Editing Heretical Love (section)

===Thread 23===

Eira looks for a final time as the glowing hot slag drips from the decimated ship. At the seven headless corpses littering the ground. She cares little for the happenings of mon’keigh, but she obeys her teacher.

A dataslate she’d picked up proves mildly interesting. A picture of Eshwe’s mon’keigh, with the words “Primary Target” listed above it. Eira is a bit bemused to be finally putting her knowledge of the mon’keigh written language to work.

“Farseer.”

With a glance she acknowledges the scout, who stands at attention.

“A blood trail, heading east into the woodland.” He informs her.

“How far in?”

“Unknown yet, should we follow?”

Eira looks around the area, bristling, ready for trouble.

“We’ll go in as a group, remain vigilant, I fully expect some sort of plot.” She hefts her own sword to get her point across.

The Eldar form up and walk toward the edge of another ridge. Sure enough, even in the diminished light she can see the drops of blood leading up the sandy rise.

“How did you miss this?”

“Apologies, Farseer. We picked it up on our second pass.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Affirmative.” The scout nods, having known his mistake. It may not have mattered much here, but in a different scenario it might have meant everything. Eira’s duty was to make sure they knew that.

Pushing her mind out, she can feel through the plethora of life blooming in the forest. The massive trees down to the smallest of insect. And another presence. A fading presence.

A lone figure, lying on the ground. The small opening in the canopy above pouring down moonlight onto him.

“Identify yourself!” She shouts out, calling the challenge to the unidentified man.

A pained, wet cough is all that answers.

“On me.” She tells her scout team, who form up. The Eldar approach, arms raised, fingers poised lightly on triggers. Eira stops them without a word when she recognizes him.

“You?” The Farseer questions in a low tone. She doesn’t know what kind of trick he’s trying to play. Until she sees the wound through his abdomen. A devastating hole, staining the bed of leaves with slick blood.

Cautiously she approaches, her finger leaving the trigger of her pistol. His face is one of recognition, pale from blood loss.

Eira takes a knee beside him, taking off her helmet as she does. Eight is visibly shaking, one hand pressed hopelessly to his wound. She knows little of mon’keigh physiology, but she knows enough to realize he doesn’t have long.

“You two ov…!” Eira’s barking order is cut short by the Vindicare putting a hand on her knee and shaking his head slightly.

A small gesture toward a pouch on his suit. Eira reaches inside and withdraws a partially crumpled package. Though she doesn’t understand their fascination with such things, she withdraws one of the cylinders and places it in between his teeth. It takes her a moment to work out the lighter, but eventually she gets it down and the glowing orange cherry illuminates Eight’s face as he draws in.

“Are there any left?” She asks him pointedly, concerned for her squad at the prospect of an unseen foe.

The assassin shakes his head, and she takes the hand he offers to her in her own.

Eira nods, noticing his grip and trembling weakening, his eyes growing unfocused as they stare into the star strewn black above.

Silence passes, but his time of suffering is short. Shaking turns to twitching, ragged breaths to light gasps for air.

The Farseer lays his arm back by his side. Reaching out slowly, her fingers meet his lids, and close his lightless eyes. She sits there for a moment, beside the still corpse.

----

You pause for a moment at the fleeting sensation in your mind. Something seemed off, but you only felt it for the brief lapse of a second. Unsure of what to make of that, you do your best to put it from your mind. The battle has been won, though the war remains.

“Alright there, Max?” Helena asks, taking a sip of the mug the Sororitas offered to her. You’ve downed about half of your own.

“Yeah, I think so?” You shrug, feeling a bit off still.

“Good, because Frederick and I have to get back for roll call before they realize we’re missing.” She hops off of the table she’d been sitting on, tech-priest in tow.

“Alright. Nice to meet you man.” You raise your mug to Frederick who gives you a wave with a mechanical arm as he’s dragged along.

Ah these damn kids and their love games, you smirk and take another drink. Well at least he’ll keep her out of your hair.

“Pretty decent fight, eh?”

You turn around to a beaming Lycheria, absent her chainsword and flamer. Her armor flecked with a bit of blood and giblets from the battle.

“Not too shabby, shame Abbadon got away.”

“Quite.”

Night has fallen and you don’t really feel like going anywhere. The Sister’s HQ is relatively safe, more so with Rex parked outside, the hum of his engine still audible from inside the building. It gives you some comfort to know there’s a pile of guns and armor waiting for anyone foolish enough to try to attack.

The Sisters don’t seem to mind you staying the night, both you and Mika take them up on the offer. In fact, you find yourself on the fringe of conversation as Lycheria seems to take to Mika quite well. The shy tech-priestess doesn’t seem to quite know what to make of the Sororitas all fawning over her. It offers a brief respite from your usual hustle and bustle, which isn’t something you mind.

Morning comes too early, as does the serenade of groggy Sororitas complaining as they don their armor and rip into breakfast. Apparently they were going to let you stay asleep, as neither Mika nor Lycheria are present when you finally peel your eyes open a few hours later.

“Going somewhere?”

Slowly you turn, leg half-placed inside its greave, toward the voice.

“Oh, Canoness, how nice to see you.”

“Cut the shit.” She growls, and you realize how quite exposed you are in only half of the armor.

“You wrecked my bike, and I’m none too thrilled. Find me a new one or I’ll incinerate you myself, Knight Commissar or not.”

As quickly as she appeared, she leaves. You don’t waste time and hastily encase yourself in the Grey knight power armor. She doesn’t seem stable enough to not come back and just barbecue you anyways.

Stepping out into the forum, you are quite perplexed to be the only one there.

“Hello?” Your voice echoes across the brick walls, and is greeted in turn by mere silence. Until your communicator goes off.

“Yes?”

“Oh good, you’re awake! I got you some new batteries, make sure to charge them before they go dead this time!” Lycheria chides you.

“Sure, that will totally happen. Where is everyone?”

“Oh that minor detail? We’ve kidnapped your tech-priestess friend and are headed for some R&R, no boys allowed.”

“…So where is that at?”

“Call you soon Maxy!”

*click*

Women…

Upon stepping into the bright mid-day, you notice even the baneblade is missing. They took him along too? Lucky metal box…

Though the Sororitas left you food, you found yourself none too hungry and left it alone for the most part. A fact you rather regret now, but looking the hundred yards back at the HQ you realize you’ve already gone too far.

This adventure of yours is drawing to a close, you know that. The final battle with Malal is bound to happen any day now, once this new hodgepodge alliance gets together at last. With that knowledge in hand, you figure it might be best to close up some loose ends.

Looking at your communicator, you can only pick out two groups you really haven’t gotten to know too well. Karen and da Orkz, because you’ve only spent a day with them. And Tonya’s Necrons… Because so far they’ve cut off your arm, tried to turn you into one of them, and have generally just been downright batshit.

“Yeah not up for that today…” You punch in Karen’s number.
“Oi you gits! I told ya ta paint it red not blue! Now quit muckin about and git ta werk!”

“…Karen?”

“Ah, sorry Max! It’s pandemonium here right now!” She laughs tiredly.

You’re taken back for a moment by an Ork using the word pandemonium, and Karen asks if you are still on the line.

“Yep. So what’s going down?”

“Well, to be honest two things. One, trying to get these idiots to realize we are teaming up with you guys. Two, the film krew for “Top Mek” is here.”

“Top Mek?”

“Yeah, you know,” Karen laughs, “They review Trukks and dakka and whatnot, great show really.”

Intrigued, you hop onto the ex-canoness now-ORKZ bike and fire it up. Its lack of a functioning engine doesn’t stop it from chortling to life.

“Sounds… Fun?”

“Oh believe me, it is! Come check it out!”

