Hello! And before you ask, no I'm not dead (and neither is this story) nor have I lost interest in writing. These last few months have been incredibly busy for me, to the point where I had little time and little enthusiasm to write anything. Ever since I graduated, job hunting basically took over my life. Unfortunately, when I finally did secure an engineering role with a good company, I had to move to the other side of the country to a place that was completely unfamiliar to me. Needless to say, it has been an intense few months. Anyway, I finally got round to writing this chapter, so I hope you like it.

Song of the day: Way Down We Go - KALEO


Chapter 18 – The Training Begins

A groan rattled out from his dry throat, a less appealing reveille call to the new morn. Locke awoke to a state of great activity within their humble abode, the eldar was on the move yet again. He stared after the banshee with drooping eyes while she flitted about the place, gathering all sorts of bits and bobs. Slipping back into the covers, he watched with amusement as the pantomime unfolded from his front row seat. Although, in hindsight it wasn't all that surprising, his companion was never one to remain idle after all.

She heading out somewhere? Locke wondered listlessly.

Noticing his sudden lucidity, the banshee finished stuffing a rope into a pack as she explained her actions in a series of rapid hand signals. In his drowsy state, the specifics were completely lost on the bedridden soldier, but he understood enough to get the gist of it. Ergo, the alien was heading out to hunt for food.

The guardsman, being as ill as he was, hadn't been keeping tabs on their food stocks thus he'd been forced to trust her judgement on the matter. If this had been a few days prior, he'd have certainly kicked up a fuss, but now he neither had the energy nor saw any reason to doubt her motives... for the moment at least. Whether that would hold true into the future was another matter entirely, however.

It was only after his companion had finished her silent diatribe when Locke finally noticed the kitbag at her feet; he didn't recognise it at all, presumably the xeno had appropriated it from a nearby cupboard. Knowing he wouldn't like the answer, he raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded at the newly acquired apparel.

The banshee gave him an apathetic shrug to answer his query, as if to say, 'who cares?'. Locke already felt a bit guilty for trespassing on someone else's property, but now it looked like he'd have to add stealing to his ever-growing list of sins.

The priest who takes my confession is going to have a bloody field day when this is all over. He let out a shuddering sigh but chose not to press the issue with the alien. She turned back to her preparations whilst Locke sunk back into the bedding, staring up at the rafters.

His symptoms had grown worse from the previous day, especially his headache which hammered into his temple without mercy and seemingly without end. Naturally, this left the guardsman disorientated with a mind too hazy to concentrate. Whenever the throbbing pressure inside his skull surged, his vision would become bleary and indistinct. During these horrible bouts of neuralgia, exacerbated by his many coughing fits, it was common for him to see double or triple.

Even the very light of day, saturated well beyond normal, was far too bright for him to tolerate. The rest of his body was fairing little better; he ached all over, thanks in part to his endless shivering that lit a searing fire within his muscles and joints. Overall, Locke's fever couldn't be described as anything other than thoroughly unpleasant.

The guardsman couldn't remember a time when he'd been as ill as this, so much so that he was beginning to regret all the times that he'd taken his good health for granted. Conscious of the possibility that he might die from the infection, Locke dearly hoped that it would pass soon. Prompted by the agony of his illness, the bedridden soldier offered up prayer after prayer to the ceiling, hoping that the God-Emperor would once more take pity on his plight.

Of course, this was all dependent on whether the master of mankind would still be sympathetic to him. Locke knew he hadn't been the best believer; his church attendance alone left a lot to be desired. There was also the unavoidable truth that he'd consorted with both an alien and the enigmatic spirits of an ancient device. This undeniably left him in poor standing with his deity.

With his own mortality now in peril, the growing concerns over his immortal soul weighed heavily on Locke's conscience. The guardsman swore to himself and to the Emperor on his golden throne that if he got over the contagion wreaking havoc with his body, he would be a better follower of the Imperial Creed.

I swear I'll go to church more often. I'll donate too and light a candle to you, Emperor of Mankind. Just please let me get through this… please. A few droplets of sweat ran into his eyes, interrupting his silent prayer as he winced loud enough to draw the attention of his companion once more.

The eldar approached him in her full battle regalia, minus her skull-like helmet. She gave him a quick inspection that was as brief as it was compassionate. Still, even in his current state, Locke could detect the hints of concern come through the deadpan expression she frequently wore.

Never a good sign when a callous bint starts cracking up.

Pulling aside the covers, her vision swept across his body, finally lingering on the sweat that was building up on his forehead. In a perfectly rehearsed motion, the xeno gently wiped the perspiration away with the cloth on his brow, treating him as if he were made from the most delicate glass. Wetting the rag with fresh water from a nearby bucket, she laid it back onto his temple.

The water's coolness took some of the sting out of his headache; rejoicing, Locke thanked the alien for her kindness with a pained smile. For whatever reason, the banshee was hesitant to return it and instead chose to avert her gaze. Locke was given no opportunity to catch her eye as the eldar moved back to her preparations for the upcoming foray.

Watching her elegant form retreat away from him, he grumbled and lay back into the bedding. There was little more that could be done for the time being and so he resigned himself to his internment within the covers of that infernal couch. It did not take long at all for the guardsman - shivering, sweating and infirm as he was – to become ever more wistful of the days gone by with every passing hour.

Yet, through the haze of his foggy mind, he became keenly aware of a deepened sense of foreboding which hung thick in the air like an invisible smog.

The source of his apprehension remained a mystery, its origin unfathomable to the guardsman. Nevertheless, Locke found that it was always wise to heed the advice of one's own instincts, they had gotten him this far after all. While he hated to admit it, with himself in such a sorry state, Locke wanted the eldar close by.

Clearing his throat, the anxious guardsman asked for his companion's attention yet again. What a sight he must have been, he felt like an abashed apprentice who was too nervous to ask his irritable mentor for help. A few seconds passed until she responded to his summons, poking her head out from the kitchen. Locke then tried to communicate his desire for the alien to postpone her hunt, but she either didn't understand his request or viewed it as a lower priority to what she planned to do.

Slumping back in defeat, he left the banshee to her own devices again. The guardsman hated how pathetic he'd become, but the heretical truth was that he'd grown accustomed to the alien's presence to such a degree that he even took comfort in her company. Locke knew that his ever-increasing reliance on the banshee put him in a very difficult position. A silent debt now existed between them; a debt that Locke would have to repay at some point in the future.

Another obligation… another pain in my arse…

An easy solution to this problem, would be to simply write off any social obligations when dealing with aliens; however, the deep ingratitude of such an idea did not sit well with the soldier. He would have died already if not for her, she hadn't needed to nurse a mortal enemy of her race back to health and yet she did so anyway.

Despite her stubborn, irritable, and aloof personality – all incredibly displayed without a single word of Low-Gothic – she fundamentally was a good person at her core. Locke would never admit it to another living soul, but he was almost glad their paths had crossed. Being ill with one of the worst fevers he'd ever contracted had certainly reinforced that belief. It was rather inexplicable why her presence had such a profound effect on him, although he could probably take a good guess.

Always nice havin' a pretty face around… even if she is an alien. He played coy with the real reason, keeping it at arm's length to avoid addressing its portents. Thankfully, the sound of jostling kit soon brought his mind back to the present.

The alien had filled the glorified sack with an assortment of tools which rattled loudly as she swung it onto her back thus finalising her preparations. The guardsman watched with blurry vision as she wandered back over to his bedside, collecting her helmet which had once sat proudly on the central table.

"Don't go." Locke whispered in a hoarse voice in between a series of restrained coughs.

