A/N: Updates will probably continue to be bi-weekly, at this rate... Sorry everyone! Hope you enjoy regardless. :3
Book Two: Corruption's End
Chapter 46: We'll Go Places
"It is no small thing, to bare one's soul to another." - Opening line of 'An Account of the Forty-Second Millennium'.
Yang watched Amat eat the food she'd so generously provided, her smirk widening with each passing second. It wasn't everyday you got to watch someone experience solid food for the first time in their life. He started out hesitant and wary, teaching himself how to chew. Then, his eyes widened, and the fries disappeared one after another, with ever-increasing speed.
When he finished, he looked at her. Leaning back as far as she could without incurring pain, Yang sighed in smug satisfaction.
"Oh that's weird… I was right about something. Crazy, that," she crooned.
Amat's lips widened in a pleasingly roguish half-smile. "Still as arrogant as ever," he said. "But, yes. Quite surprising. It's… very different."
Yang finished the last of her food, preening all the while. "Stick around, assassin-man," she said.
"I plan to," he said. "It's my job, after all." He paused, inspecting the final slice of potato that she'd given him. "She told me of Remnant, you know."
"W-The Lady Inquisitor?" Yang asked, incredulous. Did Weiss actually tell Amat about their homeworld? "Hey, Prexius," she said, turning to the Magos. "Time for you to go bye-bye." The worm-lady burbled something unintelligible before reluctantly scurrying away. "Weiss told you about Remnant?" She asked Amat again.
The assassin nodded, and Yang couldn't help but notice a certain enthusiasm to the curt motion. He liked what he heard, she realized. The thought was warming. Heart-wrenching.
"Much more than that," Amat said, his eyes flicking over to Prexius' retreating carapace. "She showed me. I saw everything." He smiled, brightening like stadium floodlights, and the Magos' lab seemed a little less oppressive. "Vale, Forever Fall, Atlas… your sister... She was incredible. You all were. Blessed Emperor," he breathed.
Yang smiled, but she couldn't bear Amat seeing the tears that flowed into it. She pulled him close, trying not to sob into his shoulder. I'm stronger than this.
But not when it comes to Ruby, another part of her said.
"I'm sorry," she said, whispering. "Seeing someone… like you… seeing you so excited about Remnant, it's just… it's hard, okay?"
Amat said nothing, stunned by the bandage-clad woman pressed against him. "I… I'm sorry," he tried. "This is… very unfamiliar. What am I supposed to do?"
A watery chuckle. "Just hold me or something, dummy," Yang said. "Hell, anything'll work. I'm pretty shit at this kind of thing too."
He obeyed, pressing her head into his shoulder, his fingers sifting through her mass of golden hair.
"Is this okay?" He asked.
"Yeah," Yang said, surprised by her answer. This was uncharted territory for both of them. "It's not your fault, promise." Breathing deep, she centered herself, let herself bask in the warmth of her aura. As always, the crackling power afforded by her connection to the warp swelled her soul to monstrous levels, but she clamped down on its excesses, withering it to a hearth-fire that warmed her heart and dried her tears.
They separated.
"Sorry buddy," she said. "In case you haven't figured it out, it's tough talking about my sister."
Amat grimaced, a shudder shaking his broad shoulders. "Weiss… my Lady suffered as well, but coped in a different way."
"You could say that," Yang said, frowning. "What did she show you… about me?"
"Nothing too incriminating," Amat assured her, his brow furrowing as he sorted through his thoughts. "Not that I could see."
"Alright. To be honest," she paused, face contorting. "...I don't remember much of it myself… what happened after my sister died, I mean. I didn't reach out to anyone. Tried my best not to think of her. Of anything. It wasn't healthy. At all."
"My Lady fared little better, I assure you." Not surprising.
"But yeah," Yang said, clapping his shoulder, an attempt at returning to the brighter mood of a few sparse minutes ago. "Remnant huh? What'd you think?"
"It's…" he took her hand in his, then dropped it. Yang giggled. He hadn't even realized he'd grabbed it. "It's rather incredible. But you know that, of course." A subdued laugh escaped him. "Better than anyone else. I had... no idea people could live like that."
"The grimm?" Yang asked, confused at his excitement regarding such a stomach-turning concept.
"What? Oh, no. If anything, that was the most normal thing about your homeworld. Death planets are a lien a dozen." He looked confused for a moment. "Lien? Oh yeah." He shook his head. "No, no, everyone just seems so… happy. Well, before Cinder, at least. I had no idea."
