Book Two: Corruption's End
Chapter 86: But Only For a Moment
"In my spirit lies my faith / Stronger than love, and with me it will be / For always." - Elodian hymn.
Captain Barnes stood on the bridge of the Scythe of Morning, inspecting the officers that manned it. After three weeks of transit, their arrival was near. He prayed that he was up to the task. Twenty years of service to the Inquisition did little to prepare him for battle. When he was a younger man, he dreamed of titanic battleships, of broadsides that rattled teeth and churned stomachs.
Instead, he was given a dagger, a Inquisition ship fresh from the great Jovian Shipyards. It didn't approach the scale of his dreams, but he was proud regardless. Though he was forced to endure the whims of the Lady Inquisitor, he found himself inordinately proud of his ship and its crew. They never faltered, never wavered, never hesitated. They leapt at his commands, and operated the ship with the utmost haste.
The Scythe of Morning itself was an interesting piece of craftsmanship. Adorned with modern affectations and designs, it resembled nothing of the ships he served on in his youth, ancient behemoths that were the pride of the Imperial Navy. Here, everything was too clean. New. He found himself growing fond of it over the years, as one would a certain junior officer who constantly got under one's skin.
He stopped between the gunnery officer's station and the Navigator's throne. It had been years since he thought of her. Second Lieutenant Ava Greene. An angry, irritating, impertinent firebrand who made life on the Vox Retributiona bearable.
Captain Barnes shook his head, his long black ponytail brushing the back of his ornate Captain's uniform. Can't be distracted. That's a name you left well in the past.
Chief Navigator William Brabazon was twitching in his throne, as most Navigators did. They were mutants, shambling parodies of human beings with translucent skin that made interstellar transit possible. They seemed so alien at first. Now… now not so much. Long deployments had that effect.
Brabazon's hand began to shake.
"Is something amiss?" Barnes asked the attendant.
"News," he said, wringing his hands together.
The Navigator's eyes flew open, black pits that saw the Endless and stampeded through it.
"We've arrived," he whispered.
Captain Barnes said nothing at first. He turned on his heel, inspected his crew. Keying the commlink on his collar, he took a deep breath. "Attention, all hands of the Scythe of Morning. This is Captain Barnes. Our arrival at White Horses is imminent. All hands, report to battlestations. Repeat - all hands, report to battlestations."
Immediately, every member of the bridge was alert, renewed energy pumping through them as they rushed to their stations. Grunts of pain and mechanical clicking resounded through the room as they plugged in to their cogitators, each man and woman becoming a part of the ship they served.
Above them all sat the captain's throne. A towering mass of wires, panels, and cogitator screens. His seat, his duty. He ascended the steps, readying himself for war. Around him, the Scythe of Morning came online.
"All bridge officers, report," he ordered. His command was smooth and calm - as they always were - even though a chill crept up his heavily augmented spine. Finally.
Battle.
"All macrocannons primed and loaded," Gunnery Officer Ava Karthus called out, a small, broad-shouldered woman with short, spiky black hair sticking out from under her cap. "All lance batteries are charged. Flak turrets standing by. All systems nominal." With a flick of her finger, she disengaged the safety measures.
"Warp Drive functioning at full capacity," Second Lieutenant Senn reported, running calibrations on his cogitator bank with his mechanical digits. "Gellar Field Intact. Void Shield at maximum. Auxiliary power generators online. All systems nominal."
"All armsmen are reporting for duty," Third Lieutenant Andathar said. "Ready to repel boarders. Damage response teams have been alerted. All void-based servitors have been activated. All present techpriests are reporting online. Personnel stand ready, Captain."
Captain Barnes sat upon his throne, his blood pumping furiously. "Begin," he ordered. Attendant techpriests obeyed, plugging his headwires into onboard cogitators, strapping his mortal form to the cold metal. Every connection brought a firm and familiar lance of pain spiking into his brain, a pounding agony that brought him closer to his duty. Sixty-three connections in total.
When it was finished, he was no longer Captain Barnes, but the Scythe of Morning itself. He was its mind, and she was his body, machine-spirits and engines and hull and batteries and void shields. Information flooded to him from every corner of the ship, a deluge of reports and data that streamed into his brain. Too much for an unaugmented mind to follow.
