Hello! I once again find myself overestimating how much I can actually put into an entire chapter as I really wanted it to be further along than it is… oh well. This is quite an action-packed segment, but I'm aiming to have things slow down for a bit in the upcoming chapters (hopefully released at Christmas). Over the next few days, I'm also going to update my previous chapters as well, so keep an eye out.

Edit (22/12/2020) - Just finished revising all chapters and I'm burnt out. New chapters will come in the new year, apologies.

Song of the day: Through the Fire and Flames – DragonForce


Chapter 15 – The Mountain's Wrath

The guardsman turned a corner, trailing a thin cloud of flour in his wake as he passed through another empty hallway. Their urgency was born from the need to escape, the greenskins had reached the comms station and it was now only a matter of time before they were upon them.

Locke had no intention of ending up as ork bait and so ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his feet pounding on the metal plated floor as he and his companion sprinted towards the warehouse. Remembering the facility layout, Locke knew that only a few more corridors separated them from their destination.

A sudden explosion ripped him away from his thoughts as the subsequent tremor shook the steel structure which caused him to stumble. Luckily for him, he was not alone. Before he had the chance to fall sprawling to the hard floor, Locke was steadied by his howling banshee ally who slowed and lent the soldier her arm; allowing him to regain his balance.

The guardsman gave her a nod of thanks, not bothering to wait for a response as the sounds of heavy sporadic gunfire and bestial shouts reverberated towards them. Hearing the sound of further explosions, albeit less strong than the initial salvo, the eldar halted and cast a look back the way they had come. Locke paused a few paces behind her, turning back to see the eldar's shoulders go taut at the prospect of violence. For a terrifying moment he thought she was going to draw her sword to meet the yet-unseen enemy.

Locke shook his head at the folly of such an idea, although when he considered the xeno's previous actions, he felt a dark temptation to slip away and abandon her. However, he resisted the urge and after a split-second of hesitation, he let the feeling slip away.

Like it or not, regardless of their misdeeds towards one another, they were in this thing together now. Although, to what end, was a question that Locke was still unable to answer. Noticing her hand slip towards her sword, Locke reached forward and grabbed it before the aspect warrior could do anything rash.

The eldar tensed up at the unexpected contact, her helmet flicking towards him in alarm as she hissed her disapproval. The guardsman duly ignored her complaints, tugging her away. Despite the banshee's annoyance, she seemed to accept the wisdom of his actions and allowed herself to be pulled along as they resumed their dash towards the storage area.

However, no matter how much ground they covered, the endless chorus of battle that echoed behind them did not dissipate and only seemed to grow in volume with every step. His heart hammered inside his chest as Locke felt his limbs begin to shake from the influx of adrenaline; the neurochemical adding momentum to his flight as it flowed freely through his veins.

After turning yet another corner, the soldier nearly ran face first into a sealed pair of blast doors that blocked their path. Thus, their journey through those shadowy and claustrophobic corridors ultimately came to an end. The guardsman released the xeno's hand as he looked upwards at the symbols above the entranceway. A building in the shape of a hollow trapezium filled with several boxes. Locke recognised the sign instantly, the storeroom!

Without a second thought, Locke turned to the entrance terminal and slammed the door panel with the bottom of his fist. A tense moment followed but it appeared that the cog boys' deity had taken pity on their plight, rewarding the two intruders with the shunting gasp of sliding doors.

A sigh of relief escaped the guardsman's lips at the wondrous sight of the bulkhead opening before them. They both stepped inside promptly, the xeno moving on ahead of him and into the building's interior whilst he turned about and interrogated the door panel.

Locke spared the previous hallway one last look; he was half-expecting to see a feral savage screaming for his head at any second. Thankfully, none appeared as the blast doors closed, the thick panels producing a soft thump as they came back together. Paranoid by the ease of access of the entryway, the soldier refused to leave anything to chance. Prying off the terminal cover, he ripped out the internal wiring in a brief shower of sparks.

Good luck getting through that, ya ork bastards! He thought with a smirk, although, as he considered it, the greenskins probably wouldn't mind smashing the bulkhead into scrap metal anyway. After all, senseless destruction was what the savages lived for.

Following after his comrade, he stepped through a short passageway which opened out into a huge structure. The first thing he observed was the sudden change in the sound of his footfalls. The usual clanking resonance had been replaced by a hard-tapping noise as his boots struck solid rockrete rather than steel panelling.

The second thing he noticed was the slight but noticeable drop in temperature; a prelude of things to come no doubt. The thought of going back outside sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, remembering the ghostly sensation of frost on his extremities. The splintering of wood brought Locke's gaze up as he witnessed the banshee unceremoniously slice a wooden door to ribbons.

Well, that's one way to do it. He snorted while the aspect warrior, eager to pillage and plunder, hurried into what would have been the overseer's office. The eldar showed no mercy to the bureau's contents; she blew through the small chamber in a tornado of papers, data slates and gutted draws.

Like a bull in a ceramic shop. He mused as the xeno stalked deeper into the office and out of sight; obviously in search of anything she deemed useful.

He decided to leave her to her looting spree and went on to explore the forest of tall shelves that took up a large portion of the warehouse's interior. After descending a short flight of steps that ran past the office, he found himself completely overshadowed by the huge storage frames that stretched up toward the corrugated ceiling.

Up over head, he could see lofty ceiling lights that lit up the commodious structure along with a now-inactive indoor crane, slowly rusting away on its rails due to neglect and idleness. Steel beams, gantries and walkways were interlaced like a spider's web high above along the jagged roof of the warehouse.

Returning his attention back to ground level, he wandered down one of the aisles that separated the storage frames. He couldn't help but feel a degree of claustrophobia in amongst the tight lanes which could have been no more than three feet wide at their widest point.

