A/N: Once more, unto the breach!
Book Two: Corruption's End
Chapter 61: Of Men and Xenos
"They... didn't come back right," Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik, after Naval Armsmen performed a boarding action on the heretic cruiser Cruelty's Purpose.
Yang couldn't stop the smile that stretched across her face. Once more, it was time to deploy. She'd learned a lot from Garnet and enjoyed the relative safety of the past few months, but it had been too long since she'd seen any real action.
The landing craft was not like the ones she was used to - it did not rattle or shake as it sliced through the Webway, nor did it reek of promethium fumes and vomit.
Yang gave Maion a thumbs-up, which was not returned or even acknowledged. None of the elder responded. Apparently, they'd all donned their 'war-masks' or whatever. Supposed to keep their emotions in check during combat. The concept riled Yang a bit, but she didn't care. She was just excited to fight alongside Pyrrha's family.
Garnet had changed as well, his impish grin and bright-eyed mirth wholly absent.
Eerily, Amat was one of the more animated warriors in the landing craft's bay. He checked over Yang's lasgun, sighting down the barrel with care and precision.
"Make ready," Garnet said, his voice even and monotone. "My illusion will only last for so long, and the landing craft will only be facing the enemy craft for a short time."
As one, the eldar stood, shuffling into two meticulous lines.
Yang threw Amat a shrug before joining their alien comrades. They'd been over the plan five times now. It was time for action. The bay doors shot open, revealing the dead shipyards behind them.
A lurching sensation pulled at her as the landing craft made a sudden pivot.
"Now!" Lossamdir called.
The war-party flung itself from the hold and into the webway. Yang let loose a whoop of joy as Ember Celica roared, blasting her forward. Even in the confines of the Carapace armor, the sensation of true weightlessness was breathtaking. They were soaring through nothing, no up nor down, only two twisted frigates in the distance. Their destination.
Against the golden walls of the webway, Ahriman's frigates were ugly, ruinous scars. They reeked malevolence, and the symbols etched deep into their hulls seemed all the more hateful the closer they flew. The Prodigal Sons - Ahriman's personal warband - had lavished attention and worship upon their vessels.
Yang turned her mind away from the ships. If she let herself stare too long or focus too hard, her shoulder would flare up anew. Instead, she looked to the war-party as they streaked across the shattered shipyards.
The Swooping Hawks flapped their wings, helping the more spatially-challenged of their comrades adjust their course. The landing craft had flung them at a decent pace - fast enough to make the wait bearable, slow enough so that they wouldn't splatter against the side of the enemy hull.
As for Amat, he was a surprisingly adept flier... if 'flier' was the right word. Maybe 'floater'? Regardless, he seemed comfortable about having gravity ripped out from under him.
Yang was loving it. She'd heard about the Void-Shrikes and other Guard regiments trained in void warfare, but the Woadians lacked the equipment, and never ventured out into zero-gee.
Granted, the webway wasn't the empty void of space, but it was almost as pretty. Golden beams of energy pulsed alongside ancient pearlescent data streams, flitting across the walls with ethereal beauty.
They passed a arch of shattered wraithbone as it began its millennia-long journey to the other end of the corridor.
This place must have been quite a sight when it was whole.
With a slight readjustment from Ember Celica, Yang maneuvered closer to Amat. She twirled and spun, enjoying how little her pose affected her flight dynamics. Even though this section of the Webway was oxygenated, they flew through the air like it wasn't even there.
"Quite a place, huh?" Yang asked, perpendicular to Amat.
He looked at her, 'down' from his perspective.
"It is," Amat said. Nearly whispered. "The Webway is... quite stunning."
Yang laughed, pulling her helmet off and shaking her hair free.
Amat's visor tipped quizzically.
"You should try this!" Yang said, undoing her bun. The air was stale and undeniably ancient, but it rippled against her skin like unseeable silk as she passed through it, fluttering her hair gently.
Yang spun, letting her hair regain its volume. She did a few flips, marveling at the total lack of disorientation or harsh pull of gravity.
"You're having fun," Amat noted, the hint of a smile in his voice.
"Hell yeah I am," Yang shot back. "This is awesome. The eldar aren't shooting me nasty looks are they?"
