A/N: Who's ready for some staggering death tolls? I am! :D

Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 29: The Emperor Protects

"His reach? Infinite. His glory? Invincible." - Inquisitor Lord Kairos

Darron primed his hellgun, his hands shaking from the psychic assault he'd suffered a few hours ago. "Damn it," he whispered, attempting to will them into stillness. He'd spent more than half his life in service to the Lady Inquisitor, and he counted himself as one of the most fortunate soldiers in the Imperium. He even had a wife, the same woman who'd caught his eye in basic training thirty-six years ago. Not one day went by where he didn't thank the Emperor for his station. Not one day went by where fear ruled him. He'd fought the warp for his entire life, shielded against its touch by contempt and the simple joys of love and service. But now…

Now he felt fear. Fear that stemmed from an uncomfortable source: his Lady. Sure, the Inquisitor had been intimidating at first, and he resented her at first for spiriting him away from Cadia. He'd come around. They all had, and in short order.

Darron crawled through snowdrifts before, fought in the stillness of space, but neither could compare to the touch of his Lady's mind when she let its powers loose. It was like being swallowed in blizzard, robbed of all thoughts except fear. Fear of death. Fear of the cold. Psykers are a breed he would never understand, but after twenty years of service, the Lady Inquisitor had earned his respect. His loyalty. Seeing her unbound was… it was almost mythical. What roused her to such anger?

Chera was shaking too, blue lips quivering as she slid her helmet on. His kasrkin were preparing for battle. Although they'd be extracted along with the Inquisitor, no precautions were unwarranted.

"You okay, babe?" He asked.

"Y-yeah." She sniffed, shivering under her armor. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm good," he said. By the Emperor, he still felt cold. It made his mind roil, made him feel like a stranger in his own skin. A red woman flickered through his mind, smiling, smiling, smiling. "Emperor," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Third time in the past hour.

"Darron…"

"I'm fine," he snapped, recoiling when he saw the look on his wife's face. I'm sorry.

"Yeah, you better be. Dick," she said, sniffing again.

"I'm… yeah." When they'd faced the perils of the warp, it never felt like this. There'd always been a buffer in place, distanced by a hellgun and years spent reciting litanies of hate. To have such rancor spilling from their Lady…

" Darron, do you see… you know…" she started, looking for the right words. "Are you seeing her?"

"What? She's right there," he replied, jerking his thumb at the Inquisitor's place on the balcony. She hadn't moved in hours. Chera shook her head.

"No. The… the red woman."

"I… yeah." Darron said. His wife touched her shoulder.

"She makes me sad. Who is she? Fuck. My head hurts," Chera said. Darron shook his head, closing her up in a quick embrace.

"Don't think about it. Whoever she is… whatever she is, it can't be a good thing."

"Right. Right. Let's get everyone together."

Darron nodded, activating his hellgun. It gave a low whine, ready to kill. In his opinion, the strangeness started with Trooper Yang Xiao Long. Everything about that woman screamed wrongness. A fair-skinned, violet-eyed woman among ten thousand unlike her in every way. Where they were stocky, she was lean. Where they wore patronymic names with pride, hers was more akin to the names they found in Shao-la.

Yang was no more Woadian than himself. In fact, she looked every inch a Cadian. Josephus, the King, his Lady's rage, and now this Red Woman… it all seemed to stem from this golden-haired Trooper.

The Lady Inquisitor clicked her inferno pistol on, strapping it into her thigh holster with a soft hiss of leather. Before departing, she would extract as many Woadians as possible. She sighed. It was likely that Yang would never speak to her again. A shame, but if she could not face the reality of the Imperium, that was not her concern.

Right now, her mind focused upon the small, unassuming tome tucked away in her duster. It was so precious, Josephus would commit his Silverhearts, a daemon, and difficult spell-weaving to obtain it. But it was not critical enough to be present himself… which meant the book was not his end goal.

