A/N: And so begins the 'Black Library' arc!
Book Two: Corruption's End
Chapter 66: Unwhole
"All that awaits us is the void. In some ways, it is for the best." - [REDACTED], Founder of [REDACTED].
Gingerly, Yang's fingers caressed the bandages that enveloped her face. A slight thrum of pain replied, low and demanding.
"Don't be a pussy," Janos said, a hint of a smile on his face.
"Yeah yeah, fuck yourself," Yang grumbled, peeling the bandages away. A week after their run-in with Ahriman's goons, and her face had only now begun to heal. Usually her aura was more proactive in repairing battle damage - especially in the Imperium - but it seemed reluctant to begin work on her face. Don't want to rush things I suppose, she thought, grunting as the removal of a particularly stubborn bandage threatened another headache. It's a sensitive area. Wouldn't want my patented Xiao Long genes going to waste. She grinned, which hurt.
"Any particular reason you're all so keen on watching me torture myself?" She asked the kasrkin.
"Mostly cause it's fun," Chera chimed in. "And we're bored as shit. Darron's out of lho, and Williams cheats at cards."
"I just cheat better," Williams protested.
"It's good to see you a little bruised up," Darron added unhelpfully. "Put a dent in your ego."
Yang huffed, applying a fresh layer of bandages. Already, blood from her split lip flowed anew, staining the clean white linen that kissed it.
"A traitor marine did this to me," Yang said. "Not to mention he was some kind of gheist. If you want the next round in the ring with one of those fuckers, be my guest." Silence. "No takers? That's what I thought."
She finished her bandaging, tying a gentle knot under her golden mane.
"Any of you see Amat?" She asked. She'd awoken at her usual time, but Amat had been absent from his usual perch.
"He's been spending too much time with the xenos," Janos said.
"They've been antsy lately," Darron said, wiping a vizzie cloth along the edge of his hellgun. "We're close. Very close."
His words sent a chill creeping up the Cadians' spines. Even Yang felt the air turn to frost. Apparently, they had picked up a few things from Weiss.
The Black Library was near. None of the humans aboard the Void-Whisper had ever traversed the Webway before, none of them had even heard of the Black Library before three weeks ago... but they still knew. The feeling was inescapable, insidious. It was like being watched, a feeling that even persisted into their dreams. It was as if an all-seeing eye had lain their minds open and found them wanting. It was not malicious, yet seemed all the more terrifying for that fact alone.
Yang opened her mouth to say something, but closed it shortly afterwards. The kasrkin didn't want to hear anything from her. Once more, she felt a pang of longing for her friends on the Ascendant Dawn.
Would they be handling this mission any better?
She sighed and cracked her knuckles, making sure not to agitate the raw-red skin atop them. With her hands in such bad shape, she was forced to spend even more time with Garnet. Though he was an excellent teacher - words of praise Yang Xiao Long did not hand out lightly - her mind had been given little time to rest. She was glad she'd managed something useful in the bowels of the Sons' frigate, but using her witchcraft still felt wrong. There was still a barrier that kept her from using it like her fists.
"I'm going for a walk," Yang said. She was past the pretense she needed to obey the Captain and his wife.
No one challenged her - they were used to her frequent comings and goings by now. She left the cargo bay, no destination in mind. Though a regular pastime of Yang's, she found it odd that Amat was indulging in it so much recently. Was the Black Library agitating him as well?
Maybe Maion knows. Or perhaps it was her that drew Amat from his perch. Yang huffed at that thought. Unlikely. Passing Garnet's meditation chamber, she stuck her hands in her pockets. The walls were so samey onboard the Void-Whisper. Wasn't like the Ascendant Dawn, where each corridor was a reflection of the occupants. There were no Ranshan hieroglyphs that marked their section of the ship, nor the runic script of the Woadians scribbled atop the faded prayers of soldiers that came before.
I hope Gamma's getting on without me.
A pair of mariners rushed past her, their faces - typically blank and expressionless - were now marked with apprehension. Yang stopped, turning on her heel to watch them pass. Was there another obstacle? More of Ahriman's band? Or had they finally arrived at the Black Library?
She hoped for the latter. Yang wasn't in a state to fight more of the Prodigal Sons, and if there was a Sorcerer in their midst, she knew she could not face him. A frown pulled at the corners of her lips. Felt wrong to admit that.
