After taking the orkified base and mopping up the few Boyz we found in the garrison, we decided to do some looking around. It quickly became apparent that Marrlë's instinct to attack the fortress had served us beyond simply giving us a fight; immediately we stumbled upon an unused storeroom, full of medical supplies and bandages. Though lacking in advanced medical ability, Rosie eagerly took to binding Marrlë's gashed arms. He refused any painkillers, though, saying it wasn't a very Khornate thing to drug away the pain. All part of the game, he called it. Looking at the nasty cuts he bore, I knew I wouldn't have done the same in his stead.

Rosie had cuts and bruises of her own. I offered to help her with them, but she waved me away, saying they'd heal by themselves given a little while. Nonetheless, I felt obligated to help her after all she'd done for me so far, so I polished Thurion's armour while she bandaged his reopened wound. The grouchy Space Marine and I were not friends by any measure, but my assisting him with the autocannon had created a quiet understanding between us. For the duration of Rosie's tending to him, he didn't sneer at me a single time.

Unable to withhold my curiosity, I glanced at him a few times while polishing his armour. I'd never seen an unarmoured Space Marine, and had no idea what to expect. What I saw was actually more surprising than anything I'd been imagining: every one of his bulging muscles was reinforced by and entwined with metal cables, which occasionally broke the surface of his skin. The marine's flesh was hairless and rubbery-looking, and beneath the surface of his chest was a faintly visible black film that extended around his torso, like a vest worn under the skin. At several points on his body, things not unlike large rivets were bolted into him. All of this looked incredibly odd and uncomfortable, and I reminded myself that most tech-priests looked like this, only taken to another level entirely.

Without a doubt, his most memorable feature was the pair of large black horn-like protrusions twisting out of his mid-back. They seemed to have grown through his armour, which had, to my amazement, seemingly adapted to this; it bore two holes of a corresponding size and placement, with runic patterns extending outwards from those points.

Once Rosie had finished with his side, he rose, rolled his shoulders and stood there as if waiting for something to happen. It took a moment for it to set in that he wanted us to put his armour on; the Daemonette was already beside me, taking pieces of his gear and placing them onto him one bit at a time. I got the impression that this should have been a much more complicated procedure, but oddly enough, the armour appeared to seamlessly meld with his skin once each piece was on. Now, I was no expert, but I was fairly sure that this was not how power armour normally worked.

We were done in a surprisingly short amount of time. With his full suit – minus his helmet, which he never wore – equipped, he nodded by way of thanks and headed out into the adjoining hallway. With our duty done, Rosie and I followed suit and began exploring the garrison. Whoever built it had seemingly had every amenity before the orks had taken it; there were rooms with fuel for vehicles and chain weapons, a small laboratory stocked with the materials one would normally use to make explosives, a chamber piled high with ammunition, and – yes! – an honest-to-goodness armoury.

We found Thurion there, sorting through bolt rounds and strapping choice magazines to his belt. He barely acknowledged us as we looked at the many guns mounted on the walls. Most of them were lasguns; I actually spied a portable lascannon, which I was tempted to grab. However, the highlight of our visit to the gunroom turned out to be the plasma pistol I found lying behind a stack of autogun ammo cases.

I picked up the weapon and held it up to the flickering light, admiring it almost reverently. Compact, light, and devastatingly powerful, this gun was a true rarity, and I silently thanked the Emperor for allowing me to come upon such a gem. Rosie appeared bored, looking disinterestedly at her claws, so I pocketed the pistol, along with a couple of plasma flasks, and the two of us left the armoury – but not before I cast one last forlorn glance at that lascannon.

As we walked down the garrison hallways, I got the odd sense that Rosie was nervous about something. That wasn't like her at all; she was usually teasing and provocative, and it was her silence now that made me wonder – and worry. Damantin's warning flashed to the forefront of my mind, and so I pushed my worry for her aside with some difficulty, resolving not to bring anything up that didn't need to be.

One of us might have spoken then, if we hadn't heard the distinctive sound of Marrlë's yelling voice. Breaking into a run, we threw open the door of the garrison to find him ranting happily to a bored-looking Damantin in the courtyard, which was still littered with choppas and shootas.

"This place has it all!" He raved, swinging Gorelady around with reckless abandon. Damantin subtly shifted to stand a bit further away, while nodding in mechanical agreement. "Stocked with weapons, all tricked out with barricades and autocannons, there's shelter if a dust storm hits, and a kitchen in the garrison, with food! Real food!"