She skimmed it again. The book was clean of taint. Why Josephus wanted it was more confounding than his actions. It was not written in any form of gothic, high or low. It had diagrams aplenty, but they were hastily drawn and scribbled. It appeared to be little more than a journal of sorts.

"My Lady? Are we ready to depart?" The voice was Ira's, weary and haggard. She faced him, and found him soaked with blood, the royal red mechanicus robes drinking up heretical ichor. Even without straining her mind, she found frustration and anger poured from within him.

"Ira. Take a breath."

"My La-"

"That's an order, Ira," The Lady Inquisitor demanded. He complied, doing his best to compose himself. "For one birthed from the skitarii, you are uncommonly quick to rile." He nodded, his head bowing and spilling red hair down the front of his battle-fatigued robes.

"My Lady would not have selected me were I among my more… common brethren," he replied.

"Then what troubles you so?" How pathetic that I should ask such a thing in my state.

"Shao-la. I… I obeyed you, my Lady. I sold this city street-by-street, inch by bloody inch. Leaving it… abandoning it sours my stomach."

"As it should," she said, stalking past him and gesturing her retinue to follow. "But never let the bigger picture escape you. Carry the burden in your mind, and exact your vengeance the next time you are able." The crash of cannon accentuated her point. Leaving the armor would be a blow to her forces, but a necessary one.

"Forgive me my Lady, but after awhile…"

"Yes. It's more difficult than you could possibly comprehend." Behind her, Chera rubbed her temples. "But remember…"

"I am not like my brethren," he answered. She nodded. As they descended the endless steps, a thought struck her.

"How is your binary?"

"The language of the Mechanicus does not come as easily to me as it does the techpriests. I lack the modifications necessary to speak it well." He stopped, considering. "I rejected many of the implants... suggested to me."

"I am aware, Ira. But can you interpret it?" She asked. He nodded, his frustration replaced with confusion. To answer him, she gave him the red book. "Does this make any sense to you?" He parsed the pages, his face scrunched up as his subroutines compiled an answer.

"No. But I recognize it." He grinned, curiosity pushing away his fatigue. "This is an outdated form of coded binary. It… it's hard to explain in terms of spoken language." He flipped a page over, studying it. Pointing to a string of digits and illegible scrawlings, his tongue ran over his lips. "One could say it's like reading High Gothic for the first time after only reading Low."

"And Magos Tyrham?" The Lady Inquisitor said. Even in defeat, a glimmer of hope shone through.

"My Lady, I guarantee that he could make sense of this," Ira replied, realizing the same thing. "Although… why this book? How did you come across it?" The Lady Inquisitor scowled, recalling the fallen King.

"It matters not. I know that Josephus sought it, so we must do everything in our power to deny him his prize. Now that we possess it, we can only hope his plans languish." The Inquisitorial retinue emerged from the keep. Screams, shouts, and the roaring chorus of war sounded below them. Around them, the Citadel grounds were packed with refugees, wounded Woadians, and waist-high piles of broken bodies. She ignored the smell. It was one she had grown accustomed to years ago.

Retrieving the thin red book from Ira, she returned it to its place in her duster. Either through some laughing cosmic coincidence or by the will of the Emperor, the forge-world of Uriel beckoned her once more. As the lights of landing craft spilled out from between the red moons of Ranshu, she went to her duty.

Myrtenaster awaited her.

The Citadel of Totha's Radiance stood against wave after wave of heretics, weathering their assaults as a rock weathers the storm. Yang ducked as Our Lady's Fist bellowed, throwing her hands over her ears. The cannon round soared over her head, a pitched whistle that grew into a throaty roar as it ripped past her.

"Ng!" Mael shouted. "Ng, ng!"

"I hear ya buddy," Yang said, drawing her power sword. They continued wading through the crowd, trying to find First Company. Cries in Ranshan echoed across the streets, a constant swell of panicked screaming. It was madness.

A heretic war-horn sounded, followed by demented war-cries. Thousands of Yǒng-lo surged forward, hurling themselves onto a phalanx of spears. They died in droves, snarls on their green and twisted lips. The loyalists recoiled against the weight of the assault, pushed back by the tide of muscle and armor. Yang shuddered at the sight. They were so willing to throw their lives away, and in such a brutal and careless manner.

