Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 87: I Saw a Savior

"I saw a savior, and the savior came my way. I thought I'd see her, in the cold light of day." - [REDACTED]

"Gamma Platoon, sound off!" Yang bellowed over the din that filled the Ascendant Dawn's landing bay. Five thousand Rangers were crammed within, pushing and straining against each other to board their designated landing craft. It was cramped and sweltering, but it hardly compared to the tumult when the 111th was whole.

"Corporal Roriksson, reporting!" Caolin called, tying a final knot on his scarf. "All soldiers present and armed!"

"Good work, now let's go!" She shouted, slapping their shoulders and calling their names as they hopped aboard. As they approached their descent harnesses, they strapped each other in, belted out an equipment check . For most of them, this was routine. The recent additions were pale.

Commissar Neuhoff stood beside her, staring out over the press of guardsmen. He checked his bolt pistol one last time, pulling the slide back to expose a gleaming bolt shell. The last one aboard was Lorl, the standard of the 111th couched against his shoulder. As he passed his comrades, they ran their fingers over the cloth, made the sign of the Aquila.

Yang rolled up her sleeve to expose her glyphs, allowing Gamma to pay homage to what they represented.

"Gamma platoon, secure!" Commissar Neuhoff called, signalling the lander pilot. The doors slammed shut, hydraulics and hermetic void-seals hissing violently as they locked into place.

"Platoon... hup!" Yang called, just like Jorvis used to. As one, they tugged on their harnesses, and pulled their weapon straps tight. A lifting sensation filled them as the lander fired its engines.

"We all know the mission," Yang said, her voice filling the chamber. "I've done my best to prepare you all for what's coming." Weightlessness took over as the lander left the hangar, and her hair rose to the ceiling with fluid gentleness. Some of the Ranshans spluttered, choking back vomit from the unfamiliar sensation. "Today is the day Josephus the Corruptor dies!"

"Áuh!" They cried.

"We've chased this bastard up and down the entire Segmentum," Yang cried, "today's the day it ends!" Another cheer. "Our immediate goal is to clear the way for the rest of the task force. That means you need to burn half your batteries before your boots touch sand. Also, bundle up if you don't want something precious frozen off." Scattered, uneasy chuckles. "This is not Ranshu," Yang reminded them. "There are no civilians. There is only the enemy. Any hesitation will mean death. Shoot everything that moves!"

"Áuh!" They replied.

Her microbead buzzed - the lander pilot.

"One second ladies," Yang said, retreating towards the cockpit. Past the window, she could see little of White Horses as they made their descent. The only thing visible was a titanic, world-ending storm. Yang winced as she looked at it, the sheer psychic weight of the spell that brewed it surfacing painful memories better left forgotten in the Webway. Blood leaked from her nose, and her shoulder flared. Replacing her sleeve and wiping her nose, she clapped the co-pilot on the shoulder.

"Is that gonna be a problem?" She asked.

"Yes!" The pilot said, his face invisible behind a solid black visor. "Our orders were to head straight into it... and we're the first vessel, ahead of everyone else. If we-"

He was interrupted by a streak of light from the Scythe of Morning, a lance of gold-white warmth that pierced the heart of the storm. The center collapsed instantly, flecks of cloud fading into nothing as they plummeted earthward.

"Emperor," the co-pilot whispered.

A brace of lance-fire followed, great beams of red light scoring into the unseeable landscape beneath. Yang shielded her eyes, the high-end lasweapons searing lines into her retinas. Blinking away the pain, she realized what had happened - the Mechanicus would not risk damaging the Chariot with heavy orbital bombardment, but lances could vaporize surface elements without destroying subterranean structures, where the Chariot must be.

Weiss must have really twisted their arms on that one. She could imagine the tech-priests' screeching horror, but for now, she was grateful for the support.

"I think you're in the clear," she told the pilots. Second by second, the clouds fell away, the center withering. "Just try not to get shot down, alright?"

"Al...alright," the pilot said. "Good luck down there."

"Thanks."

