Status Updates From Confession of Pain

‘How many are you?’ The heretic’s voice wheezed from a desiccated throat.
Orghun held his blade before him, its point trained on the champion’s head. The ancient warrior wore no helm, but twisted bone spurs curved from his cheekbones and brows.
‘More than enough,’ Orghun said, circling to put the open door behind him again as Jamal and one of his Intercessors entered.
‘Oh, I doubt that,’ the heretic replied.

‘Honoured Khaijav?’
His sensors came online in a cascade of data. He was lost for a moment, overcome by information. Atmosphere assessors, status indicators, diagnostic reports. Servos in his legs twitched and strained against the hoist that restrained him. The reactor of his heart pulsed and overheat warnings rang across his sensorium.