Amat looked about him, turning around to ensure everyone was within their sight. "Not that I can tell."
Yang grinned. Plucking a shotgun shell from her bandolier, she showed it to Amat. "Wanna play catch? We got a minute before we get there."
Amat pivoted, double-checking her words. She released the shell, watching it float above her. A deep laugh escaped her.
"Dude, look at this, this is awesome!" She cried.
"Don't lose it," Amat noted.
"Oops, shit," Yang said, grabbing at the shell. It had floated down from its original position a bit, air resistance dragging it behind them.
With a giggle, she threw him the shell. He caught it without effort.
"You're a natural out here," Yang said. "Let me guess... super secret assassin training?"
"Hardly a guess on your part," Amat said.
"Hey, I'm right, and that's all that matters. How am I doing?" She asked, catching the shell on its return path.
"Not bad," Amat allowed. "Your movements are a little sloppy, however. If this were a real vacuum, one wrong move would send you spinning into oblivion or careening out of control."
Yang laughed. "I'll keep it in mind on my next EVA excursion. Think Weiss would let me do repairs on the Scythe?"
"Knowing her," Amat replied, "she wouldn't be satisfied with repairs unless they were done by the Fabricator-General himself."
"So... that's a no then?"
"Probably," Amat said. "Might want to gear up. We're about to land."
Wasting no time, Yang tied her hair into place and tucked it into her armor. She grabbed her helmet too, looking at the beaming reflection in its hazel visor. With a sharp twist, it sealed into place. She was ready.
"Fifteen seconds," Lossamdir said.
Yang blinked. Up close, the frigate looked far bigger than it had before, seeming to swallow up the whole of the webway in its shadow. Her glyphs glowed bright, even though she made a concentrated effort not to look at the blasphemies scrabbled on the hull.
"Ten seconds!"
With a grunt, she flipped herself around, pointing her feet at the frigate. It'd been fun while it lasted. Amat did the same, each muscle under his catsuit moving with unerring accuracy, as if this was something he'd done hundreds of times.
"Five!"
Yang braced her aura, reinforcing her knees as well as the plates that adorned her legs.
"Four! Three! Two! One! Impact!"
The webway came to a brutal stop as her feet connected with the enemy hull. A few grunts of pain issued forth from a few of the eldar, but they seemed unhurt. Glances flew between them like stubber rounds. They're talking about something, Yang realized. She turned to watch Amat land and almost let out a bray of laughter. He landed exactly like a cat, arched back and all four limbs splayed out to evenly distribute his weight.
Noting her amusement, he rolled his shoulders dismissively.
"Wish I had my scroll," Yang said.
"No such luck today," Amat replied.
After collecting the eldar that had bounced off or missed the LZ, they gathered around the selected breaching point.
Lossamdir made a few hand gestures, and the Banshees took point, Ysdrea and her two companions stacked up around Yang.
"Are you ready?" The Exarch asked, all business. Yang nodded, drawing her sword and thumbing the activation rune. Cobalt lightning shot down the blade, casting the side of the frigate in a soft blue glow. She took a deep breath.
"Three... two... one!" She jammed her sword into the hull, cutting into it like it wasn't even there. In a second, she'd cut a man sized hole. "Breach, breach, breach!" She cried, kicking it in with the heel of her boot.
Ysdrea was the first one in, grabbing the hull with both hands. Yang grabbed her belt and hurled her inside with all her strength.
"Go!" Yang cried, doing the same for Ysdrea's companions. "Go!"
Yang followed the Banshees, fighting the rush of sickening, burnt air that spilled out of the breach. Launching herself within, gravity returned with a vengeance, slamming her boots against the floor.
Inside, whatever battle they had expected had swiftly become a massacre. It was chaos. The hold they'd breached into was littered with bodies, as the hastily-assembled repelling team lay slaughtered and unwhole, already fallen prey to the Howling Banshees. As the eldar women cut their way through the cultists, they let out an ungodly screech.
It was more than just mere noise. It was a sharp, unrelenting nail that hammered into her skull, crushing her mind into an insignificant puddle that pulsed with blinding pain.
