A/N: Happy New Year's!

Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 63: Ever Onwards

"The Emperor works in mysterious ways. This time, I think He inhaled the Guard's entire lho supply." - Lieutenant Chera Marius, on her Mission to the Black Library.

Relief. Concern.

These were the words that draped themselves on Amat as he readied himself for the breach. Yang was hurt, yes, but she was alive. No doubt her aura would have her back in fighting shape shortly. However, she seemed deflated and spent. Broken.

Either way, it's best if she sits out the next engagement.

The Banshee finished her work and withdrew her sword. She nodded at Lossamdir. The exarch stormed forward and smashed his boot through the wound in the bulkhead. The war party filed in, bracing themselves for contact.

No threat presented itself. The bridge was as blasphemous as the rest of the ship, dripping with terrible runes and arcane energies. Amat could feel the wrongness of it all prickle his skin.

But that was all the heresies managed. Instructor Palla and the Vindicare had forged his soul into something far more resilient.

As the war-party fanned out, they searched for the Captain, or some sort of steering device. There were only wretched slaves, pale broken things linked to their terminals. Some of them had even fused with their station, metallic corruption eating away at their bodies.

They did not react to the intruders. Amat followed the trail of wires that led from each slave, his eyes following the pulses of terrible light that thrummed through the heretic technology. His gaze came to rest upon a single ancient slave, his body lashed to an altar of some sort. What little skin remained to him was painted over in runic tattoos… as were the muscle fibers that had bound themselves to their resting place. His torso was splayed open, most of his innards replaced with wiring and malicious charms.

"There," he said, directing the exarch's attention.

Amat was not cursed with witchery, but he could still feel the disgust that radiated from the ancient eldar warrior as he approached the living dias. It was a palpable truth, one evident in his very bearing. Amat's stomach churned at the fact that his own senses aligned so similarly to a xenos.

His hand ghosted across his stomach, attempting to quiet the unpleasant sensation that filled it. Would I have felt this a month ago? A year? It felt like gravity-stress training, like g-forces pulling his body into a pit. He didn't like it.

"Input command," the slave wheezed as Lossamdir approached. He paused briefly.

"Cease all weapons discharge. Hard to starboard," Lossamdir tried. "Ramming speed."

"Obeying," the slave rasped. At once, the Prodigal Son's ship fired its thrusters, swooping into an unforgiving turn.

It's some sort of… host, Amat realized. The receptacle for whatever daemons lurked in the hull of the ship, and the center of its desecrated technology. A living command throne.

At first, he wondered why it obeyed an eldar without question, but then he realized - the Rubric Marines were commanding the ship. Beings just as mindless as the slaves. Leaving them to govern a ship didn't seem expedient… which meant a sorcerer likely helmed the other ship.

The heretic ship lurched and groaned under the stress of the turn. In the bridge's viewport, he could see the other ship swiftly approaching. It was time to go.

Once more, a Banshee began cutting at the port side of the viewport. Our escape route.

"I suggest you collect Yang," Lossamdir said to Amat, storming past the assassin. The exarch didn't know he was headed there anyway.

"No trubble?" Yang asked, her smashed nose preventing proper speech.

"None," Amat replied. "A collision course has been set with the other ship. We need to leave."

"Sounds goo'" Yang said. Her head hung low for a second. "Gan you 'elp me ub?" She extended a hand, but it wasn't anywhere near him. Her eyes were so swollen, she could barely see. Amat took it anyway. "Danks," she mumbled.

"You almost had him, you know," Amat said, resting her arm across his shoulders. He could see the defeat that sagged her shoulders, the frustration at an unnecessary defeat. "You couldn't have known what those traitor marines were like."

Yang spat a glob of blood onto the floor.

She didn't want to reply to that just yet. I suppose that's fair. Not since Shao-la had she faced such a challenge.

Amat helped her along. The eldar were busy butchering the bridge slaves, hacking apart ship's systems in case the war-party missed eliminating a proper commander. Despite his misgivings about serving with xenos, he couldn't deny they were effective.

"We're leaving," Lossamdir said, once the war-party had finished its work. He pressed his lasblaster against the main terminal's head and squeezed the trigger. Immediately, groaning klaxons and terrible screeches filled the ship.

The main terminal thrashed and convulsed, blood and black ichor spitting from every orifice.

"Wha 'appened," Yang asked.