Examining the inventory stacked all around him, it appeared that whoever had been in charge of the facility's stock had crammed as much as possible into the storehouse. Every single shelf was full to bursting with a huge assortment of paraphernalia stuffed inside boxes, crates, sacks and dumpy bags.

The guardsman was no stevedore, but even he found the lack of professionalism on display to be rather off-putting. Gazing around him, he surmised that transporting goods must have been a nightmare for those employed to do such a task within the confined environment of the warehouse.

All the while, the amateur thief inside him, a sad side-effect of full-time soldiery, pushed him to plunder as much as he could. Still, the collection of contents was so vast that he was hesitant to give anything more than a cursory glance, lest he waste what little time they had on a futile search.

When he heard the tapping of glass, he whipped round and looked up to see the xeno looking down at him through one of the office's picture windows. Once she had the guardsman's attention, she held up what looked like a power pack for his lamp, pointing at it with her free hand as if to say, 'is this any good?'

Pleased by her find, Locke gave her a thumbs up which she accepted with a nod. Continuing his study of the shelves' innards, Locke made his way towards the far end of the building where he was joined shortly afterwards by his alien companion.

Guess she must have picked the office clean. He chuckled inwardly as she began to pry off the lid of a nearby crate.

Locke couldn't fault her for her rambunctious behaviour; with so many things to investigate the guardsman silently cursed himself for not coming here first. They had little time left and necessity was pushing them towards their final departure before the comms station was completely overwhelmed. He doubted that the automated defences of this place were sufficient enough to drive back a tribe of orks, but they would buy them some time at least.

As he drew closer to the end of the aisle, he noticed that the room opened out again. Leaving the xeno to ransack a few more boxes, he left the morass of jam-packed metal frames behind as he walked around the manufactured clearing. Judging by the stacks of spare parts and the empty rig, he concluded that this part of the warehouse was some sort of garage workshop.

After a few visual sweeps, Locke couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment at the dismal surroundings. He had come to this place, risking further entanglement with the orks, for a very specific reason.

The guardsman desperately sought after some means of transport, but after looking around the empty motor pool it appeared that he would be left wanting. Locke wasn't asking for much, it didn't have to be one of the Mechanicus's God Machines or even a Chimera for that matter. All it needed to be was fast and have a decent operational range. Frankly, he'd take anything mechanised, simply to give his legs some much needed rest.

Hell! At this point, I'd even accept a pink tricycle with tassels on. Locke joked bitterly as he looked up at the ceiling. These things are sent to try us… but why me? He sighed, dragging both of his hands down his face. Bloody sick of it. Emperor haven't I done enough? The God-Emperor remained silent, leaving Locke's plea unanswered. The dejected guardsman lowered his gaze in defeat and cast it around.

At the exact moment Locke was about to return to the banshee, he suddenly spied a large object covered in a tarpaulin that was wedged tight up against a workbench. At first, he had discounted it as just another piece of machinery or furniture, but noticing the sleek lines underneath the cover; the soldier gathered that couldn't be the case. His hopefulness rose and he wasted no time in hurrying over to the hidden device, almost daring to dream what it might be.

Moment of truth. Locke thought as he gripped the cover with both hands.

In a flutter of canvas that sent up a cloud of dust, Locke could have jumped for joy when he clapped eyes on what lay underneath. A type of ice cruiser, big enough for both himself and the xeno to ride on, with its key dangling seductively from the ignition.

"E-Emperor be praised!" He intoned, making the sign of the aquila in a show of gratitude after his previous remark. "Xeno! Get your arse over here!" Locke shouted towards her now hidden position amongst the stacked items.

He studied the vehicle from rear to nose, wiping away any errant dust as he checked the dormant machine over and was satisfied to find it in reasonable condition. It was a squat yet sleek machine, around ten feet in length. The front part of the vehicle sat on two forward mounted skis while a twin pair of caterpillar tracks, located at its aft section, propelled it across ice and snow.

Locke grimaced at the open cockpit, taking little comfort in the dingy windshield that would be their only protection from the elements. Still, he wasn't at liberty to complain, it certainly beat walking by a large margin.

After finishing his inspection, the guardsman's view then swept round to the great sliding doors of the hangar which rattled gently from the wind outside. Locke's morale continued to rise when he saw that the gate was kept secure by a mere chain and padlock.

Xeno's sword should make short work of that. He knew with a confident look.

Their means of escape that Locke had been longing for, now sat just in front of them. The eldar joined him a few minutes later, cradling a few things in her arms. Carried in the crook of her upper limbs were two power packs for his lamp, as well as several more ration packs and a flare gun with a few spare rounds.

"Nice find lass, good work!" Locke beamed at their good fortune. "Now have a look at this!" he said, presenting his treasure for her examination which must have lasted no more than three seconds.

Unperturbed by her strange attitude, he continued his spiel; outright refusing to let his spirits be dampened.

"Ya know what this is, lass?" The soldier asked with a frustrated smirk; gesturing with both hands towards the ice cruiser. "It's our ticket out o' this mess!" He replied for her, his tone softening as he stroked the vehicle's hide like it were a beloved pet.

Neither his discovery nor his elation elicited much of a reaction from the stoic alien. From Locke's point of view, she appeared wholly disinterested in his find, merely offering the vehicle another quick look.

"Typical woman; never satisfied with anythin'." He muttered under his breath. Nonetheless the eldar still picked up on his disparaging tone, earning him a hard stare which he returned in kind.

"Now, would you do the honours and get rid of that damned padlock for us?" He asked, breaking the stalemate as he pointed his thumb towards the bound chain. "Ice cruiser's no good if we can't get it out o' here."

The xeno pushed her personal thoughts aside and nodded, striding with purpose towards the hangar doors but not before violently shoving the scrounged goods into the guardsman's chest.

Locke gasped as the wind was driven from his lungs by her brutal transference, barely able to grumble a single curse at her as she walked away.