It sounded like death.
The wind fled from her lungs, driving her to her knees. Before her, Ysdrea butchered the crew, painting herself and her surroundings with gore. Each movement was perfect - each one flowed into the next, a dance of death that put even Weiss' grace to shame.
It was terrifying. No matter how long Yang lived, how many juvenat treatments she got, however much she trained... she would never be able to move like that.
Unnerved and winded, Yang struggled to her feet. Amat helped her up. Though he was he faring better than Yang, it was clear the Banshees' wail unsettled him as well.
"You okay?" He shouted over the noise.
"Yeah, I'll live," Yang replied. She shot him a strained grin. "Now let's not fall behind, huh?"
She launched herself into the fray.
The hold they'd entered in was some kind of storage dump or scrap yard. Twisted metal struts and piles of stripped shipping containers littered the floor, crawling with emaciated and hollow-eyed cultists.
Weighed down by shackles and possessing little in the way of actual weaponry, they were a pitiful sight.
Yang did her part, carving up the heretics that stood and fought. However, as she chopped and slashed, hacked and rendered, she noticed something that sat ill with her.
They were all grateful. As they fell apart under the merciless blue arc of her power sword, their eyes grew bright.
Content.
The sensation did not last, as it took a mere minute to secure the breach head. No casualties among the war party. Time to go to work.
"Let's go find the engine room," Yang said.
"We must hurry from this place," Lossamdir concurred. "If we face a concentrated defense, we will be overwhelmed."
They hurried on, bashing through one of the interior doors. The hallways vaguely resembled those of the Ascendant Dawn, though they were far more twisted and hateful. Symbols lined the walls, dull and lifeless yet thrumming with terrible power. Cords and spiked wires hung from every angle, lit in a dim, dark red.
If not for her Huntress training, Yang was sure she'd be left to blindly fumble along, cutting herself on every corner of this horrible ship.
"Head right," Garnet said. So they did, boots ringing off the metal floor.
The bulkhead at the end of the hall did not yield, so Yang was forced to cut a hole through it. Though the Banshees had power swords as well, she had a sneaking suspicion the eldar women thought it beneath them.
"Contacts!" Amat cried, unleashing a barrage of lasbolts. Behind the war party, a squad of heavily armed heretics spilled into the hallway. Clad in yellow-blue flak armor and covered in tattoos, they must've been the Sons' chapter serfs.
The first one around the corner vaporized, melted away by the war-party's volume of fire.
"How we doing?" Amat asked, roaring over the hurricane of shurikens that whizzed through the hall.
"Almost there!" Yang replied, bringing her sword down to the floor.
Another heretic tried to peek around the corner, but he was shredded to pieces, sliced into hundreds by the Avenger's sustained fire.
Grabbing the molten ends of the bulkhead, Yang tore it free and set it aside.
"Move!" She bellowed, waving at her comrades. They obeyed, taking turns to keep up the wall of fire behind them. Maion was the first through, firing her shuriken pistol behind her. Like a machine, each group fired, ducked through, then took up a position on the other side.
Once Amat was through, Yang followed. Just in time to watch the assassin send a lasbolt through a heretic's eye, painting his comrades with flash-boiled brains and steaming blood.
"Keep moving," Lossamdir ordered. "Shut it behind us!" He shouted at Yang.
Nodding, she took a deep breath. She let it loose as a gout of warp flame, a pillar of eldritch fire that filled the hall behind them and melted the edges of where the door once stood. Screaming filled the frigate, wails torn from the throats of another dozen victims.
The whispers sought a foothold, but she shut them down with a strained grunt. Blocking away the voices, she grabbed the bulkhead and shoved it back in place, fusing the molten edges together.
Lies, Yang reminded herself, recalling her sessions with Garnet. The voices always lie. They are not you. They offer nothing but ash.
"Let's move," Amat said, patting her shoulder. Yang nodded, shaking her head and gritting her teeth.
Ever onwards.
"You okay?" He asked.
"Yeah," Yang replied. "Trying to get used to it. Psyker stuff, that is."
"Let me know if you struggle," Amat said.
"I will."
