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Being the only middle ranged fighter, Octavio kept the empty space between his teammates occupied. Weapons like guns and axes meant to target only a few enemies at a time meant little against a hoard of monsters, no matter the skill of the user.
Any monsters not in the path of Ruze and Jurard became his prey, along with the slithering beasts swifly escaping their onslaught, never get too far because of Octavio's expertise.
Strings outstreched, he created a web for the corrupted beings to fall into, a most dangerous cradle made just for them. Even small ones filling the empy space between their giant counterparts became his puppets, submitting to his song and cherishing the way the strings and baton drew them in. Obediently, they signed their life away the second they entered his gaze.
But with massive amounts of power come drastic drawbacks.
He can not withdraw the puppet spies he's placed all over Elysium. In a way, these limiters he placed on himself hide his suspicios nature. Ruze is already much too close to figuring him out and Goldbullet might start suspecting something soon.
But either way, they dillute his power down to a maximum of five corruption beasts at once, more if they're small and weak. And with a swarm such as this, the makeshift net catches more then he can handle, pushing him to abuse that power.
Another beast crashes into the net, tanking the various bullets and air slashes hurled at it. Octavio's teammates leave it be, needing to quiet down the last wave of corruption beasts instead of focusing on the one that got away. They're sure the puppeteer can handle it, having never been dissapointed. The strain on Octavio is too much this time though.
A bit of blood leaks from the side of his hands each time his heart beats, strings ensnaring each digit, coveting the control he has at this moment. He has no time to pay attention to the way it soaks into his gloves, fingers and hands woking in overdrive moving to a beat only he can hear.
The more control he gets, the more control his only weapon wants. Their contract was simple. His wrists are already trapped within the soft blue threads, stark against his white shirt, itching to remind him just how much he's taking.
He sucks in a breath. Everything he's doing is still within the rules of the contract, even if barely. The amount of corruption under his control is sufficient for the weapon to absorb greedily. His veins ache and burst where the strings tighten, leaving behind a line of red and crimson hidden underneath his clothes.
Biting his lip, he carries on. This hunt can not fail, no matter how much it hurts. He can feel the invisible corruption beast surrounding his beloved Orphanage far behind him, crying out in fear of the waves of corrution beasts.
It seems the children carry their fears even in death.
Gritting his teeth, he struggles with the heavy weight of control, one he usually revels in. He tugs and moves, directing his own puppets to destroy the immobilized creatures captured in the nets. He needs to get rid of them immediatelly... lest he lose himself to his own weapon first.
He grips the conductors baton as he swings it, eviscerating the swarm as quickly as he can. There's some unique types of corruption beasts he's careful with, but otherwise he keeps up with the dance of destruction. Not even dust can be left behind. Corruption is after all a brother to Contagion.
He can't even hear the rest of ARMIS anymore, too focused on his goal, ears ringing and body aching from the strain. Get rid of it all. Destroy it. Control them even in death. His thoughts spiral further the more he commands his puppets to attack.
No longer aware of how much time has passed, his eyes shine at seeing his only indicator of it, the finish line. A clear desert as far as the eye can see. Rest and recuperation, maybe some research to be done in the now safe Orphanage, the place he's currently protecting. Maybe a song for his Poppets if they've behaved.
But the sheer amount of extortion put on him makes him crumble the second the last of the corruption caught in his webs dissolves and dissapears into thin air, the soul that had been corrupted finding peace in it's violent release.
"Ugh-" He feels blood clogging his throat, agitating it and making him cough. The disgusting feeling goes up his nose, and up into his head, searing and unforgiving. Through bleary eyes he sees his weapon ensnaring his neck, trying to gain control, red lines marbling his skin in an unsettling way.
The painful prodding at his consiousness only doubles by the minute and he gasps, knees buckling and sending him for a meeting with the ground, face-first. He can only spare a quick thought about his braids becoming sandy before his hands shoot up to his neck.
Blood soaked gloves grab at the offending strings ensnaring it, struggling. He'd really overdone it this time. Dark red slowly starts trickling from his ears and nose and his eyes slowly lose their spark, the limited oxigen bringing him close to passing out. The lack of control feels disgusting, clinging to every inch of his skin like tar.
Despite having a contract, the baton seemingly has a want to endanger him whenever it can, even if it's somewhat weak. Octavio doesn't even have to overstep the deal, the weapon might just become displeased with him at seemingly the most random times. He's decided long ago that there's no way he'll touch it with his bare skin or allow it to take over, no matter what it promises to give.
He can only weakly writhe on the sands that nearly became his grave, just barely registering the fact that the weapon is slowly calming down. It's a slow process, much too slow for him at least.
Light blue string loosens around his neck, still hanging around it in a warning fashon. Not that he needs that currently. His fingers are still somewhat bound, but finally getting proper blood-circulation.
He's dizzy, sand invading anywhere it can. Heat beats down on his collapsed body, reminding him of just how powerless he is to factors out of his control. Suddenly, the shining sun feels more like a punishment then gentle caress.
"WHAT THE FUCK-!?" The puppeteers ears ring. He'd forgotten about his teammates.
"JUST RUN YOU IDIOT! AND USE YOUR LIZARD POWERS FOR GOD'S SAKE." A gruff voice yells back at the surprised shriek from his leader.
"I got it." A deep one just barely reaches them, followed by a bullet taking an arm of a beast out of commision.
There's loud thumping coming towards him, the sands not enough to dim the sound of Ruze's and... a monsters? stomps. Octavio's body gets scooped up and slung over his saviours shoulder carelessly a second before a giant clawed foot decimates the place he was laying in. A boss type beast?
"If you were too weak to handle it-" Ruze dodges another attack aimed directly at his back easily and with a quick swing sent an airslash right at the offending paw with his trusty weapon. "You should've fuckin' said so you freak!"
Freshly out of a life-threatening situation and he's still getting yelled at. By the most reckless guy in their group no less, even though he knows Ruze wraps all of his care in thorns and warning signs, lest someone finds out he's a softie. Unfortunatelly he can't quip back, throat still recovering from getting choked half to death.
A loud sound rings out as a bullet swishes past their leader, accompanying him in destroying another part of the corruption beast. Various explosions happen simoultaneously, courtesy of the three fighters.
It works, an even bigger boom echoing across the desert and with it, the boss beast is down and vulnerable, letting the group attack freely. The onslaught is too much for a beast of this size to handle.
Octavio gets jostled on Ruze's shoulder as he swings Zephyr over and over again, slashing and cutting anything in his way. The battle doesn't go on much longer, beast subjegated and victory achieved.
Perhaps... Octavio might be able to rely on them.