WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. ACCORDING TO THE BONES OF A SPACE WOLF THAT I KILLED AND TOSSED INTO A BOWL, THERE'S AN ASSASSIN BEHIND ME… OH, CRAP.
Okay, so, where were we? Oh, right.
*inhales*
LET'S FUCKING GOOOOO!
Star-Bound
Chapter 26
Strike
Corax had fought the Drukhari many times during his self-imposed exile. While he had always sought his traitor brethren, he had been present during more than one Drukhari raid, and stayed long enough to disrupt their efforts if he could. All Aeldari had a preternatural gift for stealth, but it was offset for most Drukhari by their overwhelming hubris. They relied more on the terror of their raids, rather than efficiency.
It reminded him of Konrad Kurze and the Night Lords, only the xenos were more numerous, and far easier to kill.
His opinion was vindicated when he emerged from his wraith-slip to eviscerate a pair of Drukhari leaders. They were dead and in pieces before they hit the ground, and as their guards vainly tried to intervene, Kayvaan Shrike and the elite of the Raven Guard Primaris, the Shadowclaws, tore them apart.
Like Shrike, the Shadowclaws wore modified Phobos armor with jump packs and lightning claws. They barely made a whisper as they ripped apart one Drukhari after another.
"Reports are coming in, my lord," Shrike said, his voice barely audible over the hissing of blood washing off power fields. "Enemy forces in this sector are in complete disarray. Their leadership is dead, their communications are down, and the xenos cannot seem to work together."
"Their rivalries persist, even in the face of annihilation." Corax smirked. "Let us continue our hunt, my sons; there are more alien throats to cut."
"As you say, my lord." Shrike paused as another report came in over his vox. "The Space Wolves have entered the area."
"They don't need our help." Corax closed his eyes; with the senses of a Primarch, he could just barely hear the howls in the distance as his brother's warriors continued to rampage. "Let them have their fun."
"Of course." Shrike's face was concealed by his helm, but Corax knew that his gene-son was giving him a look; upon a gesture from the Primarch, he spoke on it. "Forgive me, my lord, but you seem… happy."
"We are eliminating a source of great misery for humanity; it has been millennia since I have been able to affect the Imperium on such a large scale." Corax smiled. "I have much to thank Shepard for."
"As do we all." The Raven Guard didn't have the reverence for Shepard that their Necropolis Hawks brothers did, but their gratitude was no less intense.
"Speaking of Shepard, has the Tenth Company reported anything new in her sector?" The Raven Guard's theater was far removed from Shepard's, but Corax felt that he owed her a debt of honor. He had already told Zandtus to protect her whenever possible, but he didn't see the harm in having an extra company of guardians in the shadows watch her when it was within his power.
"They sent word that they had engaged the main arenas, my lord." Shrike concealed his anger well, but not well enough to fool a Primarch. "The xenos have involved our people in their sick games there for the last time."
"If Shepard is leading the attack, I would not be surprised." Corax nodded to himself. "Come, my sons. There is much more to do."
…
Jonson didn't know if any particularly notable Drukhari leader commanded the ship he'd boarded. There were few names that had ever been brought to his attention, and he doubted that Vect, the Supreme Overlord himself, would leave his kingdom. Even so, the alien crew fought desperately; perhaps they knew that the Imperium wouldn't take prisoners.
Especially if they knew what the Lion's mandate was.
"Annihilation protocols," he commanded. "Deathwing, proceed with purgation, overlap fields of fire, adjust thirteen degrees."
Deathwing Terminators marched around their Primarch with a precision that wouldn't have been unusual outside the Mechanicus. Their bone-white armor was soon spattered with alien blood, especially their boots and greaves; after only a few minutes, they were practically wading through gore.
"The Angels of Redemption report heavy resistance on the upper decks," Azrael said as he limped behind Jonson. Crossing the Rubicon Primaris had been particularly hard on him, and he was nowhere near recovered; however, he refused to stay behind while his brothers and his liege fought.
"What are their casualties?" Jonson asked.
"Thirty-two, with nine fatalities." Azrael didn't even flinch when an errant splinter round ricocheted off his winged helm. "Their progress has slowed considerably, and have yet to take their primary objectives."
"Divert the Disciples of Caliban to assist." The Drukhari ship was too small to accommodate three entire Chapters; instead, the Lion had ordered that the Deathwing of those three be used for boarding actions. "Cypher."
As always, the mysterious Dark Angel stepped from the shadows; his plasma pistol trailed smoke, the only evidence that he'd been fighting.
"You summoned, my lord?"