“Be right there.”

The Ork bike speeds along the uneven terrain easily on its oversized tires. As tantalizing as the “push-button-receive-speed” flashing red button is, you ignore it. Likely because you’re still a bit groggy.

Not that you really needed it, the Ork camp isn’t too far off. You enjoy the scenery along the way. Somehow this place has really grown on you, which is something you would have never expected in your wildest dreams when you first arrived. Though that seems like ancient history, and you are certainly not good at judging time, in reality it was but a handful of days ago.

A vast ocean that spans much of the planet, lively forests and gurgling springs, snow capped peaks of the mountains… You find yourself longing to stay somewhere like this. Though maybe without having to constantly escape death…

Pulling up to the Ork camp, you see that it is indeed downright pandemonium. There simply isn’t a better word to describe it. Boyz are running about everywhere, stage lights and tools in place of choppas and flashy bits. They don’t even pause to give you a once-over as they dash place to place.

You park next to a giant red trukk, the scale of which is impressive. Though you’re no expert on Orks, you figure they must be able to fit a whole lot of other trucks into this one, with room for some looted tanks even.

“Oi, deres a humie ‘ere! Git krumpin boyz!”

The brief moment of panic at the shout behind you fades as you turn to Karen, who’s wearing a bemused grin at your reaction.

“Not funny.”

“So wrong, very funny.”

As much as the thought is both interesting and completely and absolutely against everything you’ve ever known, there is one thing you can’t get over.

Karen looks good. Damn good.

“Hey, quit drooling or the boyz will think you’re one of them and grab you to help out.”

“Wha? Right, sorry.”

The Ork princess smiles before snatching you by the hand and pulling you toward her. Just in time to avoid a Nob on a bike from turning you into a smear on the pavement.

Pavement?

“Oh so you noticed eh? Like I said, “Top Mek” is doing some filming here and wanted pavement for one of their sections.”

“Orks can pave?”

“We can do a lot of things, if we get around to it.” Karen frowns, but her expression quickly brightens again as she sees a stomping figure approaching.

“Oh hi dad!” She calls out.

“Wats dis den eh! We ain't gots time fer beakies roight now, too much werk ta do so quit muckin about an git too it!”

The Boss stops and peers down at you, his face squinting hard.

“Oh, it’s you…” He grumbles.

“Oh hey Boss, check out mah flash!” You crack off several stormbolter shots into the air, before activating you armor release and revealing your mechanical arm. The lasfinger, plasma cannon, flamer combo makes quite a show as you shoot into the sky.

It rolls well and you don’t manage to do any damage, though.

“Eh! Dats roight flashy it is! Goona ‘ave ta git me one a dem double shooty bits!” He grins, chomping on his cigar, which you notice bears the same emblem as the ones Creed smokes.

“Dis one ‘ere isn’t too much ova git, ‘es alroight Karen.” The Warboss gives you a friendly thump on the back, which would have possibly been fatal without the power armor to save you.

Karen beams, and gives you a wink that says you did all of the right things. It makes your heart skip a beat, and even though this should feel decidedly WRONG, you don’t care because it’s a good wrong.

“Now den, I needta git dese grots inta order.” The boss grunts, smiling at Karen before turning around to roar at several boyz just standing around. You wince as he clocks one over the head, which compacts the Ork to half its original standing height.

“Your dad is… An alright guy.” You nod.

“He can be, but the stress of trying to organize this is really getting to him. Today he put his boss pole on backwards.” Karen giggles.

The thought of that even makes you laugh, which loosens you up. To hell with the old view of Orks, these guys are cool in your book.

“Anyways, why don’t we go watch some filming!” She grabs you excitedly, and you find yourself wishing you’d maybe left the armor off for today, just to be closer to that athletic figure.

“Hey!” She shouts, almost jumping with anticipation, “Da Squig segment is about to start!”

“…Da Squig?”

“Oh right, you don’t really know what this show is about, do you? Well basically… Nah I can’t really explain it, you’ll just have to watch yourself!” Taking you by the hand, she eagerly leads you through a crowd of Orks that only grows more dense the further walk.

“Oi you gits, outta da way, princess comin thru!” A Nob, noticing Karen trying to weave through the crowd, shouts. And starts swinging a nasty looking power klaw around. If his booming voice didn’t clear a path, THAT certainly did.

“Thanks!” She smiles at the Nob as she walks by, and he bows his head in return.

Karen still leading, you feel a bit awkward as you tread through the path that opened up. Though a lot of Orks are trying to get a view of something ahead, many of them watch as you pass. Some look downright jealous…

“Hurry, its starting!!!” She gasps, pulling harder. The two of you clamor up onto a set of bleachers, which you notice appear to be constructed out of nothing other than vehicle parts and more rivets than are likely necessary.

For the first time you’ve been in the Ork camp, you really are caught off guard. Not by a noise or an action, but by a deafening silence.

Three very distinct looking Orks are standing on a track of newly lain pavement, beside what you surmise was at ONE TIME a trukk. Now it appears to be nothing more than a set of wheels, a cab, and a massive cluster of rockets all facing forward.

“Roight you gits, its toime ta test out dis ‘ere trukk. Now ta do dis we needed ah git crazy ‘nuff ta do it.”

“Sum say e’s da reason red is fasta, and dat e’s actually wut happens when yous got ‘nuff dakka. All we know iz, ‘es called DA SQUIG!”

I want to say something, but I'm not going to spoil it. Doesn't concern HLQ though.

On cue, a squat looking thing in a white suit and a massive white helmet pops up into view inside the trukk, and give the other three a solemn nod.

The trukk begins to whine dangerously as its rokkits warm up. Their glowing orange tailpipes cast such a wave of heat that you can feel it even from the stands. They can’t possibly be thinking…

Oh, you guess they are.

The rokkits fully ignite all at once, and for a moment the trukk sits at a standstill. The next, it’s, well, rocketing down the track.

You think the three Orks are commenting on the run, but you can’t hear them over the overwhelming roar of all those rokkits. The trukk is now whipping into a series of s-turns, and though you would have though it impossible, handling them quite well.

Karen is standing up and cheering along with every Ork in the place, and testament to the noise of those rokkits, you can’t hear any of them.

The driver of that trukk must be clinically insane, there simply isn’t any other option. Though this is the Orks and all, he’s actually accelerating going INTO turns and somehow it’s actually WORKING?!

“Isn’t this great!” Karen yells at you, and the rokkit-trukk is far enough away now that you can actually hear her.

“It’s pretty awesome!” You have to practically scream back.
The trukk looks like it almost flips over during a high-speed cone area. Where it plows through half of the cones, though that only seems to please the Orks more as they cheer louder.

The whole run is over in very little time, and the trukk comes screaming through the finish line, several of its rokkits exploding as it does so. Even the cast of three Orks on the ground seem to be quite excited, it must have been a good time.

At long last, the overwhelming torrent of sound of those rokkit engines dies down, and is replaced by the cheering of thousands of Orks. It takes several minutes of the three on the track to get them to all calm down.

“Anotha great time by da Squig, dats da fastest yet it iz! Wut did ya think ah dat run ‘ammond?”

“Roight good un, fastest time yeh.”

“Hey, come on, we’ve got somewhere we need to be!” Karen grabs your hand again, and before you can protest that you want to keep watching, she’s dragging you off of the bleachers.

In fact, the Ork girl doesn’t even give you time to talk as she races through the crowd, using her own choppa to clear a path this time. You’re a bit put off, you had wanted to keep watching.

“Hey Karen, what gives!?” You finally get a chance to ask as she’s forced to slow down to let a deff dread stomp past.

“Huh? Oh! You’ll see!” She gives you a very mischievous grin. Your trap sense is whining in full alarm now.