Yang grinned at Amat's new-found attitude. He seemed a different person than the shimmering Angel of Death she met in Shao-la… but also the same. A side effect, she realized. Weiss has been playing with his mind for much longer than for just a look at Remnant. On one hand, she felt grateful. She undid some serious mental scrubbing, but the degrees of manipulation required…
"And what about the faunus?" Yang asked. The xenophobic nature of the Imperium left much to be desired. Would Amat be any different? She found herself hoping he would be. Instead of a reply, he waved his hand dismissively, puzzling her.
"Abhumans at the worst," he said. "Your world had strange concepts about speciation. The faunus wouldn't be liked," he said, reading the curious upturn of her eyebrows. "But there's so very little separating them from humans, they'd find a place for themselves without much effort. My thoughts on the matter, at least," he admitted. "Doubtless some bureaucrat in the Adeptus Administorum would see it differently."
"Well the Adeptus Administorum is full of assholes."
Amat nodded. "I can see why you say that," he said. "From what I've seen, your friend Ms. Blake Belladonna is an extremely capable agent. She would be a welcome addition to the Lady Inquisitor's retinue."
"Hey," Yang admonished with a grin, tapping one of three studs above his eye. "You watch yourself, Amat, she's a married woman!" He retreated slightly, confused at her tone. Damn straight. You better stay confused, assassin-man.
"I'm aware. I saw her wedding, after all."
"Weiss showed you her wedding?" Yang asked, bewildered. Why on the Emperor's Golden Throne did she do that?
"The Inquisitor showed me most of her previous life," he answered. "I've spent these past few weeks puzzling it out. Meditating. Painting. Praying. It's helped... sort things. It was like a whole other galaxy, packed tight into one small planet." He paused before looking up at her, his eyes piercing like bladed yellow crystals. "You knew nothing of the Emperor. Of Holy Terra." Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath. "The Imperium… it must have been such a shock, coming here… after living there."
"It's been a struggle," Yang breathed, relishing the ability to talk so openly. Even social conversation with Weiss felt like a mountain-side hike on an eggshell path. "I've seen Him, by the way. When I reach into the Warp."
"Really?" Amat asked. "What's He like?"
"He's really… bright."
They shared a chuckle. "You know Amat," Yang said, smiling. "I appreciate this. Talking about home. It makes things," she waved her hand aimlessly, "easier. I didn't mean to break down earlier."
"You're fine, Yang."
"It doesn't happen often. Or ever."
"I… actually understand. When I think back to when I first met you, I can't imagine all this was in your head," he said. "You were just… different. I knew you were a psyker, but it wasn't that. I don't know. My vocabulary's pretty limited for stuff like this."
Yang patted his head. "You're doing a good job so far." Shrugging off her mock patronization, Amat dipped his head, cheeks reddening.
"I meant that literally, you know. Words were stripped from us, an attempt to control our thoughts."
Yang sniffed, wincing as a dribble of pain leaked in from her wound. "Yeah, I wish I could be a little more sympathetic about it. But that kinda shit doesn't surprise me any more."
"It's not a bad idea," Amat said, shrugging.
Now that was surprising. "You're defending that? Amat, what the fuck?" Locking eyes with him, she was expecting to see a cool defiance, maybe the beginnings of rage. Instead, she found only bleak, watery sadness.
"We are raised as the perfect assassins. We didn't need to know what it's like outside the Temple. Outside of regular duties. I am perhaps the first to have a glimpse in… Emperor," he breathed. "Centuries, at least. We live and die at our posts, and are happy to do so."
"And what about you, Amat?"
"I… I don't know." He sighed, and his even-handed facade cracked for a moment, his fingers reaching up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "My headaches are gone. But Weiss.. my Lady… she's barred me from returning to the Temple."
Good, Yang thought, a derisive sneer curling her lips. It died when she saw the tears forming, the ocean rising up to swallow the setting hazel sun. "Amat?" She asked, pleaded.
"It's all I've known, Yang. I am Vindicare. Every minute of my waking life since I can remember was spent in training, in prayer, in preparation. I don't regret a moment of it, but I've seen so much more of the galaxy, thanks to my Lady. So much of Remnant. She showed me the truth. Of what, I can't be sure yet. But she took away something I didn't know she could."
"Amat…" Yang said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. Easy, buddy. Shh."
