Book Two: Corruption's End
Chapter 74: Complications
"When the Emperor calls you to duty, you will stand heroic. No one who truly serves Him has heard Him and done otherwise." - Confessor Dragr, formerly of the Savlar 15th Chem-Dogs
Ira's coffin was a simple thing, a humble construction of metal and wood, flanked by a dozen others just like it. Yet buried within was twenty years of experience. Of thought and time and prayers and hopes and pride.
And the Lady Highest wept for it all. Not for the wasted potential, not for a brother in spirit that bore the Recongrator's seal, not for his selfless sacrifice. She wept because she had lost a dear friend and companion, one she had taken for granted. Emperor, how it hurt.
The small chapel was empty but for her silent grief. Incense spilled from the enormous grated censer that hung above her head, mixing with the candle-fumes that spilled from the handful of Aquila adorning the walls. At the altar lay the coffins, each one empty and bare - no one dared subject a mourner to what remained of their intended occupants.
While Sister Eleven and the Lady Highest had recovered in the Recongrator's hospital, Palatine Naja bint Mutaa Al'Ibanhi sat a vigil for her fallen sisters. Alone. She had lit a single candle, one that was now no more than a puddle of radiant white wax on the polished stone floor.
The Lady Highest knew it was her, the residual anger and fiery hate that stained the walls was almost choking in its fullness. She could not blame the Palatine. Guilt suffused her, a sinking black pit that swallowed her whole.
This is my fault. When the dark eldar had struck at her, she had laughed at the pitiable attempt on her life, knowing that only the Officio Assassinorum could touch her. Never did she imagine that they would actually try.
Hubris. Hubris and arrogance. Failure written in the blood of the faithful - in the blood of her friend. She had been so blinded by the surety of her cause and the righteousness of her creed, she had put out her eyes and plucked them from her sockets.
Why have I driven myself with such reckless abandon?
Once more, she said her prayers, one for Ira's soul, the next for her own. For forgiveness and mercy once she reached the side of the Golden Throne. Despite the grief and pain, she could not desist. Only adjust. Adapt, overcome the new challenges that beset her, and correct her wayward path.
The Lady Highest approached the altar, a simple gilded aquila, its eyes imperious and all-seeing.
"For the woman I once was."
She drew Myrtenaster, a slim shadow of her distant past.
"For the pupil I loved."
With a hiss, her left gauntlet came loose, revealing a hand as pale as her hair.
"For the wrongs I have done."
She drew the blade across her palm, letting the edge score deep into her flesh. The pain came next, sharp as it always was. Blood spread across her hand, spattering on the cold stone floor.
"For the quest I cannot abandon - I swear I shall learn from this."
Her palm pressed against the Inquisitorial emblem embedded in the altar. It left a perfect print, one that streaked rivulets of red across the Aquila's etchings.
"I need your guidance, my Emperor. I have lost my way. I lost myself a long time ago." The Aquila did not respond, bearing her bloody promise with silent grace. The Lady Highest smiled wanly. She had not expected an answer.
It was time to leave. Turning on her heel, she left the Aquila, painting five trails of blood across Ira's coffin with her fingers. Your sacrifice will not be in vain. She would not succumb to grief like she had on Remnant.
With a hiss, rime-stained mist escaped her lips and sealed the wound on her palm. For now, at least. True penance was not something so easily accomplished. No, that path lies… elsewhere.
When the Lady Highest had learned of Yang's decision to renounce Ruby's memory… she shook her head. That wasn't right. Yang wanted to move past Ruby's death. Something Weiss Schnee struggled with deeply. A struggle that led her to where she stood today, before a pile of coffins meant to hold friends and protectors, those sworn by their faith and honor to do right by her. To serve her. And she had spat on them.
The Lady Highest wiped another rivulet of salt that streamed from her eyes. She had been swallowed up by grief. For a hundred and ten years she had let Ruby's memory hang over her. The sheer number of souls she'd offered up to it, the sheer number of lives she had spent to appease her conscience, to do right by Ruby's will. To do the right thing.
To fix the Imperium.
Turning back now was not an option - too much time and resources had been invested, too much blood spilt. But the reckless pace, taking the entire weight of the Imperium on her shoulders… that would change.
For the first time in a long time, the Lady Highest smiled weakly. I won't bear this burden alone. Not anymore. I just wish Ira could have helped.
She left the chapel, her power armor whirring with each step she took. Left. Right. Left. Right. The torches that lit the stairwell burned lime-green, a constant reminder of Ozpin. Of what he'd wrought on Remnant.
He sent Ruby to Her death, and they marched along gladly. In truth, that any of team RWBY had survived against Salem was miraculous. Yet Ruby alone paid for Remnant's salvation. One order, five words. An order not unlike the countless commands the Lady Highest herself had issued. Even on Remnant, he was playing the Imperium's game.
She didn't know whether to damn him or thank him.
