Sorry for the long update. It was very hard to get my lazy ass up and working :p and there were many things happened to me last month, both good and bad. Good thing is I will go to college next month yoohoo. But the bad thing is that one of my friend (the one Illiara is based on) will go to Japan in October, and I want to spend time with her. That slowed me a lot.

Well, enough talking, enjoy the new chapter and thank you guys for your reviews.

-Awilla the hun: ahhh the horse. Don't worry about it, I have a plan for it. Its relationship with Glen will be mentioned in the next chapter. And about the peasants...they are the descendants of the human colonized this worlds in the Dark Age of Technology. Although most of the technology was lost, their talking habit remain the same.

-Dominic Trungove: Thule is not Davian Thule, unfortunately. If he were Davian Thule, The D Eldar would be butt raped loooong ago

-Messiah-Emperor: You will know what happened in the next chapter. I really want to tell you but that will spoil the story :p

It was kind of funny that pain wasn't the first thing Glen noticed. Not that there wasn't a lot of it. Instead, it was the warmth. But his eyes didn't want to open. His body felt like lead. Lead and pain, but lead nonetheless. Nothing wanted to move. Nothing wanted to work.

But some images flashed through his mind. The Dark Eldar...his wound...he remembered. But now he was lying in a cot. His body was bruised, his right shoulder hurt like hell, although they had started healing nicely. But there was one more thing even more uncomfortable...he was in his undergarment.

"You are awake."

The voice made him jump, turning quickly to look at the source. Bad idea. He felt dizzy, seeing two Illiara sitting beside him. The Warlock smiled faintly; she was bruised, too, but otherwise unharmed.

"Urgh, how long have I been unconscious ?"

"Three days. It took me a lot of effort to save you. The toxin dissolved into your vein, and you lost too much blood. Lucky that I used to be a healer." She stopped for a moment before continued "But you're too reckless. Charging a Dark Eldar gunline ? Next time think carefully before doing anything stupid, or I will send you to your beloved Emperor myself, foolish Mon'keigh."

Even she was tired, Glen still felt amusement in her voice "The Emperor doesn't need a coward to serve him in the afterlife, and I am definitely one, so I won't die soon."He chuckled "And thank you. This is the second time an Eldar save my life. Although I know my race are xenophobic, I still don't understand why mankind's hatred for Eldar is so deep."

Illiara sighed "Many Eldar are ...not so friendly to human-to say the least. We have done horrible things to ensure our survival; we have killed, pillaged, crushed entire worlds under our feet, only to catch a glimse of hope; we are not much better than the Dark Eldar, just too arrogance to realize the truth." Seeing that Glen was preparing to protest, she quickly changed the subject "Beside, don't thank me. I only did a little. She was truly the one who save you." The Warlock said, and pointed to the cot next to his.

This was the first time Glen observed the person next to him. He suddenly felt a mountain inside his chest when he saw her face, and then her white hair.

It was Mist.

Her eyes closed tight. She was sweating heavily, her mouth babbled nonsense. The bandage on her shoulder was stained with blood.

All the strength seemed to leave Glen's body again when he realized how poor her condition was "Can...can you save her ?"

"She took a Venom blade hit for you. I have done anything possible to purge the poison; much of them was cleared, but there is still a small amount left. The rest is up to her."

"And...what happened to others ? How many ?"

"What ?"

"Don't pretend; You know what I am talking about. How many?"

"Eight...eighteen death, twenty five wounded. All the wounded were saved, but the dead...they haunted me. Most of them came from my force. They died because of my arrogance. Hundred years of experience is for what ? I...I...?

She was visibly shaken. He felt sorry for her. Although he had believed her when she said she valued the life of other races, a small part inside him still thought that she had showed off a little; but it turned out that she actually cared about the human she led. Glen would never forget the commander of Solaris campaign, who was so stupid, ruthless and coward to the point that he spent two full companies of conscripts just to slow down the Brass Scorpion attacking his mansion long enough to evacuate his treasure. Illiara was not like that. Although she was an alien, she was better than many human out there. Stayed with her, he felt secured, safe, and the warmth he had thought would be lost forever since he joined the Guards...

"Don't blame yourself" He said, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible "The dead...they chose their path; it's not your fault that those men died protecting what is important to them. This is war; even the Farseers of yours, with their prophetic power, could not hope to protect everyones. And you have done a good job, you saved most of the town population, you pushed the invaders back, destroyed them utterly. What could we ask for more ?"

The Warlock looked up, her eyes were red, as if she had been crying for a long time. And with a swift action, to his surprise, her arms curled around his neck, her hair whispered into his ears. She maybe was hundred of years old, but right now she was just a kid needing someone to rely on. And, in time, he returned the hug. After what seemed to be such a blissful eternity that didn't last for long enough, they eventually released each other, moving just inch away. Glen wished he didn't have to let her go, but inside him he knew the only good things could last forever were the God-Emperor and the Imperium of Man.