Damn alien, she'll be the death of me. The soldier thought, failing to see the irony in his statement, as he took a moment to recover. Ignoring their little spat, he then removed his pack and crouched down with the kitbag between his legs. Where, in a practiced motion, he carried out the dull task of shoving the newly acquired items into his pack.

The flare gun was the last item to go in. However, in a last-minute change of mind, Locke decided it would be best kept in a convenient spot which happened to be in one of his webbing pouches, mounted on his left side.

Besides, while the signal pistol was not a true weapon in its own right, it could certainly cause a harsh burn to anything unlucky enough to be struck by one of the phosphorus shells. There was of course an ulterior motive for his decision. Locke loathed to admit it, but he had felt somewhat naked without his trusty lasrifle. At least now with his newly commandeered flare gun, that feeling of vulnerability dissipated a bit.

While Locke busied himself with storing their latest goods, he heard the familiar buzzing noise of the banshee's power sword as it ignited. A brief high-pitched sizzle followed shortly afterwards along with the metallic ringing of a chain hitting the floor. Hoisting his kit back onto his shoulders, he turned to face the alien while the now-glowing red padlock and chain lay in a lump at her feet.

Sheathing her sword, the banshee beckoned to him with a wave of her hand which quickly morphed into a pointing gesture directed towards the hangar doors. Locke understood what she meant immediately, but before he could even take a step to assist, the sound of hammering steel and muffled roars suddenly filled the warehouse. The guardsman's blood ran cold as he gazed back in the direction of the bulkhead, now hidden by the packed storage units.

They were so close; Locke knew those blast doors wouldn't hold for long against ork aggression and sheer bloody mindedness. With the promise of death looming ever closer, he joined his companion and pressed his calloused hands to the basic handle of the tall roller door.

Locke failed to suppress the shiver as he felt the cold which was barely held at bay by the thin polymer material. The two of them grunted with effort as the rollers at the base of the entranceway, starved of lubricating oil and partly frozen by the low temperature, let loose a metallic wail.

The driving wind cut him to the bone as the gate began to open. The cold latched onto him once more like a needy lover, although, due to their current predicament he barely even registered the icy embrace. The heat of his aching limbs and the fear of the foes behind them had a complete monopoly over his attention.

Locke gritted his teeth as he threw everything he had into forcing the hangar door aside; spurred on by his will to survive. Inch by inch, the pair of them forced the great gate open far enough so that there was sufficient clearance for the ice cruiser.

Their success came not a moment too soon as the sound of tortured metal grew in intensity until the guardsman almost mistook it for the nostalgic noise of his Dad's forge. He was only snapped out of his reverie when the hammering ended abruptly with a single loud boom and the exultant screams of greenskin fanatics.

Needing no further encouragement, Locke ran back to the vehicle and mounted the saddle of the ice cruiser with haste. The eldar, copying his example, jumped aboard behind him, fastening her arms around his waist. The unwarranted intimacy made him jolt in surprise, but he knew he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the warmth of her arms around his mid-section.

"Don't get too carried away now, no idea if this thing even works." He said nervously, looking at her from over his shoulder. Facing back to his front, he eyed the key which was waiting patiently in the ignition slot.

Our last hope. He reached down and turned the mechanism as far as it would go while crossing his fingers for luck.

The engine, not expecting the sudden call to action, sputtered for a few seconds until it swelled with a great howl, releasing a torrent of pent-up fumes from its exhaust. During this brief moment of reprieve, the soldier's nostrils filled with the choking aroma of burnt promethium while he rejoiced in the reassuring vibrations of the idling engine beneath him. His contentment did not last however, as he was now faced with another problem; he had no idea how to make the damn thing move forward.

Ah, fuck me, was about the only thought his now panicking mind could conjure up. Hunching down, his eyes roamed frantically over the various levers, meters, pedals, switches, and buttons. All the while, his companion kept nudging his spine with ever increasing frequency and force.

In the end, unable to ignore her warnings any longer, he sat up and spun around. Feeling his eyes bore into her, she ceased her zealous prodding and pointed at the stacked shelves toppling over. The culprits of such devastation were the hulking figures of the ork boys, who were barrelling after them.

"Yeah Xeno, I know!" Locke cried, losing his temper as the stress of the situation mounted with frightening speed.

The eldar's shoulder slumped in utter disbelief as her respirator blew out a stream of vapour. "Don't give me that look! Can't be that hard to get this bucket o' bolts movin'!" Locke assured her with an exasperated voice, his hands roving madly over the vehicle's controls as he tried everything he could think of.

Fortunately, for the both of them, the momentum of the ork's advance was slowed significantly by the confined surroundings. Shelves started collapsing as the greenskins, using the bulk of their bodies, forced their way through amongst a cacophony of clattering debris. The smaller greenskin creatures, known as gretchin, rather than try to muscle their way against their larger cousins, instead climbed up the dishevelled storage units.

Not before long, the floor was almost entirely lost to view as the area became littered with jumbled boxes, crates, and the destroyed remnants of store frames. Nevertheless, this proved detrimental to the greenskin's goal as a large stretch of the warehouse became a jumbled ruin; created from their own heavy-handed clumsiness. Loud grunts and feral curses soon filled the building as their legs became frequently tangled up in the piles of refuse.


Aristriel released her grip on the soldier's fatigues, swivelling around as she watched the ork warriors shamble closer towards them. There were a lot of them, far too many to take on in a fair fight. Still, she was a Howling Banshee and if her fate were to end here then she would meet it as every aspect warrior should.

Readying her power sword, she stood tall as she hopped up onto the saddle. Aristriel faced off against the oncoming horde amidst her silent prayers that urged for her foolish companion to get the blasted contraption moving. To die in a place that stank of stale air, rusting steel and industrial fluids was far beneath someone of her prowess.