In way of response, the alien cocked her now helmeted head and looked down at him – her private thoughts and feelings known only unto herself. Absentmindedly, the guardsman thought about offering her a handshake to wish her luck, but his arm felt so heavy he could scarcely lift it.

The eldar, as if reading his mind, reached out and clasped his right hand with both of her own. There they stayed, a wordless message of goodwill passing between them both. Eventually though, the eldar relinquished her grip on his hand, but not without giving him a light reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Without further ceremony, she stood up, turned about, and strode to the door with all of her accoutrements in tow. Upon reaching the exit, she hesitated for but a mere moment; her hidden visage shifting back to appraise him one last time. She offered the bedridden guardsman a single curt nod, who in turn waved his farewell in response. Then, within the blink of an eye, the banshee was gone.

Hurry back soon, Xeno.

Pulling the covers tightly around himself, Locke closed his eyes in an effort to stop the room from spinning. His queasy stomach stood at the forefront of his mind and for a time he was certain that he was going to throw up. Thankfully, the eldar had left an empty bucket near his bedside. Leaning out of the bedding, Locke dragged the vessel closer so that it sat to the right of his head - for easy access.

As time carried on, his heaving gut slowly calmed at which point the guardsman was reasonably confident he wouldn't vomit again. With his fears allayed, he settled down and tried to catch some sleep. If only to relieve him from the agony of his aching head amongst his other symptoms.

Mercifully, the guardsman's sleep was too deep for any pain or even dreams to manifest; his slumber provided a temporary refuge from the discomfort… but only for a time. For what he assumed later had been a few hours' sleep, Locke slowly became aware of an indistinct pitter-patter that was reminiscent of cutlery striking porcelain. This noise penetrated deep into Locke's mind, causing his psyche to steadily resurface from the depths of his subconscious. Although, it still took nearly an hour until he was sober enough to awaken proper.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The guardsman grunted in pain as he slowly opened his eyes; the light was unbearable.

"Xeno?" He croaked in a hoarse voice, but the banshee did not reappear at his call. After a brief coughing fit that felt as though he were about to hack up a lung, Locke slowed his breathing and listened out for any tell-tale signs of life. The ill soldier heard neither footsteps, nor breathing, nor the rattle and scrape of furniture or utensils.

She's still not back yet… He surmised.

The cold and still cabin, creaking only from the breeze was proof enough of that observation.

Then what in the Emperor's name is that damned noise? He asked silently.

Glaring around the living room, he sought out the source of the insufferable tapping sound. His vision scrutinised every part of the log cabin in turn but still the miscreant eluded him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Thinking about it more logically, he recognised that it sounded more like someone was drumming a piece of metal against glass. With more effort than Locke cared to admit, he agonisingly turned his head toward the window nearest to him. The sight that awaited him, made his blood run cold.

A creature most heinous and foul, the thing that had stalked him in his nightmares and tormented his dreams, now stood right outside the window. It was the shadow, that loathsome and vindictive entity.

The terrified guardsman froze, hardly able to think in that instant as his mental faculties went completely awry. This couldn't be real... unless the being had somehow escaped the Omnicron and entered reality itself. Impossible or so his panicked mind kept telling him as if to deny the apparent truth standing before him.

He isn't real... he isn't real! He rubbed his bleary eyes again, desperately hoping that the shadow was just a trick of his sick-addled mind.

The wispy daemon was a being of pure, fiery darkness; its golden eyes were burning with an intensity that made him weep with fear. All the while, the daemon of no-name stared down at the helpless guardsman with a predatory sneer.

Trapped like a caged animal, the bedridden soldier didn't dare move or look away from the entity's enrapturing glare. For what seemed like an eternity, the two motionless beings watched one another, until the shadow brought up his hand and waved to the guardsman in a slow, mocking gesture.

Rallying himself, Locke summoned up his courage and completely broke eye contact with the creature. It was only then that he saw the wicked ebony blade held in the shadow's other appendage. Clearly, that was the source of the eerie tapping noise as the being scraped it against the glass pane.

The mere sight of that terrible instrument only served to harden the soldier's mounting dread.

Locke could feel his heart palpitating like mad whilst hyperventilating with ever growing panic. Again, and again, the guardsman scrunched his eyes shut, willing the apparition to be banished from his sight. However, he would always open them a few heartbeats later to find the smiling daemon still present.

He's not real… he's not real…

When the tapping noise finally did stop, Locke dared to think that his episode was done. Slowly prying open his eyes once more, the guardsman gasped in wide-eyed surprise. The spirit had vanished, the window now a mere portal depicting the wintry woodland beyond.

The supine soldier instantly flicked his head over toward the front door, another worry quickly rising to the surface of his mind. What if he's simply moved?

He had to get to the door to lock it, but would an interdimensional daemon even care about such a minor obstacle?

He spent far too long agonising over that question and yet the malevolent spirit did not reappear. When Locke eventually did attempt to rise off of the couch, he found that his own body had betrayed him - he was too weak to move. The soldier's limbs were as heavy as lead. What should have been a simple feat, came to be an almost herculean effort. It was hopeless, all he could do now was wait for the vile daemon to show himself.

Seconds turned into minutes as time ticked by and still Locke saw no further sign of the entity. Releasing a long-held breath, the soldier slumped back into the couch. His armpits and back were slick with perspiration, both from his malady and his fear.

Locke relaxed as best he could, but his aching muscles did not take kindly to their sudden call to action. For a brief yet excruciating period, Locke had to endure a wave of pain that flared in his joints until it fell back to a more tolerable level.

"Oh thank the Emperor… just a fever dream…" He breathed a sigh of relief.

"How naïve," a malicious voice said before bursting into laughter. "I think you will find Tomas, that this is no dream."

The entity revealed himself, rising out from the shadows in the dark corner of the room. Locke's eyelids flashed, and the shadow had crossed the gulf between them, standing just opposite him on the other side of the table. The creature, with its burning amber gaze, glared down at him. The only thing that separated the two of them now, was a short wooden recaf table.

Acting on instinct, Locke lunged for his seax holstered inside his webbing. His focus all but narrowed to the sheath of his short sword, the hilt of which protruded tantalizingly out of its scabbard. The soldier knew it would be unlikely to stop the shadow, but he'd be damned if he didn't go down without a fight.

"Struggling are we?" The voice of the creature made him redouble his efforts to retrieve his short sword. His fingers tickled the sword's pommel, but the guardsman was stretching himself out as far as his lethargic and stiff body would allow.

Entertained by the mortal man's desperation and panic, the shadow was content to stand and enjoy the show Locke had unwittingly put on. Cackling like a malevolent sadist, he took his time circling around the piece of furniture, deliberately drawing out the tension for as long as possible to maximise the guardsman's fear. Locke's tormentor obviously saw no need to hurry, it wasn't like the guardsman was going anywhere or had the means to defend himself.

The shocking realisation that he was entirely at this thing's mercy sent a shudder down the ill soldier's spine. Covering the last few paces between them, the shadow let his sword arm hang lazily, allowing the knife to trace across the table as he came up alongside the bedbound soldier. The squeak of the blade scratching the wood was torture, a prelude of things to come no doubt.

Locke shivered uncontrollably, retreating away from the cruel entity and deeper into the covers; he abandoned the idea of drawing his weapon to face the devil as his resolve broke. The shadow finally halted when he reached the guardsman's bedside, casting a single sideways glance at the webbing which held the Omnicron, and Locke's only means of defence.

"Worry not, you won't be needing that." The daemon said, bringing the twilight blade up under the guardsman's chin.

