Chapter 3

The dust settled and Cyrus' eyes adjusted to the darkness, the sand irritating his respiratory tract. His body hurt from the daemon's strike and his impact against the wall. He could taste blood in his mouth and the weight of stone upon his back, but he managed to remove them as he got back on his feet; he had been tossed too far into the corridor for most of the debris to hit him. Great parts of the ceiling and walls had collapsed, separating him from Volund and the daemon. He could still hear the battle raging between them, roars of the daemon, pillars turning to rubble. As he examined the debris, he quickly realized that he could not remove them on his own, not without letting more of the structure collapse, perhaps even upon himself. No, he was forced to wait for his brothers, or find another way out.

Cyrus turned around to the long corridor behind him, slim and ever descending further into the earth. The air that greeted him was stifling. At the end of the tunnel he saw light coming out of another triangular doorway, dim and purple. Cyrus frowned and began to walk, his sniper rifle ready to fire. He approached the doorway with slow and careful steps, mindful not to make any suspicious noises, as those from the fight behind him grew duller. To his surprise he was greeted by more from below.

He could hear the unmistakable sound of blades clashing, along with animalistic snarls and hisses, interrupted at times by the sound of a whip. Considering what he had already see, Cyrus was having a dark premonition of what he would find. Fortunately he had only fired two of his blessed rounds; something told him that he would have use of the others.

As he came closer a strange scent reached his nose, like perfume, but much more potent, almost mind dulling. He shook his head to rid himself of the effect and took the last step, stopping at the doorway.

The hall he'd reached was not particularly large, but just as simple as the other, two rows of pillars creating a corridor from the doorway to a giant statue of a lizard at the other side. None of this however captured his attention.

What did was the fight he witnessed. He had assumed that the eldar were on this planet and there she was. The female wore clothes mirroring the colours of the forest and a cameleoline cloak, mirroring those of the hall. The hood had slipped from her head, revealing crimson hair, which she had braided into a single tail, though shorted strands had gotten loose. Her white eyes were set upon her enemy, the hatred within them making her look even wilder, while she swung a blue-glowing witchblade with both hands.

The wraithbone blade blocked a viscous strike of long, black talons, belonging to another daemon. This one was not of Khorne but the Prince of Pleasures, six-limbed and with pale violet skin. The beast was forcing the eldar into the defensive, trying to rip her apart and it seemed it would soon succeed.

Cyrus had no love for the eldar. He respected them to a certain degree, as one would such a shifty enemy and due to circumstances he had even found himself fighting alongside them in the past, but he would never trust them. Still, once the daemon was finished with her, it would turn to him and the Blood Raven knew that his chances of defeating this enemy on his own were slim. No, a weakened eldar would certainly prove the easier opponent. He had little doubt that she too would turn on him, as soon as this monster was defeated.

So far neither seemed to have taken notice of him, or they simply paid him no heed. Either was fine by him. Quickly he took aim, believing that he had wasted enough time with assessing the situation and the eldar would not survive much longer. They moved further down the hall, the daemon's back now turned to him, head lowered and out of his view. Fine, he only needed to wound it anyway, if his assumption about the eldar was correct.

The daemon snarled in pain as a round punched a large, circular hole into its back. Had it been a living creature the spine would have been severed and the lungs would have be all but gone, yet this creature was utterly unnatural. While it no doubt felt the pain, its body tense, having stopped moving momentarily, a strange purple liquid flowed from its wound. It was certainly no blood, not in the sense of what ran through the veins of humans or aliens, but perhaps a better word was essence, as if the blessed round had liquefied parts of its solid looking body.

The opportunity was not lost on the eldar, her features briefly showing surprise. Her blade came forth like a striking snake, straight into the daemon's torso, the beast's body twitching. It looked upon the blade and then to her, just as the eldar's white eyes brightened, lightning dancing around her arms. Her face showed pure hatred and the daemon realized the danger, lifting its claw again with a viscous snarl. It was too late.