"Find the commander. He is showing particular skill in delaying this battle. Kill him."
"By your command." Cypher mockingly bowed his head at Azrael, and then vanished once more.
Jonson continued onward, as if nothing had happened. "The blockade around Commorragh is holding. At this stage, we can begin landing additional Astartes forces deeper into the city."
"I will make it so, my lord." Azrael sent the prearranged signal to the Chapters yet to be deployed into the city. Within minutes, thousands of Space Marines would strike at locations the Ynnari had insisted were of vital importance; soon, the Drukhari would be hit from above and below.
Shortly after, Cypher returned; one arm hung limply at his side, and there were deep gashes in his armor. His smug smile, however, remained in place.
"The xenos lord is dead," he reported. "As is his entire bridge crew. They put up a bit of a fight."
"Get to an Apothecary," Jonson ordered, then turned to Azrael. "The fleets can handle the rest. It is time for us to join the fray below."
…
For all that the war was raging around him, Roboute Guilliman's command center was oddly serene. With their Primarch leading them in the initial assault, the Ultramarines fought like legends to secure their beachhead, and when they had, they made sure that no xenos could come within a kilometer of him while he worked.
"The Aurora Chapter has reached their tertiary objectives nineteen minutes ahead of schedule," the Avenging Son said, half to himself, and half to Captain Uriel Ventris, captain of the Fourth Company.
"There is too much distance between them and Militarum reinforcements," Ventris noted. "They are in danger of being encircled."
Guilliman, who had seen the danger a full thirty seconds before Ventris, was nevertheless pleased by his observation. "Redirect the Hawk Lords to support them until more Militarum regiments can fill the gaps."
The Fourth Company had fought as hard as the rest of their brothers during the initial assault, but they had since been assigned to the inner security of the base. Some within the company thought they were missing out on the glory of the campaign, but they consoled themselves with the knowledge that they could bask in their Primarch's presence. Ventris, who had fought alongside Guilliman during the Indomitus Crusade and had become something of a student to the Primarch, served as a second set of eyes in the strategium.
No sooner had Ventris sent the orders to the Hawk Lords, a Successor to the Ultramarines, that he received an alert that brought a smile to his face.
"My Lord, the Dark Angels have made planetfall."
Guilliman only paused his work long enough to chuckle. "Four of us in a single theater. Not since the Great Crusade has a xenos race faced so many Primarchs in one place. Captain, inform Marneus that all secondary objectives must be taken within the next thirty-three minutes."
Ventris relayed the message, but just before he was about to ask why, he saw it, and he knew that his gene-father was waiting to hear him say it.
"If those locations are taken, and then fortified by Militarum forces, we will have divided Commorragh in half. The bulk of their Kabals will be cut off from support, and without supplementary forces from their other factions, there will be fewer surprises."
"Anything else?" Guilliman pressed.
"By that logic, the other factions will not have the numbers the Kabals might have supplied." Another thought occurred to him. "Without immediate support, all the factions will believe that they have been betrayed. Their own nature will cause what little trust between them to evaporate, and we can pick them off piecemeal."
"Correct." That single word, and the pride that came with it, caused Ventris' hearts to swell. "Now, once the Lion and his sons have taken their objectives, inform my brother that we will be ready for Plan Beta-Thirteen-Quintus. He will know what it means."
Once Ventris' task was done, he stood by his Primarch's side and watched the map of Commorragh change. Every few minutes, icons representing various Imperial forces would move up, while symbols for different Drukhari elements would fall back, or vanish. The element of surprise was long gone, and progress had slowed dramatically, but the Imperial juggernaut had momentum and numbers on its side—as well as four Primarchs, a variable that few forces in the galaxy could counter.
One sector, however, had almost completely ground to a halt. "The Shepard Crusade…"
"They are where they need to be," Guilliman said, the confidence in his voice banishing Ventris' worry. "I anticipated this. I do not believe that they are being held back; rather, it seems that Shepard is just being… thorough."
…
Leman Russ hated Commorragh more than he let on. It wasn't just a source of endless suffering and cruelty, though that was a factor; rather, what irritated him most was how he could literally smell every act of sadism and malice perpetrated by the Drukhari. Every inch of the city was drenched in death, misery, and the sick joy of those who prospered from it.
The Space Wolves might not have had Russ' senses, but being in the Dark City offended them on an instinctive level, and it only heightened their fury. All around the Wolf King, his Legion—and in his mind, it was a Legion, regardless of what Guilliman said—hunted the dark streets in search of more xenos to slay. Even if he had not been kept up to date, the rivers of alien blood he splashed through told him that the Rout was successful.