Unbeknownst to the banshee, her skills would soon be pushed to the limit. One of the more cunning greenskins had decided on a different approach to attack the immobilised duo. Climbing up a wall mounted ladder, he found himself on a lofty gantry far above the industrial quagmire that his barbaric brethren were struggling through. The clever ork bounded along the walkway until he had a clear line of sight on the two fugitives that lay beneath him.

Detecting danger, Aristriel's gaze trailed upwards where she locked eyes on one of the greenskin gunners who was taking aim with his bulky machine gun. Time slowed to a crawl, she instinctively drew her arm across her body and retracted one of her twin daggers from its arm sheath.

The banshee held the wraith bone knife between her thumb and index finger, steadying her grip whilst she judged the dagger's flight path. The ork gunner above them smiled with pride at an assured kill, letting out a piggish laugh; his body tensed in preparation for the firearm's recoil. Aristriel, sensing that it was now or never, released the dagger with a flick of her arm. A twinge of distaste twisted her lip as she watched the finely crafted blade twirl through the air until it lodged itself in the greenskin's throat.

The savage shuddered from the impact, his eyes growing wide in shock whilst the ramshackle firearm fell away from his lifeless grip. Blood dripped from the ork's perforated gullet as he stumbled backwards over the railing and plummeted to the rockrete floor below. For a second, Aristriel contemplated rushing back to retrieve her treasured blade, but it was too late.

The fractured frontline roved past the dead greenskin, the various ork warriors bellowing their war cries and hefting their weapons as they closed the distance in their loping gait. In the same moment in which she prepared herself for what would be her final stand; the triumphant cheer from the mon'keigh behind her cut through the raucous din.

Her eyebrows rose in realisation, the vibrations and the mechanical growl of the engine growing in intensity, when all at once they sprang forward like a pouncing predator. The mon'keigh had sussed out the operation of the vehicle without a moment to spare as a couple of the ork brutes emerged from the tumultuous wreck of the storage area.

For their trouble, the forwardmost greenskins were doused in snow shooting out from the ice cruiser's revolving caterpillar tracks whilst the vehicle cleared the hangar exit and sped away. The temporarily stunned orks watched the guardsman and banshee escape, their dark beady eyes filled with anger and the promise of violence.

Taken aback by the sudden acceleration, Aristriel was nearly pitched from the cockpit as she fell forwards and clung onto the saddle for dear life. If not for her superior aeldari balance and strength, it is undoubted that she would have been thrown clear of the machine and would now be at the ork's mercy.

Given this mon'keigh's terrible situational awareness, I doubt he would have even noticed until he had reached the next valley. Aristriel smirked as the thought zipped through her mind.

Racing through the snow, leaving a serpentine trail in their wake, they left the stuffy building behind and were launched back into the frozen wasteland they had become so accustomed to. The orks, denied of their prize, snarled in frustration as they gave chase in a futile gesture before being corralled by the various greenskin captains who barked out new orders.

Once they had cleared the warehouse, Aristriel was able to get a look at how the rest of the compound was doing under the ork onslaught. The banshee could see that the perimeter fence around the facility had several large holes gouged out of it while in other places it had been flattened entirely. In truth, the barricade had acted as little more than a speed bump to the rampaging orks.

The station itself was faring no better; plumes of smoke were rising from a multitude of locations across the facility as the greenskins detonated explosives and set anything flammable alight. A few auto-turret positions were still active, given the number of ork bodies strewn around them, but most had already been put out of action.

Many more of the savages could be seen clambering over the various buildings of the compound, ripping the structures apart, piece by piece, with either their bare hands or with cutting torches. The communications array dish, that huge inviting target, was what drew most of the orks' attention, a group of mek boys attacking the doomed piece of equipment with grizzly relish.

Aristriel was not surprised by their actions; this was the way the greenskins functioned. Now that they had found this place, it would only be a matter of time until they turned it into another one of their chaotic scrapyards. A hub of orkish industry that would continuously pump out all sorts of crude and nonsensical equipment, tools, and vehicles for the greenskin war machine.

They truly are the agents of absolute destruction. She commented silently as they glided by the forlorn-looking landing platforms, who were awaiting their turn to be viciously dismantled.

Even as the compound receded away from them, she refused to let her gaze drift from the dying station. The orks would never let them escape that easy; they were far too persistent for that. Sure enough, the banshee was proven correct. Through the haze of frost kicked up by the ice cruiser's tracks, she spotted nearly a dozen war trucks along with a few ork speeder bikes rushing to intercept them.

Their ice cruiser, gradually closing to full-speed, dashed across the snow ahead of their pursuers whilst Aristriel's headdress billowed in the motion-induced breeze. With escape on his mind, the mon'keigh aimed the nose of the craft towards the only point of exit within the frost-covered interior of the caldera. Closing in swiftly, Aristriel was able to get a better look at the collapsed section of the crater which had likely fallen away some eons ago.

The banshee could see the supreme utility in the terrain feature from the Imperial's perspective. The crater breach effectively acted as a funnel for all incoming and out-going aircraft, thus granting an extra layer of security for the station.

By no means was it impossible for enemy flyers to attack from a different direction, but they would be terribly exposed above the facility once they had cleared the sides of the caldera. Perfect targets for the AA cannons and Surface-to-Air missile batteries on the crater periphery; currently rendered harmless and silent without their gun crews and range finders.

Nearing the V-shaped breach, the ground not only began to decline but also grew more and more uneven. The increased vibration of the ice cruiser due to the undulating terrain, prompted Aristriel to embrace the mon'keigh's back for further stability as she swivelled around.

Despite the danger of the situation, she perceived a minor feeling of elation that radiated from the mon'keigh's form. The banshee found herself rather bewildered by this uncalled-for emotion given their current circumstances. A quick glance at his face proved fruitless too; his visage gave nothing away as he concentrated on driving the speeder.

