Time was running out.
Within the corpse-hold, he could sense the dying of the Hive Mind and with that, the eventual collapse of its synapse network. If he were to succeed in collecting these gene-seeds of fallen Space Marines, the stranger must do so with haste.
Weakened, dilapidated, disjointed and caught by surprise, the Kabal of the Shadow Talon was still more than a match for a mere wandering splinter of a major Hive Fleet that had been defeated decades ago. Already, the guns of its Flagship, the Eternity of Torment, were scoring critical hits against the Hive Ship now that its shell had been completely eroded away. Without proper shielding, the Tyranid fleet was terrible in void combat and heavily relying on their capacity to produce an army to board the opposition ships.
Though his most hated enemy would be the victor this day, he was not in the least upset. Sooner or later, all Dark Eldar on board this ship would meet their end and he would be there to carry it out himself. The Tyranids were not meant to be a serious threat, at least not on an overall level, but instead as both a bait to lure the rest of the Kabal stationed within its main base in Commorragh to the upcoming slaughterhouse. It was also a distraction so that he could have room to perform this one honorable deed amongst all the sinister things he was orchestrating: recovering Astartes Progenoid Glands.
The Kabal of the Shadow Talon tried to evade the presence of Space Marines who possessed little to expropriate and much to cause harm in general, but they never shirk to fight when they knew the odds were in their favor. And with the treasonous Farseer working alongside them, the odds were indeed in their favor a lot of times. Whether victorious of bested, the Kabal always brought back corpses and slaves to their ship, their dead staying dead and those who survived growing ever richer with each raid. No Space Marine, Loyalist or Chaos, had ever bowed down before the Dark Eldar, so unsurprisingly all those who made it to the Eternity of Torment ended up either as grisly decorations in the hallways, lab samples of the Haemonculus, or right here, about to be used in the manufacturing of a variety of products.
The task was both strenuous and mentally demanding. Throw him against a mob of Orks and he could deal with them in less than ten seconds, but without the right tool and right techniques which he half-forgot after being out of practice for too long, it took an hour or more just to successfully remove one piece of vital organ and put it inside the conditioner tube. There was no other way how this process could have been faster or less painful. Even though all suits of Power Armor were gone, cutting through the body of a superhuman while trying not to damage certain parts was nothing to sneeze at.
Despite enhanced vision provided by his helmet, the lack of light was detrimental to his operation which an enormous amount of precision was needed. Moreover, he could not discern which body belonged to a Loyalist and which one was a Traitor unless he examined it carefully. Depending on how much damage the body had sustained before and after death as well as how much it had been altered by preservatives, the Progenoid Glands might not be in a shape that was fit to be harvested. The pungent essence of the place only made the matter worse, the utterly horrendous smell causing his stomach to churn inside out.
This kind of task reminded him of the time he spent on the Shrine World of Fortunia where he was required to lit every single candle in its largest cathedral with only matches, and there were more than fifteen thousands of them in all. It took the stranger two sleepless days to complete the task. Only after finishing his work did he realize the significance of his endeavor and how rewarding the whole experience was. Sometimes, great acts arose out of patience and persistence in the belief that something was holy and that it must come to pass no matter the inconvenience.
A seismic wave shook the interior of the ship, sending several bodies flying and crashing on top of him. He knew what just happened, not the Hive Ship had delivered a grievous blow, but the primary Webway portal had been opened to herald the coming of a new wave reinforcement. The entirety of the Kabal of the Shadow Talon was pouring from the other side to relieve their brethren.
All part of the plan.
He needed to go into hiding now before the Dark Eldar began a full inspection of the ship to hunt down the last of the Tyranids. Within the deepest, uncharted shadows of the Eternity of Torment, within its long forgotten hallways and empty compartments - places inevitably coming into existence once the ship got big and changed hands enough, he would find sanctuary while plotting his next move to usurp its current masters.