"Attention all hands," Captain Barnes called, his voice no longer emanating from his lips, but rather the PA system that resonated throughout the entire hull. "We are now in our final approach to the planet White Horses. Heavy resistance is expected. More than we have ever seen in our years of service to the Inquisition. Before we begin the day's work, I wish to inform you that my faith in you approaches that of my faith to the Emperor Himself. After twenty-one years of service, I have no doubt that you are up to the task set before us. I cannot guarantee our survival. I know many aboard have questioned the Scythe of Morning, as it is a new ship, and untested despite its masterful construction. After today, no one shall question it. Today shall be our truest blooding, and whether we survive or lay scattered to the void, scholars will look to today and say that our ship led the charge. Though the Inquisition is an organization born of shadow, this will be the day we stood tall! Our families and comrades will look upon this day and say with pride that they knew the brave souls aboard the Scythe of Morning! They will say we fought ferociously! That we stared death in the face and spat! That we joined the Emperor's side with broad smiles and happy hearts! That we did His Service with bared souls and uncompromising spirit! Onwards! The Emperor Protects!"
"THE EMPEROR PROTECTS!" Came the reply, a cry that shook the hull with its intensity.
"Warp drive fluctuations!" Senn reported. "We're emerging from the Empyrean shortly! Ten seconds! Nine!"
As the countdown approached its end, Captain Barnes felt the ship shudder and shake, ejecting itself from a realm of pure chaos. He felt the souls within his ship soar in expectation of what was to come.
He prayed they were up to the challenge.
Reality tore itself open, a radiant multicolored gash in the void that blossomed into existence and spilled forth the Scythe of Morning. Before them sat a tiny black-and-white dot - White Horses. The gas giant it orbited dominated the bridge's viewport, a colossal sphere of electric-blue miasma.
"Preliminary scans arriving!" The Communication and Technology Officer Third Lieutenant Altmann cried, even as her results shone in Barne's HUD. "Scanners confirm enemy presence! Ten ships! A hundred! A… oh Emperor," she breathed. "Emperor protect us."
Thousands of ships stood between them and White Horses. A ragtag fleet of scrapped-together hulks, monstrous clouds of barely-functioning intercept craft, and bulbous, distended vessels. There were about forty ships-of-the-line, most of them converted escorts led by heavy cruisers, with a few grand cruisers heading the pack and bristling with blasphemous weaponry. All together, it showed as nothing more than a large red blob on the scanner.
And for a moment, the Scythe of Morning stood alone.
So it begins.
A second later, the entirety of Corruption's End erupted from the warp, nearly fifty vessels from just as many worlds. Blood shot out of Barnes' nose as the weight of their comm-traffic slammed into him, a flood of threat reports and maneuvering data. Though they stood apart from the bulk of their craft - the Explorator fleet - he was the impromptu admiral that commanded them all.
"The plan is unchanged," he announced, his voice thundering through the entire Task Force. "All combat-ready ships will guard the troop transports as they make their approach to the planet. The enemy is here - speed is of the essence."
Fifty acknowledgements sounded off.
"We must make every effort to punch through the enemy fleet." Barnes added. "Once the transports have delivered the ground forces, we will mop up what's left. All ships - onwards. And may the Emperor guide our guns."
There was no sign of the Iron Hands. This task will be ours alone. Many more will die today. An ill omen, but it was too late to consult the haruspices.
Heretic ships reached out to intercept them, long tendrils of desecrated craft that broke away from the main force. Scans showed that few of them were armed. Most were strapped down with improvised explosives.
"Fire a lance salvo!" Barnes ordered. "Cut through them!"
"Aye, sir!" Karthus replied, tapping a few buttons on her display. Seconds later, eight red beams cut through the void and sliced through dozens of fighters, rippling explosions bursting into existence before a swift extinction. Around them, Barnes saw countless lances follow suit, Corruption's End announcing its arrival with cleansing flame. Hundreds of ships perished in an instant, a brilliant display of the Emperor's Will. Even still, hundreds more remained. They crashed into the Scythe of Morning's void shields with reckless abandon, detonating on impact. None made it through. None expected to.
"Void shields at sixty-two point one percent capacity and falling!" Senn reported.
Each explosion brought forward a pinprick of pain that stabbed into Barnes' mind. They aren't here to kill us outright. They're here to grind us down. He would sail into the Eye of Terror before he let heretics dictate his advance.
"Maintain full speed!" He barked aloud, though he had no need to do so. "We shall not waver!"