"Jarl," Logan Grimnar called out as he approached; his Terminator armor was drenched in gore, and his grin was out of place on such an old face. "We've forced the Drukhari in this sector into their dens. They have nowhere left to flee."
Russ smiled at the Great Wolf; reuniting with the Primarch had given him a vitality he hadn't had in centuries, as it had for all the Space Wolves. In return, Russ was pleased with how the Rout had changed since his departure; while the wider Imperium still saw them as barbaric, they were no longer feared as the Emperor's executioners. Rather, they were hailed as noble—if unpredictable and wild—heroes.
"Gather the men for an assault, but be wary," Russ said. "A beast is most dangerous when it is cornered."
"Indeed it is." Grimnar whirled, axe at the ready, when Corax stepped out of the shadows. "Did you not consider that they are only so because you forced them into that corner? It would have been less risky to make them scatter and hunt them down piecemeal."
Russ scoffed. "That would have taken too much out of Roboute's precious timetable. And did you have to startle my young friend here?"
Despite being in the presence of two Primarchs, Grimnar looked offended at being called young. Corax, on the other hand, smirked.
"Come now, brother, you know it is always amusing to sneak past the vaunted senses of your sons." He shrugged. "But that is not why I've come. If I can drive the Drukhari out from their positions, will you close the trap?"
"As if you need to ask." Russ hefted his axe, but left his sword on his hip. "Once we're done here, I plan to move a few kilometers north of here; auspex scans showed the xenos massing for a counterattack, and I will meet them."
"And I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself. I'll make sure the enemy remains leaderless."
Corax stepped back, but before he vanished, Russ held out a hand. "Wait, Corvus. I heard something interesting a few minutes before you arrived."
"Oh?"
"It is about Shepard; her forces have ceased their advance."
Corax nodded. "I am aware. I believe that she has found a foe that she wants to take her time destroying."
"I almost feel sorry for whoever earned her wrath."
"I don't."
…
Xem-Beta almost seemed to be in a trance in his command center; the only sign of awareness he showed was the occasional shift in the way he held his axe. Of course, this was how those outside of the Mechanicus saw him; for those blessed by the Omnissiah, he was a constant source of holy data. Only a Primarch could surpass an Archmagos in this field, and Xem-Beta had had many opportunities to hone his war-making.
Through the optics of his army, he watched the Drukhari driven from one sector after another. Skitarii Rangers kept pace with xenos infantry, always locked on to prevent their escape, while thousands of Skitarii Vanguards marched in perfect lockstep over the corpses of friend and foe alike. At their flanks, huge columns of battle servitors mindlessly rumbled along on their tracks, obliterating entire buildings with concentrated fire, heedless of the casualties the Drukhari inflicted upon them. Serberys cavalry, both the fire-breathing Sulphurhounds and lighter Raiders struck deep into the enemy; the Skitarii riders did almost as much damage as their ferocious cyborg mounts. Whenever the Drukhari gathered their armor, they were set upon by squadrons of Onager Dunecrawlers or Skorpius Disintegrators; their heavy weapons turned the alien vehicles to smoldering wrecks with terrifying efficiency.
Only in the sky did the Mechanicus struggle. Their massed formations of Pteraxii and squadrons of Archaeopters were horribly outnumbered by their counterparts, who hid in the twisting spires and attacked with the lethality born of those who fought for their survival. Fortunately, even that desperation was dulled by the Drukhari's long-seated rivalries; as predicted, destroying the aliens piecemeal was far easier than facing a unified front.
Xem-Beta partially disconnected from the noosphere when he detected one of his subordinates enter his domain. He was still aware of his forces' actions, but the field officers could handle this stage of the campaign, and he wished to speak to his old friend in a more human capacity. It was a habit that he had picked up from Shepard, one that he enjoyed indulging in from time to time.
"Your reports were due fifty-eight seconds ago," he chided. "What is the reason for your delay?"
Zhu Telok was silent for a fraction of a second as he contemplated his answer. This was not unexpected, as the Tech-Priest Manipulus was infamous for considering every possibility a conversation might take. It made him an indecisive leader, by Mechanicus standards, but a valuable source of advice.
"The machine spirits of fourteen of our blessed vehicles displayed erratic behavior," he said, his organic voice long since replaced by a synthesizer. "My presence was required to calm their bellicose hearts."
"Then your delay is forgiven, for the Omnissiah favors those who tend to the holy machine." Xem-Beta directed a mechadendrite to emerge from the wall and plug into a socket in Telok's skull. "Analyze this data to confirm my strategy."
