Anyone else feel like listening to certain music makes their writing better? I listened to some epic sounding stuff when I wrote my college essays and they were like epic poems xD

This human is definitely not a threat. Any lingering doubts are thrown to oblivion. This young human in front of her means her no harm, and she can feel his remorse for the actions of his comrades. They attacked with little provocation, and in fact hunted down her craftworld. As his kind razed her once beautiful home to the ground, hopefully not with too much success, he tries to make peace with her. She had sought shelter when the attack began, and was of little use to her people in her current mindset, her memories and skills that she acquired as a Howling Banshee buried deep within the recesses of her intricate mind. The only good she could do now was to ensure the survival of this Mon'Kiegh.

Their hands still coupled, Andron attempts to figure out how he should proceed. Should he try telling her his name? Should he simply leave her?

Andron's thoughts are suddenly shattered, and he is hurled back into reality. The din of war is in the streets below. He turns white, not able to process all of this information and the decisions he will have to make as a result.

His vox bead spews a tinny, distorted version of what he hears outside into his ear. "Jarek! We need you out here now!"

He jerks his hand back, causing her to quietly yelp.

You still have a duty. These people are your friends. No matter what, you wouldn't leave them to die.

Andron already feels horrible, knowing what he will have to do in the next few moments.

"I'm so sorry."

Hopefully she will still be there when he returns… if he returns, but war is war, and he has an obligation to himself and his brothers to stand by their sides; that much he is still certain of. The moral and spiritual tug-of-war raging inside of his soul is risking tearing him apart. He turns to retrieve his lasrifle.

A shriek; a flash; an instant of darkness and Andron is once again able to see as the floor under him collapses from the missile that impacted the side of the building. Time slows down. He absorbs his surroundings in detail he never knew possible. The flash of a lasrifle is seen through the dust, casting a red haze and creating rays where the light is interrupted by the broken edges of the outer wall. One of his squadmates, standing as he fires his lasrifle, is shredded by a hail of monomolecular shuriken from an Eldar Guardian. The blades impact him at hypersonic speed, passing through muscle and bone with absolute ease. The front of his fatigues and body are riddled with slits, while his back erupts in a spray of blood, viscera and bone as the shuriken tumble and impact one another inside of his body, rending him from the inside out. Blood sprays from his mouth as his face turns into a mask of surprised agony. He begins his ponderous fall, joining Andron in his futile battle with gravity.

His squad leader, Mikail, is roaring as he fires his lasrifle into the advancing eldar forces. His shot strikes a charging eldar in the eye, vaporizing the ruby-like eye-gem of his helmet and burning a hole in his forehead before superheating the soldier's brain. He continues to run for another step, unaware that he is dead.

The woman is falling next to him. Her hair is beginning to flow upward from the fall. She is in utter shock, eyes wide and mouth opening to cry out. They have only fallen three feet. Andron makes literally a split second decision. He reaches out and pulls her on top of him, her body aligning with his inches over the ground. The last thing Andron sees before he impacts the floor is her angelic face, their eyes once again locked.

Andron opens his eyes. He immediately regrets doing so as they are quickly irritated by dust. He then realizes that he cannot see. He feels weight on top of him. He tries to move his arm, only to be punished with white hot pain lancing up his arm, burning even his face. He groans in pain. He only hears his own shuddering breath, the din of battle now distant. He reaches around, testing his surroundings with his left arm. There is a large piece of masonry on top of them…

"GAK!"

Andron feels directly on top of himself. She is there. He moves hand upwards and feels more. He shoulders are nearly at his shoulder level. He notices a faint rise and fall of pressure on his abdomen. She is breathing, although very shallowly. Her hair covers his face. As a man, and therefore at times more simple than an Ork, he takes note of her breasts pressing into his chest. In fact, their rather gratuitous size is probably sparing him a lot of pain at the moment.

Your mind wanders there even at a time like this?

He sucks in a few breaths of air before straining with his left arm against the massive weight that lies on top of him. The block budges slightly, allowing a sliver of orange light to enter their small prison, indicating that is it nearing the night cycle on the craftworld. He is on the bottom floor of the home, in the main entrance area. The dust has cleared. It is silent.

I must've been out for a while.

Andron struggles for ten more minutes, pausing for breath between episodes of struggling and cursing before finally he rolls the large piece of rubble off of him. She rolls with the debris. Andron's blood runs cold.

Protruding through her robe toward the outside of her abdomen and halfway up her stomach, is a jagged piece of metal. He looks down at himself to see his uniform has a large red spot on it. He feels no pain, except for his arm and the excruciating agony in his heart. He rolls onto his side, groaning with the effort, and crawls over to her.

"Oh, no. Please, no. I'm so sorry." His voice is choked, and tears threaten to flood from his eyes.

His lasrifle lay nearby, and his field medkit is still secured to his leg. He gets on his hands and knees and, grunting, stands. He stoops down and picks her up despite the pain in his likely broken arm. There is a sickening sound as he carefully removes her from the object impaling her. Looking around for shelter, her limp and barely breathing form cradled in his arms, he hooks his foot into the sling of his lasrifle and draws it across the ground with him as he shuffles over to the next dwelling.

Okay, the next chapter is on its way, but it's taking quite a while. It's about half again as long as this one so far, but will probably run longer. Just a heads up, in the direction it's going, there's going to be some action, but I might change/remove those parts. Anyway, opinions?

There'll be battles, too.