A warning signal flared in his mind - an alert from Third Lieutenant Altmann. Grainy pict feeds of White Horses opened one after another, each one gaining clarity as they neared the planet. One feature was clear among them - an aberration dominated the surface, a massive storm that cloaked half a continent. Barnes filed it away and requested the Lady Highest to join him on the bridge. His duty did not lie on the planet's surface, but rather the void that surrounded it.
"I am already aware of the situation," she announced, appearing at his side. So bound to his command throne, awareness of his immediate surroundings was often wan. The officer within him saw the Inquisitor was worried, but the part of him that was the Scythe of Morning did not care.
"All vessels, tighten dispersion," Barnes ordered. "Faith Unyielding, Foebane, and Obscurus Dominatus, to my port. Voidthrone, God's Judgement, and God's Gift, to my starboard." The Explorator ships would have his superior and and inferior.
"That storm is born from the warp," the Lady Highest said.
"The landings?"
She frowned. "They will proceed as planned. I need you to continue spearheading the fleet. Get me as close as possible to the planet."
"Aye," he replied, already adjusting his commands. His fingers blurred with speed as they tapped at various displays, readying Corruption's End for what was to come. The bulk of the enemy armada awaited them, maneuvering into prime firing positions, readying broadsides.
"Lance status?" Barnes called. They would soon be in range.
"Charging!" Karthus replied. "Eighty-nine percent!"
"Target the anterior vessel," Barnes shot back, selecting a heavy cruiser blistering with torpedo tubes. "Fire bow macrocannons!"
"Aye!" She answered. The Scythe of Morning shook as it fired, unleashing six massive rounds towards the heretics. "Four seconds until splash! Three! Two! One! Impact!" Six bright pink-and-purple flashes bloomed in the distance, the rounds deflected by void shields. Two made it through.
The Emperor was with them - one struck an ammunition magazine, annihilating the front half of the ship off in the resultant explosion. The other round slammed deep into the hull at the base of the bridge, throwing up a shower of sparks.
An exultant cry filled the bridge as the officers celebrated their first kill of the day.
Captain Barnes knew it would not be enough. Loading systems were readying the next rounds, hauling their rounds to their proper place. It would be some time before they could fire again.
Their foes responded with a full broadside. A blinding salvo of lances, missiles, torpedoes and macrocannon rounds ripped into Corruption's End, of which the Scythe of Morning took the brunt. Its void shields - the pride of the Mechanicus' artificers - flashed brilliantly, struggling to repel the barrage. Damage reports from other ships flitted into view, alongside admonishments from their Captains.
More intercept craft harassed them. Flak turrets fired endlessly, spitting never-ending streams of tracers as bright as stars into the void. The rounds punched into the fighters, detonated whole missile banks. A concentrated grouping managed to destroy an incoming torpedo, the warhead's payload almost blinding in its intensity.
"All vessels in place," Commodore Gharia reported, commander of the Avenger-class God's Gift and its adjutant cruisers from the Battlefleet Gothic detachment. "Void shields sustaining massive damage, but remain functional for now."
"Fire at will," Barnes ordered.
Every armed ship obeyed. The Explorator's weapons glittered blue-and-white in the dark, tearing apart void shields and shredding steel with frightening ease.
As the Task Force neared White Horses, they began to rip through debris fields, glowing orange scrap bouncing off their hull. The enemy's desperation mounted. A massive blot of heretic craft swarmed them, reckless and suicidal. Captain Barnes watched his remaining shield integrity plummet.
Then evaporate.
"Void shields down!" Senn called, as the death of their shields sent a screaming electromagnetic pulse ripping through the attack
A sickening worm of unease crept into his gut as the interceptors regrouped and pushed forwards, tearing towards the Scythe of Morning and the vessels beside her. Imperial intercept craft clouded the void, launched from the heavily modified Compassion's Bane.
"Concentrate all flak turrets on the enemy craft!" Barnes ordered. "Bring them down, and don't spare a dram of coolant!"
Redoubling their fire, bright rounds ripped through the makeshift fighters. Now that they were within a single kilometer, Barnes could practically hear the bloodlust emanating from them. Dozens were cut down every second, but this did not halt their advance.
"Bow turret sixteen has failed!" Karthus called as a bright red flash erupted in Barnes' HUD. Followed by another. And another. And another. "Turrets fourteen, six, eleven, and twenty have failed!" There wasn't enough coolant or ammunition to destroy them all.
Not nearly enough.