Eleven intact sets were collected - twenty-one Progenoid Glands in total. That meant eleven Space Marines would have their legacy preserved and transferred to the next generation, eleven more superhumans joining the war against the forces of Disorder, eleven more reasons to believe victory was close. Though there were still more that would have to be wasted for there was no other choice, he thought this was still a good catch. Getting all of these back to their respective Chapters might take years, decades, even centuries, but ultimately, they would be returned one way or another.
And with that, the stranger disappeared into the shadow once more.
Observing.
Waiting.
For his vengeance to come.
Felia finally shut up as impalers started flying again. With the Warrior Prime and its bodyguards dead, the Tyranids had recommenced their barrage. For other factions, this might have been an act of retribution for the killing of their commander, but Levantia doubted the Tyranids even cared for such concept as "retribution". They were firing again because it was feasible now that the risk of friendly-fire on a high-value unit had been eradicated, ironically by its own demise.
The Farseer raised her psychic shield and deflected some of them while Levantia grabbed Darelyn and dived for cover. The Impalers were slow-moving by comparison with other forms of munitions to allow the guiders to change their direction, thus leaving little room for evasion and enabling the firer to attack from without line of sight. Steadying his rifle, Levantia aimed for the creatures positioned at the end the projectiles. His gamble immediately proved futile and despite his best effort, no hits were made. While the projectiles were slow enough to be discerned, the way they rotated rapidly on their axis would have prevented even the finest marksman from scoring hits against the creatures embedded in them. How they remained straight without getting dizzy just from spinning like that was confusing enough, the way these guiders relentlessly continued to perform their duty until the very end more than even the most loyal Guardsmen with such scant life-span caused Levantia to question the concept of universal logic that could apply to everything in this galaxy.
The Farseer's psychic barrier held for now. But she had exhausted herself substantially repelling the Warriors earlier. A quick glance told Levantia she was going to faint soon.
"We cannot keep this forever," he said to Felia. "Let's go. I have no idea where we are heading, but the sooner we get away from this enemy which we have no chance against, the sooner we can have some form of respite. I would rather take on something that is not shooting out of the line of sight."
"What you say carries wisdom," Felia concurred. "Your path shall be mine as well."
As Levantia picked up Darelyn and put her on his shoulders in the same manner he would carry any wounded comrade away from the battlefield, the Farseer bristled. "Leave her. She is a sack of rock, of no help except slowing us down. Without speed our survival is unfeasible. We cannot risk that."
"Without her, you and I would all have been dead," Levantia replied. He did not feel like arguing right now. The situation was dire enough without Felia bitching around. "I am not abandoning either of you behind. She is coming, whether you like it or not."
"You would risk your life - OUR life for this one Druchii?"
"Yes," Levantia answered flatly. "That is what I would do."
"Such stubbornness," Felia sighed in withdrawal. "How typical of a human."
Levantia ran first and Felia followed, her psychic shield still blazing behind her. This area was a minefield. Darelyn had not deactivated all of the traps nor did the Dark Eldar who rushed through activate the last one of them, but aside from the Great Folly whose effect had already worn off, the other ones did not live up to that high standards. Truth to be told, they could entangle, maim, injure and even kill unsuspecting wanderers, but for someone who knew of their existence they were of minor threat. Further forewarned by Felia's power to predict the future, Levantia leaped across trap doors, ducked beneath swinging blades and ran for blind spots of automatic sentries.
The two ran for a while across the corridor until Impalers stopped chasing them. Levantia figured they had made it out of their range and the monstrous shooters decided not to pursue due to the tight corridors blocking their advance. That or they had simply found better fish to fry and decided not to waste ammunition on a couple of stragglers who were running for their lives. Whichever the case, it was a relief now that they were no longer under attack from unseen and unreachable enemies. Tossing a horde of Hormagaunts at him and Levantia felt he could throw back at them. The concept of battling a foe that could not be harmed by any means available was as unappealing as it was disturbing.
"You need to take some rest," Levantia said to Felia, who were wobbling on her two feet. "You must be tired from all the fighting back then."
"I….can go on," the Eldar replied dryly. Levantia offered her a water canteen and she took a deep gulp, ignoring the greasy substance she was pouring into her mouth. "Don't underestimate my stamina, human. We Eldar have had tens of millions of years of biological evolution before we reached this state."
