Twenty years earlier….
The world was consumed in an inferno.
The boy, barely five years old, found a new sensation creeping into him, sending chills across his entire body and making his skin crawl, even as his young mind struggled to cope with what was going on. It was fear. Primal fear. Fear of closing his eyes and leave his fate to uncertainty. Fear of opening them, only to be greeted by scenes of absolute terror, worse than any form of nightmare.
To be perfectly honest, his life had not been carefree on this agriculture world of Axiome. The weather was hot and humid all year long, and disease was a common thing. His father died to sickness before he could even speak. He took up his father's work right after that. To make sure the plants do not go dry, the boy had to run across to the other side of the hill where the only well within three hundred kilometers laid and then back again with heavy buckets of water. If any day he did not do that, the landlord would give him a good hiding. Last time was two months ago; the marks had yet to disappear. At noon, he and his mother had to work on the field alongside fifty others, exposing themselves without any break or any form of protection under the unforgiving, hateful twin sun, until late night. Life here was hard, but for the very least, the boy did not have to worry about getting reduced to atoms by metal monstrosities.
Until just now.
The apocalypse did not come in the invasion of outside force, but from the very depth of the planet where an ancient evil dwelt. They rose without warning. They struck without mercy. They killed without emotion. Matching in baleful cohesion, the metal men unleashed utter destruction everywhere they went.
It was not even a battle. It was a slaughter.
The boy felt his heart throbbing. The plantation, the village, the storage house, all went up in flame. His friends, his neighbors, and thankfully his obnoxious overseers, too, dead, their bodies literally vaporized by the green alien beams that struck them with eerie accuracy. His mother, tugging her traumatized son on her arms next to her waist, ran for their lives amidst the chaos. If the Emperor truly protected, then this must be His day off.
A dazzling flash of light engulfed the boy's vision. The next thing he knew, he was thrown bodily to the ground, bruising both his knees and elbows. His mind raced. He could not move. His mother was lying on top of him, what was left of her. Her mid-section was half gone. She did not scream as she died. The boy was too frightened for his own life to be worried about her, too frightened to even let out a scream. His eyes were hot with tears.
The metal men were coming closer. Hundreds of them. Accompanied by vehicles that seemed to float impossibly above the ground without touching it.
They finally saw him, a young boy trapped beneath the corpse of his mother. With face as blank as a cutting board, one of the metal men shouldered its weapon and poised to fire. The boy shut his eye. Brilliant light bathed on him. It was all over.
But it was not.
The light that surrounded him was pristine white, unlike the macabre green emitted by the metal men. The boy let his curious eyes open. Greeted he was by the sight of a figure, humanoid, larger than any person he had seen, clad in complete white. The figure stood between him and the metal men.
And then it was gone, disappeared in the same light that heralded its arrival. The boy was dumbfounded by what had just taken place. As he watched, the metal men had been struck by the same thing. They had stopped in unison, scanning the area warily with glowing green eyes, none of them training their weapon at the human's direction anymore. They knew as much as he did that something was not right.
Suddenly, the air thickened and with a loud bang, the figure he just saw earlier materialized right between the first and second rank of metal men. The boy could not see what happened next, but he reckoned a white cloak flirting in the air, the sound of metal clanging together, and by the time the figure disappeared again, he noticed numerous metal men had been removed from the formation. The metal men opened fire, but it was not with methodology or attentiveness like they did before; they literally fired in every direction possible. And yet, that did them no good as the figure appeared and vanished again and again in quicker sequences, each time leaving a few more of the metal men dead (if they were alive in the first place), many of which knocked out by their uncaring comrades. The floating truck went up in flame. One of the cars blew up at the rear, crashing nose first to the ground. Green lightning crackled as the thing was torn apart, its energy from within turning against it.
It was a slaughter. Only this time, the metal men were the one being slaughtered.
The one-sided battle went on for about ten minutes until all the metal men and their vehicles lied in broken, distorted heaps.