“No, seriously, where are we going?”

Karen ignores you as she bounds across the road before another dread blocks the way. Normally you would be more than content watching the loot in her trukk bounce and wonder how your boss pole would look perched upon it, but you are far too worried.

“Uh… Princess?” You chime again, and still find yourself either unheard or unheeded.

Karen pulls you toward an opening into a dimly lit room, and finally the two of you stop. Looking around, you notice several odd looking Orks staring at you. One has a checklist he’s going over, and he nods in satisfaction. Two more are manning what appears to be a diesel powered camera.

“Hey Karen?”

“What Max?” She smiles sweetly, too sweetly.

“Mind letting me know what’s going on?”

“An nows da toime fer our next segmint we like ta call…”

“Big Fukk in a little Trukk!”

The speakers inside the small room answer your question for her.

“…You didn’t…”

“Make sure to have some fun!” Karen smiles, before pushing you through an open doorway, and into the bright area beyond.

You stumble out rather clumsily, nearly tripping over your own armored foot. The Orks laugh, and despite yourself you can't help but feel a tad embarrassed.

The three Ork MC's are waving you over to them, and though Admiral Ackbar is screaming in the background, you nonetheless walk over.

"Now we'ze 'eard youz wif da princess, dat carrect?" The one with longer hair in a leather jacket asks.

"I... Yeah?"

"Lucky git!" The crowd bellows.

"You eva 'eard of da Soozuki choppa, 'umie?" The Ork in the suit asks.

"Err... No?"

Da Squig comes rolling out of a nearby mekshop in what you surmise, must be the Soozuki. Well, they certainly weren't kidding when they called it little...

Small, if anything, would be it's defining characteristic. Its basically just a box on wheels with seven tires. Yes, there are only three on the left side. Calling the miniscule engine perched in the front "quaint" would be more than it deserved.

"Dis 'ere may not be da fastest trukk, or da biggest, but it don't take too many teef ta git one a deez!"

"Oh...Kay?"

"Now 'umie, you evah driven a waaagh transmisshun befoh?"

"No, I can't say that I have." You shrug, very aware of the cameras pressing in from all sides.

The three Orks stop talking, scratching their heads and looking a bit puzzled.

"Ah well, 'ell be fine!" The one in the suit pushes you toward the trukk.

"See humie, all ya gotta do is git da fastest toime ya can round dis 'ere trakk." The shortest one says, as though it were not completely obvious what they wanted you to do.

"Look, we'ze even gotcha one in red, so its extra fasta!"

Sitting down at the Orks insistence, you realize immediately that for an Ork, this would be a cramped ride. You also realize that there is no steering wheel.

"Hey, mind telling me how you steer this thing?" You ask, still looking over a bizarre assortment of gauges and dials, most of which don't appear to be hooked into anything. One is even simply nailed to the dash.

"Hahahaha! You'ze a funny humie, da pedals ya git!" The long haired laughs.

"Right..." There are at least twelve pedals that you've found so far.

"And to shift...?"

"We'z ain't got toime ta splain everythin ta ya, on a skedule!" They close the door, leaving you alone. Inside this trukk. With absolutely zero guidance, really.

Hesitantly, you reach out and do the one thing you would do in this kind of situation...

Well yeah, there is only one thing you would possibly do in this kind of situation. You press the red button.

The choppa lurches to life, it’s small engine chugging hard enough to actually shake the entirety of the pitiful vehicle. Hard enough, in fact, to shake the rear window right out of place. It falls loose and shatters against the ground, much to the delight of the Ork crowd, it would seem.

Oh yes, this is certainly very safe.

Gingerly you place your foot on one of the now seventeen pedals present inside the vehicle, several of which you’ve found don’t actually depress at all. Half of the cylinders rev, the other half remain idle. How, you don’t know.

Another pedal, another small push, and the other half chimes in.

Two gas pedals. One engine. Seems legit.

You idle the trukk up to a blue starting line, Karen waiting for you alongside it, holding a checkered flag.

“Good luck!” She mouths with a grin.

You give her a very hard stare, which only widens her smile.

A wave of her flag, and you’re off!

The engine explodes, losing its entire top half, a great start. Not that this effects the vehicle in any way, it seems, as it still keeps picking up speed somehow.

Too much speed.

Despite what they said about it not being fast, it turns out to be just as quick as your bike even. Already you’re approaching the first hard corner, a tough 90 degree. Well this is much more like how you were trained to drive as a Guardsman, despite being forcibly removed from that section of training after one hour and three near fatal crashes.

All you have to do is find the brakes.

You push on pedals one by one, searching for the one to slow down. After all seventeen pedals yield no such result, you try a few of the less intimidating looking buttons. Still nothing. Perhaps a switch…

After a few terrifying moments, you come to a stark and grim realization.

There are no brakes.

The Soozuki goes flying past the turn, and with a bump you have left the trakk. Orks have to dive out of your way as the trukk crashes through the bleachers. Despite your panic, the onlookers seem to be having a good time of it.

Though you’ve long since removed your feet from the pedals, the vehicle hasn’t slowed. A sinking feeling in your gut, and you confirm your worst suspicions. Both gas pedals are stuck to the floor, in full-on position.

“Oh Emprah preserve me…” You groan, looking back through the windshield. At least you found out how to steer, somewhat. A small ball embedded in the dash that rolls freely. You can spin it to the left and the trukk slowly responds. Spin it to the right and it goes right. When you spin it forward, the trukk actually accelerates further, so you quickly stop that. When you try to roll the ball backwards, you are pretty sure the trukk is actually laughing at you.

It bears a striking resemblance to a ancient piece of hardware from Terra you’d once had the pleasure of seeing, something called “Golden Tee”.

Though this line of thinking is quickly erased from your mind and replaced with a primal fear when you realize your current heading. The coastline looms in front of you, and judging by your rate of speed, you will be there in mere minutes. As hard as you spin the ball, it has little effect. At your current pace, you simply can’t steer hard enough to avoid the shore.
You can’t help but dismally chuckle a bit at this turn of events. Somehow you always end up heading back toward the water, and here on Yagis V, that rarely if ever ends well.

As if on cue, all prior suspicions confirmed, you spot an all too familiar swell in the water.

Nearer and nearer, unable to stop the trukk, unable to turn or slow down. You just sit back and shake your head as the Soozuki bounces over the ground, its seven tires now reaching sand.

A gaping maw of horrors erupts from the seas, and there’s nothing you can do about it now but watch.

The trukk goes slamming into Ra’alman’s jaws, and she grips it hard. Sword-like teeth sink through the top and bottom, puncturing several of the tires as she lifts you into the sky. The engine whines horribly as its met without resistance and the tires spin freely.

You resign yourself to a life of unseen and unspeakable horrors.

Until the fish god pauses, and even over the groan of metal being depressed and the engine screaming, you thought you heard something.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of green. Than another, and another.

With a furious howl, Ra’alman is forced to drop you and turn to face this new threat. Your engine dies upon impact, and you cover your exposed head and hat to try to minimize the damage. Thankfully, somehow, you have landed on all four working tires and three rims.

Tonya stares you right in the eyes, gives you what she must think is a loving smile, and turns back to Ra’alman.

“You can’t have him! He’s mine, ALL MINE!!” She screams up at the best, letting loose another shot from her staff. The Immortals surrounding her increase their rate of fire as well. The gauss seems to have some effect on the fish-god, who bodyslams the shore and wipes out a good third of the Necron army in retaliation.

It’s a full-on crazy waifu fight, and you’ve got a first row seat in a dead Ork trukk.

“Wait wait! Stop!” Tonya screams as the battle is getting out of hand.

At her command, the fighting ceases.