"I am not underestimating anything," Levantia replied and took back the canteen forcefully before she drowns herself. "What you did back then was marvelous, but there is no point pushing yourself if that is detrimental to you."
"I know what is best for myself," Felia argued. Her frail body leaned to one side and nearly lost balance. Levantia reached out with his hand only to receive a slap from her. "And don't you dare touch me with that perverted hand, human. This is what you have been planning all along, isn't it? First, you approach me, pretending to be a nice person, pretending you could offer help to a helpless Eldar lady like me. But you harbor dark desires within you, based, despicable desires all humans possess. And as soon as my guard is down, you move in for the strike."
"You are delirious, are you not?" Levantia asked.
"My mind is as clear as the moon reflection on a calm lake in a cloudless night. You are not to…."
Felia did not say anymore. She dropped to the ground unconscious as fatigue finally got over her. The fact she got to make such long and dragged out sentences despite her exhaustion came as not much of a surprise to Levantia. The Dark Eldar were vain and impractical, but they had their limits and still acted rationally in some ways. Perhaps it was something they did to her or maybe the contrast between living comfortably on the Craftworld and being locked up with no escape in this shithole with cruel people who regularly abused her that cracked Felia a bit.
Or perhaps she was just crazy and all.
Still conveying the Dark Eldar on his back, Levantia was not able to support her delicate body as she fell. He knew this would happen eventually, the Farseer having expended unsustainable amounts of power during the previous engagement out of necessity. For such frail body, she put out more psychic power than any Sanction Psyker Levantia had ever come across, perhaps even greater than even the Lord of Change he once faced against. In truth, Levantia was somewhat glad that she was sleeping now. She pushed herself hard and deserved some rest. Besides, now he would not have to listen to all her complaints anymore.
That being said, he was not foolish to think danger had passed; more likely, it had merely been lessened to certain extents. The death of the Warrior Prime was a blow to the synaptic web, but there was no telling how many controlling creatures were left in this area. Even then, the infestation would provide weak connection to the Hive Mind for the lesser Tyranid bioforms, enough to at least make an effort and only run away when the odds were against them. Moreover, Genestealers could operate normally in the absence of synapse and Levantia recalled he had encountered some of them on board.
Levantia knew he had to move on no matter what, even when the destination unclear and the road ahead filled with threats. Putting an Eldar on each shoulder and the splinter rifle on his back, he decided to continue walking along the pathway. If he could find a room with its door unlocked or any spot to squeeze three people in, that would be a blessing. Carrying both women while keeping on guard for signs of the enemy was a formidable task, but he was reluctant to drag any of them unceremoniously across this filthy blood-soaked uneven floor.
The journey through the hallway was a quiet one. Levantia walked across numerous sites of previous battles but found no bodies this time, just piles of bloodied discarded armor, bone and chitin fragments. Whatever flesh in there had no doubt already been consumed by swarms of Rippers and fed into the spawning pool located somewhere on this ship. The thought of the Tyranids turning the Eternity of Torment into something akin to one of their Hive ships was a truly horrifying one. If the spawning pool could not be destroyed, the Tyranids would potentially have a near limitless supply of reinforcement, bred from the very materials they found on this ship as well as their own fallen troops. Then, there would be no stop to them.
Levantia reassured himself the Dark Eldar were no fools, or at the very least, no bigger fools than he was. The spawning pool would take up massive room and unless the Dark Eldar were so vain as to create unnecessarily large spaces, few places on a ship could accommodate such. In fact, as far as he could tell, the vehicle hangar was the only area capable of being used as staging ground for an entire army. The slave masters would know about this and focus their effort on the spawning pool as soon as it materialized. In other words, the Tyranids would not have their way without the Dark Eldar countering their every plot with extreme prejudice.
