Book 2: Corruption's End
Chapter 25: Paint it Black
"White is cold and always yearning, riven by a long lost grief." - The Red Woman
Panic seized ahold of the defenders as the cry went up. Returning to his command post behind the gates of Shao-la, Ira was swept up in the throes of despair. He could feel it too, the mind-rending pain that set his teeth on edge and swallowed up his runtimes in a deluge of sickening wrongness. On the wall above him, Third Company was fleeing. The conscious ones, at least. Some black-armored forms spilled over the ramparts, screaming as they hurtled down from their posts to burst apart on the street below.
The locals fared no better, their hymns no longer of use or comfort. A daemon stood outside of Shao-la, and Ira could feel its coming.
Every step it took shook his augmentics in their place, and sent rivulets of blood leaking from the sockets of his eyes. His lady's glyphs on his chest burnt as they never did before. Were the pain receptors under his skin not dulled, he was sure he would be in hysterics, slapping at imaginary flames and tearing away his robes.
The kasrkin fared worse, as a few had fallen to their knees from the sheer agony. Ira leaned against his power sword, helping them to his feet with shaking metallic hands.
"Stand strong." He said. "We must. For Our Lady, if nothing else." They nodded. Arden vomited, spilling half-digested amino slurry over the floor.
The bolt guns of the commissariat barked, to no avail. The political officers could not hope to stem the primal fear that swept through the defenders. Many even begged for the blessing of a bolt shell between their eyes.
It was a rout. Ira hadn't seen one since his final few days as a skitarii of the Mechanicum, but he knew the signs. Even the Elodians fled before the unseen beast, crushing buildings and the slower civilians under their uncaring tracks. A swarm of fleeing soldiery approached him, but they would go no further.
"ENOUGH!" Ira bellowed through an augmented vox-caster. Pain lanced through his head as he shouted his command. His pastiche body was betraying him. "NO FURTHER!" He cried again. Somehow, miraculously, the shock of his voice echoing down the streets pierced through the primal fear that had nested within the tide of soldiers before him. Now, the hours his Lady made him stand in front of a mirror and recite speeches didn't seem so ridiculous.
"The Lady Inquisitor has placed our faith in us, her trusted few!" He bellowed.
A brutal pounding, and the ringing of adamantium. The unseen daemon roared its frustration as it tried to batter down the gate. Its cry of rage sent another ripple of fear through the defenders. Ira wanted to flee. Death was coming for them all, and it came from the warp. But he found his boots rooted in the ground. Damn her, he thought, his mind flicking to his Lady. Damn her for giving me this responsibility.
"No more!" He shouted. "Stand firm! To flee is to abandon your lives... to abandon the Emperor!" That grabbed them, and a few of the Ranshan soldiers slowed their retreat. "Yes!" He continued, pointing at the gate that shuddered under the daemon's assault. "The Emperor has put you here for a purpose! Men of Shao-la!" He cried, praying to the Omnissiah he didn't sound as scared as he felt. "Stand firm! Guard your homes and families! It is your duty! Your Len-wu! Cry out in song and slaughter the invaders!"
They were silent before a single lowly spearman hefted his spear, raising its point to meet the first star that shone in the sky. "We stand!" He screamed in broken gothic. His spear slammed against the road. "Stand!" He cried again, even as blood coursed from his nostrils. The spears rang, and a chant broke out among the soldiers.
"STAND. STAND. STAND."
"Men of Woadia!" Ira screamed, pointing at the panicked agri-worlders. "Our Lady has chosen you as her guard! Her voice is the Emperor's, and with it, she called you to her side! Will you run now?" A cry of wrenching metal sung out as the gate suffered another blow. "Is now the hour you abandon the Emperor? Is now the hour you abandon those who welcomed you as saviors?" He cried, gesturing out over Shao-la. "No, I say! Àuh!" The cry went up along the cramped roads.
"Àuh! Àuh!"