"Eighteen bogies have broken through the effective range of our turrets," Altmann said. "Impacts along the starboard bow! Unknown number of detonations! Bow decks eight, nine and ten are unresponsive! Damage unknown!"
Andathar dispatched damage control teams. A small amount of atmosphere vented from life support systems. Enough for Barnes to make an estimation of the damage. The results did not look favorable.
"More impacts detected on the starboard side!" Altmann alerted him. "Decks twenty through twenty four reporting extensive damage! Four turrets unresponsive!"
Barnes cursed, rerouting power systems to control the damage. If any of Scythe's starboard ammunition magazines exploded, Corruption's End as a whole would be severely compromised.
Overlapping fields of fire minced through the clouds of fighters as Foebane and God's Gift suffering impacts upon their void shields. Now that they were within visual range of the enemy fleet, Barnes' mood darkened. Many of the cruisers bore tell-tale signs of heretek meddling. Macrocannons with nonstandard caliber upgrades, lances with massive protruding generators. Some bore truly nauseating signs of heresy - pulsing, undulating organs of undeniably daemonic origin studded one ship, while another seethed with unholy blue light, tendrils running the length of its cancer-stricken hull.
The ship laden with daemonic enhancements made full burn towards the Scythe of Morning, followed by eight escort ships covered in howling guns. They soared to their superior, almost as if they were allowing Corruption's End to bypass them.
Damage reports spilled in constantly, but Barnes passed them onto Andathar. Projected trajectories extrapolated the unexpected advance. Why are they letting us pass? What are they hoping to achieve?
He realized in an instant.
"All ships," he commanded, "concentrate fire on the heretic cruiser heading above us. They seek to destroy our transports!" Barnes did not bother listening to the affirming replies. "All hands," he called to his own, "brace for maneuvers!"
Grunting and straining, he willed the Scythe of Morning to roll to port, upper starboard thrusters firing at maximum while lower port thrusters did the same. Warnings and pain and red punched into his skull, his headwires aflame with protesting machine spirits. He bit them down.
"Prepare our lances and starboard macrocannons!" He ordered. "Bring those ships down!" A difficult shot. They were three hundred klicks out, and burning fast. "Wait for their course adjustments!" The instant they were around the spearhead of Corruption's End, they would certainly plummet towards the relatively defenseless transports. Relaying suggested firing solutions to Karthus, he gnawed his lip, trailing blood down his chin.
The lead ship banked into steep dive, and Barnes noted with horror that it bore a massive battering ram that could split a battleship in half.
"Now!" He screamed.
"Firing!" Karthus called.
The Scythe rumbled violently, a full starboard broadside rattling the teeth of every crew member. Fifteen macrocannons rounds sought the destruction of the heretic vessels.
"Eight seconds to splash! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Impact!" A gout of flame erupted from the lead vessel, shearing a wedge of its ram off in a brilliant shower of sparks. An ineffective strike. "Secondary impacts!" Karthus said, cameras focusing on the escort craft. Her salvo had torn away a command tower from a Carnage-class cruiser, while its sister ship vented atmosphere from a crack in its hull. Compared to their earlier barrage, it was not enough.
"Enemy ship still approaching!" Altmann reported. "It's headed straight for the Bearer of Holy Damnatus!"
General Jak's vessel, a Universe-class Mass Conveyor, and the bulk of the manpower belonging to Corruption's End.
Emperor protect us.
"All superior escort vessels, tighten dispersion!" Barnes ordered. "Don't let a single missile through!"
Explosions rippled across the Explorators' Blood of Mars, suicide craft finally breaching its void shields. Superficial damage, but they were also suffering attacks from missile swarms and the main heretic gunline closer to White Horses.
"Flanking vessel is changing course!" Altmann cried. "The Pride of Terra is breaking formation!"
As the heretic vessel began a braking maneuver that would shear an Imperial vessel in two, the Pride of Terra fired its engines well past the red line.
"Captain Hellas," Barnes ordered, fearing betrayal, "return to your post!"
"Death!" Captain Hellas cried. "Death before dishonor! For the Emperor!"
The heretic cruiser opened fire, dozens of macrocannons blaring while hundreds of missiles streaked towards the Bearer of Holy Damnatus. In the center of the salvo was a sickening flare of plasma.
"Brace for impact!" Barnes ordered its captain.
