A/N: Oof... no reviews for three chapters. I really do hope people are still reading this, especially as the narrative starts to pick up steam. Once again, thanks to all who read and review, and I hope you enjoy.


It had been three days since Thurion's funeral.

A sorry affair it was. We hadn't even the proper materials to build him a real grave marker, so we simply stood in a silent circle, heads bowed, while Damantin spoke the proper rites. It didn't come as a shock to me that he knew them; the Thousand Son seemed to know a bit about everything. He dispensed the litanies and sacraments without hesitation, and his quietly commanding voice did not waver once. It was unsettling to see Marrlë's face, normally so jovial, twisted in rage and anguish as Damantin swore that his death would not be in vain.

"As our Brother gave his life for us, we are bound by duty to live on in his name, and we shall aspire to live with as much fervour and valour as did he."

Those were but a few of his words. I remember that particular sentence so clearly, out of all the many rites, and I'm not sure why. All I know is that I carried those words with me from then on, and they would both inspire me and fill me with doubt, for as I would soon learn, they were at once unified in their purpose and self-contradicting. At that moment, though, all I could think of as I stood with my head bowed was the smile on Thurion's face as we left him to die. I knew I would see that smile in many nightmares to come, and often I would try and discern what exactly he meant by it.

Once the funeral was concluded, we had shouldered what supplies we carried from the base and set off towards the nearest landmark, a set of four mountains which thrusted almost violently up from the surrounding plains. It was an obvious destination, and we were fairly certain the orks would find it as well sooner or later, but it was all we had at the moment.

The journey there swallowed us whole for a while. The sky's shifting red and orange hues had lost what little luster they had for me. It was refreshing, in a way, to be back on the road, but the atmosphere was entirely different now. Damantin recalled no stories of his legion, and Marrlë's iron teeth were hidden behind a scowl. Thurion's death was hanging over us like a storm cloud, grim and cold.

Rosie was as somber as the rest of us, but she seemed full of energy regardless, often walking ahead of the others and waiting for us to catch up. Her claws gleamed sharper than ever, and the spines along the back of her arms had lengthened. The beginnings of new protrusions were sprouting along her calves, and her talons had lengthened. During one of our rests, I discreetly asked her what was happening.

"Mostly it is grief," she said, turning sideways and motioning for me to do the same. "You are all in mourning, and it is feeding me. The growths, though, come from somewhere else." At my look of incomprehension, she rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Don't tell me you cannot see it. Are you really so blind?"

"You already know the answer to that," I replied, which had the intended effect of making her smile.

"Indeed. I forgot just how oblivious you can be." Before I could protest, she motioned with her head, prompting me to look over to the others. Damantin was whispering unintelligibly to himself, staff resting across his lap, while Marrlë was cleaning his axe's teeth, face set in a grimace. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I turned back to her with a blank look on my face. She sighed and whispered, "It's Marrlë. He's been exuding so much rage and aggression since we left the base that it's not only helping to keep me here, but strengthening me." I looked back at the red-haired youth, trying to see that immeasurable fury she had described, and once again came up empty.

"Are you sure?" I asked, and immediately realized it was a silly question. Of course she could tell. Before she could give me an answer, I held up a hand. "Never mind, I'll take your word for it."

"Wise of you." Rosie flashed me her sharp teeth. I shivered, and her eyes lit up in delight. "You know, if this persists, I might not need your help anymore," she mused. My heart sank, but I tried not to show it. Though I knew she was only playing with me, I still didn't want to be discarded, for lack of a better word.

"That would be good," I muttered, unhappy with the off note in my own voice. "For you, I mean. To have a reliable source of… ah." Without any warning, her smile had disappeared, and now her black eyes were fixed on mine, staring through them into my soul. I felt them digging through my consciousness, those chitinous claws of hers sorting indelicately through my mind. A wave of raw sensation crashed against my consciousness, blurring my vision and sending my other senses into a painful overdrive. Reacting instinctively, I recoiled, jerking backwards suddenly and dimly feeling my body go through the motions of muscle memory. Damantin looked over in alarm, and I realized I had stood up and wrapped my fingers around the handle of my plasma pistol. Rosie's gaze hadn't faltered – in fact, the rest of her face had followed suit. A mouth full of fangs, features twisted into a cruel snarl, and eyes shining with malice, promising agonies and horrors beyond imagining. Clenching my teeth, I was on the verge of drawing my pistol when that daemonic visage vanished, replaced by the beautiful, perfect countenance I had grown so familiar with. Her eyes were wide with alarm, and so were mine.

