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The red dust of the planets dry surface burned beneath the woman's bare feet. It was painstakingly hot. The sun seared her flawless skin, she could feel it. She could almost smell the stink of burned flesh and recently spilled blood. Sweat glistened on every part of her body, as her sleek silhouette danced through the heat of midday. Adrenalin and other, synthetic fluids pumped through her veins and kept her in a rush of ecstasy. And yet, her movement was smooth, every shift of position elegant and seamless.
A feint.
A quick duck.
The blinding reflection of a knife slashing out.
Blood splattered.
Small drops of warm gore licked at her cheeks, but she didn't care. Her long, leather-clad arm stroke again, yet this time there was the shrieking sound of metal scratching on metal, before the blood sprayed again. A faint cough was all she heard, but it was all she neeeded to hear to know. To know that she could continue.
Continue dancing.
Continue hunting.
It was so easy.
Just like at home, she thought. Almost like home, she quickly corrected herself with a smile, as she leapt to avoid a hit from a giant sword. At home, in the big arenas, she seldomly experienced fights like this. Her foes were slaves, brutes bred only for the gladiatorial spectacles, but they had never been a match for her. In battle, it was something different. A different sensation, a lust for increased intensity, a lust for higher risk. No crowds roared when she killed her victim with a clean cut or a stab as accurate as if performed by any machine. No clapping, no shouts demanding more, no presents from highborn nobles after a show.
This was war.
This wasn't about single combat, this was about a lone woman facing parts of en entire army. And what an army it was.
The black armoured Space Marine gurgled, as she drove her long knife deep into his gorget. It took her mere seconds to pull the weapon free, before using the armoured giant as a springboard to hurl herself into her next victim, putting the Marine to death before he even nocticed that she was upon him. Because this was what it was all about; Strike hard, strike fast, strike first. It was her credo and she lived for it. Killed for it.
Avoiding the shells of a Bolter round, she ducked, turned left and cut open another enemie's joints at the back of his knees. Sending the giant stumbling, one of her sisters hammered her Impaler into the warrior's helmet, extinguishing the lights behind the visor.
The sight of her cultist brethren filled the Archite with joy and her body sung with excitement.
She yelled a cry of battle and threw her knife at the nearest walking brute, another black Space Marine wearing insignia of eagles and what seemed to be laurels, gems and other, raven-like birds. The dagger struck the giant right in the chest and put him off-guard for just a glimpse of an eye. Slashing out with the tiny hooks worked into her long, red braids of hair, she blinded the Marine. This warrior was more ornate than his brothers and the Archite knew that she was facing a Space Marine Sergeant, the equal of a cultist leader from where she came from. Arrogant fool, not to wear a helmet. Going to battle overly decorated never seemed logical to her. Actually, there was no sign of her wearing any sort of adornment at all. The blinded Sergeant staggered, firing at point blank range with his Boltpistol, his roaring chainsword only cutting through thick air. Dressed up like little girls and fighting as such. She spat him in the face.
He didn't deserve death, she decided, but sent him spinning with a kick in his side, using her full body as a counterweight. She rolled over.
Back on her feet she stopped and let the sound of battle fill her senses.
A nearby trio of Rhino tranporters rushed towards the lines of the attacking Dark Eldar, but two of them never reached their enemies, as Haywire grenades and the shot of a Heatlance turned the tanks into burning wrecks. The escaping Marines were immediately swarmed by twisted warp beasts as well as even more Kabalite Warriors.
Everywhere, clouds of smoke now erupted into the sky, shrouding the hot light of the sun.
The battle was raging back and forth, as Space Marines with jump packs took off from defensive positions and dropped right into the midst of the lot of warriors of the Dark Eldar, only to find themselves knocked off their feet or taken aloft again by vigorous Hellion pilots.
Ravagers passed by, their Dark Lances running hot.
The Archite focussed once more.
The heat was still there, the sweat still pouring down her tattooed cheeks and perfectly shaped limbs. The dark black armour of her legs and left arm was stained with the blood of her enemies.