Telok placed his fingertips together, the translucent flesh of one hand touching the cold metal of the other. His bulbous body hummed with galvanic energy as he hovered in place; the noise joined the hissing and clicking of the command center, as well as the wheezing of the many servitors. While there was no speech like the strategium of the Militarum, the noise was just as deafening.
"There are no flaws in your blessed logic, Archmagos," Telok concluded after one-fifth of a second. "There is a fifty-seven percent chance that we will fail to achieve aerial superiority in our sector. Bringing in our reserves will only increase that percentage by two points. This is unacceptable."
"The Drukhari are skilled at fast-moving battles," Xem-Beta said. "This is well-documented. Withdrawing our air units will prevent exorbitant casualties, but will expose our ground forces to the enemy."
"The losses we will suffer are also unacceptable." What little was left of Telok's face was hidden by his many optics and bionic covering, but Xem-Beta knew that, had his old friend been completely organic, he would have been frowning. "Doctrina imperatives from the Shepard Crusade forbid mass casualties unless all other scenarios are unattainable. We have not yet reached that point."
"We are in agreement." Xem-Beta paused as a new report reached him. "Scouts have discovered a supply depot for Drukhari air units. Logic dictates that capturing or destroying this depot will hinder the enemy's ability to fight."
"Capture would be preferable," Telok immediately suggested. "There is much we can learn from the xenos technology."
"Only if it can be captured without detection. The Quest for Knowledge must be tempered by logic and wisdom." Xem-Beta waited until Telok signaled his acquiescence. "The depot will be taken. Its platforms can be fortified by anti-air weaponry to support our own air forces. Our sector will be secured on schedule."
"Casualties will still be high," Telok reminded him. "Cost weighed against benefits?"
"Sacrifice some for the many who will not be killed by the xenos, thus becoming productive elements in the Imperium—and, by extension, the Adeptus Mechanicus." Xem-Beta began the rituals that would immerse him deeper into the tactical aspects of the noosphere. "Cost deemed acceptable."
…
Helmin had started the campaign wishing for a cup of tea; after only a few hours, he wanted something much stronger. No matter how many times he faced them, the Drukhari always made him sick to his stomach. Tyranids made sense; they wiped out all life to grow and evolve. Orks did something similar, albeit not so thoroughly, so that they could have another fight later. He detested them, but at least he understood them. Even heretic agendas made sense, not that he would ever voice such an opinion; they did what they did in service of greater power, or for revenge.
The Drukhari fed off cruelty; worse, though, was that they enjoyed it. It was esoteric and strange and it made his blood boil. The atrocities he witnessed in the streets of Commorragh were as common as litter in a hive city.
"I almost want to go back on our deal with the Ynnari," he muttered. "This city needs to burn."
His gripes went unheard within Iron Judge. The interior of a Baneblade was noisy even at peace, to say nothing of when it was in battle.
Helmin studied the tactical display built into his command throne, absently marveling at the work the Mechanicus had done to his beloved tank since the start of the Shepard Crusade. It had gone from a mobile bunker to a true command center, allowing him to coordinate his forces as if he was in a proper strategium.
"Forces in sector nineteen-secundus-theta, withdraw one hundred meters, hold until artillery bombardment is complete. Advance with armored support." He waited for the commanders in that sector acknowledged, and then continued. "Vils, what is your status?"
"We are being slowed down," his friend said gruffly. "The xenos are matching our movements; they're damn good at these tactics. We need artillery to box them in, or Astartes. Or both. Both would be good."
Helmin checked his map, and sighed. "Sadly, the closest Space Marines are currently engaged. Can you settle for a Basilisk company dedicated to your operations?"
"Appreciated, sir." There was an explosion in the background, and Helmin briefly worried for the other man. "Damn. One of our transports just got hit; cooked the ammunition off."
Helmin winced. "Any survivors?"
"Negative. If the explosion didn't get them, the fires will, and it's too hot to rescue them."
"I'll have that artillery redeployed soon, I promise." Helmin didn't bother with sympathies; the death of a single squad of mortals, Scions or not, occurred every minute of every day on a thousand battlefields.
"Thanks. We'll take this chokepoint once we have the big guns in our corner, and then we'll continue on. Any word from Saint Shepard?"
"No, but that's not surprising. If she was rescuing slaves, then her mood will be too foul for a conversation."
…
"Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!" Shepard ripped Liberator out of a Wych's chest, even as the gash on her neck healed; before dying, the Wych in question had slashed her with a barbed dagger, tearing a large chunk of flesh off with it.
