He thundered towards Krejer, death upon his mind, Oathbreaker held loosely in his hands. Curses fell from his lips - Cursing Tiberius, cursing the World Eaters, and louder than all, cursing his honour. He was caked in dust, human residue and blood - Both his own, that of the World Eater's, and the congealed patina of the Istvaanians, all dark brown against his ocean-green plate. The opalescence was gone, along with his pride, washed away in an ocean's-worth of blood and violence. His topknot, once bright red, now sagged dejectedly, frayed and unkempt. I will cut it free, Krateron thought, sadly. It is a danger, now.
More jet-bikes rose over the jagged buildings, sending vibrations through the ground, and World Eaters launched free, a savage lot. A trio of Twelfth Legionaries, two new arrivals with long, hide-bound axes and the veteran who Krateron had bloodied, stepped between Krateron and Krejer. He skidded to an halt, swinging Oathkeeper up in a defencive position, and grumbled.
'I will tell him that today his son, Intukthelo, faced yet another worthless maggot and slaughtered him like the rest. This need to be adored by your Primarchs; makes you all foolish children,' The veteran, Intukthelo, then, said.
'Angron was ever the negligent lord,' Krateron shot back, heatedly, weary of the other two World Eaters. They circled him, like sharks, and Krateron felt his hearts hammering away. Even now, adrenaline and combat-stimms were flooding his bloodstream. 'Alas, whore-born, you will tell the Red Angel nothing - I will cut your tongue out and feed it to these mindless lackeys of yours.'
His words had the desired effect. The newcomers launched forwards, spittle on their lips, axes swinging through the air. Krateron sidestepped the first, sloppily, and put his shoulder into the second. Away they stumbled, and then Intukthelo was at him, calm and composed. Oathkeeper was a sturdy blade, and held under the World Eater's unrelenting onslaught, though Krateron himself gave way - Peddling back across the ground. The other two World Eaters pounced, but Intukthelo growled something, and they slunk away like whipped curs, waiting for their opportunity. Such pack mentality was always more befitting the Thirteenth.
'You are an unworthy adversary,' Krateron hissed, low and sibilant, as he kicked Intukthelo away. It was a lie, and if Krateron was honest with himself, he was struggling - Worse, he was fearful.
And then, Sergeant Rydon was there, and he added his weight to the duel. Intukthelo went tumbling away, bleeding from a fresh wound in his thigh, and Rydon pushed past Krateron - A hand upon his fellow Son of Horus' pauldron. Come, now, the action said, and Krateron nodded shallowly. But not yet.
He flew at the other two World Eaters. Oathkeeper danced in his hands, cleaving through one's hand, and then Krateron was on the second.
'Headtaker,' He laughed, deep and mocking. 'I gift your skull to the Emperor, Blessed of All.'
Oathkeeper bit through throat, bone and muscle. The World Eater teetered for a second, his head rolling away, and then sunk forwards - Into Krateron's waiting hands. He gripped the ruination of the Marine's throat, spurting crimson, and swung the body around. Intukthelo, charging blindly, tumbled into his brother's corpse, and down they went in a limp tangle.
And then, he was running, laughing madly - Laughing at his survival and his victory. No doubt, he realised, Intukthelo and the others would come for their revenge. Let them come, he thought, launching himself over the destroyed jet-bikes, and amongst his fellow Sons of Horus. He clasped gauntlets with Rydon, nodded at the others, and smirked.
'Let them come,' He whispered. 'Let them taste my blade.'
Rydon spoke, then - 'Sons of Horus,' - A poisonous whisper, and Krateron's world shattered further.
Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.
"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"
'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'