Here we are then; over 50,000 words and I've finally got the story where I wanted it. I'm starting to think this may take a while. Now, the dream scene in this chapter was inspired by an amazing bit of artwork which I unfortunately can no longer find. The picture was of a silhouetted figure with a top hat and a cat at his side gazing through long vertical windows into red tinged space. If anyone knows the picture I'm talking about please send me the link either via DM or in the review section. Not much of Aristriel this time around but there should be quite a bit in the next chapter.

Song of the day: Reflection – David Edwards


Chapter 10 – Soldier's Trinity

"Breathe lad, remember to breathe! In an' out, that's the way!" The advice of a long dead sergeant echoed from his memory. Locke panted with every step, his face bright red from the exertion.

By the Golden Throne, this alien can shift… lot's o' practice from running away I'll bet. Ever since they had set aside their differences, their journey had known no end. Locke had thought that his morning expedition had been hard work, but he was starting to become nostalgic for what now seemed like a leisurely stroll compared to the blistering pace that this alien had set.

He understood the reason of course, the idea of fighting more orks didn't sit well with either of them, considering the state of himself and the fact that his only weapon was a short sword. It seemed like the alien was even less interested in another savage confrontation judging by her speed and keen alertness.

The sky above had turned to match his bleak mood. What had once been a glorious sunny day was now beginning to imitate the previous; dark grey clouds reclaimed the sky. Within a few hours of the overcast setting in, a fresh wave of snow came flooding down from the heavens to reinforce the already deep white blanket that covered everything.

Shaking off the deposits of snow building up on any roughly horizontal surface, Locke continued to wade through a particularly deep snowbank. His limbs bemoaned the juxtaposed sensation of being both chilled by the ice's bitter freeze and burning from the physical effort of ploughing onwards.

He wanted to stop, by the God-Emperor and his golden shiny throne did he want to stop. To simply lie down and let the ice take him. A fantasy of course, but every hour of this forced march that ticked by it became ever more fanciful.

His vision was locked to the ground a few paces ahead, focusing all his attention on keeping one foot in front of the other. Glancing further along the line of march, he saw the eldar padding deftly across the surface of the snow; completely weightless, her shallow footprints practically invisible.

How the hell does she do that? Locke questioned, a tinge of jealousy colouring his query.

Unlike the beleaguered guardsman who trooped mindlessly forwards: knee deep in snow, the eldar strode confidently ahead barely seeming tired at all. Her head was on a constant swivel searching for any tell-tale sign of movement through the swirling silver gloom. Periodically the banshee would remember the trailing soldier as she halted and turned to watch his painfully laborious progress.

Other than a few sharp metallic hisses and clicks, she never uttered a word. Nonetheless, her body language said everything that she refused to. It seemed fairly obvious she was unsympathetic to his plight. Much as he hated to admit it, if he were her, he'd probably be chastising him for his sluggish pace as well. Still, it wasn't pleasant knowing that you were dead weight.

At the start of their united journey, Locke had tried to match her speed but inevitably fell behind when his already fatigued muscles failed to meet the demands placed upon them. Now, just as he was making his way to the top of the ridgeline, his right leg cramped up, finally seizing up after so long. It stopped him dead in his tracks as he flopped over, cursing into the snow. It looks like he'd be able to live out that fantasy after all.

The alien, hearing his distress turned about instantly and moved to assist the tired guardsman. She offered her hand, but Locke batted it aside.

"Get the hell off me! I'm fine!" He growled through shivering breaths. She huffed in annoyance at his foolish response but made no move to help him further.

Understanding his tone and satisfied that he was still able-bodied; she turned about and left him floundering in the ocean of white powder. Cursing once more at his leg through gritted teeth, he watched as she strode on without him; a mixture of shame and anger blooming within him.

His fatigues were now even more sodden than before thanks to the melted snow. The pain in his leg was excruciating. It felt like it was being crushed in a vice that eased off the pressure every few seconds only then to pile it back on within an instant.

The only thing he could do was wait for the cramp to play itself out, all the time he lay there with his gloved hands splayed out in front of him from where they'd arrested his fall. His gloves provided little warmth in the parasitic cold of this place, and he could only imagine what shade of blue his hands had taken on as they sunk further into the icy quagmire.

In the end, the cramping pain in his leg subsided or at the very least became more bearable. Sighing at the endless toil of it all, he rose unsteadily back to his feet. Trailing his gaze along to the top of the ridgeline. There was the xeno staring back at him, tapping her foot in irritation at his tardiness.

Locke hated how the alien made him feel like a burden; an infant to be shepherded. The entire time they'd been travelling, she had always been the one in the lead and had always been the one to dictate their heading.

Their little alliance was only a few hours old and already he was beginning to regret it, there was something deeply wrong about a human fraternizing with a xeno. The dictations of the Imperial Creed had crossed his mind a few times on the march to which he could only offer up a few flimsy excuses.

Should have killed her when I had the chance. His thoughts returned back to the seax hanging faithfully at his side; the image of it being thrust into her back entered his mind. However, before the idea could truly take shape it was rapidly quashed by a greater realisation.

No… much as I hate to admit it, I'd be dead if not for that alien. Besides, I made my choice. I'm stuck with her for now and I'll just have to deal with it.

Carrying his pack, he ignored the straps digging into his raw shoulders as he slowly pushed his way up the hill to join the eldar who was waiting patiently at the summit. Upon reaching the top, Locke exhaled a large cloud of vapour into the cold air as he looked out over yet another wintry valley.

"I'm beginning to think this place is nothing but hills and shit loads of snow." He joked breathlessly with little humour in his voice. The eldar flinched as he spoke but remained silent as always; either she had no sense of humour or had no idea what he'd even said. Locke reckoned it was probably both.