The battle within the maze had been going on for several minutes, and Shepard had found just as many corpses of her people as she did Drukhari. In such tight quarters, the Imperial forces couldn't bring their united firepower to bear, evening the playing field for the aliens. Shepard recognized more than one face; some of the dead Sisters had fought alongside her since Vigilus, and seeing in pools of their own blood sent Shepard's wrath to even greater heights.
She nearly collided with another Wych as she turned a corner; this one, however, was backpedaling as she tried to avoid a screaming Sororitas. The woman's hair was as red as Shepard's, but only because it was drenched in blood, and two knives were buried in her leg. The Wych was distracted by the bleeding zealot, and couldn't avoid Shepard grabbing her neck and snapping it with a savage twist.
"Your Holiness," the Sister gasped painfully, and fell to one knee. Shepard attributed it to her wounds, and not out of devotion.
"How bad is it?" Shepard asked, kneeling to check her leg.
"I will live, but my squad is gone." The Sister shook her head, sending blood flying from her hair. "These damned xenos are…"
"Yeah, I know." Shepard rose and held out one hand. "What's your name?"
"Alyss, Your Holiness." Alyss allowed Shepard to help her up; the way her eyes widened upon touching the hand of a Living Saint would have been funny, had she not been covered in blood.
"Stay with me, Alyss, and we'll both get out of here alive."
Alyss reloaded her bolter and nodded grimly. "It shall be done."
Shepard had to slow her pace to account for Alyss' limp, but they still made good progress through the maze. Along the way, they gathered other Sisters and a handful of Reapers; it wasn't much, but with numbers on their side, they beat back the next wave of ambushes.
"Any word from Blaise or Brol?" Shepard asked, when they had a few moments to breathe.
"They are alive, Lady Shepard," a Heavy Intercessor sergeant reported. "But they face heavy opposition, and cannot join us."
"Damn, I—" Shepard paused when she felt an unnatural chill; it wasn't on her skin, but in her very soul, pulling her towards oblivion.
Shepard had felt something similar once before; back in the Empire, when she and her friends had fought to save Aliathra from Mannfred von Carstein, and kill Shepard's nemesis, Henrietta. In the final moments of that battle, Arkhan the Black had nearly summoned his master, Nagash; the Great Necromancer hadn't been able to fully manifest on the mortal plane, but even that brief experience had been a source of nightmares for Shepard for years.
She recognized that same power here. It was the power of death itself.
"Something's wrong," she said, somewhat unnecessarily. "We need to get out of here. I don't want to meet whatever's giving off that vibe."
"You will soon enough," Lelith crooned as she fell from a perch above. One of her blades cut through Shepard's armor and sliced across her arm, while the other scored a deep groove on her breastplate.
Shepard's small team was similarly ambushed by Lelith's most elite Wyches, and a furious melee ensued. Some of the Reapers were able to kill their opponents, but the Sororitas were neither fast enough, nor tough enough, to withstand the assault. Unable to disengage to help, Shepard had a split-second to watch as Alyss was neatly decapitated, even as her killer was blown in half by a bolt rifle.
"Does it hurt to watch your friends die?" Lelith taunted. "How much agony can you take before your pitiful soul is broken?"
Shepard drove her back with a few wide swings of Liberator. "You don't know a fucking thing about me. I've had worse than this."
"Oh? Do tell."
Shepard's powers couldn't hurt the Drukhari, but the bright light threw her off. Still, Lelith's skill was so great that she was still able to parry Shepard's overhand swing.
"My son died in my arms, you fucking bitch," Shepard hissed. "Nothing you do can top that."
"Pity." Lelith danced away and licked the edge of one blade. "I'll have to settle for killing you."
It had been obvious before, but Shepard knew that she had no chance of beating Lelith. She was too fast and too skilled, and Shepard was painfully aware that she should have been dead a dozen times over in as many seconds. Lelith was just toying with her. If Shepard had help, maybe she'd have a shot, but her ad-hoc force was busy with Lelith's own warriors, so backup was unlikely.
Lelith paused in her assault, and Shepard now realized—now that she wasn't desperately trying to avoid getting her throat cut—that the maze had withdrawn back into the floor.
"What is this?" Lelith demanded. "Who has interfered with my arena?"
"I have, my friend." Yvraine practically glided over the floor, the dirt and blood almost unwilling to dirty her gown. "You should have known that your betrayal would not go unanswered."
Lelith sneered. "Your god holds no more interest for me, priestess."