Locke pushed himself down into the couch, backing away from the vicious blade that followed after him. It was a hopeless effort, and bound to fail, but the guardsman hated the idea of relenting without some semblance of resistance or non-cooperation. When he could fidget away from the weapon no more, he went very still as the cool dagger gently rested against his throat.

"Tsk tsk Tomas, still trying to run away I see." The shadow tutted with a mixture of disgust and amusement as he leaned in very close to the soldier's face. "Mendacius has informed me that you have accepted our little offer." The shadow stated, lightly tracing the aethereal dagger across the guardsman's cheek with a gentleness Locke wouldn't have thought possible. "Isn't that right?"

The guardsman remained silent in face of his tormentor.

"Do you know what my reaction was?" The shadow asked, briefly removing the dagger as he waved it around for emphasis. "I told him it was a mistake." Locke's eyes widened as the blade was brought into contact with his visage once again.

"You and I both know you are not worthy." The entity declared, applying a subtle pressure to the knife. The razor-sharp edge of the weapon pierced the skin of the soldier's cheek effortlessly, releasing a foul black vapour in its wake as the dagger was drawn upwards towards his left eye.

Locke groaned in agony and instinctively brought up his arm to push the offending blade away, but his limb passed straight through the daemon's body as if it weren't even there. The soldier let out a pained gasp, his limb collapsing back into his chest – too exhausted to put up any further resistance. All he could do was lie there, frightened, and weak from illness, while the shadow played his game.

"He spoke of those arrogant terms of yours." The vitriol that dripped from the spirit's words drove a lance of despair into the soldier's heart; the pressure on the dagger increased significantly as a violet inferno burned across his face. "Terms that a lowly wretch like yourself was never in a position to demand!"

The blade flashed and a gruesome laceration opened up across the guardsman's cheek. Try as he might, Locke couldn't stop the pained whimper escaping his lips as a dark diagonal line was etched into his very flesh.

Although it wasn't so much the pain itself that terrified him, but the wisps of black smoke that drifted out from the wound. The dark vapour pooled around the wooden flooring, gradually filling up the room and snuffing out the light as it rose past the cabin's windows. The entity, grinning with malice, continued his horrific work.

Before Locke even knew what had happened, the thick black cloud had encircled them both, drowning out the sunlight as it did so. Caught up in the gloom, all that Locke could make out in that choking miasma was the shadow's golden eyes. Otherwise, the cruel entity almost seemed to become one with the pitch-black vapour, only the barest outline of his form giving him away. Invisible in the darkness, the twilight dagger travelled on and only stopped a hair's breadth from his left eye.

Locke barred his teeth in panic and frustration, but he couldn't move at all. His eyes darted about frantically; the possibility of being blinded was something that terrified all soldiers, rivalled only by wounds to one's genitalia.

"Such an insult cannot go unanswered." The shadow said, withdrawing the knife from Locke's fair skin. The guardsman's muscles tensed in expectation of the pain to come; the agony that would follow when this evil thing took his eye. Luckily, that blow never materialised.

"That is why, I shall be the one to train you." He spoke with great pride, presumably pointing the dagger at himself as he was want to do.

"Why Mendacius agreed to the terms you set, I shall never know, but who am I to judge the architect of fate?" The exasperation clear in his tone. The daemon then paused and cast a glance towards the front door of the cabin, obviously detecting something that Locke's gummed up ears could not.

"Regardless." The shadow returned his attention back to the supine human, hovering the blade mere millimetres above Locke's iris. All the while, the guardsman was desperately pushing his head back into the couch with all his strength, putting as much distance between his precious eye and the daemon's blade. There was little give to be had though, and he quickly started to shake with fear, gasping in short breaths.

"Know this, Tomas Locke of Fairnhold. The training will not be pleasant. It will be a gruelling agony, for that is how I intend to break you." The shadow finally finished his monologue as the unmistakeable sound of light footsteps could be heard on the front porch.

The shadow stood up straight, keeping his amber eyes firmly fixed on the helpless guardsman. "Fear not Tomas, for I shall be waiting." He spoke with an evil grin before melding into the blackness.

Still overcome with shock and horror, Locke's mind was slow to process the words of the ruthless entity. Sniffling and shivering with panic, he blinked several times as if expecting some sort of trick on the shadow's part. Locke gasped for lungfuls of air which only served to remind him of his near drowning experience, further reinforced by the bitter cold permeating his limbs.

Wishing to banish that horrible memory as fast as possible, he tried to rub some life back into his tortured arms and legs. Yet his vision stayed firmly fixed to the spot where the entity had extinguished himself. The shaking and terrified soldier never heard the sound of the front door open, nor did he see who stepped into the room. The cloying black mist surrounded him, cutting him off from the light and shrouding him in the darkness.

That was until a being of pure light stepped through the gloomy vapour to stand before him, puncturing a humanoid-shaped hole in the murky cocoon as she did so. Like a pin to a balloon, the darkness flashed out of existence as the light overcame it in an instant. Locke found himself back inside the well-lit cabin again just as it had been.

However, his eyes had become so accustomed to the darkness that he had to avert his gaze, such was the sunlight's intensity. Once the stinging pain had subsided, he dared to open his eyes. His vision was still horribly oversaturated, and it hurt to look about; although, all thoughts of pain were immediately forgotten when he looked up at the figure who stood over him.

A fair woman of immense beauty wreathed in a halo of golden fire stared down at him whilst her gorgeous green eyes were filled with worry. Locke may have been seeing double, but he knew the face of the woman beside him.

His mind was still reeling from the daemon's words and the torture he'd endured. The guardsman wasn't even sure if she was real or not, and so without a second thought, he reached up with all his remaining strength to touch her. He desperately needed to know that she was real, he needed to know that he wasn't alone.

Surprisingly, she did not pull away; his warm and calloused fingers gently came to rest on the side of her head. Locke couldn't help but marvel at the smooth softness of her skin which was akin to the finest silk. This was no illusion, she was real.

Several emotions crossed the eldar's face: shock, confusion, and feigned distaste. Despite her clear discomfort, she did not shrink away from him, nor did she try to remove his hand. Time stood still as the speechless alien and the bedridden soldier gazed into each other's eyes. Eventually though, this moment came to an end as Locke's strength began to fail.

His eyesight blurred as it grew darker along the edges of his vision. A combination of his illness and his recent ordeal caused his mind to wander to such an extent that he was unable to form any coherent thought worthy of note. Losing all inhibition, he started to utter sentimental gibberish whilst tenderly stroking her cheek.

"We should go somewhere far away… far from all this… just you and me… far away…" Locke never saw the blush that coloured her face as his arm flopped back into the bedding and he fell unconscious.


Yelping in surprise, Locke felt something hit him squarely on the forehead. He sat up immediately, clamping a hand to his temple as a way to bear out the pain. Cursing to himself, he opened his eyes just as a flash of lightning lit up the heavens, searing a webbed discolouration across his retinas.

The bright flicker drew out a wince from the confused guardsman, instinctively raising his arms to shield his face. The booming report of thunder followed a few heartbeats later just as a light drizzle swept across the eerie stone jungle.

Feeling a few droplets run down his brow, the guardsman blinked a few times in an effort to get rid of the spots in his vision whilst he looked about his surroundings. Thanks to another vivid thunderclap of lightning, he quickly found the culprit that'd dropped onto his head; it had been the Omnicron which now lay just off to his left.

The artefact had sunken into a shallow drift of dust, wreathed in a faint mist that rose up to half its length. Locke let out a sigh of relief, if the fog had been any higher, he could well have lost it.