However, another part of her simply wished to see the Library. From the way the eldar spoke about it, she knew she would witness things that would stagger belief. She could already feel it in her fake stomach.
Her hand slipped under her shirt, caressing the spiderweb scar that rippled over her abs, The flesh was wrinkled yet firm. A permanent reminder that chaos offered nothing but annihilation.
Turning on her heel, she entered Garnet's meditation chambers. As expected, he was sitting amidst the constellations of Remnant, his mind wandering free in the stars of his ancestral home.
"He is concentrating," Maion said, apparating from the hallway, her form trailing formless shadow.
"On?"
"On our future," Maion answered. "This entire venture is built on vagueness and uncertainty - things abhorred by the eldar."
"But you went anyway," Yang replied. At that, Maion nodded, pure green eyes lighting upon her uncle.
"We did. Would you follow me, please?"
It was always worded like a question, but like the barking commands of the kasrkin, her words were anything but requests. It was how all the eldar spoke, lofty and holier-than-thou.
"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Yang asked.
"Of course not," Maion said. "The Captain wants us at the bridge."
"Fair enough," Yang replied, removing herself from Garnet's chambers. Whatever the warlock saw, she hoped it wasn't as dire as his words on Gartenwald.
She followed Maion, head on a swivel. Though there were no more mariners, the ship itself seemed alive with anticipation, pulsing with nervous energy. Is it the ship itself, or the souls aboard it?
Yang preferred not knowing. Whatever it was, the Void-Whisper was still leagues better than the Prodigal Sons' frigate. Maion led her on through the ship, her steps prim yet silent. She moved like Pyrrha did, but with a quiet grace that her Grandmother never achieved on Remnant.
"Hey Maion?" Yang asked. "Quick question."
The eldar woman didn't stop, but she did nod for Yang to continue.
"Have you seen Amat around? He hasn't been coming to roost recently."
"He has been exploring the ship," Maion explained. "His temple has granted him superlative abilities, but he is not as invisible as he would believe."
"He's spying on you?" Yang asked as they turned a corner. The thought didn't sit well with her.
"Not quite," Maion answered. "I would have stopped him if he tried to uncover secrets that he was not meant to find. He tends to avoid the crew - Vindicare Assassins are not a welcome sight amongst my kin."
For obvious reasons. "How do you know he's been sneaking around?"
"We have spoken," Maion said. "And I see him on occasion, usually little more than a thin ripple of air. He possess an acute sense of curiosity... for a mon'keigh."
Yang didn't know how to feel about Maion's words. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. If I'm going to see the Captain, my hair probably shouldn't look like a birds' nest.
They arrived at the bridge's bulkhead, where a familiar shimmer of air awaited. Despite herself, Yang couldn't suppress a grin.
"Well I'll be damned," she said as Amat revealed himself from nothing. "We were just talking about you."
"Apologies, if you were searching for me," he said.
"Maion said you've been exploring," Yang replied. Were it not for his mask, she could've sworn he was blushing.
"Partially true. It is in the nature of the Vindicare to wait and observe," he countered.
"Yang. Amat," Maion interrupted, placing her hand on the crystal that guarded the bulkhead. The doors slid open noiselessly, revealing the bridge in a state of relative chaos.
Yang watched the mariners with reserved satisfaction as they scurried about, obeying the commands of their agitated Captain. Even with the gnawing, lidless eye that pressed down upon the back of her mind, she managed a grin. Once more, the eldar proved themselves to be far more flappable than they cared to admit.
Captain Ellamár ordered something in the tongue of Il-Kaithe, his void-colored cape tessellating with the haste of his gestures. His crew obeyed without question or hesitation, a reflection of the war-party's networked telepathy.
"We're here," Yang realized.
"We are," Maion said with a sideways glance at the Captain. He nodded, barking something else at his subordinates. Once more, the blast shields parted to reveal a stunning sight.
Before them lay the Black Library of Chaos.
Amidst the golden glow of the Webway, it was a sliver of glass, burnt-black and embedded with bubbles of glowing light. Great crystal blisters covered the ship, each one flowing into the next and carrying their own unique beauty.
It hovered above a shattered city, its glory long faded yet evident in the size of the ruins it left behind.