"Ynnead is your god as well, as you'll soon see." Yvraine held out her sword as she stood next to Shepard. "She is supremely skilled. We must take her together."
With her wounds healed, Shepard stood ready. "I was just about to say that."
Lelith made the first move, a red-topped blur that would have easily bypassed Shepard's defensive stance, but was stopped at the last second by Yvraine. It could have been Shepard's imagination, but she thought she could hear Yvraine's sword make an unusual sound—an unholy mix of screaming and singing.
Despite never even frowning as she dueled Lelith, Yvraine was clearly outmatched, though not as badly as Shepard had been. Every cut was parried or dodged, but only just. Lelith actually seemed to enjoy herself, though she became slightly more serious when she had to dodge a swing from Liberator.
"You could never defeat me on your own, so you sink to fighting alongside a human?" Lelith scoffed. "I was right to step away from your cult."
"Ynnead is the salvation of our race." Yvraine's words were spoken with the conviction of a true believer.
While they argued, Shepard tried to dart in low, to knock Lelith's legs out from under her. She was rewarded for her trouble with a terrible pain and darkness as a sword cut across her eyes. Still, she managed to catch one of Lelith's legs in her arms; more out of reflex than intent, Shepard used all her considerable strength to crush the limb to paste, even as Lelith kicked out several of her teeth with her remaining foot.
Shepard refused to let go, even when another blow from a sword took off her ear and most of her face. The pain was almost unbearable, but just before Shepard let go, there was an ominous squelch, and then Lelith's struggling ended.
"She is dead," Yvraine said. "You may release her."
Shepard did so, and when her wounds healed again, she opened her restored eyes. Lelith was indeed dead, Yvraine's sword buried in her chest; all around them, more Ynnari helped the Imperials finish off the Wyches. Shepard bit back a curse when she saw how many Sisters and Reapers had fallen; the only thing that kept her spirits up was that Blaise and Brol had both survived.
"Your Holiness, are you well?" Blaise asked; her armor was spattered with blood, but none of it was her own.
"I'll feel better as soon as I know this was worth so many dead," Shepard replied.
"It was," Yvraine said, "as you'll soon see."
Shepard felt that same chill from before, but this time, she saw a shadow. She turned, and nearly attacked on reflex.
"What the actual fuck is that thing!?"
The thing in question was humanoid in shape, but far taller than even a Primarch. It floated several feet above the ground, its purple armor illuminated by the ethereal energy that swirled around it. It had both male and female characteristics, and a single horn that twisted up from one side of its skull. In one hand, it held a massive sword, while the other gathered energy between curled fingers.
If it heard Shepard's exclamation, it didn't deign to pay her any attention; it was focused on whatever it was doing.
"That is the Yncarne," Yvraine said.
Shepard rolled her eyes. "That explained exactly nothing. Give more details, or my people are going to think it's a daemon and shoot it."
Yvraine sighed. "It is the avatar of Ynnead, the god of death for my people. It is our salvation, and our final fate."
"You worship death." Shepard turned to Brol. "You heard her, right? They worship death."
"I heard, and I do not like it." Brol grimaced. "It is one thing to accept death, or even embrace it, but to worship it…"
"Your concept of death is too simple." Yvraine pulled her sword free of Lelith's corpse. "Death is merely another state of being, one that Ynnead has complete control over. Observe."
The Yncarne raised its free hand, and the energy it had been gathering flowed back out; motes of light struck the bodies of every Drukhari, and as Shepard watched, alien blood flowed back into open wounds, which sealed up. A moment later, the bodies began to stir and rise. Shepard readied herself for another fight as Lelith reached for her blades; however, the Wych merely sheathed them, and then knelt before Yvraine.
"Lady Yvraine," Lelith said, all arrogance gone from her voice, "forgive me for my insolence. I didn't understand."
"You saw what awaits us without Ynnead." Yvraine bowed her head at the Yncarne. "You felt the briefest taste of the agony She Who Thirsts will inflict upon all Aeldari."
"I did, and I never wish to again." All around Lelith, the other Wyches knelt or even prostrated before the Yncarne. "We pledge our loyalty to the Ynnari; your cause is our cause."
"All of Commorragh will be brought into our fold," Yvraine declared. "Cut down all who would deny our god, and assist our allies where you find them."
Lelith grinned with a hint of her old self, and then darted to one of the arena's exits. It took a moment for Shepard to realize what had just happened, and she belatedly turned to Brol.
"Inform all friendly forces to only engage Drukhari that attack first," she said. "I think we've got reinforcements."
"My thanks," Yvraine interjected dryly. "It would take a great deal of power to resurrect them again."