The artefact itself lay dormant: a smooth and lifeless onyx cube. Leaning over, he plucked the black stone up from its resting place, scattering the pale ash in a thin cloud. The second his fingers contacted the palm-sized cube, the once hidden runes lit up, casting a muted white light around his hand like a dull lamp. Not only that, but Locke also felt the familiar warmth that flowed into his body whenever he was in physical contact with the Omnicron.

Locke got to his feet, ignoring the translucent mist that pooled around his ankles. With the Omnicron creating a weak halo of light around him, the guardsman was able to properly observe the local vicinity for the first time. Calling his first impression of the strange land negative would be an understatement. He found that he was in a wide and tall corridor with an open roof bare to the sky… or what should have been the sky.

High up above appeared to be the ceiling of a truly colossal cave, stalactites the size of mountains jutted down towards the ground upon which he stood. Clouds of a deep violet drifted aimlessly amongst these reversed peaks while ribbons of azure lightning jumped incessantly between them.

The cracks of these electrical discharges in the heavens above varied greatly in their intensity. Some barely audible over the sound of his own breathing while others made the very air reverberate with the echoes of the caerulean explosion which illuminated the entire area.

The only other notable part of the skyline beyond the confines of the corridor was a vertical fluorescent green pillar of light. By the look of things, the eerie column was some way off, jutting up like a titan over a random assortment of tightly packed walls and corridors that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Whatever the green beam signified was a mystery to Locke, but he sensed a strange compulsion to head towards it.

Locke swallowed at the lump rising in his throat as his heart pounded on the inside of his ribcage like a battering ram. His hackles were well and truly raised as goosebumps ran up and down his arms and legs. If anyone ever asked him what he thought the Abyss might look like, he'd just describe this place.

Holding the Omnicron close to his chest to ward off the darkness, the guardsman wandered over to one of the tall walls that flanked either side of him. It was a dark grey colour which stood in contrast to the lighter flagstones used to pave the floor of the dilapidated corridor.

Each wall was festooned in thick grey vines and creeper plants; the species of this strange flora was not one that Locke recognised. From Locke's own layman perspective, it seemed as though this nightmarish place was somewhere that even time itself had forgotten… and possibly for good reason.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Locke brushed some of the limp fronds aside and laid his hand against the edifice. The stonework was cool to the touch and almost impossibly smooth without a single indentation that the guardsman could find.

The material reminded him of the artefact although the Omnicron was of a far darker hue. After his brief inspection, the guardsman quickly decided upon his course of action – he was going to head towards the green pillar, there was little doubt that it was his objective.

Driven by some sort of primal instinct, Locke kept close to the wall as he wandered down the thoroughfare, trying to make as little noise as possible. If there were any inhabitants that lived in such a wretched place, he doubted that they would be anything other than unfriendly. Besides, it usually paid dividends to be cautious in such an unfamiliar environment.

Carefully making his way along the broken and cracked flagstones, two questions began to circle his mind like a shoal of angry fish.

Where was he and what was he doing here?

Locke didn't believe it was a dream in the natural sense. He had come to notice the disparity in atmosphere between his own dreams and those of the nightmares induced by the Omnicron and its denizens. Bearing that in mind, it didn't take long for him to come to some sort of answer for the latter question. This must obviously be a part of the training the shadow had spoken of earlier.

If this truly was the daemon's so-called training regime, then Locke wanted to curse him ever more harshly than he already did. He'd scarcely been there more than five minutes and already he loathed it. This was not a place for the living.

Locke was jolted from his thoughts by the faint echo of laughter which emanated from behind him. In an abject state of alarm, the guardsman whirled around only to find that there was nothing to be seen except for the coiling mist.

"You're watchin' me aren't you, you sick cunt!" Locke spat, keeping his voice low. His words were muffled by the thunder overhead, but he was sure the shadow had heard him… wherever he was hiding.

Of course, the real irony was that he'd been plopped into some utter hellscape from a living nightmare, and yet his fever symptoms hadn't joined him. His mind was clear of confusion or lethargy and his limbs were brimming with a newfound energy. It was a sad state of affairs when a man had to travel to hell just for some respite from the pain. Locke was certain there was a dark joke hidden in that observation somewhere.

The guardsman mulled this over until a change in the wall's texture and perfect finish stopped him in his tracks. Lifting his hand away, Locke scrutinised the edifice's surface. What was revealed underneath his fingers gave him cause for concern; four narrow grooves had been cut deep into the stone.

If he wasn't mistaken, it looked like claw marks from some large creature. Raising the Omnicron aloft so that it bathed the path ahead in a dull light, Locke found more of the same claw marks adorning the walls and the floor. A shiver ran down his spine as his pulse, already higher than normal, quickened all the more. Judging by the depth of cuts and the damage to the stone, Locke guessed it had been a hell of a scuffle… whatever the creatures were.

Just a little further ahead as he turned a corner, he entered another short hallway that ended in a shear drop. Across the gap lay the other end of the corridor some thirty feet away. It was a dead end. Although, before Locke could turn about to retrace his steps, his vision spotted something half-buried in a dust drift along the side of the wall.

Briefly putting his destination aside, Locke approached the object of his curiosity. Although, as he wiped away a thick layer of dust, the guardsman felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach. For what he'd discovered was in fact a short alien skeleton, lying almost hidden in the mound of dust.

Its big oblong shaped eye sockets were set in an angular elongated skull. Those empty sockets stared vacantly back at him almost as if the dead alien were studying him as much as he was of it. Locke's breath caught in his throat as he took in the dead being's form, it must have stood a few feet shorter than himself if it were stood upright.

Digging a little deeper into the dust, it was soon revealed that the xeno's rib cage had been pried apart and broken. It must have been the creature that had left the claw marks, it was the only explanation that Locke could come up with. The more the guardsman took in the eerie sight before him, the more he was struck by how odd the deceased alien's pose was.

The spindly arm on the right side of the xeno's body was reaching forwards. The limb ended with a hand of three fingers and a thumb, each tipped with a dull claw. However, it wasn't the vaguely humanoid anatomy that interested Locke, but it's configuration. The creature's thumb, middle and pinkie finger were curled inwards while its index digit remained straight. Was it pointing at something?

Grimacing somewhat, Locke crouched down next to the skeleton and followed the line of the alien's gesture which led to the far wall. It was overgrown with more of the grey vines which Locke duly wiped away, revealing a square hole with some sort of cuboid shaped key locked inside. Thinking nothing of it, the guardsman reached inside the hole and turned the mechanism.

A sombre note of a horn blew somewhere as the ground under his feet started to shake. Frozen with fear and uncertainty, Locke could only wait as the rumble of gliding stone reached a crescendo. The mystery of the noise was only revealed when a stone pavement arose out of the abyss to bridge the gap between the two corridors. Before the soldier could celebrate his discovery, a new sound rose above the roaring heavens above.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Awoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

It was a frightening howl, shrill like the siren song of the damned, echoing over the din of the thunder as the yet unseen creature announced its hunt. At least the guardsman assumed it was some sort of animal, not that he wanted to find out.

Locke stood frozen for several heartbeats as the beast was answered by several more of its ilk. Thanks to the endless twisting hallways and corridors, it was difficult to place the creatures, but they sounded close, far closer than Locke was comfortable with.

The guardsman appreciated that if he didn't move soon, they would be upon him, and he had no desire to meet them. He set off at a fast run in the opposite direction to the creatures, all thoughts of going towards the green pillar of light abandoned.

He turned a corner and went left down an adjoining passage followed by a right and then another left. Sure enough, he soon lost track of his whereabouts. His mind was paralysed with fear, the only thought managing to surface through his panic was the desire to escape.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Awoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

He was panting for air, but he couldn't stop. Not now, not with those things so close. Locke was only forced to slow when another piercing howl lanced his eardrums, causing him to stumble as the intensity of the awful noise made him cover his ears. The beast could not have been more than a few corridors away.

