The room was comfortably warm, no perceptible breeze, no background humming to be felt through the soles of his boots. That was it. The small, hard object on his forehead shut out all other senses. No sight, no sound, no smell, no direction. Only steering hands and mechanical marching. The touch of air against his skin. Then no more moving. Even floor, polished and thick. Rockcrete? Did they have that? No matter. The cuffs were surprisingly comfortable, too. His skin felt like it wouldn’t even have pressure marks. In fact, he couldn’t feel what held his hands behind his back at all. The only reminder they were, was the aching in his shoulders. How long had he been like this? Not that he had retained much sense of time during the siege. The continuous light and monotony of the days in the trench did that to you. There hadn’t even been casualties to count time by. It had almost been too easy. But for all their advances, where had they gotten to? The next trench. Often as not their responsibility to dig it in the first place. But when- ? How? He moved his legs some before the long standing would interfere with his circulation. Even now, fainting would be unacceptable, weakness. No weakness in the Korps. Nein, mein Herr. A sudden movement in the air, a touch against the forehead. The small weight is removed.

Then light, sound. Blinding half-light, roaring silence. Relentless assault of inoffensive sensuous input. Fighting down the renewed panic with his tempered mind, he waited –outwardly calm- for his starved brain to readjust, while a primal part of him saw fit to run and never look back. Finally, the world returned to a semblance of normality. Two steps away a face smiled. How long had it been? A smiling face… Yet, nothing like the sad smile of his mother, proud but reluctant to let go. This was friendly, inviting, beautiful. It was enchanting, sensual- NOT HUMAN! His mind was doused in freezing cold water and he felt the corners of his mouth dropping. Had he answered that smile? Had he answered the sinister snake lying in the grass of this pale, lithe face? Pfui! The smile shifted slightly as amusement entered the face of the despicable xenos. 

Then a hundred bells rang over the Palace of Terra. “Speak your name, Guardsman.” The Gothic was flawless, yet tasted alien to the ear. His answer sounded like a dying man’s last whisper. Brittle and coarse sputter. He swallowed, tried again with a wet throat. “566-648-87991-73-Hebo, Squad 02, Platoon 04, 378th Siege Regiment of Krieg. You will gain no more information from me. Do your worst.” The bells rang in merry laughter. He hoped he looked as determined as he believed he did. You sometimes forgot about such things under the gas mask. “Oh believe me, Mon-keigh, I will.” She shifted closer. To his panic he found his feet not moving to take him away. Leaning in her smell invaded his nostrils. His mind threatened to be clouded by the overpowering fragrance. The crystal chime was now close to his ears, her face right beside his. “But will you, too? Don’t disappoint me.” The faint feeling of her breath touched the skin of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Then he reacted. Bare teeth flashing for her jugular. He bit thin air. 

The witch ignored his attack as easily as she had dodged it. “Kill me now, Hexe! You will gain nothing from me! The Emperor protects!” That seemed to puzzle her for a bit. “Oh, I see. A bit of your home dialect, isn’t it? How deliciously exotic.” She walked behind him, out of sight. A soft touch brushed over his uniform coat, leaving a tingle on his defenseless back. “Still, your words won’t do, I fear.” Gentle hands grab his shoulders, pull a weightless  body close, an invisible mouth next to his ear. “My greetings, Hebo. You may call me Sileth.” The last word was a whisper brushed into his ear. Probing teeth nibbled his earlobe. He pulled away his head, experiencing a delicious split-second of massage as his lobe slipped through the teeth. Horror gripped him with an iron fist as fears stumbled over one-another to surface. “What are you doing? What do you want from me?” Crystal bells. “Oh you know exactly what I want, don’t you?” And he knew. By the Throne, he knew. Slowly stepping back into sight, he only now registered what lay beyond that unhallowed white smile. An impossible flowing garment that promised, but never showed. She followed his gaze right down to the pale, bare toes and back up again. “Like what you see?” He had no answer in him. His look was icy daggers, he hoped. “What about now?” An almost imperceptible shifting of the shoulders made it flow off her body to collect in a textile puddle at her feet. And there she stood. A good 6’8” of chiseled, smooth xenos abomination. He swallowed hard. 