But the salvo never reached its target. Instead, eighteen macrocannon rounds struck the Pride of Terra. Some punched through, while the aft ammunition magazine ignited, vaporizing the latter third of the vessel in a blaze of destruction. The missiles obliterated what was left.
"Emperor," Barnes breathed. Ninety-eight thousand lives lost in a microsecond.
"Targeting flanking vessel," Karthus said. "It will soon be out of our firing arc. How can a ship that small command that degree of firepower?"
"Fire what you can," Barnes ordered. Scorching sanguine lances form the mechanicus ships arced into the void, running the length of the pulsating heretic ship. One burst a sac of nauseating fluid, igniting its entire port hull in bluish-black flames not even the void could extinguish.
Return lances bit into the Scythe and the other lead vessels. Agony filled him as his metal body burnt and withered under the attack.
"Port macrocannons two through seven disabled!" Karthus reported. "More flak turret failures!"
Torpedoes from God's Gift screamed towards the flanking heretic cruiser, last-second manual course-corrections striking its blasphemous engines in a font of cleansing flame, consuming the entire ship in moments.
A risky maneuver from Josephus' forces, one that failed. A grim, bloody smile crossed Barnes' face as he righted the Scythe and reorganized his fleet. Lumbering and spitting sparks, Corruption's End maintained its righteous advance unchecked.
All that remained was the heretic gunline. Dozens of cruisers and escorts sat between the Task Force and White Horses, the planet now looming large before them. Captain Barnes winced as he saw the blasphemous storm rage across its surface. Within it, he thought he saw the shadow of an enormous corvid, illuminated by flashes of iridescent lightning. In the dead of space, he heard its shrill cry.
Spitting his distaste, he refocused on his mission, his duty. "To the vessels spearheading Corruption's End," he said, "There is insufficient space to outflank the enemy without exposing the Bearer and the Ascendant Dawn. I ask that you hold your fire for now and make full burn towards the heretics. Ramming speed."
"Ramming speed!" His Captains boomed.
"Increasing thrusters to maximum," Senn called, throwing a lever forward.
"Lances charging," Karthus added. "Bow macrocannons loaded, flak ammo nearly depleted." Though a worrying report, the black tide of interceptors that had ripped through them mere minutes before had thinned significantly - they were now trapped between the Task Force's most heavily-armed ships, perforated by thousands and thousands of rounds. Even the Bearer of Holy Damnatus unleashed its defenses, tracers flicking out into the void.
"Rear vessels," Barnes commanded, "Fire torpedoes, target the heretics near the center of their line."
"Aye!"
Blood vessels in his meat-body flattened under the Scythe's renewed acceleration, but Barnes barely felt it. They were a hundred klicks from the heretics, and there was only hatred within him.
Torpedoes shrieked past the bridge, trailing streams of glittering plasma. His HUD tracked their progress. Twenty seconds until they ripped into the heretics. Either those torpedoes will move them, or our rams will.
"We're nearing," Commodore Gharia warned him.
"Hold fire," Captain Barnes said. "Wait until the last second. We must punch through. In one decisive blow."
"Starboard deck thirty-five non-responsive," Andathar called. "Venting atmosphere, damage control team dispatched."
"Energy surge detected among the enemy vessels!" Senn cried. "They're-"
A crackling crimson sun burst forth from the heretics, a burst of energy that ripped into God's Gift with horrid ease. A massive orange gash opened in the heavy cruiser, spilling out thousands of servicemen and clouds of slagged metal. Secondary explosions rippled across the hull.
Barnes head the Commodore scream.
Ten seconds.
"On all sides beset!" The Captain of the Foebane roared. "On all sides, His enemies pressed Him!"
"Weary and bloodied was He!" The Captain of Obscurus Dominatus added.
A wall of conventional fire slammed into Corruption's End. At this range, it was carnage. Macrocannon rounds slammed into hulls, clouds of missile-fire raked across their lengths, lances seared great scores into them. Turrets exploded, magazines fired, and thousands upon thousands died. Not one round struck a transport.
Five seconds. Will my gambit pay off?
"He looked to His warriors! He looked to Himself!" the Voidthrone's Captain added, even as his central lance battery smoked in ruination.
"He saw the battlefield laid out before Him!" Barnes said, joining his voice to theirs.
"His duty not yet done!" Commodore Gharia bellowed.
"Now, now, now!" Barnes cried. " All vessels, open fire!"
