A/N: A friend of mine gave my a challenge today to try getting me back into writing fanfiction again. He told me to write something with a self-conflict concept/plot that was 500 words or less using a fandom I haven't written something for yet. So, here's my attempted "effort" to do said challenge.
Oh and fun fact about the author I suppose. My favorite Legions are the Raven Guard and World Eaters (Irony? I think not).
Actual Story Word Count: 490
Rage. Fury. Mania. They all meant the same thing, and to make it worse, they all describe him quite well. They're just words, yes, but they can never leave him because they all tell a story about him, a story of who he is. What he is. And he's trapped in this cage with them, forever.
He is well aware of his random uncontrollable fits of violence, an act that is usually forced upon his person one way or another, whether it be triggered by something from the outside or from the inside. His mood has always been volatile mix of red emotions, being so easily able to change from a well concentrated passive-like nature to that of bloodlusting aggression with a single turn of his head. Though what he loathes the most about it is when he actually takes pleasure in committing to it, taking pleasure in the deeds of killing, and they were never clean. It makes him sick with an inner turmoil because the killing can never be avoided when the wrath comes forth; there's always blood stained on his hands when he comes back to his senses and it's sometimes accompanied by the aching weight of shame.
And it's all because of these damned nails hammered into his skull, probing deeply at his brain no matter the time of day or the given situation. Constantly poking at his already heightened sense of aggression, making him snarl and bare his metal teeth even when there is calm. He hated it, truly he did, but he loved it too and he was repulsed by the fact.
He knew he could never be tranquil like his brother Sanguinius, or well composed like Dorn or Guilliman. Nor was he blessed with the patience of Magnus to give him time for meditation, or possessing the self-control of Corax. He was left to be an untamable beast much like Russ, but not at all like Curze. The thought of even the Night Haunter having more self-control then him was a well pointed humiliation to his person, that someone with a medically induced mental illness was actually better then him. HIM!
How can the Emperor-no. How could his own Father even still claim to love something so...So unstable? Something that is so prone to lashing out at any given moment without even a real reason for it and even putting a life at stake when it happens. Something so violent and agitated all the time, so bent and twisted from the days so long ago in the past as a once mighty, feared and powerful gladiator slave glorified in the blood of fallen champions.
It made no sense to him.
"Is something on your mind, Lord?" Angron looked away from his almost mindless work of cleaning Gorefather and Gorechild, his prized twin chainaxes, to see the face of his 8th Company Captain. His most trusted Astartes and equerry. Khârn.
"No," he answered.