"Speaking of which, what was up with Lelith? She changed her tune pretty damn quick."
Yvraine smirked. "Those who are blessed by Ynnead are… quite devoted."
Shepard narrowed her eyes. "They're brainwashed."
"Nothing so crude," Yvraine scoffed. "They are merely exposed to what will happen to them, should they refuse to embrace Ynnead. Service for salvation is a small price to pay to avoid eternal torment."
"If you say so." Shepard saw some of her friends and waved them over. Blaise was unharmed, though blood soaked her legs. Brol limped, and sparks shot out from his damaged backpack, but he walked unaided.
Of the hundreds of Imperials who had entered the arena, far fewer would leave alive. More than thirty Reapers were dead, and all of the survivors were injured—some critically. The Sisters of the Order of the Iron Tears had suffered far worse, with less than two hundred alive and capable of fighting, where an entire Preceptory had entered the arena.
Shepard felt some personal grief when she saw that half of the Alexian Guard were dead as well—compounding that, only Carolya was left from the original ten.
"Your Holiness, were you injured?" Carolya asked; she showed no emotion, which was worrying, but Shepard knew she was only holding herself together until the battle was over. When it was over, she would pray for her sisters' souls.
"Nothing the Emperor couldn't fix," Shepard said lightly. "Let's have our forces use this place as a staging ground. It's got good cover, and it has access to several other secondary objectives."
Brol was already making the necessary orders, while Blaise nodded. "It shall be done."
…
"What is this foul place?" Mallis asked as she and her force escorted Strakk down a series of dark corridors. "I cannot imagine anything here worth the corruption it surely brings."
"That, my dear, is why you are not an Inquisitor." Strakk paused to take a map from his belt and studied it; he then guided them down a seemingly random right turn. To Mallis' eyes, the material the map was made from looked suspiciously xenos in origin. "Though I personally avoid any artifacts or techniques used by heretics who dabble in… darker powers."
"You admit to using xenos technology?" One of Rychelle's pistols twitched in Strakk's direction as she spoke. "That is heresy, Inquisitor."
"Please, report me if you want," Strakk taunted. "I answer only to the God-Emperor." Before any of the Sororitas could respond, he paused. "Ah, we're here."
'Here' turned out to be a set of double doors that were several meters high. Their hinges were made from bone, while the doors themselves were coated in the skinned faces of humans and Aeldari that were stitched together.
"I am afraid that the chamber beyond is too small for our entire group," Strakk said. "Of course, I doubt you would want me to go alone. Canoness, would you be so kind as to join me? I know what I am looking for, so this should not take long. However, the current owner of my prize may take issue with its appropriation, so we should be ready to leave as soon as possible."
Mallis nodded. "Sister Rychelle, you have command until we return. If we are not back in ten minutes, plant melta charges and regroup with the rest of the Preceptory. Bury this place in holy fire."
"By your command," Rychelle said, as Strakk tapped the mouths of several skinned faces. A moment later, the doors swung open, revealing an inky darkness. "Emperor be with you, Canoness."
Mallis held her chainsword at the ready as she followed Strakk inside. She idly swiped at the black mist that seemed to grasp at her limbs, and was rewarded by the vapor recoiling, almost as if it was actually hurt.
"Please don't do that," Strakk said. "It's merely assessing us to see if we're a threat."
"Considering all that has happened today, I would not be surprised if the xenos saw us as a threat before we arrived."
Strakk paused, then chuckled. "True. Very true." He then pulled what looked like an ornate truncheon from his belt; with a twist of one end, it extended into a slender spear, one end of which crackled with a power field. "Keep your weapons ready, Canoness, but do not fight unless I give the order. We may yet be able to resolve this… peacefully."
"That depends on what you have to say." The voice the echoed from the darkness was oily and low, and it made Mallis' skin crawl.
"Come now, is that any way to greet an old acquaintance?" Strakk's only sign of tension was the tight grip on his weapon. "An invasion of this scale is no reason to call off this meeting."
A Drukhari stepped into view, though it was like no Drukhari Mallis had seen before. Its skin was withered and dry, almost like a mummy, and additional limbs curled over its shoulders; unlike the mechanical limbs of the Mechanicus, these were all organic, and even more unnerving. Tools were hooked to its belt; their purpose was unknown, but she was certain they were all sinister.
"Your brutish allies are invading my home," the Haemonculus said. "Why would I continue to honor our deal?"
