The Elfbone Extraction [M]

[Erik Vrell]

Erik jumped up and saw Axorn in trouble. He sent out a probe to the mind of his foe's minds and was surprised to find another psychic. Internally smiling, he decided to deal with him after helping Axorn. He leapt after the diseased behemoth and swung at his armour with Mageslayer, but found no purchase and his blade slid off. He took another approach and sheathed Mageslayer. He materialised a psi-blade and stabbed into the armour of Axorn's assailant. This time, his blade phased through the armour as if there was nothing there. The strike wouldn't do much damage at all to a warrior of this size, but Erik hoped to distract him long enough for Axorn to gain an advantage. He then backed off and turned to the enemy psychic. He had turned to look at Erik. "So he is not alone after all." He said. Erik drove his mind towards his foe's and had to pull back almost immediately. Unlike the minds of most people, Galel's was a swirling maelstrom of thoughts Erik associated with insanity, but unlike other insane minds, this one was more...controlled. He could still function as well as any sane person, despite the fact that he was definitely not. Erik calmed himself and threw himself at his opponents mind once more. He found that his opponent was ready for him.

Galel's mind stabbed at Erik's repeatedly causing him to experience a powerful headache. Erik was dismayed that breaking a foe's mind was one of the last lessons he was meant to learn, and his only experience with the subject was what he had read in books. He could still fight though. While Galel had power, Erik had training. He blocked his enemy's onslaught and stuck at him. The mental blow caused the astarte to visibly stagger but Erik could sense that he had done no serious damage. They duelled for several minutes, striking back and forth. Erik was starting to absorb information from his foe's mind, as was his foe, he assumed. He found no visible weaknesses from the knowledge he gleaned, but he was sure that he had one. Erik soon managed to pierce the outer layer of his enemy's mind and lost his sense of sight. Erik found himself looking at the Legionnaires memories, knowledge and other aspects of his mind. He could sense that doing so had opened his mind to a mental assault, much stronger than the prior one. He quickly set to work damaging Galel's sub-conscious. If Erik didn't cause permanent damage, he would at least disorient his foe.

As his assault progressed, he felt his foe attack him despite the destruction of his subconscious. Erik felt as if his mind were exploding but pressed his attack. He could soon feel his opponent faltering and hoped to gain an advantage, although the pounding in his skull was not stopping. In fact, Erik thought it was getting worse. He withdrew from the Astarte's mind and attacked one more. He attempted to grab onto his foe's mind, but it was like trying to grip a wet snake. Whenever he thought he had Galel, his mind slipped out and bit him. He finally closed in on his foe's mind and held him with an iron grip. He smiled internally at this. 'Raw power does not matter,' He thought. 'If you have no training to refine it.' His foe was more or less paralysed, but Erik was barely able to move without losing his grip. He managed to blurt "someone take him out." Before the Legionnaire almost slipped away. He held on with all his might. His foe would not get away if he could help it.

[Galel Baraz]

Amusing creature. came the whispers of insanity, echoing through Erik Vrell's mind. Where Vrell had assumed an untrained mind, there was unyielding steel and determination. I have trained for ten thousand years in the vagaries of the Warp. Came the whispers again. Galel's third eye stared at Vrell, never blinking even as Vrell conjured his psy-blades. "Stuff it." Erik remarked, charging towards Galel, assuming the Sorcerer immobilized by his Psychic attacks. "That would be boring." Galel spoke, drawing his Force Sword with his right hand and twisting his left hand into an arcane shape. Power flowed out of him, surrounding the Sorcerer with a shell of unnatural energy.

Erik grinned, leaping and striking at Galel with all his might. His Psy-Blades, potent weapons capable of passing through physical barriers, found no purchase from the barrier of energy surrounding his foe. The Sorcerer laughed, lashing out with his sword. "Show me! Show me everything!" Galel shouts as Erik leaps back, scowling with confusion. "Surprised?" Galel chuckles, stepping forward and drawing his Plasma Pistol. "Good." He says, squeezing the trigger. The weapon lights up, magnetic coils flaring brightly as energy courses through them. Milliseconds later, a ball of supercompressed superheated gas rushes from the barrel of the gun. Erik's eyes widen in horror, his hands reflexively extending as he projects a square of Psychic force in front of him.

The entire room experiences a rush of heat for a brief moment as the condensed plasma breaks apart on the barrier. The expanding cloud of ionized gas roils forwards, flowing around Erik as it rapidly cools. As the steam and smoke clears, massive scorch marks are revealed along the floor and the exhibit next to Vrell. Embers smoulder where the plasma marred the floor and walls. Vrell charges forward, drawing Mageslayer. "Die warlock!" He shouts, un-fazed by the destruction caused by the plasma. Galel scowls beneath his helmet, bringing his force sword up to parry the child's blow. Sparks fly as the blades clash, one dancing about with unholy precision, the other with disciplined and determined blows. Despite his best attempts, and his superior speed, Erik's blade cannot find purchase. As though reading his mind, Galel's blocks and parries were almost always exactly where they needed to be, as if the Sorcerer knew what Erik was about to do.

[Triest]

Triest slipped in cloaked, the last of the trio to enter the battlefield. Okor and Galel, not that he knew their names, were already being contended with by Erik and Axorn, which left only one other combatant. The landspeeder and whoever the pilot was up above. Getting to it would be easy. With all the chaos in the fight, not many would be paying attention for an invisible combatant. Triest scaled the walls, and then made a jump for the vehicle just as it was taking off.

The land speeder lurched as if something had hit it, but as far as anyone could tell, nothing had. Well, that would be the conclusion if one didn't think about it too hard. Tartaros on the other hand was not so easily fooled. As soon as Triest had scrambled up the side of the vehicle, Tartaros already had his Bolter aimed and fired blindly to where the noise was coming from. Triest, who was also attempting to aim his own shotgun, was forced to take an evasive maneuvers, but the round not only managed to graze his shoulder and break stealth, but also knock Triest's own shotgun blast off, which too in turn, only grazed Tartaros' armor.