As he went on, Levantia felt himself moving slower. He was not immune to fatigue himself and all the weight on his back and shoulder was beginning to become unbearable. Levantia was strong by human standards. He had fought Orks and Tyranids in close quarter combat and came out on top. Thanks to extensive body training, strict diet and some physical and genetic augmentations offered by the Militarum Tempestus, he could say with certainty, despite his incarceration and malnutrition, he was still in better shape than most of the humanity. Any lesser man would have collapsed right here and right now.
Levantia wanted a distraction and found it in the form of artistry laid all around him. Shattered bodies and body pieces decorated the hallway in the most grisly manner imaginable. They were all the same to him now, unrefined, haphazard and gimcrack. For a race that dwelled upon the pain and suffering of others, the Dark Eldar seemed surprisingly slipshod when it came to displaying their achievements in those respect. The reason he could come up with was that artistic mindset, much like in most human societies, did not frequently exist among the lower-class which made up the majority of the Eldar population and most the crew members here. Most Kabalite Warriors fought for the sake of reaping the spoil and once they had it, they did not bother much on what to do with it afterwards. Not that the followers of Chaos he encountered so far had anything to surpass that, safe for one heretical Space Marine warband who worshipped the god (or goddess) of pleasure.
"How shabby," he muttered to himself. "Crox could teach these bastards a thing or two."
Though he hated to admit it as much as he hated to be reminded by his drill operator to fold his uniforms with millimeter precision, he found himself liking the works of Crox. They were evil and gruesome, but they were also some of the most creative forms of suffering inducer he had ever witnessed in his life. Compared to what other Dark Eldar did, they were like angels among pilgrims. For the last few days, Levantia had tried to push that thought out of his head because of how disgusting it was seeing a xeno performing barbarism upon a member of his own kind, but as time passed by, that disgust slowly turned to fascination. He never revealed to his comrades about this, never telling them the exact reason why the Haemonculus would pay close attention to him, never spilling the beans as to why his eyes would always be fixated on certain things on the ship. It was as heretical as it was embarrassing to admit that kind of obscene interest in front of many who were still Emperor-lovers, or pretending to be.
One important part of his background Levantia had consistently ignored when talking about his past was his membership in a hidden cult called The Rejected. Formed by architects and artists whose taste in designing proved too much for the Ecclesiarches and thus were fired from their positions, The Rejected brought together people with talents and desires in arts that would come under censure from the Imperial authority. Despite excommunication, the cult was popular with the populace across many worlds and many of their works were secretly bought at astronomical price by the elite. Levantia joined the cult during his training at the Scholar Progenium. There were five other scholars in the cult, three of which whisked away by the shadowy organization known as Officio Assassinarium.
Of all the exotic types of art, none captivated his imagination more than death. It was a natural process that all beings undergo, to live and then to die. From the normal humans to the super Space Marines, none could escape the circle. However, the scene of someone whose circle had been rudely curtailed by force, displayed with all the glorified vindication of the victory, was a satisfying sight to behold. After graduation, Levantia tried to apply his knowledge in the field by constructing a doll out of teeth freshly pulled from slain Orks and stuck together using digestive chemical from their stomach. This venture ended up badly: the almost finished figurine was confiscated and Levantia flogged. If he were in a Catachan regiment, that would have been considered a nothing-out-of-the-ordinary thing instead of a breach of protocol. Whichever the case, Levantia's obsession had not lessen as he went from one warzone to another seeking artistry in the death and destruction that surrounded him. Previously, he was only delighted upon seeing distress upon the enemies of man, but that time had come to pass and everything was the same to him now.
The baleful arts gave way to infestation as he moved along. This area was bound to have high Tyranid activity. Levantia pondered going back and decided against it. The corridor was one way without detours despite its twists and turns. He did not want to face those impalers again, not with so much weight on him right now.
As he went on, he found himself in what looked to be the stomach of some gargantuan creature. Flesh covered the walls, ceilings and floor like macabre carpets. More unsettling was the way it vibrated, as though a heart was beating somewhere within it. The Dark Eldar grisly trophies were stuffs of nightmare, but at the very least they were dead stuffs, stuffs that could not do any harm other than scaring people. The infestation was somehow alive and gave Levantia the feeling he was being watched constantly by a super-intelligent. Levantia changed his mind. Perhaps facing the impalers were a better option after all.