Glancing sideways at her, Locke saw that she was entirely preoccupied with the coming darkness. The sun was beginning to set as the last vestiges of light streaming through the clouds faded. Shelter was fast becoming the number one priority. Even more concerning was the distant roar of ork war trucks steadily drawing closer once more. For hours now, the pair of them had been evading the greenskins.

At numerous points it seemed like they'd managed to successfully shake off their pursuers, but inexplicably they'd soon picked up their trail again. There had been two occasions when the hunter and hunted at strayed within a hair's breadth of each other. In both instances, it was only their quick thinking that proved to be their saving grace.

The first time: Locke sensing the foe draw near, had pre-emptively hid under an extensive root system of a withered old fungal tree. His caution proved to be well-founded when, with only seconds to spare, a troop of greenskin vehicles rumbled past his hiding place. Where the banshee went, he couldn't say. Their second encounter occurred when a band of greenskins, along with a pack of small bipedal beasts - acting as sniffer dogs, had tracked them to a nearby river.

Acting swiftly, the pair of them took shelter beneath the icy overhang of the riverbank while the freezing water lapped around their waists. Luckily for them, the river obscured their scent and not before long the violent aliens had moved off again, shouting in their usual way as they did so. Any longer in there and hypothermia would have been all but guaranteed.

Locke was snapped from his thoughts by the tap of an alien finger on his uninjured shoulder. The guardsman responded to her touch and looked into the eery red lenses of her bullet shaped helmet. Satisfied that she had his attention, the eldar pointed to a nearby thicket of woodland.

The guardsman nodded, acknowledging their new destination. Hopefully we can stop there before night draws in. Making their way down the gentle slope was a simple matter. The incline lent power to Locke's weary legs and it did not take long before they met the icy forest's embrace.

Thankful to be in the protection of the forest, the snowy vegetation engulfed them both as they left the snow-covered fields, hills and desolate villages behind. Locke cautiously navigated his way through the wild foliage, glimpsing the last stream of sunlight of the day through the patchy canopy.

The alien was almost immediately lost to sight, as she prowled on ahead; ghostly silent with all the speed of a typhoon. It struck Locke that this had been the first time since they'd fought the first group of greenskins that he had started to relax. He chuckled at himself for naively assuming that the end of the day's march was close.

The smell of dense vegetation mixed with the sharp cold of the air was certainly nostalgic at the very least. The trees and plants while mostly alien to him were reminiscent of the forests back on Narvos that the guardsman had fondly explored in his childhood.

The sounds of the woods filled his ears; so familiar and so different all at the same time. Odd creatures going about their daily business of survival: chirping and cawing as they went, the snapping of twigs, the rustle of the undergrowth and the crunch of his boots. Locke quickly settled into a rhythm and soon began to explore this interesting new environment.

Mixed in with the more recognisable Terran type of vegetation, as well as the sprawling fungal plants, were those unusual, upturned pinecone-like trees. Crossing over to one of the more mature fungal saplings, he laid his palm on its ancient trunk, patting it like it were an old friend.

"Never got the chance, but could ya thank your mate for me, for keeping those orks off my back. There's a good lad." He whispered affectionately.

Talking to plants, I've gone as mad as old nan. Walking away into the wood, he left the fungal tree to continue its tireless vigil, forever on the lookout for other travellers in need of a keen hiding spot. Further along the forestry path, one of the upturned pinecone trees caught his attention. With the imminent danger behind them, Locke finally gave into his curiosity and inspected the grand specimen.

The strange plant dominated the small clearing that it found itself in, like a monarch in the centre of its court. Despite its regal position, it was still dwarfed by the other types of trees that stretched up towards the sky.

On closer inspection, he found that the hardened exterior of the tree's shell was used to protect the plant's soft innards. Locke had no doubt that Daud, the silent sniper from his section, would have found its operation fascinating. The quiet man always did have a soft spot for nature. The guardsman watched as the solid petals opened and closed in reaction to the amount of light... or in the presence of certain herbivores which he discovered at his peril.

Touching the armoured bark, he reached inside to peer at the plant's inner workings. This proved to be an unwise decision as he triggered an instinctive reflex. The shell, irritated by this hominid intruder clambering over its fine exterior, immediately started to close up around itself in a protective cocoon that almost took his right arm off at the elbow.

The soldier yelped in surprise as he felt the tightening pressure on his arm. Believing himself to be far too young to be a cripple; he frantically pushed himself away from the offending tree, landing on his backside in the process with his endangered limb clutched defensively to his chest. The eldar, ever the faithful guardian, reappeared from her own exploration to investigate his call. She found him sheepishly brushing off a mixture of dirt, snow and twigs from his fatigues.

Locke, feeling embarrassed, tried to put on a false air of nonchalance which he knew the alien saw right through.

"Just… uh… checking up on the local plant life." He explained as he picked out a clump of moss from his pocket.

He could have sworn he heard a metallic snort resonate from her war mask, but with all the sounds of the woodland it was impossible to tell. She gestured for him to follow her, and Locke shouldering his kit, dawdled on after the xeno.

After a brief hike through the denser parts of the forest, they arrived at yet another one of the upturned pinecone trees, although, this one was far broader and far more withered. What was strange was that unlike the previous one that Locke had had the misfortune to come across. This one was closed from the offset, and by the look of the dormant vines and moss that grew over its barky bulk, it had been shut for some time.

The banshee, keen to reveal her discovery, pulled up a ragged curtain of green moss. Always direct in her manner, she pointed at a partially hidden hole at the base of the ancient specimen where presumably the roots met the stem.