"Fenwick, I-"

"No, it's alright," I lied, waving off whatever she was about to say and sitting down heavily, sweat pouring down the back of my neck. I heard voices around me, Damantin speaking to Rosie, and while their exchange escalated in volume, I could make out none of it. I clutched my head between my hands, screwing my eyes shut as the gravity of all I had done washed over me. How could I have been so foolish? I had fallen prey to a daemon, exactly as I swore I wouldn't. She had lured me in, just as Damantin had warned me she would, telling me she needed my help, and I had so naively complied, as if we were living in some fanciful reality where daemons' feelings and intentions extended beyond spreading Chaos and malice. Beguiled or not, there was no doubt in my mind that my soul was already damned to Slaanesh; it didn't take a god-given mark to figure that out. That lapse had been enough to make me see the truth: the Rosie I knew, that had been built up in my mind, was a façade set up by a Warp entity to make me feel more at ease with… with…

Familiar hands touched my shoulders, and I flinched away from them, jerking to my feet and opening my eyes. There was Rosie, looking shocked and hurt, reaching after me, but I knew better than to give credence to that facsimile of feeling. My expression hardened as I looked back at her, silently reminding myself of who I was, of what she was. I would not be deceived again. "Calm down, Fenwick," came Damantin's voice from somewhere behind me. I didn't turn to look at him; now it was my turn to stare Rosie down, until finally she dropped her gaze.

"I am calm," I said, hating the obvious dishonesty in my voice, and turned away. "We've rested enough, I think. Let's go. Marrlë?" The Khornate was studying his axe with an inhuman intensity, his single crimson eye fixed on the viciously sharp teeth. It almost seemed like the teeth themselves were slowly moving, though his hand was nowhere near the throttle – as if it was communicating with him in some way.

"Marrlë."

This time, he looked up, shaking free of the trancelike state that had overtaken him. "Mm? Yeah, I'm coming." He stood, rolling his shoulders and hefting Gorelady across them. His eye roved across my features, and for a moment it narrowed in confusion, as if he didn't recognize me. Then he winked, and recognition filled that eye once more. He strode over to me, rapped me on the shoulder and nodded before moved past me. As we set off, I noticed that Rosie was walking behind us now, her eyes downcast. Pushing down the inevitable guilt I felt boiling up in my chest, I steeled myself and matched Marrlë's stride. It wouldn't do to slow the others down; I had already done more than enough of that before we captured the base, which was now over a month ago.

When we arrived at the foot of the slopes, we found a rocky pass that seemed to wind through the mountains. Since the alternative would be to actually climb the rather steep outer slopes, we decided there was nothing for it and started into the pass. As we went, the shadows lengthened and the dust in the air cleared, while the wind acquired a slight chill. Among the crags and cliffs on either side of us, dark things with many eyes and limbs scuttled and hissed. We might have met some of the more unpleasant ones, but Damantin uttered an incantation and told us we wouldn't be bothered. Though I didn't know exactly what he had done, I trusted the sorcerer completely, and that trust turned out to be well-placed.

Our journey through the pass took a day and a half; between the deepening red sky and the shadows cast by the chasm walls around us, it was as dark as I'd ever seen it on this planet. Damantin made us a fire that night, and the things living on the rock faces came down to investigate, creeping around the fire for a while before vanishing back into the unseen burrows and caves whence they had come. I no longer slept soundly, and it wasn't because of the rough ground. My certainties were gone, and now, two months after meeting them, I had more doubts than ever about my comrades. Though my trust in Rosie had been shaken to its core, I guessed she was telling the truth about Marrlë's hidden rage. It was perceptible in the way he walked, the scowl he wore, an underlying note in his speech. Not to mention the way he had looked at me, as if I was a total stranger. It was unsettling, and worry gnawed at me while I tried to sleep. Beyond that, I could feel Rosie's eyes on my back, and though I tried my best to ignore it, the feeling persisted.

What little sleep I did get was laden with nightmares, filled with blazing guns, the screams of the dying and the Luna Wolf's smile, all amplifying my fears and doubts twofold. I awoke before the sky was orange again, covered in sweat, and quietly cursed Armatura and everything that name connoted. I slept no more afterwards, and too soon had Damantin and Marrlë risen and prepared to venture onwards. Cursing some more, I staggered upright, wiping away my sweat with the uniform that now meant so little to me. Marrlë missed it, but Damantin did not. The Thousand Son observed me pointedly as I shouldered my backpack, and I weathered his piercing gaze in grim silence. When I finally caved and looked back at him, he turned away and started walking without a word, and Rosie and Marrlë quickly fell into step behind him. I felt like I was owed some sort of address, but since I couldn't fully explain how, I only sighed and hurried to catch up with them.