"Stand strong in the face of the arch-foe! This is your truest test! For Shao-la! For Woadia! For Our Lady, and for the Emperor!" He finished, thrusting his power sword to the sky. He activated it, and the blue sparks of energy sent a cry of hope through the defenders. He sucked in a deep breath, panting through the hammering agony that pounded in his head and set his chest into a heaving, roiling inferno. Tears spilled from his sockets, but they were no longer red metal. They were salt and brine, tears of gratitude and effort. These men were ready to face a fate worse than death with him. They were doomed men walking, all by his command. Lieutenant Varo emerged from the Spirit, flecks of blood wiped across his face.
"My Lord?" He asked, with a desperate, tear-stained chuckle. Their earlier clash lie forgotten. Right. Sell this city dearly. Time to give orders.
"I want every tank pointed at that gate. As soon as it breaks, I want you to open fire! Hurry!" The Eloadian saluted, snatching up his vox caster as he dove into the bowels of his tank.
"Colonel!" Ira barked. Longinus had pissed himself.
"My Lord?" He asked, hands behind his back, standing at perfect attention while the wet stain in his pants spread.
"I want a fighting retreat back to the Citadel, hear me? I want lasguns waiting behind every street corner!" The acolyte said, pointing at the road that led to the Citadel of Totha's Radiance, where their Lady searched below. "Round up as many civilians as you can, and take them with you." Longinus saluted, but Ira didn't bother to acknowledge it. A tide of flaming boulders hurtled through the air, crashing into Shao-la with throaty, hateful howls. Plumes of fire shot into the sky as buildings by the dozens crumbled under the sudden assault. A swell of screaming and anguished wails filled the city, filled it to bursting. Turning to the local Captain-of-the-Guard Dao, Ira saw raw, unfiltered hatred.
"My Lord?" He asked in his clipped, Ranshan bark.
"Hold the entrance, Captain. After the tanks deal with whatever is behind that gate, you need to stop the first wave. Buy time." The look in Dao's eye said it all. It was a death sentence, and he knew it. Another gut-wrenching squeal of metal, and the gate bent inwards. The hinges buckled and snapped. Soon.
"My Len-wu." Dao said, his eyes weeping tears of pride. "What a hideous way to die." He marched away, donning his brass helmet. "What a glorious way to die." He barked an order, and a company of Shao-la's finest packed the street with spears, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their shields glistened in the fires that spread across the city.
Ira turned to face the flagging gate. By the Grace of the Omnissiah, by the Grace of the Emperor, he'd been given more time than he had ever thought to receive. But the truest test awaited. And he could smell it from here. The daemon's scent transcended petty words like 'foul' and 'vomitous'. It was the sugar-rot smell of corpses, magnified beyond mortal limits and so thick that Ira could taste it on his tongue.
The gates broke, and the daemon shouldered aside the sundered gate. When it poured itself into the red glow of Ranshu's twin moons, Ira prayed to the Omnissiah that it would have stayed hidden forever.
The daemon was not some warp-spawned horror covered in fangs, nor even a single continuous being. It was a six-story titan, built from the countless dead that lay outside the walls of Shao-la, all wrought into a vaguely humanoid shape. Each limb was an amorphous mass of writhing corpses, each one rotted and reeking with decay. And its eyes. Two soldiers' stomachs had been stretched open, and where their ribcages were once full of corrupted lungs, two pupil-less yellow orbs replaced them, glistening in the moonlight.
Fear filled Ira. It was a real, primal fear, an alien concept to a mind molded with metal and wires. The daemon exuded wrongness, in every fiber of its repugnant form. But there was more than fear. There was hate. Hate so blinding and powerful it sent waves of relief pulsing through him.
He would do Lady proud. Leaving Uriel, Magos Tyrham's service, and the Mechanicum would not be in vain. He relished in the hatred he felt towards this beast. While many of his soldiers broke and fled despite their earlier encouragement, he grinned. This is my prey!
The daemon's mouth unhinged, bodies that fell apart in order to make a jaw-like simulacrum. It roared, filling the city with its horrid, gurgling cry. The sound crushed his soul into a puddle, pushing his heart into his stomach. Cowardice threatened to swallow his mind.