One minute the alien was standing before it, and the next she disappeared as she crawled inside the burrow. Hesitating slightly, Locke made to follow. He slid off his pack and copying her crouched stance, carefully wedged himself into the gap.

The mossy insides were sodden with melted snow and there was a distinct smell of dampness. After a short crawl along the tiny cavern, Locke spied another opening that led upwards. Apparently, the pinecone tree was completely hollow.

Hmmm, that's odd.

Although as Locke thought it through, he speculated that the pinecone tree they now found themselves inside was dead; the soft parts had rotted away long ago, leaving a hollow shell.

It was nearly pitch-black inside the wilted behemoth which prompted the guardsman to retrieve his kit. Scooting round to give himself a better position, he accidently bumped into the alien warrior who was hidden in the murk. She instantly hissed her discontent, shoving him away.

"Yeah, yeah… maybe bring a light with ya next time, bloody xeno." He whispered back as he readjusted his seating. Without further incident Locke pulled his precious pack and all that it contained up through the hole.

The xeno waited patiently as he sat down cross legged and began fumbling around inside his pack. His hand, wading through the sea of gear, eventually struck the lamp's handle. With the light source located, it was soon extricated from its synthetic domain and set up at his feet.

With a click of a button, the light shone out and lit up the interior of the pinecone tree's husk. It was relatively cramped, with not a great deal of space to lie down, but at least the arched ceiling was high enough to allow both of them to stand up straight.

The inside of the withered interior was reasonably smooth, although there were patches of fungus that Locke wisely decided to avoid. Their new home was entirely enclosed, except for the opening they'd entered through.

"Not a bad little place, saves me putting up a basher." Locke said, feeling relieved. The banshee didn't respond, as was her habit. Now that their new home was illuminated, the eldar immediately moved to the far side, directly opposite the guardsman. Once there she sat down and remained still, the red lenses of her mask boring holes into him.

To Locke's wary mind, the way she watched him put him in mind of a child on their first visit to their local zoo: observing every never-before-seen animal with an excited intensity. The guardsman shuddered slightly at the unabashed observation and did his best to blot out her presence by busying himself with other tasks.

The Guard had a motto that was universal wherever it went: My weapon, My equipment, Myself. Seeing as his lasrifle was forever lost, he found himself for the first time in his soldiering career skipping to the next checkpoint on the list.

In order to take his mind off the alien's unnerving gaze, he put his efforts into setting up his living area. With practised efficiency it took no more than a few minutes to complete. He laid out his foam mattress and sleeping bag as best as he could, given the space. This would be his bedding for the night while the thermal blanket and his pack would act as his pillow.

Not once did the xeno's scrutiny falter or turn away from the busy soldier which only put more on edge. With his living area assembled, his thoughts turned to his soaking wet trousers and smock. Mercifully, his shirt and combat shirt had remained reasonably dry.

As discretely as he could manage; he began to strip off to his under garments, blushing somewhat as he went about the task. The wet fatigues naturally proved to be the most difficult to remove as they clung faithfully to their master's body. Grunting at the squelching material, it took an awful lot of tugging, but eventually the sodden fabric relented and was ripped away.

Gathering up the soaking bundle in his arms, he carefully laid them out across the smooth wooden floor of the plant's husk; right next to the lamp which doubled up as a heater. His helmet and rebreather soon joined the organised pile of apparel. Locke went about this in a hurried fashion, his frantic movements fuelled by both the cold and the intense glare of the indifferent alien.

Thereafter, he retreated to his own corner of their abode. Wasting no time, he awkwardly bundled himself up inside his sleeping bag. Within a few minutes of settling into his bedding, relief and a semblance of warmth flooded into his legs which throbbed terribly from the day's physical activity.

Another curious aspect to the empty shell was that it insulated heat incredibly well. With two bodies living inside it, the temperature steadily rose until it was quite comfortable. Locke found that he didn't even need to use his thermal blanket over his sleeping bag due to the increased warmth of their humble abode.

Sitting up against the pinecone tree's interior, he found himself inexorably facing the alien; his eyes drawn to the terrifying helmet and those dark red eye pieces under that harsh sneering brow. The effect of her war mask was made worse by the low lamp light which distorted her appearance slightly due to the increased contrast between the raised parts of her head piece and its recesses.

Locke, sick of the disturbing level of interest the alien displayed towards him, decided to meet her gaze as he locked eyes with her. Imperial guardsman and howling banshee stared each other down, with only a small space separating them, neither wanting to be the first to break eye contact.

How long they sat there in that standoff, Locke couldn't say. Though he loathed to do it, ultimately Locke gave in and looked away. He had other matters to attend to. The primary one being his shoulder which had started to ache unbearably. A downside of the warmth filtering into his being was that the numbness dissipated and feeling returned to his body. Unfortunately, these resurgent sensations included pain as well.

Playing at surgeon once more, Locke stripped off his remaining upper layers to reveal the bandaging. Carefully, piece by piece, the guardsman removed the field dressing, terrified by what he might find. His wound looked terrible, several of the stitches had either snapped or broken through the skin causing a degree of bleeding. Whereas before the wound was at least closed, now it was gaping in two areas.

Locke swore under his breath; the idea of another self-stitching sent shivers down his spine. He had already begun to race through the different options on how to address the laceration in his shoulder when a bone-white armoured limb came into his field of vision.

Shocked by this sudden intervention, he looked up to see that the banshee was now crouched in front of him inspecting his shoulder. The realisation that she had managed to move from her position with nary a sound shook Locke to his core, he would have to watch this alien even more closely than he had previously thought.

She tried to touch the area around the gaping red slit in his shoulder but was forcibly pushed away by the guardsman's good arm.