"We're good. Just sabotaging a few systems," Amat replied. He followed Garnet out of the breach in the view port, once more subjecting himself to the absence of gravity. "We're back in the webway," he told his friend.

"I gan dell," Yang said. For a moment, it looked like her ruined lip twitched upwards. Amat craned his neck, looking for the Void-Whisper. Even though it'd been struck, it was still nearly impossible to spot, vanishing in and out of reality. What glimpses he did catch did not bode well. It was venting atmosphere and ugly scorch marks stretched across its hull.

As for Ahriman's frigates, they were fast approaching mutual destruction. I pray we're far enough away. If their munitions went up, Amat couldn't guarantee they'd escape the shock wave.

They were a hundred meters away now, but in a field of battle measured in the hundreds of kilometers, it wasn't enough.

The rest of the war-party trailed after them, having fled seconds after Amat. Beating their radiant wings, the Swooping Hawks overtook their human allies. Maion floated by next, more at ease in the absence of gravity than many of her comrades.

Amat never could have imagined the path his life took. Four years ago, he awaited duty on Holy Terra, his days spent in intense prayer and dedication. Now, he floated along the webway with a pack of eldar, holding his friend from another universe.

"You ogay?" Yang asked. Even in her blinded state, she could tell he'd lost himself in introspection. Is that her witchery? Or does she just… know?

"Yes," Amat said, surprised by his answer. Despite the ludicrous changes his life had undergone, he was okay. In fact, some days, he found himself thanking the Emperor as often as he beseeched him for direction.

But why? Are you still Vindicare?

Sighing, Yang retracted her arm from around his shoulders. She tucked herself in tight under his arm, resting her battered cheek against his chest.

"Goo'," she said. The pain in her voice was palpable, enough to stir something within Amat. When he met Yang some seven months ago, she reached out to him for help, her body bruised and broken. It had been the first time Amat had made physical contact with a human being that didn't actively mean him harm. He had been…

Confused. Hesitant.

Now he pulled her closer, praying to the Emperor her spirits lifted. Seeing her broken and defeated was unsettling and unusual. She never failed to put up a front, a delightful, impish smile. Even if she was pained, she was too strong.

"It'll be okay Yang," Amat said gently. Once more, she didn't respond. But instead of spitting blood, she held him tighter, nestling herself within the crook of his elbow.

It felt… good. Where his stomach had roiled mere minutes before, it filled with warmth, one that spread to the whole of his being. No matter what path his life would take, he would never let Yang suffer alone.

The heretic ships collided. Shrieks of tearing metal filled the Ail-Ithalya Shipyards, and explosions by the dozens blossomed across the frigate's shattered hull.

"Gholy fug," Yang exclaimed, pressing a hand against her ear. "Wha' 'appened?"

The carnage was not done. After impacting against the hull of her sister frigate, the compromised vessel continued onwards, its engines flaring as it struggled to continue its advance. Two seconds later, it broke through, cleaving its twin in half.

Just as Amat had feared, their munitions ignited. "Hold on!" He cried, holding Yang tighter. With an ear-shattering peal, an entire deck of torpedoes exploded, birthing titanic fireballs that vaporized the front of the ship they boarded.

Garnet pivoted himself, spreading his hands wide. A wall of blue energy erupted from his fingers, wide enough to shield the entire war party. The explosion's shock wave slammed against it, followed by a hail of shrapnel and a massive plume of flame.

Licks of fire reached around the shield, but did not scorch them. Cradled within the might of Garnet's soul, the war-party was safe. Even though the fireball had dissipated and they were hundreds of meters away from the impact, Amat could still feel the impact's blistering heat. A followup blast of burnt wind struck them, sucking the air from their lungs. Amat gasped, reeling at the sensation of empty lungs.

Eventually, his breath hitched, and he sucked in gusts of air. Yang recovered too, wheezing against his shoulder.

"Damb!" Yang said, a tiny smile lifting her ruined lips. "'Dat was fugging awesomb." Despite himself, Amat laughed. Given time, Yang would recover. She always did.

Together, they floated through the ruins of a dead empire, grateful for their lives and each other.

Maion reclined in the Void-Whisper's medbay, recovering from her battle with the fallen mon'keigh. She was not alone - Yang, Ullikar, and a dozen mariners suffered wounds as well, attended by a handful of white-clad healers.

