Whether they were in the exact day and year as they had entered, the Night Shroud was still waiting for her outside the secret bunker base. Mable, hopping into the cockpit, would check to see if the engine and power was still on… and as she felt the metal in her flesh move to her palms and connect with the device, she would hear Disarray complain as the cockpit's tomb slapped down on him.
"Ow."
"That didn't hurt." Mable stated, getting dismissed as she felt the engine thrum to life, and the sensors activate.
"I got pushed. You think it's easy to see in this thing? I don't have eyes."
"Make some?" She offered, the daemon seeming to have some control over the wires that were bumping into her hair as it tried to stay above her.
"That's something you're going to have to do. I can like, move the materials around, but I can't like, create new things. You're gonna want to dip this in like, brass. Or bronze."
"Why those two?" Mable questioned, using the lower crescent of the Night Shroud to become level, and then reorient the machine towards the sky.
"They taste the most like blood."
"I thought that was iron." Mable muttered, remembering what her mother had told her about metals when asking about her father's profession.
"Iron is the cheap-skate metal. You can afford better. Steel is the lowest I'll settle for."
"What about silver?" She inquired, having a whole ascetic she was going for at this point.
"Orichalcum would be neat."
"What's that?" Mable asked, the metal sounding made up, and far too cool for a daemon to know.
"Uh… platinum? It's got a similar shine to your weird metal bits."
"Oh… cool. I'll ask when we get back." Mable whispered, gritting her teeth as the engine suddenly sputtered, and then began to shift forward towards the sky.
"Oh, where are we going? I probably should have asked about that, but- whoa! We're flying!"
"Yep…" Mable stated, the daemon seeming far more excited about the prospect than she had expected.
"Mable! Mable, we're fucking flying! This is sick as shit! Only the furies get to fucking fly! Or the greater assholes! This is fucking great!"
Wondering if all daemons had such chipper attitudes about new events, Mable would try not to smile as she remembered what she was dealing with… but at this point, she supposed it didn't matter how heretical she was becoming. She was doing the right thing – and Valdor had given her the greatest gift of all.
A sword that really sold the whole 'Living Saint' image Erithi had told her about.
Flying towards the future location of the spires of Hisperia, Mable would scoff at the daemon who was continuing to make noise in her ear.
"Wait until we time travel."
"Wait, what?! You're kidding! Mable, are you a greater daemon? Hell yeah! Woo!"
Unable to stop herself from laughing at that last question, Mable would try to go faster… and doubly so, as she realized the Night Shroud had a weapon's lock on a different aerial vehicle the imperials were flying all the way in the planet's atmosphere, possibly looking for her. Remembering quickly she could go back in time, Mable would doubt the daemon would be left while it was within the device, but just to be certain, Mable would use her left hand to push Disarray down onto her head, and order it to silence itself for a moment before making the transition.
Following the low-hum back to when she had left the message on the moon, and then reaching the future location of her hive city, Mable glanced upwards towards the sky as she saw the target lock of the Night Shroud onto a massive object hidden behind the sky – close to the moon that the Necron sensors pointed out. Unsure what to do with this knowledge, Mable wondered if it was the Emperor's ship she was staring at… but as she realized that she shouldn't press her luck and approach when she couldn't communicate – especially now that she was wearing a daemon on her head, Mable decided it was best to stay unnoticed, and focused on flying.
Then, when they were over the future upper hive, Mable would quickly move time forward, the high-whir being so easy to grasp after going back and forth these past few days. Having been gone for the better part of twenty hours, feeling quite energized as she transitioned, Mable let out a breath as she saw the visor of the Night Shroud shift, and show her a spire she was about to crash into. Barely thinking as she gritted her teeth, banking to the left and nearly throwing herself out of the chair, Mable slapped into the back of the seat, and came to a slower pace now that they were surrounded by structures that… were crumbling, on fire, or billowing out smoke.
"Oh fuck. Mable, I know you didn't put me in the telescope, but I think there's a fucking war going on outside."
"There sure is." Mable whispered, hearing a sickening joy radiate around her head.
"Well damn, girl. You should have told me about it sooner. I'd need a lot less convincing to get in the crown."
"It's a halo." Mable whispered, looking for the governor's mansion as she saw… so many Tyranids swarming towards the middle hive. Realizing that the monsters had reorganized, and having so many targets her weapons were getting an error-glyph from the sensors, Mable… wondered, if this would be the time to actually use the ship's weapons.