Turning on her heel, she saw that Caolin had retrieved the war paint. Solemnly, he marked each Woadian. Mael did the same on the opposite row. Having spent a year with them, Yang realized she recognized some of the marks. Mael himself bore a blue forehead with a line from his nose to his waist - New Father. Asgeg's lines spiralled out from her bionic arm, ending in primitive eagle claws - Ravager. Lorl wore a thick band around his neck - Signifier.

Yang's turn came, a single line from her forehead to her lips, and a triple-spiral on her flak armor between her breasts - Heart. She bowed her head reverently. Commissar Neuhoff watched the ceremony in respectful silence.

The lander hit atmo, rattling them all.

Yang nodded at her Corporal. Her friend.

"Just like church, everyone," he said, clapping his blue-stained hands together. This was their first drop without Ros.

"Áuh!" The Woadians cried, stomping their feet.

"It's been a long year," Caolin cried. "A long and bloody year, one full of horror and tears. There's no one here I wouldn't call my brother, my sister!"

"Áuh!"

"We've bled together, wept together, killed together! A year of death, a year of triumph!"

"Áuh!"

"Though we will never see our homeworld again, the songs of old will pale before the ones we write today!"

"Áuh!"

"Bloody Erikr! Ulra She-Wolf! At the side of the Emperor, they weep and gnash their teeth that they could not join us today!"

"Áuh!"

"But tonight we will drink with them, and comfort them in their grief! We will be with those we have lost!"

"Áuh!"

"Sons of Ranshu! Sons of Gartenwald!" Caolin cried with a sweeping gesture. "We welcome you to our war!"

"Áuh!"

"We welcome you to the service of Our Lady!"

"Áuh!"

"Today, we are of one soul, one flesh! A single fist that will strike down Josephus the Corruptor!"

"ÁUH!" The killing mood was upon them now, even as their teeth rattled in their jaws, as they bit their tongues to join in Caolin's fervor. A red light flickered on - thirty seconds until dust-off.

"Today," he roared, "is the day we join the Emperor!"

"ÁUH!"

"Today, we stand tall before Him, and pay homage!"

"ÁUH!"

"Today, we will offer him tribute with the broken body of Josephus and all his legions!" He raised his fist. "Death!"

"Death!" Yang chanted, adrenaline pumping through her. Even the Commissar could not keep himself from joining. "Death! Death!" They raised their fists in time to their chanting, each man and woman taken over by the spirit of their duty.

Green light.

"Today," Caolin finished, "And no other day! DEATH!"

"DEATH!" They answered, souls alight. The lander doors slammed open with hurricane force, revealing the twisted hellscape of White Horses.

It was a place of unremitting horror.

Ashen snow fell lazily, filling great channels of smoking glass that the lances had cut into the salt-white sand. Piles upon piles of fresh-burnt bodies littered the landscape, while older, frozen corpses had been stacked into fortifications and snaking trenches. Crow icons and horrid, rudimentary monuments to the arch-foe littered the earth, each one feeling like a great pair of eyes that drilled holes into the back of their skulls.

Above them, the gas giant shrouded it all in a pale blue glow, an unending frigid twilight. A vicious cold sliced into their throats, sharp enough to drive needles into their lungs. It tasted like ash and burnt meat.

Yang hollered and they spilled out of the lander, boots cracking onto the steaming glass silica.

"Get up on the ridge!" She ordered, "Lasguns out!" Gamma scrambled up the sleek sides of the channel, those without gloves scalding their hands. Drawing her power sword, she joined them the top of the furrow.

It was quiet. Besides distant rumbling and echoing, howling screams, White Horses was silent. Yang took out her optics. Six klicks out, a squat blackstone building sat atop a sandy knoll. A simple, humble thing.

The Chariot. Or the entrance to it, at least. Can't imagine that thing can make starships.

"I thought this planet didn't have grass," Asgeg said through rattling teeth, hot mist spilling out between her lips. Yang swiveled to see what she was talking about. In the distance, wave after wave of grey material wavered and rustled.

"It's not grass," Yang realized.

A piercing scream filled the night as a heretic charged them, a rusting spade his only weapon. Sparlich cut him down, his chest bursting under the heat.

Silence reigned for a second more, and then the battle began.

Hundreds of voices sung out, and cultists charged their line. Scarlet lasbolts filled the night, regular, even, precise. Wounded cries and howls of agony accompanied the relentless red salvo, but their advance was not checked.

