Surrender, or Die

Keen, knocked from his mount, did not choose to return to his dragon. The Space Marines following the Knight suits were charging at a speed even the Aeldari found troublesome.

As creations of the Old Ones, the Aeldari were renowned for their strength and swiftness. Though Keen’s savage Aeldari were the weakest of the many Aeldari branches, their physical abilities still far surpassed those of ordinary humans.

Only Space Marines, likewise creations of the Emperor, could keep pace with the Aeldari through their powerful senses and the assistance of their power armor.

Deprived of his mount, Keen swung his lance and blocked the heavy axe of the heavily armored Space Wolf before him. After a single exchange, the savage Aeldari’s arms would not stop trembling, while the Space Wolf merely rolled his shoulders, signaling for another round.

"Fafnir Bloodpact. Remember the name of the man who cuts off your head."

The Space Wolf introduced himself. He slowly shifted his position, constantly adjusting his center of gravity. Beneath his tactical helmet, his eyes remained fixed on the savage Aeldari’s neck, and Keen immediately found himself struggling beneath that overwhelming pressure.

"Keen Franklin. Arrogant humans—when we roamed the stars, you were still nothing but apes."

The savage Aeldari sneered in High Gothic, while the Space Wolf before him merely shook his head indifferently.

"The past is the past, and now is now. So how did you superior species end up being beaten into a panicked retreat by savages like us?"

"That only proves you have fallen behind. You are far inferior to those pale sprouts who fled their homes aboard their arks. Frankly, sending us to deal with savage Aeldari like you is a complete waste of talent."

Fafnir’s tongue was even deadlier than his Fenrisian battle-axe. Relying on his speed, Keen darted and twisted about, occasionally drawing showers of scattered sparks across his opponent’s armor with his dragonrider’s lance.

Hard—far too hard. The savage Aeldari’s weapon could not even breach the adamantine armor. Keen could only keep circling, trying to find an opening in the Space Wolf’s defenses.

Amid the fierce exertion, Keen’s chest heaved violently. It was not because his strength was rapidly draining, but because that damned human’s words were simply too vicious and cutting.

"Look at those flashy dinosaurs of yours. The trouble they can cause us amounts to nothing more than making us spend a little extra ammunition."

Fafnir gradually forced his enemy into a corner. He possessed a wolf’s cunning. Though his opponent constantly tried every trick imaginable to circle around him, he understood the essence of fighting such foes: you fight your way, I fight mine. Never let them lead you by the nose.

Relying on the formidable armor he wore, the pack leader could attack without restraint. His enemy’s feeble strikes could not even give him a sense of danger.

While the two fought and traded barbs, the dragon cavalry in whom Keen had placed such high hopes had already all fallen beneath the assault of the iron Knights.

Heavy melta cannon fire burned through their flesh, while plasma weapons crackling with arcs of electricity easily tore apart their wraithbone armor. The dragonriders fought back tragically with every weapon they had, yet they could not break through humanity’s wall of steel.

They could only choose to dismount and fight humanity’s infantry in close combat, or be blasted into fragments alongside their dragon mounts.

"They want to kill us fairly. These humans still retain a little sense of honor."

From the corner of his eye, Keen saw that the Knights, having unleashed their full firepower, stopped after killing the dragons. Some unusual Space Marines in milky-white power armor adorned with golden lightning disembarked from the Knight suits and joined the battle as infantry.

They disdained using Knight suits against these barely threatening savage Aeldari. Though hatred for xenos drove them to desperately want to take their enemies’ heads, the warriors’ creed led them to grant their foes a somewhat dignified death.

Keen was wounded in his struggle against Fafnir. Half his flowing long hair had been severed, and his wraithbone breastplate bore a huge wound that nearly pierced through it, running from his left shoulder to his right hip. The dragonrider had nearly been cleaved in two.

He gasped for breath and relied on his nimble speed to retreat, joining the other surviving comrades.

In his eyes, only a handful of savage Aeldari remained. The rest had either died alongside their dragons or been cut down on the spot by the Space Marines on the ground.

Only four battered savage Aeldari remained. They stood back-to-back with Keen atop a rise paved with dragon corpses, staring unflinchingly at the Space Marines surging toward them like a tide.

The last dragonrider leaned on his lance, supporting half his weight on the shaft. He felt that his ribs had already been broken; only a layer of skin kept his organs from spilling out.

His vision began to blur, and every breath sent waves of pain through the wound in his chest. Yet Keen was grateful for that pain, as it kept him from passing out on the spot.

Fafnir excitedly swung his battle-axe, his pack following behind him like crafty, stubborn wolves trailing their alpha.

He wanted to complete this glorious harvest, but Nykona Sharrowkyn’s sudden appearance stopped him.

The pack leader felt deep apprehension toward this mysterious Raven Guard warrior. He had not noticed where the other man had emerged from at all.

Like a ghost—an unknown thing wandering through the shadows.

Barabas Dantioch held an unfamiliar longsword in his right hand, its blade gleaming with a ghostly green light. The wolf’s keen instincts sensed the terrible threat contained in that flickering weapon; even the skin beneath his adamantine armor prickled with pain.

"Wait. Lox wants to persuade these savage Aeldari to surrender. Living captives are more useful than corpses."

Some of the wolves, their minds clouded by bloodlust, assessed the situation and ultimately chose to lower their power axes. These warriors of the Sixth Legion were far less disciplined than those of other Legions, but Fafnir knew when to yield. He had no desire to truly anger Lox.

"Fine, fine. But I don’t think these bastards will choose to surrender." The wolf tactfully stepped aside, deeply unsettled by that strange, unknown weapon.

"Though they are damned xenos, the courage and will they have displayed do possess the slightest bit of merit."

Barabas Dantioch remained unmoved. He had come only to carry out Lox’s orders. Everything else lay outside his consideration.

The Son of the Raven moved with steps even Space Marines could not see clearly, swiftly arriving before the five savage Aeldari who were prepared to die.

"Surrender, or die."

A cold electronic voice issued from the power armor’s vox-grille. The crimson lenses met Keen’s gaze, making the dragonrider who had fought the Space Wolf to a standstill suddenly feel a chill run down his back.

His instincts screamed warnings. This warrior, who had not shown himself during the battle, was likely far stronger than that brutish Space Wolf.

Humans. Terrifying humans. Horrific upright apes. When had the universe become like this?

"We will not yield!"

Behind Keen, the sole female savage Aeldari shouted angrily. Her hair was disheveled, and wounds of all sizes covered her body, yet her defiance remained impossible to hide.

As one of the Aeldari, she possessed a remarkably voluptuous figure. Taut beast hides wrapped around her body, and even by human standards, she could absolutely be called stunningly beautiful.

The Aeldari body was extraordinarily resilient. They rarely carried excess fat; the overwhelming majority of their bodies consisted of dense muscle, supporting the demands of high-intensity battle formations.

Yet in the next instant, a ghostly flash streaked past. Barabas Dantioch’s sword seemed never to have moved at all, but the shouting female savage Aeldari suddenly cried out in pain as one of her arms was cleanly severed.

A C’tan phase sword could effortlessly cut through even adamantine, let alone the flesh of a mere Aeldari.

"Final warning. Surrender, or die."