Whoever he was died a long, long time ago, so long ago that he

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Whoever he was died a long, long time ago, so long ago that he cannot recall his name nor his home or even his chapter.
All he understands is the rage.
The animalistic, unending hatred that burns him like a branding iron and drives him to seek death so earnestly.
His rage has annihilated him and everything he's come across.
The screams and the pain and this sight of skin being stretched and stretched until it tears, he loves it all.
He has stopped seeing himself as human and believes that he is a force, an animal.
He has abandoned everything.
Morals.
Beliefs.
Creeds.
He looks into his blade.
The oh so ancient blade.
He feels its warmth radiate and peace floods into him.
In a flash everything he's lost comes back.
The training.
His chapter.
When he found the blade in the hands of a dead traitor.
When the anger started...
As he swung the blade into a battle brother the vison fades.
A small whisper on the wind begins
"More death...more blood...your past shall be revealed when my thirst is sated..."
He knows the daemons thirst shall never end and even so, he walks off to find men to kill.
To find his past.

Did I do good /lit/?