"FIRE!" He screamed into the microbead. Eight tanks erupted, a brutal, earth-shaking salvo of cannon fire. Each shell tore into the daemon, scattering the bodies it used to compose itself, pulverizing them under the weight of their firepower. Green gore and ichor-slime exploded from the beast, painting the walls behind it. When the smoke cleared, the beast was barely standing, its bodies perforated and torn.
A parched and ragged cheer went up from the bravest of the defenders who held their posts. The Sweet Sonjja fired its turbolasers, and two beams of cleansing crimson light sank into the beast, where they charred it black.
"RELOAD! RELOAD!" Ira shouted, his hand strangling the hilt of his power sword while the other gestured wildly. The beast tried to reform itself, its many bodies crawling and squirming as they piled together. It never got the chance. All nine tanks fired again, sundering the beast apart in a flash of thunderous fury. Bodies disintegrated as they suffering the unbearable weight of the barrage. The daemon was little more than a hundred cohesive parts when the roar of a Valkyrie pierced the air.
"This is for my leg, you son of a bitch!" Chung bellowed from his craft's loudspeakers, bathing the gate's entrance with a brace of incendiary missiles. Great roiling infernos burst into existence, their birth-screams drowning out the daemon's dying. A wash of heat slammed into Ira, and it felt as though his face was set aflame. More flames on the pyre that was Shao-la.
The weight that set upon his soul lessened, replaced by an exhausted hollowness. He knew the daemon was banished, vanquished by the Eloadians and Chung's missiles. His comrades were more effective than he had dared to hope. A new lesson to log for today: superior firepower wins everytime. Even against the worst the warp has to offer. Although 'worst' was over-selling the beast. It was no Great Unclean One that breached the gates of Shao-la. His smile was short-lived, as the sound of war horns filled the smoky air. The daemon had split the proud gate of Shao-la wide open, and shattered the gatehouse around it. The city walls now wore a gaping wound.
"Woadians," he said, snapping on his vox, "Fall back to the secondary line of defense! Provide covering fire!" They did as he ordered, scrambling over the timber battlements they'd spent hours constructing. True to their training and warrior heritage, they made an orderly withdrawal, each squad taking it in turn to pour lasbolts into the encroaching tide of heretics. "Captain Dao!" Ira bellowed, preparing his next order. He screamed it, but it was lost in the chant that rose from the warriors of Shao-la, swallowed by a soldier's Yǒng. As one, their shields clasped over each other, and a forest of spears fell level, ready to meet the enemy.
"My Lord!" Colonel von Israfel screamed, pulling at his red robes. "We need to fall back!" Ira did not move. He would witness the clash. To do otherwise would dishonor Dao and his men. The march of time grew still as the heretic army dove forward, howling mad war-cries. Von Israfel said something else, but Ira didn't hear it.
The song of metal piercing flesh flooded the streets of the burning city, as thousands of heretics fell upon a mere five hundred loyalists. There was little room to maneuver, and the press of the enemy's advance forced their comrades upon the Shao-la spears. Hundreds died in seconds, the guard's arms pumping as they drove their spears into the invaders. Pained screams accompanied the Ranshan song as the heretics threw their lives away, throwing themselves upon the wall of spears as they emerged from the flames.
A grenade fell among the loyalists, ripping a cruel, gaping hole in their phalanx. They did not falter as the heretics pressed them, rushing forward with maddened glee. Lasguns barked out, boiling flesh and chain-link armor away.
"Forgive me, my Lord," the Colonel mumbled, before ordering his commissar to bundle Ira away. He did not resist the larger man, and only a whispered apology fell from his lips as he watched Captain Dao and his men face their deaths with cold contempt.
