Timewatch: Shawn. And you'll just have to wait and see.

Bezerkoid: I'm wary of using any sort of flying unit besides jump and assault units like the Assault Marines, but I may. If I do, that'll have to wait till a bit later, in Act II when I have a means to bring in more. And Act II won't be for a while I think.

Icee: Hehehe. -looks at the lawnmower-

R'N'Rer: Yeah. Like I said, I may be able to fit them in, but ... it all depends on circumstance. I have three confirmed late arrivals in my head, but I can't speak of them. YET.

Danilacus: Whoops, my bad. And yeah, I'm hoping I can keep the right blend going. We'll see what the future brings.

Seshtah: I can't claim credit for the concept, but thanks.

DrinkArizona: -only response is to cackle manically-

Exewon: Slaaneshi Mechanicus servants = The Japense Dream?

Inquisitor Soren: Appreciated. And I'm hoping I can. Just gonna have to read ahead to see.

Blip-chan: I rule! ... Seriously though, got no problem with sharing the concept with other writers. Hell, we can turn it into a whole genre! And thanks. I DID need that. Now lets see if its enough to get me through writing this.

-cranks on the music and sets to work-

Even for a psyker of Macha's prodigious talents, these Death Cult assassians were skilled. While graceless and jerky to Eldar eyes, their speed was ALMOST a match for one of the Howling Banshee's, launching themselves from the shadows in a rush. Clearly the product of the primitive human biotics and gene enhancement.

Turning on them, flourishing her Singing Spear before slamming its base into the table beneath her, a wave of psychic force expanding out from her to blast the Assassian's back. Or most of them at least. Three managed to brace themselves against the blast, surging forward when the wave passed them.

The first was met by a lighting blast, neurons burning out before the fact that flesh was burning and melting could even be sent to the brain. The killer fell, looking in dumb shock as his body was burned and dying before his very eyes. By the time he hit the ground, he was already dead.

The second met her end on the end of the Spear, skewered mid leap through the stomach, eyes widening as blood and other bodily matter poured from the wound the further she slid down the spear until it pierced through her back. Flicking the weapon back over her shoulder, Macha threw the dying cultist over her shoulder and behind her, shock already numbing the limbs and leeching the life from her. She would be dead in a matter of seconds.

But the third was already moving into her guard, ducking a swipe from the spear's deadly blade as he got in closer. A spear is a potent weapon, able to strike outside of an opponents own reach, used to tie them up and keep them from striking. But get WITHIN the weapon's reach, get past the point, and it becomes an unwieldly staff, unable to deal a killing blow as long as you remain within that bubble, leaving they opponent open.

The death cultist realized this of course, how could she not. She had been raised from childhood with the arts of death, taught to kill in countless ways with countless weapons, all in the name of they Emperor. She knew nothing else. And before here was an example of that which the Emperor most despised.

Keeping close to Macha, the Death Cultist slashed again and again at the Eldar Farseer, only her talents for foresight allowing her to bring the spear in line time and again to block the blurring blows rained down on her. But while her opponent couldn't land a killing blow, neither could she. The cultist was to close to strike with the spear, to skilled to allow a blow from the haft of the weapon to land, and Macha could not allow her focus on her defense to slip long enough to use a psychic blast on the deluded Mon'Keigh.

And time worked in her opponents favor. Barely three seconds had passed since the battle's opening and already those hit by the psychic blast were recovering, pulling themselves up and advancing quickly. It would be a matter of moments before they were on her. And she could not defend against them all.

Seeing the paths before her, what was coming, there was only a single option she could play that would allow her to survive for longer then she could draw breath. Leaving herself open, she spun, throwing her spear with pinpoint accuracy, watching it pierce one of the assassian's through the stomach and send them flying backwards, pinning them to the ground as they're eyes glazed over and faded in a matter of moments.

But now she was unarmed, open, and the assassian she had been dueling was not going to let such folly go unpunished. Slashing out in an elegant figure eight pattern, catching the powerful psyker along the shoulder, cutting a heavily bleeding gash along it as she barely avoided having her stomach slashed open. With her arm now useless, the death cultist smirked at the xeno witch, preparing to deliver they Emperor's Judgement to her.

She never even saw the Signing Spear returning to its masters hand, stabbing clean through the trained killer in an explosive gout of blood and visceria. Her eyes widdened, a scream leaving her for a fraction of a moment before she fell.

But now Macha had only one arm to fight with, her spear gripped loosely in one hand as she shakely stumbled back. There were to many left and she was drained. She could see now escape now.

Death had finally claimed her.

Resigning herself to her fate, Macha's shoulders slumped, the tip of her spear dropping to the wood beneath her as she closed her eyes. Seeing their prey finally give up the hunt, like a pack of wolves the Death Cultists circled her, preparing to lunge in for the kill.