"That was one hell of a shot!" Triest had to admit, now throwing himself over before clinging onto the edge. His shotgun was expended, and Tartaros had begun to fire off even more rounds which Triest had to dodge out of the way from. Damn there wasn't a lot of space here.

Triest scrambled over to the front part of the landspeeder, where the controls were.

"Here goes nothing!"

Triest sprang up, grabbed the wheel, and pulled down on it. The landspeeder began a tight spin, forcing both combatants to hold on or be thrown off. Tartaros slowly made his way towards Triest, keeping a grip on the vehicle, and swung with his... is... is that a chainsword? Triest was not having it. He spun the wheel in the other direction before letting go and ducking, forcing the vehicle to abruptly stop and start turning in the other direction. Needless to say, keeping a grip on anything was proving to be a challenge, much less actually hitting anyone.

And then Mr. T spoke up, "I pity the foo' who-"

"That's not a weapon is it?" Triest remarked, cutting the sock puppet off. This was getting ridiculous, and dizzy. Tartaros leaned in with another swing, first from the right before an upward swing. Triest ducked under it, and then leaned to the side to doge the followup swing before backing up into the controls. Turns out pushing a lever causes the whole vehicle to aim straight down. Triest yelped, before climbing to the underside of the vehicle as Tartaros clung onto the controls, putting the lever back into its place, and bringing the entire thing right back up again just before it slammed into the floor of the museum. Triest then poked out from underneath, now with a loaded shotgun, and this time just flat out missed. But he did score a direct hit right into the front of the lander. Right through the controls and the engine. It wasn't his fault, his vision was all hazy from being spun before suddenly being dropped.

"What's so important about this artifact anyway!?"

[spoiler]Combat Log

Triest and Tartaros go for a ride, before landing right inside the museum.
Minor injuries sustained on both sides. 'Tis but a scratch!
Landspeeder is damaged, and is possibly broken.[/spoiler]

[Tartaros]

Tartaros clambered to his feet, grabbing his blade and his boltgun while Triest struggled with his shotgun and Mr T. scrambled into one of the empty bolt magazines dangling from the Luna Wolf's armour. Charging towards the chitinous man, the marine was suddenly hit by a stray crystal from the second floor, scratching his armour as he ran towards Triest.

Finally reaching the slippery fighter, the Luna Wolf grabbed Triest, grumbling under his breath as he reached for his chainsword, preparing to deal with the mercenary. Though, as he reached for his blade, he was struck with a sudden crack, and then a sting in his sides... Triest had managed to cut through part of Tartaros' armour with a set of his sharpened legs!

The marine clutched his bloodied right side, leaving his chainblade clipped to his belt.

"Impressive..."

As Triest attempted to pull himself free from the iron grip of the Luna Wolf's left arm, Tartaros butted his head towards the hybrid, cracking through carapace and sinew as Triest was still trying to slip his way out of the marine's lock.

"But not good eno- ARGH!"

The marine was knocked forwards onto Triest by the force of a crystal tearing along his back. Axorn, finally pushing away Okor for a precious few moments, fired his gunblade from the second floor and leaping to the floor, sending shards of marble and concrete flying, trying to free his comrade.

"Sneaky little git, that one is...", thought Tartaros, as Triest finally managed to slip free, launching a shotgun blast right into the marine's helm and crawling away onto the walls, leaving an enraged marine with a tattered helm.

The Luna Wolf spit out a mix of blood and sinew from his helm towards Axorn, clambered to his feet, drew his blade and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"OI! YOU'RE NEXT!"

Tartaros charged forward like a madman, swinging his chainsword and leaped towards the draconian, sending forth a torrent of flame from his exterminator cartridge, Mr T peering out of his cover and laughing.

[King Axorn]

This may be a bit mediocre but I was really tired... ughhhh.

"Nope, bad idea." Axorn quipped, letting loose a jet of flame towards the crack in the side of the armored chainsaw madman's armor.

The hot flame struck home, causing Tartaros to stumble in pain, allowing Axorn to dart back up to the first floor where he resumed the mad clashing of metal as his blade repeatedly connected with Okor's.

"If you honestly think I'd need a futile and temporary thing like anger to defeat you," Axorn said calmly in between the ringing of steel. "that... is where you'd be dead wrong. Anger and hatred blind you from your opponents openings that can mean the difference between life and death. Strategy, skill, and awareness are all I need to beat you."

"And since we were on the topic of introductions, I'm Axorn Gonin, King of the Draconians on my home world of Tranquility. And the three things I mentioned earlier are what have gotten me to where I am today."

After a few more rounds of back and forth fighting between the two, blades ringing out as they clashed together again and again. Axorn jumped back right as Okor swung, using his wings to push himself away. He then planted his feet, aimed the end of his sword at Okor's irradiated bolter and fired causing it to go skittering across the room. Then, just as Okor caught up to him and swung again, he pulled his sword up in front of him, just barely blocking the corroded blade.

That was a bit too close for comfort. Axorn thought, drawing back and preparing for the next onslaught of attacks. I just hope I don't run out of energy just yet.

Okor charged again and Axorn flew up into the air but got nicked on the foot by Okor's swing causing it to bleed.

"Crap." Axorn swore, launching himself further into the air to get out of Okor's reach when Okor pulled out his incendiary and started firing, causing flame to light up the sky all over.

Axorn whipped around and got a ball of flame to the face although it didn't seem to affect him at all and returned fire with his own flame, scorching Okor's armor once again, before dive bombing, sword straight out in front, into the inferno, attempting to crack Okor's armor. He missed, and when the smoke cleared he realized Okor was but a few feet in front of him. Thus he charged, swinging his blade towards even the smallest openings in the armored one's defenses. Sometimes he found purchase, making scratches or cuts in the battle-worn armor or exposed bone, while other times he missed and was punished with a slash to the body. On and on they went, neither of them seeming to gain an advantage over the other.

This guy is tough, Axorn thought. I wonder how my friends are doing an whether or not they can help me beat this guy...

