A/N: Commission for the mission, coming up!

For: ObeliskX (u sexy Russian maniac)

Also: Treazar (Tray-UH-Zar), as in Jain'Zar, as in, the Phoenix Lord of the Howling Banshees.

Recommended listening for this: Des Liens Solides by Shiro Sagisu

Also: Why the fuck are the Eldar doing this thing? I don't know man. War probably. Fuck.

"Blood Runs... Anger Rises... Death Wakes, War Calls!"

Thus is the chant of Khaine, Eldar God of War.

Treazar was an anomalous being in his own ranks, cast aside and shadowed like blight on an otherwise pure and effective squad. His short, black locks jostled as he stared impassively at one of his teammates, Ymon.

"You'll be the first to die, whelp. The Mon-keigh like to prey on the weak."

"Quiet yourself, Ymon. We ride into battle." Came Karete's hushed words, her voice masked by her tall helmet.

Their plumes shook as their Wave Serpent entered a barren world's atmosphere.

Treazar stared silently at his helmet, a strong sense of pride flourishing within him.

Since he was but a young boy, he was cut and formed into the role of a Banshee. He was sleek, and tall, taller than most Eldar. Ever since his mother died, he was sworn to take up her mantle, to become an Autarch.

Every waking moment spent was for training, eating, sleeping, and fighting, for the first two centuries of his life.

Male Banshees, like any other, are expected to perform, kill, and scream in tandem with their squad. They are expected to use the gifts of Khaine himself to shout their enemies to pieces. A well-formed troupe, and their aligned voices, can shatter the will and minds of any enemies.

A single voice crying out on its own, however…

"Serpent has begun approach. Landing in 5… 4…" Treazar took a deep breath, and prepared his vocal cords.

He slid his helmet on, and leapt out of the Serpent, the sounds of battle wracking around him.

"DEATH WAKES, WAR CALLS!" The squad screamed, as they charged at their Mon-keigh enemies.

(Elsewhere…)

"You must give yourself over utterly and entirely to His divine will and become a vessel of that will. Only then is your sacrifice fitting."

Thus is the staple of the Adepta Sororitas.

Cantus Marianne Dufour scowled at the dull planet before her.

Some sad, Emperor-forsaken Industrial World had been under Xenos threat for quite some time. Some Eldar vanguard had apparently staked some claim into the planet prior (some thousand years prior, to be pedantic), and only now were they harassing the workers of the World.

Marianne was a lone Sister, away from her others, simply for "training".

It was not her right to question the Emperor's Will, or by extension, the Eccleisarchy, for sending her to "train" on her lonesome. The Cantus tried not to care.

It was by her father's memory she fought.

Marianne still remembered the day he was taken from her, torn apart alongside his entire squad by some Xenos abomination. The only remains scavengers were able to return for burial were Power Armour pauldrons, which the woman adorned as her own.

Two striking, bulky guards blocked her periphery vision, but she had quickly trained herself to overcome such limitations.

Through her Emperor, she earned her vigilance, but through her father, she inherited her adaptivity.

"Quarter-hourly report, no Xenos in sight."

"Priest Garridan's picking up some distorted entries… He's thinking it's another Webway shift or something." A young voice answered her.

As the Imperial Guards around her bustled and murmured with unease, she remained stalwart.

A lone Tempestus Scion stood watch over the outpost where she was stationed, overseeing some scared Ratlings. Around the thick, black walls and heavy weapons formations stationed in the circular outpost, she could see hurried movement and quick sobering.

"Imperial Guard, be on alert. By the Emperors' Will, we defend." Scion Haraway voiced out through his communicator.

"By the Emperors Will, we defend!" She could hear it in the voices of some. Her time in training as a Sister of Battle, she could hear the weakness in a voice.

A quick, twitching look to her left, right, and back, and she sighed. A soft wind blew through her overwatch, rustling her pure-white hair.

'43 Guards… All of those Ratlings… That Ogryn…' Those men would die as a result of their baseless conviction.

Whether it be in this skirmish now, or in some invasion years from now.