As they neared, the Black Library seemed to swallow them all, revealing its true scale. It was titanic. Each blister put Imperial architects to shame, to say nothing of the structures contained within. Great spires and obelisks lay inside, visible through the transparent walls of crystal citadels large enough to engulf the Ascendant Dawn.
"You needed to see," Maion explained. "See the same thing that's been haunting our dreams these past few weeks. Know that you are one of the few humans to ever lay eyes upon the eldar's most sacred and treasured relics. Know, and be in awe."
Yang didn't need convincing - though she noticed Maion was nearly as slack-jawed as herself.
Ira drew his power swords, the machine-spirits within buzzing with murderous intent. Something - or someone - had penetrated the Recongrators' compound. Whatever it was, it would not lay a finger on his Lady.
The Sisters of Battle thought along similar lines, bashing down the bulkhead to the Lady Highest's quarters in their haste to assess her. With their weapons drawn, the three heavily-armored women filled the room.
"We need to move her," the Palatine said. "Get her off-planet, if possible. Can you hail Serviceman Chung?" She asked Ira. "I cannot contact my pilot-sisters."
Ira shook his head. "I've been attempting to raise a signal every point-oh-five seconds since the explosion, but no one has picked up. I fear communications between us and the outside world have been severed."
"Damnation!" The Palatine cursed. "Sister Eleven, gather as many Sisters as you can. We shall flag a transport down with our bare hands if we must."
They didn't trust this place. Ira didn't either, but that was a thought best logged for later.
"Let us spirit our Lady away," he said. Sister Victoria nodded, bundling up the Lady Highest into her arms. In her state, she looked to be no more than a fragile doll, her skin pallid and lifeless. She mumbled against Sister Victoria's armor, clenching the plates tightly.
They departed without saying another word, hastening from their superior's quarters. In the halls of the Recongrators' headquarters, emergency lights doused the walls in a dire red light, barely enough to keep the shadows away. Functionaries and servitors flitted about the hallways, panicked and confused. Ira had no difficulties navigating the dimly lit corridors - he had long ago constructed a digital map of the premises, all thanks to his bionic enhancements. He directed the Sisters to the antechamber.
Sister Eleven returned with a handful of Battle Sisters - Sisters Nanda, Yulska, Emmanuelle, Sho, Macie, and Lora according to Ira's logs. Most were armored with standard Sacred Rose equipment - blessed boltguns dripping with purity seals, though Sister Nanda and Sister Macie carried a pair of bolt pistols. Their party now numbered ten members, excluding the Inquisitor. Before they could progress, a bulkhead slammed shut before them, blocking their most direct route of escape.
Ira could feel the worm that crawled through the fortress's systems, preying on weak programs and tearing them to shreds. He could feel it, and he knew it had found them.
"We must hurry," he said. The Sisters did not reply. A scream filled the halls behind them, one that seemed to reverberate within the walls themselves, howling up from the bowels of the planet. "Now!" Ira bellowed.
The party burst into a run, checking each corner as they passed it. Something... wrong pursued them. Nothing daemonic in origin, but enough to put their hackles on edge, something that set Ira's subroutines on fire.
Another scream, followed by the sounds of rending flesh and splashes of gore. It was closer, and it was hunting his Lady. Ira and the Sisters stumbled upon the victim as they turned a corner.
Sister Pollyana.
Her body had been turned inside-out, each organ squeezed of the essence that painted the wall behind her.
"What the fuck," the Palatine breathed, unaware of the words that passed her lips. Above them, the lights flickered, stuttering to life before drenching them in darkness once more.
At the end of the hallway, a figure appeared, lanky and covered in blood. Its head was bulky yet skeletal, bulbous yet streamlined. Pearl-white teeth shone red in the emergency lights, and an aperture on its forehead opened, revealing-
WRONG
BROKEN
WRONG
UNWHOLE
DIE
HELP ME
DIE
PLEASE
Ira choked on the air, unable to think, unable to breathe. He could not face this thing. This monster. The creature stepped forwards, pointing at the Lady Inquisitor with a clawed, many-knuckled finger.
DIE.
Ira didn't know if the word had been spoken, but could feel it in his mind, feel it push his very being into a small corner where all the implants at the Mechanicus' behest could not help him no no no.