[Okor]

Okor chuckled as he pressed close to the monster, their blades scraping against each other as the two warriors struggled for supremacy. Astonishingly, the foul being's strength was more than a match for Okor's own, as his own rusted blade began to falter under the Draconian's onslaught. He began to laugh, as the Draconian began to gain the upper hand. "Strategy?" Okor stepped to the side, allowing the Xenos' accumulated strength to propel it forward, swinging its blade through the air, where Okor's torso had been moments before. His right foot careened into the beast's calve, stumbling it. It quickly whipped around, its blade scything into Okor's left pauldron. The steel blade remained lodged inside of the rotten ceramite, its tip worrying its way into Okor's flesh. "This is... war, child. At this level, there are no grand schemes. No nobility." His bare hand grasped the Draconian's blade, its steel cutting into his palm, prying it loose from its prison of decay as he swept his blade laterally against the creature's exposed stomach, cutting into the soft scales. "There is only death. Either your own, or... what lies in front of you."

He began to step forward, rot beginning to bubble up from his joints, the necrotic filth flowing over his body. The substance seethed, boiling away as Okor began to laugh, his voice warping and twisting as the vox systems of his armour began to distort and corrupt. The ooze turned into a foul green steam, leaking away from Okor, as he was reborn. Several inches of solid ceramite coated his superhuman physique, but even the thick armour was not enough to fully mask the hum and whirr of machinery lurking beneath the surface. Terminator Armour. In the Dark Age of technology, it was little more than an impractical deep-space repair suit. In the Fourty First Millenium, it was a weapon of war. The machine and Okor were as one, static and gurgling laughter filling the air as they exulted in their newfound strength. His verdigris-coated blade fell to the ground at his side as he spoke in tongues, his mortal mouth filling with blood as it channeled words not meant for this reality. The Draconian looked on in shock as Okor's armoured fists began to drip with filth. "You are no King here, beast." A sound that can only be described as a radio laughing underwater emerged from Okor. "A king needs his... subjects. A warrior... he needs only a foe. And I have found mine."

The Draconian, recovering from his moment of shock, charged forward, his shining blade rebounding off of Okor's heavy plate. Laughing raucously, Okor's thick gauntlets, dripping corruption, locked themselves around Axorn. As the virulence began to seep into Axorn's skin, he began to spin. His heavy boots pounded against the floor as he used the Draconian as a counterweight, the creature keeping its wings close to its body so as to prevent damage. With another chuckle, he released, sending the beast careening through a plate glass window. While its wings would undoubtedly save it, there were more pressing matters to attend to. He activated his subvocal Vox, transmitting a message across Legion frequencies. "The artifact is acquired. Do not... be overly distracted. Locate... exfiltration." The grinding of gears and the clashing of steel produced from his march filled the air. A moment later, said air was filled by falling shards of glass, and the Draconian. His armour preventing him from moving as quickly as he would otherwise, he was unable to dodge, or even parry the incoming attack. Obviously having used the brief break in the battle to its advantage, the Draconian had located a gouge in his armour, and was capitalizing on it. The long, bloodstained blade used the advantage of the creature's momentum to pierce Okor's thickened armour, spearing through the weakened ceramite, the Black Carapace, his Fused ribs, and two lungs. Roaring in rage, Okor's fists grabbed towards the beast that was long since gone. Turning around, the tip of the long gunblade shining through his pestilential carapace, his single, baleful eye gazed out from behind the red lens of his armour. Screaming a wordless, primal howl, he threw himself against the Draconian once more, his fists curled into infectious claws.

Used Tier One Transformation: Grave Warden (+2 ATK, +2 DEF, +1 TEC). 1 SP used, 1 SP remaining.
Axorn's gunblade is currently impaling Okor. Should Axorn be able to fire it, the result will likely destroy Okor's chest, and open his atrophied Organs to attack. It won't kill him outright, but it will definitely put him on the back foot, to say the least.

[Erik Vrell]

Erik was foolish to have assumed that such a powerful enemy wouldn't be trained. He ahead no time to dwell in that thought though, as his enemy was assaulting him with animalistic ferocity. Erik couldn't attack, because Galel always knew where he would strike and could block without fail, so he fell back to defending himself. He was faster than his opponent, so they were evenly matched. Even if Erik managed to slip in a hit, Mageslayer would be deflected by the warp-energy barrier. He realised that he would have to find a way to break it if he wanted to have a chance in the fight. He ran towards a drop from the current floor to the ground floor. "Only a coward runs!" Roared the astarte and chased the young mind-breaker. Just as the Legionnaire was about to make him an unwilling amputee, Erik sidestepped and tripped up Galel. With a small gasp, he fell to the ground floor with a crash. The fall had done no damage and hadn't even broken his barrier. He opened his eyes and looked up just in time to see Erik jump from the top floor with Mageslayer held above his head. He had a mad glint in his eye and screamed a battle cry throughout the fall. When he was a few feet from the floor, he swung his blade downwards. The kinetic energy he had in the swing was enough to shatter the barrier protecting his foe, but dealt no damage. Galel kicked Erik back and leapt to his feet.

The two stared each other down. Galel then uttered a single, harsh laugh and channeled energy into his blade. When he had finished, he moved with incredible speed and swung his sword into Erik's gut. Erik moved to parry it and managed to intercept it, but the Titan-pattern blade slid off of magebreaker and Galel hit Erik with the flat of his blade. A jolt rushed through Erik like he was being electrocuted. He screamed and fell to the ground supporting himself with magebreaker. He breathed shakily and rose back towards his real height. The legionnaire looked drained, but was obviously better off than Erik. He emptied his mind and lunged wildly towards his opponent he caught his opponent off guard and just managed to get a definite strike in. His foe grunted and kicked Erik back. Erik was panting from the combined exertion of the fight and being hit with Galel's charged strike. He knew that after a while, his superior speed would fail him. 'Well, let's see if I can hold out until I get help.' He thought.

[Galel Baraz]

Galel gritted his teeth, glaring at his opponent. His third eye trembled, staying locked onto Vrell but vibrating as if it wanted to look away. "Impressive, for a human." Galel grunted, his bloodshot third eye trembling faster. "However..." He began, a maniacal grin breaking out beneath his helm. "If that is what passes for fury among your misbegotten kind; then you're destinedto fail." He cackled, hefting his Force Sword and striding forth, swinging his blade over his head and down towards Erik. The mind-breaker was fast, and the attack was too obvious to be missed; almost effortlessly, he stepped to the side and dashed forth. placing both hands on his blade for better leverage, Vrell thrust Mageslayer towards the Sorcerer.

