Assassination (V)

There was a unique exhilaration to killing this way.

Most of the mottled blood on Soul Drinker's hands had been acquired in silence and secrecy, when only assassin and prey danced alone together, their minds touching in the truest and most honest way.

Only on the brink of death did anyone cast aside all disguises.

But this was different; it had never slaughtered more than a double-digit number of lives at once, because there had never been any need.

Yet now its blood was surging, nearly making it dizzy, and it could not help wondering why it had not done this sooner.

This frenzied joy consumed everything, magnificent beyond measure.

Casting aside all disguises and falsehoods alone sent a thrill through its mind. At last, it had bared its true self before everyone. And they answered with terrified roars.

Amid the low howl of the gale, the Orks came flooding in with cries.

It threw back its head and laughed, utterly fearless.

It had never been so honest.

From the very moment of its birth, it had lived apart from others, afraid to reveal its true self.

Even when those people with metal and glass eyes had cut it open and peered deep into the dark corners of its mutated mind, they had never seen this side of it.

It became a frenzied whirlwind of fangs and claws, its skin changing and reshaping too quickly for the eye to follow as it ended each victim's life in ever more inventive, savage ways.

Countless greedy maws kept emerging across its body, greedily drinking every drop of blood that splashed over its skin.

The last Ork was firing at it, large-caliber bullets hammering its back and legs, igniting bursts of searing pain.

Its monstrous skin shrieked as it absorbed most of the