The boy watched in amazement. The white figure once again stood in front of him. It looked like a human in armor, but neither the design nor inscription rang any bell. The helmet was tall and curved. Two antennas sprouted awkwardly from his back, as though belonging to some insect. He was a warrior, wielding a broadsword in one hand and a round shield painted in black and white in the other. Whoever he was, he could not have come from Axiome.
An outsider. Perhaps even an alien.
The boy tensed up as the warrior approached. He might have killed the metal men, but there was no way of telling if his intentions were good in the first place. The boy's mother always told him not to trust strangers, let alone someone from another world altogether. His anxiety evaporated the moment a gauntleted hand flipped over his mother's body to release him from underneath while another gently closed her bewildered eyes, making her expression one of peacefulness one more.
Outsider or not, alien or not, this person was not evil. He was a hero, clad in pure white and coming to deliver the boy.
The boy began to cry. His father died a long time ago. He had only a mother left, and now she was gone as well. He had no job to make a living on, no one to relate to, no place to live. His world was hell.
"Don't cry, boy," said the hero. The voice was powerful, yet tender and melodic at the same time, as though spoken by not just one, but two persons. "You are alive, and that is reason to celebrate. Your mother, standing by the Emperor right now, would be glad. Show her you are a man now. Show her that all her efforts raising you, protecting you had not been for naught."
The boy replied between sobs. "You…you are just….saying that…to make me…feel better. I have…nothing left."
"Nothing but your faith," the hero said. "I do not expect you to feel better just by mere words I said. What will become of you is entirely and wholly up to you, whether you show vigor and overcome the challenges, or choose to be a coward and back down. Though the journey might be long and the destination hidden in mist, do know that everything will get better; all you need to do is believe in it."
"Believe?" asked the boy. "In…what?"
"You will find it out. Soon enough."
…..
It took three months.
Reinforcements from the Astra Militarum and the Adeptus Astartes poured into Axiome like a maelstrom, devouring all that stood before them. Brimming with righteous fury and vindicated hatred for the unclean, they purged the metal men in their accursed lairs, one catacomb after another until none was left and the planet declared free of xenos taint.
Though the outsiders claimed much of the credit, especially from the media, many citizens of Axiome mentioned a white angel coming to the rescue, stemming the tide of metal men before reinforcement could arrive en masse. They were either ignored or put down as seeing illusions under pressure.
By that time, the boy who carried two buckets of water across the hill was no more. In place, it was a boy who ran across five hills and three villages to catch up with the warriors of the Emperor just as they were about to depart. He was exhausted when he got there, but he was triumphant, nevertheless. He wished not a life on an agriculture world. He thirsted for adventure. He wanted to be someone, to make the Emperor proud, to make the white hero proud.
But at last, he was not fit to become a Space Marine. The Chaplain admired his courage, but the strenuous procedure to become mankind's greatest warriors could not be accomplished through force of will alone. The Astra Militarum took him in, but not as a rank and file soldier. Their commander saw a brighter future for the boy. Not right now, but given appropriate training and education and time, a splendid warrior could be born.
And so the boy was sent to a Scholar Progenium, home and place to begin for future generations of elite Imperial troopers and commanders.
Levantia awoke in the middle of the night. He was sweating hard and his whole body shook. In his dream, his affair with Darelyn was exposed. He saw himself on Crox's torture rack, only this time the previous victim was the one doing the cleaning, only this time he was a Grotesque with four spider-like arms. He was wiping the floor splattered with Levantia's blood and organ as the Haemonculus gleefully went on with his work. Then, what was left of his body was thrown into the overseer cell to be devoured by its hungry occupants. And the worst part was that they did not even do it; they said he tasted like dried macaroni.