And only then did he know what he faced.
"Culexus," he breathed. One of the Officio Assassinorum's most monstrous creations.
"Go," Sister Victoria said. She handed the Inquisitor to Sister Nanda and activated her thunder hammer. "With me, Sister Yulska! Sister Sho!"
They gave a battle cry, surely their last. Ira wanted to challenge the thing with her, use the party's combined prowess to bring it low. But the look in Sister Victoria's eye brokered no argument - she knew her fate. There was a flash of gold before Ira turned and led the remainder of the Sisters away. He dare not turn back.
Once more, screams filled the Recongrator's Headquarters, accompanied by the roar of bolter fire and the crackle of a thunder hammer.
The Lady Inquisitor twisted and turned, pulling at her carrier's ebony robes, moaning nonsense in insensate fear and agony. Ira's heart and augmentics could not keep up with the strain placed upon them. One glance at the assassin and he could not keep himself from shaking.
"Why's there an assassin here?" The Palatine bellowed, shaking Ira from his mindless stupor. "Why's it after the Inquisitor?"
Even if he had known the answers to her questions, Ira couldn't reply. He just wanted to run away. He wanted to take a thunderhawk to the Scythe of Morning and bomb every inch of Kastile Secundus into nothingness.
Anything.
Anything to get away from the monster.
No. Ira's hands grasped his swords.
NO.
His Lady needed him. He would not shame himself. No matter his enemy, he would stand to fight for His Lady. For the Sisters that screamed at his side, unleashing their bolters as their feet flew through the halls of the Recongrator fortress. He would fight to honor Sister Victoria's sacrifice, and the the silver cylinder that slapped at his chest.
He would fight for himself, a future Inquisitor, a servant of the Omnissiah.
The headquarters' antechamber was nearing. They were nearly free, even though they could hear the assassin's demented laughter echoing through the halls. It pursued them, hounded them. Like no other human could. Ira wished that Amat had stayed behind. With a Vindicare on their side, the odds would be much better.
The Lady's servants dashed through the decontamination room, grey mist shrouding them, filling their lungs. Red alarms screeched as they pried open the doors to the antechamber, but they went ignored.
Sweat poured down Sister Eleven's face, running off Sanguinius's form like raindrops. The rest of the Sisters slapped new mags into their bolters. Whispered, hasty prayers escaped them.
The Palatine tore the bulkhead open and ushered her comrades through. As it slammed shut behind them, Ira activated his swords and pressed them to the bulkhead, sealing himself and the Sisters within the antechamber.
Artificial sunlight cast itself upon the fleeing group, mocking them with its brightness.
"He's here," the Lady Inquisitor said. "My reckoning." Her words seemed to surround them, reach up to the distant vaulted ceiling. Reckoning. Reckoning.
"Shh," Sister Nanda said, brushing the Lady's hair out of her face. "We shall keep you safe."
Ira prayed that they could keep her words. As they reached the end of the antechamber, he punched the elevator button. It whirred into action, its machine-spirits groaning in agony. They didn't like running on backup power.
"Spread out," the Palatine barked, waving at the massive pillars that lined either side of the room. "Stay hidden, and open fire once it emerges."
The Sisters went, knowing it meant their deaths. Ira watched them go, ivory tunics fluttering behind them. Sister Eleven racked her heavy bolter, ready to unleash a hail of death. The Palatine revved her Eviscerator, the scar on her lip twisting her lips into a vicious frown.
Ira readied himself as well.
Only Sister Nanda was unarmed, the delirious Inquisitor in her arms while a pair of bolt pistols hung at her hip
"How much longer?" the Palatine asked.
"Two minutes," Ira answered. The fortress was buried deep after all - the elevator would take some time to reach them.
So they waited. No one spoke, and the silence seemed to stretch into eternity. He knew the question burned in their minds - 'why was an assassin sent to kill the Lady Highest?' It was one he shared himself, but one that no one present bothered to answer. They had all heard the Culexus, felt its wrath made plain in the corpse of Sister Pollyanna.
As far as the assassin was concerned, they were all targets. At the opposite end of the hall, Malcador the Sigillite stared down at them all, judgemental and serene.
