Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 80: Corruption's End

Part II

"Here to stay amongst the stars, here to serve with a glorious hearts. No matter what battles the fates may bring, I will always be here, my love, to sing." - Common voidborn lullaby aboard the Conclave, Armageddon-Class Battlecruiser, Warfleet Ultima

"No, no, no." Yang didn't have anything else to say. This couldn't be happening, not to Amat, not now. What happened to all the special brainwashing, the endless prayers, his unshakeable faith?

No one looked at her. Why would they? A Vindicare assassin twisted and writhed, agony ruling his features, his very soul under assault. A dozen weapons stood ready to end his life, not all of them of eldar make.

This is my fault.

In her arrogance and hubris, she had torn him from a proper death, endangered the lives of billions, and she could not even reap the joy of his survival, her one triumph turning to ash in her synthetic stomach. If I had only been faster... She shook her head. No, that was a useless thought, the same one that plagued her endlessly in the years following Ruby's death. That and many others, all reeking of guilt and self-pity.

No longer. No more.

She marched forward, tying her hair into a ponytail. Darron watched her from the corner of his eye, his hellgun still trained on Amat.

"What are you planning, witch?" He asked.

"Something drastic," Yang answered evenly. Darron grunted, but allowed her to approach the bed.

"This is ill-considered, mon'keigh." Lossamdir said. The medics had liberated him from his bed to distance him from Amat, yet had not let the exarch walk free. They held him upright, pressing a red-spotted gauze to his chest. "Even Obsidian agrees."

"Then let him say so," Yang said.

"This is ill-considered, Yang." Obsidian replied. "In this, Lossamdir and myself are in agreement."

"Maybe," Yang allowed. "But I don't care. Either this works, or it doesn't. Whatever happens, we'll have an answer, and everyone will be safer. Let me clean up my mess." She didn't wait for a reply. Reaching Amat, she examined the assassin.

Pain ruled him, and his muscles strained in his struggle to ward off an unseen force - a quick-thinking medic had lashed him to the bed to prevent him from hurting himself. Sweat poured off his forehead, and his lips moved in time to an unspoken prayer.

"Hey," she said, as gently as she dared. "Amat. Assassin-man," she added, lighting a hand on his shoulder.

His eyes flew open, pupils searching wildly. "Y-Yang?" He asked, his voice small and hoarse.

"Yeah, it's me," she said, dabbing a wet cloth to his brow. "Not doing so hot?"

Amat blinked. "I'm doomed," he whispered. "I can hear them whispering. How do they…" he leaned forward. "How do they know so much?"

"It's in their nature," Yang answered cooly. "Just be glad they didn't take a subtler approach."

A weak chuckle. "We're not subtle people, are we?" He asked.

"You are," Yang replied. "That's your whole schtick." She paused. "You have faith in your training, right? In all the prayers you learned?"

"Yes. I just… they seem so small now. Faint."

That was the only answer Yang needed. "Okay," she said. "I need you to remember them. Each and every one."

"I'll never forget."

"Good." She realized that their roles had reversed, however briefly. "You got this, okay?"

"Got what?" Amat asked, a flash of curiosity shining through the pain. The flash she adored. But she did not answer him. Instead, she unbound his right hand and held it within her own. Her left hand met his shoulder, and she pressed her forehead against his.

Yang's hair ignited, a white-gold glow that illuminated the alien medbay.

"In a galaxy defined by anonymous sacrifice," she began, her eyes glowing red. "Immortality is a curse, and only in acceptance of this do we achieve victory, do we become paragons of worth and beacons of light," the words came to her from nowhere, yet she knew them intimately. "Infinite are the souls spent in pursuit of order, unbound by death. I release your soul to stand beside me, and by my shoulder, protect thee."

Exhaustion struck her like a hammer, a wave of fatigue that ebbed away her soul. But she could not rest, not just yet.

"Amat," she wheezed, squeezing his hand, "C'mon man."

Amat did not reply - his mouth was open, his eyes fluttering, muscles twitching. She had granted him his aura, now they would see if he could keep it. Yang held him tighter, the barrel of Ember Celica brushing against the bottom of his chin. Please don't make me use it. He screamed, his mind now a channel for the warp, with only his soul and his prayers to stand against the voices. Yang met his eyes, shared her aura with him.

/

An entire planet spasmed in its death throes, golden spires crumbling, its skies raining gore, its streets echoing with the howls of daemons, the screams of the innocent as their minds were torn in two, as their bodies were ripped limb from limb.

