A/N: I'm having many ideas for powers Jan could develop from consuming Tyranids; Bonesword, bioplasma projector, Barbed strangler, acid blood, claws. I don't want to incorporate too many ranged weapons, but I don't want him at a disadvantage either, I also want him to have his own powers, distinct from Mercer's and Heller's (It's the basic idea of this whole story) based on what he'll be consuming, same as his personality, as Mercer and Heller were very dark characters in a relatively hopeful world (Compared to wh40k, it's hopeful), so I'll try to make Jan more of an optimistic idealist. No 'With great power comes great responsibilities' stuff, however, more like 'Hey, I'm one of the deadliest living being in the universe. What now?'.

You ever thought for sure you were going to die? It feels good, makes you feel alive, the fear hurts, but it's a good pain, because while you're feeling it, you know you still live. I've been feeling it non-stop since I found out I had cancer, and I've never been more alive than I was lately.

Even now, as my body twists in the air to put me feet down, I feel the rush of terror and cold sweats all over my skin, and I'm loving it. Hey, I'm dying anyway, might as well draw some fun from it.

A hundred meters fall seems short from the outside, two seconds, maybe, but when it's happening to you, it's quite some time to think.

I actually have time to get bored and look around.

The ground is climbing to meet me, eight Ultramarines to my right waiting for me to squash. I'm going to land right on top of a burned out civilian vehicle, maybe it will cushion my fall enough for the marines to finish the job. Seems the falling building crushed a couple of them

The Thunderhawk is hovering somewhere to the left, squeezed between two burned down buildings. If I had anti-air weaponry, I could really ruin their day; the buildings would prevent any evasive maneuver…

The impact is brutal, but painless, like jumping off the kitchen table when you are a kid. Debris and dust fill the air instantly, the car splitting in half, and, well, I'm still well alive in a knee-deep crater with boulders and chunks of road flying all around me.

Through the dust, I spot two scout marines aiming their guns at me. Everything happens quickly, faster than I can register it all; I jump forward, my feet connect with a boulder as it reaches the height of its ascension and kick the thing straight toward the two marines.

Janus' bolter is still strapped on my back, albeit loosely, since I'm not his size at all. I haven't touched the ground yet that I'm clutching the thing and peppering the cluster of marines. They fight back, but the boulder crushing their two friends and spreading their geneseed over twelve meters of dirty street seems to cause a few to hesitate. Most of them are scouts, newbies relying on their elders for guidance, but I'm too big a problem for the Chaplain, Terminator or assault marines to remember they must guide the new kids.

And they shall know no fear, right? I land with a kneel just as three scouts duck in the debris field behind them.

I have no idea what the Terminator is using, but it burns my chest to a crisp and knocks me back in the crater I just left.

My body seems to have adapted to falling the same way a cat's does and I land on my feet once more, gun snapping up immediately to down one of the assault marines with a burst to the head.

Dispatch the gun fodders first, get them out of the way, stay mobile to avoid more powerful attacks and then focus on the bigger threat. It's the opposite of what Janus was taught; kill the bigger threat, then deal with the smaller ones, but in this case, the smaller ones are walking murder-machines and the bigger ones are even worst, so I'll kill those I think are my size, assimilate them and then use what I learned to kill the big bastards.

I rush forward and tackle –more like hug- a marine almost twice my size, lift him off the floor and slam him in the rubbles hard enough for stress fractures to appear around his pauldrons and chest plate. The other marines stop firing; they don't want to hit their brother. Had they been equipped with smaller weapons, like lasguns or… Actually, not much in the Imperium's armory is tame enough for them to shoot a normal man and not risk collateral damages.

Before I can finish the job, however, something flexible and barbed wraps around my neck, digging in my skin and cutting off all air supply. Not that I seem to need it, my body keeps getting oxygen from somewhere.

I am dragged off toward the collapsed building like a fish on a line. I'm not scared, I don't have any fear left in me, for one, and I'm starting to think nothing on this planet is higher on the food chain than I am.

My head hits something hard with enough strength to crack a normal man's skull. It barely makes me look back. I hit the outer wall of the tower, the tentacle dragging me originates from deep within the ruins, but I'm not going to wait for the face to face like a good boy, this thing wants to have me for dinner? She'll have to earn it.

My whole body spins on the spot like I'm some professional dancer and my feet dig into the thick concrete wall. I mean 'dig' as in, ankle deep into the high quality building material… Well, what's left of it.

Next step once I stop moving is to wrap the tentacle around my right arm and pull as hard as I can, holding my boltgun in the off hand. The resulting scream reminds me of fighting cats and the barbs cut deeply into the skin of my forearms. It doesn't hurt though, bleeding seems to be just for show, a display put on by my body to make me look human.

I pull again, wrapping another length of barbed tentacle around my forearm. Another scream.

Another length, another scream, once, twice… It becomes easier at every pull, to the point I can just stand up and keep pulling on my own two feet. The thing on the other end doesn't seem used to being the prey, doesn't know how to react and simply keeps pulling back, without success.

Soon enough, it gets dragged into the light and its mimicking capacities are temporarily disabled; the thing is massive, with more claws than anything should ever need. The tendril I'm using as fishing line comes from its chest and is surrounded by the claws, so whatever gets pulled in close enough will get chopped to pieces. I'd better not wait for it to be in range, I doubt fighting this thing on its own term would be wise.

The bolt rounds ping against the thing's carapace, some exploding, some bouncing and a few kicking through. The creature's primal mind doesn't register that its only survival chance at this point is to close the gap and fight me. Mayber assimilating that thing won't go toward making me any smarter, but I'm sure I'll get some very nice traits from assimilating it.

The thing quickly grows weaker and has to hold itself up using its claws. This exposes its back and spine, making something inside of me scream in hunger.

Before I realize it, I'm on the thing's back, punching through the base of its neck as tendrils shoot out of my body to rip the Tyranid to shreds.

Tastes like chicken.