“What if… We share him?” She asks questioningly to the fish god. It hangs in the air, about to crunch down on a dozen Necron warriors as it ponders her proposition.

Both of them turn, slowly, to stare right at you.

The outlook abysmal, you start hitting every button, every switch, every dial inside this damnable Ork hunk of squig fodder.

The last button you hit? Why, the one with the skull on it, of course.

Which apparently has some kind of effect when the vehicle is off, as there is a very off-putting shake, a grumble and a clang.

You look back, and see the rokkit rising up in the back, it’s exhaust sticking out where the rear window used to be. For a second you wonder if perhaps the removable window was actually a design feature, but you don’t get many seconds to think. The rokkit engine ignites and…

Sputters out!

“Fuck my life!” You kick through the thin floor with both of your power legs, and feel your feet meet ground. In a last ditch effort, you make a run for it.

The power armor helps a lot in this regard, but even with it on, you find using your legs to power a heavy hunk of mostly cast iron and scrapped steel to be tiring work. Not only that, but even the Necrons are starting to gain on you! Must be those three shredded tires dragging you down.

A gauss round slams into the rear of the trukk.

“Stop shooting you fools! I want him alive so I can make him un-alive later!” Tonya berates the one who took the shot.
This only triggers you to run faster, and you find yourself hoping beyond hope that somehow the red paint will help you. Though your legs ache already, you somehow manage to push the vehicle faster, enough to stay out of the grasp of the Necrons at least.

“I don’t want to be robotic fish fertilizer!” You rant, slamming a fist on the dash in anger.

Wings made out of corrugated aluminum pop out of the side of the trukk.

The rokkit in the back re-ignites.

You can do little more than hang on as the rokkit ignites and you can feel the thrust already. Despite this, you have no idea if this thing will really fly.

But you are about to find out.

"Go you fucking pile of bolts! Go!"

The craft achieves lift-off!

...Only to almost immediately spin 180 and head right back the fish jaws of love.

The current heading of the trukk is bad. Very bad. Those jaws, those teeth... You've no desire to be back there again. Still, this craft of sheet metal and pure waaaghpower doesn't respond to desires, at least not yours.

"Tonya!" You call down to the pariah as you go zipping past overhead.

"I don't want to be shared, I've eyes only for you!"

The Necron's face brightens at your words, and with a grim determination she turns back to Ra'alman.

"Let fly the gauss!" At her order, the Necron warriors and Immortals renew their assault. A fresh torrent of gauss fire drives the fish back. Slowly, ever slowly, you realize you are going to clear the maw.

You go sailing over the head of the great sea beast, avoiding a terrible fate.

Frantically you spin the ball, which is more responsive in the air. The craft turns back toward the Ork camp.

On a plume of smoke, fire, and hatred you ride. The craft bucking and jolting as the rokkit coughs a death yet again. As often as Ork tech seems to work, so often it fails, it seems.

The trukk jukes up once, before nosing down. You are going to come in, hard.

"Git outta da waaayyyy!!!" The Warboss shouts as he sees your careening craft.

Orks scramble for cover, diving under the bleachers, hold trukk doors in front of their faces as shields.

The trukk slams down roughly, bounces once, and then flips on it's side where it skids to a halt in a furious flurry of grinding metal and showering sparks.

"Aaannd across da loine!"

You sit for more than a long moment, still strapped in to the trukk, lying on your side. You aren't sure how you survived that, but you are pretty sure that is the last time you want to give driving anything Orkier than the bike a try.

"Oi humie!? You alroight in dere?" Hammond stoops down to peer at you through the windshield, which is full of spiderweb cracks.

"I'm not sure, honestly."

"Whateva, I gots sum good news fah ya."

"I'm not the worst time on the chart?"

"Wut? Nah yous a roight git driva you iz, but dese boys ova 'ere wantcha in dere own show!"

He gestures to a film crew behind him.

"We'z filmin when big gits attack, we wantcha ta do alla dat... Again."

"So let me get this straight... You want me to climb back into a sheet metal ship that seems to work by not making sense, drive it back out there, and swiftly avoid being eaten? For a second time?"

"Yah." The Ork grunts.

"Yeah, OK."

"Wut? Really 'umie?"

"Sure, whatever..."

You drop out of the harness with a click of the release. Standing up, you brush yourself off of rubble and pieces of metal.

"Gimme another trukk or something, I'll give it another go." You shrug.

The film krew glance around to each other. Clearly, they hadn't actually expected you to go along with it.

"How about a rain check, I think he probably needs a break..." Karen cuts in, waving the crew off.

"What? Why?" You protest, wanting to head back out for another round.

"Because he back of your head is bleeding." Karen tells you.

"And your hat is gone."

"My hat is missing and my head is bleeding, eh?"

"Welp, uh... Pretty much?" Karen shrugs, gingerly attempting to use a white cloth to stem the trickle of blood oozing down your hair.

"Clearly, then, there is only one logical route to take."

"...A dok and bed rest?"

Both of you look at each other, each knowing that THAT certainly is not within the realm of possibilities at the moment.

Karen sighs, shaking her head as she does her best to wipe away the rest of the blood and tie the rag around your head in a makeshift bandage.

"I'll get my kustom racer, then."

"Good girl."

The Ork princess leads you along toward her personal mekshop, but won't let you enter until you've got a proper bandage. After a valiant struggle, you cave in and let a dok take a look at you. The bizarre Ork seems a bit downtrodden when you refuse multiple injections of various colors and settle for just a linen headwrap.

The kustom racer, is, well, certainly kustom. A sleek (for orkish standards) low-slung four wheeled contraption of jet engines, exhaust pipes, and rokkit boosters. You'd been a mild fan of races back on your home planet, and this reminds you of them.

If someone took one, slapped on guns, jet engines, rokkits, and a wicked flame emblem front over a bright red paint job.

"So, this thing fast?"

"Fast? You haven't even EXPERIANCED fast." Karen smirks, sliding a pair of goggles down over her eyes.

"I'm driving." You interject as she slides behind the wheel.

"I don't mean to be harsh, but NO. I'm professionally trained on waaagh transmissions."

"Yeah? By who?"

"Some say he's only taken one student in the last twenty or so millenia, some say he taught Gork and Mork. All I know is, he's called, da Squig."

The wicked machine of engines and firepower roars to life with a throaty rumble. Pipes kick out black exhaust, spewing out inside the mekshop. Jet engines engage and a high pitched whine forces you to clamp your ears shut.

"Oh yeah, she's ready!" The Ork girl grins, giving the side of the vehicle a satisfied pat.

"Great, now where do I sit?" You frown upon realizing that the vehicle is a single seater.

"Sit? Well... You can hang on the back?" Clearly Karen hadn't thought this far ahead either.

Fortunately, there is a handhold on the back, enough for you to clamp on with your strong mechanical arm. You plant your feet against the rear spoiler, doing your best to lock yourself into place.

A sane person would have taken one look, and bowed out gracefully. Thankfully, you are not a sane person.

"Lets get this shit on." You reach up and place a cigar in your teeth. You'd nicked it from the Warboss as he'd clapped you on the back. Surely he won't notice.

You light the cigar on a jet engine, take a puff, and place a pair of goggles Karen handed you over your own face.

"Kick it."

Why oh why you uttered those words, you don't know.

What you do know, is that your body was not ready. Not even the slightest. For what it was about to endure.

Most vehicles accelerate gracefully, sensibly taking at least some time to reach up and snatch speed in its claws. This, however, ignores such things as grace, and gnashes speed in its ugly hands before deciding it isn't radical enough and chucking it aside.

Simply put, the Kustom racer goes from zero to about FUCK in an average of oh shit seconds.

