[4-12] The Mines

[Okor]

The howling retort of the Plagued Paladin’s bolt pistol was the only response the abomination received from Okor, the airbursting shell detonating scant inches in front of an amalgamation's warped visage, coating its gibbering maw in burning phosphex. As the freak fell to the floor, the Chosen’s heavy tread trampled it, his mass crushing its twisted bones like twigs as another shot streaked down the corpse-carpeted cavern, blooming in another blaze of alchemical flame.

”False? Came a digitized snarl, a set of septic spurs sinking into the throat of a charging brute, the piercing talons carving through the creature’s distended flesh before closing on the twisted vertebrae at the back of their now-shredded gullet, snapping it with a spite-fuelled application of force. Claws scratched against his armour as he tossed the freshly forged cadaver aside, the maddened mutants electing to swarm the roaring giant rather than his less noticeable companions.

Jagged barbs that might have once been fingers tore into his paper-thin skin, raking long furrows in his dessicated flesh as the deranged cult sought to make a feast from his corpse, a fresh offering for their Demonic master. As The Champion of the Dark Gods disappeared underneath the tidal wave of twisted mockeries of the human form, he yet promised vengeance. ”I have looked upon true divinity, you… poor excuse for a warp sprite.”

A god-gifted blade shot out from the swarming morass of frenzied post-human butchers, its length disemboweling an unfortunate beast, its three mismatched arms attempting to hold its organs in, an activity doomed to fail even before the Terminator demolished its skull with a pickaxe.

”I speak for the only… God that’s worth worshipping in this damned realm, the only Deity that has ambitions beyond this forsaken cave.” A tendril shot from his gut, the barbed appendage throttling another abomination as Okor strode forward, the bulk of his bolter kicking back against his torn trunks of arms, claiming another pitiable excuse for a life. All around him, the monstrosities closed in, deranged arrangements of appendages and torsos shambling unsteadily towards the Gene-forged Demigod of war, their forms warped and twisted to accommodate a wide variety of biological weapons. Claws, fangs, flails, and tentacles made themselves evident in the sickly green light of his censers, each focused on tearing down the heretic that dared to oppose their heavenly father’s will. His blade clattered to the corpse-coated floor, falling, to be forgotten amidst the coming chaos.

”And his first commandment…”

Flickers of flame ran over his rusted armour, the cleansing fire eating away at the aeons-old Verdigris, leaving behind scorched ceramite, its blackened surface laid bare in the darkness down below. His soulless flesh combusted, the mummified meat upon his longdead bones turning to Ash as he moved forward, an inferno consuming him in entirety. He raised two hands dripping with liquid flame, each holding the death-dealing tools of his trade. A skeletal jaw, wreathed in fire, cracked open, locked in a permanent grin.

”Betrayers Burn.”

All hell broke loose, with Okor riding at its fore.

A bolt shell inundated in radiation penetrated an amorphous mass of flesh, the many howling maws across its surface twisting into an expression of pain and confusion, before the round detonated within it, sending gobbets of meat flying across the subterranean tartarus. Phosphex sprayed across a tangled mass of limbs skittering towards him, the amalgamation of appendages crashing to the ground as what was once several cultists was devoured by Mankind’s oldest friend.

Brass shells fell to the still-living tissue of the floor, glowing crimson as they sizzled against the abominable cavern, each step of the Plague-ridden Pyre searing his mark into the horror, an eternal brand left upon its flesh, a reminder of the true monster within this realm. His own soul fuelled the flames of his personal inferno as he descended into the skittering horde, twinned weapons reaping a bloody toll upon the sullied secondaries. Each had turned upon their own kind, damning themselves to this existence, driven to madness by the aspiring Demon within these catacombs.

An insectile creation reared up from the darkness, scything limbs formed from twisted ribcages surging forward and embedding themselves in Okor’s ebon plate, the mutated muscles behind the blow easily driving the chitinous cleavers into the blazing conflagration within his torso. The cluster of jawless human heads atop its structure screamed an undulating cry of hatred at him, elongated tongues lined with cruel barbs latching on to his armour, toxic venom dripping down the sinuous lengths of flesh.

Blackened claws depressed the trigger of the Plague Marine’s atomic atrocity, the incineration of his sluggish muscles and long-rotten nervous system allowing for startling alacrity, sending a series of shells into the creature’s abdomen, sending a spray of shrapnel and gore across the Legionnaire’s armour. A flame-kissed sole impacted upon its torso, driving the dying freak of nature back into the darkness from which it came, the claws it drove into Okor’s charred hearts snapping off, remaining embedded in his tarnished torso.

And yet, they still came. With a roar matching the seemingly endless howl of his ballistics, The Dean of Security made his defiance known, the crackling fires consuming him warping the wordless scream of rage into coherency.

”I am Okor Paleblood, Wyrmbreaker, Foeslayer, Thief of Crowns, and the ruination of this world!”

He could no longer see Marcus. That was irrelevant, there was nothing more to this glorious moment than himself and the foe. Thought carried itself along trails of embers, every barely-suppressed violent urge within his mind exercised upon the enemy as he left a trail of broken bodies in his wake, a one-man holocaust unleashed upon the freaks that dared to think themselves his match. He was Armageddon incarnate, a thrice-blessed champion of the True Gods, and they were nothing.

”And you are naught but ash.”

1007 words according to google docs, The Burned man T2 transformation used, down to 1 sp.