Killing could never be described as fun, especially not this type of killing. This, this was merely something to keep him occupied.
He hunted by only hearing, focussing on the drumbeat of the mortal's hearts rather than listening or seeing where they were. It would have been over too quickly if he had used all of his senses. The majority of his kills in the last few hours had been from any pieces of his body but his talons, utilising his feet, knees and shoulders to deadly effect. They were un-powered and completely clean of gore, yet the rest of his form was covered in blood.
The occupants of the Labyrinth were becoming tiresome now. Imperial Army troopers were boring sport. They always did the same thing, which was herding together and attempting to restore some vague notion of hope to the group. It actually made him pity them. Their fear was palpable, from the way they smelt to their very internal functions. They still thought they could survive and kill the Night Lord. How quaint...
The hunt had been going on for a dozen hours now and no one had been killed for at least four of those hours. It only made them more and more trigger-happy. Occasionally las-rounds rang out, simply jumping at shadows. Fear was an astounding thing to behold. Yet, alas, this little diversion was coming to an end. Dropping from the ceiling to land several metres ahead of the group, letting himself make a loud thudding sound that was soon accompanied by the crack of fifteen las-rifles on full auto. Obviously, they hit nothing, for Zhasal was already gone. Steps could be heard all around them, most of them echoes.
Ruby bolts flashed out in all directions, some hitting the huge columns that held the roof up, but most slashed into the darkness, yet hit nothing at all. The cattle eagerly shouted out if any one had gotten him and soon started to reload in quaking hands. Once more dropping from directly above the group, this time landing silently, the Night Lord lit his talons and moved into action.
One. The sergeant's neck is slit by a simple stroke from a talon, as well as three troops are merely skewered on the energised fingers.
Two. Zhasal turns as he leaps towards the largest knot of solders, slicing four major arteries of four separate targets, letting them bleed out in a matter of seconds afterwards.
Three. Five heads roll from the terrified bodies, all sliced in a blur of horizontal swipes.
Four. The last two troops attempt to fire their weapons on full auto at the monster, but find themselves held aloft by talons penetrating their necks, killing them a second after Zhasal drops them to the floor.
Within a matter of mere seconds, fifteen bodies lay broken on the floor. He could have most likely done it faster if he had his eyes open. That would have been far too easy however.
He knew he was being watched, either from cameras, or brothers waiting in the rafters. He did not care. Zhasal had never asked to be what he was, yet others did not like him. Was it because he did not 'bond' with them often, as others did? Were they jealous of the leniency the Captain gave him, or his skill with the Talons? The Night Lord, in all honesty, did not care. Some had tried to kill him, but had never laid a finger on him, all of those whom attempted to murder Zhasal ended up a corpse.
Killing him was not easy feat, for he had found no Night Lord that could best him in combat, except for at least three. The first had been Sevatar, whom he had learnt many techniques from, yet had never beaten in the ring before. The First Captain was simply staggeringly fast. Zhasal was lightning quick, but the Captain floored him every time. The other two were Captain Xendrek and his Champion, Azrael. He had never fought them, nor was he particularly bothered about it. He wouldn't refuse a duel alongside the Terran, but it would have to be with their own weapons. His skill with a blade was significantly less than with his Talons.
There were others outside the Legion he had faced before and lost to. They were all amongst the best in the Space Marines, for any less would be too easy. A captain by the name of Lucius had proved a staggeringly good duel, yet the swordsman's arrogance had soured the aftermath, as well as was a fight against a World Eater by the name of Delvarus. The Space Marine was crazed, yet a deadly efficient killing machine with his meteor hammer. All World Eaters were deadly, but Delvarus was the most deadly. There was one Space Marine that Zhasal could never even lay a finger on, or even get close to. A Raven Guard captain by the name of Nykona Sharrowkyn. He was, simply put, the most deadly warrior in the galaxy. He doubted even Sevatar could kill him.
Finding his way to the exit of the Labyrinth, he opened a comm link to Azrael. "We need more mortals. They die too fast." He sent, thinking that the Champion may know of any other places where Imperial Troops were being kept, or at least provide him with a distraction. "I am on my way regardless, any news from the Captain?" Zhasal queried, his voice flat and casual as he simply powered his Talons up one last time, letting the blood sizzle and burn from them.