And as a large group of decorated Xenos scum landed their spaceship onto the Industrial World, she clutched her twin Bolt Pistols and leapt into the fray.

(Some time later…)

A pilfered chain-weapon met an Eldar power sword in the final hours of the outposts' defence.

Stuck with a slaughtered squad, and an abused throat, the Eldar man was stripped of his best weapon against the Mon-keigh he now fought.

'If nothing else, humans are tough!' He thought as his power sword shattered the Sister's weapon to pieces, only to be forced to leap back to avoid some bolter-fire aimed at his chest.

Marianne kept her assault on, her strikes slow and deliberate compared to his. His thoughts ran wild as hers kept steady; him thinking of the consequences of having his entire squad killed in crossfire.

She only had one thought – "Die, Xenos."

As they clashed, hours on end, the sun began to set on the Industrial World's desert-like surface. Their fight was reduced to nothing more than a brawl after some moments, with no reinforcements coming to either's side.

"By the Emperors Will… JUST DIE!" She screamed at him, throwing her fists at his head in a wild manner. Treazar's body barely managed to slip past the enduring girl's swift strikes, despite his mind working against him at nearly every turn.

"You fight well, Mon-keigh! It will truly pain me to see your end!" He yelled, creating some major distance between himself and the battle-maiden.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead, and cracked a sour smile at the alien man.

"Come closer and say that, Eldar."

Again, hours passed until twelve tiny moons rose to the sky, projecting a sickly night's light onto the outpost.

In an attempt to catch the human off-guard, Treazar had led her back into the now-barren halls of the outpost's command centre.

It wasn't working to his advantage.

He was tiring out, and she was seeing through his elusive movements. Add to the fact that Eldar just weren't built for endured assaults like humans were. As Marianne gave chase to wherever he went, he lost more and more footing, until finally, she landed her first punch.

"OOF!" He grunted, falling forwards. As his heart rate increased, his mind slowed down, granting some last moments of dismay, doubt, and disgust with himself. He was roughly flipped onto his back, and beaten badly.

Marianne unleashed her unbridled, righteous hatred upon the Xenos under her. He twitched, caved, and coughed up blood as her thick, iron-plated fists drove their way into his slender frame. She moved to strike his helmet, her strikes being stopped with one final act of resistance.

"N-no! If you must kill me, then do it! B-but leave… Ugh… Leave this helmet intact…" He protested, tapping against the side of his headgear.

The fire in Marianne's eyes still burned, but through his visor, he couldn't properly tell.

"Why should I give any last wishes to Xenos scum like you!?" She yelled at the near-broken man beneath her, who managed at first to squirm in response.

"…This headpiece… Was… My… Mother's…" He breathed out.

Immediately, even if he couldn't see it, he could feel the tension in the air drop, and Marianne's gaze retreat. She moved her fist out his hand, and stepped off him.

"Very well... Take it off yourself, Eldar. I'll make your death swift." The Cantus assured, withdrawing a small knife from a pack at her hip.

Accepting his fate, Treazar did as the Battle Sister instructed.

And with the dark of the world hitting his eyes, and the woman coming into sight before him, he gasped.

As did she, taking in his… Stunningly human-looking face.

"Y… Your… Your mother… How did she die?" She asked him, breaking their silence in an awkward matter.

As he laid, slowly regaining his breath, Treazar let out a small chuckle.

"It was a skirmish, like any other, against any other… I… I wasn't informed of what truly happened… All I knew was that it was the Mon-keigh to blame." He answered her.

She stood there for a while, clutching the tiny, sharp knife in her hands harder than anything she had in her entire life.

She stood for a while, simply staring at the man, who stared at his helmet.

"I remember… Uhn… Playing… Some years before I'd chosen my Path… Her old squad arrived on our world, but… None of them… None of them would speak… But I knew… I could see the self-disgust, and the shame of their failure… Weighing down…"

"All they could find of my father were his pauldrons." She cut through, twice shocking the Eldar man.

"Those you're wearing now?" He laughed for some time at that, and after a few minutes, so did she.

