A Butcher's Tale

Inimicos an Non?: "Enemies or Not?"

"Oi, OI! KHÂRN, WAKE UP!". A kick shook his sleep. "WAKE. UP. YOU BIG FUCKER!" roared out Delvarus as he punted the bed once more, his armored boot almost making the entire frame collapse.

Khârn woke up with an almost spastic jolt and a wrathful roar. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN'?! YOU SKULLESS BASTARD?!" answered the Primus, immediatly standing up and glaring at his second in command, the gigantic warrior before him being dwarfed by his superior by almost a head despite him being in the Steel-Shell, as the exoscheletric suit was called, and the Ogre in his birthsuit. 

Delvarus gritted his teeth and bit his tongue, knowing that any other attempt at bickering would earn him a broken jaw. "We are moving, the attack has been anticipated by about 9 hours. The General announced it about 15 minutes ago". 

Khârn's eyes widened, his mind running to an halt for a microsecond. Suddenly he bellowed out with urgenc "EQUERRY!". In came Setiprae, younger than the other 2 in the tent by a couple of years and still bleeding from the agumentations. He was sligtly shorter than the Secundus and a bit leaner, his bulk not yet on the same level as theirs. "Yessir?!" he saluted with a fist slammed on his own chest, a slight of panic in his mind as he wondered why the feared Lord of the Red Sands had called for him. 

"Prepare my chassis, initiate activation protocols with all the necessary checks and bring me Brazentooth and the Spite Furnace" ordered Khârn, recieving another "Yessir!" as an answer and the sounds of scurring off being chocked out by the roar of waking motors and the synthetic moans of servo-muscles. The Primus turned to Delvarus, an eyebrow raised "What the hell was that, Delvarus? I almost dropped your ass" grumbled out the larger man, annoyed at his brother's behaviour. 

The Bloody-Handed simply shrugged and added, with no little mischief in his tone "Oh, nothin'. Just wanted to wake your old ass up and tried to make it a bit funnier. Not my fault your grumpy culo didn't get the joke ".

"Try that again and I'll see you in the Pits, you fuckin' donkey" threatened Khârn while throwing an half-hearted glare to him. A smug, grinning mug was plastered on his companion's face. He looked to the side, watching through an opening in the fabric as the baselines they were assigned with started preparing the armored vehicles, from common Humvees and Buffaloes all the way to their Tamurus, monstruositie of metal and machinery made to excort them and only them to the battlefield. Such metal beasts had served the transhumans well. The campaign had started almost 3 months before, and today looked like the finale of this conflict would finally show its face. The dry and cold air of Turkey washed over his form, his acute eyes spying at the humongous profile of Mount Ararat. The last battlefield, to wich all the regiments were called for one concluding showdown with the enemy forces. Something never heard before.

The mobilzation of the entire Legio Astartes.

A small chuckle joined the cacophony of noises, adding a low humming bass to it.

"What's so funny, Big K?

Khârn clicked his tongue "I told you not to call me that" he huffed "I'm not a bloody rapper".

"Nah". The glare from his superior urged him to change subject "Anyway, what is it, sir? You never really chuckle, or act anyway near poisitevly, before an engagement. All you bloody do is stay silent and grin like a madman, wich could be said for the rest of us but still. What is it?". 

Khârn wondered that too and, for a moment, truly mused to himself of the true reason he felt...happier that day. 'I always liked fighting. The rush of it. The adrenaline pumping through the veins. All my implants and stimms giving me even more enrgy. Every single movement my muscles made no more restrained, controlled, but simply allowed to go wild.  Each swing of my axe reverberating in my arm, the feeling of my body slamming against an enemy and breaking through, the bones dusting under my booth. The emotions coming forth, without inhibitions. Without a gate. The anger. The hatred. The pride. The courage. The happiness. All mixing in the blood soaked ground. I love fighting, By the hells, I was made for fighting. We all were. Bioengineered and indoctrinated for it. No other purpose than that. A simple objective' a hollow frown formed in his face 'Yet I always felt something missing. Even though we enjoyed the thrill, we barely considered the consequences of our actions. What lives could be at stake. The Eaters of Cities are a blunt object, a hammer' the frown sligthly deepened 'Then why do I feel so much at...' in a fragment of a second the truth reached his mind, and he could not help but chuckle a bit more.