Woadians poured lasbolts on the clogged pack of warriors, burying red lances of light into the swelling crowd from the tops of buildings and scaffolding. It wasn't enough. Mael's brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his milky hair.

"She'll be okay," Yang said, feeling like she was lying through her teeth. "Hey!" She cried, pulling aside a wounded member of Second Company. "Where's Captain Lyrasson? First Company?" The man looked at her blankly, blood soaking through the bandages wrapped around his head. "First Company?" She repeated, to no effect. He kept walking, one among many others. A voice rang out above the clamor.

"Looking for us, Trooper?"

Yang spun to find Jorvis staring at her with his metal eye. His arm was bound in a sling, and a medic stood at his side. He waved her over, grimacing.

"Sarge!" As they neared, they found the rest of Squad F restocking as best they could behind a set of paltry sandbags.

"Mind tellin' me where the fuck you've been?" He growled. Ros gave a whoop of glee when she saw Yang, barreling forward to embrace her in a crushing hug.

"Ros… Ros!" Yang shouted, pushing her away. She coughed blood again, smearing the front of her charred-black flak armor with streaks of red. "Watch the ribs Ros," she said, trying to grin.

"Oh Emperor! I'm sorry, Yang!"

"You're fine! I'll live. Look who I found skulking around," she said, clapping Mael on the back. Her comrades gave a roar of approval as the wounded man rejoined them. He gave them all a sheepish smile. Wincing, Yang turned to her sergeant. "Hey Sarge, mind if I borrow your medic for a bit?"

He acquiesced, waving the man away from his arm. Yang pulled her tunic away from her side, revealing a flank that was completely swollen, colored a pounding, blackened purple.

"Holy Terra." Caolin whispered.

"I'll be fine." Yang said. She grimaced as the medic stuck a needle into her neck. A warm sensation flowed through her, damming up the flood of pain that pulsed from her ribs. She sighed in relief, leaning against the stretch of sandbags. "Oh shit, almost forgot! Check this out!" Spinning around, she displayed the traitor's helmet, earning her a few shocked gasps that she drank like fine wine.

"Is that…?" Caolin asked, his hand resting on the grit-stained blue of the sneering helm.

"Damn skippy, son," Yang replied with a grin. Painkillers are nice. "I had to ask reallllllly nice for it." She wiped a bit of cracking blue blood off Ember Celica. Beside her, even the medic stopped rustling through his medical equipment. His eyes were wide open.

"What… what are you?" Ros asked, able to meet neither Yang's gaze nor the helmet's. Throwing an arm around her friend, she drew her into a hug and patted her flak armor.

"I'm a huntress, Ros! Unlike you scrubs, I had a bit of training before I joined the Guard!" Yang laughed, but no one joined her. "C'mon, guys, what's with you?" Taking the twisted helm, she danced it in front of her face, lowering her voice in mockery. "Ah-yup, Captain Fatass coming through, turns out I had to fight Woadians, so I went ahead and died to spare 'em the trouble!" That got a few laughs out of them, and even Ros rolled her eyes.

"We're blessed to have you, Yang," Theni said, his eyes red-stained and weary. Caolin nodded, clapping her on the back. Ros returned her hug too, whispering a teary thank-you into her ear. Yang patted her helmet.

"Anytime, Ros."

"We'll suck each other's dicks later, Gamma," Jorvis spat, leaning on his chainsword as he rose to his feet. "We've got a long ways to go before we're off this rock. Trooper Yang can get her medal later. Right now, we have heretics to worry about." Most of the platoon obeyed, but even the harsh words of their Sergeant couldn't tear their eyes away from her trophy.

Catching her breath, Yang rested against the sandbags, her arm slumping over the helmet like a fashionable armrest. Shao-la was a total shitshow. She'd taken too long to get back to her unit.