"Said the girl whose head I'm wrapped around." The daemon muttered, and then went silent as even it began to recognize just what exactly it was looking at. "Mable, what the hell are these? They're not daemons I've ever seen before, and I've been around since the dawn of time."
"That's cause they're not daemons." Mable whispered… and as she evened out, saw flying targets beginning to swoop into hab-spires. Willing the ship to fire, Mable was forced to squint as green lightning suddenly shot forth into view, reaping the small swarm of fliers as the lightning bounced between them. Blinking as she passed through their charred carcasses, Mable would see a prompt that indicated that there were targets beneath her.
Seeing the visor shift, cutting itself in half to show her the ground filled with Tyranids that were gathering up for a charge against an imperial tank line, Mable would bank sharply, slamming herself into the chair, and aim for the next group of gargoyles that were moving away from the hive and to her with greater organization she had seen them move with before. Realizing that the 'Swarmlord' was likely out and commanding its stupid kin, Mable wondered if she could somehow snipe it, but would quickly give up as she realized each fallen spire had thousands of Tyranids in the way, obscuring her target. Instead looking for something big to drop whatever bombs she had on the Night Shroud, Mable continued to strafe at gargoyle packs that were beginning to race towards her in greater number – only to give the green lightning more potency. Seeing a gauge suddenly appear after her seventh salvo of lightning, showing a green meter increasing with every shot, Mable continued to fire and melt these monsters from the stars… and in her mindless rage, feel a joy she hadn't felt in…
What felt like millions of years. Not having killed a single Tyranid since the Trygon, Mable now felt powerful – and as she began to hear a laugh coming from the crown she was willfully wearing, she shook herself – knowing she'd be here for all eternity if she really wanted to kill each and every Tyranid.
Finding the biggest and ugliest Tyranids she could find below her, Mable would mentally will the vessel to drop its cargo – and as one, two, and then the final third orb-glyph signaled it had released something, Mable would watch the tomb-screen above her show the destruction she caused. Seeing a suddenly empty street, or the hints of carcasses that were too big to evaporate in the aftermath of an anti-light explosion, Mable felt quite saddened that she didn't have more of the Necron bombs to utilize against the enemies that soon took their fallen kin's positions… and began to steadily advance towards the defenders guarding the ramps of rockcrete that Tyranids had created days ago.
Punching through what little gargoyles remained to challenge her in the upper hive, Mable would immediately aim for the governor's mansion… wondering what kind of reception she'd have as the final battle seemed to be coming to Hisperia.
As she landed in the mansion's courtyard, Mable saw many black-armored figures move towards her – all of them in the shape of regular humans. Getting weapon locks on the soldiers of the Ordo Xenos, Mable would come to a better landing than her previous one while in the city, as the lower scythe blades extended to act as balancers. Unsure if she'd be deploying in this against the Tyranids, Mable waited for a moment as she saw a singular Astartes leave the mansion's garden plaza entrance… and as she stared, the weapons of the Night Shroud automatically fixated on the Angel of Death, deciding it the greatest current threat.
"Are we about to go killing?" She heard in her head, and as she muttered to herself, these people being rather fickle when it came to her existence, Mable quickly piped up.
"It's Malcevisor, so there's a non-zero chance." Mable stated, unbuckling herself and removing her void-suit entirely. Then, preparing her blade as a show of her legitimacy, Mable watched as a guardsman's las-gun fired… and shot at her ship. Blinking then, as other guardsmen began to fire their las-guns in a sporadic volley, Mable…
Felt the rage of the Night Shroud.
Sitting back down, Mable would thoughtlessly release the weapon's lock, target the central fountain in the garden, and fire the lightning generating guns. Watching as the water detonated like an explosive – creating a shockwave that knocked the three infantrymen near it over, yet did not jump to any flesh to evaporate the guard that had fired at her, Mable quickly popped up from the tomb as the black-armored guard reeled and scattered into better cover that her lightning would probably just wrap around.
"What the fuck are you idiots doing?!" Mable shouted, looking towards Malcevisor who pointed a bolt-pistol towards her… before lowering it as she yelled at those around her. "Who the fuck did you think it was?! Do you know any other saints that fly on Necron spaceships?!"
"Mable, get down and disarm. We are putting our final plans into action." Malcevisor told her… and as she let out a scoff, she would flick her wrist and tighten her grasp on the hilt she had been carrying, but had only used once. Squeezing the engraved activation script that flowed on the hilt down to the pommel, summoning a gout of golden flame that briefly solidified into the shape of a double-edged blade that seemed to generate an omnipresent sound of gentle windchimes in her head. Showing off her flaming sword that Valdor had left for her, Mable would stretch her arms out, and yell at the guards who were beginning to stand up, clearly recognizing the artistic weapon that was on nearly every statue, portrait, and in every story of the Emperor of Mankind.
