Draksal barely noticed the slaves as he stalked through the room looking for actual targets as the others prattled about what to do about their fate. In Draksal’s opinion they were wasting precious time already, if they stopped to kill them it was a waste of ammunition, if they freed them there was no way of getting them off the ship. the cowards who had allowed themselves to be captured would not even be of help in taking the ship as cannon fodder so it was best to simply leave them, they would have their torment ended when the mission was done and the battle cruiser destroyed this vile vessel. He had almost made it to the end of the pens, ready to breach the next door and move on when the creatures came from the darkness.

The fiends were less armored than the kroot they had been originally armed to fight and wielded only what looked like farming equipment, though the fact that they had somehow appeared from nowhere and jump from shadows to shadow was worrying. Particularly when one dropped from the ceiling on top of him and tried to stab him through the neck. Draksal reached up and grabbed the blade wielding creature by the wrist with his right metal arm and then hurled it off of him while he wheeled round. As the fiend smashed into one of the many torture devices he leveled his weapon in the direction of one of the pens through which some of the creatures were currently feasting on the salves fear and panic. He fired, the dragonfire banished the shadows as it’s burning shot swept through mandrake and slave alike, shrapnel rending them apart as the promethium ignited their flesh and garments.

[color=35c316]“Your flesh is weak so burn from the fires of the Omnissiah you pathetic worms”[/color]

More mandrakes appeared around him from the dancing shadows created by the burning remains of the slaves and their kin, launching themselves at the machine man, their wicked blades reflecting the fire as they swung them, trying to find an opening in Draksal‘s armored form. He fought on, punching and blasting them, trying to keep them away from the rockets he was carrying as their blades were repealed either by his blows or his armor till he ran out of shot. When his gun clicked empty the mandrakes took the advantage to step back and release a torrent of freezing soul destroying fire upon him, his very core was torn and burned by the fowl witchcraft of the aliens.

It was not through willpower or inner strength that Draksal over came this sorcery most fowle, but by the gifts of the Omnissiah. His soulless metal arm reached down and drew the melta pistol and then sweated its burning ray across the casting mandrakes, slicing clean through them and most of the surrounding equipment, cages, slaves and walls. The caster's flesh boiled and they all collapsed in a burning heap of around him.

In the end Draksal stood in the center of a burning ring of corpses, human and alien alike and was safe from immediate attack, the entire area bathed in the orange glow of the flames, evenly lighting the area and providing no solid shadows for the mandrakes to manifest from. His armor was scratched and is some places dented, where he still had flesh the impacts had caused bruising or made him bleed from the strength of the blows.This he could hardly feel compared to the lingering cold of the void that had griped his beaning and tried to erase him from existence. It was not a sensation the marin was going to forget.

Draksal paused for a moment in his fiery sanctuary to collect the shotgun, then went back down ro the other end of the room to aid the others.