Emerging from the staircase led her to the headquarter's hallways, still awash with human remains. A handful of servitors scrubbed the mess away, their rags sodden with gore. Soon, Sister Victoria's body would join them. To leave her in her... current state was an even greater cruelty. The Lady Highest imagined the rapturous grin Magos Prexius would wear while performing the task. She winced.
A sound shook her from her thoughts - footsteps around the corner. Three individuals. One bore a distinct mechanical whir - Lady Steelshield had finally arrived on Kastile Secundus. The Lady Highest breathed deep, steadying herself. She could not present weakness - not to the second-eldest member of the Recongrators.
The Inquisitor and her retainers turned the corner.
When one imagined a member of the Emperor's Inquisition, one could not come up with an image less fitting than that of the Lady Steelshield. Small in stature, she always wore a sunny smile, one that suited her flowing storm-grey locks and feminine features exceptionally well. Only her dark, deep-set brown eyes betrayed a hint of what she was capable of. The Lady Highest had never attempted to peer inside in her steel-trap mind - even without prying it open, she knew it only spoke in binary.
Her companions were more in line with Inquisitorial ideals - on her right, a tall woman towered over her master, her face lean and cruel, a discomforted air suffusing her very being. Sable-black hair tumbled over her shoulders, lighting gracefully atop her ill-fitting acolyte's armor. Steelshield's interrogator.
The Inquisitor's third and final companion was an Imperial scribe of some sort, burdened by countless scrolls and data slates. Though his wrinkled face belied his age, his straight back and whirring fingers showed none of it.
"Lady Inquisitor," Steelshield said.
"Lady Highest now," The Lady Highest said.
"I'd heard," the Inquisitor said. "Congratulations on your promotion."
"My thanks," The Lady Highest replied. "I was surprised when The Hallowed Inquisitor did not choose you for the position."
Lady Steelshield waved her hand dismissively, earning a sly grin from her taller companion. "I'm not the ambitious sort. You know that. Any word from the detachment I arranged?"
"None yet," the Lady Highest said. "Though I…" she paused. "I have the ultimate faith in my own delegation."
"Always important to have those you can trust," Steelshield said, nodding. "Speaking of which, my sympathies for your acolyte - I'd heard he'd been made a brother."
The woman's mechanical subharmonics made it impossible to determine if her sympathies were genuine, or a carefully constructed falsehood. In either case, the response was the same. The time for the council was nigh, and the politicking had begun.
"My thanks," The Lady Highest said, bowing her head gracefully. "I'm afraid I must retreat to my chambers and pray for his soul. A pleasure to see you again, Lady Steelshield."
"Likewise, Lady Schnee."
The Lady Highest winced once more. "See you shortly," she said, striding past the woman's companions. They continued down the hall, slower, appraising the stains that reached the ceiling.
Now more than ever, the Lady Highest needed the Emperor's guidance. Her fingers clasped the sealing relic against her palms. A small measure of comfort.
She had faith that He would show her the way.
Uncertainty. Panic.
"Yang!" Amat bellowed, his drunkenness forgotten. One second they'd been together, embracing, the next… blood. He snapped his fingers next to her ear, desperate for a response.
Nothing.
He activated the flashlight on his visor, shined it into her pupils.
Nothing.
She'd said 'Ahriman'… There was no point in denying it - the thrice-damned sorceror of the Thousand Sons was here, his goal in sight. Amat could feel the hairs on his neck and arms stand on end, fighting against the synskin, pushing, writhing, crawling.
Amat shook his head, clearing his head. If Ahriman was here, there was no other recourse than escape. He did not doubt his abilities, but he could not stand against the ancient warlord alone. Most of his ammo was back on the Void-Whisper, and he had a comatose Yang to watch over.
Whatever fate awaits the Black Library… He shook his head once more. The Harlequins would look after their own. Right now, the priority was leaving with the intel they acquired.
Alive. Unhurt.
Gently, Amat wiped his friends nose with his towel, dabbing at the blood that ran over her lips and pooled at their corners.
"Unnn," she moaned.
"Shh," Amat whispered, cradling her head. "It's okay."
With a blast of wispy shadows, Maion materialized next to them, panic wrought on her alien features.
"Ahriman-"
"I know," Amat said, holding Yang's head. "She's… I don't know. She needs help." He brushed the hair out of her eyes, and saw that they were blank and unseeing.
"She's not…" Maion started.
Amat shook his head. "I don't think so." She can't. His fingers pressed against Yang's carotid.
Steady. Regular. Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
No elevated pulse, no sign of mutation, no taste of ozone at the back of his throat. His visor's diagnosticator spat out the same conclusion - no trace of daemonic possession. Likely a simple reaction to encountering such a powerful psyker for the first time.
"We need to leave," Maion said. "Now. Can we move her?"
"Yes," Amat said. Maion reached out to share his burden, but he shrugged her away. "I'm fine." Kneeling, he draped Yang over his shoulders, clasping her wrist to her knee. She was not a small woman, but she still felt weightless to him - no more than a flickering flame. "Let's go."