They didn't need his prompting. Corruption's End erupted, nearly fifty ships upending their armaments. At the same time, the torpedoes struck the central heretics. Entire vessels vanished under the sheer weight of firepower, ripped apart by a barrage of holy annihilation.
"Brace for impact!" Barnes called as they closed the last handful of kilometers.
A bone-rattling crunch wracked him as the Scythe tore through the heavy cruiser, snapping the ship in two. Blood shot from his nostrils, and he could feel his metal body shudder and reel from the unrelenting force.
But the Scythe of Morning pressed on. They were clear.
"All flanking vessels, wheel around! Unleash your broadsides!" Barnes grunted.
"Emperor!" Gharia roared. Though severely maimed, God's Gift made its turn, swiftly outflanking the heretics. The Explorator ships obeyed as well, plasma guns singing in joyous
Behind the Scythe came the transports.
The Ascendant Dawn. The Bearer of Holy Damnatus, the Steed of the Saint, the Piercing Hammer, the Vostroya's Reach, and the Tower of Tennhera.
It was up to them now.
Barnes had done his part.
The Lady Highest marched to the prow of her flagship, clad in her full panoply. Around her, the chaos of battle reigned. Damage control teams rushed through the hallways, shouting directions and hauling spare machinery. Medical staff carted wounded voidsmen, holding their wounds closed with wet red hands. Others suffered from brief exposure to hard vacuum, clutching at their chests while they sucked on oxygen tubes and blood streamed from their eyes.
Every shift, every maneuver hurtled them about carelessly. At this stage of the battle, there was little they could do to affect the outcome. There was nothing else to do but trust in Captain Barnes and his ability to command Corruption's End.
There was something else that must be done.
It gnawed at her ever since they had dropped out of warp. A persistent gnawing, an insistent itch that worried at the edge of her soul, a familiar black-metal taste that sat uncomfortably on the back of her tongue. Josephus.
And he had shrouded half a continent in a storm born of the warp. A violent whorling maelstrom of hate, as black as his soul. It sat on the horizon of her witchsight, dark and foreboding. Yet through it, she could read him, feel his fear, his anticipation. He had yet to uncover the Chariot.
But he was close.
Her microbead crackled. "Lady Highest," General Jak barked. "Reports are showing an anomaly on the planet."
"We might have to delay our landing," General Oranthus suggested. "Or land to the far south. It might cost us a day or two, but at least we would maintain operational integrity."
"Negative," the Lady Highest replied. "Proceed ahead as planned. I will clear the way."
"Emperor help us all," Oranthus said. "So be it."
"Have faith," Kavri intoned. "Little else will keep us alive in the coming hours."
The Lady Highest unsheathed her power sword as she marched along. Inspected the blade. It had served her well in the interim while Magos Tyrham upgraded Myrtenaster. How many heretic lives had it claimed? How many dark plots and fetid, corrupted dreams?
It mattered little now.
"Brace for impact!" Captain Barnes cried through the PA. The Lady Highest obeyed, clutching a railing and spreading her feet apart. A massive jolt shook the Scythe of Morning, the familiar teeth-rattling shake that indicated a ramming maneuver. She could hear the creaks and groans as metal strained against metal. She heard the flood of coolant through its pipes as it hurtled towards the lances.
Nearly time.
As she approached the damaged section of the prow, the chaos around her swelled. Techpriests and their attendant servitors repaired cable junctions, hull stress fractures, and coolant leaks. They chanted all the while, their words accentuated by sparks spitting up from their tools.
Nearing the final bulkhead before her destination, a techpriest stopped her. He burbled something in binary, which her helmet helpfully translated for her in a scrawling wall of red text.
'Beyond here lies the open void,' he warned her. 'Damage to the outermost hull is significant. No lifesigns detected beyond.'
"I am aware," she told him. "I will not be away for long. He nodded, making the sign of the cog with his chrome-fingered hands. Another warble of binary alerted the rest of his comrades in the hallway as to their Lady's intentions.
"We're through the heretics," Barnes alerted her. "Now is the time."
"Understood, Captain," the Lady Highest said.
With a wave of her hand, the blast doors protecting the damaged hull creaked open. The Lady Highest's power armor adjusted, sealing outside filters and activating her magboots. She strode forward casually, serenely.
White Horses lay before her. Once a pale dot on the Scythe's Bridge displays, it now dominated her view - a massive white-black monolith that called to her. Across its surface, a storm raged defiantly, pounding, seething, aching with madness and unquenchable, primeval hate.