"So Ros, what's the plan? How long we holding here?" Yang asked, fearing the answer she knew was coming. Readjusting her helmet, Ros ducked down next to her, the butt of her lasgun planted on the cobblestone.

"Well, First Company made it through okay, but we're to hold this position and 'await further orders'. Most of the regiment is folding back into the Citadel…And no one knows for sure, but I'd bet my ass we're getting extracted." Ember Celica smashed into the road, splintering the cobblestone and startling her comrades.

"Fuck!" Yang cried, the joy of her 'victory lap' extinguished. Extraction meant one thing - Exterminatus. Butchery, she thought, her face twisted up into a cruel snarl. I should have known Weiss would resort to this. Fucking monster.

"We have to," Ros whispered. Looking up at her friend, Yang saw nothing but quiet desperation. Her eyes were dry and red-rimmed, saddled with dark bags. Her red hair was stringy and matted with sweat, spilling out from under her helmet in filthy, matted strands. Although Yang had raised her spirits, she was at the end of her rope. They all were. The word 'coward' crossed her mind before she shook it away.

Yang wanted to scream. Scream in pain, in frustration, at the heretics, scream at the Imperium and this horrible galaxy until the Emperor himself heard her. Glaring at the encroaching battle-lines, she spat a curse onto the stone street instead.

"It's not right," she mumbled. Dragging those poor civilians through the streets, telling herself she was saving them. For what? Clumping them up so Weiss - her friend - could wipe them from existence?

She looked over Squad F. Some were praying, some prepared themselves for duty. Others sat in silence, savoring the comfort of friends and comrades. For a brief, traitorous moment, she realized wanting to stay was selfish. Yang felt disgusted. Used. Dirty. If they stayed behind, it would mean their deaths, victims to her self-aggrandising.

"Yang…" Ros asked, reaching for the shoulder where her glyphs lay. "You okay?" And that's the other thing. Ros. Her promise. Fuck.

"I'm… well... " 'No,' She wanted to say. "Yeah," she said.

"Praise the Emperor." Asgeg whispered. "Look at your armor. What the hell happened back there?" Yang checked the battery on her lasgun, tapping the bottom on the traitor's helmet.

"I killed some traitor marines," she said through gritted teeth. "But what about you guys? Everyone make it back okay?" They didn't answer at first, still shocked by her dismissive attitude. Ros avoided the question, choosing to look out over the battleground instead. "C'mon guys, now I'm worried."

"Well," Jorvis said, a cold smile crawling across his lips, "Commissar Eberil mistook the Corporal's tactical withdrawal for cowardice. Unfortunately, his life was claimed by a... heretic sniper shortly thereafter." Caolin gave the Sergeant a wide grin, who reprimanded him with a sharp blow to his helmet. "Knock that shit off, Trooper."

"Yes sir," he said, gulping.

"Wait, you didn't-" Yang gave a gasp as the medic returned from searching his kit and stuck a cold needle into her flank.

"Easy there, Trooper," he said, pulling the injector's trigger. "You've probably punctured a lung. This is a coagulant, and it'll keep 'em from filling with blood."

"Sounds… sounds good to me." Painkillers surged through her once more, and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Shaking her head, she focused on the battle in front of her, bringing her vision into sharp focus. Her aura pushed against the worst of the drug's effects, keeping her lucid as she stood.

"Hey," the medic protested, "take it easy." Yang waved him off.

"I'll live."

"Sit down, Halvar. She dealt with a squad of traitor marines, I doubt some broken ribs are gonna take her out." Ros said, trying to smile. Her lips wore a hard edge, and her eyes were full of questions.

"Alright, that's the word." Kalla shouted, putting down the vox-receiver. "We're pulling back to the Citadel." A few sighs of relief sounded through Gamma, and they prepared a withdrawal. Yang couldn't blame them, but the taste of bile beat back the dulling swell of medication, turning her stomach.