It was just a nightmare, Levantia reminded himself, though part of him knew those events were only inches away from reality. If the Dark Eldar knew about him being with one of the Trueborn nobles, Emperor knew what was going to happen. The prospect terrified him. He did not want to die, not after going through so much. He did not want to end up on Crox's torture rack. And most of all, he really did not want to taste like dried macaroni. That was just gross.
Here, middle of the night was no difference from morning or noon, for the Eternity of Torment was constantly dark apart from a few sources of illumination. The Dark Eldar had no concept of keeping time, working and fighting and relaxing and doing what evil filthy xenos normally did whenever they pleased. Now that the overseers were taken into account, they came up with a pale replication of day and night circle as well as a schedule of time of work to make sure their upper-class slaves would function to the highest level of efficiency. Sveltanar had coined the term "night" the time where he turned the light in the cell off and people went to sleep with no further question otherwise somebody (mostly Bruno) would have to bang them unconscious to make sure the others had some rest, a definition no one wished to argue against.
Looking around, Levantia saw his fellow humans were huddled together, some patently bear-hugging one another. They were all sleeping soundly. The sight made his heart warm. It reminded him of how humans yearn to be a sociable species, a trait demonstrated to the fullest in times of hardship. Bruno was snoring like a pig; they put him five meters from the rest. Given how much fat the big man had, he would probably survive the night.
His body shaking, Levantia wondered if it was because of the cold or the aftershock he had from that dreadful nightmare. He found it was neither. He was not shaking on his own. The body leaning right against his shoulder was causing it to happen. The Farseer, face pressed into his sleeve, was convulsing like a Hormagaunt caught between the presences of two Hive Minds belonging to two different, opposing Hive Fleets. He doubted it was the cold, for the blanket that covered her, wherever the Dark Eldar stole from, seemed enough for someone left naked on the surface of Fenris to survive indefinitely.
Looking closer, he saw tears ran down her cheeks and she was muttering to herself something in the Eldar's language while biting her lip, making it bleed. From his studies, the Eldar were emotionally more sensitive to humans. If Levantia just woke up from a bad dream, he wondered what kind of nightmare she had in order to cause her body to operate in such manner.
Levantia would have found the situation awkward had it not been for the constant prodding from Darelyn ever since he came here. Here he was, next to what would fit the category of enemies of Men, and he approached not with fire burning at heart nor righteous fury clenched in fists, but with the same tenderness as if she had been just another human. Though young even by human standards, Levantia had witnessed a lifetime of combat. He knew the danger posed by those touched by the Warp, his encounter with Ork Weirdboyz and a Daemon Lord of Change proving to be both unpleasant and deathly. But right now, despite being aware what an Eldar Farseer was capable of, despite his knowledge that her expertise in Divination had brought about many important victories to the Kabal of the Shadow Talon, he could see not a single threat from this woman. Besides, the Dark Eldar could not have let a powerful psykers like that out of their sight without any safety measures.
"Don't…leave me…," the Farseer moaned. She was speaking in Low Gothic this time, unlike before where she whimpered in her own tongue while asleep. "No, please, don't…leave me. Not…like this."
"I am not leaving you," Levantia laid a hand softly on her shoulder and pulled himself closer to her.
The Eldar opened her eyes and stared at him blankly for a few seconds, startled. Breathing rapidly, she then wiped her tears and said, "If you choke me, will it last long before I can die?"
"What?" asked Levantia, confused. "Why would you be asking something like that?"
"Murder me."
"Why?"
"Should I ask your friend to do it?" She pointed at Bruno.
"Don't bother him," Levantia was vehement. The last person who did so was Relius. He immediately became a yoga master with all the body bending he received. It took the whole night to bring him back to normal. "And he is not my friend. You are already plaguing one person, and that is one too many. Let's not spread it across the room. What makes you want to die all of a sudden?"
"I…I could not let you see me in this state," the Eldar replied almost frantically. "I want to keep it to myself. I am weak. I am a coward. I am nobody."
"No you are not."
"Now you know the truth about me, you won't care about me anymore," the Eldar insisted.
