Decided to do this just now, and wrote up a quick story with the theme in mind and using one of my favourite new Chaos units.
Skydeath by Lord of the Night (Word Count: 1044)
Hatred. Rage. Contempt.
These are the three things that drive me. Deep inside the metal that surrounds me on all sides, these are the only things that I can feel anymore. My flesh-body has long since atrophied into a useless husk, but my mind is still strong. Strong enough that I comprehend what I have become. What has become of me after thousands of years. I have become a monster of metal and flesh whose sole purpose is to bring death and destruction from above.
Some would curse this fate, but I am not weak enough to blame others for what has become of me. And even then, I do not wish to curse my fate. I love what I have become. I am a storm of death and fire and blood. None can match my might, not the ramshackle craft of the greenskins who taste like burnt wood and rusted metal, not the Imperial ships with such sweet meat hidden inside their weak frames that scream and die under my claws, not the Eldar vessels that flit around me and break apart at even the slightest touch. No, there is nothing in the air that can stand against me.
I am Heldrake. I am the lord of the skies, the lord of death from the air. And all of them, the groundwalkers that I burn and blast from above, the flimsy scrap-piles that they send against me in a vain hope that they can ground me forever. That their weak guns can crack my armour, that their wretched shells can withstand my claws and teeth. That they can outpace and escape my rage. They are nothing before me.
I fall, fire burning around my skin of hellforged iron as I plummet towards the ground. But I will not die. I can smell them approaching, the fools who seek to destroy me. My wings unfold, the wind tears at them but it cannot hurt me. Nothing can. Least of all the maggots that now pass under me in their weak little ships. Tau, they call themselves. I call them prey.
My claws snap into the metal of the gunship as I crash into it, sending it veering off-course. For a moment it appears as if it will crash, but the pilot inside brings it under control. His efforts are wasted, the worm. My talons tear through the metal, exposing the xenos filth inside. I can see, smell and hear their terror. Their bleating screams as they raise their guns at me, as if such small weapons could hurt my mighty frame. For a brief moment I am tempted to let them fire, to show them how insignificant they are to me, but there are other targets nearby and my pack is hunting alongside me. I hate them all too, and they hate me. But we hunt together, and that means I cannot be outdone by them.
I roar fire, the Baleflamer built into my maw unleashes fire from the deepest pits of the warp. It's green flame punches through the entire craft, the sizzling smell of cooked meat fills the air briefly along with the screams of the dying aliens. I leave them to crash into the earth where they belong. The skies belong to us, and all who enter it are our prey.
I let go of the dying craft, dropping and extending my wings to fly. I sight three more ships speeding towards me, their guns unleashing a fusillade of plasma fire against me. If I were less nimble then they might stand a chance, but they do not. I weave through the fire, only a handful of shots impacting against my frame, leaving nothing but scorch marks. My guns scream in response, Hades Autocannons built into my wings and claws rip through the soft metal of the Tau gunships. All three list and fall to the ground, smoke streaming from the wounds I have inflicted. I howl, the sound cutting through the din of screaming, explosions and laughter.
I look down and see them. The groundwalkers. The slugs. The weak. I drop even further, enough that I can see with my optics as they scurry about like ants, trying to set up their anti-aircraft cannons in hope of destroying us before we annihilate them all. I strafe past them, my guns blasting them into shreds of meat and bone.
I hear a scream. But a scream of metal and pain. One of my pack falls from the sky, his wings sheared off and his guts spilling around into the sky. A new threat has emerged, a predator of the air in service to the enemy. It is a large craft, shaped in a similar fashion to their gunships but much larger and carrying more powerful guns. I recognize it, it is a Manta Gunship. The Tau's most powerful air weapon.
Another of my pack falls, his head blown into dust and his lifeless body exploding into wreckage. I howl in rage, not for our lost but at this thing that dares defile our air. It will die for this hubris. I race towards it, my guns shooting at it's armour and destroying some of it's emplaced weaponry. My pack is joining me, we strike from all sides. It still kills another of us. It is a threat, it could actually destroy us. I do not like admitting this to myself, but it is true. Unless I kill it first.
I slam into it's underside. The soft metal is no match for my talons that tear through it, nor are the maggots inside any match for my fire or my guns. Hundreds of worms crawl about inside this metal behemoth, so much the better. More will die when I ground it. I fire in every direction, my attacks punch through the interior of the ship and destroy everything they hit. I can scent the burning of oil as an engine explodes, feel the drag as the craft begins to fall from the sky. I tear my way out of it in time to watch it fall to the ground and explode.
As I watch it die I feel something else join the ever-present haze of rage, hate and contempt.
It is joy.