Editing Story:Another Continuation of LCB (section)

===Chapter Eight===

''I should have left him there. He had served his purpose.''

He owed me nothing - yet he gave himself to me willingly.

Why? I know not.

He is nothing more than a pathetic human.

An inferior race.

A mon-keigh.

But still I broke off my wings so that I might carry him easier.

I took him from that place, into the snowstorm where our tracks will not be found.

He is heavy. And he is dying. And he is slowing me down.

But I will save him.

Why? I know not.

He is still warm. I can feel his blood ebbing across me. For every beat of his heart, another, slight spill of heat. The heat blows away on the winter wind. His blood is still warm. But fading. And I have spilled scarlet myself.

The snow laps greedily at our footsteps and our lifeblood, covering them without a trace as we fade away.

----

Battle still raged behind them. Far off, in walls of steel and concrete, trenches of dirt and burning promethium, space marine and ork reveled in fire and bolter. Taldeer stopped a moment, breathing in and out, her lungs burning. She held the human over her shoulder, his feet still dragging in the snow. His rifle sheath, with frost covering it. She looked around. Disputed territory. Ork banners held up, some burnt, some empty, some shattered and buried under the snow. Exhortations of war broken and buried under the white blanket. The Vindicare beside her coughed, tensing for a moment, his hand digging into her own- then he slackened again. The blood warmth washed over her side again. She had no need to watch the skein of fate to see that survival was improbable. She was needed elsewhere. She shouldn't die, freezing, clinging to a weaponized man. She shifted his weight again, and pulled forward with her spear, panting again as she passed under twenty meter high declarations of war, pulling through the winter.

----

"Inquisitor." Inquisitor Madek snorted sharply, blinking away the sleep. He frowned. He was cold. He should have packed more clothes than just a cassock. An idiotic desire to empathize with the guardsmen perhaps. "I've heard tell that cleanliness is one of the signs of divinity,"

Madek roused, sitting up, slipping on an ill fitting gentle smile, "I don't think I have to fear any usurpation here. What is it, Felix?"

"The storm," Felix pointed out to the wall, where some diodes sputtered, "The corpus mechanica would be better served if I-"

"I can barely give a damn, we're on the road to the spaceport, we can get it fixed there."
"That's another thing," Lieutenant Ardrin, resembling nothing more than a big black fly came into the room, holding a buzzing comm, "The city, currently our forces command it and will be reinforced, but, the agents of Chaos are attacking it. They hold the entrance to the city we're heading for." Veteran soldiers. No courage, no faithful bone in their body they. Merely the survivors, benefit of the brave souls of the Emperor's truest servants. A fine degree of cowardice uncaught by commissar, that's all that experience breeds. They that survive are just rewarded for their base desire of living. Disgusting.

"I believe we'll be fine," Inquisitor Madek gave a serene grin, "The Emperor protects."

----

'''MY WORK BEGINS HERE'''

Like the forest around her, the ocean was still. Perhaps it too was frozen.

“''Is this where it ends?''” Taldeer winced, trudging through yet another snow bank. Her path through no man's land had been aimless. The fates spoke nothing to her. Perhaps it was decided at last. The undertow was overwhelming near death in battle. But would she feel a thing, quietly freezing to death in this forest?

A ripple disturbed the placid glass. A thought. Human. And it didn’t come from her human. The Farseer’s exhausted mind struggled to translate it. Warmth. Comfort. Satisfaction. Food.

Taldeer smiled through the pain and, wiping the clot filled hair out of her face, pressed forward with new purpose.

----

The tiny bunker and command station had been hurriedly abandoned as the tide of battle turned against the Guard. Injured officers were rushed out of the scant medical bay, and documents were left strewn about. No need to dispose of papers when they’d be burned by the illiterate greenskins.

The deserter burned them anyway. The heater was enough to keep a man from freezing to death, but it wasn’t exactly ''warm''. The fire was homey, even if the sod floor and roof weren’t. Of course, now and then, you have to open the door to let out the smoke, which only lets the cold in, which makes you want to feed the fire - a vicious cycle, to be certain.