Where Vrell had expected a parry, there was none. Mageslayer whistled through the air, and were it not for Galel moving his arm at the last moment, it would have pierced his heart. With a spurt of crimson, Mageslayer went straight through the ceramite plating on the Sorcerer's arm, bursting out the other side and impaling the limb. Grunting with pain, the Legionairre brought his own blade to bear, impaling the youth's leg as he stared in confusion. Erik yelped in pain, before being punched in the face and knocked to the ground. Galel gritted his teeth, placing a heavy armoured boot onto his opponent's chest. "Let me show you true power."

The Sorcerer's third eye calmed in an instant, it's gaze locked with Erik's. The bloodshot veins on the orb bulged, causing horror and revulsion to flash into Vrell's mind for but an instant. What the fuck is this guy? Vrell thought. Galel opened his mouth, his tongue lashing out and forming incomprehensible syllables. Embers began to form around the third eye, cinders searing the flesh and causing the orb to pulse in a crude mockery of a heartbeat. "Nagnaresh Vi'ral. Change is near." Galel whispered. Vrell's thoughts were cut short as a tiny pinprick of light appeared in between the pair. Neither had time to contemplate the light, for as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared, and then their world was flooded with flame. Like water pouring from a hose, eldritch flame flowed over Vrell and around Galel. The multicoloured hues licked and caressed Vrell's body, causing agonizing pain to wrack his form. Some of his flesh was burned, while others bubbled and sloughed off as if bathed in acid. Still more simply turned black, as if rotten. Galel was not unscathed, but the flames seemed to only brush him, scorching his armour and dirtying the pristine azure ceramite.

As the flames died down, Galel staggered back from his downed opponent. "Do yourself a favour and stay down." He muttered, stepping forward and gripping the Force sword impaling the youth's leg. With a twist and a yank, the blade slid out of the leg, causing blood to pour forth. "Struggle, and you'll bleed out, after all." Galel chuckled weakly, turning and walking away and towards Okor and the Draconian.

[Triest]

I have lost track of where everyone is. If I mix-up a few of your locations, then I apologize. Triest does have mobility, so that should alleviate some of it if I do mix-up.

That was too close. Way too close. Triest could swear he felt death itself breathing down his neck before managing to break the grapple thanks to Axorn. He owed him that was for sure, but right now he needed to regain his composure, steel himself, and most importantly, get that cloak back online.

Being able to hear his own heart thumping away in his chest, he quietly slipped away into a hallway. He wiped some blood off of himself, his own blood he guessed, and gave it a moment's gaze before re-engaging the cloak. New tactics were needed. It was time to throw the idea of chivalry and a proper duel out the window, if that was even being considered in the first place. Triest was rattled, and he didn't believe he could face against Tartaros one vs one. He did however, believe he could be the most annoying prick ever and routinely hit everyone from the shadows.

If his goggles weren't on before, they certainly were on now.

"Let's hit 'em hard," he would say to himself as a sort of self-motivation.

Tarantos, having been recently been torched by Axorn, ran off after him, having lost where Triest had slunk off to.

Triest charged towards Tartaros, shotgun in hand, running up from behind him before letting both barrels loose into his back. Yes, the unprotected head would have been a much better target, but Triest really wasn't up for thinking straight at the moment. Hit and run. That was it. The blast staggered Tartaros, his armor protecting against much of the blow, before he retaliated with his Bolter in the general area he had been hit. The cartridge would have made a better choice, but it was recently used on a dragon of all things. Despite the armor being mostly effective, blood still oozed from where the pellets landed.

Triest's cloak flickered for a moment, but the sudden ambush gave just enough of an edge for Triest to remain unhindered.

"Duck!" Triest teased, after the fact, amusing nobody but himself.

"Well that was good, but I doubt he'd fall for that aga- woah!"

Fire was a popular choice of weapon it seemed. Erik just got blasted with it. Oh... hell... what to do! Erik was on the floor after taking a major beating, and Axorn was about to get back into another one versus two if Tartaros decided to stay on track rather than find some elusive spider. Well, Axorn was still up, and Erik wasn't.

"Surprise!"

Goddammit why does everyone wear armor!? Triest fired into Galel's chest, staggering him and leaving a few bloody entry wounds, but no exit wounds. He then attempted to run off again, but- oh hell. It looked like Triest was the one being teamed up on this time. Tartaros apparently was still on watch for his movements, and was there to greet him with a few bullets, breaking his stealth and giving him a few holes to think about while Galel slashed across his chest with his force sword.

"I hate everything right now," Triest muttered, now responding with his barrage of attacks from his back limbs, three of the four shots were parried by Galel's superior parrying capabilities. The fourth managed to puncture his shoulder as Triest jumped back, just barely avoiding Tartaros' chainsword lunge, right before dodging again to avoid another grab from Tartaros, but he did take another sword slash in response from Galel.

Welp. Triest had definitely had his fill. Injured, taking a lot of heat, and absolutely rattled when he saw the second grab attempt. Now was the time to...

Advance in retrograde!

Run! Now! Dammit! Who cared about cowardice? Certainly not the coward! Break line of sight, go invisible, and start another ruckus somewhere else, preferably while alive. If any of them decided to follow, it would be an intense game of cat and mouse. If none of them did, then they could expect another surprise ambush somewhere in the near future. Just because Triest was running, did not mean he was leaving.

Next time, he was aiming for the head.

[Tartaros]

Apologies if this drags on or loses quality at the end, I've been kinda dry on ideas lately

As the marine scanned across the museum, marching with his blade still tightly held, Triest scuttled across the walls, waiting in near-silence. AsTartaros muttered to himself in frustration, gripping his chainsword tightly as he replaced the cartridge within it. This... game ends now. Adjusting his tattered helm and spitting a glob of blood mixed with crushed ceramite onto the marble floor, the Luna Wolf began his hunt for Triest. As Tartaros finally approached the dark, rubble-strewn corner the the Spider had buried himself within, Triest took his chance.