"Old food," said Damantin, tonelessly.

"But not spoiled food! Attacking this place was the best idea I've had since…" and on he went for a while, until he at last seemed to notice me and Rosie and took that as his cue to calm down a tad. "Oi, I didn't see you two. Looks like you've got yourself a new gun, Fen." He nodded at the handle of the plasma pistol sticking out of my pocket, and I pulled it out to show off.

"Isn't it something? I didn't think there was anything like this on Armatura, but it's not the first time I've been surprised since landing here." Marrlë smiled at that, and then spun around to take in the base with a wave of his hand.

"I was just saying to Damantin – this place has everything we could want. It's defensible, well-stocked and bound to be attacked by orks all the time." I agreed with him, right up until that last part, but chose to simply nod. Orks were a pretty unavoidable hazard on this planet; if we were to deal with them, I figured we might as well do so from an advantageous position. "So I was thinking –"

"We turn it into a base?"

"Exactly." He beamed, and his iron teeth managed to flash, even in the gentle, dust-choked light. "You agree?"

"I've heard worse ideas," I replied, looking around at Damantin and Rosie. "What do you two think?"

"I am also in agreement," the Thousand Son said, "though I would be gratified if Marrlë ceased baying about what an excellent decision he made in choosing to attack this fort. He has been shouting constantly for nearly five minutes." The Khornate reddened and muttered an apology, which got a chuckle out of me.

As the sky grew redder, which signaled the onset of this planet's equivalent of night, I offered to take first watch. I did that often, for selfish reasons: though I was beginning to enjoy the others' company – especially Marrlë, who never failed to bring a smile to my face with his relentless enthusiasm – I still treasured those moments where I could sit by myself, look up at the ruddy, dust-strewn heavens and imagine an Imperial ship descending from them to spirit me away. A far-fetched notion, and one that used to make me despair at its improbability, but it had eventually settled into a dull, familiar source of hope.

On that night, when the red roof of the sky was less dust-choked than usual, it was Rosie who came to find me sitting atop one of the large orkified autocannons, staring off into space. As usual, I did not hear her approach, and her presence was unknown to me until I felt the cold surface of her claw tickle the back of my neck. By this point, though, I had gotten accustomed to her attempts to make me jump, and now denied her the pleasure of seeing me do so.

"Are you trying to get me to break my own neck? If I actually fell from here, I just might. But then, I guess you'd find that funny."

With a hiss of displeasure, the Daemonette lithely scaled the gun and lay on her belly, crossing her forearms and propping herself up on her elbows. "When are you going to stop maligning me, Fenwick? In case you hadn't noticed, I don't want you dead – in fact, quite the opposite."

"I've noticed you keep helping me. Every time I get tired or hurt, you're always there first, making sure I'm all right. Why?" I kept my face carefully expressionless. She did not; hurt and anger twisted her beautiful features and easily struck guilt into my heart. It occurred to me that the effect was probably deliberate.

"If I weren't a daemon, you wouldn't be asking that."

"But you are a daemon," I replied evenly, my voice as neutral as I could make it. "So tell me." In the end, though, I couldn't help myself, and added, "Look, it's not that I'm scared, and I'm not angry either. I don't mean to upset you-"

"But you have."

"-but I have. Still, I think I have a right to make sure." I winced inwardly, and continued. "Surely I'm not being unreasonable, am I?"

"No, you're not," she conceded with a scowl, "but daemons are not creatures of reason."

"Noted." I got the impression that she wasn't inclined to give me a straight answer, but I was prepared to push in order to get one. I thought I was justified in wanting to know if I was being lured into becoming her plaything. "But you must have a reason for coming out to find me, no? My watch isn't over until the sky gets much redder."

The tiniest of smiles graced her lips, and I felt marginally better about myself. "I do."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" I tilted my head, forcing her to do the same if she wanted to look directly into my eyes. She went with it, and her smile broadened.

"I might show you. But not before you apologize to me for asking such rude, tasteless questions."

"I didn't mean to-"

"But you did," she cut me off again, enjoying the power she currently held over me. "Go on, I'm waiting."

I sighed exaggeratedly in mock defeat. "Fine, fine. I'm sorry I asked you such rude, tasteless questions, Rosie."

"Apology accepted." Her eyes gleamed, and she shifted across the gun, closer to me. I forced myself not to retreat further up the autocannon and held her gaze. "Now, would you like me to answer those questions?"