"My name is known by the Emperor himself, you lesser mortals! I am Mable – time-traveling pen-pal of Captain-General Constantin Valdor of the Legio Custodes! I am she who binds daemons to her will, rides on wings made by xeno-races, and am trying to save the planet of my birth! Whoever shot at me better start apologizing, before I take you back in time to when this world was made and make you fight against the Genestealers I left there!"
"What's a Genestealer?" Mable was asked in her ear, and as she knocked the crown off her head so that it could properly float like the halo it was, she pointed at Malcevisor, who was staring at her through red lenses.
"I spoke with the fucking Emperor, Castellan Malcevisor! He said I was a good girl who didn't do anything wrong! So, if you shoot me, you're going to be held accountable when your soul is freed from your mortal shell by a Tyranid's fangs! Do you understand me, Castellan Malcevisor?!" Mable shouted, lying through her teeth, but exhausted with the treatment she was given the moment she returned.
"Yes." The Astarte simply confirmed, and as she lowered the sword… and eventually turned off the psychic fire that it was generating, Mable would feel somewhat disappointed at the lackluster response. Slowly getting down, and then closing the tomb so that no one could sabotage it, Mable muttered nonsense, and then yelled at the guard that had already lowered their weapons to just spectate her – halo and all.
"I just told my wings to shoot at any of you who try to get close to it! It has my express permission to defend itself, so don't even try anything! And you! I saw you! You shot at me first! You better say you're sorry right now or I'm going to call the Emperor and tell him you're not worthy of standing at his side!"
"I-I'm sorry, ma'am." The man muttered as she approached, which was more than she had ever expected as she quickly reoriented towards the space marine that was waiting for her.
"That's right you are." Mable muttered, ignoring the laughter the daemon above her was creating in her mind as she rejoined the castellan.
"Are you done bullying the guard?" Malcevisor asked as he wordlessly turned on his ceramite heel, and although he did not broadcast his words outside of his helmet, Mable still decided to answer him.
"So long as they don't try to bully me."
"Good. Then let's go kill a Swarmlord."
Taken to a room where several dozen space marines were preparing for an apparent final assault, Mable would look for Sindarion and Ulvos, who she realized weren't present. Looking instead at the champion whose name she hadn't caught, but was covered in golden plates – and possessed a golden halo that did not hover, but was fixed to his backpack, Mable would smirk at the man who held a drawn power-sword almost as long as he was tall. Perhaps feeling a bit overconfident as she gave the champion a head-nod of approval as a fellow-halo-enjoyer, Mable would turn to the castellan who gave her the rundown of what had transpired in her absence.
"Mable, stop gawking at Champion Dartharion. Champion, do not engage with the… 'saint.'" Malcevisor started, his orders and pause being clear that he wanted her to be mentally separated from the highly decorated warrior. Seeming pained with every word he next spoke, the castellan would speak bluntly of the past few hours. "Mable, since you left to… speak with the Emperor of Mankind, allegedly, Ulvos, Redmane, and Sindarion have been utilizing the other artefacts we have gathered to buy time for the Mechanicus, rather than used in defense of the hive city. While they hold the line with the Skitarii and try to injure the main Hive Fleet, we must deal with the Swarmlord that has spawned."
"Okay." Mable stated, not seeing the big deal. "Where is it?"
"It will undoubtedly make its appearance known to us in the combat. Historically, the Swarmlord appears where the fighting is thickest, and decapitates leaders or destroys hardpoints."
"So, we fight until it shows up? Seems pretty easy finding it then."
"Yes… well." The castellan sighed, shaking his head at the thought. "To a child, I am sure it is. But if we are to exhaust ourselves pointlessly on the billions that are swarming into the city, we will not be able to bring it down. The first Swarmlord ever killed by imperial forces required over a hundred terminators of the Ultramarines to bring down… and none of them managed to survive the encounter. We, in comparison, are forty Firstborn strong, and ten Primaris, including myself."
"Yeah, but… can the Swarmlord see through time, especially when its psychic powers are cut off?" Mable asked… and as the room of Astartes turned towards each other, clearly not knowing what she meant, Mable would show off her new cool arm belt she had turned the Solace of Hisperia into. Asking the daemon above her a question to get a better understanding of the item, Mable spoke boldly to the room. "Disarray, what is the range of this thing?"
