2 Surprise

You know, normally I have to fuck my way through a dimension to gain the memories of the people I eat, but the Emperor of Mankind comes in clutch once more with the Omophagea - the Space Marine organ that allows Astartes to learn from the animals and people they eat - and mine was particularly developed as I experienced nearly the entire lives of the space elves I who's brains I munched down on.

This is no minor thing as the average Eldar lives two to three thousand years and in some cases can stretch that up to fifteen thousand years and beyond. So basically I was tripping major balls as I went about my business of butchering and preserving the eighty odd Eldar I murked, and with the average unit size of five to ten Dire Avengers per Dire Avenger Exarch, that meant that even though I lost the biggest prize in the lead Exarch I still had the brains of a baker's dozen Eldar who so thoroughly dedicated themselves to the Path of the Warrior that they abandoned all reason and knew only war.

As Dire Avenger Exarchs the thirteen of them not only studied a broad spectrum of battle skills, but they also wore suits of armor during their lives that taught them the skills of previous Exarchs. Fucking rad.

I retreated into the wilderness of Nuceria with my hoard of loot and preserved elf meat, and while the life of a backwoods cannibal might sound terrible, it made for a far more enjoyable formative experience than the original Angron suffered.

The most important part of my childhood came soon after I found a nice abandoned mine to live in and settled in to enjoy a new type of snack. One may think eating a glowing Eldari Spirit Stone a stupid idea after what happened Trythos when he hit one with his power axe, but fuck it, this is 40K and adding Devour of Souls to my list of titles is edgy as fuck meaning I instantly gain massive staying power in the setting and using too much common sense is a fine way to get yourself killed here.

So I swallowed that ridiculously potent source of psychic energy and let my Primarch stomach acids deal with it, and let me just say that never have I ever made a better decision in my life. I gained access to the array of psyker abilities the Eldar had in life, and a portion of his total psyker potential.

While most of the power from the stone faded over time, I discovered that I could burn it prematurely to reshaped Wraithbone constructs, a glorious silver lining for me.

Each of the Exarchs practiced various Warlock abilities, and all of the Eldar possessed psyker potential, giving me an excellent catalog of skills and a huge wellspring of power with which to use them, but I'd have to eat an entire Craftworld worth of filled Spirit Stones to surpass the likes of Malcador or Magnus, and Slaneesh would put a stop to me long before I ever achieved that.

I saved most of the soul stones for after I finished growing, a short few years as I was tied for the shortest Primarch with Alpharius and Omegon, and once I possessed my final physique I went about enacting my first great heresy by shaping a suit of Primarch power armor using Wraithbone.

Unlike the thin plating used by the Eldar, I drizzled my armor thick, shaping it with extreme care and with my vast experience designing similar suits. I managed to work the various shimmershields I picked up into my chest and limbs, creating a multilayered energy shield over my already beefy defenses, and I put three of them into the tower shield I built for my off hand.

On each forearm I mounted a pair of shuriken launchers with a rangefinder, and I did similar on each end of the power axe I built by melding the power glaives I took together to form a big beast of a weapon. The few Direswords I looted got the same and formed a side arm most in the galaxy would envy for a main piece.

I adorned my red armor with golden feathers and the images of griffins, which paired beautifully massive fuck off gravity wings I built. Seriously, fuck Sanguinius and Mortarion. Now Angron can fly and use badass warp powers and is wearing a self made suit of kick ass power armor with overpowered energy shields and some of the coolest weapons around.

And I am the Devourer of Souls.

And I have hair. Glorious copper hair.

Basically if I don't get proclaimed Warmaster based on sheer awesomeness I call foul.

I donned my gear and stepped out of my cave into the evening darkness. My wings stretched out behind me as I leapt into the air and with a flex of my mind my form became enshrouded in a midnight haze making me nothing more than a black specter, impossible to locate in the night sky.

"Oh boy." I deadpanned as I closed in on the capital city of Nuceria, "Here I go. Killing again."