Xepherial was up. Somewhere in the moments lost in the Ogryn and Thorn's intervention, the recently repaired dark angel had been able to clear much of the injection from his bloodstream. Pain, adrenaline, and the healing accelerants already injected into his body must have sped up the paralytic drug's metabolism allowing him to awaken. Still bare of his chestplate, Xepherial's stitched-up and bloody chest heaved breath once again with newfound strength as he used the table near him to pull himself up. His tortured flesh pulled against the sutures, already scarring down at this stage of super-human healing. 

"Monster, fiend!" Xepherial was beyond begging for the life he hadn't asked to be restored. His voice was rash. He didn't care if he died at this point, but he would vent his rage at his tormentor while he still had the power. "I'll kill you..." He took a step threateningly in Azazel's direction. 

Azazel snarled at Xephherial, looking up and down the recently awakened marine. His stitching was still new. "Quiet! And careful fool. Your stitching is new and your organs are still damaged. Give it time to recover before you choose a side." He sneered, using his free hand to draw his chainsword. He held it, pointed at Xepherial without it being revved up. 

Bravis growled and yanked hard at Thorn, trying his damndest to escape. 

Azazel's one armed pupil was slowly pulling himself up, mumbling, muttering and growling as he drew his bolter, shakily standing and leveling his bolter at Thorn... but he heard the banging on the door, and turned to it mildly interested.

Indoctrination and hypnotherapy were part of a space marine's early mental training. Through years of practice and endurance, they learned the control necessary to make use of their physical enhancements and abilities in the heat of battle. A space marine learned to ignore pain, to concentrate and to fight in spite of its presence, for days, to even arguably stave off death by their shear will. Although he had been young, Xepherial called on all of it now, compelling his wracked flesh forward in preparation of a physical assault. Muscle rippled behind the several interface ports he bore on his chest. All three of his remaining servo arms swung up behind him like scorpion tails, plasma snapping between the teeth of his cutter in anticipation of sizzeling through Azazel's armor. Yet, the trained eye of a scientist could see that his limbs quivered ever so slightly, the dilated, black pupils of his eyes struggled to hold their focus, adn his balance was off. There was nothing lacking about his will, however, and Xepherial suddenly lunged forward like a wounded lion with a right hook toward Azazel's beaky helm.

Azazel growled. He so hated undoing good work. The lunge was easily predictable and he knew Xepherial was far to damaged to beat him. He sidestepped the lunge and brought the flat metal back of the chainsword smashing into the side of his face with a ringing counterblow. He kept his pistol trained on Thorn and Bravis even as he knocked Xepherial hard on the face, likely now needing more needlework. 

"How distasteful."

The Dark Angel had completely missed... No, no he had been out manuvered. Disoriented from the knock against his head and knocked to the ground, Xepherial awoke to the fact that he was in comparably poor condition to fight. Through disheveled black hair, he looked up and happened to see Thorn, fighting to save him despite his own wounds. Through clouded vision, Xepherial knew the man he saw wasn't a mortal human, but Astartes, like himself, a battle brother, someone who wasn't going to let him go down alone. The vision brought a strange comfort. 

Azazel chuckled, and pointed his chainsword at the downed, disoriented and currently outmatched Xepherial. "Now SurrenderThorn. Or I'll do something truly terrible to poor Xepherial here."