend the twisted viewpoint of his opponent.
”How naive are you, to believe that Angels are saviours, rather than destroyers?” Came the words, sickly sweet with cancerous corruption. ”How many lies must your gods tell you to get you to bloody your hands?” He laughed as their blades clashed, the Exorcist little more than a blur as they surged forward in rage, their anger driving them to recklessness, the katana crashing down again and again on rusted metal, each blow knocking a new jagged edge into its length.
A twist of his blade, and Kanda’s katana found itself caught in the notched blade, a bare claw placing itself over it, holding it in place as pale blood seeped from his nigh-immediate attempt to free it. The marine leaned in, foetid breath fouling the air as he spoke. ”This is the truth. There is no redemption here, no righteousness… There is but retribution and death. All of your falsehoods have been flayed away, and the bones of your god lie in front of you, demanding to be anointed with blood.” With a heave, the blades were wrested from their hands, clattering against the void as Okor drew his bolter, its hungering maw facing down Kanda.
”But my God is hungrier, coward. Taste of his gifts, before the end.”
Quote:1105 words, according to wordcounter.net
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