PLEASE REREAD THE WHOLE THING

I have made some changes that will allow for a better story later on. Also, sorry this took so long, but it was just turning out like sh*t over and over again, and I had other commitments (Skyrim) as well as school work (He's lying, it was just Skyrim) Anyway I promise this will never happen again (a still kinda crappy chapter (I hate the flashback)) and a long wait for it. Anyway, the others will follow suit at a much quicker pace, and higher quality, hopefully. R&R plz.

Andron enters the hab directly adjacent to where he had first seen her after kicking down the door. It is similar to the other one, almost like the row-habs he has seen on the many hive worlds he fought on. He climbs the stairs and gingerly places her unconscious form on a sleeping mat. She is still bleeding profusely, and he knows that he must act quickly. He removes his knife from its sheath and reaches for her gown. He hesitates for an instant, knowing what is to come, before he cuts a large swathe of the fabric out from over her abdomen.

The wound is through-and-through, having entered through her back and pierced completely through her stomach. Fortunately, it was more toward the outskirts of her abdomen, however the bleeding could kill her. He gawks for a split second at even more of her revealed beauty. Her lithe form is exposed before him, her stomach a perfectly chiseled work of art even with the large wound desecrating its perfection. At a second glance, he notices a small scar running horizontally roughly opposite the newer wound, more toward her hip.

Andron begins to breathe again and sets to work. He is unsure whether or not human and eldar anatomy are the same, but he hopes so. He cannot do much except staunch the bleeding which he does using an ancient coagulant that has been in use with the Imperial Guard for Emperor-knows how long. He uses all of the gauze in his kit, more than is probably necessary, and tightly wraps the wound. There is nothing more he can do, so he closes up his kit, picks up his lasrifle, and moves to secure the area.

Looking out of the second-floor window, he only now notices the carnage that had taken place in the streets. Broken bodies, both human and eldar, are strewn across the area. He sees several of his squadmates lying dead in the streets below. He wishes he could have helped them, but there was nothing he could have done.

Right?

Andron's stomach growls. He realizes that he has not eaten in nearly 20 hours. Searching himself for his rations, he finds nothing, and turns to search the bodies in below him; a deed he is going to hate. He quietly climbs down the stairs, lasrifle held at the ready, and enters the street. He searches the nearest body, finding only a mostly-full canteen of water. He also takes a frag grenade and extra power cells for his lasrifle. Searching the other bodies, he finds several rations and enough water to last for a couple of days. He returns to the hab.

After placing his "spoils" of war on the floor next to the mat, he checks on her again. He realizes that they do not even know each other's names. He holds his two fingers against her neck, realizing again that there may very well not be a pulse there due to anatomical differences. He chuckles slightly as he finds one. Thanking the Emperor that the night cycle had only just begun, Andron eats one of the rations as he recounts the day's beyond extraordinary events. Never would he have thought he'd be in this position, sheltering a xenos woman in the middle of a conflict between his and her species. He lies on the mat next to her on her uninjured side so as to not disturb it. He lies on his back, listening to her breathing. Over the next half hour, her breaths become less shallow, and he feels confident that she will recover swiftly. A smile on his face, and feeling more at ease than he had in the past several years, he welcomes the oblivion of the greatest kind of sleep.

His eyes snap open and his eyes jerk to the left to see her screaming. He rolls over and quickly tries to calm her, attempting to place a hand over her mouth to quiet her scream which could alert the enemy (who was the enemy now?) to their position. She continues to cry out, although she is muffled by his hand over her mouth. She makes an effort to sit up, struggling against his insistence for her to remain lying down and yelps as her wound flares in pain. Her eyes search the room frantically, looking for an escape route or a weapon that she could use, before they fall upon his face.

She freezes.

She is astonished to see the man she thought only existed in a dream holding her. She feels his grip relax on her shoulder, and he removes his hand from her mouth. She pants as the events of the past few hours flood back into her mind.

The fall… I remember…

She looks down to see a bandage over the area from where the pain came.

He saved my life.

As he sees her visibly relax, he smiles. What happens next, he never could have expected. She wraps her arms around his neck, and pulls him into a tight embrace. His eyes widen in surprise and he gasps, his arms held up in surprise before he tentatively returns the gesture. Her arms wrapped around his neck and crossed over his back, his chin resting on her shoulder, he is reminded of when they first touched, except the sensation is exponentially stronger. The cold of the night is instantly banished by the warmth of her body, and Andron holds her tighter. His arms wrap around her lithe form, and they savor each other's embrace. In this now war-torn world filled with dead and dying, they have once again found an oasis of peace.

He feels her shaking as she is overcome with emotion. He remembers that eldar are notorious for their excessive emotions, but given the events of the past hours, he does not feel they are unjustified, and only wants to comfort her. As a man who spent most of his life killing and perfecting his art of war, he is not exactly the best around when it comes to comforting a soul in need of it. The only thing he can think to do is to return her embrace. He rubs her back with his good arm, relying completely on experiences he remembered from the earliest years of his life.