Cursing, Yang took cover behind the lip of the channel to steady her lasgun. Hazarding a glance upwards, she saw something that she would never forget - lights filled the sky, thousands upon thousands of them. Corruption's End hurtled towards the surface, a hundred thousand landers cruising for Josephus' head.

"Forward!" She cried. "Push them back! Make way for the second wave!"

Other Woadians from First Company were the first to join them, a tide of black armor and blue paint. Chaos swallowed them, commands ringing out, grenades flying through the air, the chorus of a thousand lasguns singing.

And I'm on point.

"Come on!" She bellowed, waving her sword. Thumbing the activation rune, blue electricity shot up the blade, a rallying cry, a focusing point. Lorl joined her side, waving the standard for all to see. "Forward!"

Roaring their support, Gamma spilled over the top, scything into the heretic tumult. More joined her side, their march steady and measured. They stepped over twisted bodies, climbed over corpse-trenches. They never stopped firing. When one ranger's battery was spent, another picked up the slack. Set at the lowest lethal power, their lasguns spat hundreds of bolts without pause, without mercy.

Bodies blew apart under the heat, cracked and splintered, broke and fell apart. None made it within ten meters of Gamma. Yang's relentless drilling was paying dividends, as she knew it would.

But it wouldn't stay like this. This was the chaff, Josephus' most miserable cultists. Few were armed with more than a shovel, few wore more than rags. Corpses piled up around them, a buffer that grew taller meter by meter. Clambering over their fallen only to be cut down, the heretics died with blasphemous prayers on their lips. Men, women, children, the elderly. The truest and most damnable power of Josephus.

The 111th pushed out around them, clearing the way for more landers to touch down. Each platoon followed Yang's example, forming tight, unbreakable pockets of death amongst the ashen snow.

With a sudden bark, flak cannons came online, spitting out massive tracer rounds that raked the incoming landers .

"Oh, fuck!" Yang cried.

"We gotta take those out," Caolin said, laspistol barking.

"We can't stop the advance," Yang replied, squeezing off a shot. "We'll have to take out the ones in front of us, hope everyone else knows what to do. Kalla!" She barked. "Get confirmation Third and Fourth can take out the ones we passed. We can't afford to stop!"

Landers fell from the sky, plummeting arcs of flame that vomited smoke and burning bodies.

"Pick up the pace, Gamma!" Yang barked. Before, she would have charged ahead and ripped the flak battery to shreds, but now she was Sergeant. Such a move would endanger the entire platoon, if not all of the 111th.

They obeyed, their advance becoming a charge, their boots slapping against sand and splitting apart the fallen. Yang roared, an open challenge to any that dared oppose her. Many tried, all were killed. Her power sword flashed, severing limbs and heads with ease.

"Bayonets!" Yang called. Half of her squad obeyed while the other covered. Then they switched roles, just in time to impale a line of maddened heretics. The flak guns stopped suddenly, the shouts of their operators hasty and panicked. "Get down!" She bellowed. A few looked to her, confused. "DOWN!" She screamed, grabbing her friends and burying them in the bloodsoaked sand.

Flak shells ripped into the platoon, a deafening fusilade of shrapnel and death. Snapping past their heads and chewing up the corpse middens into bloody slop, they killed anyone who stood. Six members of Gamma died instantly, the rearguard who couldn't hear Yang's shout. They vanished in a puff of gore before a gentle bloodrain fell upon Gamma's backs. Friends of the fallen called out in anguish, but Yang had already filed their loss for later processing. Now it was kill or be killed.

The stream of tracers halted, and Yang leapt to her feet, hauling Lorl with her. "They're reloading!" She cried, waving her power sword. "Get up! Get up! Go, go, go!"

Bellowing with rage, they stood, baring their lasguns. Commissar Neuhoff's chainsaw revved, thirsty for heretic blood. Together, their feet pounded into the earth, a wave of black-armored souls baring themselves against certain death.

"Grenades!" Caolin called.

Mid-run, Gamma's frontliners tore grenades from their chests and hurled them into the battery pits before them. Yang did not stop, leaping forward and wrapping her arms around herself to block the lethal barrage of shrapnel and explosive pressure. Landing amidst the enemy, she tore them apart.