Analysing this wanton emotion, she noted that it was similar to the chemical 'high' generated by the adrenaline from stress, but also markedly different. It was only as they reached the boundary of the wide gap in the crater wall that she recognised that the rapid thrill he felt had come from her touch.

The aspect warrior felt herself go tense in shock which unintentionally drew the guardsman's attention; the pressure of her arms wrapped around his torso having increased. The eldar refused to meet his brief gaze, instead choosing to shoo the concerned human away with a wave of her hand. Not until that moment had Aristriel been so thankful for her helmet which hid the rising colour in her cheeks.

This foolish human best not acquire ideas above his station. This is not an equal partnership; he is a mere cargo hauler and no more. She thought with hyperbolic conviction.

With his worries allayed, the mon'keigh looked away as they drove on. Irritated by how flustered she had become over such an inconsequential thing, Aristriel distracted herself by scrutinising the topography. Looking over her companion's shoulder, the aspect warrior stared out at the glittering landscape that lay beyond the infernal mountain range as they galloped through the hole in the crater wall.

The mon'keigh though was showing his inexperience with the speeder; he mistakenly drove across a high-prowed snowdrift which became a sort of ad-hoc ski ramp. Without warning, they took off into the air for a few hair-raising seconds; his cloak rippled in the convulsing turbulence until they landed back onto the snowy hillside, much to their relief.

Several kilometres ahead of them, a large forest, which extended into the adjoining valley, was clustered around the base of the northern half of the mountain range. The cover of the trees would be a most welcome refuge from the orks as well as providing an excellent place to rest once nightfall came.

The journey down the mountain side would not be plain sailing, however. Just as it seemed that the guardsman had gotten used to the unfamiliar controls of the ice cruiser, the mountain decided to put him to the test. They had only driven for a few hundred metres after clearing the summit when the skiff unexpectedly hit a buried boulder, bounced, and then went airborne for a second time, the ground falling away.

The human cried out in alarm, the feeling of weightlessness taking hold of them whilst gravity asserted itself. The sensation of falling felt like it was going to carry on for an eternity as Aristriel saw her life flash before her eyes. With a severe shudder, the vehicle touched back down onto the steep incline. Only then did the banshee let herself relax.

The instant that the ice cruiser's skis kissed the snow again; the vehicle started to skid dangerously across the slope, forcing the guardsman to aggressively manhandle the steering grips. A torrent of snow sprayed up from the starboard side as they continued their uncontrolled descent.

With renewed strength borne from hectic desperation, he managed to pull the yawning vehicle straight before it had the chance to overturn. Nonetheless, their troubles had only just begun. glaring back, the aspect warrior stared in disbelief as the ork vehicles crashed down into view; their crews hollering with delight as they chased after them down the mountainside.

Considering the ork vehicles poor compatibility with the surrounding terrain, the banshee would not have believed it possible for the greenskins to continue the pursuit. Annoyingly though, the orks make a habit out of disregarding things such as logic, physics, or even natural laws for that matter.

In abject surprise and horror, Aristriel watched from over her shoulder as the war trucks and bikes steadily closed the distance. Already some of the ork crews were opening fire, causing spouts of ice crystals to fountain all around their speeder. Upon noticing the snow kicked up by the impacts of kinetic rounds, the human soldier immediately took evasive action as their craft jumped from crest to crest.

Thank the Gods of the Pantheon for the greenskins' terrible accuracy. She invoked, just when a lucky hit from a high-calibre cannon shell shattered the ice cruiser's wind shield, triggering the mon'keigh to curse vehemently in his strange tongue. In response, he swung the vehicle from side to side, refusing to let them be an easy target for the greenskin fusiliers.

The trailing war trucks were so overcrowded that they practically bristled with firepower from all sides. A few barbarians could even be seen hanging onto the vehicles' sides one handed while they fired off their pistols with gleeful abandon at their fleeing adversaries.

Despite the mon'keigh's best efforts, the enemy wagons drew nearer still. Realizing this, many of the green-skinned savages could no longer contain their excitement and started throwing their poorly fashioned axes and knives in their general direction. From the corner of her eye, the banshee glimpsed a flicker of spiralling silver as a storm of sharp steel threatened to fall upon them.

Whipping round as fast as lightning, she hopped up onto the saddle, swaying slightly from her less-than-ideal fighting platform and from the vibrations of the moving craft beneath her. The eldar found her balance just as the hail of steel loomed over them, ready to skewer them both. Unsheathing her sword in a blur of motion, the blade glinting in the evening sun, Aristriel swatted the incoming projectiles away with a twirl of her sword while they rained down on their position.

Most of the thrown weapons landed in a loose pattern around them, haft up whilst the cutting edge buried itself in the snow. One of the flying axes was cruelly denied its prize of flesh by the eldar's timely intervention. Instead of slicing into the mon'keigh's shoulder, it found itself whistling back through the wind as it cartwheeled towards its own masters.

This proved unfortunate for the lead greenskin bike rider who was oblivious to the incoming projectile. Distracted by a rude joke from a gretchin tag-along, he never even saw the grim axe when it embedded itself in his skull. He blinked a few times in confusion, uttered something incomprehensible and flopped forward onto the handlebars. The greenskin's loss of consciousness was swiftly followed by the clamour of fallen scrap metal and the gretchin's screech as the war bike crashed over in an explosion of white powder.

The surrounding greenskins who had witnessed what had happened, laughed at her display and at the demise of their comrades. Even in their mirth, they still maintained the pressure on the retreating ice cruiser, filling the area around them full of hot lead. One of the more daring ork drivers drove over a small cliff, whereupon the vehicle was temporarily lost from view.

Aristriel hoped that the ork had done them a favour by accidently offing himself, but much to her chagrin, that was not the case. Frequent glimpses of the reckless war truck could be seen every time it jumped over a rise or whenever there was a break in the snowbanks that separated them. From the banshee's perspective the way the crude wagon was being driven put her in mind of some form of aquatic animals that regularly breached on the surface of the ocean.