Another small silence followed as Treazar weakly propped himself against one of the outposts' walls, nursing a particularly bad bruise.

"My apologies for the murder of your kinsmen. Mon-keigh or not, to lose one's comrades is a horrible burden…"

"They weren't my friends, but blood spilt is blood spilt." Marianne assuaged his apology.

Another heavy silence.

"I don't apologise for killing your squad, but I feel sorry for you, Eldar. The return home will be tough to explain."

"Return?" He inquired, with a scrutinising tone.

To answer him, Marianne silently pocketed her knife.

"This doesn't make us friends, Eldar…"

He stared on at the woman, as if she'd grown a second head.

"Yo-… You shouldn't show me mercy. I'd rather not have to return nine helmets to nine families."

"I'm granting mercy whether you want it or not, Xenos. I am in the same sinking ship as you. The Ecclesiarchy won't like hearing that they've lost a Priest and a Scion…" Marianne stressed, rubbing her temples softly.

"You can get up, can't you?" She asked after a little longer, the man grunting in response.

"I suspect you weren't expecting a change of your own heart, but you still struck me viciously, Mon-keigh…" He emphasised with a small laugh, grunting again in pain as bad vibrations coursed through his lungs.

"Forgive me, and as you said yourself, I was not expecting to be sparing a Xenos, much less having a chat with one." She joked, and he laughed, and grunted.

"I would've thought some more of your forces would've arrived."

"You were expecting death?" Marianne inquired.

"In a way, yes. Though maybe I could've used some of their weapons… Where are the workers, or the reinforcements?" He asked her.

"Probably thinking that this outpost was stormed, and lost. It's likely the Ecclesiarchy will send some investigating squad in the coming days."

"Ah."

Another heavy silence fell over the two, and Marianne noticed the man struggling to move, let alone rise. She quickly moved to his side, and set him down again.

"Fool. Don't stress yourself. ...Here, eat this." She said, presenting Treazar with a small, white lump of…

Something.

"I…" He began, staring weakly at the lump in the woman's hand for some time, not moving.

"Just eat the damned thing. It will reduce any swelling, and with any luck, take care of any internal bleeding."

Not wanting to argue further, Treazar swallowed the formless white lump in Marianne's hands, biting harshly against his gag reflex after the fact.

Its effect was immediate, however, and he breathed easier, his vision returning to him properly, and his wounds slowly… Ceasing to be.

"Oh my… Twice you have shown me… Mercy…" He lost his words as he gazed upon the beauty of the woman in front of him. Her stare mirrored his, taking in his statuesque features.

"Think… Think nothing of it…" She replied, walking away from him for a little bit.

He didn't question her actions, choosing instead to rest against the cooling metal of the humming walls. He could hear some cluttering behind him, where in a room, Marianne was scavenging.

"Treazar." He called out to her.

"Huh?" She was caught off guard, dropping whatever she'd picked up previously.

"Treazar. My name. And I'm getting sick of calling you Mon-keigh, Mon-keigh."

"Marianne Defour." She replied with a small chuckle. He smiled as he heard her soothing voice ring in his ears.

"What does that mean, anyway?" Asked the Sister of Battle.

"Mon-keigh?"

"Yes."

"Think of it as… "Lesser being"."

"Lesser being? This, coming from a man dressed in woman's skin-tight armour?" She teased in good spirits, making the injured alien laugh.

"Hahahah-ah~, damn…" He chuckled with her, clasping at a rib which he thought might've been broken.

Another silence dawned as she rattled around for a little bit more.

"…It's how we as a whole refer to you... It helps us to kill our enemies with less restraint when we take away anything that makes them seem like us."

"Our two species aren't that different, then. It's like the term Xenos."

"Which is?" He asked.

"Alien." She explained.

"Ah." She returned to him after that, with a sleeping roll and some sheets.

"Strip." She commanded, laying the roll out and lining it with a small sheet.

Treazar simply stared at the Sister.

"Wh… What?"