Commissar Neuhoff joined her first, bolt pistol blowing apart the frantic gunner that attempted to wheel his cannon around. The rest of Gamma followed, falling upon the wounded and disoriented.

Lasguns and autoguns barked as the heretics reacted to their breach, a hellstorm of enemy fire that washed over their heads and cut into their reinforcements. Asgeg punched a heretic in half, his spine ripping apart at the seams. Shen-se fought viciously, his bayonet slicing stomachs and slitting throats.

This was war. War as only the Imperium could wage it.

Blind-firing down adjacent trenches and chucking grenades, the Woadians soon cleared a beachhead for their comrades. Thousands poured over the trenches, grappled with the foe. As the heretic lines broke, they fled towards the Chariot.

Between the Woadians and their foes stood a vast no-man's land, one that ended in a steep rise into another trenchline. There, Yang could see a veritable anthill of cultists. These were no untrained peasants either. They carried lasguns and autoguns and grenades and stolen flak armor.

"Incoming!" Lorl screamed, pointing upwards. A burning lander was coming straight for them, barreling towards its final destination. Everyone hit the dirt, hoping and praying the lander would miss them.

It did, crashing into the no-man's land and skidding towards them. Fire spilled out from the gaps in its hull. Shouting and scrambling, the Woadians nearest to it parted, crawling to safety.

The hulk broke into the flak pit, grinding to a stop with a cacophony of screeching metal and spitting engines. Yang surged towards it, ignoring the warnings from Caolin. Ripping off an emergency panel, she saw immediately that there were no survivors. Those that had not been chewed into slop by flak or immolated by the orbital descent slumped in their harnesses, necks broken. She didn't recognize their regiment.

"Yang's it's gonna blow!" Someone screamed. Yang ignored them, pushing into the lander and stripping the dead for all they were worth. Fighting the sweltering, unbearable heat, she hurled rucksacks and batteries and grenades out the emergency hatch. Sparlich quickly realized what was happening, scooping up the extra supplies and scurrying away.

A sharp whiff of promethium filled her nose.

Yang leapt out of the hatch and sprinted away from the wreck. It erupted, shooting a towering cloud of smoke into the sky.

"First Sergeant," the Commissar protested, "that was exceedingly reckless," he said, loosing a bolt at a distant heretic. His aim was spot on - the man exploded into wet paste.

"We need every battery," Yang replied simply. As if to confirm her suspicions, a rallying cry went up on the other side of no-man's land. It was a low and steady thrum that seemed to cover all of White Horses, a bilious, echoing rumble.

They charged, a black swarm of bodies that left not a single grain of sand untouched.

Shen-se fell on his ass, eyes wide with fear. He pushed heaps of sand in front of him as he scrambled backwards. Neuhoff's bolt pistol wavered, but Yang beat him to it.

"On your feet, Trooper!" She hollered, hauling the Shao-la native up by the scruff of his armor. "Fire your weapon!" She added, scooping up his lasgun and thrusting it into his shoulder. Shen-se wept, but did not blink. "Do it!" She cried, pushing him to the edge of the flak pit. Slapping the top of his helmet, she pointed his lasgun for him. "Fire! Do it now, Trooper!"

A red lance fell into the encroaching mass, one among countless others.

"Now keep at it!" She cried to all of Gamma. "Open fire!"

Multilas and bolter teams from Second Company set up beside them hurriedly, pouring streams of fire into the enemy. Imperial fliers strafed the battleline, rockets, bolters, and bombs hurling up geysers of sand and gore.

Spent batteries flew through the air, new ones jammed in their place before the old ones could hit the ground. It wasn't enough. More Woadians dove into the trenches, rolling under the snapping reports of autoguns and enemy lasbolts. An enemy stubber raked the line, white-green tracers spitting up chunks of sand, frozen bodies, burning holes through shrieking Woadians.

More and more guardsman joined the firing line, some straddling their comrades to get a clean line of sight. Yang was joined by none other than Colonel Longingus von Israfel, his fancy officer's uniform replaced by matte-black carapace armor and a beret with a single star.

"Officer present!" She called as she loosed another bolt into the tide of bodies.