“It appears I am at a disadvantage now. Don’t you think? So why don’t you take off these stinking rags?” She would get no cooperation out of him. His faith in the Emperor would carry him through this heresy. “Oh, right. Your constraints. How thoughtless of me. Allow me to help you with these.” Her hands slipped nimbly under the lapel of his coat, slipping the cloth back while following the shape of his arms with a soft touch right down to his wrists where the sleeves hung from his cuffs, turning the coat inside out. This brought her up close to his chest, bringing in the mind-numbing fragrance of her once more. Surprised, he inhaled deeply. He felt the softness of her flesh pressing against him. So soft, so smooth, so perfect.  Heresy! “No!” He wriggled and fought as best he could. “Stay off me, alien!” 

She took a step back, satisfied? “I told you, the name is Sileth, silly.” Her gaze affixes him as she reaches for his chin in a graceful, flowing motion, brushing over his cheek. “What’s my name?” He found his spite again. “Your kind is condemned in His eyes. You cannot hurt me!” The gentle hand lashed across his face. Her voice remained calm and friendly “You will say my name.” “The Emperor protects! You cannot hurt me!” Impatience flickered across the smile. Another explosion of white flesh across his cheeks. “Say my name.” Still no ire. His mind was locked in litany now. Training routines taking over in a situation he could understand. “I am the extension of His will! You cannot hu-u-u-“ Panic flowed through him as he felt a much gentler touch now stroking his crotch. Nein! Mental capacities immediately shifted to uproar suppression. 

The smile broadens. “My name?” “You will burn!” His tone lost much of his earlier resolve. The hand touched a little deeper now. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Whimper and shuffling. Her movements accelerate. “Sileth!” The hand moves away, he breathes more heavily now. But he is far from release. Nimble fingers unbutton his shirt, sliding it back to where the coat still dangles.  Her ivory form starts exploring the scars on his chest with fingers and kissing lips. They are numerous and she is working her way from the top down, every touch stoking the fires in his crotch. He had to withstand, had to fight the allure of this preposterous xenos. Oh no, she found the scar in his armpit.

What was she-? By the Emperor, he could not remember his last shower, how could she- And still… Then, as the temptation became almost too much, a door opened and through this door came a song. A song he had sung with fervor many times when the hardship of his day had brought him closer to the honor of death in battle. To finally find salvation. He felt the emotions return, wash over him, streaming down his cheeks in hot rivers as he sang. 

"Die Fahne hoch die Reihen dicht geschlossen
Wenn Krieg marschiert erzittern Seine Feinde
Kamraden die schon die ewge Schuld beglichen
Nun eilen frohlockend wir entgegen!"

The song wakened him inside the Gorgon transport. The sounds of battle drowned out by the thumping heartbeat of the machine and the song from a hundred throats, muffled by their masks, all ready and eager. Strapping warriors, tempered and hard. A crunching sound and a rumbling halt, then the ramp drops and they assault, rushing forward in a primal outbreak of emotion, rushing into the mass of lithe xenos witches, pushing through their defenses and forward ever forward. He led the charge, indifferent to the slaughter behind him, stabbing wildly with his weapon. Again and again, pushing further and further in murderous ecstasy. “Für Terra!” Before he knew it, he found himself out of the fighting and inside the enemy’s sanctum. Rushing into this most unholy place, he ignored exhaustion and charged to find the witch priestess on the altar of their false gods. He lost no time reloading but charged with his bayonet, stabbing again and again, kneeling over the shuddering body that by all rights must have been long dead. The beast fought back with vigor, tearing at his back and entangling him with her limbs. Then, as he was almost about to collapse, a feeling of triumph conquered him. The eyes of the xenos witch fluttered and she bucked violently under him and he felt he had slain a great evil, had found his victory as he sunk into sweet oblivion. This must be the Emperor’s embrace.