Worryingly though, with each sighting of the ork vehicle, the more it gained on them. Until finally, in a fluke of flying tyres and pure insanity, it crossed over the snow drift and deposited itself a short way off on their left flank.

In that instant, over a dozen barbarians levelled their firearms from the wagon's crew compartment. There was nothing the banshee could do; they were too far away for her to successfully make the jump to board their vehicle. Likewise, her banshee scream would pose more of a danger to her companion driving the ice cruiser than it would to the opposing greenskins.

It appeared that their luck had completely ran out; the guardsman's hand shot across his torso to his webbing pouch, pulled out his flare gun, and fired. Within a single heartbeat, it was as if a star had been born on that snowy highland slope, the dazzling phosphorus round igniting in the air.

The bright flare's birth briefly distorted her helmet's lens display, her functional sight returning a few seconds after the living apparel had automatically recalibrated. Even so, Aristriel was still left with a fading trail across her retinas. The ork gunners, similarly, were blinded by the flare, but that did not stop them from firing wildly around. Despite what must have equated to several magazines' worth of ammunition, the sightless greenskins failed to score a solid hit on what was a point-blank target.

In much the same way a ship-of-the-line fires a shot across another vessel's bow; the blazing flare shrieked across the gulf between the two speeding vehicles. Watching the missiles flight, Aristriel came to believe that the shattered spirit of Kaela Mensha Khaine must have truly favoured them as he guided the flare straight into the driver's compartment.

Upon striking the vehicle, the burning rocket ricocheted off the greenskin pilot's shoulder before it spent its momentum bouncing around inside the war truck's cabin. Nothing combustible was safe from the incendiary's wrath; the unquenchable fire showed no mercy as it set both the ork's overalls and the worn, lice-ridden upholstery alight.

The wagon's crew rather uncharacteristically ceased fire as they realised the trouble they were in. Yet, this realisation came too late as the charred greenskin driver, roaring in pain, wrenched the steering wheel hard over. The war truck, travelling far too fast for the unintentional manoeuvre, veered to the left, pitched over onto its side, and rolled down the slope.

The ork transport spun three, four, five times, tearing itself apart with each rotation while throwing the pulverised greenskins into the air. It was irrevocably put out of its misery when it landed upside down in a fireball as the leaking promethium came into contact with the inferno raging through the cockpit.

One down, many more to go. Aristriel thought grimly, batting aside another badly-fashioned knife that would have disembowelled her, had it managed to complete its aerial journey unimpeded.

Ten war trucks were still trailing them, each jostling with one another in an attempt to claim the kill, their crews emptying round after round in rage at the ice cruiser. This motorised roughhousing between the ork wagon drivers, bordering on friendly fire at times, constantly created gaps within their weakly maintained hunting formation.

This abysmal impulse control proved to be a godsend for the remaining brute motorcyclists, who had been pushed out to the fringe of the chase early on by the more bullish war trucks. Two of the sly greenskin bikers quickly took notice of these gaps created by their comrade's ill-discipline and moved to capitalise on these opportunities.

Spotting an opening close-by; the two speeder bikes darted through the cluster of shadowing greenskin wagons in a flurry of torn up slush. They ignored the heckling from their fellow orks as they coaxed past the less agile machines, managing to come right up onto the tail of their bolting quarry. Accomplishing this, they blocked any of their brethren's attempts at regaining the forwardmost position whilst also evading their fair share of flak from their own side.

Aristriel still stood defiantly with her sword drawn, shaking slightly on top of the speeder which bumped and lurched as it weaved its way across the ice-covered hillside. The war bike riders, eager to bag the two fugitives, were raising their maces and axes in bloodlust whilst firing unending volleys at them with their side mounted cannons. Typical of orks though, there was no true effort to actually hit their target from range. From what the banshee could tell, the barbarians took a perverse pleasure in adding to the battle ambience.

Their true intentions were laid bare as they pushed their dilapidated, bone encrusted motorcycles to the limit in an effort to get closer to their prey. Aristriel knew immediately that if they got within melee distance then all hope would be lost.

The eldar collected herself; she knew what she had to do. Bursts of her warrior training flickered through her mind's eye as she mentally and physically prepared for what she planned. When the first ork rider drew close enough, the banshee launched herself into the sky. Pulling her legs up toward her stomach, she took the handle of her power sword in a two-handed grip and angled it downwards.

Aristriel had timed her attack perfectly. Like an avian of prey; the banshee struck from out of the sun, diving onto the war bike's handler. The ork rider never even managed to bring his spiked mace to bear; the length of her glowing blade rammed through his sternum before it sliced up and out through his shoulder in a fountain of gore.

The other greenskin biker, seeing what had befallen his comrade on the bike in front, yanked his hefty side arm from its holster and took aim. The leering brute didn't get the chance to squeeze the trigger. A wraith bone dagger cut through the air straight into his open maw, impaling his fungal brain stem in the blink of an eye.

The gargling savage went cross-eyed, rolling sideways out of his seat and depositing himself, almost serenely, onto the slope. His body was rapidly lost to view as it was swallowed up by the slush. The banshee would mourn the loss of her dagger later, she needed to get clear of the wobbling war bike beneath her. Aristriel sprang high into the air in a grand backflip, her left leg pulled hard into her belly, while her right trailed in the cold evening air as the world revolved in her vision.

When she came back to earth; she landed in a splayed-out crouch right on top of the ice cruiser's nose. The mon'keigh nearly leapt out of his seat in fright until he saw it was her. Avoiding the incoming fire as best he could, the guardsman was bent low in the saddle in an effort to reduce his target profile. Glaring back over the top of his head, she surveyed both her handiwork and the greenskin menace that was still arrayed against them.