The daemon body began to tremble, its movements coming once more to a hold. Cyrus saw light engulfing the eldar's blade, a bright glow coming from out of the wound, before the beast suddenly threw its head back. No roar emerged from its throat as its mouth opened; instead it spat lightning, the bluish bolts crackling up to the ceiling above, making it rain dust upon them. Even its black eyes turned pale blue, moments before the electricity sought its way out through them as well.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, the intensity of the light growing too much for even him to bear. The eldar fed more of her power into the daemon. A shrill howl echoed through the hall, sounding as if it came from everywhere at once and suddenly the beast began to burn. Pink flames engulfed its form, turning purple where it met the bluish bolts. For the first time the eldar made a sound, a wrathful yell, almost a battle cry.

The daemon disappeared in the flames, a mere moment before it seemingly imploded. The whole place shook, as a blast wave of fire, which threw the eldar away from her opponent rolled through the room. Even Cyrus was hit by it, the force pushing him back, though he remained standing, if crouched on his feet. Warm fire licked over his armour and his unprotected face, as the hall turned dark once more. Only a few, small lamps along the wall still emitted dim light, flickering briefly after the blast wave.

Cyrus straightened himself and looked at the scene. Where the daemon had been, only a black mark remained on both the floor and the ceiling, while the eldar stirred, lifting herself up. The green of her gauntlets seemed darker, no doubt marked by the daemonic fire, her sword lying next to her, no longer glowing with unnatural energies.

As she picked it up her movements still seemed graceful, but strangely slow. Cyrus had not yet pointed his weapon at her; there were questions he wanted answered and though he was certain he would not receive an honest reply from the alien, he wished to ask them.

She secured her weapon, the witchblade sliding back into its sheath across her back, as he walked away from the doorway further into the hall, still keeping his distance from her. When she spoke her voice was soft, almost musical, but with an undeniable weariness. "You have my gratitude for your assistance, Astartes." Her white eyes lost their glow and changed, becoming more normal with black pupils and dark grey irises, almost obsidian. She saw his frown. "Worry not; I merely removed my war-mask. I have no intention of fighting you, Anastari." Cyrus had never heard this term before, its meaning eluding him. His gaze was fixed on the alien, watching her every move.

Despite being no doubt centuries old, the eldar had a youthful face, slender and pleasing to behold, especially after dealing with daemons and kroot. His last encounter with her kin had been with a warhost of Iyanden and compared to them, her eyes were not as slanted. Physical differences between craftworlds? Likely, considering the great differences in appearance among humans. Certainly a race that was divided and lived mostly separate from one another would not display homogenous traits across the galaxy.

She looked at him without any apparent fear, before she walked calmly to the statue behind her. While she had her side turned to him, he saw a small black and stylized snake behind her right ear. He had seen it before, the rune of Saim-Hann. "Why are you here, eldar?" Cyrus finally asked.

The alien stopped at the statue, looking at a dimly glowing oval jewel, which it was holding in one of its stone hands. "It was my people, who vanquished the aliens, which once lived here. They were, as you no doubt know, worshippers of the Ruinous Powers." She placed a hand on the emerald gem, carefully removing it from its mount. It brightened shortly, as if it responded to her touch and she continued. "As their defeat was imminent, they hid what was left of their culture in numerous temples beneath the earth and managed to steal this from one of our warriors. We found all but this temple, after the war was over and destroyed them with all they held. When the humans uncovered these ruins, I was sent to return what we had lost." The alien turned back to him, her gaze meeting his. "And to ensure that what has remained of those vile creatures follows them into oblivion."

His eyes narrowed. "And so instead of sending a host, you let us fight in your stead." Unsurprising; a typical course of action for the eldar, just as Volund had assumed. She gave him a nod and walked again, stepping behind the rows of pillars to his right, apparently thinking she could simple be on her way. Or was she planning something else? Cyrus raised his sniper rifle and aimed at her.

Immediately she stopped again and spoke without looking at him. "Leave me be, Astartes and this will the end of it. My quarrel is not with your kind."

"I cannot simply let you leave, eldar." Cyrus replied, his finger closing tighter around the trigger; he was still of the Deathwatch.

Finally she looked back at him again, her almost feline eyes cool and filled with determination. Even now the alien did not seem to feel too threatened; her indifference was beginning to annoy him. "What I retrieved is of no value to you and I too wish to see all of what remains within these walls destroyed." The eldar told him, her voice still calm and soft. "Such evil should have never been created."