"You can sod off an' all! Now get back over there!" He barked, while pointing to her chosen spot. The alien hissed her disapproval, and for a second Locke thought she might persevere with her apparent attempts at first aid. However, after a brief hesitation she dutifully returned back to her place without a sound.

Exhausted by the journey and the combat, Locke decided that it would be best to leave his shoulder alone. Using another fresh bandage, he quickly re-tied his bindings. Not that it helped much, it still felt like a burning coal had been implanted inside his shoulder. He muttered several curses under his breath; there would be no respite from the pain.

Sleep would not come easy tonight and so Locke with nothing left to do, did what all soldier do in such times. He allowed himself to daydream.

No matter what subject he pondered, his thoughts quickly turned back to the xeno who sat just across from him. Sitting bolt upright with her back pressed up against the wall, Locke saw that she had finally averted her eyes which were now fixed on the floor just in front of her.

That makes a welcome change.

The thought of going to sleep with this alien, what the Ecclesiarchy would call an abomination of the human form, only a few metres away only made him more nervous. Without meaning to, the guardsman recalled the old stories of lithe creatures who appeared out of thin air to raid and pillage. He remembered his father recounting these tales to him whilst he and his sister cowered into their pillows.

These cackling monsters were said to snatch up innocent folks from their beds, and taken to a place unknown; never to be seen or heard from again. What disturbed Locke the most though was the description of the ghost towns, cities and villages left in the aftermath. It was said that everything appeared normal - besides the lack of people, with not a single twig or leaf out of place to mark the terrible event.

Is this all a trick? Is she just waiting for me to fall asleep so that she can spirit me away to Emperor-knows-where?

The idea of being fooled by deceptive displays of comradeship infuriated Locke. Ever so carefully, so as to not draw attention, he unclipped the scabbard of his seax from his webbing and drew it close. He clutched the sheathed sword to his chest, safe from the view inside his sleeping bag. Already he could imagine the feeling of the cold naked blade pressed against his skin which made him to shiver involuntarily.

Try anything tonight xeno and I'll give you a proper Narvish welcome. Those brave words rang hollow inside his own head as soon as he'd even thought of them. There would be no contest. Not only was her equipment vastly superior but her skills as a swordsman were so far removed from his own that she might as well have been legendary Sigismund himself. Sighing in acceptance of this fact; he placed the sword bundle to one side, embarrassed by his inner bravado, although he consciously made sure to keep it within arm's reach.

You never know.

There was nothing more that could be done, yet between the throbbing ache of his legs, the burning pain of his shoulder and his overactive mind; sleep at this moment in time seemed like an impossibility. In the end, he decided to beat the eldar at her own game, studying her in the same way she had done to him.

His eyes steadily moved from the red plume at the top of her war mask down to her feet. The alien wore what looked like a black body suit overlaid with interlocking armour plates that fastened over the top. Apart from her helmet, all the cream-coloured sections were festooned in beautiful gems and a myriad of symbols that Locke didn't recognise. She sat perfectly still, the only thing giving her away as a living being was the minute rise and fall of her armoured chest.

Despite what the Ecclesiarchy might say, there was something similar about her kind and yet so distinctly alien at the same time. Try as he might, his wariness towards her declined. She certainly wasn't trustworthy, but for the moment she wasn't a threat. Not before long, Locke's fears ebbed away like the falling tide.

After what seemed like an hour of quiet surveillance and contemplation, he leaned over and switched off the lamp before rolling over to get some sleep. His body protested as the sting of various aches and pains made themselves known.

The guardsman simply did his best to ignore them. Despite his earlier dismissal over the possibility of sleep, the Emperor in all his glory is still merciful to his faithful servants, and Locke found that sleep was upon him before he even realised.


Darkness, it was all darkness except for the slightest hint of reddish light at the end of the hallway. Locke's boots echoed loudly upon the smooth tiled floor as he cautiously made his way along the antechamber.

Many murals and busts lined the walls and alcoves on either side but with the light level so low, trying to make out the finer details was difficult. Even so, there was something strange about the artworks. The details that could be deciphered, proved to be highly disconcerting. Impossible geometry and colours made him nauseous while the eyes of the various sculptures and painted characters followed Locke's progress with an eerie degree of interest.

Disregarding the paraphernalia surrounding him, Locke swept his surroundings, probing the gloom for any danger whilst his muscles tensed at the prospect of violence. The whole time his heart hammered inside his chest. It took a large amount of effort on his part to control his breathing, taking short quick breaths as he tried to minimise the sound he emitted.

As he neared the light source, Locke held his bastard sword in a low guard close to his chest, if any fiends from the shadows wished to harass him they would be met with cold steel. Entering through the grand doorway, he came upon a colossal room with a high vaulted ceiling that stretched so far up as to be completely hidden by the cloying gloom.

The first thing he noticed were the long vertical windows at the far side of the chamber that ran across the extent of the far wall. Each one stretched high up the wall before ending in pointed gothic arches.

Outside was a view unlike any other he had yet seen; a swirling crimson cosmos, a myriad of all the colours in the rainbow and many more besides that. It was like gazing out into the majesty of creation itself as planets, stars, nebulas, and galaxies merrily danced across the void.

The light from this glorious display of celestial bodies played itself out across the onyx-coloured floor which he inspected the ground with shameless fascination. The smooth shiny black tiles were immaculate and so pristine in their cleanliness that he could see his own shadowy reflection in them.

In spite of the shimmering otherworldly wonder playing outside the great windows, the darkness still held sway, only tolerating the barest amount of light into its lair. However, what truly caught Locke's attention was a lone silhouetted figure, robed and hooded, gazing out of the window in the same way that Locke had done.