He leaped from the pile of shattered brick and plaster, firing his shotgun as Tartaros turned to face him. Several pellets of shot burrowed their way through the plasteel undercoat of the marine's helm, scraping across his jaw and flesh. As Tartaros stumbled backwards in surprise, Triest took his chance... the Spider butted the Luna Wolf onto the floor in a surprising feat of strength, impaling the ceramite-clad figure's shoulder with one of his sharpened limbs and knocking the Luna Wolf's chainsword onto the floor.

Tartaros struggled against the force of the limb, while Triest raised his shotgun for the killing blow. Eventually, hearing the sound of shells sliding into the barrels, the Luna Wolf became desperate. Pulling and tearing against the limb, with a final pull, he finally managed to tear himself, and the limb, free! As Triest yelped in pain, the marine took his chance. He grasped for his blade and spewed forth a torrent of fire from the cartridge towards the Spider.

As Triest's carapace was set aflame, he panicked, setting off another burst towards the marine, this time burrowing deep into the... things chestplate as it charged towards him, pinning him against the wall by his neck. While the marine grinned under his visor, he spoke in a raspy voice.

"You're a rather slipper one, you know mutant? A sneaky little... nevermind, it's time to end this game of yours."

Tartaros raised his chainsword high into the sky, readying for another strike.

[spoiler]Combat Log

- Tart's got another couple nasty stab wounds, as well as a broken shoulder and lead shot embedded in his jaw.
- Triest has been blasted with promethium from the Exterminator Cartridge, setting parts of his carapace aflame, he is also missing one of his sharpened limbs
- Triest is in a bit of a pickle, being pinned against a wall by a rather large, angry man.[/spoiler]

[King Axorn]

Axorn quickly took advantage of the situation, firing his gunblade into Okor, causing Axorn to fly backwards and disengage from his foe, allowing him to avoid those dreaded, infected, corrosive claws, while simultaneously blasting away Okor's armor and exposing his organs. The bullet, after finishing it's work skittered off into the corner of the room harmlessly, as if trying to make up for the damage it had dealt by doing none at all on the way out. The rest of the armor left over from the transformation liquefied, forming a puddle of corrosive, radioactive goop around Okor's feet, bubbling and sizzling as it ate away at the tiled floor. Axorn looked up and was taken aback at the bloody, gut-wrenching carnage that had been revealed by the removal of the bottom half of the chestplate. Both lungs had been punctured and although the rest were still chugging along, every single one of them were rotted and decaying. It was sickening and almost caused Axorn to gag. How has this guy survived this long with this kind of a body? he thought, trying not to focus on the horrors of Okor's body. Then the wave of exhaustion hit him and he bent over a little bit because of it. Axorn had spent most of his energy by now and was getting tired of this fight. Then an idea popped into his head.

"Seeing as this battle us drawing to a close," Axorn said between breaths sucking in the cool night air. "would you mind telling me what exactly this artefact does?"

When Okor didn't respond Axorn figured that if Okor wasn't going to tell him, he'd have to figure it out on his own once he gets his hands on the artefact. Axorn didn't care if he'd have to pry the artefact from Okor's cold, dead hands, if it was going to be used to hurt innocent lives, it had to be captured, or, if worst came to worst, Axorn was ready to destroy the thing. Axorn rushed forward, his sword gleaming behind him as he readied his swing. Then, after getting nearer to Okor he swung, and despite Okor's weakened state, he was still able to parry.

"You're going to have to do better than that to defeat me, filth."

[Okor]

Okor's decayed twin hearts beat turgidly, the rotten flesh moving stubbornly, despite its advanced deterioration. Four lungs, caked in filth, expanded as another breath forced its way past the infections consuming his respiratory tract. Fused ribs were shattered, cracked from the force applied to them. A host of worms, arachnids, and other parasites crawled deeper into his diseased flesh, hiding from the cold light of day. He began to circle his foe, his physiology seeming mainly redundant when compared to his iron will and unshakeable faith. His corroded blade cleaved through the air, clashing against the infuriatingly stainless blade of the Draconian warrior, the ringing of steel filling the air for a moment. Through broken, bloodied, and blackened teeth, Okor spoke, a low growl piercing the temporary silence as their blades scraped against each other, struggling for dominance.

"Are you so..." He breathed in, diseased lungs struggling to sustain his unlife. "Blind?" His single eye gazed into Axorn's own, his pestilent pupil maddeningly darting through the infested, reddened virtuous humors of his eye. "Power fades. It can be taken, crushed, lost. But legacy..." He growled as he made his move, sliding his corrupted blade over Axorn's, slicing across his scaled stomach once more. The beast staggered back, raising his shining blade to parry Okor's assault. Again and again his blade came down, rusted metal crashing against pure steel, forcing Axorn back, as Okor's hearts began to beat faster and faster, coming alive in the heart of combat. "Legacy is forever, beast. It is... the one thing our prison cannot fabricate." He hissed as he leaned in closer, Axorn's blade beginning to waver under Okor's weight and persistent endurance beginning to Triumph over the youth's rapidly declining energy. He roared, a noxious stench emanating from his carcass. "It is the one thing we have, monster! The one thing our Jailor cannot devalue! This false reality will quake under our tread! The weak will cower before our coming! It. Will. All. Burn." With a relative burst of speed, his unholy physiology refusing to tire, to slow, to ever stop, his bare fist collided with Axorn's face as their blades clashed together. The beast staggered back, caught by surprise.

The monster was all but immune to flame, even seemingly impervious to the burning of Phosphex. But, of course, there was an inevitable byproduct of Phosphex. Light. Mustering his strength, he managed to push himself apart from the Draconian. With as much speed as his rotten form could produce, he closed his emaciated hand around the stock of his Bolt Pistol, whipping it up towards the Xenos's disgusting, scaled visage. It was charging towards him, lunging towards his exposed internal organs, moving to finish the fight. Irrelevant. He mashed the trigger of the pistol, expelling a bolt shell towards the abomination's face. It had just enough time to being to frown before the round detonated, spraying its face with a burning mist, a veritable sheet of fiery demise, the deadly substance emanating a sickly green light as it adhered to his face, blinding the creature with its illumination. The beast stopped its fatal charge, dropping its sword to scrabble with its claws, trying to tear away the alchemical compound that restricted it so.