"I don't think they can hear me."
"What?" Malcevisor asked her… and as she nodded in understanding as she thought for a moment and pretended to hear a voice that wasn't there… Mable spoke again.
"That's not a distance, Disarray."
"Uh… like… a couple paces? I mean, I was trapped under it, so it's gotta have some kind of distance to it."
"It works in a range of a couple of meters… so I'll need to get close to it, but still – we'll be able to cut off the Swarmlord from its psychic abilities. This thing was able to bind a daemon for thousands of years – and was made by the Emperor himself."
"Well… hopefully it will work as you describe. You feel confident in… being able to fell this beast?"
"There'd be no point in trying if I wasn't confident." Mable bravely stated, perhaps underestimating the creature they spoke of – but just because she didn't know what a 'terminator' was, Mable was certain that with their combined might, they'd be able to kill the beast.
That, or the daemonic item floating above her head wasn't making her think straight.
What could be the chances of that, though?
Finally, Mable was allowed to join the frontlines – and although it wasn't with the wings she had just used in battle for the first time, Mable would feel honored as she was escorted not just by the Black Templars, but the Sisters of Battle that had chosen to die in combat rather than with the bishop that had apparently killed himself when news broke of the first attempt the Tyranids had made into the middle hive – just a few hours after his judgement of her.
Together, they would ride on Thunderhawk gunships into the frontlines where the city's defenders had gathered for the pivotal battle. Firing everything they had against the endless tide of flesh and chitin that swarmed against them, the nine-kilometer gap that had been created at the bottom of the middle hive was guarded by militia, guardsmen, tanks, armored troop transports, and if she looked closely, a small army of people armed with nothing more than improvised weapons such as pipes and small arms.
Everything the defenders had were on this line, and as their Thunderhawk's assault cannons rained hell down onto the endless mass of millions strong, Mable would jump with the space marines – and although she did not fly, the red-hued shield of Disarray cushioned her fall as she brought the daemon into battle for the first time in several thousand years.
With burning sword in one hand, and las-pistol in the other, Mable fell onto the Tyranids, firing in tandem with the deafening cry of bolt-guns as the few Astartes remaining with Jetpacks deployed alongside her. Clearing a landing zone for the two Thunderhawk gunships that began to unload the Sisters of Battle and grounded Astartes carrying anti-swarm weapons, Mable let out a laugh as she unleashed the psychic flame of the Emperor onto the first of the alien bugs that were made with so much burnable flesh.
Mable felt blessed as so many of the aliens came towards her. Watching as borer beetles slammed off against the daemonic shield that only grew in strength with every kill she directly caused, Mable set ablaze any who came towards her with their scythe-blades, whether they be man-sized Hormagaunts, the Astarte-sized Warriors, Raveners, and Lictors, or the nearly six meter-tall, tank-sized Carnifex. Weaving on a trail of scorched gore as bioplasma detonated near her, dodging venom-needle barrages that impaled Astarte ceramite, but bounced harmlessly off the energy shield that only grew to a brighter crimson as the sword Valdor had given her incinerated the alien… Mable could only feel blessed as she slew the enemies of mankind.
What was better than this? Watching as aliens built to kill learned to fear? Seeing intelligent creatures dive towards her, only to get within range of the Solace of Hisperia, and lose themselves to their true bestial natures? Watching as Hormagaunts rushed towards her, only to see reflections of themselves in the thoughtless eyes of their companions and turn on each other?
It was beautiful. It was carnage. It was wrath, and extinction.
And when nothing was close to her? All she had to do was scream at the top of her lungs, and the song of humanity was aired. Unified in this moment, the choir of creatures sung out the single phrases that united them all against the alien. Despite their differences, despite their individual fears, and despite their current 'human' classification, they were all united in the chorus of violence and bloodshed.
'For the Emperor!'
'Death!'
'Kill them all!'
'Burn them!'
For hours, the waves of aliens would slam against the line – and be sent back. Like an endless tide against the stalwart shore, humanity stood as rocks against the ocean of blood they created – and although her fires burned the flesh and created gelatinous bones, she was creating a pile of ashen skulls in her wake.
Even as the Trygons burrowed themselves to the surface, and tried to drown her in rubble and their weight, all Mable had to do was rewind time, and, without a thought, jump forward after moving a little in a packed central space – much to the horror of the humans who were not at war whom she just appeared between.