"I already knew it from the start," Levantia replied. He did not want to admit watching her like some perverted stalker, but then again, her actions were pretty overt to begin with, as though she had never made any effort to hide her weaknesses. "It makes no difference to me."
The Farseer's face reddened. She looked down and mumbled, "My life has no meaning. The Laughing God mocks at me while the Mistress of Fate gives me cold shoulder. I am unneeded by anyone."
Levantia felt his heart tightened by what she said. Though he had lifted her of the feeling of guilt, restoring her mentality, with exception to being an arrogant peacock, would take some more time. The feeling of being left out, forsaken and cast down within her was stronger than he imagined, and Levantia was not sure how to lift that since, as hard as it was to admit, there was hardly anything she could have done to help out the overseers except placing a further burden on them. From what Levantia heard, not even Relius was fond of her, and he was the lady's man of the group. However, a part of him was still cognizant of the fact the Dark Eldar were no fools; they would not have put her in this cell instead of the one six floor below if she was indeed unneeded.
"There are not many Eldar in this galaxy," said Levantia. "I thought you would value life a bit more."
The Farseer sniffed. She looked embarrassed, her face reddening. She clasped both hands into her face, unable to confront the human in front of her, the human who mended and heart and broke it at the same time. "So…you heard all of it, didn't you? What I was talking in my sleep."
Levantia shook his head. "Not really. Most of the rambling was in your language, so I did not catch that."
"I was rambling in two languages?"
"Wait, you don't even know?"
The Eldar blushed even more. Levantia frowned. He was more amused than annoyed at this point. The Farseer placed his hand on her throat. Her hands were gloved, but her creamy throat was bare. This was the second time he touched her skin, the previously one being her dirty foot, and once again, he found himself entranced by the sensation.
"Choke me," she begged, closing her eyes. She actually meant it.
Levantia had had many embarrassing incidents in his life, and no doubt he would continue to experience them given his being absent-minded, but losing the will to live because of them seemed exaggerated. A veteran of countless encounters that would have been nerve-wrenching to lesser men, he even survived that no-toilet-paper-on-the-fifty-seventh-floor catastrophe quite nicely without causing much of a scandal, despite having to blackmailing all those who had taken pictures or videos of the incident.
Instead of squeezing on it, he caressed her neck mildly.
"I cannot end your life right here," he said, withdrawing his grasp. "Not after I tried so hard to keep it. Not when my very humanity is on the line." After the incident where his offer was refused by the lower-class slave, he had become aware of the gap between the overseers and the rest of the humans on board. Any attempt to breach it was as pointless as building a bridge across space to connect two worlds. He needed someone to care for, and the Eldar woman was the person he yearned to help the most, without whom his life would be as empty as the cold, dark void outside this ship.
The Eldar looked up at him. Swiping her tears, she opened a smile on her pretty face. "You really are a peculiar human, aren't you, Carlos Levantia?"
"And you are one heck of a xeno, too," Levantia countered. "Whoever you are. You already know my name, and more about my background than I am comfortable with, so my introduction is out of the question. What should I call you other than, you know, Eldar?"
"Feliandriel," the Farseer replied.
"Felia-what?" asked Levantia. Many of the Eldar's names were a pain to pronounce. It took him a full week to finally utter Feharuln properly (mostly due to the fact he had no idea how to spell it), and he was the person everyone on board constantly talked about. Thank the Emperor both Darelyn and Crox's names were less complex and more compatible for the human throat.
"You have a golden heart," the Eldar said. Levantia could swear she was giggling. "But you brain is still cold iron. As expected from a human."
"Just give me one week," Levantia promised. "I will master it, eventually. I hope."
"You can call me Felia," said the Farseer.
"Alright." Levantia was relieved. Learning about the Eldar and their (mostly dark) culture had been onerous so far without having to mesmerize all those names that sounded downrightly alien to him. "So, Felia. You still want to end your life?"
