Dead Corsairs [3]: War Hound

A sense of bliss, something I usually sensed during the chaos of war

This was what I felt whenever I awoke and flashes of my previous deaths flashed through my eyes. As I remembered and felt the gruesome battles I fought and died in the Nails were pleased.

Then the visions faded and the headache kicked in, "bastard things" I said to myself as they started singing again. I looked down at my hands, clad in the gray-ish white I wore during the Great Crusade, the same white and blue of the Word Bearers that I'd worn when I first died, looking at what our Primarch was becoming on Nuceria when an axe caught me in the face, friendly fire, a brother lost to the rage.

There were differences though, my armor was spiked and twisted, proof of my new (forced) allegiance and my left pauldron made of bone and gold.

I got up and started walking towards the fighting cages. Around me the corridors were twisted and often changed before my eyes, yet somehow I always arrived where I wanted to be. There in the middle of one of the cages stood Garkhe, clad in the new red and gold of the World Eaters (sans the bone and gold pauldron that marked us both), surrounded by dozens of dead human wretches. He caught a glance at me and roared something I didn't quite get, his Chainsword revving up and his Powerfist trickling with energy, then he charged against me...

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