Even as Hive Tyrants appeared, the four-meter tall, vaguely humanoid creatures with two chitin blades and a bioplasma cannon made themselves known to her, Mable wasn't concerned. Standing and swinging their biting blades towards her, she wondered what the alien was even thinking as it struck empty air, as Mable vanished from its time. She was moving a century prior, out of the way of where she felt it through the fabric of reality, and into its blind-spot, where the psychic blade that scalded and seared her enemies brought it down. Interrupting the psychic link between the tyrant and the rest of the swarm creating a visible shockwave of green energy as the creature was engulfed in the Emperor's golden flames, Mable only felt joy as more of these creatures made themselves known to her. Laughing maniacally as she felt the song of consumption sever with every cut she made against the Hive Tyrant, the psychic edge cleaving chitin and flesh before engulfing it in a beautifully glowing flame, Mable would stand on its spiked, burning carcass and watch as the closest of the Tyranids fled from her in what could only be terror. Terror, which would then shift to confusion as the alien eyes lost track of her.
As barrages dedicated solely to her position were created, Mable would already be gone a millennium prior, and, standing still for just a few moments until the barrage ceased, she would reappear – untouched and kicking up burning venom needles.
It must have been enraging. It must have been confusing. It must have been concerning, and terrifying to the simple alien minds that did not process the universe warping powers at her disposal.
She was their deaths.
She was their ends.
Her song was united with all of humanity… and she was not singing alone.
For in her heart, a cold hum and whir continued to support her. Above her head, a roar of bloodlust, being satisfied through proxy, added his daemonic war-chant to their song of destruction. In her hand, one of several flaming swords the Emperor had created for his chosen warriors, which provided a bassline that all humanity owed its allegiance to, hummed with her.
It was an orchestra of death.
A concert of oblivion.
It was beauty.
It was war.
How blessed she thought she was, as she danced.
Until she heard for the first time the crescendo of consumption.
A scream that shattered her mind-state silenced the battle. Blinking as she remembered to breathe, the Tyranid's burning remains making her cough out their acrid stench, Mable would watch as the gargoyles above her scattered and flew away… and as the endless horde began to back away from her… Mable saw the image of something that reminded her of what she was.
A thirteen-year-old human.
A girl blamed for the death of her mother, and abandoned in an orphanage.
A xeno-hybrid, who would be executed the moment she had served her purpose.
A person who had allied herself to a daemon, and was destined for the worst place in hell.
Feeling fear for the first time since the battle began, Mable… licked her dry lips, as she saw two floating creatures, oblong-blobs that appeared more like a brain attached to a spine, that channeled the psychic will of the hive fleet into its allies…
And what could only the Swarmlord, she believed as the two monstrous wings unfurled from what she had assumed was another hive tyrant's body.
Realizing just how small she was as the blood-red chitin of the Swarmlord oozed and sweated with venomous ichor, Mable could easily imagine herself being swallowed whole by the monsters before her. Seeing the four monstrous blades that were nearly two Astartes' long, Mable swallowed hard… her small torch of a sword not even going to be able to reach this creature who had ended all combat with a single roar of its jaws. Having tubes sticking out of its back and torso, producing acrid smoke as its biomechanical engine of internal organs powered the death of all life, a smokey banner that heralded the promise of consumption and assimilation… Mable let out a breath.
She was afraid. She was terrified. She didn't want to be here anymore. She wanted to rewind time, never to return. She wanted to run.
But she remembered what Ulvos had spoken to her about. Speaking of her motivation, and how he would have thought it shallow, were it coming from one of his brothers… but also how much of a marvel it had been. This motivation, entirely vapid in his eyes, had been scoffed at, prior to Ulvos's praise that she was but one of many who fought with nothing to gain.
The Emperor, although empowering her by proxy through the technological marvel of the blade, was not why she was here. He was star systems away. Entombed on his golden throne, acting as a beacon of good in these awful days that had lasted for eleven thousand years, the Emperor of Mankind, whether god or man, had not ordered her here. Instead, his blade was here, acting as a small beacon of light in the shadow that was descending on her.
The daemon above her head, a creature she had met by chance and freed out of material benefit, was not why she was here, nor why she was standing still as the Swarmlord continued to approach. She was not being influenced by the forces of hell. She had not sold her soul – if anything, the daemon had sold its soul to her in exchange for a new prison.
She wasn't even here because of the Necron artefact that had possessed enough intelligence, and… had some unknowable, alien objective in sacrificing its form for her. Although it had empowered her, and gave her the abilities she had now used for her people, Mable was not here because of the Orb-peror.