The long shadows slowly withdrew as we drew near the end of the pass. Ahead, we could see the inward slopes of the four mountains, curving down into a basin. In that basin was a small lake, its surface made cloudy and opaque by dust. A large, strange shape rested at the lakeside. Though I couldn't quite make out what it was at this distance, I was fairly certain it was metallic in composition. The others, however, could see it just fine. I heard a sharp intake of breath through the grill in Damantin's helm, and the Space Marine picked up the pace, hurrying down towards the water's edge with the rest of us close on his heels. The shape came into focus as we grew nearer, and when I realized just what it was, my heart all but stopped.

"Is that…" I didn't dare say it out loud, but I knew the others were thinking the same thing. The ship lying so unassumingly by the water's edge was a small vessel, not meant for carrying large companies or anything of the sort. It didn't matter, though; after all, there were only four of us. As my mind hurtled further along this unlikely train of thought, Damantin passed a gauntleted hand over the surface of the ship and stared at it for a moment. For a moment, I couldn't quite see what he was staring at so intently. Then it struck me: his hand had made no mark as it passed. The ship was not covered in dust, which meant…

"This ship only landed recently," the sorcerer declared, stepping back to look over its body. "And it appears to be in perfect shape. As far as I can see, it is in ideal condition to fly. Of course, I will have to look inside of it to make sure of that, but…"

With my fist clenching so hard I heard my knuckles crack, I asked the million-Throne question: "It is void-capable?"

"It is an Aquila Lander," said Damantin, sounding as if he could hardly believe his own words. "If it is as I think, and it truly works, it will see us off of this thrice-damned world."

My relief burst forth as a peal of almost maniacal laughter. I could feel my eyes watering at the notion that we would actually be able to escape, to leave this world behind and start anew. Of course, what Thurion had said to me rang true: I couldn't return to the Imperium, not after what I had undergone, but perhaps I could eke out a new life somewhere else – anywhere that wasn't Armatura. These were wild and irrational thoughts racing through my head with about as much organization as a grox stampede, but at that moment I couldn't bring myself to care in the slightest. I was staring salvation in the face, and I had never felt so joyous. I bent over to catch my breath, and then I saw them: several sets of footprints, already being faded by the ever-present dust, leading off on a path that seemed to go up one of the nearby mountains.

I knew then, that this wasn't an abandoned ship; someone had left it here, and if they were still living, were likely planning to return to it before long. The idea that we would be stealing someone's only way off this planet soured my initial merriment considerably, and I moved to stand near Damantin, who, after speaking a Word of Power and standing still in intense concentration for a few moments, had somehow gotten the ship's doors to open. He had one foot already inside the ship, and upon noticing my presence at his side, turned his head to look at me expectantly. Suddenly feeling very uncertain, I told him about the footprints. In the middle of my explanation, he stepped out of the ship and loomed over me, the ornaments on his helmet adding to his already imposing height. I felt the words dying in my throat as I looked up at the implacable glare of his helmet.

"Were you not paying attention, Fenwick?" He demanded. For the first time, I heard something like scorn in his voice, and blinked in surprise at the unexpected note. "This is an Aquila Lander. Meaning, it has been used to transport some important figure to Armatura. It probably belongs to an Imperial agent of some kind, perhaps even an Inquisitor." I gulped as he stepped forwards, gesturing vaguely at the prints in the dirt. "Should whoever those footprints belong to be lucky enough to evade the orks and return to their ship safely, and find us waiting for them, you understand what will happen, don't you?" I nodded meekly, but he pressed on anyway. Normally, I would have responded less timidly, but to hear the normally easygoing Thousand Son speak so forcefully was more than a little startling. "Regardless of what we say, they will open fire. Should it come to that, the most favourable outcome ends in their deaths at our hands, with the alternative being that we ourselves are slain. So, Fenwick – would you rather be killed by an Imperial agent, concretely betray your Imperium by killing said agent yourself, or leave them to fend for themselves on an ork-infested world while we escape with our consciences relatively clean?"

I was completely dumbstruck. Watching me fruitlessly searching for some way to respond to that, the sorcerer shook his head and made to enter the ship. "Come. The sooner we are gone the better."

"I'm not going anywhere." At the sudden words, we both turned to see Marrlë, feet planted firmly on the ground, Gorelady held at his side. "I'm staying until the Warboss is dead."

A fell wind swept over the lake as we stood in unbreathing silence, all rendered speechless now. Marrlë's crimson gaze didn't waver for a second, and neither did his scowl. That silence hung heavily in the air, until Damantin's voice crackled through his helmet's grill. "I am not sure I understand," he started hesitantly. "You are-"

"I'm not getting on that ship." Marrlë's voice was like a metal spike being driven into the ground between us. His shock of red hair swayed in the wind, shadowing his eye, which in turn had the effect of intensifying his stare. "Not until the right blood has been spilled."

