Breathe
Hatred. Akanon sprinted down the street and
breathed hatred. He fired his bolter one-handed at the Salamanders' green forms mixed in with the skittering human ants, and his soul screamed its spite. He threw back his arms and shrieked in keening falsetto. It felt good.
The scum were firing at him, now; he reveled in the sensation of their weapon hits. He stood still, basking in the glow of their hate and fear as the bolter fire shuddered against his armor. Then he hated, again. He fired his bolter in an unending stream of fire and death until the weapon ran out and he hurled the empty weapon down the ruined street. It might have caved in someone's skull, he didn't bother to look. He ripped a street lamp from its base, then rammed it through a Guardsman's groin. He vaguely remembered that was supposed to be painful and maybe it was, but the human died too quickly. He sneered.
He found a Guardsman cowering in a hole, he pulled it out and jabbed his thumbs through its eyes. He could have popped the skull like a grape, but his way was more fun. The spasmodic dance it made under his hands amused him.
It felt close and clammy all of a sudden, so he tore off his horned helm and sucked the air greedily. He hit something with the helmet it dropped. The Salamanders were shooting at him again, trying to hit his exposed face. The bolts bounced off the adamantium scales growing up from his ears. He grinned at their impotence.
He felt like screaming again, so he picked up another Guardsman and screamed. The human maggot pissed himself. Its fear was so delicious that Akanon half closed his eyes in ecstasy. He licked the human. Then he bit out its throat. He was going to eat some more, but a Salamander killed the soldier before he had the chance. That made him angry. He was very angry. He charged the nearest Salamander. It had a flamer. Akanon stuck out his tongue to taste the promethium burn. He pounded the green helmet into the rockcrete, again, three times, four, he lost count. Eventually he gave up and just blew up the promethium tanks.
A human was fleeing. It was a female with her young. He picked her up by the ankles and smashed her head into paste on the rockcrete. He decided to let the baby die on its own.
There were those Space Marines again, withdrawing in close order formation. Akanon remembered when he used to do that. He hated it. He despised formations. He despised them for making him remember about formations. He bellowed like a bull and charged them with his chain-axe. He didn't bother with the chain-axe unless he felt the red hate on him. As the talons of a God, he didn't need weapons they just made the killing faster. He struck down on the first Salamander he could reach, but the scum was expecting it. So he threw the chain-axe and split the helmet of one the wasn't expecting it. Then he tore the bolter from the hands of the first Marine and blew his legs off. He blasted the head off a third, and the fourth... he wedged the muzzle of the bolter down the throat of the fourth so he could get a clean shot at the hearts. Not that it mattered, because he didn't bother aiming.
Blood. He needed blood. He found a human, reached into its belly and tore out its insides. He stood under the shower of blood and the welter of organs, rolled his face in it. The smell was so thick that he could taste the metallic tang without opening his mouth. Slick dangling things clung to his armor, caught on its spikes and washed in red. This pleased him. He threw away the shaking corpse. He needed more, but there was no one at hand. He tore the head off a dog, but it wasn't the same. He went back for that baby.
The baby wasn't there. Everywhere he looked, everyone was dead. He threw back his head and screamed his hate to the Blood God. The killing had only begun, the blood was not enough, he demanded more. Then a rocket blew his body in half.
A Space Marine rocket. A Salamander rocket. The Marine in green stood in a darkened window with a tube on his shoulder. Akanon's hatred and fury were so perfect that his lips peeled back in a rictus grin. His legs stood in front of him, upright. He saw more of the cowards line up in windows with bolters and plasma rifles. He seized one of his legs and poured out the coagulating blood over his face. It wasn't the same. In his last seconds, through his bared teeth he
breathed hatred.
Shame of the Super Son