Yet she had to fulfill her task, her own task, set upon her by her very self. She didn't care about the rank and file soldiers, they were just the means to an end. For she was in for the real kill.
Amidst the fighting, standing on a small plateau a little higher than the ground she was cowering on, was the commander of the Space Marines. Although the Marines were caught by surprise by the Dark Eldar, the tactical genius and raging fury of their Captain had made them a worthy foe. Now the giant was fighting for his life, shaking off Kabalite Warriors as if they were leaves on a tree.
“Xenos scum“, he shouted, as he put another salvo of his gun into an Inccubi's torso, shredding it into bloody pieces. “Is that al you got? Come and mess with me you abominations, come and face Captain Shaan of the Emperor's Raven Guard!“
The Archite licked her purple lips, tasting pure excitement. I don't care who you are, she told the Marine in her mind, but you will know my name before this is over.
When he recognised her, the Space Marine laughed a metallic laughter and hurled himself at the woman, his clawed fists cracking with arcs of blue and white energy.
She could feel that her opponent was vastly overestimating his skills.
This would be over quickly.
A new rush of adrenalin.
She let him come.
She blocked his left arm, dodged beneath the right one and cut it off with a perfectly aimed thrust of her long dagger. It went through ceramite armour like a hot knife through soft flesh. The Captain screamed in pain, but kept on fighting, even as the Archite severed the joint of his right knee. With a feral roar, the blades of his remaining gauntlet aimed for his female enemy's capita. She made a quick turn on her right heel, just in time to not have her head cut off. The sharp metal drew two thin lines of blood across the woman's left cheek though, and sent some of her red hair flying in the wind.
But now he was off-balance and the Dark Eldar came up on him from below, slicing his left hand clean from his forearm. Suchly disabled, the Captain fell on the dry ground, unable to stand up again.
When the warrior bride leaned in closer to him, all he managed was to ask a single question:
“Who are you, xeno witch?“
The Archite smiled an icy smile.
“A wych I am indeed“, she said, her lips so close to him that they were almost touching his.
“My name is Lelith Hesperax – and I have come to take your soul.“
The red dust of the planets dry surface burned beneath the woman's bare feet. It was painstakingly hot. The sun seared her flawless skin, she could feel it. She could almost smell the stink of burned flesh and recently spilled blood. Sweat glistened on every part of her body, as her sleek silhouette danced through the heat of midday. Adrenalin and other, synthetic fluids pumped through her veins and kept her in a rush of ecstasy. And yet, her movement was smooth, every shift of position elegant and seamless.
A feint.
A quick duck.
The blinding reflection of a knife slashing out.
Blood splattered.
Small drops of warm gore licked at her cheeks, but she didn't care. Her long, leather-clad arm stroke again, yet this time there was the shrieking sound of metal scratching on metal, before the blood sprayed again. A faint cough was all she heard, but it was all she neeeded to hear to know. To know that she could continue.
Continue dancing.
Continue hunting.
It was so easy.
Just like at home, she thought. Almost like home, she quickly corrected herself with a smile, as she leapt to avoid a hit from a giant sword. At home, in the big arenas, she seldomly experienced fights like this. Her foes were slaves, brutes bred only for the gladiatorial spectacles, but they had never been a match for her. In battle, it was something different. A different sensation, a lust for increased intensity, a lust for higher risk. No crowds roared when she killed her victim with a clean cut or a stab as accurate as if performed by any machine. No clapping, no shouts demanding more, no presents from highborn nobles after a show.
This was war.
This wasn't about single combat, this was about a lone woman facing parts of en entire army. And what an army it was.
The black armoured Space Marine gurgled, as she drove her long knife deep into his gorget. It took her mere seconds to pull the weapon free, before using the armoured giant as a springboard to hurl herself into her next victim, putting the Marine to death before he even nocticed that she was upon him. Because this was what it was all about; Strike hard, strike fast, strike first. It was her credo and she lived for it. Killed for it.
Avoiding the shells of a Bolter round, she ducked, turned left and cut open another enemie's joints at the back of his knees. Sending the giant stumbling, one of her sisters hammered her Impaler into the warrior's helmet, extinguishing the lights behind the visor.