Pushing himself off the wall, he rushed on and took a right at the end of the maze segment and entered inside a small clearing. Strangely, the clearing was filled with upright stone columns supporting plinths arranged at regular intervals in a square grid system. The room seemed to serve no other purpose than a decorative one, but the soldier wasted no time in thinking about that.

Seeing no other option, the guardsman ran into the strange chamber, and hid behind a toppled column towards the end of the room. He vaulted over the collapsed pillar and crouched down, pushing his back up hard against it as he willed himself to disappear into the polished stone.

Wary of his heavy breathing, Locke clamped a hand over his mouth to stem the sound which was unquestionably acting as a beacon to his pursuers. Whether it actually made him more inconspicuous was hard to say, although it did at least help him to control his panic.

The pulse of his own heartbeat filled his ears; the tension so thick that he could have cut it with a knife. As his breathing gradually began to calm, Locke noticed a gap beneath the pillar to his left. Reclining, he slowly slid down to his elbows before rolling himself over. From this new vantage point, Locke was able to observe the shadowy entrance of the corridor through the gap in the rubble created by the fallen column and its plinth.

It was a good hiding spot, and Locke dearly hoped that it would allow him to see the monster whilst keeping him concealed. Time slowed to a crawl as the guardsman waited for the creature's appearance.

The cries and howls of the yet unseen creature grew in intensity until it sounded like it was right on top of him. The thud of heavy feet and the scraping of claws was audible now. Whatever foul thing was out there was close, too close; potentially only separated from himself by a single stone wall.

Nearly paralysed with fear, Locke's jaw went slack in panic when he remembered that he was still clasping the artefact tightly in his palm. The radiance pouring out between his fingertips was revealing his entire position; the creature following him would have had to of been blind to miss it.

"Maybe I should put an apple in my mouth and lie down on a silver platter while I'm at it." The guardsman continued to curse his own stupidity whilst he hurriedly stowed the Omnicron inside his pocket, flinching at every sound that he made.

The moment he released the artefact, the light from the black cube's runes was instantly snuffed out, mercifully plunging the guardsman into the gloom of the ruins. Hidden in the safety of the darkness, Locke returned to his peep hole, fidgeting slightly as he made himself as comfortable as was possible in that dreadful place. Finally settling in, he went still. There he remained, waiting for the 'thing' to show itself as he watched on with bated breath, not daring to move a muscle.

Strangely though, the creature had gone quiet. The blood curdling shrieks had stopped which was certainly more pleasant than the alternative; although, it did at least give Locke some idea as to the monster's whereabouts.

He kept his ears peeled, listening out for the smallest noise while his vision darted around the clearing. Yet, the silence stretched out as Locke strained to hear any tell-tale signs of the creature at all. He heard nothing. Not the sound of footfalls, breathing nor barking calls. Not a thing.

The minutes ticked by as rivulets of sweat ran down his back and forehead. Had the creature given up the chase? Locke dared to hope that that was the case. Just when he'd decided to stand up and push on, something deep in his subconscious countermanded the decision.

Immediately, the more cynical part of his mind reprimanded himself for his paranoia, however he obeyed his instincts regardless. Trusting in his gut feeling, he went very still and bided his time. Suddenly, a large dark shape caught his eye as it dropped down from the far wall and leapt out of sight just before he could get a bead on it. In horror, he realised the 'thing' was now in the chamber with him, and it was standing between him and the only way out.

"Where are you?" His voice was so low as to be practically inaudible.

In an ironic twist of fate, the creature didn't let his query go unanswered. Locke froze as it leapt from out of the darkness, dropping into the centre of the room, just in front of his position. The soldier felt his heart jump into his throat as the beast snuffled the flagstones, casting quick glances all around. The guardsman could have sworn that for a split second the creature made eye contact with him before it swept its head around to gaze elsewhere.

He noticed that its breath was misting in the air, plainly still recovering from the original chase. A low rumble built up in its gullet, releasing yet another low-pitched bark. To the guardsman's untrained ears, it almost sounded… frustrated?

Observing the terrible creature's form, the guardsman's face went as white as a sheet of paper; it took all his willpower not to turn and flee. He felt a renewed rush of adrenaline pumping through his body, priming him for either fight or flight. Locke did his best to ignore the two urges, neither of which were viable. There would be no outrunning this thing, remaining hidden was his only option for survival.

The large monster, easily the size of a horse, moved around on six legs as it searched the area. In a constant state of motion, the creature shifted its long triangular snout around, sniffing loudly along the ground and the nearby structures. Locke's blood went cold as the revelation dawned upon him; the beast was following his scent. He wanted to look away but couldn't bring himself to do so. The nightmarish creature was so horrifying that he dared not let it out of his sight.

It had a sharp carnivorous face etched upon a skull-like head. Two symmetrical bony crests shielded the beast's eyes and ran along its brow up to a pair of long pointy ears. The skin of the beast was blotchy in most places: a dark mixture of blue, violet, and ebony hues.

However, what truly caught Locke's attention was the raging fire that wreathed the canine-looking creature's neck in a mane of azure flame as well as around its six ankles. As far as he was aware, the beast didn't seem discomforted in the slightest by the burning parts of its body; its hide didn't even look scorched. The creature growled at the base of a column close to his hiding spot, its short backwards-facing spines flaring up in display.

The grim details didn't stop there. Looping over the creature's shoulder was its tail, coiled back and moving hither and dither like a hungry serpent. Although, unlike a snake's tail, this creature's appendage ended in a large bulb with a cruel-looking barb that protruded from it.

Transfixed by this unusual and horrifying creature, the beleaguered soldier fought to keep his breathing steady as the beast prowled around the chamber seeking out its prey. Curiously, the first two sets of digitigrade legs were set forward while the hind legs rose somewhat higher, similar to that of a feline or a dog.

With no warning whatsoever, the beast abruptly froze for a few heartbeats before snapping its head around to look straight towards the guardsman's hiding spot. Making eye contact with the monster once more, Locke's heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

Two large piercing red orbs that contained soulless reptilian pupils glued him to the spot. Each eye was surrounded by a cluster of smaller irises that lacked any sort of pupil: that put him in mind of an insect or arachnid. All that he could see behind those black pupils was an animalistic hunger for flesh and blood. His flesh and blood to be exact.

It hissed in his direction, baring a mouth full of fangs and sharp teeth as it moved into a low crouch. Locke knew he'd been spotted; however, before he could get up to run away, a warm puff of wind blew past his neck.

Goosebumps sprouted across his arms and legs as he started to shake with fear. Slowly looking over his shoulder, Locke came face to face with another one of the creatures which hung upside down from the overhead plinth. It couldn't have been more than a few arm spans away.

Fuelled by his adrenaline rush, the guardsman rolled over and sprang away in an impressive burst of speed without even a second to think. Backing away between the pillars, the two creatures stared after him but were content to remain where they were. Their behaviour confused him, why hadn't they just attacked and gotten it over with? Was it possible they'd never come across a human before?

Unfortunately, this curiosity didn't bleed over into compassion. When they'd deemed that he'd moved too far away, they followed after him whilst keeping their distance as he continued to retreat deeper into the chamber. The beast on the ground was the closest, while the one striding along the plinths was content to observe him from a little further away.

The creatures' odd behaviour was of no comfort to Locke, he could see that they were both flexing their knife-like claws, evidently readying themselves to pounce. Edging away, he dared not take his eyes off of either of them. However, this became more complicated when another of the monster's dropped down from the wall off to his left.

