[10-15] The Docks

[Okor]

Okor’s black and bloated tongue ran over his ebon fangs, savouring the taste as he kneeled, looking over the horde as his fellow survivors began to lay down a fusillade of fire upon the ghouls.

After so long, Fiara had fallen. They had faced the darkness together, bringing the burning light to the abominations within, and had emerged triumphant. But to be slain when the final victory was so close at hand?

It was a tragedy.

He worried a shred of cerebellum out from between his teeth, swallowing the grey matter as his Omophagea set to work, prying memories from the dead organ, ensuring a limited form of immortality, consuming memories like choice cuts of meat.

“That’s fucking disgusting, man.” Spat the hacker, a blood-stained machete still clasped firmly in their grip, white knuckles belying a reluctance to release the instrument of murder, or perhaps in inability to do so. The Champion turned to Hiro, wiping his desiccated lips clean with the back of his hand, his recently severed arm pinned to his body with a rod of rebar, his resilient nature allowing for limited usage of the limb.

”The mind is a… terrible thing to waste, Bounty hunter.” Gurgled the giant, his mirthful chuckles arguably more disturbing without the digitized demonization provided by the helmet resting upon his side. ”Nothing is left behind in the Long War. Weapons, armour, memories… rations. She fought and died alongside us. The least I can do is grant her the same honours.”

“You ate her brain.” Stated the samurai simply, taking a moment to tear his view away from the barrage slaughtering the blood-hungry bodies, glaring at Okor.

Nurgle’s chosen merely shrugged and ran a rotting hand over the bile-stained beard clinging to his scarred chin. ”You can bring that grievance up with… The Gene-smiths. For now, we have a more pressing situation.” He spoke, phlegm threatening to choke his words as he waved his hastily-attached arm over the horde below them. ”We aren’t all getting through this. We’ll need a… diversion.”

He turned his head, a black-toothed maw splitting itself open in a grin, his fevered eye darting over the ragged remnants of the crash’s survivors, his rotting tongue licking over the onyx fangs in anticipation of the destruction to come.

”I intend to show these worms how a son of Barbarus dies. Who will stand by me?

430 words, will be posting again later.