Turning, Okor raised a hand to his helmet, activating the inbuilt microbead. His voice sounded more ragged than before, even his blessed endurance struggling to keep up with the damage sustained. "Marines. We are leaving." His ceramite boots stomped against the metallic floor as his foe offered up a cry of triumph as the Phosphex departed. No matter. The light would have still rendered him blind. He maglocked the pistol to his thigh again, and ran his hand over the crown. Oh, the wonders I shall work with you. From behind him, he could hear the Draconian's claws clattering against the floor, bringing his foe closer. Impressive. Always so impressive. He hated it. Every mere mortal, every abomination was given the strength to face the Chosen of the Gods. He twisted around, drawing his ancient blade, light reflecting off of its rusted, bloodied surface. He moved to parry the creature's overhead blow, the rusted sword moving sluggishly compared to his opponent's adrenaline-fueled swing. He gritted his infested teeth, struggling to match the pace of his opponent, the long blade seemingly unavoidable in its descent towards his posthuman frame.

[Erik Vrell]

Erik was in a bad shape. He was burned, bleeding and barely conscious, but he had to do something to help. He opened his cloak and tore off a strip of the black tunic underneath. He used the strip to somewhat bandage the stab wound from Galel. It wasn't the most effective way of treating the wound, and it still hurt, but he wouldn't bleed out while fighting now. He looked around quickly. He noticed that Galel and Tataros were distracted with Triest, who was in a tight spot at the moment. Erik picked Mageslayer up off the ground and rushed towards Galel before he noticed Erik had gotten up. Unfortunately, Galel heard Erik clumsily pick himself up off the ground and turned around just in time to see the burned psychic charging towards him. He managed to deflect a potentially fatal blow aimed at his heart, which instead stabbed into his shoulder. Galel shoved Erik back and muttered to himself before aiming an overhead swing at Erik's sword arm. The maimed psychic was barely able to block the attack and realised how weakened he was. He was still able to move faster than Galel, although not as much as before, but his physical strength was severely weakened. He was only able to fend off Galel with a combination of speed and luck. He desperately hoped for something to distract the Legionairre so he could gain an advantage. Erik was on the verge of running when he heard a small voice coming from somewhere on Galel. When he heard it, the Astarte hesitated for a second and was caught off-guard by another of Erik's swings. This time he was able to deflect the blow with out being harmed in the process. Erik was beginning to think that he might have a chance in the fight when Galel decided to end it. "I am bored of you human." The legionnaire roared as he picked Erik up by his throat and walked over to the same ledge Erik have tripped him off. "Fighting in that state is...impressive, but lets see if you can fight after this." Galel said and dropped Erik. The psychic didn't have a fear of heights until after this moment. As he dropped he managed to grab onto another floor for a few seconds, before his makeshift bandage tore and his mind exploded with pain. His vision blurred and he dropped the final two floors. There was a resounding thud as Erik hit the ground but he didn't feel anything. He was unconcious before he hit the ground. Galel watched this spectacle from above and felt a sense of sadistic joy when he heard the psychic hit the ground. "That's one less problem we'll have to deal with." He said to no one in particular.

[Triest]

This Omnilium stuff, it healed broken limbs, scratch that, severed limbs, right? That was a question Triest was going to have to contemplate later. Actually thinking was really hard to do at all. All he could see was the flame coming off from himself, the steel titan. He could hardly breath and that damned sword was revving up, surely meant for a killing blow. Still, he had a chance. Unless Tartaros was ambidextrous, his swinging arm was injured, and that might be the edge he needed to stay alive.

In an act of desperation and panic, he started doing what anyone else would do. Start failing like a crazy imbecile, and hope that he would hit something, anything, and try to break free from the choke hold. He only had seconds before the sword would end him, and maybe only thirty seconds before passing out from the hold. Triest would kick at his sword-arm, while slashing away at the arm that grappled him.

It only happened with a second, if that. Triest managed to break free, the total amount of pain and injuries coming to an amount that even a trained soldier couldn't help but at least wince, and have just the briefest of windows of weakness. The chainsword however, did manage to hit something rather than nothing. Right across Triest's back, almost chopping enough another limb.

Triest ran.

He bumbled over to a water fountain, and tore into it, attempting to expose the pipes to douse himself. Tartaros wasn't too far behind, and lunged with the sword once again. Triest stepped out of the way, as the sword cut into the water network, spraying the life-giving liquid onto both of the combatants. The water pushed Tarantos back, as Triest whipped one of the last two functioning limbs across his leg, cutting deep and staggering him, buying a little more time for Triest.

"This is it," Triest would say, trying to hide the pain he was in, while loading in what could be the last few shells of the fight, depending on if he got the chance to reload again.

Indeed it was it. Both fighters had their injuries, both were feeling the effects of fatigue from combat. Both too, also had a good reason to leave. Triest obviously didn't want to die, and had so far up to this point, been conditioned to survive, not win. Tartaros had also been given the message to leave. On top of all of this, distant sirens of the police could be heard. That wasn't good for anyone, thieves or vigilantes.

Triest had his shotgun trained on Tartaros. It was time for the dance of death. Triest's battle plan now was to go on the defensive. Let Tartaros strike first, but counter it. Riposte! If he swung his sword, step to the side, and disarm him. If he brought his gun, knock it out of his hands with his own blast. And if Tartaros followed his orders and left? Shoot him in the back. If he did nothing? Well the police were about to show up, so that didn't seem likely.