"Thank you."

Andron is frozen in shock.

"Wh-, what?"

"You saved my life," she says, holding him tighter still.

"But… how can you speak Gothic?"

She laughs, the sound intoxicating.

"My people are not nearly as… closed-minded… as yours. I learned Gothic nearly a century ago when I was a child. It wasn't necessary, but could have proven useful…" She looks at him and smiles, "has, proven useful."

Andron smiles.

"You never told me your name."

"My name is Aureleth."

Her voice flows like water; smooth and with grace. It is soft, yet beneath it is strength and nobility.

"I am Andron Jarek," His eyes fall to the floor, "I am also a heretic and most likely stranded behind enemy lines… though the line between friend and foe is quickly becoming distorted for me."

She bites her lip, thinking, before returning her gaze to him.

"Why did you spare me, Andron?"

Andron looks into her eyes. He can see their emerald green color more clearly now, and is once again nearly lost. He is somewhat shocked by the question which he, in the back of his mind, knew to be inevitable, but regains his composure somewhat. He recounts the moment when he first saw her. He does not know for sure, though he can be certain of one factor that contributed to his decision. He breaks eye contact and sits there, scanning her as he thinks. To think that the Imperium would call her a scourge, a blight, a blemish on its holy destiny to conquer the stars disgusted him. He had known her, not even knowing her name for a few mere hours and he already knew that he would trust her, sacrifice for her, and protect her more than anyone or anything else the Imperium had to offer. It didn't need him. And he didn't need it. He only needed her, the one thing in his grim and dark life that gave him true comfort and purpose.

"I…"

His entire life in the Guard floods into his mind, everything he has seen and done in the name of the Emperor coming back to haunt him.

—Auraxis, 4 years prior—

They cower against the wall. Andron stands there, looking at them, rifle pointed towards them. The hive had been corrupted by Chaos, and everything had to die, even those that Andron very well knew in the back of his mind had not been tainted.

This is the last hab on the last block in the hive. An entire family is before him. A mother and her children huddled together. The children whimper, and tears stream down their mother's face. The children fear what will happen next, but their mother knows what will happen next.

"Do, it,"

Andron's hands shake. He cannot disobey his Commissar, even if he knows what he is doing is senseless slaughter. He would die, and then they would die, possibly at the hands of the man with the flamer standing next to him.

"B-"

He feels cold metal pressed against his neck, a circular imprint the size of his eye socket. He has no choice.

"They will not be missed. This is for the survival of us as a whole,"

He will not be given another chance. He has seen this man execute countless Guardsmen practically on a whim. His lasrifle is on full auto mode. He shuts his eyes, grits his teeth…

Andron completely loses his composure at reliving what he considered to be the most horrific moment of his life. Every night for years afterwards he saw their faces, and he sees them again. The faces fade away, and he sees the angelic woman sitting in front of him again. Tears leave trails in the thin layer of grime covering his face, starting clear, and turning colored with dirt the farther they go; a perfect metaphor for his life. A man of only twenty-two, Andron has seen more horror in his life than any member of the Imperium short of a Space Marine. He is only human, and what he has done is too much for him to handle.

She can feel his sorrow. As a member of a race that is almost telepathic by nature, she nearly shares his memory. Understanding completely now, she rests her hand on his shoulder in comfort. He looks at her, sorrow and remorse pouring from his face.

"I've done horrible things. I've killed so many, including too many that did not deserve death," his voice is strained and choked, "I did it in the name of," he waves his arm around, indicating the devastated city, "this. I destroyed so that we could continue to destroy. They would have killed you without hesitation. I couldn't. I saw you, and you were just… you're just…"

She places a hand on his shoulder, calming him.

"I was what? I honestly see no good reason for you to have spared me. In fact, I was resigned to my death. In hindsight I should scold myself for doing so, given my past, but those old instincts, talents, and memories are hard to bring to the forefront of one's mind on such short notice."

Andron looks confused. "I was going to say 'innocent', but I have a suspicion I was wrong, given your mentioning of 'your past'."

She laughs, the sound much darker, and leans back. It unsettles him. "That is definitely an incorrect judgment. We eldar live our lives on paths, which we change numerous times throughout our lives. I currently trod the path of the Artisan or, more simply, I am an artist. I became so to lose myself in a less… morbid, way of life."

"You were… a soldier?" Andron very well knows the incredible deadliness of an eldar warrior, and despite her outward acceptance of him, he still feels fear begin to creep into his gut.

"A Howling Banshee, to be precise."

—Auraxis, 154 years prior—

They had been traveling in the Ultimum Segmentus sector, when a splinter fleet of Chaos ships intercepted them. It was small, and they were able to fight it back to this budding human colony, and decided to give chase and wipe it out completely. The Chaos bastards were becoming desparate, now attempting to summon a deamon on the planet's very surface. The resulting Warp rift could grow into any unimaginable horror, and had to be stopped. In the middle of this small hive the Chaos forces made their stand, harvesting the locals to sacrifice as part of their sick ritual.