The figure, although turned away, was standing at the centre most window; his hands clasped behind his back in a classic military-style parade stance. Even at this distance, the guardsman could still sense the aura of command and control given off by the figure like the heat from a fire.

Locke sheathed his blade respectfully as he edged his way into the massive gallery, keeping his hand upon his sword pommel. Walking along the raised platform, he came to a short flight of steps which led to the main viewing platform on which the figure stood.

He hated how loud his footfalls appeared, cringing as the sound echoed around what he now surmised must be the bridge of some sort of ship. Nonetheless, the man did not react to his arrival, evidently too intent on the magnificent view beyond.

As he drew closer to the figure, he saw that the man wasn't alone; a glossy raven perched was on his shoulder. When Locke drew too close, the avian creature turned to meet his approach, where it then pecked absently at its feathers. It studied him with dark beady eyes, inclining its head to the side as it did so.

Although it was just a bird, Locke found himself captivated by its glare as if he was being judged by the small creature. Suddenly, catching him completely off-guard, the raven released a single high-pitched squawk. With just a few flaps of its wings, it sailed up towards the ceiling in a cloud of falling feathers, where it swiftly became one with the impenetrable darkness.

Unnerved by this, but pushing forward regardless, he moved closer towards the silhouetted man who as-of-yet remained still.

"H-hello?" Locke asked, his voice seeming tiny in the great expanse.

"Hello Tomas, so glad that you could finally join me." The stranger replied, refusing to turn around and face him. His voice was deep, confident but above all, precise in his intonation.

"Do I know you?" Locke's voice was still trembling with uncertainty.

"No… but I know you. In fact, it could be said I know you better than you know yourself." The figure stated flatly. A look of bewilderment distorted Locke's features as he tried to comprehend the meaning of this stranger's words.

"Uhh okay." He replied, unsure of what to make of this stranger. "W-well you know my name, what's yours? "

"My name wouldn't mean a thing to the likes of you. Were you to learn it, your mind would crack like an egg, leaving you as a blind gibbering wreck. In time, I may give you a name that your ignorant mental faculties can comprehend, but now is not that time." The stranger declared, a clear note of superiority in his tone.

"I… see." There was a pregnant pause as a large asteroid passed close-by, trailing a black shadow across the floor as it flew across the window panels. Once it had passed, the stranger spoke up again.

"Do you know what triality means?" The stranger asked innocently. Locke confused by the sudden change of subject flitted through his mind to give some sort of answer.

"Can't say that I do." Was about all that he could manage. The mental image of Doric with his face in the palm of his hand came to mind.

The stranger groaned, openly disappointed by Locke's answer. "Triality is the mathematical term which describes the relationship of three different vector spaces commonly referred to as 'X','Y' and 'Z'."

The guardsman, never the best at maths, simply nodded for him to continue. He detected a more cogent point to this explanation.

"This term can be applied to other things as well. In reality, it can be attributed to anything that has a relationship of three different parts. However, for us, I am speaking of the universal triality of the fighting-man... sometimes known as the 'Soldier's Trinity'. Surely, given your experience, you know what the three facets of that trinity are?"

"Gonna have to let you down again there." Locke shrugged disinterestedly as he looked around at their surroundings.

"This is a poor first impression Tomas. The three characteristics are as follows: The Warrior – Honourable, Courageous, Passionate. The Killer – Precise, Unfeeling, Efficient. The Coward – Fearful, Useless, Weak." The way the stranger seemed to emphasise the word 'weak' made Locke pause.

"Sorry mate, but you've lost-"

The stranger harrumphed loudly, interrupting Locke mid-sentence. "Spare me your colloquial dribble. I am no friend of yours." The silhouetted figure asserted harshly. In that moment, it felt as if all the warmth, what little there was, flooded out of the room as the darkness crept closer. "For how can I be friends with someone who lately has shown nothing but the aspect of 'The Coward'?"

Locke was quick to respond. "What! I am no coward! Who are you to make such claims?" He raised his voice in indignation.

"A humble observer." The figure said in a wistful voice. "From what I've seen of you recently; you've shown naught but cowardice. A miserable failure, temporarily obscured by a quick smile and a friendly façade." His voice calm and collected, completely ignoring the guardsman's outburst. "But we both know there is more to you than that, don't we?"

As if he had been slapped by the God-Emperor himself, Locke was left utterly shocked by this shadowy character's description of him. "And what evidence do you base this on?" He demanded, pointing his hand while the other rested atop his sword's pommel.

"The evidence is all around us." The strange explained calmly, finally unclasping his hands and raising them wide over his head; his murky fingers splayed out. "Were you not the one who fled and ran back to the monastery leaving your comrades behind to die in that forsaken forest?

"I had orders!"

"Did you now? Did you really? It's a funny thing, battle. In the heat of it, a mind will often try to find an excuse to avoid the prospect of conflict. Whatever increases the chances of survival. What do you honestly remember of that forest ambush?"

Unsteadied by the man's question, he went back through his memory to the ambush in the woodland. The images were blurred; time sped up and slowed down in equal measure. One moment he was behind a tree firing back at the xeno invaders and the next he was on Fury riding away as fast as he could.

"No…" He blinked in confusion. "I'm sure… I-I was told to go." He stated, scratching his head as the foundation of his personal image was shaken.

"Was it not you, who fled from the monastery as soon as the battle began, leaving friends you've known for so long to fight on without you as you made your escape?" The stranger questioned him mercilessly, ignoring Locke's ramblings.

"That wasn't my fault!" The guardsman growled, a hint of steel tainting his voice. "I-I was tricked a-and then I was whisked away. "

"Hmmm, were you? Think!"