The Scythe's hull had been shredded by the suicidal craft. Black fingers of twisted metal reached out to the void, while burnt floor plating cracked under the weight of her power armor. Ultimately superficial damage, but a stern reminder of Josephus' power.
Battle still raged in White Horses' orbit, tracers, lances, and macrocannon rounds arcing through the emptiness in total silence. But Corruption's End had broken through. Even now, landing craft poured out of the Ascendant Dawn.
The Lady Highest held her relic up to the storm. A small glint of gold surrounded by evil. Emperor be with you Yang, she told it. For I cannot. Meter by meter, White Horses swelled before her. Bracing her power sword, she began her prayer.
"Holy Emperor my guide, Golden Throne my shining Beacon - I beseech your aid. In this dire hour, I call out to You, Your humbled servant. Beset by darkness, I seek light. I seek truth. I ask for You to guide my strike."
Golden rime collected around her power sword, a vibrant sheen of cold purity. Holy symbols carved themselves into the blade, glistening and radiant.
"I serve naught but You, naught but Your vision. For the Imperium that was, we shall make anew, in your purest image. Let this be our finest hour."
Her aura poured into the sword, a blinding steel torch that vibrated with barely-restrained power. A black glyph circled into being at her elbow, pulsing with raw psychic power.
"In Your name, I smite the Imperium's foes. In Your name, I cleanse them. In Your name, I do my duty."
Roaring, she pounded forwards, arm cocked. She leapt into the air and hurled the sword towards the storm, every inch of her soul behind it. It rocketed to the surface, a white streak of holy light and soul magic.
Cries of alarm sounded in her microbead, but she heard little of them. Everything faded away, the world's color, the burnt wound upon the Scythe, her worry, her longing. Her very being seemed to waver and fade.
I know where she is, Josephus said. Wouldn't you like to know?
"More than anything," the Lady Highest whispered.
Steadying herself with a deep breath, she dragged herself back to the Scythe of Morning's interior. She collapsed within, every dram of energy spent.
Weiss Schnee smiled.
Amat emerged from his meditation. The small, self-contained world that was his residence came into focus, a haphazard mess of prayer, paint and foreign constellations. Yang's head rested in his lap. Slow, regular breathing told him she was asleep.
The small lock of golden hair she chewed on unconsciously was also solid evidence of her restful state. He brushed it out from between her lips, tucking it around her ear. She was incomparably beautiful. And so very rarely at peace.
Hours of training with her platoon through had exhausted her, though she dared not show it to anyone but him. In the week since they'd danced - kissed - for the first time, Yang had made Amat's barracks her home-away-from-Gamma, slipping away from her comrades to rest with him. Be with him. It was all so new.
Exciting. Strange.
When she had pressed her lips to his, clarity had descended upon him mercilessly. Everything slowed, every nerve ending set alight - literally. The spike in his heart rate had shunted his augmentations into combat-readiness, shocking his system with a flood of adrenal stimulants and bloodborne nanites.
The memory of that moment surfaced effortlessly, joyously. It made sense now. Her lingering embraces, the teasing, that wonderful impish smile. Their closeness. His own words to her, the headaches, why he cherished her company. Before, he would wonder why he could still feel her touch hours after it had left him. Why he wished for more. Before, it all seemed… nebulous. Far away. When they'd held hands on Gartenwald, he had fooled himself into thinking it was simply a gesture of close friendship. A lifeline from someone who understood him. A kindness shown to someone he understood.
And he'd almost thrown it all away. That… that was his last chance to die as a true Vindicare. The assassin exemplar. Yang had robbed that from him.
No, that was a lie.
He had made his choice. He had let Yang rescue him. And now he was a witch, a psyker. Vindicare no longer, he was… lost. There would be no more missions, no duty to the Emperor.
There was nothing left to him but 'Amat'. Whatever that was worth. He brushed a lock of Yang's hair out of her eyes. Even when it was not aflame, her hair was as bright as a sun.
What's to become of me? Of us? Emperor, did he hate questions. Especially ones whose answers lay only in the future, that dark and nebulous fog. His witchsight was pitiful. He could not read minds like his Lady. His aura was exhausting to activate, let alone use. The ammo in his exitus rifle was exceedingly thin.
So what now?
The answer snored softly in her sleep.
You knew what was happening, but you pushed it down. Feigned ignorance.