The king tried to rouse himself, groaning in pain as he did so. "I am sorry my Lady, but I tell you no lies." A mental scan confirmed his strained words. The boy had not yet recovered from his surgery, and linen bandages covered his torso. No blood soaked the bandages, which was a good sign. He is recovering admirably, though it is unfortunate he cannot yet lead his troops. His presence on the battlefield would do wonders for Ranshan morale. Alas, he was stuck here with his nurses and his personal guard.
"Very well then." She replied. She had inquired if the boy-king had suffered any losses to his command staff or similarly valuable personnel. Besides suffering a bullet to his gut, the King and his ministers had suffered no losses. Shuryan, the Seneschal of Shao-la, was in perfect health as well, preparing the defenses of the Citadel should the main gate fall.
How the heretic marksman could consider his mission complete puzzled her. It did not bode well, that much was assured. However, she thought, eyes narrowing, the Regent was executed a few days ago, dying a corrupted traitor.
"Your Regent… he was in good health when he approached the Executioner's block?" The Boy-King nodded.
"As much as one can be when so foul of heart," he said as he coughed into his hand.
"Very well. I must return to the Archives. Magister Kung, would you please accompany me? There are things I must know." The blue-robed magistrate nodded, shuffling forward as his lower lip quivered in fear. Once the Lady Inquisitor and her guard left the King's chambers, she dragged the soft man into a stone alcove.
He spluttered and whimpered, his hands struggling feebly against the death-grip of her gauntlet. "M-m-m-my Lady, please!"
"The Regent! Where is his body?"
"B-b-burnt, my Lady! Minutes after he died!" He blubbered, trying to stow himself away in the furthest corner of his alcove. Outside stood her kasrkin, masked and impassive.
"His quarters, then!" She demanded, shaking the man until he bit his tongue. Blood filled his mouth, spilling onto his silk robes.
"D-d-down the hall!" He said, pointing frantically. "His Radiance has forbidden anyone to enter it for fear of corruption!"
"Do such restrictions apply to me?" She said, her voice like tundra wind.
"Of… of course not, my Lady."
"I thought so. Now, direct me to the Regent's quarters. Immediately." A painful gnawing had settled in her gut, a bilious ache that reeked of danger. The magistrate scrambled away the instant she loosened her grip, bowing and apologizing profusely as he led her down the soaring halls.
"Did he deserve such a rough treatment, my Lady?" Darron asked. "He has served us well." The Lady Inquisitor regarded him for a moment as they followed the court official.
"My witches' sight is clouded and roiling. I feel as though we are pressed for time, and a man such as him will delay us if he means to or not." Her kasrkin exchanged a glance before unslinging their hellguns. They had learned over many investigations that such utterances always yielded danger.
"My Lady." Kung said, bowing low before a heavy oaken door. It had been sealed off, holy candles burned at its side while prayer-sheets and seals of corded wood bared it shut. She tore through the pitiful barrier with a single stroke of her sword.
"What was his relation to the King?" She asked, stepping into the room. As her guard swept their flashlights through the chambers, she found that they were vast and spacious. Certainly fit for a man of his stature.
"He was His Radiance's oldest uncle. His young daughter is the wife of Seneschal Shuryan." The magister answered, head bowed low. A trail of blood left his lips, spilling onto the clean-swept and elegant carpet that adorned the floor.
As her eyes adjusted, the room came into sharp relief. It was strewn with papers and broken furniture. The place had been ransacked. As it should have been.
"Search the room." She ordered her kasrkin. She pulled at the drawer of a dark-wooded desk, finding nothing but fine clothes within. She sent a psychic probe through the chambers, and silence was her answer. Odd. The lingering scent of corruption is absent. Her hands ran along the edge of the walls, searching for any hidden secrets. "Was anything taken from here?" She asked the magistrate.
"No, my Lady. His Radiance was fearful his corruption would spread." She nodded. A prudent precaution. She continued her sweep of the room. It was better than drowning herself in vellum and ink. She tore the four-poster bed apart, finding nothing but clean wrinkled sheets. Ripping the carpet from the floor she found nothing hiding beneath but more cold stone.
