Editing Fallen from Grace (section)

===Chapter Three===

The Pellietier Plantation was rather quiet in the days that followed. The only soul that stirred among the desolate plains of white was Adeon, preparing for the rush of activity that would start in a month’s time. He didn’t need to start this early, but it was better than the alternative of waiting for T’riss to come out of her room.  After she had fallen asleep on his lap, the night where she confessed being a Xenos, Adeon had carried her to her bed. Since then, she only had come out to use the restroom and to quickly snatch up the food he left her around mealtimes. Adeon did tell her he would be downstairs whenever she was ready through the door when picking up the dishes, but he never got a response. 

“Just take him already…Why you insist on rebelling against your blood is beyond logic. Give in…” T’riss awoke with a gasp, clutching her head as the laughter from that terrible being faded from her mind. Each night since she had revealed herself to Adeon, the pain in her head had grown worse, and it was beginning to permeate the rest of her body. Everything ached, as if she had been recently disciplined back on Commorragh. Though her self-control was easily able to handle these two sources of annoyance, it couldn’t deal with the dull pain that seemed to cling to her heart. A small part of T’riss wondered, “Was this really better than being dead?” If it hadn’t been for the smile that crept across her face when she looked out the window at the snow sculptures, she might have listened to it.

Although she couldn’t bring herself to face Adeon yet, that didn’t stop T’riss from continuing her daily exercises. Her injuries had healed completely by now, but she found her left side responding far slower than she was used to. Focusing her efforts on correcting this problem, T’riss became completely engrossed in her stretches and mock swings. As she flowed through one of the more complex forms, the remnants of her armor in the closet began to stir to life. Adeon had showed T’riss them when she had asked, but they had been otherwise ignored – thought to be broken relics. That was true, for the most part; yet, soon after awakening, a slow, steady beep began to emanate from the folds of the dark material. 

“Defenses?” The projection of Sehella whirled as the Sybarite found himself pacing around it. “None that we can sense,” came the reply from one of his kabalites, “The primitive apes seem to only have one space port on the world. Population is minimal.” Nodding, he pointed at the pulsing red dot on one of the upper continents, “And what about the area where that traitor’s equipment landed?” “It appears to be what the Mon’Keighs call a ‘farm,’ your grace. No armaments or fortification to speak of.” Smirking, the Sybarite nodded and waved a hand to signal the termination of the projection. Reclaiming his equipment would be far easier than he had hoped. As he left the bridge, moving towards the slave pens to feast, he found himself secretly hoping that enough of T’riss had survived to mount on his wall.

The first indication that something was amiss was the faint smell of ash that wafted through the small crack of the window. T’riss paused, looking up from the novel she had secretly snuck out and obtained the night prior. The fire downstairs hadn’t been lit since that night, yet there was no mistaking the odor. Swinging her legs off the bed, coming to stand upright, T’riss wandered over to the window and stared out. The Grox pens were ablaze, a few servitors desperately trying to put it out while a few beasts, engulfed in flame, ran from it. Worried for Adeon, given that she had seen him walk that way not an hour beforehand, she found herself bundling up and sprinting outside without a second thought.

T’riss barely managed to get past the apple tree when she found herself diving beneath a blade. Instinct from all her training kicked in, turning the dive into a rolling somersault to bring her face to face with her assailant. Her heart panged with fury as she recognized the lilthe form of one of her former comrades. How had they tracked her here? Had they gotten their hands on Adeon? There was little time for such thinking, as the kabalites soon began a deadly dance through the snow. Using the snowmarines for cover, T’riss was able to evade the blows unarmed for the time being, but she was running out of options. 

As the last members of the Snow Astartes found their heads cleaved by blows meant for her, T’riss found her back against the apple tree. She’d get one chance at disarming her opponent, assuming the Eldar inside the black, barbed bodysuit would fall for her trick. The wicked edge of the impaler gleamed as it was thrust forward, but T’riss was ready. Mere nanoseconds before impact, she twisted, allowing the weapon to move past her and embed itself into the wood of the tree. Not giving the kabalite the chance to recover, T’riss unleashed a rain of carefully timed blows. Overwhelmed, her would-be-assassin was forced to go on the defensive. After one particular nasty kick to the side of his head, T’riss had enough time to pry the impaler free. As the bark released its’ grip on the metal, splinters flying, she found herself laughing: she had finally found something to feed on.

“WHERE. IS. MY. ARMOR. MON’KEIGH?!” Adeon found himself whirling through the air, thrown against the wall of the Grox Pen. The bastard had snuck up on him while he was cleaning out one of the troughs, and was now taking great delight in beating Adeon senseless.  Coughing up blood, Adeon slowly picked himself up, glaring at the Sybarite in front of him. Now *this* was what he had expected Xenos to be like, but that thought didn’t help at all when the agonizer gauntlet found its’ way around his neck. Pain began to rocket throughout his nervous system, and his consciousness faded as the glove began to tighten. His last thought before the void took him was of T’riss crying, and how sorry he was that it was all his fault.

The human’s body went limp, and the Sybarite tossed it aside with scorn. He hadn’t killed the ape, but that was the least of his concerns.  Not mere seconds after doing so, the remnants of the door were sent flying into the pen. In their place stood T’riss, face twisted in fury as she came to regard the scene. Various nicks and cuts adorned her entire body, as did blood that was not her own. It had taken her too long, she thought, and now Adeon was dead. All because she was weak. All because she couldn’t even protect the one thing that gave her a reason to exist. At least now she could make sure the job she had started five months ago would be finished, one way or the other.

Unleashing a primal roar, T’riss closed the gap between herself and the Sybarite. The latter of which was barely able to bring up his own impaler in time to knock aside the blow. Even now, in her weakened state, he couldn’t believe that she was still as much as equal. But such thoughts were unnecessary, and soon the two found themselves waltzing through the pens. As they strayed into one of the burning sections, the clashing metal began to send sparks through the acrid smoke, adding to the flame around them. Regardless of the impairing conditions, neither combatant could afford to divert their attention any further.  

Yet, T’riss finally found her wounds catching up to her, what little strength she had fading away as she barely parried a particularly nasty blow aimed at her kneecaps. Soon after, her acquired weapon was battered from her hands, the Sybarite driving her against the wall while laughing. “Even though you managed to survive our last encounter, I must give you credit, traitor. I haven’t had the pleasure of such a battle in a long time, but that is not enough to spare your transgressions.” T’riss glared back, the only form of attack left for her as she steeled herself for the inevitable blow. Just as the impaler was raised above his head, three prongs of a pitchfork emerged from the Sybarite’s chest, causing him to cough up blood before falling to the ground before her. Tears began to well in her eyes as Adeon stood before her, smiling. “Does this count as bein’ more aware?” 

He would pay for that, later. For now, though, all T’riss could do was bound forward and tackle him to the ground, hugging him tight and apologizing over and over.