Editing Hil'ardil (section)

==Chapter 1==

Hil'ardil sighed, she was sore from combat. The farseer was aboard a fleeing falcon grav-tank, armor spattered with human blood and a helmet in her lap, a long crack running down the side from a blade that nearly took her life. For nearly half a decade she had been having skirmish after skirmish with the space marines who thought it wise to attempt to clean this planet to be colonized.  She had sent them a message long before their first dance on the battlefield. Perhaps it was too subtle for the dim-witted mon'keigh? This message she was thinking of was of a chapter librarian who had wandered away from the scouting party. When these blue armored fools found him, they were met with his lifeless body staked up on a pole with still smoking holes from lance fire and deep gashes from vibroblades marring his armor. They didn't seem to think so much about the fact that the whole right half of his torso had been corrupted and twisted by the working of Slaanesh. His skin and bones were altered into vile perversions of the simple human's anatomy. Or perhaps they just attributed that to her as well.

Hil'ardil sighed again, and she wept silently for her fallen comrades. Her army had taken stiff losses at every battle. But every battle was of the most importance and they had 'won' so far, if that term could even apply to the already thinning population of their craftworld. Little did the bumbling blue armored brutes know that this planet held a force far more sinister than that perceived by the mon'keigh. Deep below the surface of this world was a buried city of the Eldar. A city that existed long before The Birth, but not after. The soil filled halls held the spirits of daemons and fallen Eldar of the most vicious attitude and most horrendous strength. There was no telling how much damage would be done if they were not stopped from eventually unearthing the relics. Actually, there was, and Hil'ardil had seen it.  It was apocalyptic sights of chaos unfiltered, bloodshed, and things more vile than even Hil'ardil had ever foreseen before. She had to stop it.
[[Image:Eldar-daemonette.jpg|thumb|250px]]
She sighed a third time, she was weary. Oh so weary. She had been fighting for so long that she could not imagine a future where she would not be fighting, and she hadn't foreseen anything of that like. Why did she have to fight? Was it her who had given rise to their great enemy? No, she had not, but she still had to pay for her ancestor's mistakes. She and all her brethren and sisters had to. It was their duty, it was their charge. But it was so difficult. She knew she had to be strong, to lead her kind to a better future. If not for them, then for the universe. But why would the dull savage greenskins, or those even more naive blue skinned tau, or even those foolish simple minded Mon'keigh deserve a better life at her hand when she was doomed to a life of misery and then death? She just wished for a moment that she could take a break, to find something she could enjoy. She just wished for a moment that she could just quit.

A moment was all it took.

A bright flash of purple light flooded the cabin of the grav-tank. It startled the four Dire Avengers who shared the ride, and they rose from their seats. Hil'ardil let out a scream, her hands clasping her head as she curled up in her seat. "M'lady! What is it!?" The nearest fellow Eldar kneeled down by the troubled leader, concern showing deeply in his un-masked face.

"NO! GET AWAY!" The farseer yelled. One could not be sure from her words who she yelled at, the ones in the tank or the ones in her head. In the end, the repercussions had their own voice. A ripple of psychic force exploded out from Hil'ardil, throwing the recently unseated Eldar against the walls of the tight cabin with crushing force and rocking the grav-tank. The four bodies lay like limp toys around the cabin. None dead, but each unconscious and battered. The wave apparently reached the driver as well. The Falcon started to dip quickly, and crashed down on its belly, the skiff digging into the soft earth and bringing the tank vehicle to a quick halt, throwing most of the now silent passengers to the front.

"STOP!" She yelped again, a little more frantic this time, curled up in the corner she had been thrown to. The bright purple light flashed through the cabin again. Its source was obvious this time. The soulstones adorning her wraithbone armor shimmered and flickered as powerful energies combated inside them. In another instant the protective stones cracked, and then shattered into dust that glittered in the air for a few seconds before laying as a useless decoration on the floor. 

Then came the pain. It wasn't like any other pain she had felt before. It wasn't the searing, burning pain of a glancing plasma round. It wasn't the crushing, brutal ache of being thrown by a crude Stikbomb. It was something else. Something she unconsciously welcomed as she sprawled out on the floor of the grounded Falcon and squirmed. It was like the pain of growth, not something to avoid, but something to embrace. It bent her bone and stretched her muscle, re-shaping her inch by inch.

The first thing that happened was that her body swelled. The entirety of her lithe frame grew more robust. It started in her hips. The wraithbone armor creaked as its infamous strength was put to the test. Her fingers grasped at the restrictive armour, managing to pry off the most rigid pieces. She groaned as her hips became wide and deliciously round. The changes continued up to her torso. Her petite bosom began pressing on the inside of her chest plates. Her hands clawed at the now painfully restrictive solid armour, prying it off. With a gasp, her breasts swelled forward with a rush, stretching the fabric of the clothing near its holding point.

She was feeling it. She was feeling pleasure. Pure, unlimited pleasure.

The rest of her body filled out as well, her thighs becoming just the right luscious size, her breasts a tad bigger yet, the soft lumps of tender flesh reaching a large D size. The previously comfortable non-restricting clothing she had worn was now a taught black suit stretched over her modified form. Small holes were torn in a few places where the fabric could just not take the pressure, and it showed off her perfect skin underneath.

Hil'adril panted, her hands shakily reaching up to her plump feminine lumps. As she rubbed her hands over them, she gasped deeply, a pleasure like she had never felt slammed into her consciousness. As she continued to fondle her immense bosom, her skin started to change colours. The white of her pale skin started to take on a purplish-blue hue and small bumps began to form on her forehead.

She felt a hot burning passion in another place on her body...a lower place. It was something that was completely foreign to her.  She had been taught from birth that it was something one had to deny and not even acknowledge. She panted as she lowered her hand down past her stomach. She could feel the body heat radiating off of her. She moaned out in a high, strained voice when her fingers contacted the clothing over her groin. Every nerve was set on edge, just waiting for a stimulus to nudge it into the deepest euphoria. She rubbed slowly, and then faster and faster, massaging the part of her body she had neglected for over a century. She moaned out lewdly, louder and louder as the fabric got wetter and wetter with her hot feminine juices. 

It only took a few minutes for the once pure Eldar to scream out in the climax of her unbridled ecstasy, her body tensing up and quivering. The bumps on her head cleanly opened up, short black horns sprouting through and her golden hair becoming stained from the root up with a light purple tint. She stuck out her hips behind her, as if pushing back against some imaginary force as a short but thick stub of a tail tore through the rear of her stressed garment. She stood there shivering for a moment more before falling back against one of the seat of the cabin, her breath raspy pants. She let out small groans as she squirmed softly, loving her new form, and she knew who had given it to her...Slaanesh. Hil'ardil thanked the vile being before standing back up, strangely renewed in strength and vigour. She had to have more.

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