She was here for the same reason as she had been in Spire Lorthanx, when all she had then was but a high-powered flashlight. She was here for the same reason she had come back to this time period at all, rather than fleeing to a different time to live out a more peaceful life. She wasn't here because anyone was forcing her to, like the conscripts that had been pressed into service behind her, or like the militia whose home was being invaded… for she had no home to ever return to.
Mable was here because she wanted to help.
Because it made her feel good, helping those who wanted to help themselves.
Because people needed her, and would fight with her because of it.
In this moment, here, now, she belonged somewhere – and although her family had abandoned her, she had found a new family… with all kinds of people.
Ulvos was like a father who had taken a chance on her when he had every reason to dismiss her – providing wisdom and support without fighting her battles for her… and having faith in her even now, to succeed.
Sindarion was like a brother who fought to protect her, and had come to respect her throughout their travels – providing a security and trust she hadn't felt since she had been abandoned.
Redmane was like a strange… aunt, probably. Eccentric, but knowledgeable, the crazed woman bordered unintelligibly insane, but had used her knowledge only to help get them to this point… so for now, Mable's faith would remain in the woman.
Even Malcevisor was part of this strange family she had made for herself… who was definitely the uncle that was struggling through his own issues – but was still trying to do the right thing, going so far as to sacrifice all of his pride to do so.
And although it felt weird to say, especially because she was an older woman who Mable hadn't seen in days, Erithi – somewhere behind her – was like a little sister. Trusting in her. Believing in her. Waiting to be saved by her.
So many of those behind her were like that… and although she was perhaps the youngest on this battlefield, she could not let those… 'younger' siblings down. She had a…
A terrible responsibility. A horrible obligation she did not want to face, or see to… but had to.
Mable wondered, as she stepped forward on shaky feet, if the Emperor of Mankind had felt such a crushing responsibility. She wondered if the man who had become a god, or the god who had masqueraded as a man, had felt such an obligation of duty. To protect, and to lead her species through the darkness of an unknown age against seemingly insurmountable foes. Unsure if the Emperor was more akin to the Eldar thing that she had spoken with and entertained enough for its support, or if he was just a person that had moved forward for as long as he could, before letting those that came after him go on ahead, Mable felt in her heart…
Felt that had to be it… for, as she prepared to let others do the same, she would take her second steadier step towards the Swarmlord that was now charging towards her, done with studying her. Mentally assaulted as she took her third step forward over the charred corpses of the creature's kin, the telepathy the beast was freely sharing with her on how she would die, Mable smiled as she took another, and another, and another painful, terrible, horrid step forward.
Feeling a push on her back from someone behind her, yet knowing she charged alone in the silent world as she prepared to meet death, Mable would feel a contentment in her chest as she found peace with whatever end her life would reach. Her eyes, solely focusing on this beast, would obscure everything else… until it felt like she was in the space between the fabric of reality.
Even if her path had been shorter than what she had wanted, Mable felt pride. Even if her voice was just one of many within the great song they had created in front of the avatar of consumption and insatiability, she felt confident.
She had faith – not just in the Emperor, or the alien powers that she used in this moment.
She had faith in herself, to act in the face of death – and faith that courage was not divinely inspired or artificially injected into her heart.
And with that faith, the sword in her hands burned brighter and hotter – turning the golden fire into the pure light from that of a neutron star.
Five strikes. The Swarmlord, in the time she swung once, landed five strikes on her with its four blades.
The first, the daemon Shoshchiroilhl absorbed fully.
The second, shattered the protective shield the daemon had summoned.
The third clad against the Solace of Hisperia, shattering it into pieces – but creating a psychic shockwave that made the murderous blade reel away from her body.
The fourth, met with the Necron metal that rushed from all over her body, and absorbed the strike.
Yet the fifth, coming from the same strike that had been absorbed by Shoshchiroilhl that would kill her, simply stopped existing for a moment… as if, for the millisecond it took to cut through her, Mable's body just hadn't been there.
And as her singular counterstrike moved forward, as weightless as light and flame, the Swarmlord's eyes would be blinded. All who stared at her in that moment would be blinded. Only she, Mable, had kept her eyes closed – and using the same sense she did to feel the low-hum of the universe, and the high-whir of reality – Mable swung.
And the normally blackness of nothing turned white as the psychic flames of her faith connected with the physical manifestation of the Tyranid Hivemind.