Holy Terra.

Broken. Doomed.

And it's all my fault.

That… wasn't her. Yang started forwards, her feet moving blurry. Languidly, laboriously, horridly, she moved. A thousand steps to move two feet. It felt sickeningly familiar. A long, piercing scream ripped the black-ash air, a woman torn to shreds by bloodletters' teeth.

A temple stood before Yang, more a faceless tomb than a place a worship. It was a place of great comfort, a place of death and welcoming, everlasting stillness. It was aflame, a towering pyre, a monument to failure.

Amat!

Amat was here, prostrate before the flames.

Red soaked his arms, soaked his hair, ran down his face, streamed from his eyes, dripped from his fingers.

"I failed," he told her.

But it wasn't her. It was a parody of her, a shambling creature with eyes full of worms. Naked, flesh torn and held open with hooks, blasphemous scripture cut deep into skin and sinew, an open mouth with sharpened teeth and a pointed tongue.

It caressed him, long fingers with an extra knuckle that drew his gaze into itself, into the black flames that spilled from its luxuriant silken hair.

"I'm so sorry," Amat said.

"Yeah, this is pretty fucked up," Yang said.

Amat snapped around to look at her, look away from the horror that filled her stomach with bile.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated.

"You know this isn't real, right?" Yang asked. "We're still aboard the Void-Whisper. This," she said, gesturing at the crumbling capital of the Imperium. "It's all lies."

"The Void-Whisper," Amat breathed. "Oh."

"That's not me," Yang said, stepping forwards. Amat was no closer than before.

"Isn't it?" He asked. "I missed. Now look at you." The Yang-Thing hissed, its flayed arms wrapping the assassin in a loving embrace. "Look at everything," he whispered into its flayed chest.

A woman's scream echoed through Holy Terra again, and Yang realized it was Weiss. Once more the bloodletters tore into her, a mess of white hair and red, red, red, red. How dare you, the echoing cry seemed to say. How dare you leave me.

HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU

"This isn't real," Yang repeated, her mouth full of black. She sounded more desperate than she wanted. Everything felt muted. Dull. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. Was she even saying anything. Could Amat hear her?

Can I?

Who's there?

"It doesn't have to be," the Yang-Thing said its voice lilting, coaxing, knowing. Its red-black eyes fixated on her. "She already led you astray once. Now she's trying to hide the truth of what's to come. Don't you remember what it's like to be certain? Before the witches, before those incessant questions? Before the headaches, the pain?" The words fell out of its mouth like maggots dripping from a corpse, clump by rotting clump.

"You would never lie to me," Amat said.

"Daemons do," Yang said. Screamed. Same thing. It was hard to hear over the Imperial Palace collapsing behind them. Go away, the cracking stones said. This isn't for you, said an empty Golden Throne. Go to sleep.

This is all your fault anyway.

"But you can fix this," Yang-Thing said. "Don't you want to know faith? Hope? Don't you want to remember?"

"Go fuck yourself," Yang protested. "He hasn't forgotten. Do I talk like that, Amat? Is that really what I sound like?" She reached for him, but her hand didn't move.

"No," he realized. He stood, looked at her in full. The Yang-Thing snarled and leapt, fist braced to splatter her brains. She willed it away, waving it aside with an unseeable push. It burst into dust, howling in protest.

Weiss died again, her shrieks accompanied by deep booming laughter. Amat could do nothing but weep bloody tears.

"This is a nightmare," Yang said. "But not a normal one. You've had nightmares before, right?"

"No," Amat said. "I don't know what's happening. Why are you here?"

"I'm…" Emperor, she was tired. No! She bit her cheek until it bled. "I'll help you get through this." She waved her hand around the carnage that surrounded them. "This is all… fake. It's meant to fuck with your head."

"Oh, it's real," Amat said sadly. "It's my fault. I should have died in Niurvenah."

"C'mon man," Yang insisted. "Please, you gotta snap out of it. This isn't you, no more than that thing was me. You saved me, remember?"

Amat was silent for a moment. "You're not a daemon, are you?"

"I'm... not offering you anything," Yang said, as calmly as she could.

"You're really here," Amat agreed. "That's strange. Excuse me, but I'm late."

He entered the tomb, the temple. Yang went with him. She snatched his hand in hers. He held onto it tightly. Anchored himself to her, and she to him.