The rattle of gunfire, explosions lighting up the forest. Guardsman being cut down left and right; blood, blood everywhere. The adrenaline, the fear all working in tandem. Tapia was down, Brandr was hit. His mind flashed as he took him back to the first aid station. His memory blinked again, he was on the steps of the dais with the artefact. He was trying to get Adept Doric to flee with him and then that Eldar interrupted his plans.

"No! That isn't how it happened! It can't be! I'd never leave my friends willingly. I wouldn't! This isn't right!" Locke shouted pressing his hands to his skull, his head throbbed with a crushing headache.

"What have you done to my memory!" The guardsman exclaimed. The silhouetted stranger hadn't moved, his back still facing the shaken soldier.

The stranger unperturbed, continued his list of allegations like an inquisitor trying to squeeze the guilt out of a doomed innocent.

"Was it not you who allied yourself to a xeno despite the fact that not moments before you witnessed your own countrymen being slaughtered wholesale by members of that very same race." The stranger interjected, his tone dripping with derision.

"Did you not do so with the purpose of warding off your own insecurities, ultimately to save your own skin?" The stranger ended his tirade to which Locke had no answer. Everything he had stated struck too close to home.

"You know nothing about me!" Locke snarled, waving his hand dismissively, refusing to believe the shadowy figure's depiction of events. It was clear to both of them that his words lacked conviction.

"I see, well then allow me to introduce you to those who do. Let us see what they think." The stranger said, finally turning around. The guardsman glared at the stranger's face which was still unnaturally hidden by the darkness except for his glowing amber eyes. It was almost painful to stare into those golden orbs as they were filled with unbridled malice and a cunning intellect.

As if on que, ghostly pale-blue apparitions appeared above them. Locke recognised them immediately; his family, his section and many more besides that.

So many people that he knew from different times of his life. Some dead and some still living. All of their ghoulish features upturned in disgust as they stared down at him. The sheer look of disappointment in their eyes was enough to force Locke to involuntarily take several steps backward.

"What is this devilry?" Locke asked, wide-eyed with terror.

Ignoring his question, one of the ghouls spoke. "Tom, why'd you do it?" The apparition of his Father was the first to break the silence.

Recovering his wits, Locke responded to the saddened words of the old man, "Dad please, you don't understand-"

"No… I do understand, I understand I've raised a turncoat, a weakling, a xeno-lover." Tears rolled down the man's ghostly cheeks, each word difficult for him to even utter. "From now on, I have no son!" He affirmed austerely; the ghost of his mother started to weep as he led her away, both of them vanishing into the aether.

That declaration from the man who had raised and loved him felt like a punch to the gut, Locke didn't even register that he had dropped to his knees, his arms wrapped around his stomach. He stared up at the floating ghost of his sister, her piercing gaze stung like physical blow while blue tears ran down her cheeks. "How could you? Don't come home, I never want to see you again!" She wailed as she too turned and vanished before he could reply.

"No! Cora, please! Come back! Mam! Dad! Please, don't go! Don't leave me here…I-I'm sorry." Locke pleaded to the empty air as tears of his own started to fall.

It felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, a bleak sickness taking hold in his belly. The other ghosts up above surrounded him and soon one by one started spouting their own vitriol. Brandr, Elis, Kern, Tapia, Jaxx and Daud derided him loudly and viciously.

"Where were you Locke?" Elis demanded, her sorrow saturating each word as she wandered away before evaporating into the air.

"You treacherous bastard! You left us to die, you deserve to rot!" Jaxx shouted. Tapia couldn't meet his eye, opting instead to link arms with Jaxx as they turned away and disappeared.

"I've met some slippery two-faced pieces o' shit in my time but never in me wildest dreams did I think I'd say the same 'bout you." Kern muttered, the big man clearly hurt by Locke's imagined wrongdoing.

Daud's ghost, hunched over in grief merely shook his head and left without a word but it was Brandr's accusation that hurt most out of all of his squad mates.

"You an' me known each other since the beginnin'. You were my brother Tom! No more though, the sight of ya makes me sick!" He said, voice cracking under the emotional whiplash as he too shook his head and spat. The wad of ectoplasm landing just in front of the dishevelled soldier. He was the last out of all his section to vanish.

"Oh Locke, you were such a good lad, but you've gone so far astray. You have left the path of the righteous to wander in the darkness. You are lost my poor boy, beyond the Emperor's light as is the fate of all those who willingly align themselves with the alien." Reverend Robynsun Intoned, the friendly old priest of Locke's village church. A sad smile plastered on his face while tears pricked his eyes. He loitered for a few moments before disappearing too.

"I should 'a let ya die on Asturia. Nev'r thought you'd turn out like this, let the Abyss take you, I say!" Sergeant Juron spat, revulsion etched across his pale-blue visage as his form dissolved into the air. One by one the remaining ghouls verbally lashed out at the broken kneeling guardsman who sobbed openly into his hands.

Eventually they all disappeared, leaving him and the silhouetted figure. "Very interesting, wouldn't you say?" He asked, cheerful as he rubbed verbal salt into the emotional wounds of the tormented guardsman.

"Shut ya fuckin' mouth!" Locke bellowed blinking away the tears; his voice unsteadied by the crushing judgment of his friends and loved ones.

"What a solid response." The sarcasm was thick in the shadow's tone.

"I said enough! Not one more fuckin' word!" The psychologically crippled soldier screamed.

"Or you'll do what?" The silhouetted figure scorned him further. Locke's eyes narrowed, pushing his feelings of shame, guilt, and betrayal away, leaving only the ones that assisted in the acts of violence.