[spoiler]I don't know if Tartaros would be one to keep attacking Triest, or follow orders and escape, so I left the ending a little more open-ended depending on your actions.[/spoiler]
[spoiler]Battle Log

Triest escaped the grapple, but took another hit for his troubles. Triest was doused, and slashed Tartaros' leg.
Triest has his shotgun reloaded and what he does with it depends on what Tartaros does.[/spoiler]

[Tartaros]

The Luna Wolf smiled through a visage of shattered bone and blood, this opponent, this... vigilante was certainly one of the more entertaining opponents in recent years despite it's... infinite capacity to cause irritance, though unfortunately everything must come to an end. Lazily wiping away the blood from deep gash in his leg with one hand and raising his bolter with the other, the marine steadied himself, still holding his manic grin.

Triest was the first to strike, letting loose a barrage of lead from his shotgun directly towards Tartaros' gauntlet. The shot tore through the cracked ceramite, tunneling into the marine's forearm, forcing him to recoil in pain, clutching the trigger of his boltgun as it sent a round flying into the second story window. Taking his opportunity, the Spider scampered back into the shadow, waiting for its next chance to strike, hopefully lethally.

"You've already played your trick once before, little one!", the marine yelled across the room, scanning the shadows carefully, "I'm growing tired of it!"

He paced through and throughout the museum hall, hunting for Triest. The silence was soul-crushing, only being interrupted by the occasional clashing of steel above the two, or Tartaros' raspy, near-robotic breathing. Minute after minute, the silent search continued, the Spider crawling across the wooden rafters and shattered marble floor like an agile predator, setting up the optimal position to strike. As Triest was crawling along the fragile wooden beams, he took notice of a crack in the marine's armour... a torn eyepiece. One shot, and the giant would come crashing down...

As the vigilante trained his sights on the minuscule target, the silence was finally broken. Not by gunfire, not by the clash of steel, but by the simple, soft, thud of an opened gate... Tartaros span his firearm and head towards the opened entrance, blocking cutting away Triest's target.

As the front entrance was swung open, the sight was enough to make the most hardened hive-scum quake in their boots. Almost two-dozen soldiers, clad in the purest white, charged through the entrance, wielding blaster rifles, heavy blasters and even grenade launchers charged into the room, laying down volleys of fire from the cover of walls and broken pillars. As Galel ran for cover behind a pile of torn rubble and the duel continued above, Tartaros' eyes widened as they laid themselves something far, far worse...

"Well I'll be damned..."

A titanic ceramite-clad figure charged into the hall, cracking marble to dust beneath its tread. As it raised an equally massive axe into the air, only one cry could be heard across the entire hall.

"TRAITORS! OURS IS THE JUDGEMENT OF THE RIGHTEOUS! FACE THE WRATH OF A TRUE SON OF ULTRAMAR!"

The bellow was so resounding that even Mr. T crawled out of his hiding place in Tartaros' armour, only to immediately leap back inside, trembling. As the Luna Wolf stared onward in disbelief, the Ultramarine charged ahead towards Galel, still screaming praises and litanies at the top of its lungs.

Tartaros sighed silently to himself, leaning out from the shadows in an attempt to pick off some troops. Galel was responsible for himsel-

With a the thunk of a grenade landing on the floor, the corner the Luna Wolf was hidden in was set ablaze, knocking the giant into the wall, and tearing away his helm, revealing a bloodied mess of scar tissue and fresh wounds across his right cheek. Smiling, Triest took his golden opportunity, leaping from the rafters and pointed his two remaining bladed extremities towards the marines jugular while Tartaros gripped at the vigilante's neck. Hacking up a small pool of blood onto the floor, the marine let out one final hoarse grumble.

"Well then kiddo, go on. You've got me. Good job. Now do it. Go ahead, I bloody dare you to."

[Okor]

The massive blade of the Draconian descended, whistling through the air as Okor's dead flesh moved, bringing his rusted blade to bear. His one eye narrowed in concentration, focusing on the death-bringing steel careening towards his collarbone. With a primal roar, the two weapons clashed, sparks and flakes of verdigris flying from their contact. Four lungs and a corrupted vox system amplified it further. The countless glass displays and window panes began to shake as his scream increased in volume, a howl of hatred and anger impressing itself upon the environment. He stepped to the side, offering no resistance as Axorn powered through, used to Okor constantly confronting his every motion. The half-dragon stumbled along, bringing a weapon that was as much a half-breed as himself to bear, the crystals within humming as they gathered power, ready to end the Chosen of Nurgle's existence. He never had a chance to fire.

A solid mass of ceramite and rusted iron crashed into the Draconian's face, the familiar, comforting sound of snapping bone and a spray of blood indicating the success of this maneuver as the abomination of man and mutant staggered backwards, dropping his blade as he clutched his muzzle with his hands. Okor strode off, a withered length of intestine slapping against his armoured thigh as he stooped down to collect his bolter. Clutching it within his diseased hands, he looked it over with his infected eye, reassured by the familiar patterns of rust and rot coating his weapon of death. "Imperial Storm Troopers! Fre-" Okor slowly turned towards the source of the disturbance, patterns of fluorescent light playing across his massive frame, illuminating the impossible physiology, the languidly beating, worm-ridden hearts nested in his torso, the tendrils of flesh beginning to knit his shattered form back together. The calcified, corrupted mass of bone lodged in his abdomen began to snap and warp, tearing apart the papery skin that shielded the abomination from the light of day. The two storm troopers leveled their blasters on the Plague Marine, shouting demands that Okor no longer cared to hear. He hungered.

In a burst of tattered flesh, withered, barbed tentacles formed of viscera shot out from the ravenous maw of teeth gnashing in his stomach, the screams of the storm troopers a soothing melody, a musical accompaniment to his sustenance. A trooper scrabbled against the floor, his weapon dropped far behind him in a panic.Spines dug deep into his flesh, pulling him closer and closer to his doom. With an ear-splitting boom, Okor's bolter barked, ending the miserable existence of the storm troopers, sighting his weapon on the similarly restrained foe. He rejected his base desires, forcing the hunger to the back of his mind. There were far more important things. With a dull thump, a bolt shell detonated within the remaining trooper's head, spraying the wall with the contents of his skull. Okor's feet crashed against the floor as he broke into a sprint, focusing his sight upon the glass window in front of him, the rapid lights of the airborne traffic beneath mesmerizing. He could hear the clacking footsteps of the pervasive abomination behind him, coming for his crown. With a final push, he threw himself through the glass, a fine mist of glass fragments filling the air as he turned, Bolter firing as he fired a single shot into his foe's right wing, the radioactive round shredding the leathery hide, ruining its chances of following. He began his long fall-