'It'll be easier on the both of us if you don't question me…' Marianne thought to herself bitterly, patting on the bedroll.

"I'd like to tend to the rest of your wounds." She spoke calmly, kneeling beside the bedspread.

The Eldar in front of her blushed greatly, his otherwise white cheeks tinted with a flush of alien blood.

"N-no, p-please, y-y-you've already done en-"

"Strip, Treazar. Get out of that girly armour of yours." She teased him. The Eldar man scowled her way, though its intensity was marred by his cute blush.

"…Just… Don't stare at me, Marianne." He pleaded, testing the way the woman's name rolled off his tongue.

"I'm offering to heal you, Treazar, I'll stare wherever I damn well please." She joked, trying to rustle the "young" man.

"Ugh…" He groaned, clambering upwards from his sitting position. He stood on shaky legs, and let out a loose breath, calming himself. Marianne's teasing smile bored through him, however, and he hastily turned his head, his back now facing the woman.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, he stripped himself of his Banshee armour, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tattered undergarments. As Treazar turned his heel, he felt a cold, iron hand press into his back.

"Ah-ah-ah! Keep going, Eldar~…" Her voice rang. A soft chill ran through his spine as her fingers started going up and down his back.

Without turning around again, he gulped.

"Marianne… Why is there no glove on your left hand?" He asked, quietly.

Not believing herself, the woman's grin grew.

"The better to heal you with, Treazar…"

Such heresy! She could feel her cheeks redden like the impressive Xenos specimen before her, and she could feel her teachings and trainings screaming "kill him while he's defenceless", but two sides of Marianne worked in tandem to defeat such sayings.

The side of her that wanted to help someone like her…

And the side of her that wanted… To be with someone who knew her pain.

"Please, keep going, Treazar…" She whispered to him. He could hear the soft clinks and clanks of her own armour falling, and soon, he was naked before her, his firm, lean back to the Sister.

"Lie down." With a quick, sideways glance, he could tell she was in naught but her sweat-drenched civilian clothing.

'Her scent…' He thought, dreamily, focussing all blood away from his loins.

He followed her command, keeping his head turned away from her gaze, and his hands cupped over his privates.

For about the first five minutes, Marianne looked over his pure white, scarred skin with awe and wonder, ignoring the slowly burning pit in her loins. She made a quick medical analysis, and giggled.

"It appears you're fine, though I'm having trouble discerning the injuries done to a certain area…" Marianne went on, in a faux-professional voice.

Treazar's eyes widened as his gaze snapped back to her.

"…Which would be?"

She giggled again.

'Playing right into my hands…'

She pointed to the two massive hands covering his crotch, and he yelped in surprise.

"N-no, I c-can assure you, M-M-Marianne, uh… They're, it-uh…" In a swift move, with more warmth than what he was expecting, she silenced him.

Her taut, pink lips softly caressed his own, and for that split second, he let his guard down and his soldier up, his chest heaving unsteadily in front of the beautiful woman. It took a little too long for the Eldar man to realise he'd been played.

He didn't know when, and he didn't particularly care, but it seemed that every signal the incredibly disciplined warrior woman sent his way was intentional, flirty, and generally…

Incredibly lewd, given the Sister's predisposition.

He didn't know what possessed him, but his hands shifted away from his groin to her shoulders, slowly undressing the human above him.

To catch her breath she separated her lips from his and grinned wider, clasping her hand around the Eldar's engorging length.

"Kh-Khaine, give me strength…" Treazar breathed heavily, raising his head to kiss at Marianne's peachy skin, suckling at her neck softly.

"Ah~… By the Emperor…" Marianne sang. She feverishly undressed herself, and pinned the man down, halting any further attempt he made to get up. She held his arms to his side, and all he could do was stammer, grin, and blush back at her and her actions.

'By the Gods, she is beautiful…' He thought to himself, swallowing a hard lump in his throat.

'Emperor's Balls… If a Sister commits Heresy and no one is around to hear it, is it truly Heresy?'

She shot him a final, warm smile for the night, before descending upon his lips again.

A/N: Tits on a dick.