It was for this reason that he left his wobbly chair and walked towards the door. He opened it gently, and it slammed loudly against the wall as an Eldar witch pushed it aside, forcing her way into the shelter.

----

Taldeer knocked the injured man to the ground. “Out of the way, mon-keigh.” It wasn’t nice. But she didn’t have time for nice. Another heartbeat. Another bout of warm blood running down her side.

“WITCH!” He shrieked in terror. She kept her shuriken pistol trained on him. His mind was a scarred mess. Easy to influence, in most circumstances. But panicking like this? She gritted her teeth. He bolted for the door.

One moment, the man had a head. In the next moment, he had a stump. Liivi’s arm fell limply to his side. The body fell limply the ground. A momentary pause. All was still.

The vindicare coughed.

She rushed to set him on a gurney.

Shoving the corpse out into the snow, she shut the door, then grabbed the case that Liivi pointed to. “Medkit,” he mouthed, spitting two teeth away from her. She opened the case.

The first things she saw were a set of pouches filled with grey fluid. “Blood substitute,” he whispered. “Carries oxygen. Hydrates. Not much else. Stops brain death.” He held out his arm and pointed to a vein. “Here.”

Human medicine is… invasive. She had seen it before. Abandoned patients, or field medics tending to their wounded. Like all things human, their medicine was crude, blunt, and fast. Tear open the body, excise the problem, and stitch it shut. Those who walked the Path of the Healer could mend a broken body without a pin prick, and make it better than when the injured were healthy.

But she was not a healer.

The Farseer grabbed a needle and tube from the box, fitting the two together, then attached it to the pack. He didn’t flinch when she slid the cold steel into his vein, thin grey fluid invading through the breach. Setting the pack on the hook above, she applied pressure to his still seeping wound. With every movement, her armor crunched with coagulated blood, and pain ripped through her chest. She needed her own medic. But there was no time now.

With her free hand, she tore at the vindicare’s suit, exposing the wound. Singed dead flesh mingled with living tissue, still bleeding. But thankfully, it was shallower than she had thought. It ran from his upper abdominals to his upper pectoral, on the left side. It was deepest around the middle of his pectoral muscle, where the spear had cracked a rib.

Liivi was beginning to flit in and out of consciousness. Unable to find a bandage big enough, she ripped the sheet off a nearby gurney. His shaking hand grabbed a bottle filled with some clear substance. Alcohol. “D-isin-fectan,” he muttered, pouring it on the wound. He blacked out. She caught the bottle, then wrapped the sheet tightly around his chest. The bleeding stopped. At least for the moment.

The fatigue hit like a human battle barge.

The last of her adrenaline was spent. Darkness clawed at her vision as all the pain resurged. But she couldn’t sleep yet. Sleeping now meant death.

She pulled a gurney close. Set blankets on top of Liivi. Fumbled with her armor, took off her chestplate, arm guards. The wounds in her abdomen were covered in crystal, blood oozing from between the cracks. Taking a deep breath, she wiped off the superfluous clots and poured on the alcohol. It burned. Dressing the wound with another sheet, she sat on the gurney. Vague thoughts passed through her blood starved mind. “Human. Eldar. Biology. Compatible.” Blood loss would kill her. The fake blood might not.

She felt for a vein and jammed it in. It hurt. It hurt far more than she expected. But sleep was already numbing the pain. Before the black veil claimed her, she pulled up some blankets, and held Liivi’s hand tightly in her own.

----

“...And atop the charges of negligence and cowardice in battle” Eldrad said, dryly, “you were saved by a mon-keigh defector?”

The crowd rippled with a mixture of incredulous laughter and scornful glares.

“This is true, Farseer.” Taldeer stood defiantly in front of the Farseer Council of Ulthwe.

“You have brought considerable shame upon our craftworld, young miss. You’ve failed us, but more than us, your kin on the battlefield.”

She choked, remaining silent.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“The shame I feel is all too deep. But I request a chance to right my wrongs.”

“Your wrongs are indelible. A lifetime in service can never bring back the dead. Not from the jaws of the Great Enemy.”

“Be that as it may, I wish to restore Ulthwe’s honor. I may not be able to bring them back, bu-”

“Enough.”