Before them stood a dais, a woman with a shaved head and trailing wires. She presided over a desk made of burning paintings.

"Cognoment-Designate Amat," she said. "The Temple stands in judgement of you."

Amat hung his head.

"You are charged with heresy in thought, deeds, and action," his mother said, her eyes a brilliant, shining blue. "Consorting with xenos. Witches. Of squandering the resources of the Holiest Temple, of betraying the Emperor's sacred trust."

"Oh fuck off!" Yang shouted. "This is your best attempt? Boo!" She said, cupping her hand around her mouth. The two woman bored into her, and needles by the thousands ripped into her skin.

haha just like ahriman hahaha

"I want to make this right," Amat said.

"You can do that," Yang said, forcing herself to stand between him and the lies. "Look at them. Look."

"I know," Amat said.

Knew. Understood.

"You're the best person I've met in this entire galaxy," Yang said. Less tired. "I'm sorry I had to activate your aura. I did this to you."

"I'm not a Vindicare anymore," Amat said.

"No," Yang said. "And I'm sorry for that. But you are a person. You're Amat. And I want you to wake up. They don't give a shit about you," she said, pointing at Palla and Mother. "They're just here to eat you. They're fucking daemons, Amat. They're liars."

"We are no more daemons than Amat is Vindicare," Palla's epitaphium echoed through the temple, loud enough to churn their guts into slurry. "Now confess your failure. Then the healing can begin."

Yang let go of Amat's hand. "It's your choice assassin-man. I trust you."

Amat chose.

/

And Yang came to, her hand screaming in protest. Amat had clenched it so hard, his fingernails drew blood. His skin radiated a pale silver light, his aura chasing away the visions, beating them into submission.

His aura.

"Amat," she whispered. His eyes were wet, his throat worked without a sound, his tongue ran over his lips.

But it was him.

"What have you done," he whispered. It was the first time she had ever seen fear in his eyes.

"I just saved your ass," Yang said, wiping her tears away with the crook of her elbow, wiping away the vision of madness, willing it away to the furthest corner of her mind. "Or damned it. Either way, I get to keep you around for a little longer. Your mission isn't over yet, buddy." She embraced him, held him as tight as she could, her life buoy in the maelstrom that was her life in the Imperium.

Tensions eased in the medbay, weapons lowered, whispers flitted between the eldar. Darron chuffed in disbelief, leaning his hellgun against his pauldron. Garnet looked on, stroking his chin in deep thought.

"Well I'll be damned," Chera said. "You made him a witch."

"I did," Yang said. "It should have killed him, but he's too stubborn."

"I remember…" Darron started. "I remember our Lady trying something like that on a few serfs. That's from Remnant, isn't it?"

"It is," Amat answered, his placid calm restored. "Terra... the voices… they've retreated." He studied his hand, watching a brief flicker of silver spring from his fingertips. "This… this is aura?"

"The balance of light and dark that exists in us all," Yang confirmed, curling his hand into a fist. "That means something quite different here than it did on Remnant, but it's still the truth. You're like Weiss and me now. Like the Tou'Her."

"I am no longer a Vindicare," he said, accepting it. "I can't be."

Yang shook her head. "Like I said, I'm sorry. I knew there was no going back, but I wasn't going to stand by and let them take you."

"You were there," Amat said. "You saw."

"I did. I wasn't going to let you do this alone," Yang said. "And that's never going to change." Her fatigue persisted, and exhaustion ate at her. Unlocking an aura was never an easy task, and it was the first time she had done so in a long, long while. And never had it been accompanied with…

Whatever the fuck that was.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "But now we have the same mission. I won't let you fall, and you won't let me. Deal?"

Amat blinked. "Deal."

His nightmares returned that night, but they were the mundane sort, the ones every psyker endured. Before she drifted off, Yang held his hand, satisfied that her shoulder remained dull and cold.

For now, he was free. It was all that mattered.

A/N: Daemons, kids - just say "no". Guard your heart with the Armor of Contempt!

Again, a big thank-you to MrDarth151 from Spacebattles for his help with this two-parter.

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter (even if it was a bit short)! There is some unfortunate news, if relatively minor - I won't be posting a chapter next week, as I'll be in the Pacific Northwest for a wedding.

But there is good news for those of you who have grown tired of the eldar presence in AWoBE - next chapter will be the last one aboard the Void-Whisper, as well as Yang's return to the Woadian 111th.

See you then!