The power sword plunges into his stomach and through his vital organs before erupting in a spray of boiling blood out of his back. The last thing he sees is her drawing the power sword, hissing as his blood is vaporized from its surface enveloped in a power field, being drawn out of his torso.

Aureleth pivots on her foot, bringing her sword in a whistling arc through the neck of a cultist and then from the shoulder to the waist of another. Their bodies crumple to the ground as she raises her shuriken pistol and sends a hail of the projectiles into a traitor marine as he raises his fist. The blades punch through his ceramite armor before tumbling about inside his body, causing massive internal damage. She knows this alone will not stop him, however, and quickly dives out of the path of a thunderous punch that impacts a wounded cultist next to her, utterly crushing his skull as the fist continues its path of destruction. She comes in low, with her sword aimed at his stomach, and lunges forward as she thrusts her sword forward, taking advantage of his lost balance. The blade passes through his armor with little resistance and she wrenches it out as she passes him. Now back-to-back, she turns the sword toward the ground, both hands on the hilt, and plunges it into his back at an upward angle. The abomination falls.

They had been traveling in the Ultimum Segmentus sector, when a splinter fleet of Chaos ships intercepted them. It was small, and they were able to fight it back to this budding human colony, and decided to give chase and wipe it out completely. The Chaos bastards were becoming desparate, now attempting to summon a deamon on the planet's very surface. The resulting Warp rift could grow into any unimaginable horror, and had to be stopped. In the middle of this small hive the Chaos forces make their stand, harvesting the locals to sacrifice as part of their sick ritual.

"Keep fighting! We are almost there! Once we break through from behind, the Guardians and Dire Avengers will be able to assault their shrine." Aureleth's exarch is several meters ahead of her, fighting with blinding speed and finesse, killing as naturally as she breathed. After several minutes more of intense fighting, they make a breach in the Chaos lines along the perimeter of the square in which the Warp rift is to be conjured. Swooping Hawks soar overhead, dropping plasma grenades that detonate among the Chaos forces in searing clouds of superheated plasma, vaporizing those in the immediate area while melting the armor and flesh of those nearby. From her right, Dire Avengers explodethrough a building on the outside of the square, shuriken fire immediately whipping from their position and shredding numerous foes. To her left, a Dark Reaper fires his cannon, missiles shooting from his weapon on pillars of flame, spiraling around each other in the air before impacting a Chaos Predator tank. It erupts in a ball of fire, shrapnel exploding in all directions. A piece sings by Aureleth before impacting the ground, removing a fist-size chunk from the stone.

She activates her psycho-emitters and charges with the rest of her squad into the fray. The Warp rift is widening, and she risks a glance directly at it, immediately feeling her head begin to throb and her eyes burn from the pure insanity that is leaking into the world from beyond. The Chaos cultists in front of her grab at their ears, blood beginning to leak from them as well as their eyes as her psychic scream ravages even their corrupted bodies and minds. She hits them with a fury that rivals that of even the Chaos Marines fighting them, hacking and slashing her way through the throng of cultists. She leaves a trail of death and blood in her wake, dismembered, eviscerated, and decapitated bodies the only indication of her passing through the area. Her squadmates follow suit as they lay into the southern flank of the enemy.

Aureleth hears her exarch cry out with increasing urgency. "The rift is widening! If we do not hurry, the Warp will pour forth into this world. If we fail here, we will not be able to stop them from getting to the craftworld."

From the East, a Wave Serpent fires its shuriken cannons, the large blades slamming into the Chaos ranks, eviscerating and dismembering cultists, before embedding themselves into the armor of the more heavily armored marines behind them.

Half a mile away, a phalanx of Nightspinners aim their Doomweavers high into the air. They fire, the mesh of monofilament wire whickering almost inaudibly in a long, ponderous arc over to their target.

Aureleth is charging toward the center of the square, her scream deafening the cultists around her, causing them to clasp their hands to their ears and writhe in agony. She is within yards of the nearest group when they are shredded into thin slices of meat, bone, and viscera. The only indication of the mesh falling upon her foe was a whisper drowned out by the din of war. When it impacted, however, the effects were very noticeable. Aureleth skids to a halt and watches in grim satisfaction as her foe is rendered into cross-sections, each neatly falling to the ground slightly out of alignment with the next, skidding across the ground like a stack of cards thrown absentmindedly onto a table.

Their opportunity has presented itself. They charge with increased fury and overtake the enemy. The portal is closed, but there is little hope for the planet being completely free of taint. A gateway to the warp being open that long on a planet will have consequences. The farseers had already predicted that they would need to return to this world to ensure complete destruction of the Chaos taint. They were not yet certain why, but it was inevitable. They would return to Auraxis.