He grimaced, and for a moment, the only sound in the laboratory was the rustling of her IV drips, plastic and wires a soft echo against the press of equipment. "The galaxy's been turned upside down," he said.
Silently, his fingers clasped around Yang's forearm, a small, unconscious squeeze of thanks. It warmed her, bringing a sad smile to her face. "Amat, I know this doesn't mean much, but I'm glad you're here. With me. With Weiss. If it wasn't for you, I might've been in a very bad place. I'd be a lot lonelier too. The Inquisitor is a very different person from Weiss Schnee. I knew her when she was seventeen... for the first time. She had crushes on boys. She fell in love with my sister. We baked her the first birthday cake she'd ever had. Here…" Yang trailed off, and memories of Jala Prime surfaced, an entire world consumed in cleansing fire. "But that's not her anymore. She's suffering. I don't trust her. I can't, not fully at least." The final admission of it made it real, surfacing in the form of a bitter, choking lump. "But I know she wants the best for the Imperium. I don't know enough to do anything about it, but she does."
"I know that," Amat admitted. "I've followed her for four years. I know what she's capable of. It's… awe-inspiring. But it doesn't bring me much comfort. And she doesn't know I've been instructed to kill Inquisitors who attempt to keep Vindicares on their retinues permanently."
Yang shook her head, "Sorry bud, but she does. She's read your mind a thousand times, and she wouldn't have barred you from the Temple if she thought you'd carry out your orders." A sad smile. "You're stuck with us."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Amat asked. "I pray everyday, but the Emperor's wisdom escapes me."
"Hey," Yang said, cupping his chin. His beard was bristled and coarse. "What did I say? Stick with me. We'll go places. Even though that might not mean much coming from someone you almost had to put down."
"I tried, but you're a stubborn woman." They separated with a small chuckle. "I know nothing of the warp, or what it's like to hear its call. When I found you though, you looked… so broken, I knew what you said wasn't a lie. May I ask… what happened?"
Yang's fingers gripped the arms of her wheelchair, white knuckles shaking with the sudden onslaught of memory.
yang please
"Yang," Amat said, reaching out.
"No," Yang said, gritting her teeth. "You need to know." Steeling herself, she looked up at Amat, noting the curiosity burning in her friend's eyes. At least Weiss' tamperings haven't dulled that.
"The first friend I made in the Guard was a woman named Ros. Now, I was excited to leave Woadia. Explore the Imperium, you know?" Yang said, smiling weakly. Amat nodded. He knew. "She wasn't. She'd been torn away from her husband. From her…" Yang took a deep breath. "From her child. I promised to protect her. The same promise I… t-the same promise I made to Ruby. That'd I'd protect her. Bring her home."
"The Dark Eldar," Amat realized, his lips pursing.
"Ros was wonderful, Amat. Not the most approachable person, but she cared, you know? Cared about the platoon. Every single Woadian. She missed her husband every hour of every day. Then they took her, and I was too slow. I watched them take her away," Yang said, nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm until they shook. "She's gone. I failed her. I failed her kid. She's gone," she repeated. Amat said nothing, choosing instead to readjust a few of the IV lines plugged into her wrist. They'd gotten tangled. "It's Ruby all over again. I lost her twice. Twice, Amat."
"Yang…" Amat said, stooping in front of her, unsuccessfully searching for the violet of her eyes. She'd already buried it in her hands.
"No," Yang said. Meeting his gaze, she wiped her eyes for a final time. "I'm done. I fucked up, I over-committed. I have to move on. From Ros… from… from Ruby," she added, almost choking on the words. It felt like she was ripping her soul out, iron fingers digging into her stomach-scar and tearing her new-metal guts loose. "We both saw what wallowing got me. What happens when I don't keep a lid on things." She sniffed. "You did a good job, Amat."
Amat sighed. "A proper Vindicare would have completed his mission," he replied.
Still sniffling, Yang gave him a playful slap on the side of his head, a twinge of pain echoing in her stomach from the jolt of force. "Don't say shit like that," she jabbed. "Weiss can take the Temple from you, but she can't take away what they taught you." She didn't like their teachings at-fucking-all, but she couldn't watch Amat suffer. A thought struck her. "Like my sister, you know? She left, but I don't regret a moment spent with her. Move on? Yes. Forget? Never."
"I… you're wise beyond your years, Yang," Amat said, hanging his head.