Taldeer was taken aback. These investigations were only convened for matters of serious gravity, and to interrupt anyone was a great breach of form. Even Eldrad, contemptuous as he was of rules, was one to respect it.

“We shall hear from another.” A hooded young woman stepped forward out of the crowd. Taldeer hadn’t noticed her before.

“It’s my pleasure to speak, honorable Eldrad.” She bowed.

“''What in the… ?''” The farseer was stupefied. Her voice was a whisper. “A daemon?”

“Taldeer Taldeer Taldeer. Don’t go labeling me like that! I reject labels.”

She drew closer to the eldar, wearing something approximating a sultry gaze. “You're such a pretty little thing, you know?” The creature licked her lips. “But you’d look a lot prettier with your clothes off. Come on, drop this boring armor. Have some fun with me. I can make all your pain go away. Maybe even make you enjoy it.”

“Will you accept her proposition, Taldeer,” Eldrad asked dispassionately. “Will you bring even more shame to Ulthwe?” There was not even a hint of empathy in his monotone voice, or across his unflappable features.

Confused and furious, the farseer snapped. “Father what is this farce?! Why is a servant of the Great Enemy here?!” But it was too late. Reality began twisting at the seams. The ground broke beneath her feet. Ulthwe crumbled and melted around her, psychoplastic bubbling and cracking, filling with mouths and eyes. The assembly, the council, her father, everyone except the wretched, cackling daemon was stretched and contorted.

“You did this,” Eldrad said, mouth dripping off of his face. Dark vacuous holes stared at her in place of eyes. For the first time, he was plaintive. “How could you?

“I didn't do this! I don't know what's going on! Father, help me! You always have a plan!”

“I can make it go away~” Arms folded, the daemonette whistled and tapped her elbows with her fingers.

“Father!” Taldeer reached for his hand, but the phantasm faded to mist. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she clenched her fist.

“I need- I need- I need-” she dropped her head, watching her tears fall into the void of Ulthwe’s writhing souls.

“You need some sweet, sweet-”

“Liivi!”

And just like that, he was there. She held his hand tight, bringing herself close to his side. The nightmare gave way to a white clean expanse. A cloudless blue sea was on the horizon. They could hear the gentle tug of waves on the distant shore.

The daemonette rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Oh brother. What a boring guy to fall for.”

“I haven't fallen for him,” she glared.

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that, sister. You know he can't save you.”

“I don't need him to save me. I want him to help me.”

“What a line. Man, I can really see it on one of those shitty imperial motivational posters.”

“<u>Get out, daemon.</u>”

“Alright, a girl can sense when she isn't wanted. But I’ll leave you with two questions.”

Taldeer ripped off the daemon’s head.

“Rude. First: can that machine of a man even love you back? And second,” her mouth contorted into a horrifying sneer, “was loving him even your idea to begin with?”

“'''Out.'''”

“Later sweetie.” She winked and stuck her long tongue out, fading away.

The farseer looked at Liivi. Liivi looked back at her. She squeezed his hand. He was more than just a machine with an objective. He had free will. He chose to give himself for her. The second question though...

“We’ll figure this out,” she said. “Together.”

They were on the shore. Cool surf washed around their feet, sucking grains of sand away and out to sea.

He nodded.

----

''Hate. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate.''

Images of targets flashed through a drug addled mind. Farseer. Vindicare.

''Hate.''

The metal gauntlet of a necron reached up from the ground.

<b>''KILL''</b>

Yanked from the earth like a fresh crop, the Necron’s skull was crushed before it could formulate a response. Its body was discarded with the others in a pile. The crypt was stirring, awoken by the noisy landing a scant hour earlier.

''Dead. Hate.''

It had taken the better part of the night to crawl out from the earth. Now, it was morning, and other things were emerging from the dirt, as if in pursuit. They were not Imperial technology. But they were most definitely annoying.

The soothing, feminine voice of a machine spirit echoed inside the mind.

Positional data updated. Target located in forest due east, 80 clicks. Ave Imperator, Eversor.

The killing machine broke into a dead sprint, crushing the head of a rising necron under foot.

''Seek. Hate. Kill. Hate.''