Some noises shook Levantia out of his trance. Turning around, he saw nothing. However, he could not be sure it was nothing important that he did not see. Carrying two Eldar on his shoulder, he could not pull out his gun. Deducing a withdrawal would be the best response, he picked and speed and heaved both bodies across the corridor.
"Are we all dead yet?" asked a voice next to his ears. Darelyn was coming round. Levantia was relieved to see that. His shoulders could not take it much longer.
"Not quite yet," he replied. "Are you alright? How is your injury?"
There was a pause. Levantia could feel the Dark Eldar fidgeting on his shoulder.
"This is just a flesh wound," she said. One of her hands reached to the blood-soaked cloth that covered her belly. "Trust me when I say this is like a needle to the flesh compared to what I have been through. Once, a Necron Warrior vaporized half my torso. I thought I was a goner back then, but Crox brought me back in good shape in time."
"Can you walk?" Levantia asked.
"Can't you just drop her instead?" the Dark Eldar pouted, looking at the unconscious Craftwolder right next to her. "She's out of action, isn't she? So she can't be of much use to us anymore, not that her helpfulness was at any level where I can appreciate in the first place."
"No," Levantia answered briskly. "We are not talking about this again. Nobody is going to be left behind, not on my watch. I know you are the master and I am the servant, but can I plead you to cut me some slack on this?"
"Fine," Darelyn sighed and slipped off his shoulder deftly like a serpent loosening its grip on its prey. Her eyes moved to the bandage again as she said, "It feels strange to have this on my body. I have fought and get injured lot, but this is the first time someone has performed field medical treatment on me."
Levantia felt uneasy at the statement. He realized the Dark Eldar were not similar to humans. For a human, pain was usually a nuisance, both occupying his attention which could have been directed to something else and reducing his vitality. The Dark Eldar, on the other hand, thrived on their own pain as much as that of their opponents. Knowing this, he was worried he had done something wrong by treating her injury against her will.
"Oh, I was not acutely aware that…" he stuttered.
"The truth is pain heightens the senses and wounds get the blood flow faster," Darelyn cut him off. "In gradual doses, they can turn even a chick into a cassowary, a meek runt into a fearless, relentless murderer. The Dark Eldar are quick, but we cannot use that advantage alone to compete. We are not as numerous as the Orks or the Tyranids, not as disciplined as the Necron and Imperial Guards, not as well-armored as our Craftworld kin and the Space Marines. However, we have a weapon that they don't, one which has led to countless times where the enemy thought they had us in a pinch and cornered, only to be slaughtered by warriors more efficient and powerful than they first encountered. That is the power we can derive from pain."
"I am sorry," said Levantia apologetically. Different culture required a different approach; that was his principle the whole time. How could he be so stupid and ignore that all of a sudden? "I did not mean to upset you."
"But there is a limit to everything," Darelyn went on, seemingly paying no heed to Levantia's apology. "The standard Dark Eldar body is at the core vulnerable compared to the likes of Wracks and Grotesques. Injuries do not always lead to beneficial results when the senses are dulled instead of heightened and your body becomes weak if so much of the blood flow contributes to vital fluid leaving your body and no longer fueling it. What you did was the right thing to do, and I am grateful for that. "
"And I am glad to hear that," Levantia said as he gave her a splinter rifle strapped on his back. Any other Dark Eldar saying so and he would have taken it with a grain of salt knowing their tendency to commit betrayal. But Darelyn was a different breed, a diamond among the coal. He was invested in everything she had to say just as he had been invested in what the drillers taught him for sixteen years during his training as Tempestus Scion.
If Felia was his last hope for humanity in him, she was his aspiration for understanding and respect between humans and Dark Eldar, no matter how unlikely it was. Moreover, as he thought about it, Darelyn and her influence might just be his ticket to have a better life as a member of the Kabal, which possibly extended to his comrades as well should they all survive.
A few days ago he was still addressing Darelyn as an inferior being. Now, he talked to her as though they were equals. And maybe, just maybe, he could do so with the rest of the Dark Eldar as well.