Only fifteen eldar had perished, all mariners. Considering the threat posed to the mission, it was an acceptable loss. But there were some who disagreed, as there always were. They argued that the loss of life was wholly unnecessary, considering the dubious reasoning behind the mission in the first place.

There was also the matter of the Void-Whisper itself. It had sustained heavy damage and was in serious need of repairs. Its weapons were virtually disabled, its hull had been scorched, and a few of the decks were openly exposed. Travel outside the Webway would be perilous, and they would have to request help with repairs from the Harlequins.

Yet Maion could not help but feel a sense of victory despite the damage. Two of Ahriman's ships lied shattered and broken, smashed against the walls of the Webway. Now, they floated among the ruins of the Eldar empire, spilling out burnt bodies.

Even if they had almost lost the Void-Whisper, helping the Harlequins in their battle in any regard suited Maion perfectly. I just pray our ship can complete the journey.

Beside her, Yang slept, snoring away the injuries she'd sustained. Though mostly limited to her face, they were still substantial. Her features were completely concealed, wrapped up in healer's bandages.

As for Maion, her flank still thrummed with pain. A graze from an inferno round was nothing to laugh at - the cursed bolts of the Rubric Marines were absolutely lethal. An inch to the right, and the bolt would have detonated, blowing a meaty hole in her side… if there was anything left of her at all. She had her aura and training to thank. In truth, she missed fighting with other Scorpions. They always fought better together, and even though Lossamdir was an experienced leader, there had been hiccups in communications.

Letting Yang in was one such hiccup. The way she fought was breathtaking, yet also horrific and undisciplined - a pure expression of Khaine's unbound furor. And the sheer power she radiated was nearly blinding.

At least she was useful.

The same could be said for her companion, the lithe assassin that followed her like a shadow. Maion could not deny the man was noteworthy. He possessed unerring talent and tenacity that belied his mon'keigh origins -fitting of a Vindicare assassin. But there was the issue of his demeanor - it was far too calm and pious for his species. It was if he wore a war-mask, even though she knew such a thing to be impossible.

Her wound gave another twinge of pain, and she winced in agony. The Prodigal Sons were a dangerous faction, and their presence was an ill omen for their mission. Could there be more of their hated kind awaiting them? How fared the battle between the Harlequins and Ahriman?

But one question dominated the others - how would the Void-Whisper even find the Black Library? If one wished to visit its hallowed halls, one needed a Harlequin guide. Otherwise, one was bound to wander the Webway for eternity, condemned to deathless wandering or insanity.

Frowning, she freed herself from her bed. Another stab of pain. She ignored it, pushing it down to a place it wouldn't cloud her mind. Taking a crutch with her, she hobbled from the medbay into the quiet halls of the Void-Whisper.

A ripple of air greeted her outside the door. Amat, she realized.

"Assassin," she said.

"Maion," the air-ripple replied.

"Why are you here?" She asked. "I assure you, the healers are treating Yang adequately." As much as they could treat a human.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "But I haven't been waiting here. I've merely been exploring the ship."

"I see," Maion said. "Take care not to pry."

"I won't," he said, his voice the picture of graciousness.

She continued on her way, hairs prickling the small of her neck. No mon'keigh should be that invisible. That right belonged to the Striking Scorpions alone, the Shadow of Khaine.

The meditation chambers were not far, a blessing in her wounded state. Her hand passed in front of the comms-stone, and she waited for a reply. It was several minutes before Garnet deigned to respond.

"Come in," the stone pulsed.

Maion entered the meditation chambers. Once more, Garnet sat amidst a sea of swirling stars, stars that did not belong to their universe. What was different were the runes that circled him, each pure and bright blue.

"Maion," Garnet said, still facing the heartstone, the one that linked the Void-Whisper to Il-Kaithe.

"I must know - how is it that you're guiding us?" She asked. "The mission against the Prodigal Sons was successful, but could have been avoided entirely. Why did you insist on this particular corridor?"

Garnet sighed, and the runes about his head dissipated. "I asked you for your trust, is that not enough?"

"This isn't right," Maion insisted. "I know you spent many years as an outcast, but I know you did not join the Harlequins. Those who do never return. You did."

"You are correct," Garnet said. "I did not join them."

"Then how do you know where the Black Library is?" Maion asked. "Its location is one of the most well-kept secrets in the galaxy."