You can't even manage to scream obscenities, its all you can do to keep your mouth shut and pray to the Emprah. Even the cigar is straining, the wind nearly ripping it from your teeth.

You can't tell Karen to slow down, either. Not even with a hand gesture, because now you've got both of them clamped down tight on whatever you managed to find purchase on. You haven't bothered looking, eyes fixated ahead as terrain shoots beneath your wheels at a speed that redefines speed.

Karen, for her part, seems to be rather enjoying it. She's smiling and humming some kind of Orky tune as though this were merely just a Sunday drive through the country.

Completely oblivious, it seems, to you nearly pissing your power armor from the ride.

If the trukk you rode in earlier made it to the shore quickly, you don't even know how to DESCRIBE this.

Despite your strain to stay on the racer, you are scanning as hard as you can for one thing, and only one thing.

Someone or something has your hat, without your strict consent, and that is simply not acceptable.

"Hang on, I'm going to hit the Turbo Boost!" Karen shouts back at you.

The what?

Did she just say something about boost?

Is she implying this thing goes faster?

Turbo Boost implies an increase in speed, a standard unit of distance over time.

What Karen should call the button she hits would be the button for the insanity engine.

The racer doesn't increase speed, no. Speed simply nods, realizes it's been bested, and steps aside, yielding to its successor.

The rokkits all ignite at once, jet engines scream, the pipes go from spewing smog to not being able to rid themselves of it fast enough, as though the smoke itself is flowing upwards. The wheels even leave the ground, which must be why she'd installed the two small wings off to the sides of the vehicle.

Still, despite all of this, you see what you came for. Your hat, clutched in Tonya's fingers.

With a smile, she sniffs the brim, and looks back up at you.

"Faster! FASTER!" You cry, but to no avail.

Despite your speed, despite this terrible dragon of the land, you are too late.

With a faint wave, Tonya fades from your vision along with her immortals.

Taking hat-chan with her, to wherever it is that she goes.

"Fuck. Everything."

Just as bad, well, perhaps not QUITE as bad, looms another issue.

Ra'alman, the strong black she-beast that she is, isn't taking too kindly to seeing yet another woman with HER MAN.

A point the fish god demonstrates by rising up out of the water, a towering figure of devilish intent.

"Stop this thing!" You shout to Karen; who despite giving you a look clearly questioning your sanity, of which there is little, does so.

"You uh... Sure about this, Max?" She asks, clearly quite put off by you walking on wobbly knees (from the ride...yeah) toward the towering deity of the oceans.

"Hey you! Yes, you!" You wave your hands above your head, and the gigantic beast gives you a ponderous stare. Or whatever passes for one, you think.

"I'm listening, mortal." A screeching voice inside your mind, like a train flipping on its side and scraping it's contents of nails across the chalkboard plains beside its tracks.

You actually have to work your jaw and blink to get the ringing out of your brain.

Opening your mouth, you delve into it.

"Alright so listen, we both know that this CLEARLY isn't going to work out, that much is obvious. I mean, you are a massive goddess of the ocean and I'm me."

The fish tilts its head slightly as it listens to you talk. At least it appears to be intently following along.

"I know, you are clearly hooked on me, and I'll admit I'm quite a catch. That said, I need more line than you are willing to give me, you can't keep me wound tight on a spool. Now let me put this into scale for you, I'm willing to try something and I'm not trying to bait you into a trap alright?"

"Go on..." A hiss in your mind, this one not as sharp and painful as the last burst of psyonic speech.

"What I'm trying to say is that there might be some way to make you less toothy and I'm up to the gills in ideas."

Ra'alman hangs ponderously for a moment, before slowly lowering down and resting gently on the sand in front of you.

"Fair enough, but any more puns and I just eat you."

"Alright, I just don't want you acting shellfish toward the others alright? You've got to learn to share if this all works out somehow."

"I should devour you just for that. But continue."

The truth is, however, you don't have that many ideas about what to do. In fact, you hardly have any.

This is well beyond the point of your own powers, of that much you are certain. You can do some pretty impressive stuff with your relatively new psyker abilities, but this is not one of them.

You'd give Tzeentch a call, figuring this would be right up her ally, but you don't exactly have her number.

As you're thinking that, the cigar suddenly pops and fizzes, quite unusual. A small strip of metal falls out. Most peculiar.

The little plate is engraved "Tzeentch" and lists a communicator number. That fucking Creed...

You dial it up and wait. Ringing...

"The hell do YOU want, mortal?!" Tzeentch growls, her voice low and dangerous. You can make out the crying of an infant in the background.

"Err.... Sorry it seems like a bad time, but to summarize I need help transforming a fish deity into something I can stick my Inquisitor into."

"..."

"Hello?"

"You aren't joking, are you?"

"Nope." You announce.

"...You know I don't particularly like you, at all in fact, don't you?"

"Yep."

A sigh.

"Very well, I'll offer my assistance. In return, I'll get something from you of my choosing, something small and something that will effect you little I should think. I've yet to plan that far ahead, but know I'll ask something of you when the time comes."

She clears her throat.

"Alternatively, Slaanesh wishes me to inform you that it will uphold the same deal, and when I asked what it wanted it started drooling and masturbating furiously."

"Well, whats saying we can't all join up as a team? One big double chaos god, psyker sandwich?"

"...You're serious? Alright I guess? Slaanesh knows what it wants, by the way."

"...Do I even want to know?"

"Your Farseer, a pair of her dirty drawers with a lipstick heart on them."

Well, those shouldn't be too hard to obtain. Then you remember exactly who it is you are dealing with... Well THAT is certainly going to be an interesting conversation.

"That will be difficult, but do-able. And you?"

"You'll find out later when I get around to it, now stand back from the shore."

As much as the thought of making a deal with the secrets and CHANGE unnerves you, its too late now. The water before you has turned into a swirling maelstrom of violet and blue in nearly an instant.

"Whoa, now THIS is some shit." Karen muses, taking a seat on the kustom racer and watching the scene unfold.

That is, indeed, some shit.

The swirling vortex is arcing into the sky. Waves of color move in such a way that it causes your head to ache. You aren't sure what it is that you are watching, and you aren't even sure it won't break your mind.

The waters surge over Ra'alman, and the fish god seems quite hesitant at the events. Not that you blame it, in the least.

The seas grow only more colorful, the sky overhead darkening to a coal black of storming clouds as the water seethes. Ra'alman has disappeared entirely beneath them.

Karen is watching, goggles still in place, her hand with popcorn in it frozen in place as she forgets about the snack entirely.

"I'm twelve and what is this...?" You say in awe at the vision of color, motion, and energy.

The spectacle slowly peaks, before starting to wind down. The ocean stops swirling, the colors fade, the clouds dissipate.

You notice instantly that the towering fish god is absent, and in its place...

Nothing.

"Hey what the fuck guys, this wasn't part of our deal!" You shout angrily.

"Calm yourself, whelp. She's disappeared by her own accord, not of our doing."

"Yeah, but I still expect my payment." Slaanesh adds.

"So she's... Hiding?" You inquire inside your mind.

"Indeed. I'll be taking my payment as well, as our contract has been fulfilled."

So there you stand, wet from the spray of the crazy blue waters, beside your Ork friend. With absolutely nothing to show for the deal you just made.

"Chaos gods are dicks."

"Duh, I coulda told you that." Karen licks the butter off of her fingers.

Though you remain on the shoreline for at least an hour, calling out and trying to get some response, you are greeted with only silence. Even your mind powers do nothing.

"We should probably just give up..." Karen pipes up, a bemused expression as she watches you strolling up and down the beach.

"Yeah but how do I know they didn't just screw me over?" You complain.