The arrival of the third pack member shattered what remained of his fragile resolve which evaporated like a puddle in the hot summer sun. Shamefully, he whirled about and fled from the beasts of fire and fang. Weaving his way in and out of the columns, the three monsters were easily able to keep pace with him in their loping gait.

As he neared the edge of the chamber, he came to terms with the futility of his situation. Sucking in a deep breath, he slowed and faced his hunters with his back practically up against the wall. Locke knew he was done for; he might as well go down like a man.

Despite himself, his body took another back step as the hideous beasts closed in on their quarry. He had expected his back to smack into the edifice behind him… and yet, for some reason that hadn't happened. Blinking in surprise, Locke instead found himself retreating down a corridor that led away from the chamber of columns.

The monsters still predominantly held his attention, but he knew at the back of his mind that this shouldn't have been possible. The hallway he was standing in hadn't existed a dozen minutes prior, Locke was sure of it. So where had it come from?

The maze must have been shifting around him, it was the only explanation that he could find. Not letting this good fortune go to waste, Locke spun on his heels and sprinted away from the three creatures stalking after him.

Seeing his flight, the monsters let loose a series of jubilant shrieks as their quarry was off again. Locke heard their foul cries that called for his blood, serving only to power him on. He took a left and then another right, his heavy footfalls echoing off the stone. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that the beasts were easily gaining on him.

Distracted by the approach of his soon-to-be-killers behind him, he never registered that he'd run down a dead end. By the time he realised his mistake, it was far too late. Looking back to his front, his eyes went wide as he collided with the wall at the corridor's far end.

Falling back onto his arse, stars filled his vision as his forehead smacked into the pristine grey stone. The guardsman clutched his hand to his head for what was increasingly becoming a recurring problem. The pain throbbing in his temple stole his focus, Locke only vaguely became aware of the creatures' approach when they appeared through the gaps in his fingers. Removing his hands from his face, he shook his head to clear his vision and stood to face the pack of daemonic creatures.

The three monsters let out a high-pitched howl in unison that made his bladder loosen. This triumphant call was soon answered a few moments later by more of their unseen ilk. For a time, the guardsman and the beasts stared each other down, the latter posturing and braying at him while Locke kept silent.

Then without warning, the second creature of the hunting trio whipped its tail around and loosed off a flying barb like a dart blown from a pipe. The projectile flew straight towards Locke, who was so caught off guard by the unusual attack that he had no chance to evade.

The dagger-like barb pierced the meat of his thigh, causing the guardsman to scream as a fire spread throughout his nervous system. Toppling over sideways, he pushed himself up against the stone wall, bracing himself for the inevitable. Another rib shaking howl brought his attention upward; another of the large beasts had scaled the wall and now hovered just a few feet above his head.

The pain in his leg increased tenfold as the venom started to take effect. The guardsman groaned and wept whilst the original beast prowled forwards before finally pouncing on top of him and finishing the hunt. Locke could scarcely grunt as the wind was knocked from his lungs by the sudden impact of the creature's front paws.

Although, a bestial moan did manage to escape his lips as his ribs cracked under the weight of the big creature who now covetously stared down at its kill. Locke scrunched his eyes shut, refusing to watch anymore while the sound of sizzling soon filled the guardsman's ears as the fire encircling the beast's lower legs scorched his chest.

The smell of burning meat and urine permeated the corridor just as the creature's jaws clamped round his midsection before violently pulling back. His flesh and muscle tore as his screams became deafening from the indescribable agony. Mercifully, the other beast put him out of his misery as its claws ripped out his throat.


The water flowed over the small carcasses, washing away the grime and blood which circled the drain in a macabre spiral. Aristriel continued to ladle more water over the two sections of meat until she was certain they were reasonably clean. When was the last time that she had gone on a hunt? Not since the days of her youth when she walked the path of the ranger.

Aristriel mentally recounted her hunt earlier in the day, feeling a surge of warm nostalgia as it triggered distant memories from her previous life. During her hunting foray, she had come across a pair of agile, semi-armoured animals with thick greyish brown fur.

From what information she'd gleaned from observation alone, it was obvious they were herbivores. Triggered by the slightest sound or movement, the skittish creatures were always on the alert and ready to flee. It had required careful work to remain undetected in the midst of such wary animals, but the banshee had been confident in her use of stealth.

After several hours of careful manoeuvring, the eldar had managed to position herself right where she wanted to be. There she had waited while the two little herbivores strayed closer to her position, not even realising the danger that had awaited them. Just as they'd started munching on the bark at the base of the tree, the eldar had put her plan into motion.

Dropping down from the canopy, she had landed just in front of the two startled beasts. Immediately acting on instinct, the furry marsupial creatures had bounded away from her, wailing several high-pitched cries as they barrelled out of the clearing.

Not wanting them to stray from her desired path, Aristriel had shepherded the two fleeing animals straight towards her traps that she had deployed several hours prior. It had made a nice change of pace for the eldar; it felt good being the hunter instead of the hunted again. Stalking the agile and woolly marsupials had been an interesting challenge, one which had thankfully ended with success.

The banshee had always found the thrill of the hunt to be exhilarating. The adrenaline and the rush of endorphins that always accompanied a successful kill were as intoxicating as she remembered... or at least they would have been had it not been for her war mask. The glow of victory, while still present, was drastically toned down from the usual primal high that she knew. It was like the difference in taste and satisfaction between a hot or cold meal.

This high soon gave way to mild frustration when it came to processing the kill for consumption though. It was the aftermath of a hunt that Aristriel had always found distasteful no matter how many times she'd done it. Skinning and gutting any creature was always grizzly work and this instance would be no exception. To make it worse, the anatomy of the two creatures made it even more laborious due to the armoured scales along their backs and hind legs.

Using a chopping board that she had procured from the kitchen cupboard, she cut up the slices of meat into sizeable portions. In order to preserve her hunt's reward, she would have to resort to a rather primitive method that required a large amount of sodium chloride. The only source of which that she could find was within the guardsman's possession in his kitbag.

This had posed her with a bit of a moral quandary that she normally wouldn't have to deal with. Over the course of their journey together, Aristriel had learnt that humans were very attached to what they considered to be their property – no matter how big or small – in a way that most aeldari simply were not.

Generally, eldar only reserved such a similar level of possessiveness when it came to their truly prized belongings of absolute sentimental value. It was a strange concept to ponder. If he had been lucky enough to be born an eldar, Aristriel would have had no qualms over taking what was effectively his property as it was being used for the betterment and survival of them both.

Surely, even a simpleton like himself can see the pragmatism of my actions. She reasoned uncertainly.

Hmmm, perhaps I should rouse the mon'keigh and make him aware of my actions? The banshee wondered before realising the subordinate nature of such an idea. Aristriel immediately dismissed it, she would never allow herself to show such weakness to such a lower being.

Nothing was certain when it came to the mon'keigh. If he sided with his baser nature and chose not to see the necessity of the situation, then he would only become even more stubborn and irritating to be around.

Then again, the mon'keigh owed her a great deal. If anything, he should just be grateful that the banshee had allowed him to live in the first place so what did it matter? They were a partnership now - a collective, which meant what was his, was now hers too.

The individual may die, but the group will live on.

Using almost all of the guardsman's supply of salt, Aristriel sprinkled and rubbed the newly liberated sodium chloride all over the slices of meat. Satisfied that the foodstuffs would no longer spoil, she hung them up so that they could dry.

It would be days until they finally cured, but there was little rush. After all, the human's condition showed no signs of improving just yet which meant that Aristriel would be stuck playing nursemaid for the foreseeable future.

