Sorry this chapter took so long, it took me quite a few tries before I liked how it was written. The next chapter should be done within a day or two.
Sev guessed it was almost mid day now, but it was hard to tell. The hours had blended together as they ran without rest through the swirling hypnotizing mist. He was exhausted and his breath was coming in tired rasps. His gaze was fixed ahead but he was else where. His comrades were flashing through his head, looping. The radio operator, the man killed by sniper fire, the ork slug tearing through the soldiers head, corporal Alyn lying broken and bloodied, Thompson being thrown down by ork fire, Lund standing staring resolutely across the square, Dono being sliced to pieces. He never saw the sergeant die, he never looked back. They were his comrades; his closest friends for the last two months. And they were all dead. It was at that point that Sev realised that Ryn was not beside him.
Sev turned, panic gripping him like an icy claw. Ryn was his best friend and always had been. He searched the mist desperately but there was nothing. Sev's ragged breathing seemed loud in his ears and the lenses of his mask were fogging slightly.
"Ryn" Sev screamed his voice cracking. "Emperor damn it Ryn where the hell are you!" There was no reply except for the slight murmur of the wind. Sev spun around again. He had lost his sense of direction. That was it; that was the last tie to home. His company lost, his entire squad dead and his best friend gone. He leaned up against a lamp post, Aquila's worked into the cast iron surface pressed into his back. His chest was heaving and he felt hopeless and alone. He went up to the nearest building and shoved open the door. It looked like some sort of administration office and there were papers scattered across the floor. A poster with a stern face looking down on the room stated that the Emperor was always watching. Sev collapsed on the floor. He felt tears pushing their way to the surface and desperately shoved them down. He was hyperventilating as he rolled on to his back. He lay there for a while before falling into a miserable nightmare racked sleep.
The door was banging against the frame gently in the breeze as Illineth gently pushed it open with her pistol hand. The shuriken pistol was clutched in a steady grip and the power sword was at the ready. She scanned the hallway. A polished dark imperial boot could be seen protruding from behind a desk. She kept low, trying to stay as quiet as possible. The bone white plates of her armour clung to her form perfectly and didn't make a sound. She moved with confidence but in reality she was terrified. It was her first time in combat. She was extremely young, barely out of adolescence. Her first path to walk was that of the warrior, more to spite her parents than anything else. She had always been quick footed and agile, more so than most eldar, and so had naturally been chosen to become a howling banshee. After years of training this was her first taste of combat.
As she got closer her boot caught a data slate that had been hidden under a pile of papers. The data slate skidded across the floor and hit a filing cabinet. There was a dull thud. Illineth froze mid step. She held her breath. The boot twitched but didn't move any more. There's years of training at work she thought. Another few paces and she was at the entrance to the office. It was cluttered, as all human buildings seemed to be. Papers covered the floor and every available flat space. Data slates sat on desks and a caffeine mug contained a solidified substance of what had once been a drink. The imperial lay before her.
He must have stood at about 6'3". He wore ochre flak armour protecting his chest, head and knees. His grey fatigues had a few blood stains, be them enemies or comrades she had no idea. He was dirty, as all humans were, with a fine layer of grime covering him. His lasgun lay next to him, bayonet still attached. He wore a white mask with green lenses. Despite his ghoulish look he looked silent and peaceful. She brought the power sword up.
It was at that point that he lunged. Illineth gave a cry of terror as he impacted with her thighs, arms wrapping around pinning them together. She crashed to the floor and he threw a wide punch at her head. She was too quick though, and before he knew what was happening she was on his back and had pushed him onto his belly. She pinned his arms with her legs as she began slamming her small but armoured fists into the back of his head. The helmet came off. His hair had a sheen to it and it clung together with sweat. Dirty human she thought as her fists impacted the back of his head. His forehead shot down and impacted with the wooden floor. He gave a cry of pain. There was blood running down his scalp from where her fists were hitting. She felt the muscles of his back loosening beneath her thighs and thought that the fight was over.