"Your business here is not my concern, but that you are a xeno makes you mine." It was a factual statement, nothing more.

She shook her head, before giving him a pitying smile. "Such a simplistic view; a shame you restrict your mind with such shackles." The Blood Raven only growled in response, angered by her mockery, even though he could not tell by sound of her voice, which if she hadn't been eldar he would have almost called earnest. For a moment she watched him, as if she waited for a reply, before she slipped the glowing gem into a pouch at her belt and placed a hand on the hilt of her witchblade. "But it is all too common for you humans. Now, if you will not let me pass, I must make my own way."

Not hesitating a moment longer, Cyrus pulled the trigger.

The daemon before him was easily four meters tall, almost reaching the ceiling despite its hunched posture like an ork. Brawny in build, the beast had arms about as long as its legs, the axe in its right hand. Cyrus's bullet had left a large whole in its left shoulder, blood running from it, small flames licking at the edges. The head looked like a broad bull-skull, along with the matching grey horns on its forehead and two more that grew from its jaws like tusks. Its skin looked like crimson leather and only parts of the body were covered by black armour, ornamented with daemonic faces.

As it looked at Volund, the daemon spread its leathery wings to make itself look even bigger. The Rune Priest was unimpressed; it was not the first of its ilk he had faced and such empty gestures would not intimidate an Astartes. The display lasted maybe a second before the daemon of Khorne charged him, a feral roar making the hall tremble and dust rain from the ceiling as it came running. It knocked aside another pillar that was in its way, the Wolf worrying that the hall might collapse before the fight was over.

The wickedly bladed axe came down, Volund swiftly sidestepping, letting it cut deeply into the floor. He would not survive a direct hit. The daemon was surprisingly fast, swing after swing coming for the Priest, who kept dodging, waiting for an opening. He sometimes used the pillars as cover, though he tried to avoid their destruction and thus a further destabilization of the hall. Growing frustrated the daemon snarled, smoke licking over its long fangs, its yellow eyes blazing. It suddenly leaped forth, throwing its head around as if it was trying to impale the Astartes on its horns. Quickly he blocked the attack with his pole arm, seeing the axe too late.

Volund managed to turn his body just in time, the bronze blade hitting his left shoulder guard. The silver piece of armour shattered, the force knocking the psyker off his feet and to the ground a few meters further. Burning pain radiated from his shoulder, Volund already seeing the daemon coming to deliver the final blow. With a snarl of his own, he rose back to his feet and summoned his powers. He would have needed more time to deal an actually devastating attack, but perhaps he could buy himself time.

The daemon lifted its axe and Volund pointed his glaive at the beast, lighting leaking from his eyes, a bolt leaping from the blade. The blue light hit the daemon in its chest, enveloping it briefly, making it stagger. It was not defeated but momentarily slowed, as it howled in pain. The axe came down in front of Volund's feet with comparatively little force behind it, yet still enough to split stone however. The Wolf took the opportunity and leaped onto the right arm. As he swiftly climbed it, the daemon tried to swat him with it other hand, only to miss again, not having shaken off the lightning's effect yet completely. As it tilted its head to try to impale him once more, Volund met the horn with his glowing glaive, cutting clean through it.

Finally Volund had reached the back, his feet to either side of the broad neck. The daemon reared with a deep growl, flapping its wings, Volund grabbing the remaining horn from its forehead, to keep himself steady. The body lowered, still for a mere moment, muscles tensing for the next jolt. It was all he needed.

Guided by both hands, the Thundertooth came down in an arc, cutting from left to right through the daemon's neck. Lightning and fire erupted as Volund's powers collided with the beast's essence, its final roar ending when the severed head fell from its shoulders. The body shivered and suddenly collapsed sideways, Volund quickly leaping off its shoulders, before it toppled the pillar next to it.

The Rune Priest looked upon his defeated foe as he straightened up, his breathing heavy, his body breifly shivering with exhaustion, but a feeling of relief washed over him. Blood gushed from daemon's wounds, the same that had brought it into this world and the daemon would disappear again once it was spent. Emperor willing this beast would remain in the warp for a long time. Emperor willing, his brothers were still alive.