With her task done, she headed into the living room to check up on her patient. Her companion was still lying comatose in their bedding. She inspected him, checking his headcloth which had needed to be reapplied after his delirium. The malady pervading his body had still not subsided, in fact it was potentially getting worse.

The eldar sighed, she hated to admit it, but she wanted to see him up and walking again. Everything seemed so muted ever since he had contracted his illness. Though, that still didn't excuse his previous actions. The audacity of the mon'keigh to lay a hand upon her, not including the previous night's mischief, was beyond insolence.

Worse still was her indecision in the face of the delirious human's impertinence. The second that he'd moved to touch her, she should have swatted his hand aside, and yet Aristriel had allowed it to go on.

It had been a few hours since the 'incident' and yet she could still feel the shadow of his warmth upon her cheek. Embarrassingly, Aristriel had caught herself caressing the very same cheek as if her subconscious were trying to rekindle the sensation. The emotions that had clouded her judgement were so foreign to her, although she couldn't describe them as unpleasant… far from it. They were just so different to anything she'd experienced before.

It was not my fault; t'was a mere lapse in judgement, and I shan't let it happen again. Aristriel promised herself.

The banshee tried to excuse her own behaviour to herself, but it lacked any real conviction which only stoked the fires of inner conflict raging inside her own psyche. Despite her best efforts, her rebellious mind kept pouring over that regrettable moment again and again like a recording of a harlequin play stuck on repeat. Still, Aristriel remained steadfast when confronted with her own actions. Ultimately, she'd only been beguiled by the mon'keigh's folly due to his frail and emotional state.

It was an easy excuse to make as the supposed nightmare that had visited the guardsman had been far worse than normal. The negative emotions flooding off of him had assailed Aristriel's mind, sending a dagger of terror into her heart which only became worse the closer she'd got to his supine form.

The banshee had never experienced anything like it. From her perspective, it had been like trying to approach a raging aethereal inferno of violet shade and utter darkness, and yet, it had hardly occupied the mortal plane.

It had taken all of her willpower to push through the twisting tornado of gloom to her companion trapped in the eye of the storm. The shear dread that had radiated off of him had almost overpowered her and made her fearful of his mental state.

Strangely though, this weird warp phenomena vanished as quickly as it had appeared. If anyone else had been present whose senses were dulled to the aether, they'd likely have felt nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe a feeling of cold or tension, but little more than that.

As for the miniature warp cyclone that had encircled the human, Aristriel could only find more questions. The way it had expunged itself at her mere presence; why the eldar would have almost described it as exhibiting animal-like behaviour. The nightmare had been a living thing, surrounding its prey, ready to consume the guardsman until she had interrupted the proceedings and it had fled from the scene.

In the nightmare's wake, it had left a thoroughly confused and terrified human. The latter of whom would then go on to praise her in a drunken delirium. Aristriel sighed, if he'd actually been in his right mind, it would have almost been flattering.

While she pondered this further, the rank stench of river water abused her sense of smell. Flicking her head over to the fireplace, she wandered over to the human's clothes which she had hung up to dry. The guardsman's uniform had now dried stiff, although they still carried the musky scent of the river.

A single sniff of the mon'keigh's clothes was enough to make her gag. The garments smelled bad enough without the stench of algae, fish, and whatever else found itself in the waterways, adding to his already unique fragrance.

Picking up each item of clothing in turn, she set up her cleaning station in the kitchen. Meticulously, she started to wash and clean each part of his uniform using an old disinfectant powder that she'd found under the sink. Aristriel wrinkled her nose at the sanitizing powder which carried a sour and vaguely alcoholic odour.

Par for the course, she made sure to check each and every piece of clothing just in case her companion had stored anything within the various pouches and pockets present in much of human attire. While prepping the guardsman's combat shirt, she detected a rectangular indentation through the fabric. Opening the pocket, Aristriel found a battered book hidden in the compartment.

It was a notebook of some sort, encased in a brown cover with a hardback twice the size of her handspan. Setting it to one side, Aristriel continued with her task until everything had been thoroughly washed and was once again drying above the dormant fireplace. He'd probably smell as though he'd fallen into a chemical bath for the next few days, but the banshee thought it would be a definite improvement.

With the grim aroma of the mon'keigh's clothes no longer assaulting her sense of smell, Aristriel was free to turn her attention back to the book that she'd found. Collecting it up off the kitchen counter, she made her way back into the living room and sat herself in the armchair.

The banshee was about to set it down on the central table along with the rest of his belongings, until a bout of curiosity overcame her. Whether it was the successful hunt or the completion of her chores that made her act in such a manner, she couldn't say. Flicking her eyes over to the human, she was reassured to see him still in the midst of his tumultuous slumber.

I doubt I shall understand any of the mon'keigh's infernal scribblings so what harm can be done?

The banshee continued to watch the bedridden guardsman from the corner of her eye as she brought the journal into her lap. Gently prying open the cover, Aristriel found her eyebrows raise at the beautiful drawing once hidden within. All thoughts of stealth disappeared as she opened the book all the way and marvelled at the sketch strewn over the parchment.

Laid out across her lap was a scene depicting a green and verdant valley filled with all sorts of details. The subject of the piece was a graceful and noble animal grazing at its centre. In the background, Aristriel could make out a mountain standing over a lake and a small human town.

Of particular interest to the eldar was a far-off contraption belching out smoke as it crossed along a meadowy ridge. It was too small to make out the details of the machine but that didn't stop Aristriel's imagination coming up with several theories as to its function.

Amazed, she turned the page and was presented with a water colour painting. A beautifully detailed river ran up the page towards a picturesque stone building with a water wheel that was in the process of churning up the narrow river.

On and on it went, each page was filled to the brim with all sorts of drawings and paintings. Aristriel soon lost herself in the artwork hidden inside such a scruffy, weathered notebook. Interestingly as the artist's skill demonstrably improved, the artworks became slowly more surreal whilst still maintaining the quality.

Unfortunately, her admiration for the work was interrupted when the human broke the calm silence by screaming like a dying animal as he sprang up from the covers. The wet rag draped across his temple was sent flying like a rock launched from catapult where it squelched on impact with the opposing wall. Breathing heavily, the guardsman patted himself down and looked about the room, his gaze only settling once it found her.

The moment his wild eyes fixed upon the sketchbook within the eldar's possession, the guardsman's expression instantly shifted from terror to a blend of confused outrage. Blushing with embarrassment, Aristriel averted her gaze as she quickly handed the sketchbook back over to the mon'keigh. The astonished human snatched it from her grasp, checking the notebook over, undoubtedly worried that she had defiled it in some way.

Scanning through the pages, the mon'keigh slowly began to calm when he was certain that the sketchbook was just as he'd remembered it. Finally relaxing, he focused his attention back onto the banshee whereupon an uncomfortable silence followed.

The quiet tension stretched out, scarcely interrupted by the human who uttered a few things in his garish language. Eventually though, Aristriel's curiosity proved too strong, and she had to enquire about the artwork.

How do I make this barbarian understand?

She pointed at the book, then towards him and mimed a drawing action with her hand. The guardsman blinked, apparently taken aback by her sudden interest. A brief expression of distrust crossed her companion's face as he considered her question before shaking his head.

He is not the artist, disappointing but not surprising.

However, before the previous silence could return, the human's sweaty brow furrowed as he quickly leafed through the sketchbook's pages. It was only when he made it towards the end of the notebook's contents that he finally stopped. Holding open the sketchbook with both hands, he presented a particular page for her to scrutinize.