She looked once more through the room before facing her own reflection, a colossal image. The mirror that bore it was heavy and gilded, a luxury of royalty. It remained fixed to the wall. Stooping she picked up a torn tapestry. It had been pulled from the walls, while the mirror remained attached.
A slow grin spread across her face. Striding forward, her hands caressed the mirror's frame, searching for a hidden device. It was subtle, and were she not blessed with many decades of investigative experience, the opening mechanism would have been impossible to locate. It was a small lock, no larger than the head of a pin. A device well beyond the planetary locksmiths.
"Malik, prick your finger." She said. He obeyed without question or hesitation, poking his index finger on the top of a long war-knife. Blood welled about the miniscule wound. Grasping his wrist, she pressed the wound into the lock, squeezing the pad of his finger as she did so.
Opening a connection to the warp, she let loose a hissed breath The blood froze in place, more solid than iron. It fit the mechanism without effort, and with a twist of her mind, the mirror gave a ragged mechanical gasp. Prying it open, she prepared herself for a trap or some other nefarious device.
There was nothing within the stash but a few sacks of local currency, wrought in thick, clean gold and crowned with a thick moleskin-bound journal. She searched the neat corners of the hidden space as a precaution. Again, nothing.
"My Lady," Chera said, stepping forward. The Lady Inquisitor waved her away, choosing to snatch the journal herself. It came without resistance. No markings decorated the cover, no mind-bending symbols or foul prayers.
Leafing through the first few pages, she discovered it was a journal, an account of the Citadel's most interesting events, with colorful acerbic commentary in high gothic, written by the Regent himself, if the signature at the end of each entry was to be believed. The standard petty provincial disputes infected his writings. Grief at the previous king's passing. Jealousy at being passed over for his deceased brother's small child. A foiled plot to murder him.
'Damnation!' Read one of the pages in the center of the book. 'Failure again! The child is more nimble than he lets on.' She skimmed through the pages again, scouring it for the typical signs of corruption. Contacting a cult here, a forbidden tome there. But no such entry filled a page. Horror began to gnaw at her heart.
"No." She whispered.
Faster and faster, the pages flew through her hands.
'Once more, he remains unscathed. Talented little bastard.' Said one entry. 'I find myself unable to summon my usual allies. They have grown weary and frustrated. As have I.' Said another. Faster the pages turned, hundreds of leaflets flicking through her hands in seconds. 'I cannot deny the facts any longer. My nephew is supremely talented. More so than I could have ever imagined. The people cheer for him.' She was nearing the end. 'I was blinded by greed. He is Emperor-sent. I look back at my earlier entries with the utmost shame. Long live King Han-sho!'
Six pages left.
'Traitors! Our neighbors have fallen to heretics, and each man, woman, and child has taken up arms to besiege our city. I have sent birds to our allies, but no response is forthcoming. I fear the worst.'
Five pages left.
This one was spattered with blood. 'Today's entry will be short. I am weary after sallying forth with my nephew. We cut a great swathe through the enemy, our lips spilling forth our favorite battle-yǒng. I am proud to have fought at his side.'
Four pages left.
'Praise be! Praise be to the Emperor! We received word that an Inquisitor will arrive here shortly! My nephew and I will perform the customary Archival Inspection shortly after our raid tomorrow.'
Three pages left.
The writing, which had been structured and neat, was now haggard and scribbled. The print of a desperate man. 'This is my last entry before I hide away this damning book. My nephew was struck when we sallied forth, and has… fallen to ruin. Any sane man would be in agony from the wound, but no screams of pain escaped him. His lips were flecked with froth, his demands strange and unreasonable. Despite his wound, he demanded we perform the Inspection. He marched with purpose and conviction down the hallways, even as his flank wept with blood. I knew then that the wound he suffered was more dire than I could have ever imagined. My nephew stormed through the voluminous archives, demanding to find a certain tome. When his fingers clenched around it, he began chanting in tongues unknown to man. He ensorcelled blue flames that pulsed with every foul word.'
Two pages left.