Surprisingly, the two driverless war bikes were able to give chase for a few seconds more despite the deaths of their masters. However, even ork vehicles succumb to inertia. The ghastly painted machines came to a satisfying end when they finally faltered and toppled over in quick succession. The terrible orksmanship ploughed into the snow, creating a perfect obstacle for the barbarians behind it.

It did not take long until Aristriel got to observe the results. The eldar's actions had sown havoc amongst the chasing greenskins; the ork drivers collided into one another as they desperately swerved left and right to avoid the debris of their fallen brothers. Disappointingly though, most of the wagons only took superficial damage. All except for three of the ramshackle troop carriers, who had failed to get out of the way in time.

The aspect warrior flourished her blade before sheathing it as she watched the enemy vehicles smash into the two upended bikes. The first of the three greenskin war trucks bucked its rear into the air, catapulting its savage passengers onto the hillside. The second of the unfortunate trio, after its collision, skidded sideways on the ice as if the driver were pulling an elongated handbrake turn.

For a moment, Aristriel thought that the enemy machine might right itself, until it went hurtling over the lip of a ravine, the screams of its doomed crew echoing for all to hear. While the last vehicle simply flipped onto its side whilst vomiting its ugly contents across the slope.

It was a good result, but plenty of their hunters still remained. The eldar knew that their efforts weren't enough, demoralising as it was, there were simply too many foes against them. Another cause for alarm was the mounting damage that their ice cruiser had sustained.

While ork marksmanship left a lot to be desired, the sheer volume of gunfire over an extended period of time had eventually started to tell. With a worried look etched across her face, the banshee studied one of the more serious wounds that their speeder had suffered as thick black smoke poured out from the machine's starboard side.

Her daggers were both gone, and they had both ran out of tricks.

Except for one… Aristriel realised, staring at the snow-saturated mountain tops. It would be risky, but it was their only option left.

The aspect warrior leaned over the broken remnants of the windshield and hissed at the soldier to get his attention. Miming what she intended to do, the eldar then gestured at him to cover his ears. The guardsman nodded, looping his arms around the handlebars; he leant forward, and proceeded to plug his ears with his fingers whilst opening his mouth as wide as it would go.

Aristriel leapt over him and landed back in the saddle facing towards their pursuers. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the sides of the seat, and shrieked with every fibre of her being. The aspect warrior's helmet, utilising its audio amplifiers, magnified the sound a hundredfold which turned the scream into a weapon in its own right. The unleashed banshee howl practically shook the ground as it headed straight for the unsuspecting barbarians.

The top layers of snow, directly behind the ice cruiser, were blown away by the force of the shockwave that rapidly expanded in a wide arc back up the steep gradient. The pursuing ork vehicles rocked violently while every pane of glass either splintered or shattered outright as the blast front slammed into them before carrying on up towards the hill's summit. One of the greenskin drivers, so disorientated by the attack, was thrown from his seat when his aimless vehicle hit a stout tree.

The orks weren't the only ones shaken by the ear-splitting noise; Aristriel felt the speeder drift from side to side as if the human had suddenly become intoxicated. Swiftly taking her seat behind him, the banshee did her best to keep the guardsman conscious just as they reached the outskirts of the upcoming forest.

An unnatural quiet followed in the wake of her banshee howl. For how long that uncomfortable silence stretched on for, the eldar couldn't say. Thankfully, the lull was shattered when a colossal groan resonated across the entire mountain range and the valley below. It sounded like the mountain itself had come alive; disgusted by the foul parasites that adorned its white cloak.

Sparing a quick look back, the eldar felt her jaw slacken for a moment as she watched a gigantic tidal wave of snow, set loose from the high crags of the mountain, cascade down towards them.

The greenskins had noticed too, gesturing at their impending doom whilst barking their own warnings in their horrible language. The avalanche was still some minutes away, but the speed at which it descended towards them was a great concern.

We will need to move much faster if we wish to make it in one piece. Aristriel decided.

The banshee tapped harshly on the guardsman's flank in an attempt to persuade the dazed mon'keigh to drive faster. The human's shoulder twitched at her drumming fingers, but he did not look back at her as he maintained his focus on the ground ahead.


Locke was in a state of absolute delirium, the earth-shattering cry from his companion had slammed into his mind, leaving him stunned. He slowly became aware of her desperate prodding and the shuddering grumble of something truly titanic.

Casting a quick look over his shoulder, he sobered up instantly when he came face to face with the huge landslide of ice that was careening towards them. Snapping his attention back to his front, he revved the accelerator and pushed the machine to its breaking point while the engine bellowed from the exertion. He glimpsed a blinking warning light on one of the meters; apparently something was wrong with the coolant pressure, but frankly at this point in time he couldn't have cared less.

Trees, boulders, and snowdrifts passed by in a flash as he weaved in and out of the incoming obstructions. Trees in particular grew in number the further they went while the ground steadily began to level out as they reached the base of the mountain. Locke had wrapped his hands over the handles in a fierce grip; his knuckles white as the bone, shaking from the tension. The terrifying possibility circulated in his mind that one little mistake now could either see them smashed to smithereens or buried under a hundred tonnes of snow.

Their hunters too were of a like mind, but now the inadequate affinity of the ork vehicles with the wintry environment was starting to rear its ugly head. Increasingly slowing down in the deeper snowdrifts on the lower mountain slopes, the greenskins started to panic while the ice cruiser outpaced them easily.

In what seemed like no time at all, the wave of ice overwhelmed and absorbed the ork detachment, who vanished instantly under the white blanket. The speeder driven as fast as it could go, was just able to stay in front of the avalanche. Locke's vision narrowed to the ground immediately in front, as he continued to dodge low hanging branches, tree trunks, and rocky outcrops all the while icy shrapnel rained down around them. When the cascading snow ultimately subsided and lost momentum, Locke felt as though he was going to pass out from the breath he'd held in for too long.