"Marrlë," I began, but was cut off as Damantin stalked over to him.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded, his disbelieving voice ringing both in our ears and our minds. "I did not know your imprudence extended so far as to pointlessly fling yourself to the wolves, when you have the chance to be free and waste your life on battles you stand a chance of actually winning." Marrlë's scowl deepened further; unlike me, he met the Space Marine's stare without an ounce of fright. The tension in the air increased noticeably, and looking over to Rosie, I saw concern in the Daemonette's eyes. Immediately, I crushed the instinct to comfort her – such a gesture would mean nothing to a daemon.

"I can't leave yet, Damantin – not until Thurion's been avenged. The Warboss at the head of this Waaagh is responsible for the death of our friend. He sold his life for us, and it has to be repaid."

"Were you not listening to his funerary rites, fool?" Damantin's voice was deeper and more intimidating than ever. The tension in the air began to crackle – audibly. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, and goosebumps running up my arms. Not wanting this to escalate any further, I hurried to try and get between them as the sorcerer went on. "He gave his life for ours so that we could live. We honour his memory by continuing our lives, and you would throw yours away in a vain quest for glory."

"Not glory – vengeance! Vengeance for my friend, who was killed!" Marrlë roared, his grip on Gorelady's haft turning his knuckles white. I had reached them by now. I tried to speak, but Damantin lifted his hand and I found myself unable to move my lips, or do anything other than watch helplessly. I saw Rosie move to try where I had failed, but the Thousand Son clenched his fist, and she staggered back, gasping as an unseen force held her in place. "A life lived while the one responsible for my friend's death still draws breath would be hollow and shameful. You talked about living with fervour and valour? Well, here's our shot! Don't you want revenge?"

"Of course I do!" Damantin hissed back, rattling my mind with the psychic echo of his words. "But to blindly throw yourself back against the green tide would be nothing more than suicide. In doing that, not only would you fail in your mad venture, but you would dishonor the one you seek to avenge!" That was the last straw. I didn't see Marrlë's punch blur through the air, so fast was it thrown. My jaw dropped in astonishment when the unarmed blow actually dented the Space Marine's ceramite helm and drove the eight-foot super warrior to one knee. The shocked silence that followed was broken by the heart-stopping sound of Gorelady's menacing growl.

"Say that again," the Khornate snarled. The axe in his hand trembled with visible bloodlust. The rage that Rosie had spoken of was plain to see, now – all it had needed was the merest reason to show itself. A moment later, the telltale roar of the chainaxe was nearly drowned out by the crackle of psychic energy filling the air as Damantin got to his feet. I set my teeth, fearing for both of their lives, when the sorcerer abruptly turned his back and walked to the ship door.

"I have nothing more to say to you, foolish boy," he muttered, all the anger in his voice gone and replaced by resigned bitterness. "Throw your life away if you desire; it is yours to do with as you please."

Life is the Emperor's currency; spend it well. The old Imperial adage flickered through my mind, startling me with its sudden resurfacing. My eyes rose unbidden to meet the dimly glowing ones of Damantin's helm; they seemed now to give off an unspoken, inexplicable sadness. "And you, Fenwick?" he said, just loud enough for me to hear. "Will you join Marrlë in this hopeless crusade, or will you live?"

The choice was an obvious one, I knew. If I got on that ship, I would, as the sorcerer so bluntly put it, live – and if I stayed with Marrlë, the end result was clear. A miserable, entirely avoidable death on this wasteland of a planet, or the boundless possibilities of the galaxy beyond. My eyes flickered to Rosie, saw the inhumanly beautiful face I had kissed, saw the one who had bound my ribs and saved my life, silently pleading for me to make the right choice. I looked to Damantin, and saw ten thousand years' worth of wisdom and power staring back, the same wordless urging discernible even through that helmet's unreadable scowl. Unable to bear their scrutiny, I finally turned my head to look at the youth beside me, so aflame with righteous anger that he couldn't see the immeasurable value of the opportunity right in front of him. He was making the wrong decision; that was plain to see. But I also knew then that if I left him here to die by himself, his spike-toothed grin would join Thurion's in my nightmares, and whatever life I ended up living would be wracked with eternal regret and guilt. There was no right answer, but rather, the only answer. Feeling something shut off in my mind, I numbly heard myself speak my own death sentence.

"I won't leave him."