The Eldar shook her head. "I suppose I should let my river of fate flow into a new direction, instead of coming to that dead end. Thank you, for everything you did to me. It bestows me with hope that there are still good people somewhere in this gloomy galaxy. May the light of Lileath shine upon your soul."
"That is flattering," said Levantia. Darelyn said pretty much the same thing. He could not see why. He never saw himself as unique or special. He failed his initiation to become a Space Marine. He was fearful of the Dark Eldar and looked up to Sveltanar like a father figure as much as everyone else. It was only recent that he realized how much other people needed him in return. "You said good people in this galaxy. What about the ones from your Craftworld?"
The Farseer stiffened a shrill. Her eyes were teary again as if he had touched some part of her that was meant to be left forgotten. "They are anything but," she responded emphatically.
"Is that why you end up here?" asked Levantia. Though his heart told him to stop placing more burdens on her, curiosity got the better of him and the words churned out before he could resist.
"My Craftworld is a minor one," the Farseer explained. "We have a hard time surviving in this universe. When the threat from an incoming Ork warband seems inevitable, we had no choice but to call for help. Other Craftwords were either too far away or too busy with their own businesses to lend us any aid. The Exodites refused to take part in a war that did not concern them. The nearby Space Marine garrison, we were afraid to call upon them, given their reputation. And so,…"
"The Kabal of the Shadow Talon is your last resort," Levantia finished on her behalf. "I can see that."
"The Orks did not stand a chance," the Farseer continued. "They were slaughtered by our combined effort. We were overjoyed back then, only to realize we have invited wolves into our house. As victory drew near, the dark kin began to terrorize the populace, asking for fitting rewards for their coming to the deliverance. They demanded one thousand three hundred slaves, one for each Dark Eldar who died defending the Craftworld. The council discussed with them and a new bargain was struck. Instead of one thousand three hundred lives, one was given. A Farseer."
"You," said Levantia. "Your Divination can bring about more benefit to the Kabal in the future." The Dark Eldar were cunning enough with experience harnessed from longevity and a lifetime of backstabbing within the realm of Commorragh, but their tactical competence was still restrained by what they had seen and expected to see with their own eyes, not to mention the arrogance that clouded their decision and turned half-guesses into concrete statements. The addition of the ability to look into the future and know what moves their opponent would take would remove such restriction, like an already vicious tiger growing wings.
Felia nodded. Tears began flooding her face. Levantia did not want the conversation to go on any further. She had already suffered enough. She bawled, "They chose me because they saw I was the weakest, because I am the most useless, because they thought if they were to have me, the damage they inflict would be minimum. My mother…my very mother, the one I love more than anything, the one I thought loved me more than anything, did not even stand up for me."
They should have just asked the Space Marine for help, Levantia thought wearily. If only the Eldar could see pass their pride and start giving credit to other races and factions. But then again, they still seemed forward-looking and conscious about the wider picture, as in what pain the Dark Eldar could unleash upon the galaxy with a powerful psykers at their side. They knew they had to prevent it, though seeing how the Kabal of the Shadow Talon had been so successful for quite some time thanks to Felia and her power to predict the future, their plot had failed miserably.
"You don't have to say anymore," Levantia soothed, not wanting to her the Eldar antagonizing herself any further. "You can stop now."
"I want to prove them wrong," Felia screeched fiercely like an animal under the light after being kept in the dark for too long. "I would master the skein and the runes better than anyone else. I would make the Shadow Talon the most powerful Kabal in the Commorragh. Then, they will see."
The Eldar seized Levantia at the sleeves and pulled her face to his chest. The overseer tensed at the sudden emotional outburst.
"And yet, I only proved the opposite," she continued blubbering. "I led the Kabal into disaster. The entire planet should have been undefended and unprepared, its people lambs for slaughter. And yet, an entire cohort of Space Marines just slipped right beneath my nose. I failed. The council was right. The Archon got upset and threw me away. Now, I do not know what will become of me anymore."