"That's... Part of dealing with them, I guess?" She holds up her arms, nothing else to add.

"Well that... Sucks." You frown, and chuck another rock out into the waves where it lands with a satisfying splash.

"Eh, you win some you lose some. Now lets head back, I'd like to do something else at least before dinner."

Something else... Something else...

"Hora hora, what are you thinking of doing with the Ork princess?"

Both of you jump at the intrusion, whirling around. A being quite unlike anything you've seen thus far stands before you. A round, powerful tail covered in dark blue scales, pale green hair that falls nearly to the base of said tale. Red eyes that seem to almost glow slightly.

"No. Fucking. Way." You gape.

"Well, I can always turn back." Even as she says it, she does it. In mere moments, the Ra'alman you've always known is staring down at you yet again.

"Now have your fun mortal, I've god things to attend to before I can meet you again." With that, she heaves her heavy body into the air and crashes into the sea. A massive plume of water erupts, drenching you, Karen, and the kustom racer.

"Forget what I said earlier. NOW I've seen some shit." The Ork girl just shakes her head and shrugs, lost for more words.

----

Something about the quiet of the forest in the evening is alluring. Perhaps something primeval in man itself, perhaps just because it reminds me of a place I once knew so long ago now.

I'd expected Max to argue, naturally. Hell, even I know what that letter meant. I knew, in the back of my mind, that it was unlikely I was ever going to return.

A point I discovered, within myself, that I was fine with. I knew the target wasn't really me, they don't care about lost assassins. They don't have to. Eventually something in our blood runs out, and we pass on naturally. I'd felt the weakness coming off in the distance for a while now.

So when I'd found the data concerning my suspicions, upon that vile corpse, I knew what had to be done. I can't let them kill Max off, in a heartbeat, before he ever stood a chance. Not if this crazy plan has any hope of budding into a new life for this universe, not if I can put a stop to anyone forced into this life of ends.

No. If destiny needed a sacrifice for this to all fall into place, I willingly give myself.

So I'd given him that envelope, and I'd made him take it. It gives me some kind of solace to know I'd left it in capable hands.

They wouldn't be expecting me. That I know. I would have expired already had I not pilfered a vial of the stuff I'd needed from the corpse of the wretched being who had once been someone I'd once been trained by.

The ship resides in the clearing, exactly as I'd planned it all out. Too predictable when hunting one of your own species.

Sure enough they'd placed a guard on watch. A grey old man for one such as us, perhaps even thirty five or more.

Everyone has to pee sometimes. And sometimes, you just happen to get a knife though the back when doing so. Life sucks like that.

I don't feel a thing as the blade plunges in, again and again. Blood trickles from fresh wounds, the sentry struggles and tries to cry out, but is stifled by my hand crushing his windpipe.

I'd known him, I realize as I silently lower the body. A marksman instructor, one of the few at the Ordo I'd ever felt respect for. The same one from whom I'd picked up my one bad habit.

"Sorry, old man." I whisper down to him, and a small smile greets me as he recognizes my face. I hammer my blade once through his skull to end his pain.

The satchel at my side isn't exactly run of the mill Vindicare equipment. Meltabombs aren't really our thing, but an assassin who doesn't adapt isn't much of an assassin.

My feet barely crunching the leaves blanketing the ground as I approach the ship, I pull one of the bombs out. I'd already rigged up timers and a sticky solution to get them to stay in place. Now I begin placing them, every few feet along the hull.

It would be a terrible end for those inside, that much I knew. I knew, and did not care. I hated that. Or I wanted to. I'm not even sure how I work anymore, I know the Ordo had messed with us. I was sick of knowing that.

The last bomb stuck in place, I prepare my egress.

"Not too nice of dead men to try to off those of us with a job to do, Eight."

"We're all dead men here."

The calm lasts a mere moment. Flashes of gunfire erupt, both of us having gone for our Exitus pistols. His mistake, I always was fast on a draw.

Plan in the gutter, I do my best to improvise.

The double tap caught the first through the chest and head, which is something I've yet to see anyone or anything survive.

But more are quickly pouring out, and I've only so much ammunition.

I dive behind the landing gear of the ship, rounds whizzing overhead and erupting sand to my sides. Popping out quickly, I deliver another salvo into yet another one I recognize.

Five left, I've counted. Five rounds in my pistol.

Focusing, I let my mind slow down everything as I steady my nerves. Another break from cover, another round through a head.

The gun battle keeps up, and I'm almost sure I've got the edge, until I spot a fateful glimmer to my left. Too late, I don't have enough time.

I whirl, and both of us fire at the same time.

Pain. I'm used to pain. I grew up on it, I was trained in it, the Ordo deadened my senses to it.

The one holding the Exitus rifle staggers, half of his head gone, before collapsing.

He was the last, I find out, as the meltabombs ignite into an inferno of metal slag. I'd made it far enough from the blast to not be consumed, but looking down at my wound... It was for naught.

I cough, blood staining my hand.

Well, I could have asked for a worse ending. Completing a last mission isn't a bad way to go.

The forest calls for me, or maybe its the blood loss. I can feel it seeping from me now, warm, running down my abdomen and legs.

So I walk. For how long and how far I don't know, but I walk until I can walk no more.

The canopy above breaks, a hole overhead where I can see the stars. I try to lay down gently, but end up collapsing. Swallowing, I taste only iron.

Oh. The stars are out. Its been a long time since I've had a chance to gaze up at them. I wonder where Catachan is, I've no knowledge of astronomy.

Already I can feel my head getting hazy, darkness growing at the edges of my vision.

An Eldar comes, maybe more, I can't be sure. She places a cigarette in my lips, a kind gesture for her to do at my weak insistence.

I look up to the sky, concerned little for the Eldar. There is no more looming threat for them, and more importantly, Max.

I smile at the thought.

"Max..." I whisper faintly, only the brigtest of stars still visible.

"I'm... I'm going home." I smile.

The sounds of the forest see me out.

----

"Parker!" Vect barks gruffly to welcome the newcomer into his study.

"No. Kyle."

"Kyle? What kind of name is that?" Vect asks, chewing on his cigar.

"My name, sir."

"And you're a Dark Eldar? That isn't a very Dark Eldarish name son."

The pilot sighs, he had grown to expect this. Despite this being his fifth or so meeting with the big man.

"Whatever. Anyways Parker, Parker told me you're someone I should consider letting run this place."

"Kyle. You already did that."

Vect frowns, looking up from his newspaper. He scowls at Parker, these fucking kids these days and their rap music...

"So why are you here?" He finally sighs, ashing his cigar in an ornate ebony tray.

"Didn't I already... Never mind. The Imperium of man wants to ally with us."

Vect looks down at his newspaper again, reaching out for his coffee mug.

"Tell them no, bad for the newspaper business."

"Sir if I may..."

"Fine, but we get 75%! and that's our final offer!" Vect pounds his desk.

"Right, I'll pass that on..." Kyle bows and swiftly exits the office.

----

You and Karen turn to head back toward the Ork camp. This time you tell her to take it easy on the crazy speedfreak stuff, your legs and arms have yet to forgive you for earlier.

Thankfully she obliges, and the ride back is perhaps half as fast and furious as the ride out. Though a tanned, bald man in an ancient Terran car tries to race you along the way.

The Ork camp is dying down by the time you arrive. Apparently the filming is over, as the Orks are now packing the last of the set up. They give you funny looks as you enter, and some of them mutter under their breath. About some humie git bein wif da princess, though you can't hear them.

The film crew who had planned to document your second raid look rather miffed at being left in the dirt. Apparently their trukks hadn't come close to being able to keep up with Karen's souped up monstrosity.