His curiosity though, would again prove to be their undoing. Daring to think that they'd made it, he glimpsed back behind them, just when the speeder collided with a partially-covered tree stump. The vehicle ricocheted off the unforgiving timber, flinging both banshee and guardsman into the frosty woodland. The landscape whirled around as Locke tumbled through the freezing air. Upon hitting the ground, he bounced several times like a skipping stone, before sliding to rest in a freezing snowbank.

The clear sky and coniferous trees filled his vision while he gasped desperately for air in quick shallow gulps. Judging by the pain, the soldier knew he'd been severely winded when he had landed on his back. The bed of ice wasn't helping either, the shock of the cold only made it harder to breathe.

As silly as it was, Locke felt the fear of imminent suffocation steadily rise to the forefront of his mind. Realising the lunacy for what it was, he quashed the unhelpful notion and concentrated on respiring, regardless of the agony involved.

Minutes passed by until his breathing slowly returned to normal, the susurration of his rising chest was a welcome sight to the beleaguered soldier. It still hurt whenever he inhaled though; his lungs felt like they'd been crushed in a vice. In a stiff series of motions, he pushed himself into a seating position, his hands splayed out behind him. Blinking in a mixture of pain and bewilderment, his gaze wandered around.

Their destroyed and overturned speeder soon came into view; the guardsman's shoulders slumped in despair as his eyes roamed over the crumpled and broken bodywork. He wanted to believe that it could still be salvaged but the black smoke pouring out of the engine block, put paid to that idea.

The guardsman then turned his attention back to the mountain from whence they'd came. A nice, unblemished white blanket covered the mountainside, unsullied by the orks who mere moments ago were driving down its surface.

Until of course, the previously buried greenskins started to dig their way out of their tombs. Locke watched in horror as over two score of the orks along with their gretchin allies pulled themselves up out of the cloying ice. They all looked pissed off, each one of them wearing a frightening scowl.

"Throne fucking-damned orks! Why won't the cunts just die!" He groaned when he remembered his companion.

"Xeno!" Locke realised; his eyes wide in shock. Pushing himself up onto his unsteady feet, the guardsman let loose a long string of expletives from the sudden pain. Once he was up, his head flicked around as he visually searched the clearing for her. It didn't take long; Locke spotted the banshee not far away, although, he felt uneasy at the sight of her humbled form. The once proud warrior was sat up against the bark of a tree, the chin of her wicked helm drawn into her chest as if she were sleeping.

Presumably, she must have hit the tree hard before falling down into her current state. Strangely sick with worry, the guardsman forced his shaking legs to move as he limped over to her. Stumbling into a crouch that nearly knocked his own knee into his nose, Locke dropped down beside her in a pain-filled grunt.

"Come on Xeno, we're not done-in just yet!" He urged, lightly slapping her helmeted face from side to side. "You're not leaving me alone to deal with all this utter wankshite!" The sound of his voice along with the gentle 'encouragement' elicited an irritated moan. The eldar's head sluggishly rose until she fixed her gaze onto the soldier's visage.

Doubt she's glad to see me. He tried to grin at her, but it instead came out as a grimace.

"Aye, there ya are! Welcome back!" He chided her with a pinch of fake enthusiasm as he pulled her to her feet. In the distance, further up the incline, the orks were already organising themselves and charging towards them. They were some ways off still, and Locke wanted to keep it that way.

Not wishing to linger any longer, the guardsman hauled the banshee's slim arm over his shoulder in preparation for the next leg of their trek. They shared a knowing look with one another before they set off, both of them limping their way deeper into the woods.


Review Responses:

Expert93 – Thank you, glad you liked it.

Uir – Yes.

Naruto Loves FemKyuubi – Thank you. Well I'm not quite sure there's any romantic feeling yet. Locke obviously finds Aristriel attractive but to actually act on that and break those mental barriers is going to take a lot of time. Aelvish/Aeldari is an incredibly complex language for humans to learn, even the Primarchs and the Emperor struggled with it. Locke is just an average human so for him to be able to speak Aelvish is quite improbable.

A Random Friend – Thank you, glad you liked it! Yes indeed, the plot thickens eh. You've hit upon a key theme, that of a doomed relationship with no way out… or at least none that can be seen for the time being.

Jimmy Jim – Thank you! I'll do my best.

No Talker – Hmmmm… let me think. Locke saved her from the blizzard, pulled her up from the cliff, and killed a servitor before it could shoot her. Aristriel killed an ork about to bludgeon Locke to death and healed his bleeding shoulder. So yeah, 3:2 to Locke… although this chapter has rebalanced the scales I'd say.

Viktormilo2015 – Thank you! Don't worry there is a whole lot more to come.

Cake and Lies – Hello again, happy to see you taking further interest in my story. Oh dear, don't talk to me about university dissertations, I think mine nearly gave me PTSD. Thank you! I think I have improved although I think my old editor helped a great deal. Yes, missing words out is a bad literary habit of mine (among quite a few) that I need to work on. If only you could see what my chapters looked like in the first draft: they're absolutely hideous. They take quite a few drafts before they're even readable, but unfortunately things still slip between the cracks, even after several read throughs. I think what I might have to do is plug the final draft into a text reader program so I can listen out for any run-on sentences, missing words, or awkward pauses. Yes, I am endeavouring to put out a chapter a month, although whether I'll be able to stick to that remains to be seen. Your assumption about the sleeping bag seen is partly correct but there were a few other inspirations too.

Guest – Thank you, that is very kind of you and I'm glad you're enjoying it. However, I would say my writing needs to improve a great deal more before it's anywhere near perfect. Cheers anyway though and I shall!

SFMC – Thank you, always nice to see people pleasantly surprised by my story. No need to worry about that, 'love-at-first-sight' is a writing trope that I'd happily see the back of. It's often lazily done and boring to read about which is probably why it's so prolific. Anyway, I hope this chapter is up to standard, cheers!

– Happy to oblige and thank you for your kind words.