The large hole in the wall was smoking a mere second after the eldar had lowered herself to avoid the long round from the Astartes' sniper rifle. Like a cat she used this position to suddenly launch herself at him, drawing her witchblade with a wide swing. Cyrus snarled and fired anew, but the side of her blade came into contact with his barrel, misguiding the shot, letting it fly into one of the pillars behind her, the tip of her blade pointed at his throat.

Fortunately his weapon was about two meters long and given this distance she did not try and stab him, but instead brought her blade down, guiding it with both hands, as if she wanted to cut him open from chest to hip. Not willing to take that risk Cyrus swiftly took a step back, letting go of the rifle with his right hand, pulling the arm back before she could cut through it.

Cyrus knew that his weapon was now rendered useless and so let it simply fall to the ground. As her sword came for him again, this time from the right side, he drew a combat knife with his left hand, blocking her with his other arm, angling it in such a way that it met the flat side of her weapon.

His turn. Cyrus kept his arm against the blade as he advanced, his knife aimed at her throat. Swiftly she leaned back, detaching her left hand from the sword, her weapon sliding off his arm, before she swung it in a horizontal arc. He had no choice but to step back, the tip of her blade missing his abdomen by mere inches. Briefly Cyrus looked at her, still seeing no fear, only fierce determination in her dark eyes.

He knew he needed to get close, too close for her to use her sword properly. As her blade was still in motion, Cyrus took the opportunity before it came back, this time attempting to hit her torso from above, a more difficult attack to avoid, especially as she could not use her free arm to truly block the full strength of an Astartes.

What she did, he had not expected. Swiftly she pulled her sword back, abruptly flipping it so the weapon rested to her left, hilt towards him. At the same time she leaped forth, his own attack narrowly passing over her, hitting only air even though he stopped and tried to turn. Cyrus snarled as a sharp, burning pain spread from his abdomen. The eldar's blade had cut through the thinner armour of his lower torso, as she'd passed him, slicing through the body glove and into his flesh. The blade had run aslant, from his now damaged belt, close to the centre, upwards to the left for about thirty centimetres.

Quickly he turned fully around, ignoring the pain, as a thought briefly caught his attention. The eldar had not used her psychic abilities on him. Had the battle with the daemon left her too exhausted? Cyrus had no time to further consider the matter, when he heard a small object hit the ground.

For a moment he saw her, caught a glimpse of her crimson hair, before his vision was gone. Bright white light suddenly replaced it, pain surging from his eyes into his head, though he'd closed them quickly. He stepped back, tightening the grip on his combat knife, steeling himself for her next attack, listening intently.

"We are even, Anastari." He suddenly heard her to his right, calm, almost gentle and without aggression.

With a snarl Cyrus stabbed into her general direction, guided by her voice, still blind and so hit nothing but air. He tried to locate her by sound alone, impossible as it proved, since not even her footsteps made any noise. Perhaps there was a quiet rustling in the distance, something brushing against stone, but nothing else.

Slowly his sight returned, the white replaced by vague shapes, his surroundings growing darker. Cyrus looked around, as the pain in his eyes lessened, but he found no trace of the eldar, nothing stirring in the hall, as dark bars turned into pillars and dots of yellow turned into lamps along the wall. She was gone. It wasn't truly surprising that she had disappeared so suddenly, no, what did was the fact that he still lived. The eldar had missed an excellent opportunity to finish him off. We are even, Anastari. She had undoubtedly been referring to the daemon. Still, it was a strange sentiment, coming from one of her ilk, but then again who could predict these xenos? Perhaps there was some ulterior motive he could not conceive of.

With a sigh he put his blade back into its sheath and for the first time examined the wound she'd given him. Her blade had not cut too deeply into his flesh, though the pain was great. Like with the Shaper the wound was already cauterized by the energy, Cyrus once more picking up the smell of burned flesh. There was only a fine line of already dried blood at the edge, but the cut was already beginning to close. Still, Cyrus suspected that it would become a new scar.