"You saw what we went through. I had to do a lot of living in a short amount of time. We all did."
"I was no different, I suppose. I can't even remember when I left the Schola. Twelve? Thirteen?" Amat ran a hand through his hair. "This is normally when the headache starts."
"Not today?"
"No, Yang. Not today. Thank you."
They shared a brief smile.
Palatine Naja bint Mutaa al-Ibanhi was furious. It was a good fury, one that filled her veins with scorching, consecrated blood, let her bellow out her war-cries and hymns with righteous furor. Roaring, she brought her eviscerator upwards in a vicious arc, striking a cultist with imperious force. He split in half, his head screaming and thrashing before a stray bolter round burst it apart.
"Know fury!" Naja bellowed, her terrible vox-enhanced voice echoing against the war-torn streets of the Forge. "Know death! Know hatred!" A bullet smacked off her pauldron, fired from a trench of scrambling cultists. "Sisters, to me!" She called out, summoning her comrades to her side. Gesturing to her attendant, she snarled ruefully. "Eleven! Purge them!"
"So shall it be, Palatine," the enormous Sister rumbled, pivoting to wash the heretics in a pious salvo. A bloodstained grin stretched across Naja's face, fuelled by the hymns of Sister Katarina and the loyalty of Sister Eleven, her spirit set aloft by the act of war in the Emperor's name.
A sliver of black streaked past the corner of her vision, accompanied by the crackling hum of a force sword. The Lady Inquisitor struck her target, an explosion of force that split apart a squad of heretics. For a heartbeat's glorious thudding, her Master was visible, an angel of death wrought in onyx and silver, wreathed in a flapping cape. Then she was gone, a swarm of severed limbs pinwheeling over her head as they showered their attacker with blood.
"Onwards, Sisters! Rollanders!" She cried, looking over her shoulder. She would not be outdone by the Inquisitor. The advance of the Guardsmen's vehicles was crawling but effective, a wall of steel that thundered death before them. Shortly, the last Forge would be purged, and Uriel would be cleansed of taint.
With a cry, her sisters sprinted after her, the bloodstained white of their robes slapping wetly against ceramite power armor.
"Yes! Yes!" Naja cried. "Ever onwards! Ever upwards! For the Emperor!"
A blasting cry from an Eloadian tank sent the trench up in flames, spewing broken heretics and rusted mud. Naja dashed down the war-torn street, leaping over artillery craters and plowing through riven barbed wire fences that lined the pavement.
In front of her lie a swooping citadel, one of the Magos' workshops. It was infested with cultists, and was the beacon of resistance for the beleaguered and shell-shocked forces of the arch-foe. Under the Inquisitor's leadership, General Campbell and the skitarii became a murderously effective machine, purging kilometer after kilometer, Forge after Forge.
Naja sneered as she plowed into a hastily-constructed pillbox. The witch does the Emperor's work well! Heaving, her eviscerator cleaved six apostates, its teeth spitting their foul blood across the rockcrete walls. No doubt to make up for her sins, she added, hurling her sword into the last survivor. It pinned him against the shallow wall, and ground into him with throaty exuberance. Throttling the trigger, she waited until he slumped over dead.
A screaming heretic dove into the pillbox. Leaving her sword for the briefest of moments, she ducked under the hail of reactionary lasbolts, diving forward at the traitor's feet. Crunching his heels between her fingers. She swept him off his feet and fell back upon him. His spine snapped like a brittle twig.
Retrieving her sword, she burst out of the pillbox and worked herself into a blinding sprint. She was just in time to see Sister Victoria crash into the heretic trenches, the young sister's power hammer bellowing out thunderous claps of crackling death as she battered the heretics into a red gruel.
A screaming, titanic cultist emerged from a support trench, bellowing and slapping at his blasphemy-marked chest. A two-handed chainaxe purred in his hands, spiked and bloodthirsty. Their champion, Naja breaking stride, Victoria adjusted, throwing herself at the threat with a joyous cry.
The Champion swung, but he was too late. Victoria spun under the strike, ducking low before bringing her hammer around to crash against his twisted armor in a decisive, two-handed strike. A shower of gore was all that was left of him.
Mission Thanatos threw their fists up in a cry of elated solidarity, one that drowned out the pitiful wails of their foe.
"Glorious!" Naja cried, dashing forward to aid Victoria with the Champion's hangers-on. "Well struck, Sister!"