Though their mean stares quickly soften as Karen apologizes. Apparently all of them have a soft spot for her. You aren't sure if you will ever understand that. As far as you knew, Orks were all about getting killy and making waagh.

Progress though the camp seems good, you have a feeling tonight is going to go well. Screw the xeno haters the Imperium is made of, you are having a great time with this female Ork and you intend to keep it that way.

That is, until, the Warboss steps into your path.

"Its toime ta rokk, ya git!" He grins, shoving a guitar into your hands.

"What? Again?"

"Oi! Jus anotha song an you can git back ta bein a git!"

"Fine." You shoulder the guitar strap. The cord of your guitar only extends halfway to the nearby amps, before snaking off and ending at a pile of shredded tires. But when you pluck a string, sound reverberates from the system. Damn Orks and their nonsensical technology...

Before you can gripe, the Warboss takes the lead.

Waagh on da vox, dakka on da holo
Imperial man take what he can, shooty on da silva screen
Krumpin em up and choppan em down, living out a fantasy
There’s a big boss ridin ‘round in a big black looted trukk
Don’t let it be wrong, don’t let it be right
Get outta da way git, ur roight in ‘iz soights

Big dakka
Big dakka
Numbah whan
Big dakka

Big dakka krump da zog outta ya
Necrons, flash makas, shootin up hollywood
Vindicares alive wif da flashy bitz, getting off an doin rought bad
If you izn’t smart, dey’ll eat ya up, chop off ya bitz as dey do

The song comes to a grating halt as the Warboss furiously rips his guitar right off of it's strap.

"Oi! You lousy grots! Git yer filthy 'ands off a me trukk!" He takes the guitar and wings it hard at a group of gretchin crawling around a particularly large and spiky trukk.

It sails brilliantly through the air, before slicing a gretchin in half at chest level. The others panic, and break into a scattered run as the Warboss bounds after the rest.

"Well... That was... Fun?" You shrug.

"Sure, never mind that. I haven't had you to myself in forever and its just getting annoying now." Karen folds her arms, peers at her father, and then snatches your hand.

Karen stops to peek around corners, eying other orks as they mukk about, pulling you quickly along when she thinks they aren't looking.

"Hey, not that I mind, but why are we being sneaky like?" You ask in a hushed tone at another stop.

"Huh? Well, no reason really... But some of these boyz might get a tad bit... Well, more jealous if they see me take you into my own tent."

"Oh. OH."

"Yeah."

You notice Karen's cheeks are a bit flushed, the pink on her green features is a dead give away.

At long last, after at least a dozen stops to check for a clear coast, you've arrived. The tent is far larger than the boyz huts, and set apart from them as well. Lining the outside, standing guard, are dozens of turrets.

"Don't worry, I already programmed you in as a "do not kill", they won't shoot." Karen smirks, noticing your hesitation to approach.

Sure enough (though you inch along slowly), the turrets do not turn you to giblets and armor flakes. You sigh in relief, that would have been a bad way to go.

"Come on, hurry up!" Karen grins, tugging harder.

You aren't about to keep the princess waiting, and let her lead you on inside. The interior of the tent is, at least by Orkish standards, lavish. Carpet lines the floor, plush pink rugs covering much of it. You even notice a bathroom through an open curtain.

"Wow, nice place you've got here." You marvel, lightly touching the pink netting above the bed.

"Pink?" You turn to her with an evil grin, "An Ork with a pink accented room?"

A shirt to the face quaffs your teasing.

"Oh quiet, you. I'm going to take a shower, why don't you just take a seat on the bed or something? You can flip on the viewscreen if you'd like."

You pull the shirt off of your face, noticing it actually smells rather... Nice?

Karen steps through the curtain into the bathroom and draws it shut before you can add anything more.

Though you'd thought to give the books lining a shelf near the closed entryway a look, that train of thought is abruptly derailed.

Karen flips on a light inside the bathroom, and in an instant you notice one thing. The fabric of those walls is fairly thin on the shower side, which is closest to the bed, and you can see her figure almost perfectly through them.

Which means, much to your Inquisitor's interest, that you can more or less make out everything. Like Karen slowly unstrapping her belt, and lowering her shorts.

"Emprah preserve me..." You whisper inaudibly as you continue to watch.

"Hey!" Karen calls through the fabric, and you stiffen, thinking she'd heard you.

"You umm... Can take of your armor, if you'd like." She says, the embarrassment in her voice carrying through.

"I would, but it's really easier to get on myself and tough to get off without help." You admit.

"Oh." The Ork princess comments, and you can't help but notice the outline as she slips her thong and tosses it into a bin. "I'll help you after I'm done, then."

"That would be..." She pulls her sportsbra over her head and your words get jumbled in your throat as you watch a very noticeable bounce. "Fine." You finish throatily.

The sound of the shower starting fills the tent, but you can barely perceive it. Your other senses, it seems, have lent their power entirely to your eyes. And oh, do your eyes need it now more than ever.

Karen steps gently into the shower, which only causes her outline to grow more distinct. She lets her hair down out of it's ponytail, and even through the curtain you can see it is rather curly, like waves cascading downward... Right to her tight butt.

Your jaw is practically on the floor by now, you are visibly drooling, you don't frankly care at this point.

Your Inquisitor protests at the unwelcome pressure of the armor's codpiece, and under any other circumstance you may have found that quite uncomfortable. Now, however, you can barely perceive it.

Karen pulls her hair back as the water flows over it, running her fingers through the lush tangle. You are on the edge of the bed, leaning as far forward as the position allows.

Leaning down, her back toward you, she pumps what you guess to be shampoo into her hand. Standing back up, she runs it through her hair, so, so slowly.

Leaving it for now, you notice her lean down again and pick up a cloth. Another few pumps of another bottle, and she's begun to wash her body. Even through the curtain its easy to tell she's absolutely athletic. But not some muscle beast that Imperial women tend to think they will become if they work out, more like a body sculpted to the perfection of form.

You can only sit and watch, utterly mesmorized, as something as simple as a girl showering gets you more worked up than you could have ever imagined.

As she at long last closes the valve to the shower, you have only one thought. You don't want it to end.

A thought quickly forgotten when she draws back the curtain and steps out into the larger room once more.

Karen stands before you, luscious dark hair dripping, all of her dripping. Encased only in a short fluffy pink towel.

She must have noticed you staring, because her face cheeks are only burning more and more red, her eyes avoiding you as her legs mull awkwardly.

"So umm... Want me to help get that armor off?" She finally asks.

"Yes ma'am!" You almost shout, standing up immediately.

Gentle green fingers run over the hard ceremite plates as Karen searches for the releases. You try to guide her along, but only give her faint clues. Watching her its almost too cute to want it to end.

With a small hiss, the last piece is removed. Damn, you think to yourself, damn why can't you be wearing TWO suits of armor?

"Do you... Need a shower?" She asks quietly, her eyes averted despite you still being quite clothed.

"I don't think so? The armor has some cooling mechanisms, and stuff..." In truth, you can barely form words. Where your brain is getting the power to actually speak from, you are unsure.

"Can you do the rest?" Karen asks, before climbing briskly onto the bed, and burrowing into the sheets.

"Uh, yeah."

Her back to you, you let the last of your clothing drop to the floor. You notice a pink towel on the ground at the side of the bed.

Not knowing what else to do, you carry out the only logical course of action your brain can come up with, and slip into the sheets beside the princess.

"So umm... I don't really know the rest... I've only read one Terran romance novel and it kinda... Ends, right about now." She says, her face pressed into a pillow.

Gently, you pull her over to face you. Her eyes are locked on your own now, her face still flush and her breath excited.

Leaning in, you lock your lips to her own plush set of pink ones. And Emprah, does it feel good.