"Emperor protect us," one of the Sisters said. Ira couldn't tell which one. The bulkhead burst apart, shooting fire and superheated mist into the antechamber. The Order of the Sacred Rose erupted, pouring a salvo of bolter rounds into the breach. Detonations and the resounding echo of gunfire filled the hall - a blaring, triumphant roar. Sister Eleven howled a prayer while the Palatine directed her underlings' fire.
One minute until the elevator arrived.
The constant stream of fire turned to staccato reports, before it ceased entirely. Despite Ira's augmentations, he almost choked on the miasma of cordite and smoke that poured from the Sisters' bolters. His swords crackled with power, waiting, waiting.
Laughter filled the antechamber, a sound unlike any Ira had ever heard. It was the sound of a knife across steel, hissed and wrong wrong WRONG.
A shadow burst into being before Sister Macie, dodging her first strike with fluid grace before pressing its skeletal face into hers. A eruption of screeching noise
WRONG
UNWHOLE
WRONG
WRONG
WRONG
filled the antechamber, and Sister Macie was no more than a red stain on the statue of Malcador the Sigillite.
"For the Emperor!" Palatine Naja cried, charging forwards. Ira joined her, binary cant slamming his processes into overdrive. The time was now, do or die. On their shoulders rested the life of his Lady - the fate of the Imperium.
Only Sister Nanda remained behind, drawing a bolt-pistol from its holster.
The Assassin was all too happy to greet them, turning his bloated, distended head to face them. A pair of heavy bolter shells flew past him, each one sidestepped with ease. It was five against one, and Ira didn't like their chances.
Under Sister Eleven's supporting fire, they closed with the assassin. As they neared it, Ira's perception wavered, his processes growing sluggish and wane. Suddenly, his limbs felt like they were underwater, his swords like anvils, and his vision spun. He grit his teeth and pushed on.
Focus. It's an illusion. Push.
PUSH.
ON.
Each Sister suffered as well before attempting to shake off the reality-bending effects of the assassin's equipment. The Palatine reached their target first, eviscerator raised high above her head. Then the assassin was behind her, faster than Ira could process.
Sister Emanuelle swiped at it with a chainsword, missing by inches. The Culexus assassin rolled past the strike, its clawed hands shooting up through her neck and brain. Palatine Naja roared, whirling her eviscerator around to catch the assassin.
No luck.
With sickening grace, the assassin withdrew his claws, and the Palatine's blow only managed to cleave Sister Emanuelle's body in half.
Ira leapt forward, plunging his sword forward, thrusting for the creature's heart. The assassin caught his wrist and twisted. With a metal shriek, his arm was ripped from its socket. A chorus of machine spirits screeched in agony, wailing at the violation of their sanctity.
But Ira felt nothing. Pain was a weakness of flesh.
Sister Eleven bull-rushed the assassin, twin-linked heavy bolter blaring all the way. Each shot went wide, unable to find purchase on the Culexus. It dodged her with ease, throwing an adamantium claw into her side as she barreled past. Sister Eleven howled in agony, her power armor rent and spraying blood. Several more steps and she collapsed to the floor, a hand pressed to her side, heavy bolter discarded.
Sister Lora opened fire with her bolter, an attempt to distract the assassin. Ira lunged forwards with his remaining arm. A pincer attack ensuring that there was no respite, no moment where the assassin could face a single opponent at a time.
It hardly mattered.
The assassin flowed around Ira, shunting an elbow into his back and throwing the Acolyte clear of the brawl. As he skidded across the floor, the assassin slipped underneath Sister Lora's legs, scrambling up her back before twisting her neck around with a clean and resounding snap.
Riding her corpse as it sank to the ground, he let loose another blast, a screech of
WRONG
FEAR
HELP ME
energy, one aimed at the Lady Highest.
Ira screamed, but his worries were for naught - Sister Nanda sacrificed herself, turning her back to the blast to shield her Lady.
The Sister of Battle burst apart. The Lady Highest tumbled to the floor, blood streaming from her mouth, eyes, and nose. On the floor, she twitched and convulsed, lips frothing with foam.
Sister Eleven recovered, lunging from the floor with a crackling power knife. The assassin kicked it out of her hands, mulching her fingers into a puddle of shattered bones.
They were going to lose.