Four figures, presented in exquisite detail on the yellowing and crinkled parchment, stood in a stilted arrangement that could not have come from a scene that had naturally arisen. The top half of the page was occupied by an older man and woman, both standing together with arms linked. In front of them, were two younger humans, a girl and a boy, who must have been the older couple's offspring.

Encouraged by her examination of the sketch, the guardsman then pointed to the young woman; she was the artist responsible. With that information in mind, it only took Aristriel a few moments to understand the significance of the picture; it was a family portrait.

The eldar's interest soon switched from the other characters to the adolescent male whose head only reached up as far as his father's midsection. Her companion had looked a lot younger when this had been originally drawn – back before the stress and grit had hardened the edges of his face. Aristriel would have even gone so far as to say he looked rather sweet… for a human.

Alas her interest in the picture was put on hold when she noticed the human's arms begin to shake from the strain of holding it up. Letting out an ill sigh, he dropped it into his lap whilst shooting her an apologetic look.

Embarrassment, apprehension, and low self-esteem surrounded him; Aristriel couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her companion. His infection must have been playing merry hell with his body.

After adjusting his seating position, his vision returned to the weathered pages. Ever so slowly, the guardsman leafed through the book until he settled on a double page spread. It was another water colour painting that depicted a wide valley, comprised of rolling green hills, golden fields, coppices, rivers, and a sleepy village.

Studying him for a moment, she saw the look in his eyes, they were filled with a deep-seated longing and sadness for the scene before him. Aristriel also noticed that he caressed the painting with his thumb as if he were able to rekindle the sensations that he'd once known.

The banshee's mind was awash with scenarios, those experiences could range from a chaff of wheat running through his fingertips to the swift embrace of the summer breeze. It became clear that he too had lost himself in the painting in much the same way that had happened to her previously.

Drawn in by the intensity of the guardsman's nostalgia, Aristriel moved to his bedside and sat next to the ill human. The mon'keigh didn't notice her sudden closeness at first; both of them were content to sit in silence as they admired the artwork of his sibling, page after page.

Eventually, the sound of quiet snoring reached Aristriel's ears as her ailing companion drifted off to sleep. He turned over, settling into the bedding while the eldar watched with a sympathetic smile. Closing the sketchbook, she pushed it into his arms which he duly pulled close into his chest.


Review Responses:

Golden Sheath – Thank you, glad you liked it. That was one of my favourite scenes to write, although it was a very last-minute addition to the chapter. Indeed, Aristriel coming to terms with her own emotions is going to be one of her main themes. All I'll say is take everything to do with the Omnicron with a big pinch of salt.

Olav152 – Perfect summary. Glad you liked it.

Bassplayer123 – It might be that old or it might not be. That is the question though, is Mendacius a reliable source of information or is he lying?

Look2021 – Thank you!

WallyWolf – It was just the sheer amount of frustration I had writing Mendacius's and Locke's scene together. Originally it went on far longer and had a lot more philosophy crammed into it which made the whole scene very preachy and a big ramble. Yes agreed, I'm really looking forward to writing more of their moments together!

Yeti – Thank you, I thought so too. Haha, that's kind of you to say. #GamersRiseUp

AyeJimmy123 – Nice

Guesty McGuesty – It was a bit of a strange one to write but I agree. The soup scene at the end was a last-minute addition but I'm glad I did it. The chapter was a bit of a downer before that. You're welcome and thank you for your kind words.

Naruto Loves FemKyuubi – You're welcome and thank you. Well, we'll have to see.

Opaque-Cavalier – Cheers, that's kind of you to say! I spent a lot of time on the Mendacius and Locke scene so I'm glad to see it pay off. Well, we'll have to see how the story pans out.

Last worked on 4 years ago – Haha yeah, we're inching our way closer to the finish line bit by bit. I know it's slow paced but there's quite a few plot threads that I need to keep track of and provide information on. Also, relationships (especially ones from drastically different backgrounds) take a long time to build up and I just know that if I rushed it, it would ruin the flow of the story. It might be a vision of the Old Ones, or it might not be, it's hard to say with warp shenanigans. Nice idea though.

Windmorning – Uhhh? Could you elaborate a bit further, I'm not really sure what you mean?

Trumpster15 – We shall have to see how it plays out, although, I wouldn't get your hopes up too high. I'm not really interested in writing a power fantasy.

PJShiper – Haha don't worry, it's easily done. Thank you very much for your review! I'd always wanted to write a small scale 40k story focused on one or two characters so I'm glad to see you enjoying it!

Grog the Big – I know! Purge him I say! Thank you for the compliments!

Tracitus – Thank you very much! Yes, I was adamant not to use a 'love-at-first-sight' that a lot of other authors use. Unfortunately, due to the slower nature of the relation development that I've chosen, it's going to take a lot longer to get the big payoffs than other stories. I really wanted Locke and Aristriel to feel like a team even though they may not see eye-to-eye on everything due to their differing objectives. I'm happy to see that this characterisation is carrying across and that you're enjoying it.

Bishop Havel – Shhhhhh. Don't make me lock you up in the watchtower again!

Apple424 – Glad you like it! Interesting, I always linked Locke's lost equipment as a means of reinforcing the perilousness of the journey that he is embarking upon. He is noticeably weathered as he should be.

Dutyofthereader – Ah, I was wondering when someone would find that meaning and origin of Mendacius's name. Well, I won't say too much but from some of speculation you've provided, I'd almost think you'd somehow gotten a hold of my notes page xD. You'll see one of your predictions outlined in this chapter. Anyway, thank you so much for such an in-depth review, it gives me a lot to think about as well as a lot of ideas to consider.

Random Guest – Maybe at some point in the future. Thank you for the review.

Guest – I swear the next person to say 'this is abandoned' is going to get a very strongly worded letter :(

Last Worked on 4 years ago – I may have gone a bit longer this time.

Valiryo – Well when you've only got a limited supply of ammo, wasting it on targets you can't actually see is probably a bad idea.

LongSelfindulgentReviews –

1. I went with the fog of war explanation; an alien incursion isn't exactly common.

2. Yeah, they were basically stuffed. Nothing they could honestly do about it.

3. No problem.

4. Thank you and I still stand by it. If there's no story, you're just left with characters doing things for no real reason and it gets old pretty damn fast.

5. I'll take that as a compliment.

6. I do my best.

7. Haha… yeah about that.

8. Thank you!

9. Thank you for your high praise, it really means a lot. One of my other commenters said I was following a 5-act structure so that's why its still technically Act 2. For a character learning another language, I would take inspiration from real life. A person first learns nouns (ground, tree, rock, etc), pronouns (I, he, she, etc) then verbs (throw, run, climb, etc). So, "I throw rock, tree." which will then become more advanced as the character learns more about the language. For example, "I threw a rock at that tree."

Still Addicted – Glad to hear it, I apologise about the long wait.

Guest – Unfortunately '1d4chan' is down and I couldn't find the image. I shall take your word for it though.

Exivus –

1. An eldar rookie.

2. Unlike Aristriel, Locke doesn't have a warp backdoor into the comms system. He's just a regular soldier at the end of the day, he wouldn't know how to work something so complex. An automaton carries incredibly heavy weapons which would weigh him down if he's trying to escape. Even if Locke were able to carry one, what chance would he have of breaking it off the cyborg and it still remaining functional? Pretty damn low in my opinion.

3. He's pretty damn lucky… from a certain point of view I suppose.

Guest – It's not.

Red2013.777 – Right… about… now!

Guest – Not burned out, just snowed under with real life to be honest.

PoisonPen37 – Thank you very much, I hope you like this recent addition too.