[4-12] The Mines

[Okor]

The others carried on with their rituals of grief, the choking darkness of the cave a fitting setting for the misery they attempted to hold out of their hearts. Okor spared no sympathy for the corpses they shared their space with, every carcass a mere shell for the now departed soul. Why did so many cultures waste their time with fawning over the deceased? The dead were just that, dead. Their life had come to its inevitable conclusion, and what came to them after was Nurgle’s domain, not that of Mortals to determine.

Perhaps it was some solace, being able to care for the carrion, while the spirit passed on to The Lord of All’s embrace. He wouldn’t know. Once a casualty of The Long War was pillaged of all useful possessions, they were left to rot, at best. Brothers became bomb-ridden booby traps, and under the dying light of ever-burning phosphex, friends became a feast.

It was the nature of things. Those that endured grew strong upon the remains of the weak, carving their names into history, all the while The Grandfather tested them, every second they struggled for breath earning them their continued right to existence.

Okor wheezed in a breath, the pollutants carried with him since time immemorial seeping into the ragged tatters of his lungs, the biological alterations that lifted him above the rabble of mankind, degraded through millennia of Nurgle’s touch. Every waking moment would be plagued by agony, were it not for his multitude of blessings.

But the time had passed for such reflections and musings. The light of the sun peered through a distant opening, glinting off of the damp stone of the cavern. They could see nothing of the world beyond as they approached, their steps in time with one another. The heavy footfalls of Okor, rusted greaves crushing rock underfoot, contrasted against the dexterous movements of Fiara, occasionally paused by a brief tinge of pain. The mechanical stride of Marcus was refreshingly constant, the snarl of gears and the hiss of pistons accompanying every motion. The Phoenix’s gun-gauntlets slowly smoked, the soft flames ringing their circumference momentarily abating in this moment of grim resolve and resolution. The Terminator’s fists were clenched, the technological supremacy that made up their being more than excusing any lack of armament, flesh-clad iron ready to strangle and bludgeon without mercy, without respite, without rest. The Champion’s notched and pitted blade hung from a bare hand, the jaundiced skin torn away, revealing fossilized bones and mummified flesh, whilst the antique gauntlet maintained a death grip around the atomic atrocity of the Rad-Bolter.

”Beyond this cave lies the… unknown. The Island will keep throwing tests at us, until we fail.”

A crack as his boot fell upon a shard of ivory, powderizing the item. Human bone? Perhaps this was some kind of midden for the savages, the final resting place of the slain and the slaughtered.

”And so it falls to us to kill it first.”

The subtle vibration of a stone. The product of their passing? Perhaps. Given the nature of their prison, such a mundane event would be highly unlikely. The probable outcome would be a twenty-foot tall abomination against nature awaiting them, given recent happenings.

”Find Hiro. Kill any fear-mongering bastard in your path.”

The trio began to crest the exit from the underworld, the sun beginning to illuminate the blood and mud coating their battered forms.

”Let any monster that comes across you know that in this place of… death, you will know no defeat. Only Defiance.”