Victoria's eyes, framed in a enraptured, bloodstained face, shimmered wetly. "Thank you, Palatine!" She said, the warble of joyous tears staining the cry of thanks. Naja smiled. Still so young, and so talented. "What is your will?"
"We must keep pace with the Inquisitor!" Naja answered, pointing at an explosion of gore some fifty meters to their left. Though the ivory-haired maiden was hidden in the depths of crude, charge-blasted trenches, her progress was too easy to follow - a shower of gore rained down behind the occasional flashes of blue, painting the gutted road with smoking blood.
Above them, the roofs and windows crawled with red-robed ants, skitarii long rifles barking as they rained down a hail of death upon the heretics' reserves. Naja waved her contingent forward, unable to contain her scarred smile. Witch though she is, the Inquisitor's skill is… commendable. Admirable, even. Never before had Naja been saddled with such a capable warrior.
"Sister!" Victoria bellowed, pointing. "Beware!" By the swelling steps to the Workshop's opulent front gates, a squadron of tanks crashed out from their concealed positions, treads clattering as they hurled themselves into the fight. The cordite-choked air was split with cannon-fire, whizzing rounds plunging into their targets. A few of the heretic tanks burst into towering infernos, but many more shrugged off the assault, promised deaths ringing off their armor and sailing off to impact against the bulk of the Workshop. The Rollander armor suffered from the surprise, their heavier armor splitting and spewing panicked crewmen.
Growling, Naja refused to be intimidated. "No matter, Sisters! Onwards! Use the trenches!"
Amidst the exchange of cannon-fire, a chorus of heretic bolters opened up, spraying the street with explosive rounds. They tore into the Mission's advance, spraying up clouds of dirt and chunks of corpses.
Sister Victoria cried out as a bolt struck her in the arm, rending the limb from her body and sending her tumbling into a trench. Naja cried out, reaching out for the young woman.
But then the world was noiseless, and soaring far beneath her. Naja spun through the air, dimly aware she was doing so. It had happened so fast. Then, agony struck her as she tumbled across the battlefield.
She cried out to the Emperor, and came to skidding halt. Her ears rang, the glorious song of war suddenly little more than a whispered prayer. Gripping her eviscerator, she dug its point into the pavement. Where was her Mission? The Inquisitor?
Sister Victoria was visible enough, stumbling onwards with blood pumping from underneath a twisted pauldron. Her hammer still crackled, carving a deep furrow into the earth as she dragged it along.
"Emperor," Naja hissed, trying to stand. He would not aid her in this matter it seemed, as she crashed down onto the pavement once more. Wiping blood from her lips, she crawled onwards, before finding an outstretched hand waiting for her. A mumbled voice. A woman.
She was calling out something. A name?
My name!
The war returned, in all its thundering glory.
"Palatine!" The hand's owner bellowed, from behind her baleful skull-mask and shining ebony halo. "Stand firm! The Emperor is with us!"
Naja's eyes seemed to betray her. The Inquisitor stood before her, dripping with gore and radiant in the Emperor's glory. Though one hand reached out for Naja's, the other held up a spinning night-black glyph. Struggling to stand, she gaped as cannon rounds and bolter shells slammed into the glyph, striking the circling runes but remaining undetonated.
Taking the Inquisitor's hand, she looked up at her Master. Though she couldn't see the woman's face, Naja knew it wore a gentle smile. Her master hauled her up, the servos in their armor whirring with strain.
"You've done well, Palatine. Now consolidate our forces, I shall be along shortly."
"My Lady-" Naja said, reaching out for the Inquisitor. But she was ignored with a swish of her ebony cape. Letting out an indomitable roar, the Lady Inquisitor unleashed her glyph, turning the collected rounds against their owners in a blizzard of steel and crashing cordite.
She drew her sword, a sliver of night given physical form. Readying it at her side, the Inquisitor hissed a prayer, and the weapon glimmered, the etchings upon its face glowing a calamitous, glacier-melt blue.
Then, the Inquisitor was gone. She appeared a moment later, among the heretic tanks. A slash of cobalt, and the foremost tank was shunted aside, a gaping, glowing gash in the front of its hull. She wasn't even wielding it with her hands. The force sword shot between glyphs and rubrics, a blinding bolt of lightning that struck through several tanks at once.
Naja hustled forward, wholly enraptured. This. This was the Lady Inquisitor, unbound by all but her love for the Emperor.
Sister Victoria marched on, her feet tripping over each other as she panted irregular, uneven breaths.