"Because I know you." Strakk made a show of examining the room; as if in response, the darkness lifted slightly, revealing a combination of a laboratory and an abattoir. "You don't care if Commorragh burns, so long as you are left to your experiments. If anything, the Ynnari might become a useful patron for you, provided you focus your efforts on other targets."
"Your point is made, just as it was when you warned me of this attack months ago."
As the Drukhari turned to fetch something, Mallis whirled to face Strakk. "You told this alien filth that we would attack!?"
"He is an opportunist with an uncanny knack for knowing which way the wind is blowing." Strakk seemed unconcerned with the chainsword getting ever closer to him. "If anything, assuring his survival helped encouraged him to get what I want faster."
"And what is it you want?" Mallis demanded. "What could be worth consorting with xenos?"
"You'll see in a moment."
A moment later, the Haemonculus returned with a glass vial in one hand; inside the vial was a red liquid that seemed to glow.
"It took some doing," the Drukhari said proudly. "It is not often that I am asked to craft a poison that afflicts a shared consciousness."
Strakk took the vial almost reverently. "This… this will change everything. If this works, the Tyranids will no longer be a threat!"
Mallis frowned. "What do the Tyranids have to do with this?"
"That, I'm afraid, is beyond what I am permitted to tell you." Strakk glanced up at the towering alien. "And you're sure it will work?"
"You gave me a challenge, human; I couldn't rest until I'd perfected it." The Haemonculus tilted his head with the creak of too many vertebrae. "And my payment?"
"Ah, yes. You wanted to examine how faith could grant humans supernatural powers. That is why I did not come alone."
Mallis had a heartbeat to realize what that meant, and in that time, Strakk had flipped his spear around and pierced her through the throat. The thin blade punched through the base of her spine, paralyzing her instantly.
"Do not worry," Strakk said as Mallis slid to the floor. "My friend here will make sure you survive… at least long enough for him to find answers. I imagine the process will be quite painful, but I'm sure he will give you a swift death once he tires of you."
Mallis wanted to curse or spit, but she could barely muster the strength to glare at the traitorous Inquisitor. Strakk pushed her over to the waiting arms of the Haemonculus, when something fell off her belt. Mallis felt a twinge of panic when she saw him lift the book up.
"What is this?" Strakk's friendly tone had vanished, and now his voice shook with rage as he read. "I didn't trust your precious Saint before, but this… this is heresy of the highest order."
What Strakk didn't know, what he would never know, was that Mallis had helped purge a small group of the Vehemence's crew just hours before the invasion. Like the other purges, all the heretical texts were to be collected and examined by Blaise and Rex for clues as to the origins of the blasphemy. However, Mallis had been unable to find the time to give the latest book to her superiors before the battle, and the Inquisitor had gotten the wrong idea.
I failed, she thought, as tears ran down her cheeks. Forgive me, Saint Shepard. My foolishness has led the Inquisition to becoming your enemy.
Strakk tucked the book away and collapsed his power spear. "Do as you will with her. I am done here."
Mallis could only twitch as the Haemonculus' arms lifted her up and brought her into a perverse lover's embrace.
"Now then, little faithful." Three of the alien's arms raised serrated blades. "Shall we begin?"
It would take Constance Mallis a long time to die.
And… that's where I'm ending it today. We've found out just how the Ynnari plan to expand their ranks—with a bit of necromancy/brainwashing! How fun! Also, we get to see how the rest of the battle is going. Basically, wherever a Primarch is doing his thing, the fight will go well.
Also, the thing with Strakk and Mallis. Strakk is an Inquisitor who will do anything in the name of saving the Imperium, even if that means trading a loyal Canoness over to a fucking Haemonculus. By the way, she's dead. Like, totally dead. One of Shepard's closest supporters is vivisected and murdered. Welcome to 40K.
Sorry this chapter took longer to upload. I was in a car accident a few days earlier, and the resulting concussion made doing anything rather difficult. It also made me lose out on a week of work, so that really sucks. And before that, my parents brought home a new puppy, and I've been working very hard to keep him from biting things he shouldn't. Like electrical cords. And feet.
As always, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. I'm trying to finish the next book, but so many things have gotten in the way, so it's delayed once again. As you wait, however, you can find my first book on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon, both as an eBook and physical copy.
If you don't want to buy my book, you can still support me on P-atreon (link in my profile). Every donation helps me get just a little closer to living at my own place, where I can write with fewer distractions.
Speaking of which, I'd like to thank the following patrons for just being awesome:
Serious Muffins: Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225, Zann Nightroad
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Next Chapter: Shepard continues to fight, but another enemy prepares in the shadows…
Only in death do Muffins end.