He still did not face her, but Maion knew a wide smile stretched itself across his face.

"The truth is Maion… I have no idea where we're going."

"What?" Maion demanded. "That… that cannot be true!"

"It is," Garnet said. He raised a single finger. "But that does not mean I lack direction."

Maion huffed. "At times, I am sorely tempted to sympathize with the mon'keigh in matters regarding our species."

"You are a warrior," Garnet said simply.

"True," Maion admitted. "And I've never been proficient in warp-craft. I admit that. But Uncle… surely you can just… tell me?"

"I cannot explain it exactly," Garnet said. "Just that we are being led towards the Black Library. A song fills my head, a… comforting one." He folded his hands, took a deep breath. "I know it in my soul that we are headed the right way."

Maion frowned. "A song, Uncle? Surely you are not leading us to the heart of the webway on the merits of a song?"

"I am," Garnet said. He turned to face her, and the solemnity of his features brokered no argument - he truly believed his words. "I would never lead my family astray."

"And what if you are being misled?" She asked quietly, stepping forwards. "You are… new to the Path of the Seer. Not a common Path for a Tou'Her," she added.

"I am assured of this," he said. "Ever since I heard the first note on Gartenwald. The Harlequins are guiding me, albeit it in an unusual way."
At this, Maion huffed. "I still do not like it. It reeks of danger."

"I asked for your trust once before, and I am afraid I must do it once more," he said. "The others are just as curious as you, but I trust you enough to explain myself. We are family, Maion."

"So is Obsidian," Maion argued.

"Obsidian is... gone," Garnet said, pain filling every word. "Mostly. Lossamdir trusts my abilities simply because of my Path, as old thinkers are wont to do. Tell me - would he have approved of my explanation? Allowed us to continue our mission?"

Maion crossed her arms. "I find myself questioning that as well. The Void-Whisper has been heavily damaged. It is not a new ship. Do you think it can make the journey?"

"It can and it will," Garnet said. "We do not have much further to go. The mariners are committed."

"That is your doing, Uncle," Maion said.

"I know," Garnet replied. "They trust me. Do you, Maion?"

She considered that, blinking in the red light of the wounded heartstone. "I do," she said softly. "Of course I do." A few steps brought her closer to her Uncle, where she embraced him warmly. "I know you wouldn't lead us astray on purpose."

Garnet accepted her embrace, patting her back. "Thank you, Maion. In times such as these - on dangerous missions like this one, family must stick together."

"You sound like Grandmother," Maion said, pulling away.

"She did raise me," Garnet reminded her, smiling broadly. Maion grinned too. "But that does not mean she was incorrect. This is an utterly unique situation we find ourselves in. I don't blame you for your worry."

Maion's rapped her fist against his glossy armor. "I can only imagine what Lossamdir would have to say about your navigational talents."

Garnet huffed a short laugh. "Isha protect us. I think his head would implode."

Maion's smile fell. "And what about Yang?"

"Yang trusts us because of who we're descended from. Her support will not last forever. Do you think you can best her when it counts?"

Maion sighed, making and unmaking her fist. "Perhaps. Considering the source of her power…" She didn't want to think too much about that. When she linked minds with Yang and the truth of her soul came spilling out, it was nearly enough to blind her.

Garnet grunted a rueful acknowledgement. "I never said it would be easy. It is very likely we will not have to fight her at all - Weiss may want to destroy it as much as we do. Only if they attempt to take it as a prize will we need to intervene."

"That is good news for your face," Maion said, her grin returning. Garnet chuckled too, feeling the edge of his jaw with a long finger. The left side of his face was still blue and purple, but had returned to its original shape. "It seems as though the fury Yang visited upon it was returned with a vengeance."

Garnet nodded. "I should have told her what Rubric Marines were like." His silver eyes met the floor. "But Lossamdir wanted to test her. Given the result, I pray we will not have to fight her."

Maion did not reply, and they thought back to the brief and violent confrontation aboard Ahriman's frigate. The silence that stretched before them was reply enough.

A/N: And that does it for the frigate confrontation! Not too much to say, only that things are finally falling into place. The Black Library awaits…

Also, I'm not 100% on how Ahriman steers his frigates, so (shockingly) I made something up that was suitably horrific. However, I did have some help from ElMariachi on Sufficient Velocity for these past couple chapters, of which I am very grateful.

Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you next time!