Karen seems to be getting the hang of it after several moments, her hands wrapping around to grab onto your back as you slide on top of her.

She gasps as you break off and start back, drawing the blankets over you as you work your way down.

"Max, I don't... AHHH!?"

The sensation of your lips meeting her other pair causes her hips to jump and she grabs your head in shock.

"Relax." You tell her reassuringly. Despite your words, you can still feel the energy poised nervously in her body.

With every lick, a gasp. With every kiss, a moan.

Her hands are still in your hair, only now looser and rubbing your scalp slightly. You may be pretty dense when it comes to some things, but you have a knack for this kind of stuff.

After a long while of preparation, you throw back the covers and unveil your prize.

Karen lays panting slightly on the pink sheet, slightly dampened by the water that remained on her body from her hasty drying. Her breasts rise with each quick breath, and her eyes remain locked in hard on your own.

"Ah... Don't... Stop?" She almost asks, entirely unsure of herself.

You grin, though to reassure her rather than tease. Your inquisitor eyes the breech, consults with the astropaths, and decides entry into the warp is safe.

Karen gasps as you slowly push forward, her hands grabbing your hips and squeezing quite hard. You don't have to guess hard that she's new to this, you know enough about Orks to know they lack any... Tools.

So you take your time, responding to her body as hers does to your own. For several minutes that pass in an eternity, until you come to rest in base to base combat.

"You can, uh. Move now, I think." Karen says after several long moments of rest.

"You sure?" You ask, noticing a small trickle of blood.

"I'm sure." She smiles, gently clasping your side.

So you start to move. Immediately finding yourself on the edge. It may have been due to the show through the curtain, or how she took your armor off. Either way, its all you can do to hang on.

"Tankred... Endures..."

"Huh?" She asks, you halfway through a thrust.

"Err... Nothing."

Karen's moans pick up, louder and only more passionate as you increase your speed. You find yourself making quite a bit of noise as well. Though you certainly got her prepared with your oral abilities, she's got you gripped like a vice. A wet, warm, incredible vice.

Karen's fingernails are almost painful as they dig into your skin, and her clamped eyes and wide mouth combined with that tell you that you are doing well, young padawan.

Reaching out, you cup one of her breasts for a moment, enjoying the bouncing soft orb. Quickly you return it to its place beside her hips, needing the support, and the sensation almost causing you to detonate the krak missile early.

"I'm... I don't know this feeling... What... Ahh? Ahhhh!!!!" Her hands grab you hard and her hips drive up to meet your own. You keep up the pace, riding through her climax. You can't stop now, this is bat country and you have a package to deliver.

Your instincts cut short as she pushes you away quickly, your Inquisitor quite annoyed as it leaves it's tight hideout.

"S-sorry!" Karen gasps, out of breath, "I know it may seem dumb, but I don't know if humans and... Well... I'm not ready to be a mom yet... Ah sorry, this is so stupid of me." She claps her hands to her face.

Her fingers peel open to reveal one of her eyes as you laugh, starting quietly and growing until it fills the whole tent.

"Don't worry, I get it." You tell her kindly. Karen still looks a bit perplexed.

"Umm... I could, you know. Use my mouth, maybe?" She asks, looking to you for guidance.

"Yeah, I'd like that." You smile, giving her long hair a single stroke.

Karen leads you off of the bed, and kneels awkwardly until her face is level with your flagship.

"Hmm..." She gives it a look, tilting her head SHAFT style as she does so.

"Its cute!" She finally smiles, before gently placing her lips around it. You nearly let loose the exterminatus right then and there.

Karen gingerly takes more of it in, though you wince and have to let her know to avoid her canines as she tries to pick up the pace.

The whole while she looks up at you with those innocent eyes illuminated by the lighting above. You twitch, and she must sense you're getting close.

"N-not inside?" She tells you, garbled by the current predicament.

"Gotcha." You manage to gasp.

She quits mukkin about and gets back to work, and work she does. You try to hold out, to hold the line as you were taught in the guard, but there is just no way.

You are at the peak, and this time you can't stop yourself. Though when you try to pull away...

Karen has you gripped hard around the waist, not allowing you to remove your powersword. You can tell just by the look in her eyes that she's grinning as you finally relinquish your plasma onto her tongue, which runs eagerly up the shaft of the blade.

She holds you there for several moments, until your hips stop twitching, your expression a mixture of heavenly pleasure and pure exhaustion, before finally releasing her grip.

"I thought you might like that, maybe?" She asks, her voice a bit off, before swallowing with a strange expression.

"Bitter." She giggles, screwing up her face.

You mutter something unintelligible, before falling backwards onto the bed.

You barely notice as she steps into the bathroom to brush her teeth and gargle mouthwash. Or when she walks back out and helps you into a better position on the bed.

"That was... Incredible." You tell her.

"Hmm? I thought so, too." She says sweetly, rubbing your head, which causes your eyes to close.

Without even realizing it, you've slipped off into dreamland.

"Kirby? The fuck are you doing here? This is Warhammer and you are neither grim nor dark."

"Bitch I swallow things whole, steal their power, and fight the most powerful beings in my known universe all while being pink. I OWN grim and dark."

----

Tonya sits inside the cold, pressing walls of the dismal tomb. She combs her hair out as she hums something to herself, a tune she knows without knowing where it came from.

All the while she stares at the hat resting upon the framed picture of her beloved. She can't help but smile when she looks at it. One day she will have him, all to herself. One day he will be hers.

"Do you need anything, mistress?" A Necron in a maid outfit asks her, stopping at her doorway after delivering a small nondescript package and a steaming pot of oil.

"No, thank you." Tonya dismisses the maid kindly, and turns back to her shrine, alone again.

"Oh Max," She sighs, laying down on the stone alter and placing her chin on her hands, mere inches from the picture. "Why do you elude me so?"

Checking her communication device again, she sighs dejectedly when it reads "no new messages", as it always does.

Grabbing the hat lightly she rolls over on her bed to face the ceiling. Though she doesn't understand why, a part of her doesn't like this place, with its dim green light and blank grey walls.

Tonya hugs the hat to her chest and closes her eyes as she breaths in. The smell of it is almost like having her darling right there. Almost, but not enough.

"I'll make you mine." She whispers, holding the hat dear.

"I'll make you mine, forever and ever."

---

"Glory to the Partridges!" Guardsmen cry out as Harry wades his way through them. He and his retinue looking downright fabulous as they do. It had taken him quite a while to make sure his servitors had gotten ever purity seal EXACTLY right.

"Yes yes, we are the champions of this day." He raises his space wolf mug in salute to their cheers.

"Not what I saw." A cold, calculating voice reaches his ears. It cuts through the praise of the Guardsmen like a well honed knife.

"Ah, Creed. Pleasant to see you again, did you enjoy my triumph here?" Despite his cool demeanor, Harry is a bit panicked. Creed being one of the few with sound enough mind and hardened nerves, enough to ignore the powers of the Egomancers.

"Cut the bullshit, Harry."

The chapter master stifles at being called by his first name by a mere general. Though he is furious, he dare not lash out. Creed may be a mere human, but he is a tough and resolute opponent. Even when caught off-guard, his plans are almost always foolproof.

"You and I both know what really happened here." Creed grumbles, his gravely voice still pronounced despite the stogie clutched in his bared teeth.

"Shame, then, how the story will go down in the ages to come." Harry remarks, all pleasantries lost.

Creed grunts once, what passes for a laugh for him.

"We'll see who has the last of it, bird." With that, he turns away and stalks off.

It takes all of his strength to keep himself from losing all to rage. Harry clamps down hard enough on the mug to nearly shatter it, but stops himself from wrecking his favorite belonging.

"Indeed we will." He answers, Creed long gone.