"Wait, you hear that?" Darelyn asked suddenly, eyes contemplating the corridor.
"Yes," Levantia replied as he secured Felia on both his shoulders. He felt much better now that there was one fewer body to carry. "Which is why I believe we should not linger and move on."
"That seems like the best course of action," Darelyn agree.
The two of them sprinted through the hallway thoroughly covered in Tyranid infestation. The sound got louder and more rapid as they ran. Looking back, Levantia saw nothing chasing them within the corridor, but knowing how the Tyranids loved surprise attacks, he did not take any chance. Darelyn got a huge head start over him before she slowed down with an annoyed look on her face. He did not blame her. Even without the Farseer on his back, he would still have a hell of a time keeping pace with her in a life and death situation like this. Nevertheless, that she risked waiting for him instead of running off the same way the other Dark Eldar abandoned them to the Warriors earlier spoke at least something about their relationship.
"Where in the name of the Great Father are they coming from?" cried Darelyn.
"It does not matter," Levantia assured her. "Let's just get the fuck out of here. Look ahead. I see an elevator. Can you get that working?"
"I will see what I can do."
They moved through the scene of slaughter. Numerous Dark Eldar corpses littered the place without a single dead Tyranid to be found. They were thick with swarms of Rippers which fed on their flesh and recovered precious biomass to aid the Tyranid war effort. While all Tyranids had a mouth full of extraordinarily sharp teeth and a proper digestive system, they rarely eat unless to restore energy or in some cases, to regenerate wounds by converting biomass into something that could be incorporated into their bodies. The Rippers were the main honey bees of the Hive Fleet, tasked with the collection of biomass and sending back to feed it.
With a flamer, acid sprayer or equivalent, he would have made mincemeat out of them in no time. The Rippers were thoroughly bloated, slow-moving and would provide little danger. Unable to acquire one and still running for his life and the lives of two others, he had to let it come to pass, even if that meant the Tyranids would be replenishing their ranks somewhat with this.
Though not much left of the bodies, Levantia could see they were mostly hacked apart, but some were crushed by powerful forces. This concurred with his prediction that they were being stalked by Genestealers. The ones Levantia encountered when he was with Felia were probably the recon detachment. These were the bulk of them.
When the two of them were meters away from the elevator, a claw slashed out of nowhere inside the wall.
"Watch out," Levantia hollered, but Darelyn was already in motion and performed a gracious back flip just as the claw swung at the air where she was. He figured the wound must have boosted her capability by some margins.
"What the heck was that?" Darelyn breathed as he aimed her weapon at where her assailant supposedly was. The claw had just come out of a solid wall. It was infested, but it still made no sense for a claw to grow from infestation like that. Unless…
"This is not the corridor," Levantia explained. "They are just trying to believe these are the walls and ceilings."
At once, a dozen or so Genestealers moved through the walls which made up of layers of infestation and nothing concrete. The real walls were hidden behind them all along. In other words, the Tyranids made the pathway seem smaller than it was, only to cover up an ambush force inside it without their enemy even knowing.
There was no way they could fight through this. The odds were too high. Levantia despaired at his situation. The Genestealers were capable of tearing apart from the largest Orks to the heaviest armored Space Marines. The two of them stood zero chance against so many of them when they were so close.
But once again, fate had gotten something else for them.
"Heads down!" Darelyn shouted and grounded herself. Levantia did as he was told and dropped himself and Felia.
As the sea of claws came closer, Levantia cried, "I am sorry, Darelyn. I want to say I lov…"
A barrage of splinter shrapnel cut down half the Tyranids in the corridor. There was no telling where it was coming from. Levantia looked to Darelyn and saw the trap operating device. He did not realize this place was rigged as well. Perhaps the Dark Eldar wanted to block access to unauthorized personnel to whatever parts of the ship the elevator was leading to. Or somebody thought it would be most effective to put a trap at this critical transport juncture. Whichever the case, he was glad this trap was better made than most others, not as well-crafted as the Great Folly, but decent nevertheless.