"Sorry sir, little busy to salute," Caolin said, his longlas piercing through the haze of war to burst a rocketeer's neck.

"Think nothing of it Corporal," Israfel called back, his engraved hellgun barking. His constant companion Commissar Daniloft hit the dirt beside him, his cuirass burnt black and pouring smoke. "Anton!" the Colonel cried.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," the Commissar wheezed, checking himself for damage. A lasbolt burnt through his cap, leaving it a smoking ruin.

"For the sake of the Emperor, take cover you damned fool!" the Colonel shouted, pushing his head down. 'You won't get lucky thrice!"

Towering explosions erupted in the distance, no more than flashes of light and flame on the horizon. Another wing of Corruption's End had landed successfully. As more troopers poured onto the gunline, the wave of heretics closed the gap. Nearer and nearer they reached, leaping over the bodies of the dead.

"Where's our armor?" Asgeg demanded. "Fucking Throne, where are the space marines?!" The cultists were so close, their dead were tumbling over the heads of the guardsmen, momentum hurling them forwards even as they convulsed and died.

A piercing, deafening shriek cut through the violence - literally. A lascannon beam as thick as a tree trunk vaporized a swath of heretics, from the Imperial line all the way to the heretic trenches.

Blood poured from their eardrums from the sound of it roaring over their heads, the battle now an entirely silent affair. But Yang didn't need to hear the enemy horns to know they had called a retreat - broken by the appearance of heavy weapons, Josephus' legions crawled back to their lines, dragging their wounded and ducking under the piles of corpses.

Yang felt dirt and offal strike her flak armor. Blinking, she turned to see a decimated squad of Woadians wailing in the mud and blood, their agony nothing more than a droning, endless ringing.

Colonel von Israfel shook her shoulder, trying to get her attention. His mouth made movements that were too difficult to make out in the haze of bloodsmoke and acrid clouds of lasgun fumes.

"What?" She asked, a word she did not hear.

His mouth moved again, and a cloud of sand erupted behind him, throwing up a Woadian and a Ranshan recruit, their legs severed at the knee and spewing blood. They tumbled through the falling snow, coming to rest among the enemy wounded.

He was saying 'mortars'.

"We need to move!" Yang screamed, hoping the Colonel could hear her. He couldn't.

Two beams of red passed over their heads, and the heretic trenches erupted. That was the Sweet Sonjja! The armor's landed! Bolt-trails ripped over their heads, rocket-propelled shells peppering fleeing heretics and shredding the piles of enemy dead. As sight lines opened up, the 111th resumed their fire.

"We need to move!" Yang repeated. The Colonel nodded, reading her lips. He made a cutting motion with his hand, jabbing at the heretic lines. Another brace of fire punched into the Imperial lines, this time no more than inaccurate covering fire - but it was effective in shielding their retreating comrades.

She felt another mortar round land, this time in front of the lines. A wounded heretic fell amidst the Woadians, still alive despite the battery of wounds. He thrashed and wailed, lips working a prayer Yang was grateful she could not hear. The Colonel finished him off, reinforced boot liquifying everything above the neck.

"Charge them or we die!" Yang tried, still unable to hear herself. They were locked down by the punishing volume of fire. Staying meant death. Forward meant death. Backwards meant failure. Yang knew which one she preferred. Hauling Lorl to his feet, she ordered him to wave the standard. He complied, blinking stupidly as blood dripped from his ears.

Ripping a smoke grenade from her armor, she gestured the rest of Gamma to do the same. Those who were similarly equipped obeyed, pulling the pins and holding the levers. Raising Ember Celica above her head, she counted down with her fingers so that all could see. Once she made a fist, she fired her gauntlet, its blast lighting up the Woadian lines. They poured over the top, roaring wordlessly.

Yang's feet pounded over the dead and wounded, churning bloodsoaked sand. Enemy fire wheeled to face them. Another lascannon beam bought them the chance they needed. "Now!" Yang called, even though she knew no one could hear her.

A dozen smoke grenades arced towards the trenchline, popping mid-flight and landing just before the heretics. Perfect.