I blinked. Once again, there went my expectations. Still, I had held my ground this far, and I wasn't going to let my footing slip. "You will?"

"Contrary to what you seem to believe, I am a daemon of my word," she said, pushing herself up and leaning back on one slender arm. The long, thin dark purple tendrils extending from her head in place of hair swayed gently in the dusty wind, and like everything else about her, I found them alarmingly attractive. "I'll tell you, Fenwick… but only because it has to do with my reason for coming out here."

I said nothing to that, prompting her to continue.

"You know that Daemonettes are the lesser daemons of Slaanesh. And, from my explanation, you have some idea of what Slaanesh is… and, by extension, what I am. What I represent."

She must have shared in my discomfort, because she paused here. The expression on her face told me it was not only for effect. "I was summoned to this plane by Damantin, to serve him in battle. Don't ask me how; apparently, he was trying to summon a daemon, and I appeared instead of a Horror of Tzeentch. Nonetheless, he decided to keep me summoned, and so I have existed outside of the Warp for nearly two months, now."

"The longer I stayed, the more feelings filled me. Joys, pains, rages and sorrows; I came to know them all, and as I took them in, I grew stronger. I have not always had four arms, you know – they grew after a battle involving particularly elevated sensations. And as I've grown stronger, I have developed thoughts and motivations beyond simple excesses and pleasure. I want to stay here, outside of the Warp – daemons who remain here long enough to grow are a privileged and enlightened few. But I am having… difficulties."

"Difficulties?" Openly intrigued and privately worried, I leaned forwards, which seemed to surprise her. Her head turned sharply to face me, dark eyes wide, and she averted her gaze before continuing.

"As I grow more powerful, I require more and more heightened emotion to keep me attached to Materium. Without it, I am in danger of fading back into the Empyrean. Fighting helps, but it doesn't happen often enough to keep me… sated, so to speak. Marrlë's constant excitement is a tiny lifeline, but that isn't enough either. Without a powerful source of emotion tethering me here, I will fade away before long."

I took all this in, taking a moment to digest it, and felt a twinge of sympathy. I understood her situation, as well as a simple Guardsman could understand a daemon's plight. Something wasn't clicking, though. Hesitantly, I asked, "What does all this have to do with me?"

Keeping her eyes carefully averted, she mumbled something inaudible. I frowned and leaned closer. "What?"

"…I was hoping you could be my tether."

And just like that, everything connected in my head. I jumped off the autocannon, down to the wall it was mounted on, and backed away. "So, all along, you helping me and being nice to me – you just wanted to beguile me?"

"No! It's not like that at all!" Her nervousness seemed to have given way to something I'd never seen from her. Was that desperation in her voice? "I mean, I may have thought about it, from time to time, but that was never my intention. I want something different from you, feelings that I don't have to bewitch you in order to earn."

I stopped dead, looking up at her in utter astonishment and total disbelief. Out of everything so far, this was the hardest thing to swallow by a significant margin – and that was saying a lot. This daemon – no, Rosie – wanted…

"You want me… to…"

Pursing her lips, she nodded quickly. The weir light of Armatura's night sky shone harshly down on us both, casting a red sheen over her purple skin and runic armour and lengthening the shadows cast by the wall and the cannons atop it.

"Yes. I was hoping I could make you feel such things. Foolish of me, I know. I saw it in your eyes the moment I first looked into them: you'll never be corrupted. You'll never turn away from your Corpse Emperor, least of all for the sake of a daemon's desire."

The resignation on her face was heartbreaking. At that moment, I quietly cursed many things – myself, for ever joining the guard; the orks, for not finishing me when they had the chance; my new friends, for their completely unwarranted kindnesses. Most of all, I cursed the daemon before me.

"Rosie." She stiffened, watching me walk up to her. Her eyes widened when I took her hands in mine.

"You're right. I'll never turn my back on the Emperor. His light will guide me always, and may I never falter in pursuing it."

"You wound me," she muttered, trying to pull her hands away. I didn't let her.

"That being said, I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you fade away."

I heard her hiss in surprise, and gave her a smile. To this day, I hope desperately that it looked brave, considering everything that would come afterwards. I pulled her off the autocannon, and she landed gracefully on those talons of hers, moving fluidly into my embrace. There, bathed in the crimson glow of the night, I shared my second kiss with Rosie.