Damantin regarded me in silence for a long while – too long. I got the sense that he was judging me, but more than that, he was thinking. Perhaps for a moment he even thought to abandon all reason and join us, but in the end, reason prevailed, as I knew it would. "So be it," he said, his voice carrying a dullness that spoke of finality and acceptance. "Rosie, come." The Daemonette hesitated, her dark eyes fixed on me. She bit her lip and took a step towards me, when the sorcerer's psychic whisper cut through the air, sharper than a mono-edged knife.

"Ruzal'kara." At the sound of her true name, her body stiffened, and she turned and walked through the door of the little voidship with none of the usual spring in her step. Just before the door closed behind her, she spun around and mouthed something to me. Even from that distance, I could tell what the daemon had meant to convey, and knew those unspoken words would haunt me as long as I lived. The vast implications of the mistake I had just consciously made started to sink in, and my heart sank with them, even as the ship engines roared to life and the vessel began to rise, the wind from its takeoff blowing the helmet off my head. I didn't turn to watch it roll into the lake; I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the ascending voidcraft, dimly aware of the tears streaming down my cheeks as my only chance of salvation, along with two dear friends, soared off into the red sky. Marrlë stood beside me, his face upturned as well; there we stood in terrible, grim silence as the Aquila Lander shrank more and more, until at last it vanished into the dusty sky. Another minute passed before we lowered our eyes, as if finally accepting that the way out was gone for good, and looked at each other.

Seeing sorrow on Marrlë's countenance was just as upsetting as seeing fear had been. A single stream of tears coursed down his face, and I sensed that it was not for his own plight, but for mine. Without warning, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me in a fierce hug, to which I could only respond by returning the gesture. "I'm sorry," he choked, and I clenched my teeth to keep from sobbing openly. "I'm sorry, Fenwick."

At last, he released me and stepped back, dragging an arm across his face to clear away the tears, and let out a ragged breath. His bloodshot eye stared at me, and he voiced what I had been thinking from the moment I made my decision. "We're going to die, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," I rasped, coughing to clear my throat and only now seeing my flak helmet slowly floating away from the shore of the lake. "But we're going to take that warboss with us, even if we have to get through the whole frakking Waaagh to reach him."

"Damned right." Marrlë clapped me on the shoulder, that raging fire starting to fill his eye once again. He gave me a brave smile, and I found the sight of his iron teeth comfortingly familiar. "Where do we start, though? As much as I hate to admit it, Damantin's right. Throwing ourselves straight at the Waaagh isn't going to do anything other than get us killed on the spot."

"Mm." I acquiesced with a nod, and found my eyes drawn to the footprints. As my gaze followed them up the slope of the nearest mountain, the beginnings of an idea sprouted in my mind. "What do you say we go hunting for the owner of that ship?" He frowned at that, and I could see the gears turning in his head.

"What for? Damantin pointed that out, too; if they find us, either they kill us or we kill them."

"That was then," I said, gaining confidence as the idea expanded. "With a Chaos Space Marine and a Daemonette among us, they'd kill us on sight for sure. But now that it's just you and me-"

"We're just a pair of humans," Marrlë finished, his eye brightening as he caught on. "You're suggesting we join forces with this Imperial agent?"

"If that's at all possible," I conceded. I was under no illusions about the suspicion and inflexibility that characterized most servants of the Imperium, but on the off chance that they'd be open to negotiations, it would be the best shot we had at actually taking out the Warboss. And if they were dead, well, that just meant we'd have a bunch of fresh supplies on our hands. "We should probably go now, before the dust fills in their tracks."

"You're not going to get your helmet?" asked Marrlë, casting a glance at the piece of armour bobbing further away into the lake.

"What for?" I called without looking, already starting to walk. "You don't wear one."

"Yeah, and have you seen my face recently? I'm lucky that mek's wrench didn't knock my head off." I heard a sloshing noise as he entered the water, and soon after felt a thump on my shoulder. I turned to see him holding the piece of armour out to me and wearing a wry expression. Begrudgingly recognizing my folly in leaving it behind, I took the proffered helmet and strapped it to my belt. When his eye remained fixed on me, I gave him a light shove. "I'll put it on if we run into danger, all right? Trust me." Finally satisfied, he smirked and nodded before falling into step with me, each of us walking on one side of the tracks. The slope began to steepen, but our progress wasn't slowed in the least. The fire in Marrlë's single eye was now reflected in my own, and my resolve hardened as we walked. His iron snarl and the chainaxe in his hand gave me courage, and I knew that the path we now trod would test every bit of it. As we crested the mountain and looked out over the barren expanse of Armatura, we both silently swore the same oath, over and over again: we would not die until our mission was complete.

Not until the warboss was dead.