"Fuck," she said, surveying the battlefield once more. I wasn't sure if she was going to do it, but it looks like I'll have to persuade her. She stood. Even in her state, she'd make Weiss see sense. As for her friends, they would understand. If they fall, it would be protecting innocents, a better death than any guardsman could ask for. And no matter what happens, I won't let them get Ros. We'll see the dawn, even if I have to cut my way through a legion of traitor marines.

An explosion ripped through the loyalists' phalanx, bathing the street in a gout of flame and shredded corpses. The Yǒng-lo burst forward, salivating with rapturous glee that the forest of pikes was felled.

"Fuck!" Yang shouted. Stripped of their formation, packets of resistance were torn apart by the encroaching heretics...literally. Arms, heads and entrails rolled across the streets as wicked blades found purchase amongst the faithful.

"INCOMING!" She bellowed, squeezing off shots into the horde. Any remaining thoughts of abandoned the city left her. Gamma platoon turned on their heels, burying lasbolts into the tsunami of steel that threatened to swallow them. As before, it did nothing. Unconcerned by death, the enemy stormed onwards, crawling over bodies by the score.

"Ros…" Caolin said, throat working. His long-las kicked, melting through two of the warriors. Yang looked over to her red-headed friend. Her first real friend in the galaxy. She opened her mouth to apologize, but nothing came out.

A swarm of howling engines ripped across Shao-la, deafening in their passing. Triumphant, orchestral music boomed from colossal vox-speakers, crushing the panicked screams of the dying underneath the heel of ear-splitting strings.

"What… what's that?" Theni asked, his mouth hanging open. Yang couldn't answer him.

"Praise the Emperor." Ros whispered.

A salvo of fire crashed into the heretics, accompanied by clattering gales of bolter-fire. Rockets fell like rain, each spewing trails of smoke that birthed titanic pillars of flame. A voice filled the night sky, a storm-caller's thunderous roar.

"We are the instruments of His will!" The response was uproarious, and scorching, hate-fuelled condemnations echoed across Shao-la.

"WE ARE HIS WRATH AND CLEANSING FLAME."

"We are the voice of His contempt!"

"LONG MAY IT ECHO ACROSS THE GALAXY."

"We are the herald of His Judgement!"

"AND WITH OUR COMING, THE ARCH-FOE WILL KNOW FEAR."

"MY SISTERS," the first voice boomed, "I...AM... ANGRY!"

Another chorus of explosions sundered the heretics apart, and a squadron of hulking fliers swept low to the ground, trailed by clouds of dust and a furious wind. Yang watched them, stunned into silence by the gut-wrenching force. Wheeling around, they stopped just yards before Gamma platoon.

"Now go!" The vox speakers boomed, "and leave none alive!" Out of the ornamented holds spewed forth a host of women, clad in magnificent armor. Alabaster ceramite plates adorned them all, framed in black robes and holy seals.

They advanced as one, jet-wash buffeting the streets without mercy. Their leader strode forward with confidence and poise. Her silver-black hair framed a brutally scarred and weathered face, her burnt lips curled into an imperious sneer. An enormous chainsword rested against her ancient armor, which held a shining silver halo over her head. She stared down the army of heretics, cowing them under her indomitable will. With a shouted command, her followers surged forward.

Yang could only watch as they flew past, armor whirring with impossible speed. They issued forth a hail of firepower, igniting the streets with a hail of bolter shells and the bellowing of flamers. Tracers danced and whickered along the walls, streaks of holy white light that burst into cleansing fire. Passing the platoon, the largest woman Yang had ever seen stopped briefly to extend a hand to her. Emblazoned on her shoulder was a white rose, scarred from constant battles.

"Come with us, loyal guardsman," she said, the low thrum of her voice tempered with a soft simplicity. Yang met her hand, not realizing she was sitting. "We have work to do." Returning her to her feet, the woman continued onward, bearing aloft a twin-linked heavy bolter. It belched death, spewing out hundreds of rounds from a titanic drum.

"Onwards, Sisters!" The leader bellowed. They began a hymn, one that swelled louder than any Yǒng, one that reached to the moons with its intensity. "The Emperor Protects!"