'The wound he suffered was touched with the warp. When his chant was finished, he turned to me with the most hideous smile I have ever seen. He spoke to me in a voice that was not his own. 'My thanks to you,' he said, words that haunt me more than the infernal chanting. I tore the book from his hands, causing my nephew to go limp. The guards came running, shouting and cursing. I ran. It sealed my fate, but I ran, bundling that eldritch tome in my arms. I sealed the archives behind me, granting me enough time to leave this for you, Inquisitor. I pray to the Emperor you find it.'
Fingers trembling, the Lady Inquisitor turned to the final page.
'Though I dare not open it, I leave my nephew's last book with you, in the hopes you might glean whatever that Voice desired from it. The guards are here now, battering at my door. He's turned them against me. Please, for the love of the Emperor, kill him and end his suffer-' The writing stopped.
Looking up, she found the tome, nestled underneath a sack of gold. It was bound in red, its borders ancient and baroque. Its cover was blank. She tore it open, and found nothing within its pages but gibberish. It looked like a code of some sort, but it was impossible to tell. She tucked the book away in her duster, spinning on her heel.
When she first encountered the King and scanned his mind, it was unblemished. She now knew that to be a lie, a spell cast on the round that buried itself in the King's stomach. Placed by Josephus' sniper, no doubt. How had he seemed so much like Ruby?
She stopped.
Ruby.
He reminded her of Ruby. The image was no mistake. No accident. It was conjured, either from within her mind when she linked their thoughts, or... A dagger of fear plunged itself into her heart, plunging into her the first real fear she'd felt in decades.
Or the Arch-foe knew of Ruby.
The ceramite of her knees clashed against the stone floor as the realization coursed through her. "My Lady!" Chera cried, coming to her side. The Lady Inquisitor ignored her as a blinding hate and a red fury consumed her.
When she stood the temperature plummeted, hoarfrost etching itself into the floor and filling each wall and crevice with warp-frost. Bladed ice protruded from her feet, swirling around her in a torrent of frigid rage. Her kasrkin cried out in pain, clutching at their chests as every source of heat was ripped from them. Only their carapace armor kept them alive. Magister Kung died, frozen in place.
The Lady Inquisitor stood.
"My… my Lady." Darron whispered, flecks of spit freezing as they left his mask. She did not hear him. His breaths came ragged and shallow, pushing great clouds of steam around his helmet. She lashed out at Kung as she stormed out of the Regent's chambers, shattering him into pieces.
Her face was drawn into a rictus of fury, and her teeth ground together as her eyes glowed a pale, pale blue. Each step was a deafening avalanche. The halls of the Citadel shook as she passed, the tapestries freezing in place, and snowflake-glyphs the size of battle tanks surrounded each footstep. Ice filled every corner of the hall, and a blizzard brewed in the rafters, its winds howling a furious, soul-rending gale.
The doors to the King's chamber burst apart from the sheer force of her mind, filling the room with oaken splinters. The nurses screamed, fleeing to the farthest corner. The King's guard formed a paltry phalanx before him. One look from the Lady Inquisitor was all it took.
They turned inside out, vomiting up their stomachs as the warp denied them their very existence. Muscle and sinew exploded from every orifice, and their skin peeled back to expose the flesh below. They froze like that, twisted into grotesque statues of unbearable agony.
The King laughed, the maddened cackle of a man possessed.
"Hello, my Lady." He said in a voice that was not his own. Her reply was silence, a frigid fury that left her shaking. "You seem angry." The King's lips split apart into strings of sinew, fangs shooting out from his bloodied lips as his jaw unhinged. He made a horrific bow as his limbs contorted, bones snapping as a puppeteer's hands forced them into impossible positions. "I do so enjoy seeing you flustered."
Roaring, she stampeded forward, power sword screaming. The former boy-king launched himself at her, but was beheaded in a single stroke. The foul presence vanished as the broken form slid across the floor. Ragged, gasping breaths filled her lungs as salt rivers froze themselves to her face.