Their only warning was a shadow falling over them. So focused were they on the kill, only one of them, the youngest, looked up. Only they saw the massive hand, like the vengeful fist of the Emperor himself, coming down at them. A cry left her lips, trying to warn her brothers and sisters.

It was to late.

Four of them were crushed under the massive palm, the table jumping beneath the others feet, sending all atop it tumbling. When all eyes looked up, they saw Shawn above them, his eyes burning with a vengeful fire as he struck out again, swiping two more aside to fall to the ground below with shattered bones.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?!"

Macha could only stare up in shock. She had used her sight. No one was going to save her. She had been about to die. And yet here he was, half of her attackers dead in a matter of moments, killed with casual ease.

Those Death Cultists remaining showed no fear at this new foe. They were servants of the Emperor. The pure would triumph. Some still trying to complete their mission while others tried to take down the giant that had denied them. Blessed blades stabbed into his hand, only for them to be wretched away from their owners grip as he grabbed many in a single sweep of his hand, snarling at them. Still they fought, stabbing at him again and again, even as they were crushed.

Within moments the fight was over. Dead and broken bodies of the Death Cultist's lay everywhere. Only Macha was left standing.

Shaking, both from blood loss and shock, the Eldar, usually so cool, so in control, looked up at the mon'keigh that had saved her, leaning heavily on her staff. "How ... How did you ..."

Shawn scowled down at the tiny Farseer, shaking his head. "I could hear you screaming all the way through the walls. Not like I could sleep with THAT ringing in my ears."

When the human scooped her up, carrying her off to be tended to by the crude apothecaries of those Space Marines and Guardsman that had followed him in curiosity when he rushed down the hall, Macha was to tired to think of what the human said.

It would only be later that she realized it.

Only later would she realize ... she had never called out during the fight.

(**)

The Death Cultist knelt in the shadows, her blade laid before her, tears of shame running down her cheeks as she recounted her failure to a true servant of they Emperor, her master, the one who had made her and her brothers and sisters even more faithful in service to Him on Terra.

He let her suffering drag on, let her shame seep into every fiber of her being, and he did nothing to dissuade or comfort her. She had failed. Worse, she almost exposed them. She should have died with the rest of them. But this one ... this one thought it was her "duty" to inform him. Coward.

When he spoke, his words echoed through the darkness, bouncing back at her again and again. "You have failed they Emperor."

Tears flowed anew from killer, little more then a girl really, who knew nothing but what she had been told by men and women who trained her from birth in the art of death, all for a religious ideal. In many ways, it was almost pityful. But she would never see this. Neither would he. To him, she was a tool. Nothing more.

"There is only one way to ammend for such failure."

The girl said nothing, nodding her head as she gripped the sword once more. There was only one way. May the Emperor find the mercy to take her by his side.

Turning the blade towards herself, she stabbed it into her own body. When she fell upon the blade, she was still alive. Her death was slow, painful as her life's blood pooled out around her.

That man did not even bat an eye.

It was only when the life was finally gone from her that one of the other occupants of the room moved, a snap of flame appearing in the darkness, revealing a face lined with scars and tattoo's as it was pressed to an ilo-stick between his lips before looking to the man they assassian had killed herself for.

"I told you those zealots couldn't do the job. You should have let me handle it."

Those lifeless eyes turned to the smoker. Even after so many years, those eyes still chilled the man's blood, his voice still put some steel in his spine.

"They were expendable anyways. The witch was a danger, but a minor one. We proceed as planned."

"You sure that's wise? The witch may be on to us now. And she has that giant, maybe even the others-"

"They will serve they Emperor or die. We will not fail in our mission."

The smoker frowned, but said nothing, watching as his Master turned his gaze to the other occupant of the room. "After all this time, all this preperation ... its almost over."

The woman standing in the shadows snarled, struggling against the binds that bound her, the heavy leather and adamantium straps binding her arms behind her, the tattoo's and brands on her fair skin once more never seeming to quite come into focus. The Master only smirked as she struggled more.

"Isn't that right Venostaraza?"

The woman stiffened, a snarl showing teeth more akin to fangs filling her mouth, her eyes glowing a burning red as the faint scent of brimstone filled the air.

"Yes ... Master ...."

When the Master leaned back, still hidden in shadow, the faint light still caught his chest, glinting off the rosette hanging from his neck.

And the stylized I upon it.

"Soon ... they Imperium will be safe." Inquisitor Toreth said, to no one but himself, gazing into the darkness. "Soon ... everything will be set right ..."

((**))

I appologize again for the delay. Just ... life has not been good lately. Hopefully things are reaching a point though when I can be a bit more functional again.