You were always a bad liar. That sounded like Yang. Amat sighed. He never imagined being human could be so taxing. In the end, being with her made the future seem... bearable. Facing Palla. The Officio Assassinorum. Weiss. His aura. Distant matters for now.
Simple. Conquerable.
Another bad lie, but a comforting one.
Reality had struck him viciously when she curled up in his arms that night and fell asleep. He could not join her. Meditate. He could scarcely breathe. At first, he wondered if he could still complete his mission.
Mercifully, the answer arrived without issue. If she fell, he would kill her simply and cleanly. She deserved nothing less, and he would rather no one else do it. He would mourn and pray, but he would know he'd done the right thing.
Unthinking, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, delighting in the softness of her skin. In the warmth that radiated from her.
"Ouch," she said, eyes fluttering open. She yawned, fatigue replaced by a beaming smile. "Your stubble itches," she added, her voice low and husky with sleep.
"So sorry, your Radiance," Amat said, bowing his head with mock severity.
"Stop that," Yang said, resettling herself upon him. "I wasn't complaining." She let loose a satisfied sigh before yawning once more. "What time is it?" She asked, checking her chronometer. "Aw fuck," she said eventually. "You're a bad influence on me, assassin man."
"That's rich coming from you," he returned evenly.
Yang chuckled. "You need to work on your inflection, man. I can't tell when you're joking," she lied. She grinned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I did," Amat pointed out.
"I meant earlier, dummy," she said.
"You needed your rest. So did Gamma," he added.
"Uh-huh," Yang said disbelievingly. "Looking out for the Woadians, huh?"
Amat didn't have an answer, so he kissed her. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, luxuriating in their newfound intimacy. They parted a few seconds later, Yang's smile as broad as ever.
"You're a fast learner," she purred. "Are you sure you've never had a lady friend before?" She asked.
"I'm sure," he said stoically. "I've simply been subjected to a bad influence."
She shook her head, standing up with another yawn. Patting out the wrinkles in her fatigues, she stretched again, careful to catch his eyes while doing so. "Gamma's lucky you're here. I made Shen-se puke the other day, you know."
"Let them rest," Amat said, still as a stone. "If they're sore during the assault, all their training will be for naught."
"They have been resting!" Yang protested. "Wait…" She waggled her eyebrows at him. "You're not… jealous, are you?"
"What?" Amat asked, confused. "Jealous?"
Yang's hand met her forehead, and she gave him a half-smile. "That's what I love about you, assassin-man. You-"
A blaring klaxon cut through the Ascendant Dawn, sharp, sudden, and ear-piercing. "All hands, battlestations. Guardsmen, report to your assigned landers. Our arrival is imminent. Prepare for high-gravity maneuvers." The message repeated once more, twice more.
Yang's cheer evaporated, replaced by grim determination. She did not leap to her feet, nor rush to kiss him and be with her platoon.
"First time in a while you won't have my back."
"I know."
"You're not worried?" She asked.
"I am," he admitted.
She grinned and punched his shoulder. "Well, whatever happens, I'm coming back. If you think I'm content just making out with you, you have another thing coming."
"Implying?" Amat asked.
"Don't play stupid, assassin-man," she said, kissing his cheek. She put on a smile for him. "Plus, once you get your leg back, we can finally have that sparring match. You have an aura now, so it'll be fair."
"Never needed one," Amat intoned.
Standing, she stretched one final time. "So confident," she purred. "Until next time?"
"Until next time. I hope you find what you're looking for," he said. He didn't know why.
"I… will," she said. "I will," she said, louder this time. Her fist met her palm, and a faint yellow glow filled the barracks. "I was getting bored of traitor marines," she said. "A chaos lord will be a nice challenge."
"You're delaying," Amat insisted.
She kissed him. "Can't help myself. See ya, assassin-man."
She left, sauntering away to ensure his eyes did not stray until the bulkhead slammed shut with a metallic thud. Amat sighed. I am a fool, and so is she. Emperor help us both.
He gathered his paints.
A/N: Book 2 ends next chapter! And it is one hell of a chapter, currently standing at 12,000 words. Look for it to release on the 28th, the four-year anniversary of A World of Bloody Evolution!
Also, apologies to the hardcore Imperial Navy / Battlefleet Gothic fans. While undeniably awesome, the naval battles of the 41st millenium are not my forte. If I whiffed on anything major, let me know.
Okay, buckle up everyone. On the 28th, it's fucking go-time.