The sight of her cultist brethren filled the Archite with joy and her body sung with excitement.
She yelled a cry of battle and threw her knife at the nearest walking brute, another black Space Marine wearing insignia of eagles and what seemed to be laurels, gems and other, raven-like birds. The dagger struck the giant right in the chest and put him off-guard for just a glimpse of an eye. Slashing out with the tiny hooks worked into her long, red braids of hair, she blinded the Marine. This warrior was more ornate than his brothers and the Archite knew that she was facing a Space Marine Sergeant, the equal of a cultist leader from where she came from. Arrogant fool, not to wear a helmet. Going to battle overly decorated never seemed logical to her. Actually, there was no sign of her wearing any sort of adornment at all. The blinded Sergeant staggered, firing at point blank range with his Boltpistol, his roaring chainsword only cutting through thick air. Dressed up like little girls and fighting as such. She spat him in the face.
He didn't deserve death, she decided, but sent him spinning with a kick in his side, using her full body as a counterweight. She rolled over.
Back on her feet she stopped and let the sound of battle fill her senses.
A nearby trio of Rhino tranporters rushed towards the lines of the attacking Dark Eldar, but two of them never reached their enemies, as Haywire grenades and the shot of a Heatlance turned the tanks into burning wrecks. The escaping Marines were immediately swarmed by twisted warp beasts as well as even more Kabalite Warriors.
Everywhere, clouds of smoke now erupted into the sky, shrouding the hot light of the sun.
The battle was raging back and forth, as Space Marines with jump packs took off from defensive positions and dropped right into the midst of the lot of warriors of the Dark Eldar, only to find themselves knocked off their feet or taken aloft again by vigorous Hellion pilots.
Ravagers passed by, their Dark Lances running hot.
The Archite focussed once more.
The heat was still there, the sweat still pouring down her tattooed cheeks and perfectly shaped limbs. The dark black armour of her legs and left arm was stained with the blood of her enemies.
Yet she had to fulfill her task, her own task, set upon her by her very self. She didn't care about the rank and file soldiers, they were just the means to an end. For she was in for the real kill.
Amidst the fighting, standing on a small plateau a little higher than the ground she was cowering on, was the commander of the Space Marines. Although the Marines were caught by surprise by the Dark Eldar, the tactical genius and raging fury of their Captain had made them a worthy foe. Now the giant was fighting for his life, shaking off Kabalite Warriors as if they were leaves on a tree.
“Xenos scum“, he shouted, as he put another salvo of his gun into an Inccubi's torso, shredding it into bloody pieces. “Is that al you got? Come and mess with me you abominations, come and face Captain Shaan of the Emperor's Raven Guard!“
The Archite licked her purple lips, tasting pure excitement. I don't care who you are, she told the Marine in her mind, but you will know my name before this is over.
When he recognised her, the Space Marine laughed a metallic laughter and hurled himself at the woman, his clawed fists cracking with arcs of blue and white energy.
She could feel that her opponent was vastly overestimating his skills.
This would be over quickly.
A new rush of adrenalin.
She let him come.
She blocked his left arm, dodged beneath the right one and cut it off with a perfectly aimed thrust of her long dagger. It went through ceramite armour like a hot knife through soft flesh. The Captain screamed in pain, but kept on fighting, even as the Archite severed the joint of his right knee. With a feral roar, the blades of his remaining gauntlet aimed for his female enemy's capita. She made a quick turn on her right heel, just in time to not have her head cut off. The sharp metal drew two thin lines of blood across the woman's left cheek though, and sent some of her red hair flying in the wind.
But now he was off-balance and the Dark Eldar came up on him from below, slicing his left hand clean from his forearm. Suchly disabled, the Captain fell on the dry ground, unable to stand up again.
When the warrior bride leaned in closer to him, all he managed was to ask a single question:
“Who are you, xeno witch?“
The Archite smiled an icy smile.
“A wych I am indeed“, she said, her lips so close to him that they were almost touching his.
“My name is Lelith Hesperax – and I have come to take your soul.“
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