Nexus Battle Royale — Threat Elimination Protocol (PvP)

[Okor]

Okor staggered to his feet, his one remaining arm wiping away the tainted blood staining his ragged facial hair, streams of rancid corruption sinking deeper into the coarse beard. The prattling machine was a distraction, an automaton diverting his attention from the fight raging behind him. He turned to face the ongoing brawl, god-like power ravaging the nexus, gunfire from the iron dwarf impacting against him, carving an erratic pattern of wounds across his side, necrotic flesh blossoming into ragged holes. The near-constant barrage of bullets ended as mechanical claws reloaded the needlessly decorated weapon, the corporate logos sprayed across its length almost as obnoxious as the machine wielding it. The muscles of his jaw forced themselves open, battling against rigour mortis to make his voice heard.

”I… tire of this.” He spat, the words crawling from the decrepit abyss of his maw.

”I tire of your so-called justice shielding the craven.” A blast from the bot’s blunderbuss ravaged the stump of his maimed limb, the growing ossiferous lattice shattering from the impact.

”I tire of your rage being screamed to the empty heavens, in the vain hope of… finding anything that will bother to listen.” He took another shuddering step forward, a spray of ceramite scarring his face as the weapon gouged a crater into his warplate.

”I tire of… letting you think you have a chance.” Ebon fluid seeped from the cracks in his armour, the pitch-black sludge flowing over his form, concealing him within its inky depths as it bubbled and bulged, twisting and warping the ‘man’ beneath. The corrupted cocoon swelled in size, the normally massive marine entirely subsumed by the sable shroud.

A titanic talon tore apart his shell. Dripping with corruption, gears groaned and snarled as a monolithic limb crashed into the blank surface of the nexus, an abandoned blade snapping under his weight, the meter-long blade being crushed to powder beneath his tread. Twinned claws idly shredded the air, massive fists attached to an armoured sarcophagus set in nigh-impenetrable ceramite.

Dreadnought.

It was as sight that inspired fear and despair amongst the ranks of the enemy, an unstoppable juggernaut of devastation, am ambulant altar to the Lord of All. No sane man would stand against it.

A reptilian carcass impacted against the hull as a familiar face made its return, bloodied features overlaid with the visage of a horned harlequin, immense power burning within its alien oculuses. A snarl issued forth from corroded speakers, seeping into existence. ”You.” Twinned clubs hung loosely in the Jester’s hands, his own blood staining the ivory bludgeons. They coughed, a small amount of blood flecking their lips as they chuckled. “What can I say? Can’t keep a good clown down.”

The gigantic bulk of Okor’s newly forged form paused, claws idly twitching in the air, eager to pulp flesh beneath their might. Rusted tines embedded within his grey matter sparked, the barely-contained violent compulsions that plagued the Chosen translating into involuntary spasms in the machinery of his mechanized coffin. ”You speak of justice. Tear apart this hell, gaze into the smallest fragment of a fragment of a... fragment of this unreality, and try to find justice. There is naught but primes, and our will.”

He took another lumbering step forward, pistons hissing as they struggled to propel his mass. He snarled his proclamation, contempt dripping in conjunction with corruption from his corroded bulk. ”There is no justice but us. There is no hope but… us. There is no hope, but us.” A claw dragged against the blank plains of the nexus, warp-spawned barnacles across his chassis extending forked tongues, sustaining themselves on the violence perpetrated, their unnatural lives subsisting entirely on the ending of others.

”And we will make it good. Our will shall be writ here in blood. Betrayers… Burn.”

With a shriek of metal on metal, his torso twisted, his fists careening towards the fused berserkers, the pendulous pummeling implements dripping darkness as they approached him. Newly vestigial limbs slapped against his confines, his armoured coffin mimicking his desire to rip and tear the flesh of those who would dare to oppose him.

”Cowards… Crack.” The armour-rending fists crashed into Gamzio, the violent noise of the impact as sweet as music to his ears, the snapping of ribs a subtle melody. Splayed talons set themselves down as he consolidated his position, hammering hands raised above his sarcophagus, prepared to descend upon the downed warrior like the guillotine of the gods.

”And Fools fall.”

A slender spear embedded itself in his optics, the opaque glass cracking as static claimed his vision, the remaining optics and semi-organic eyes embedded in the rusted hulk turning to focus on the angelic warrior who opposed him. Blood ran from numerous wounds on their slight body, although which were inflicted by the battle and which by their own sanguine spellweaving was difficult to determine. ”It… never ends, does it? End one, and another rises.” Rusted robotics screamed in protest as he moved, abandoning the fallen foe as he turned his attention towards his new target. A mask of grim defiance hid any emotions that remained within the sacred warrior, vitae seeping from a shattered nose as he struggled to retain his stance, the ruby bow clenched in shaking fingers threatening to unbalance the exhausted fighter. His sapphire eyes looked furtively around, making a series of signals the half-blind engine of entropy was unable to spot. ”This Farce ends h-”

That was when things went wrong.

Strength to rival his own made itself apparent, trollish flesh meeting and overcoming legion steel as mere hands began to tear asunder his monolithic leg, the devotional sigils carved into the surface offering no aid. Roaring in rage, he lashed out with bludgeons the size of men, the life-ending assaults sending ripples through the unbreakable nothingness of the nexus as his nimble foes evaded his blows. A blade sliced through corroded pistons, the hydraulic fluids within spilling out into the formerly pristine vista, staining the combatants as they continued their desperate dismantlement, hugging the unholy sepulchre of their would-be slayer, every massive fist that went over their heads a constant reminder of how close they were to an untimely demise.

They knew full well that they could only evade his grasp for so long. The Entropy Okor professed made it abundantly clear: Sooner or later, they would make an error. A singular misstep, and they would fall from the path of glory, and into a shallow grave.

Kanda and Straizo knew this, to be exact. The Troll prying out vital mechanisms, however, had no such reservations, the ruin he wrought upon the dreadnought an ample outlet for his nigh-insatiable anger.

1166 Words according to Google docs. Okor is sustaining Dreadnought for the round, leaving him at 0 SP and 9/11/0/2.