"Thank you, Glen" she said.

Glen felt his cheek darken to red. He turned away, tried not to look at the beautiful green eyes of the Eldar. But unfortunately, he stumbled upon another pair of eyes, equally beautiful, but those were blue, and they were right next to his arm. Mist had awaken; even though she was still weak, her confusion was clearly visible. She had probably seen what they had done, plus their position was...somewhat sensitive and easy to misunderstand. They looked at each other.

A long, awkward moment passed. No one moved. No one said a word.

"Oh no."

Waves after waves of cultists crashed at the shore of his defence. They threw themselves at the Dark Eldar's guns with reckless abandon, one fell, and ten more took his place. Laatheeym's small troop contingent began to lose ground, their number dwindled rapidly at the face of overwhelming enemy assault. He saw Uzel, the Haemunculus, tore apart by the frenzied cultists; he saw Ireko, his personal Lhamaean, fell lifeless, a round dark hole in her forehead; he saw his remaining warriors dropped like flies around him, their bodies mutilated and eaten. All had been lost; continued fighting was tantamount to suicide. Leaving his warriors to their death, Laatheeym and the remnant of his retinue rushed to their Venom. Then suddenly he realized that he had lost it; the most precious thing to him, the only thing that kept him sane in the madness of Commorragh. He must have it back.

With his keen senses it was not very difficult for him to located it. Throwing himself off the flying transport, Laatheeym rushed to the object, slaying everyone who got on his way. By the time he reached it, there were dozens of corpses littered the ground. He picked the thing up: a small, black statue of Asuryan that had been cut in half. To others this was just a piece of junk, but to Laatheeym, it was priceless: the only thing his mother left him before her escape from Commorragh, and according to her fellow slaves, if he found the white half of the statue, he could meet her again. He had sticked to this childish belief since he was still a kid; it had given him the strength to do terrible things to others, just to meet his loved ones again...

He looked up, his Venom still hovered in place, ready to pick him up. The Dracon gathered his strength, prepared for another jump. Then suddenly, several lightning bolts hit the skimmer, turned it into a burning wreckage.

And it fell right onto him.

The felling metal chunk had almost killed him. While Laatheeym was relatively unharmed, he was stunned by the blast. Immobile and surrounded, his only hope is that his ship's crew could come and rescue him in time.

Meanwhile, in orbit...

Shipmaster Kovart remained silence, despite multiple calls for help from the raiding party. Laatheeym's stood out among them, but to him this was only a small nuisance. He didn't intent to save them anyway.

"My lord...the Dracon requested an extraction immediately."

"Belay that order. We're moving out."

Kovart had been waiting for this moment for too long. Finally he was able to dispose Laatheeym and become the new Dracon. After what he had done to him...revenge was sweet.

"Kneel before your new Dracon !"

He couldn't believe it. He had been betrayed by his minions. Although he always knew this moment would come, but he didn't expected it to happen so soon.

The Dracon stood up. All his troops were dead. And the cultists were approaching him, their mouths full of Eldar blood. But they abruptly stopped. Only one of them moved toward him, but this one was different. He wore a cloak, his face hidden in the shadow of the hood; on his bare chest, there was a glowing eight-pointed star lying on a massive burn mark.

"A living Eldar ? Slaanesh will be pleased."

The Cult of Purity had been existing on this world for thousand of years, they devoted themselves solely for one purpose: to keep humanity pure and clean, destroy any taint that threaten to defile the Holy form of Man. During their long existence the Cult had gained considerable power and wealth; not even Lothar, the bloodthirsty tyrant of Brestia, or Varren, the ambitious king of Teyrin, dared to attack them. They just left them, and their resource-rich domain alone in hope that someday the Cult would destroy themselve in a power struggle between leaders.

But sadly, as Grand Master Ramilies knew, power struggles were impossible if all your men were selfless fanatics with no care for personal welfare.

Today the Grand Master had an unusual meeting. A Sorcerer wanted to hire his force to get rid of some pesky mutants that get on the way of his business. Although his Cult only hunted mutants, not Sorcerers, he still felt that someday they would become a major threat to humanity. And one of them now wanted to use the faithful like mercenary !

But here he was. Despite how distateful he felt about the sorcerer, he must still be polite. The sorcerer approached the throne in which Ramilies was sitting. While his Guard were heavily armed and armoured, he wore only a cloak, and on his bared chest sit a bizzare, glowing eight pointed star. Under the strange symbol, there was a massive burn mark. How could he survive such a terrible injury is beyond the Grand Master knowledge.

"Tell me your name, stranger."

The Sorcerer looked straight at him. Although the upper half of his face was totally hidden under the shadow of the hood, Ramilies could still saw his inhuman eyes. They chilled him.

"You can call me...Kaeron."