He was speed and precision built into a keratin-plated missile, his loud mouth the shriek of it approaching an obvious target, and yet a rigid mind meant he lacked homing capabilities. Air rushed past spearing arms, and their points failed at puncturing anything but his own ego. A discontented rumble welled up his throat: this giant Oilslick was putting on an excellent demonstration of its nature, slippery like most of its cowardly brethren. Then red eyes widened, his breakneck approach preventing any evasion of the cloud of nastiness gusting toward him.

Burns weren’t new to Ace, corrupted ones especially; even now, hide repaired by a long transformative hibernation, he remembered the crackling heat that battle-addled stick had unleashed upon him and how it lanced through skin and muscle. It’d been a strike of concentrated corruption in all its sickening glory. This, however, was more sly and invasive. As dark spores settled over him, at first he snarled at the unwanted shower, ignorant of its purpose.

"Really?" Had he been in less of a combat situation, the Drone might’ve thrown his head back and fully sunk into a dramatically judgmental display. "I get that you snotrags aren’t much for baths, but come on! There’s enough going on without you shedding your filthy self all over the place."

During his bout of whinging, the damage crept along, gathering into a full body itch. Once it began burrowing into him, that’s when the corrosive pain commenced. Whatever elegance remained in Ace’s glide faltered as he seized up. His face twisted into a grimace, realization etched into it.

A curse pushed past gritted fangs: "Slick spawn of a piss puddle!"

Too late to shake anything off when it’d already taken root. Nevertheless the fungus patches blooming over every inch of him demanded some sort of swift action. Wings flared out and swept back against his sides again, and he lunged once more, glare locked back on target. This attack didn’t stay straightforward for long, though, as the launch slid into a spiral rapidly gaining momentum. He aimed not directly for the Chaos beast, but past it; let it guess at whether the wound would come from his arms or the stinger-tipped tail coiling into a deadly whip with his spin.

The fungal blooms did their damage, tearing away at Ace's pale flesh as they oozed away. Yet even so, they proved incapable of diminishing the attitude programmed into his very cells. Fangs clenched together drew apart to allow a sharp bark of laughter out as he rushed by his adversary. "No, the dear old lady made me as a special order. Skyreaver—the one, the only, the best rushed onto the front lines. And don't you forget it, sickbits!"

This last jab he threw in upon witnessing the repulsive burst of tentacles from Virosa's side, never one to pass up the opportunity to openly express disgust against foes. A pleased hum rose in his throat at the satisfying sink of his stinger before momentum swiftly yanked it out again. Such a sudden thrust might not allow the full extent of the cold flame encompassing it to be felt, but who knew what agonies even momentary exposure would result in; battles few and far between as of late, there hadn't been too many chances to test his weapon on a proper target.

Soon as he completed the strike, the pressure couldn't be let up. Ace wheeled around and switched the next attack to his forelimbs. They sliced straight for the back of the Valkhound's head. For once, not a word was spoken, but a telltale gust would no doubt serve as sufficient alert if it wasn't already attentive to the flyer's movements.