"Move, now!" Darelyn bellowed as she charged into the Genestealer ahead.
Levantia was not sure whether she was this good to begin with, or the wound made her the ultimate warrior she said the Dark Eldar could become if they experienced enough pain. Darelyn dodged the incoming attacks like a fly evading the fruitless attempts to swat it by bare hands. As soon as the Tyranid let its guard down, she fired back, downing it in front of her. Levantia tossed Felia into the elevator door and pulled out his gun. Felia hit the floor bodily. That might hurt a lot, but Levantia would have to worry about that later.
"We can't fight them all," he shouted as a Genestealer tried to pin him to the infestation wall, only for him to slither away at the last possible moment, its massive frame providing too much opening for him. "We must get to the elevator now."
"I am on it," Darelyn responded, jumping on top of a couple of Genestealers who looked dumbfounded at the way their prey just slipped through them. Their faces would have been of utter shock when they realized they were staring at the barrel of Levantia's splinter rifle only half a second later if there had been any discernible expression on them. Levantia cut them both down, poison needle penetrating their weak carapace with ease, and while they were more resilient than Hormagaunts, it only meant they would spasm longer before dying. The Genestealers relied greatly on the element of surprise combined with their remarkable ability in close combat. Being blasted from range, they perished as fast as any other Tyranid.
No more Genestealers were in their way to the elevator now, but still a lot were closing in. Levantia tossed a couple of toxic grenades at the direction he was running from. A number of Genestealers went down and the wall infestation withered, revealing the real walls with grisly trophies on them. Never had that sight been so reassuring to Levantia. Firing both a splinter rifle from his hip and a pistol at the same time, Levantia sent volleys of poisoned shards into the rank of the xenos. A second barrage from the booby trap thinned them even further. The Genestealers attack seemed to falter in the face of unexpectedly fierce retaliation.
"Done," said Darelyn. As soon as the elevator door opened, a Genestealer abruptly leaped out from it. Darelyn was caught unprepared and stood gawking as the curved talon lashed out at her.
Before it could find its target, however, Levantia pounded at her and knocked her out of the way, and the Genestealer missed them by a millimeter. In doing so, however, Levantia found himself lying on top of the Dark Eldar in a rather awkward position with his face pressed against her breasts. He could feel the heart beat accelerating with every passing second inside her chest. Looking up, he saw her face reddening quickly. However, he also saw a hint of desire within her, a flame kindled and glowing, brighter and brighter. It was a thirst - a lust if Levantia could bring himself up to call it such - for togetherness which he had always seen in her though never with such vehemence.
Her friends all left her, killed in an ill-fated raid by Space Marines.
Her not-so-boyfriend abandoned her to die. Even then, he was a douchebag to her before that.
Unless there was someone else Darelyn did not mention of, Levantia might be the closest person to her. Xeno or not, she did not deserve a lonely fate.
Levantia snapped out of it and reanalyzed where he was. Different culture called for a different approach, yet apparently all cultures were the same in some respects and this was not a good position for a male to be with a female unless in intimacy. Levantia cursed himself for his carelessness. In any other situation, he might have gotten something stupid to say, if she did not beat him by saying it first, but a Tyranid attack was enough reason to ignore any implication and treat this as an accidental offshoot of a rescue and no more.
Levantia quickly pulled himself up and seized his rifle. A second later, Darelyn did the same thing. The Genestealer renewed its attack only to be defeated halfway by a volley of poisoned needles. The remainder of the Tyranids surged forward once more. Throwing his weapon at the corner, Levantia pulled Felia into the elevator just before the doors shut, cutting them off from the ravenous horde.
"Looks like we are safe now," Levantia panted. The elevator started to move. There were only two destinations available, one of which probably the resident compartment which they just came from.
"That appears to be the truth," Darelyn echoed. "You did not need to bring that lump of meat with us, you know?" She indicated the lying Farseer who was still unconscious.
"Do you know where this is heading?"
"I give you one guess."
Levantia opened his eyes widely. No. No. It could not be. Anything but that. "The vehicle cargo bay," he said.