The Lady Inquisitor screamed, unleashing her inferno pistol on the corpse. By the time it was spent, the floor was crumbling, blackened and melting away from the heat.
Only the King's head remained, twisted and corrupt. She screamed again, her breath frosting around her. That Ruby had appeared in the mind of the arch-foe defiled Her beyond words, beyond actions, beyond any capabilities she could express. She'd been out-manoeuvred once again, and a single remnider of her red-headed goddess had blinded her. Shame and guilt and rage and longing filled the king's chambers, torn from a ragged throat.
Panting, she turned to leave, and found her kasrkin waiting for her. They were horrified. The astonishment on their faces when they saw the King's chambers tore her from her rage, anchoring her in reality. Warp-frost ebbed away from the walls, dripping into scant puddles that studded the corpse-filled room.
"My Lady… wh-what. What happened?" Chera managed, tears on her face thawing. Darron was carrying her, and while his arms did not buckle from the strain, he buried kiss after kiss into his wife's shorn scalp.
"My Lady, I…" Malik said, before words failed him. She had no answer for them, no explanation.
"There is nothing I can say to you." Never before had they seen her like this, never so vulnerable. Never so powerful. "The King was possessed." Her fingers ran through the silky black hair of the king's corrupted head as she displayed it to her guard. Chera stood, just in time to vomit onto the ice-choked floor. Darron's hands swallowed his face.
"I had… I had my hands in him," he said. "Oh Emperor. I saved him. He was… Oh Emperor. I had no idea. Oh Emperor." Chera returned his embrace, stroking his back as he wept into her shoulder. Humanity's finest… what have I done to them? They've seen this sort of thing before, but only now do they weep. Her warp-fuelled rage reduced them to this, the full measure of her grief and pain spilling from her mind in cloying waves. The shame at letting her emotions run loose threatened to drown her. She tried to stem the constant flow of power, but her rage was too tall a barrier.
Her microbead crackled, and she found the sinister presence that sat on her witches' sight had vanished.
My Lady," Ira said, the words strained by static and distance. "The gate has fallen."
Sheathing her sword, she left the shattered chambers. "We have work to do. Let us go." She said, trying to ignore the rank fear that spilled from the minds of her trusted few.
A/N: So I saw a lot of people were getting excited for Yang to fight the daemon... sorry that wasn't the case. Rest assured though, corpse-breath won't be the last daemon to appear in the story! :D
Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Review Replies:
Magisking: Glad you enjoyed it!
Dom380: Never doubt superior firepower. XD
DanAbnettFan1997: Ehehehe... sorry...
SomeDude: That would have been pretty boss, now that I think about it.
Nemris: Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
The Walrus of Eden: Yeah... about that... hopefully the sheer level of "MURICA" leveled at the daemon made up for it in some small way.
OBSERVER01: You'll know, but not until it's too late...
Heitomos: While I love TTS, it wasn't a reference... or at least, one I wasn't aware I was making. Also, glad you're enjoying the fic!
snoogenz: I mean... daemons are daemons, dude! However, I really liked the design of this one.
SixPerfections: Not quite! But if you think there's no more awesomeness to come, you're sadly mistaken! :D
ThePyromaniac: XD
SkepsisForever: Hope it satisfied!
Gafgar: How does ten tanks sound? XD
Dayanne Rockstar: Ehehe...
Mintskittle: Ooh, you called it! Also, YAAAAAAAAS! I love your little scribefic. I was grinning like a maniac when I saw it. :)
Draconic Kaiser: Oh wow, you're making me blush! I'm glad to have you on board! Hope this chapter satisfied!
doorp: Well, she lucked out on that front, at least.
RED Roman Pyro: Not so orky... but still!
Legion of Misfits: Sorry dude. I hope whenever you get to read this, it still kicks ass!
Redcollecter: Well, there's always future chapters...
HampsterPig: I would certainly hope not!
PFCDontKnow: Hope you enjoyed yourself!
Can't wait until next time! And be sure to drop a review, I love to hear from you guys! :D