Maion nodded, throwing her arms wide and bursting into a miasma of shadow. Taking advantage of her absence, Amat greedily tore the prayer for his Mother off its easel, stuffing it into his satchel.
The others would remain, proof that Amat the Vindicare walked the Black Library. That even aboard a xenos craft, the Emperor was always near. He scooped up his rifle and headed down the stairs, careful not to bash Yang's head against the staircase.
Chera was waiting outside, hellgun tucked into her shoulder. "About time, Amat!" She paused. "What's wrong with the witch?"
"Yang's fine, but we're in danger," Amat barked back, relishing the words on his tongue. They felt hot and and angry. Felt like living. Like freedom. "Ahriman's here." The kasrkin paled, and a laugh filled the living quarters, hesitant and gasping - an alarm.
"To the shuttle," Maion said, helping her grandparents along.
Pyrrha wore a knowing frown, leaning on her husband as he helped her along. She glanced at Yang and sighed. Amat swallowed and followed them to the lift. Survival. That's what mattered. But to let the Black Library fall to Ahriman…
The party burst through the main entrance, now devoid of music and dancing, no harlequins to be seen. The design of the massive gates had shifted - now it bore a grotesque scene, of cubist eldar consuming realistic eldar, the reaching tendrils of chaos choking the life out of them all.
Obsidian and Garnet waited at the end of the docking bay, facing the dead city of Niurvenah. Their eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed. Runes swirled around them, and they chanted in perfect harmony, the noise… strangely familiar.
A spike of pain stabbed Amat in the temple. He bore it with a grunt, shaking it away as he'd been trained to do. No headaches. Not now.
"Where's the shuttle?" He asked.
"My sons are attempting to summon it," Pyrrha said. "Ahriman's presence has cast a shroud upon our minds." The unsaid - 'making psykery difficult'. But it didn't need to be said, Amat could see the sweat beading on the aliens' brows, the twitching of their eyes.
Chera keyed her microbead. No luck. Amat tried as well, just in case. Nothing. They were stranded on the Black Library, a mere kilometer away from safety but unable to reach it. The Void-Whisper turned with the Black Library as the worldship began its retreat. The wounds wrought upon the smaller craft's hull had been patched. If 'patched' was the right word - new stretches of wraithbone streaked the hull, shining and pure.
The only recourse was to wait for Obsidian and Garnet to punch through Ahriman's psychic haze and send a message to Captain Ellamár.
Unacceptable. Risky.
They needed more time. More time for the Black Library to flee, more time for the Captain to notice their plight, more time. Time they did not possess. Amat brushed a lock of golden hair out of Yang's face, the strands impossibly soft and bright. Even with the synskin barrier between them, Amat could feel it all the same.
Hundreds of kilometers away, a corridor of the Webway darkened, the light around its edges flickering and fading. Through it, Amat could feel sheer hate pouring through, the fingerprint of a damaged, desperate psyche. More blood leaked out of Yang's nose, so he wiped it away carefully. At least she looked peaceable now. Stable.
"Isha protect us," Maion muttered. Amat looked up, and he understood the shock in her voice.
The Webway itself was tearing at the seams, torn asunder by Ahriman's will - iridescent rifts opened up in Niurvenah, some swallowing entire buildings whole. First, a handful tears. Then a dozen. Then a hundred.
Each one brought forth a hurricane of noise as they ate away the ancient city, each one spat out daemons by the score. In their hundreds, the creatures of the Warp spilled forth, slavering and misshapen.
Asillar swore. Chera thumbed her hellgun's power switch.
"Any progress?" Amat asked, a note of desperation in his voice. How did that get there? Did I do that on purpose? On accident?
Pyrrha blinked. "Some. Forgive us… this is…" She grimaced, a reflex shared by her family. "Difficult."
In his arms, Yang saw none of the horror. Instead, she simply held him tighter, silently begging him not to go. With a gentle hand, he dabbed the blood away from her nose and lips. The flow was slackening.
He wished she was awake.
He wished he could say goodbye.
"Maion," he said. The Shadowed Scorpion turned, surprised at his voice. Amat did not elaborate. He simply extended Yang to the alien. Maion nodded, accepting her tremulous form. "Take care of her," he said. "I…" He stopped talking.
There was nothing else to say.
He collected his gear and entered the Black Library once more.
"Duulamor!" He cried, racking his Exitus rifle. "Let's have a chat!"
AN: Holy shit, it's officially been four years since the story began! To everyone who's been with me all this time (and those just starting out), thank you so much for sticking with me all this time. Though I now consider myself something of a writer, I don't think words can properly express how much I appreciate you guys. Without you, this thing would have died years ago.
I apologize that the anniversary chapter had to be so short, but pacing demanded it, and I wasn't about to bloat the chapter with shit it doesn't need.
Next time: DAEMONS!