They caught up with the eldar, who had delved even further into the ship. So Throne-damned fast! Even the normal eldar matched the speed of a Huntsman. As they progressed, the hallways widened, allowing five to pass abreast.
A lasbolt seared over Yang's head. She dove for cover on instinct, avoiding the next hail of Avengers and Banshees scrambled for cover on the opposite side, ducking under the heretics' wall of fire. In a moment, the war-party had been cut in half.
Two platoon-strength teams had closed in on them, pincering them in a four-way junction. On the hallway to their left and right, the Sons' slaves had constructed crude barriers, walls of crates, detritus, and dead bodies that kept them safe from returning fire. At the head of the hallway where Lossamdir and Garnet took cover, the door had been welded shut.
A trap.
"We're in the shit now, boys and girls!" Yang cried. A lasbolt smacked off the corner of the hallway, spraying her with molten bits of metal. "Fuck!"
Amat grunted, slapping a new battery into the lasgun. He burnt through them pretty quick. Across the junction, the Dire Avengers unleashed a hail shuriken, but without eyes on target and the chaotic roar of suppressing fire, they didn't stand a chance of connecting.
"They've got us pinned," Amat said as a lasbolt scorched the air by his head. "They're stalling us."
He was right. Each second spent here was a second wasted, a second the heretics could use to ferry more reinforcements to their position. Yang had no doubt the war-party was one of the deadliest collections of warriors in the entire galaxy, but there were only fifteen of them. In time, they would be overcome and torn to shreds.
A flash of green armor caught Yang's eye - Maion had stepped out from behind her comrades. The eldar woman made a brief cutting motion and pointed to the hallway on Yang's left.
Got it. Yang tugged on the wing of a nearby Hawk. Ass-lar or something.
"We need to break out!" She hollered over the din. "I'm engaging!" she said. "Cover Maion!"
She thrust her fingers into the wall. Aura poured into her arms, filling her with monstrous strength. Her hair ignited as she ripped the paneling free, a sheet of metal about two inches thick. Wasting no time, she dove into the center of the junction, bracing her impromptu shield against her shoulder.
"AMAT!" She roared.
"Covering you," he replied, displacing a Hawk at the corner of the junction.
Maion had already begun her bloody work, using her semblance to appear behind the heretics on the right. The way she moved was fluid and graceful sure, but nothing like the Banshees. It was almost… primal the way she killed, her chainsword spitting gore across the hallway in thick, bloody brushstrokes. She was certainly Pyrrha's descendant, but her human blood had been tempered by something fierce and terrible.
Yang pressed on, returning her focus to the enemies in front of her.
Amat's lasbolts seared past her head, each one spearing a heretic in the face. Every time one fell, another took his place - there had to be at least thirty clogging the port-side hallway.
The serfs set up a wall of crushing fire, yet their salvos only succeeded in heating up Yang's crude shield. It glowed red from the shots it absorbed, but that would never bother her. Each step took her closer to the barricade - her advance would not be checked. Once she was within a dozen yards of the heretic barricade, Yang burst forward.
Finally.
Yang tore through the hall, hurling the wall-panel ahead of her. It bifurcated a machinegun crew, splitting them in two with its superheated edge.
Ember Celica rocketed her towards the rest of the serfs that clogged the hallway. Thinking themselves secure behind their cover, the heretics were not expecting the whirlwind of fire and ebony armor that crashed into them.
She threw her shoulder into a crate, sending it - and the heretics behind it - hurtling down the hall, their bones snapping each time they met a surface. Lasbolts hounded her, but her carapace armor and aura shrugged them off. Before the serfs could regroup or concentrate their fire, Yang was among them.
Her foot met a heretic's chest, crushing it into paste. Grabbing another's head, she vaulted over him, twisting his neck once she reached her apex. With a roar, she slammed the lifeless body into the others, bowling them aside.
Ember Celica belched death, littering the halls with spent shells. In the confines of the frigate, Yang's gauntlets were murderously effective. Pellets rattled against the hull, a storm of screaming bbs that chewed the heretics apart.
They screamed. Against her aura-enhanced strikes, no armor or ruinous blessing could save them. Lasbolts and pointed blades could not scratch her armor, nor the light of her soul.