Ira could see it as plain as day, as clear as the Omnissiah's truths. He struggled to his feet, his limbs jerking and twitching. His swords were missing. The assassin had snapped something in his spine, rendering his augmentations unresponsive and glitchy. A hundred repair processes and diagnostics scrawled through Ira's vision, but he paid them no mind.
Metal legs stumbled forwards, feet splashing through what was left of Sister Macie and Sister Emanuelle. Ira watched the Palatine and Sister Eleven battle on. They were so far away. Try as he might, they never seemed to get any closer.
They were all going to die.
No. No! I can't, I can't I can't let it win!
NO!
With a grimace, Ira pushed on. His feet picked up their pace. Right. Left. Right. Left.
Sister Eleven suffered another swipe of the assassin's claws, this one carving her stomach open and spilling her intestines across the floor. Only the Palatine remained upright, standing between her Lady and the assassin.
Right. Left.
The Sister's strikes were harrowing, but the wide, sweeping arc of the eviscerator was easily dodged by the Culexus.
RIGHT. LEFT.
Then the Palatine fell, a single claw protruding from her kneecap. Despite her attempts to stay upright, despite the furious roar that escaped her lips, she crumpled. In the opening provided, the assassin's skeletal visage snapped around, locking onto the Lady Highest.
Ira bellowed in rage and despair and defiance. He shut down every process, overrode every instinct-script as he rushed forwards. Sister Palatine swung her sword around, but not in time to save the Lady Highest.
Ira would not fail his Lady.
He screamed as everything went black.
The Lady Highest breathed deep. In a single moment, the terrible, choking fog that crippled her mind vanished into nothingness. Blood coated every inch of her, and the air was full of screams.
Where am I? What's happening?
She blinked, clearing her eyes of scarlet tears. Her head pounded and ached, her vision blurry and seeing double. Every part of her shook and rattled while foam flecked her lips. Bracing herself against the floor, she got to her knees.
Find out what's happening.
Her duster wiped at her eyes, clearing them of blood. What they saw scarred her very soul.
The Recongrator's antechamber was a tapestry of gore and broken bodies. Gauntleted limbs were scattered about like refuse. Sister Eleven bellowed in agony, scooping up her guts with broken, trembling hands.
Palatine Naja bint Mutaa Al'Ibanhi stood behind a Culexus assassin, her eviscerator cleaving its head in half. The Lady Highest coughed, filling her fist with blood-flecked phlegm.
The Culexus temple… Emperor protect me. They had sent a Culexus after her. Emperor protect me.
The Palatine's eviscerator purred, grinding the assassin's brains into slop as the creature slumped forwards.
And then she saw what was left of Ira.
His body was a ruined mess, a meaty lump of broken steel and liquefied organs. Every inch of skin had been rent from his body, his red cloak tattered and unwhole.
The Lady Highest crawled forward, tears stinging her eyes.
No.
Emperor, please, no.
She desperately wished that she was dreaming. That in a few moments the nightmare would be over, and she could get on with her work.
Nothing happened. Ira was gone, his synthetic eyes still and lifeless.
Dead.
"NO!"
Her screams meant nothing. Her acolyte was gone, his lact act ensuring that she lived on. She pulled what was left of his head into her lap as tears streamed down her cheeks, throat opening and closing, stealing her breath away.
This is my fault.
She tucked a strand of cherry-red hair behind his ear, cradling the remnants of the face she found twenty years ago, sparks of hope and intelligence burning bright behind the soot-stains.
The Lady Highest hitched her breath, the sight of Ira's lifeless eyes too much to bear.
The Lady Inquisitor began to sob.
And Weiss Schnee let out a long, keening wail.
A/N: Omnissiah grant you rest, Ira, and may the Emperor carry each Sister to His side.
I know a lot of people were expecting something chaos-related, but I left enough hints for people to uncover what was happening. I should clarify a few things about Culexus assassins though, both for lore-nerds and newbies. They carry the pariah gene, which means they are soulless and invisible to the warp. This also means that, around psykers, they can often create severe feelings of nausea and disorientation, with the feelings getting stronger the more powerful the psyker is (hence Weiss being totally debilitated). Also, Culexus assassins are normally depicted with only a single weapon - their headpiece that fires anti-warp energy. I gave this one a set of adamantium claws however, mostly to make the combat more entertaining than 'and then he liquefied another person'.
With all that being said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Up next... the Black Library.