With a roar the human pushed up onto his knees, Illineth still on his back. Holding her legs to his sides as if she was piggy backing him he threw his weight backwards. Illineth gave a hoarse croak of pain as the air was driven from her chest. She lay stunned gasping for air. The enemy soldier span over. Illineth was much smaller than him and he was able to hold both her wrists above her head with one hand. She howled in frustration as she fought against the human's superior strength. The expressionless mask stared down at her; silent. The green lenses showed no emotion of the monster beneath. He brought a gloved fist up to punch her but hesitated. Suddenly one of her hands wriggled free from his grip. She brought her fist across his face in a sucker punch. His head shot to the side and his mask came off. He fumbled with her hand and grabbed it before she could do any amore damage. She squirmed beneath him, desperately fighting to break free. But it was hopeless. Finally she had tired her self out. She stole a glance at the humans face.
She was surprised by what she saw. It looked extremely young. They were probably about the same age, relative. His dark hair was plastered to his fore head. His eyes were red rimmed and he looked terrified. He was panting slightly but was making no move to strike her.
Sev tried to decide what to do. Everything that he had ever been taught told him to grab the lasgun that was laying a metre away and spear the xenos. But he couldn't. He knew it had been planning on doing the same thing. He had seen it raise the sword to kill him. He could feel blood running down his neck from where its punches had gored the back of his head. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do it. She looks so pitiful he thought. He knew it was a she. Its breasts were rising and falling at an alarming rate as it made quick shallow pants of panic. But Sev also knew he had to. This thing had killed his friends. True, most of the squad had died to orks, but who knew. Maybe this was the one that had killed sarge or Dono. He fumbled for the strap of the lasgun and dragged it across the floor, keeping his other hand on the female's wrists. Her head shot to the side and stared at the lasgun being dragged towards them. She let out a whimper as it grated against the wooden floor boards. Sev lifted the lasgun and prepared to spear the xenos through the chest. It struggled beneath him and as he brought the bayonet down it let out a shriek of terror.
Sev stopped. The bayonet hovered just above the enemies chest. She lay almost still, quivering in fear. Sev dropped the lasgun to the side. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill an enemy face to face that was so helpless. He stood up and took a few steps back, staring at the cowering enemy. She tried to push herself up on her hands but his boot caught her across the chin, sending her skidding back a few feet. Sev was furious. He should have killed it. He should have stabbed it. But he hadn't. The alien stared up at him from the floor nursing its jaw. Sev grabbed his gun, mask and helmet. He looked down at the female warrior who just moments ago he had been about to kill. He felt a stab of guilt. She looked cowed and fearful, nothing like the confident warrior that had strode into the room to kill him. Her knees were to her chest and she stared at him from behind helmeted eyes. He turned and left out the door.
Sev took off at a jog. He had been so busy with the morning's dealings that he had completely forgotten about his predicament. His only real option of going forward at the moment was to try and regroup with the company. It was next to hopeless but he had no other choices available. He tried to push the xenos girl out of his mind but couldn't. He still didn't fully understand why he hadn't killer her. The fog had showed no signs of lessening since the day before. Sev ran for a while, keeping at an even pace so he could maintain speed. In the first little while he checked behind him often to make sure that the enemy he had left behind was not sneaking up behind him, preparing to stab him in the back. But there was no sign of her.
Sev had been running for about an hour now. He was felt absolutely miserable about the loss of his squad but the hope of regrouping with the rest of the men kept him running. It was around this time, when Sev was checking over his shoulder, that he heard a shout from the side. He looked over at three orks emerging from an alley. They looked as startled as Sev did, and they must have not been expecting company. Sev faltered for a second before putting on a burst of speed. The heavy thumping of heavy ork feet, muffled by his mask and the fog, was drawing closer.
Sev span one hundred and eighty degrees, opening up on the pursuing orks. The shots went wide. Sev didn't have time to correct his aim before the first ork barrelled into him, sending him flying. His head hit the pavement and his vision went dark momentarily. He opened his eyes to see the ork lunging, bringing a huge rusty cleaver down towards him. Sev rolled and pushed himself to his feet. The ork stood up but was shouted down by another. Two orks stood back while the largest of the trio stepped forward. He had a wicked scar running down his cheek and wore armour made from tough looking leather and chunks of scrap metal. He held an axe in his meaty hands and at the flick of a button teeth roared to life.
Great thought Sev. What could possibly be better than an ork with a great big axe? How about an ork with a great big chain axe. The two combatants circled until Sev realised that he didn't need to play by the rules. He levelled the lasgun which he had been planning on using as a spear and opened fire on the big ork on full auto. The majority of the shots missed but a few hit their mark, leaving glowing orange marks that smoked around the edges. Alas, this had little effect other than infuriating the ork. It tipped back its head, roared, and charged.