"Stop that!" Levantia shouted. He withheld the urge to hit her. For the second time, he was unsure what he felt for her. Not only had she willingly cooperated with the Dark Eldar, as opposed to being forced to like he originally thought, but she also considered humans as subjects to test out her skills. "Cut it out. You are not gaining any sympathy from saying that."
The Eldar looked at him with soulful gold eyes. She was dumbfounded.
"You are not the only person with a shitty life around here," Levantia said harshly. "I lost my family when I was five and almost my life as well if someone had not intervened. When I was eleven, I was already used to eating whips instead of dinner. My regiment was destroyed in battle and I lost my freedom. I have to deal with that, so will you. So why do you not stop acting like a baby with a silver spoon in her mouth and get over with all this shit?"
The Farseer fell silent for a moment. Levantia was worried he might have been too harsh. She was, after all, a woman, armed with psychic power and a long life, yet still delicate and vulnerable. Before Darelyn, he had not been talking seriously with any woman for donkey's years. Then again, he was still a soldier, and soft stuffs did not really appeal to him.
The Eldar buried her face into his chest, letting the tears seep through. Letting her body loosed, Felia inhaled deeply and said, "I was being too self-centered and imprudent. I did not know I was offending you. I am sincerely sorry."
"Let's not think about it," Levantia told her, his mood lightening up. Compared to before, she was more condescending now, her pride embracing a new route, one which took into account others surrounding her. If only the Dark Eldar could ever in a million years change like that. "The pass is gone. Look forward. There might yet be a way we can both get out of this."
"I do hope so," said Felia.
Levantia sighed. "Somebody I once cared about told me that everything will get better if I believe in it. I held on to that idea every single day of my life, more so when I got here. I would have given it up had it not been for you. What you did to me, I am grateful as well."
"Believe it what?"
"I do not know. He said I would find out some day."
"And this person you speak of, you said you once cared about him. What about now?"
"He can eat a piece of shit for all I am concerned."
"But his words still held?"
"Probably." Levantia shrugged. "Maybe."
Felia chuckled. Like any Eldar he had seen, she could change her emotion dramatically in such short amount of time, a reason why her entire race was looked upon as fickle and untrustworthy. The Imperium used this logic to downplay or outright discredit the Eldar's role every time they fought alongside while making them always the main protagonist whenever the two factions clashed. The Eldar was an alien race, and any alien race must have some qualities that distinct it completely from humanity, qualities to justify they were evil or inferior or unbeneficial.
And yet, sitting right next to one, Levantia could not help but be fond of her. She was part of his life now, his other half without which he could never feel complete. Community lent him the strength to accept this dreadful environment and move on, but Felia gave him a reason to keep being human, a reason not to forsake hope completely. No matter what, he would never let her go.
Never.
Clinging on like an idiot.
"If that is the case, then…" Felia suddenly stopped. Her eyes were wide open with an expression of absolute terror. Before Levantia reacted, she let out a deafening scream that shook everyone in the room awake.
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!"
"Fucking shit," Bruno swore.
"What the hell is going on?" demanded Sveltanar, jolting up. "Have you been doing anything to her, boy?"
"I was not doing anything," Levantia replied in panic. Felia screamed again, and he grabbed hold of her. The entire body twitched violently, but the paroxysm lent her no more power than what she already had. Levantia was stronger, and he pinned her in place. "What is happening? Felia, speak to me."
The Farseer writhed and convulsed, smashing her face into his chest and thrashing the blanket with her feet. She was out of control. Drool was escaping her mouth. The sight of her in such miserable state sent aches to Levantia's heart.
Relius rushed over and pulled down her white ankles. Dividus came next, pounding at them. He and Levantia each held one of her hands to prevent her from hurting herself or anyone else in her spasm.
"We need to do something," Levantia cried desperately.