"THE EMPEROR PROTECTS!" They echoed.

The heretics broke before the weight of reinforcements, scattering into the ruins of Shao-la. Yang tried to join the charge, limping alongside her new comrades. Shouting and rejoicing with glee, weeping Ranshans and joyous Woadians assisted them, ferreting out the Yǒng-lo as they scrambled away in fear.

At the head of it all was the haloed woman, swinging her enormous chainsword around like a child's toy. It tore through the cultists with ease, ripping dozens apart with each mighty swing. None could stand against her. Her scars twisted her lips into a permanent grimace of disgust, and she waded into the breaking enemy lines with a calm, cold fury.

The bulking fliers made another pass, sending up clouds of roiling flame. Each blast killed hundreds, starting fires where the heretic siege engines could not. Snarling, the haloed woman grabbed ahold of a heretic, seizing his leg as he attempted to scramble inside a burning building. She smashed him across the cobblestone, roaring as she did so.

"Suffer the Emperor's wrath!" She cried, a voice that carried over the thousands of screams. Yang stumbled forward, the pain of her wound dulled by drugs and the rush of victory. With a eager hum, her power sword cut through a heretic's shield before cleaving him in two. Around her, Gamma platoon marched forward, their progress unimpeded by the hundreds of twisted corpses below them.

"Onwards, my sisters!" The haloed woman cried, "Cut them down!" They obeyed, unleashing a punishing salvo of bolter fire. Her comrades swarmed forward, outpacing the guardsmen with ease. Infernos issued forth from a crowd of flamers, torching heretics and Shao-la alike.

Corralled and confused by the retreat, thousands of Yǒng-lo died in the span of seconds, bathing in the hurricane of flame and consigning their souls to their twisted masters. Blackened and burnt, their bodies crumbled to ash as the counter-attack stormed forward.

Yang came upon one half-alive heretic, crushing his head against the curb with a stomp of her boot. She ignored the pious, rapturous song that echoed through the collapsing streets. Against all hope, Ranshu would live to see the dawn, and the Inquisitor would be forced to eat her words.

Laughing, her thoughts faded as she fell into the routine of killing.

A/N: Y'ALL FORGOT ABOUT THE SISTERS! Seriously, you guys haven't mentioned them at all, so I was too happy to give them an awesome introduction! :D I really hope you enjoyed this chapter (oh, and if you don't listen to Ride of the Valkyries while you read it, you're doing yourself a great disservice).

Anyway, as always, please let me know what you thought! Your reviews make me so happy! :D

Review Replies:

The Walrus of Eden: I bet you weren't expecting an answer so soon! XD

Dom380: Crises averted!

Rickmer: Hey, thanks for joining me! :D

DanAbnettFan1997: Hey man, that's what makes the story good! (Or at least, I'm hoping it does)

OBSERVER01: I tricked you! :D

Mintskittle: Yup, you nailed it! (About the injury, at least) Looks like Weiss dodged a big bullet there.

DoomLich: Uriel awaits!

Darkerpaths: Yeah, it's a side effect of things needing to happen at certain times. Hopefully it didn't grate too badly!

Sigurd: I mean... it'd probably work. XD

Gafgar: Cryp? I'm sorry, you've lost me.

Kiyoushu: Whew, dodged that bullet. ;)

LegionOfMisfits: Hehe! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much. It's people like you that keep this story going!

reality deviant: Yup!

Draconic Kaiser: Thank the Emprah for the Sisters then, huh?

FictionFolly: It's usually the case... mostly because fighting zealous cultists gets boring after awhile.

Arden Arwin Asha: We can only pray!

Mzingalwa: Holy shit, thanks so much for your wonderful review! Reading things like this always makes me happy! Especially since you say you're unfamiliar with Warhammer 40k, as it means I'm doing a decent job with easing you into the lore.

huCAST 75 madeanaccount: WELL HERE IT IS, BOYO! :D

You guys are the best! I mean that! :D