One charged her from behind, one of his arms hanging on by a handful of sinews. Yang ducked under his clumsy strike and stuck her power sword in his chest. When she tore it free, he came apart at the seams, slumping to the floor as a mess of gore and cooking intestines.
Even though their numbers dwindled, even though they were forced to march through a mire of their broken, lifeless comrades, the serfs still came. They welcomed death, and Yang was happy to oblige them.
This time, she focused on remaining calm and keeping her head level. This is what she excelled at, but she couldn't let it consume her. At the center of the carnage, she ignored the screams, the crunch of broken bones and the crimson ichor that stained her boots.
It was difficult.
She chafed at the restraint required of her. It ached to confine herself, keep to practiced strikes and rhythmic killing. Yang frowned as Ember Celica melted another foe, sending the remaining half of his torso to fall upon the others.
It doesn't matter if it's tough. Nothing is worse than letting go.
Remembering that helped.
Once she'd broken most of the detachment, Amat and the rest of the war-party were freed from the constant hail of suppressive fire and brought their weapons to bear. With their help, the rest of the serfs died in seconds.
Her work completed, Yang spun on her heel to assist Maion with the rest of the heretic troopers. But there weren't any left. There was only Maion, standing alone, her chest rising and falling.
It was a massacre.
The junction was choked with gore, strewn with piles of heretic dead and wounded. The putrid air was filled with screams, accompanied by the scent of blood, shit and ozone. A bad smell, but a familiar one.
After ensuring none of their party was wounded, Lossamdir waved them on. The exarch did not allow them a moment of pause or reflection. Deeper and deeper they plunged into the ship. Even though they made a blistering pace through its halls, Yang couldn't help noticing how much she hated it.
Every corridor and hallway ran together, an endless blur of red-lit runes that pressed into her mind and demanded her attention. Whispers filled the halls too, but for once, Yang knew they weren't meant for her. They just... echoed through the ship, ceaselessly droning. It was little wonder the hold-slaves looked like zombies.
No mystery why they welcomed their deaths.
This is what chaos does to you, Yang thought, pushing the noises out of her mind. The promises are lies. All lies.
Amat didn't seem affected by the ship, or if he was, he didn't show it. In either case, he had the Vindicares to thank.
I wonder what goes on in that head of his. What does he think about? She was on the verge of asking when Lossamdir threw his fist up, calling a halt to their march through the frigate.
Then, it rumbled, the ship itself shaking under their boots. A roar seemed to echo up from the depths of the ship, spilling out of the vents and filling her head with hate hate hate-
"Urgh," Yang said, rubbing her glowing shoulder. "What was that?"
"Weapons firing," Garnet said, expression unreadable behind his warlock's mask. "They've found us."
"Found us?" Yang asked, eyes scanning the hallways for threats. They were empty but for the war-party. Lossamdir's fearsome raptor-mask lifted at her words. His comrades shuddered, eyes meeting the metal floor.
"I've received a message from Captain Ellamár. The… the Void-Whisper," Lossamdir said, a note of fear shattering his war-mask. "She has been discovered. And struck."
A/N: Holy God-Emperor! Today marks the two-year anniversary of A World of Bloody Evolution's debut!
Thanks so much to everyone who's been with me so far, I appreciate your support tremendously. Without you guys, this story wouldn't exist. It seems like a lifetime ago that I sat down to write the first few chapters, and now the story sits at 250,000+ words. Wow.
Every time I think about it, it's absolutely ludicrous that my story is one of the top reviewed Warhammer crossovers, up there with Shinji and Warhammer 40k and The Mission Stays the Same.
You guys are the best.
Also, I think I'm finally comfortable giving an estimate in how much more story's left to tell. As the story currently stands, it looks like A World of Bloody Evolution will have between 110-115 chapters, but that can easily fluctuate.
I look forward to telling the rest of the story, and I hope I you guys continue to enjoy it.
See you next time!
(P.S., for those of you who are new to 40k, I should probably mention that most eldar weapons fire monomolecular-edged disks called shuriken. Nasty things, but damn effective. Don't think I've mentioned them before, but I figured a heads up was in order.)