Soft leather greeted Okor. A shell of steel and glass surrounded him, occupied by a young human male, his eyes obscured by ridiculous pink shutters. He began to open his pathetic mouth, the teeth within white as bone, straight as an arrow. An unacceptable waste of time and effort. His fist swung, shattering the boy's teeth, knocking him into blessed sleep. Their vehicle began to careen, falling towards the darkness below. Throwing himself over the plastic partition, cracking it beneath his weight, shattered shards worming their way into his exposed organs. Clutching the strange controls desperately, he forced the craft upwards, inertia sloshing the diseased liquids leaking from his corpse-like body into places they were never meant to be. He threw the hovercar into a sharp turn, its original owner falling from the vessel, coming to a stop on a platform not far below. A corrupted receiver on his throat coughed to life, broadcasting a signal across Legion channels. "Marines. Re... port." The hovercar scythed an erratic path towards the museum, as Okor attempted to guide it towards his brothers. A burst of boltfire greeted his reply. "I shook the bugger off. Where in The Emperor's name are you?" Okor winced at the mention of the Corpse-God's name, millenia of hatred running deep in his psyche. "And where is Gal-"

His question was interrupted by an inferno of impossible fire, colours that could only be described as wrong filling the right wing of the Museum, transmuting solid rockcrete to gibbering mouths and maddened eyes. Melted glass reformed into screaming faces, their visages locked in an endless expression of terror. Psykers. "Nevermind. Find Galel's... outburst. I will be waiting." He did not have to wait long. The Son of Horus threw himself threw the window, the warped glass screaming as it shattered. Lasfire followed him, accompanied by a burst of bolts. Loyalists. His brother landed in the seat next to him, Larraman's cells already starting to scab over his numerous wounds. Too numerous. It was a discussion for later. In the reflective surface adhered to the top of the glass pane he could see flashing lights, the local Arbites approaching. He leaned back, adjusting the mirror, tightening his grip on the controls. "Buckle up, Tartaros..."

"The ride is only beginning."

[Erik Vrell]

By the time Erik came to, Okor and Tataros were long gone. The museum was scorched and the walls were warped in horrific ways. Reinforcements had arrived for the storm troopers and they were doing damage reports, as far as Erik could tell. He refrained from sitting up and thought of an escape plan. There was no reason for them to think he didn't cause the destruction. He decided to play dead until they decided to leave. They were taking a long time and, before long, Erik felt the need to go to the bathroom. He waited as long as he could before jumping up and bolting. "He's still alive!" One of the storm troopers exclaimed. There was shouting behind Erik but he didn't look back. After a ten minute chase Erik found himself on top of a lamppost, watching his pursuers walk beneath him. "Where did he go?" Uttered one of the storm troopers. "Let's just get back to the scene of the crime, we can report him to the captain later." The other trooper agreed and they walked off. Erik sighed and slid off the lamppost, mostly unintentionally. He sat up and pulled out his omnillium orb. "I heard you can heal yourself with this stuff." He said to himself. He began to channel the OM into himself and found that his numerous burns we're becoming less painful. After almost an hour of healing, his burns were mostly gone. After he had finishe, he mended his clothes and stood up. He decided to head into town before his bounty had been processed and see the city. He looked around a little but nothing really caught his interest. He did hear snippets of conversation every so often. One topic the reoccurred was the dataverse. Erik had never heard of this place and, after asking a few people, he learned he could access it if he summoned a dataverse device. After spending a few minutes summoning one, he activated it and was immediately overwhelmed he spent a few minutes idly browsing before turning off the device. He had found something interesting that he wanted to look into. He summons his grey horse and made his way towards the gate that lead to the nexus. He grinned to himself as he passed through the gate.

Erik has left coruscant and entered the nexus

[Tartaros]

The Luna Wolf muttered impatiently to himself, tossing a gunk-filled boltgun magazine out of the hovercar, "You're a real crazy bastard, you know that?"

Okor slumped back into the rotting, fetid leather car seat, slowly wiping a pool of blackened, sludgy blood onto the floor, before angrily grunting, "All in the name of the Grandfather, all in His name..." and slamming his boot onto the accelerator.

As the hovercar glided over the city's skyline, a small whine could be heard from Okor's seat, as a battered and dirt-caked Mr. T crawled out from under the infested giant's chestplate. As it flopped onto Tartaros' lap, it coughed up a wad of dust (though, how a sock, naturally without a diaphragm, "coughs" is probably best left up to the imagination) and choked out a few grumbled words, "The grey one is right, take a shower or somethin' sucka... And as for you, nutjob, slow do-", the sock was interrupted by the wails of sirens and a short hail of laser fire scraping past the left car door. "Oh... fuck me...

Okor angrily muttered some ancient, feudal world epithet, lazily shifting his gaze to Tartaros, and pointing a single finger towards the encroaching speeders. "You know what to do."

Tartaros nodded, jamming a fresh magazine into his boltgun and clambered into the back seats, resting the firearm onto the car boot, as Mr T lept across onto a headrest. "We got five of the things, around... two grunts on each, one driver, one gunner. Unless they're packing explosives or they got cannons mounted on those dinky bikes, they shouldn't be too big a thre-", the marine was interrupted by a volley of heavy blaster fire, scraping across the side of his helmet as Okor chuckled to himself, "Well then... guess there's a threat."

"Let's see here...", Tartaros muttered, holding his breath and aligning his rifle's sights. After a few moments of concentration, the Luna Wolf fired a single bolt into one of the landspeeder's engines, letting out a deep breath as the rear of the vehicle went up in flames and the pilots went leaping away from the blaze and onto an abandoned pipeline below. "Bullseye."

[spoiler]

Yeah, sorry this took so fucking long. Sickness, feeling like crap, going back to Uni and a massive case of writers block has left me banging my head against a brick wall trying to post something bigger than this for the past week or two. Hopefully now we can actually move on.

[/spoiler]