"What?" asked Relius. "Anyone here who is a doctor, or a psychologist?"
"Argghh!" the Eldar continued her shrilled cry. "It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!"
"Help me keep her hands down," Levantia said. As Relius did as he was told, he switched position to sitting on the Eldar's abdomen and seized both her pointy ears. Much to his relief, the Felia's expression softened as he fondled them, caressing the smooth skin of her most irritable body part like an owner to his most beloved pet. He would not have known of this interesting fact about the Eldar with their hypersensitive ears if he had not seen the Dark Eldar playing with each other's ears as means of arousing sexual excitement a few times while on board. Such things as intimacy had different meaning for the erotic xenos from humans, or perhaps there were other things they wanted to keep in privacy, and hot sex was not high on the list. Though he doubted her pain would be alleviated this way, it at least gave something else for her brain to receive, something more stirring and less agonizing.
"Felia, look at me," Levantia said, pulling his eyes closer to hers. The seizure was receding. Felia's breathing became slower and her screaming stopped. She was pulling herself together. Her eyes were wet with tears as she looked back. "What is happening? Tell me."
"It's coming," she whimpered. "Isha's tears. "The storm of teeth and claws. The unquenchable hunger. My mind is being torn apart by its sheer presence."
Levantia turned pale. Recalling what he had learned back in Scholar Progenium as well as his previous encounters, he noticed how psykers were prone to this kind of stuff. With a rude awakening, he wondered if she had been possessed by a Daemon. That was absolutely the most morbid thing he could ever imagine: a fate worse than death, an eternity of suffering at the cruel hand of the Daemons that possessed her body and fed on her soul. He wanted to dismiss the thought. The Dark Eldar were also psychically active; they would not have built this ship that travelled in the immaterium without equipping it with shields against Daemon encroachment. Then again, the lack of power on board the Eternity of Torment might have led to decrease in its protection against Warp entities.
The Farseer screamed and shook again. Levantia, Relius and Dividus fought to keep her down.
The klaxon came to life, bombarding the room with blaring noise that drowned out the Farseer's screech. Not a second later, the door opened and the Sybarite responsible for the handling of the overseers appeared.
"Get up you dogs," he barked. "To arms! We are under attack!"
"From whom?" asked Sveltanar, as astonished as Levantia. This did not seem like boarding action against another vessel, more like the contrary. For the Dark Eldar, let alone overseers, to be mobilized for fighting within their ship, the enemy must have already penetrated through and were now inside the ship, something that was all but unheard of. Ravaged by internecine feuds between its crew members but remaining firmly in the Snaketongue's control, the Eternity of Torment had not seen boarding by an external foe for as long as he could tell, as least that was how the Archon boasted.
The Sybarite's face was whiter than usual, and he already looked like he could fit into the circus without any kind of makeup. "The Great Devourer," he said frightfully.
A shockwave of fear swept through the room. Everyone dropped their jaw in complete, abstracted consternation. To Levantia, a part within him felt relieved. That explained a lot about Felia's condition. She was now in the Shadow of the Hive Mind, an overpowering entity capable of drowning out all other connections to the Warp. At least, she would not be possessed by a Daemon.
But then, it would make no difference if they were both eaten alive by the Tyranids.
Author's note: By the time I am writing this story, I have been traumatized by a recently released anime. It is about cute moe girls...in a zombie apocalypse. Wow. My mind got blown away. I honestly did not expect them to take it so seriously.
I also had an argument with an author in fanfiction. I was there with her for quite a long time, and now our differences in viewpoint destroyed our friendship. I felt insulted by what she said. Needless to say, I will never review a single of her work again. It is to her loss, not mine.
The story will still be updated monthly. This chapter is shorter and slower than others, mainly because I want explain about the characters' background and their motives. Also, it builds up the romance that will inevitably come in the future. Be sure the next chapter will be action-packed, now that an enemy has presented itself.