He was done playing this creature's game. Blinded by rage, he leapt up off the floor, drawing his sword in a flash of silver steel and charged towards his mysterious tormentor. He aimed his blade low, hoping to impale the shadowy bastard in the stomach. At the last moment, just as he closed within a metre of the silhouetted figure, the stranger moved like lightning to meet him with his own blade drawn.

The clanging of steel echoed around the bridge, Locke's eyes growing wide as his blade struck the stranger's own weapon, that until now, had been hidden away beneath his robes. The two beings were then gripped in a contest of crossed swords, their faces inches apart.

"Ahhh, so you do have an ounce of mettle about you. Good!" He said, goading the guardsman into even greater levels of anger. Locke using all his strength, pushed the silhouetted man backwards. Much to his annoyance, the stranger flew away from Locke's onslaught and landed gracefully on the polished tilework.

The guardsman wasted no time in storming towards him, throwing attack after attack at the enigmatic figure. The stranger countered each and every blow with comfortable ease, although he still allowed himself to be pushed back, not bothering to go on the offensive.

The two of them clashed endlessly, silhouetted against the grand windows while the cosmos continued its business blissfully unaware of the fight that was taking place. Every time the blades clanged together; sparks flew, temporarily lighting up the area around them.

Anger continued to bubble up through Locke as his frustration mounted. He just couldn't seem to hit this sinister bastard. He thrust again with his sword, aiming to spear the stranger at the centre of his chest, but was denied. The stranger blocked, and half-heartedly reposted which forced Locke to retreat momentarily. It was like the stranger couldn't even be bothered to fight. It crossed his mind that this thing was just toying with him, which only served to intensify his fury.

With his vision turning red, Locke with renewed ferocity rained blow after blow on his unknown opponent. In response, the stranger either blocked, parried, or dodged with perfect form and precision. Whenever the stranger did engage and counterattack, he continually scored hits upon Locke's torso, arms, and legs. Soon enough, a myriad of non-lethal cuts adorned his body, the wounds stinging as sweat inadvertently ran into them.

"Is this all the challenge you can offer? Pathetic!" The stranger taunted, his evil eyes grinning in delight as he blocked another one of the guardsman's sword swings. Locke hated this creature more than anything he'd ever known.

Gripping his bastard sword in a two-handed grip, he swung the blade continually at his opponent; using it more like a club than an actual sword; all finesse and form disappeared. The desire to maim and kill overruling any conscious effort to stay true to correct sword play.

He hammered at his opponent's defences in much the same way artillery pounds on the walls of a city. However, it seemed that the mysterious being found this even easier to counter as he used the guardsman's strength and energy against him, reflecting and redirecting his wild and misjudged attacks.

Twice, Locke found himself severely over-stretched, allowing the stranger to casually step inside his sword arc and clout him in the face with his fist. The second time he pulled this trick, he broke the soldier's nose, causing blood to trickle down his face and jaw.

Locke moaned at the explosion of agony and withdrew away from his opponent, clutching his face and panting heavily. His sword felt slippery in his grip. At first he assumed it to just be sweat but the light streaming in from the window revealed the truth as red liquid glinted off the handle. Blood was weeping all over the soldier as the pain finally caught up with him, wracking his body like a ship caught out in a storm.

Blinded in one eye due to an excess of blood pouring into it from a cut to the forehead. Locke focused his attention back on the stranger who was appraising his deft handiwork like an artist staring at his latest masterpiece.

The comparison between the two fighters could not have been more one sided, even if they had tried. Locke covered in cuts, bleeding all over, exhausted and panting like a dog. The stranger, standing confidently in his bearing, untouched by any of Locke's attacks and still fresh for the fight. His amber eyes were overjoyed by his assured victory and the prolonged suffering of the guardsman.

"Shall we finish this Tomas?" The shadowy figure enquired sardonically. In response, Locke spat a glob of bloody spit in his general direction. "I'll take that as a yes." The stranger laughed as he paced boldly towards him, his sword raised for the attack.

It was as if a switch had been flipped inside the stranger's mind. His onslaught was unbearably fast, no more was he refusing to go on the offensive. The laziness that had accompanied his reposts and parries evaporated.

Locke was unable to weather the storm of steel that the stranger unleashed on him and was soon forced backwards only just managing to block a swing aimed for his leg. The stranger, thrust, sliced, and stabbed with his wicked blade which the guardsman only just managed to deflect and evade.

The stranger, switching tactics; swung his sword from low-to-high in a diagonal slash that would have opened up the soldier's chest cavity. As Locke desperately tried to meet the blow with his own blade, the stranger feinted. In a lightning-fast jab, the stranger used his free hand and struck Locke in the face with such force that the soldier stumbled away. Any bystanders would have considered a miracle that he'd managed to keep his footing.

There would be no let-up. The battle continued; the stranger chipped away at the guardsman's defences and resolve, taking him apart piece by piece. Although the mysterious being did find that the soldier had a few tricks of his own.

Locke using an unorthodox use of footwork managed to sidestep a lunge. Seizing the momentum, he counter attacked in a swift flurry of jabs and slashes. He almost managed to score a blow on the stranger's shoulder but was blocked at the last minute by the silhouetted figure's blade.

Locke in a last-ditch effort tried to disarm his opponent. Unfortunately, this backfired catastrophically as their swords danced in a circling motion. The stranger's blade moved like a blur and found an opening. The sword sliced through the meat of Locke's arm, severing it completely.

Locke screamed as he reeled away, but was brutally thrown to the ground by a flying kick from the silhouetted man. His ribs cracked from the blow as he was sent sprawling to the floor. The guardsman writhed in agony, clutching his bloody stump that pumped out thick crimson blood between his fingers.

The stranger leisurely walked over to the ruined soldier and began to laugh hideously as Locke, like a dying animal caught in an ambush, attempted to edge away from him.