With the eldar gone, there was only one more thing he needed to do. Scans had revealed that the temple reached far into the earth, too far to be utterly destroyed by bombardment. Like all of his team, Cyrus carried with him several charges, some of which he now began to distribute throughout the hall and activated.

Once he was done, the Blood Raven recovered his sniper rifle from the ground and went back to the corridor he'd come from, as there were no other paths he could have taken. Just before he stepped through the doorway he looked to his left and saw some sort of air duct in the wall. There was brighter sand, covering a part of wall just beneath it, in the shape of a slender foot. Cyrus briefly smiled; that answered one of his questions.

He began his ascend up the lightless corridor, hoping that Volund had been able to deal with the daemon they'd encountered. It was a good sign to hear rocks getting moved and familiar voices, however distorted they were. He recognized the Rune Priest's and Nadim's, though he couldn't make out the words yet. Cyrus was about to reach the rubble, just as parts of it collapsed again. Quickly and instinctively he lifted his arm to guard his head, while stones rolled past, down the corridor and a wave of dust washed over him.

"Brother." A beam of dim light and Nadim's now clear voice welcomed him, the Salamander's relief unquestionable. His brothers had created a small hole in the rubble, but large enough for the Blood Raven. Swiftly he climbed the few rocks and squeezed through, ignoring the painful protest of his wound, not wanting to risk getting separated again. He was not surprised to see signs of battle everywhere, destroyed pillars and a lot of blood. Both Volund and Nadim seemed well enough, though the latter had shrapnel from a grenade sticking everywhere in his armour, while the former looked tired, his right shoulder guard missing, scratches covering his armour. Nonetheless he smiled.

"Cyrus; for a moment I thought that the daemon had buried you beneath the rubble." Volund told him, looking rather pleased about having been wrong.

The Raven's reply came with a grim smile. "No, I was fortunate." He assured his brother.

"Sadly not all of us were." The Salamander noted, his voice having turned rancorous. "Dareios fell in battle."

"How?"

The Rune Priest sighed, almost despondently. "Maccius should tell you this; neither of us was presence when his life was taken."

Cyrus nodded slowly, admittedly feeling a little numbed. It had been quite some time since one of them had fallen and after so many years Dareios' death left a significant void in the small team. After a moment of silence Cyrus spoke again. "I have news as well; the daemon you faced was not alone."

The Space Wolf lifted his head, looking at him with a deep frown. "You faced another?"

"In a way." The Blood Raven admitted. "I found another chamber below us; within it an eldar was facing a daemon of Slaanesh."

"An eldar." Volund stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose that confirms our suspicions. What happened?"

"I decided that the daemon was the greater enemy at the time. I wounded it, while the eldar finished it off. Not a trace remained."

The Wolf's eyes narrowed. "Did you kill her?"

Cyrus inhaled more deeply to suppress a growl; his failure bothered him. "I attempted to. She took a single gem and tried to leave; I tried to stopped her." With a hand he exposed the cut along his abdomen. "I believe my wound is evidence enough as to what happened next. She escaped me and fled; apparently she used the air shafts to get in and out."

"How could she escape you?"

"I believe she was a Ranger, though she used a witchblade nonetheless. She blinded me with a grenade, buying her just enough time to flee." As much as he wanted, Cyrus couldn't quite supress a touch of discontent in his voice.

"It sounds like this eldar denied herself the opportunity to kill you, brother." Nadim noted, sounding curious, though it was difficult to be sure due to the helmet. "Do you know why?"

Cyrus shook his head. "No, and she didn't even seem interested in fighting me in the first place, as I confronted her. When she left, she told me that we were even."

Volund regarded him, once more looking thoughtfully. "Well, it sounded like you've saved the eldar by distracting the daemon." He reminded his friend.

"I'm aware, though the idea that an eldar would simply return such a favour seems preposterous to me." The Raven noted.

"Perhaps this was the purpose, of which the runes spoke." The Priest's voice had become low, almost as if he had only spoken to himself.

Cyrus growled. "If so, then I should have remained outside; perhaps I could have helped Dareios. The team still could have defeated the daemon without her."