"Suppressing fire!" Naja bellowed, slicing her free hand at what pockets of heretics remained. "Bounding!" She dashed forward, scooping up Sister Victoria in her white-robed arms. "Sister Mwatabu!" The Hospitaler was on her in a second, flying through the air as she vaulted over a roadblock. She weaved and dodged through the crackling return-fire, wholly in her element.
"Palatine," Sister Victoria croaked, pawing at Naja's weathered face. "Look. Look at the Inquisitor."
The Lady Inquisitor destroyed yet another tank, leaping into the air before plunging down upon it, spearing the turret with her sword. It cleaved through the rolled steel like a chainsword through flesh. A pillar of flame erupted around her, but she emerged unscathed, leaping through the crackling flames, a prisoner in hand.
She dragged the yowling, smoldering cultist to the front of the Workshop steps. Summoning a storm of eldritch energies, she flung the body into the air. Naja's neck craned as she watched its ascent.
The heretic burst apart, rent into a cloud of pure, silvery snowflakes. Once more, blood thundered through Naja, and her fury returned to her.
"Look at her, Palatine. She's… she's glorious."
"Yes, Sister Victoria," Naja answered, the words tumbling out of her. "Yes she is."
A/N: The Sisters of Battle are too fucking cool. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Also, do note that this story's "RWBY canon" is significantly different from what went down in S3 of RWBY (as the story began shortly after the conclusion of S2). Here's a brief version of the differences: Yang didn't lose her arm, and Pyrrha got the Fall Maiden's powers and lived until she was about 35-40. Penny still died. :(
I really enjoy your guys' thoughts on each and every chapter! Thanks so much!
Review Replies:
Absolute Configuration: Prexius didn't get too much into it, but now Yang knows there's a difference.
blaiseingfire: And on that day, the Eye of Terror shrunk to the Sphincter of Fear.
theblacklightprojekt: She still has both her arms!
tankbuster626: I wonder how bad you thought it was gonna go...
Rampant Poultry: Glad you're enjoying their interactions! Hopefully you enjoyed this one too. :)
reality deviant: Planning on it!
Jack Inqu: Sage advice, my friend. Thanks for all your reviews!
Guest: I guess she didn't see much of a reason to, since Yang's aura was what saved her, not her squishy bits!
Kamzil118: Hehe glad you liked it!
mewtwo15026: Glad you enjoyed it! Also, thank you so much! I knew 'colonoscopy bag' was wrong, but I didn't exactly want to trawl through google to figure out what the correct term was...
OBSERVER01: What an interesting theory!
Quelthias: Agreed!
Kiyoushu: Not enough leather!
Magnificent Bosh'tet: He's gone through some stuff, that's for sure.
ATP: Thanks so much! The more conversation-centered chapters are a little more difficult to write.
lordcrion: Oh hey, thanks so much! I spend a lot of time into working on my OCs, so I'm glad to see they're appreciated. Hope you're enjoying your return to the Imperium!
Nemris: I thought that, for a world with readily available bionics, Yang moping about her arm was a liiiitle dumb. Glad you're liking Amat!
Malletmann: We talking Pyrrha, or Salem?
Gafgar: Ohoho, guess we'll find out, won't we?
alienvx0: Yeah, I figured that event wouldn't exactly make it back to some bumfuck Forgeworld on the other side of the galaxy... hahaha
A Flying Tomato: Now with 1000% less heresy! hahaha
Telron: Hey, thanks so much!
soupie13941: Hope you enjoyed the Palatine! :D
RAGA: I love getting reviews like yours! It always surprises me that people who know nothing about Warhammer enjoy this story so much! You'll get her Platoon's reaction in an upcoming chapter. I'm especially happy to see you're enjoying all the OCs! They're a big part of the story, so it's nice to hear some positive feedback. :D
LuckyFractal: I won't lie, it is pretty frustrating to see most of the top-reviewed RWBY crossovers to be shitty Naruto harem fics (though I can't say for certain that's what they are, the writing's too bad for me to get through any of them). Though I guess people like what they like, and I can't judge them for that. I will say though, I really appreciate how much you're enjoying this story. It's a blast to write, but it sucks away most of my free time, so I'm really happy to see you enjoy it so much. And stay tuned in! I'm sure you'll enjoy what's coming up...
So many reviews! You guys are the greatest! :D Up next... A MAION CHAPTER! :D