"Now that was truly entertaining, wouldn't you say?" The stranger asked, the humorous tone still evident.

"I-I'll… k-kill… you!" Locke whimpered, staring defiantly back at the looming shadow. The stranger chuckled even more as he spun his bloodied blade in an impressive display before sheathing it.

"I admire your optimism, but I do not think you realise what you are truly dealing with." The stranger professed snidely as he raised his arms in front of him. At first, Locke wasn't sure what was happening, but it became devastatingly clear as he began to float off the floor. Suspended like a puppet on a string while his blood dripped onto the once immaculate floor beneath him.

"How about a demonstration?" The stranger said with a dark grin. Before Locke could even give an answer, he was sent hurtling across the chamber to the far-off wall. He tumbled, end-over-end, in a silent unseen tornado, the room flashing by in a blur.

He struck the solid mass with such force that he heard his collar bone and several ribs crack. There was no time to even shriek as he was pulled back by an invisible hand and sent gliding across the floor. The friction produced, burnt the side of his face to a scorched ruin.

He was thrown again. His body rag dolling through the twilight until he struck the wall on the other side of the chamber with a sickening crunch. Pain lanced from all over, it felt like his muscles were being shredded from the inside out.

His body went limp as his back and left leg took the brunt of the impact. The malformed limb that had once been his leg was bent at an unnatural angle while his spine lay broken.

Finally, he was scraped off the wall and launched spinning upwards, higher, and higher before finally smacking into the once-hidden ceiling like a bug crushed under a person's boot. The pressure let up instantly and he was graciously allowed to tumble hundreds of feet unaided, the floor rushing up to meet him.

As he collided with the ground, he felt his insides rupture and pulp. Ribs exploded out of his back, taking many of his internal organs with them. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, the shear agony was even beyond screaming at this point. How he was still alive and able to feel this unbearable torture he did not know.

"Impressed?" The stranger questioned heartlessly. Locke mewled like a dying animal in way of response. Crouching down to the mutilated and broken solider, the stranger gently turned his head so that Locke's eyes were staring directly into the twin suns of his own. "Tell me Tomas, do you fear death?"

With one lung horribly perforated and the other entirely absent from his open leaking chest cavity, he could only gargle incomprehensibly. "I suppose I'll have to ask you some other time. A pity." The stranger said, a hint of irritation at Locke's refusal or more correctly inability to even answer.

"Never mind, till we meet again." Bidding Locke farewell, he patted him on the head. With a single click of his shadowy fingers, the guardsman was thrown bodily towards the nearest of the huge vertical windows.

The glass broke into millions of tiny shards as his crushed form crashed into it. Twirling slowly in the void, pieces of razor-sharp glass punctured and lacerated skin. He would have let out another pitiful moaning sound at this, but he could no longer breath.

Locke drifted through the eternal nocturne of space, broken, and abused while globules of blood trailed after his destroyed body. The last thing he saw before death took him was the glowing green of a stunning nebula and the amber eyes of the stranger, standing proudly before a large, shattered window.


Review Responses:

AncientofDayz – Damn, you got me.

Unionist Minuteman – Thank you very much for your kind words. I had to do quite a bit of reading on the Eldar and went through quite a few drafts before I was happy with the combat scenes. Looks like it paid off. Initially I wanted the Artefact to have a greater role, but I think it's better if I leave warp related shenanigans to later chapters.

Look2019 – Good review!

Shadowfire12 – Oh I see, sorry I misunderstood what you were saying. My apologies for that! A lot of people seem to say that my story feels different, I'm not really sure how truthful that is but I'm happy that so many feel that way. Say no more mate, you come for the character interaction unfortunately there isn't much in this one, but I imagine it'll increase in the coming chapters. Glad that you're enjoying it as always.

Opaque-Cavalier – Wow, now that is high praise indeed! I spend a lot of time on my chapters editing them and adding to them which is probably why they take so long and to see that it actually pays off is really rewarding. Yes, I agree, I think Locke and Aristriel will get quite attached to one other over the course of their journey. As for the ending, I'm in two minds. I've got a really dark ending that I could use which would be more appropriate for 40K, but I know it would irritate people, but I've also got a brighter, more bittersweet ending I could use. I'll have to see which one I go for.

The Inquisitor – You'll have to wait and see.

Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R – At first I thought about doing the whole project, I imagined using 'love at first sight' nonsense but I've found that so many other authors have used that trope for GuardxEldar that I decided to go with the grittier 'forced together by circumstance' type deal. I think I made the right choice and I'm glad that you agree.

Aaron Black – Uhhh, nope.

John Legend – Indeed, he is quite the scally wag of a guardsman. Yes, I looked at yours and a few others and decided to do a bit of research on Eldar and how they're depicted in the lore. I'm glad you like my interpretation of the various fighting styles. Haha I wondered how many people who pick that reference out.

York52 – Indeed although originally it was supposed to just be one chapter but I kept adding to it until eventually it ended up as being two chapter's worth of material.

Guest – Iggy Pop is a very good song, agreed.

Guest – Yes, I'm a slow writer and I like to take my time. Glad that you're enjoying it.

Guest – Well, the story has only just got going so all I can really say is be patient. The problem with the whole grimdark thing is that the story still has to be somewhat believable and immersive. Often I find that writers who really pile on the Grimdark of the setting end up making the world building complete nonsense or a complete joke. Now I do have a few horrible things planned over the course of the story but like I've previously said, you're going to have to wait. I don't know, maybe this chapter will satisfy your hunger for grimdark? Anyway, I'm glad you are enjoying my story in some capacity.

hapyjohn – Thank you kindly