"Bingo," Darelyn replied. "This shaft connects the dwelling area with where their inhabitants' skills would be needed most." To ride on skimmers, invade through webways, maim and murder anyone standing in their way and take the rest back as trophies, Levantia thought. On several occasions where he had been called there to do maintenance work, the place seemed to be where most of the activities on board the Eternity of Torment ever took place. However, due to its size, it would probably be the most infested area where the Tyranids set their spawning pool, as well as other those structures responsible for the spreading of infestation across this ship. Additionally, monstrous creatures and perhaps even gargantuan bio-construct would be there to defend their one of their sources of reinforcement.
He was only trying to avoid danger. Now he was literally heading to the most dangerous place on the ship, the very belly of the beast.
But wait. What if the Dark Eldar had already taken it? It made sense for the vehicle bay to be perceived as a high-value target, not only because of the spawning pool, but also the weapons stored in there. That would be a blessing, or would it? He barely managed to convince the small group earlier because of Darelyn, how could he repeat the same feat with a regiment of Dark Eldar if they had indeed captured the hangar? What if they were hostile to humans or did not take Felia with her limiter lightly?
So many possibilities. Most of them went from bad to worse. Levantia felt his head spinning from all of these thoughts. He had barely gotten away from death. And now he was on his way to possible the most dangerous place on board, save for the chemical chamber. This was madness. This was becoming unbearable. What did he ever do for the Emperor to forsake him so? He wanted, no, he needed a break.
Right now.
"My thanks to you," Darelyn said, not looking perturbed in any way by the imminent danger they would soon get themselves into. "For saving my life…again. A Mon-keigh you might be, you are as resourceful as you are generous. Something you race has consistently displayed a severe lack of before you came here."
"What are you talking about? Without you activating those traps, we would have been Genestealer food long before that. That was genius. Absolutely brilliant."
Darelyn smiled shyly. "Well, I guess I was."
Levantia scratched his head. "About that whole pinning you down, I…uh….didn't…"
"Don't get so fussed about it," Darelyn said. "It affects me as much as water on stone, and so it should be to you. I am still your master here. I demand so."
"Yes, mistress," Levantia replied. However, he could sense the uncertainty in her voice like a woman torn between two streams of conflicting emotions. Levantia found himself in the same dilemma.
She was a Dark Eldar, a race whose sole purpose of existence was to cause suffering to others to sustain their own miserable, hedonistic lives, but at the same time, she was also a woman longing for someone to be together with.
He was a Tempestus Scion turned a slave and then the lowest non-slave rank within the Kabal. Anything before Eternity of Torment taught him to hate and kill xenos with zest, anything after that to worship the Dark Eldar as a race far more superior, a race he could never hope to be on the same level as. And yet, he was still a man, and a were an arrogant, selfish breed. His desires and dreams which he had suppressed so far were coming back in droves. He served the Archon as loyal as he did to the Emperor. He killed many Tyranids. He protected the Kabal's interest and members, putting his very life in jeopardy.
He deserved better than what he had gotten thus far. He should have earned respect and credit and position for what he did. Serving the Emperor was a thankless task, but this was not the Emperor he was serving. The Archon was in the flesh. He would see what the Emperor could not. But above all, he deserved a chance with the woman (or women) he aspired.
Levantia wished to say it all out to Darelyn, what would have been his dying words if she had not activated the trap at the elevator and saved them. He decided not to. For now.
It would require a special kind of courage, something he did not have in ample supply. Fighting Tyranids was one thing. Confessing true feeling was another.
It would take time. He could not just tell her after he had kissed Felia just a few moments earlier.
It might not even matter. There were likely to end up dying in the next hours anyway.
Author's note: Alright, the next update is here. This chapter focuses more on relationship development between Levantia and Darelyn. It also introduces a new threat as well as showing the darker side of Levantia. I always feel like most main protagonists in both Warhammer 40k and anime are too ideal compared to all secondary characters and the only flaw they have is their naivete, so I would like to see mine being a little corrupted so that it balances out with his heroism.
Hope you enjoy it. I will see you next time.