Volund nodded, lifting his hand in an appeasing gesture, wishing to calm his brother. "Of that I have no doubt, but perhaps her survival was necessary. The signs I've seen have not been clear and they are strange aliens, at times even acting to the Imperium's benefit. Yes, perhaps she will one day aid us, known or unbeknownst to her."

"And if not?" His friends trusted his runes, sometimes too much for the Blood Raven's liking.

The Wolf sighed. "Then one day you may end what you have started, or another will claim her life. Regardless, she is now gone and beyond our reach." He clarified, his voice indicating that he would tolerate no objection. "At least the daemon has been vanquished and you survived the encounter. If you feel that you honour has been wounded, take solace in the idea that you live to restore it." Volund placed a hand on his brother's pauldron, his tone turning friendlier. "The dead don't have such luxury."

Cyrus gave him a simple nod, but didn't reply. He knew it was foolish of him to feel such anger, but between getting tossed around by a daemon and letting an eldar outmanoeuvre him so easily, he found his own performance in this mission greatly lacking. Dareios' death only added to this, even if he wasn't in any way responsible.

"You said the eldar recovered a single gem?" Nadim suddenly spoke, ending the silence.

"Yes; it was small and glowed dimly." Cyrus affirmed. "It looked just like the jewels the eldar wear upon their armour."

"A spirit stone."

The Raven looked at Volund. "That is my belief." The significance of the eldar spirit stones was not necessarily common knowledge among Astartes, but after their many years of service for the Inquisition and working alongside several Inquisitors, their ken of xenos had greatly expanded. In a way, Cyrus respected the eldar for their devotion to their fallen, the protection of their souls; not that he would ever voice such thoughts.

Without another word spoken Volund began to walk and his brothers followed, neither keen to spend any more time within those tainted walls. As they climbed the slope Cyrus could smell burned flesh, sweet and utterly disgusting. He looked into neither of the two corridors they past or the rooms beyond them, which Nadim and Seneca had cleared.

Finally light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the sun now standing higher in the sky, casting warm light into the ravine. A battlefield welcomed them, the bodies of kroot and blood covering the ground, some aliens hanging across the barricades where they had been slain. Their brothers stood around the Brazen Minotaur's body, which sat upright, leaned against a rock, his helmet utterly deformed. As the three Astartes joined them, Seneca nodded in recognition, but for a while no one spoke. Nadim removed his helmet, his features showing the sorrow his voice had expressed, when he had spoken of Dareios' demise.

Eventually Cyrus broke the silence, his grave voice low. "How did it happen?"

"Krootox." Even with his helmet, Maccius' voice sounded despondently. "I slew it, but our brother was already dead."

Volund looked at Dareios with true sorrow. "His runes casted his fate in disfavour; I knew of this and thus placed him in what I deemed the safest position. It was the reason why I let him go with Cyrus, instead of advancing with us and why I didn't want him inside, facing the daemon; within the temple his death had been a certainty. But my efforts were all for naught." He sighed heavily but his tone turned somewhat solemn. "We shall drink in his honour tonight."

There was a scornful snort. "Is this the Space Wolves' response to everything? Feast and drink?"

Volund growled dangerously. "Treat carefully, Scorpion. We remember our fallen brother's deeds in life and celebrate them; such is a greater honour than mere mourning. You may remain in your chamber, Quintus." None of the Astartes spoke, but all knew that the last part had been an order. Space Wolf and Red Scorpion glared at his others, ready to go at each other's throat.

Only as the drill of the Narthecium began to pierce the power armor, the already damaged breastplate breaking around it, they eased off again. "May the Emperor grant you peace, brother." Seneca spoke once he was through the armor and stabbed the Reductor into their fallen brother's chest, kneeling in front of him, recovering the first of the two Progenoids. Apparently he'd chosen to ignore the infighting and continued his work, effectively ending the dispute in the process. "For none who died in his service died in vain. Your deeds shall live on in memory and our Emperor's gift shall pass on to another brother."

"Non omnis moriar." The Astartes replied as one, grim and solemn, their petty rivalry forgotten for the time being; not all of me shall die.

Author's Note: And here the original short-story ends. One more epilgue coming up to wrap things up.