Neuhoff gestured them to the earth, bolt pistol stabbing at the sand. They obeyed, falling prone to avoid the searing, directionless enemy fire. Many of the heretics they took cover amongst were still alive, clutching gaping wounds while they clawed at Gamma. A limbless clutist tried to tear out Asgeg's jugular with his teeth. Hoisting him up with her bionic arm, he was cut in half by his comrades' fire. As gore painted her, she retched, doubled over from the smell and entrails that made a horrid garland around her neck.

Their grenades were fully active now, spitting out great swathes of grey-white smoke.

Yang heard a sound, distant yet near. It was an Imperial war-cry, muted but present. Leaping to her feet, she dashed towards the foe. She didn't need to look and confirm Gamma was behind her. She knew they would follow. Meter by meter, her hearing returned, the roars of her comrades swelling with each step.

Punching through their smoke, she fell upon the heretics. A single lasbolt caught her square in the chest. A year ago it might have knocked her on her ass, but now it was merely an annoyance.

She dove into the trench. Her fist met a heretic face, Ember Celica turning his head into mist. Her sword swung wildly, cutting through her foes with ease. A weight crashed into her back as a heretic tackled her, a wicked dagger plunging into her torso, scraping at her aura. Commissar Neuhoff tore him off, bolt pistol barking into his chest at point-blank range.

Gamma joined the assault, a chaotic tumult that had more in common with a prison riot than a coordinated attack. The heretics fought viciously, battling on with wounds that would kill a normal man, holding their necks shut and bellies closed as they flailed with bayonets and rippers.

Here Yang excelled, prioritizing those who posed the greatest threat to her platoon. Those with suicide vests she hurled away, those with shotguns and flamers she impaled with her power sword.

The Commissars bellowed inspirational verse as they duelled with the arch-foe. Neuhoff clubbed a heretic with the heel of his bolter, his chainsword whirling around to bite into the cowed enemy. Daniloft joined him, bellowing for the Emperor's guidance as he waded through the enemy. Say what you will about Commissars, Yang thought as Ember Celica punched through a wailing cultist woman, but they fight like ancient grimm. The Colonel made an account of himself too, throwing off attackers and blasting heretics with even, regular hellbolts. Sometimes Yang forgot he'd slain a warboss.

The mistralan drills she'd insisted upon were paying dividends. Mael executed a serviceable yet brutal lariat, crushing a charging heretic's ribs and finishing him with a sharp upwards blow to the chin. She dove over him, snapping the spine of a heretic that was attempting to behead him with a chainaxe. He screamed, the noise still little more than a whisper. Stumbling to her feet, she spun, the point of her boot meeting his temple and silencing him forever.

More Woadians and guardsmen from regiments she didn't recognize poured into the melee, shouldering their way to the front of the battle. Seconds later, Maccabian Janissaries reached the line, a row of hulking, faceless troopers.

"Fire!"

A brutal salvo of heavy-duty lasbolts scythed into the heretics, turning the brawl into a rout. The Janissaries fired again. And again. Their shots were regular and unsparing, practiced and regimented. Each lasbolt found a target, each felled a foe.

Gamma recovered, throwing off the last of the heretics and pouring bolts into the backs of those who retreated. Promethium struck them, a rank and heavy stench accompanied by the clatter of treads. The Elodian armor rolled up to them, their sides and tracks nearly stuck fast and clogged with gore both frozen and fresh. The Wrath of Saint Alfabusa bore a few black marks - rockets that had glanced off their armor.

Taking position above the trenches, their boltguns chattered, the massive rounds snapping past. The Woadian assault had been successful, but they could not slow their pace - the Chariot lay uncovered, and every second was precious.

Flooded with adrenaline, her troopers cheered the armor's advance, helped the Janissaries dispose of wounded foes. No one felt the cold. Though their breath steamed like their lasguns, their blood was up, they were running hot.

"We're pushing up," Yang said.

"Sergeant?" the Colonel asked.

"We can't give them a second to dig in," Yang replied. "We took this trench well enough, but there's no way in the Warp this is the only one. If we let them get their mortars sighted or other emplacements online, we're finished."

"The encirclement is almost complete," the Colonel replied, pointing at the distant flashes of light. "Elements of General Oranthus' regiments and the Rollander mechanized have already linked up," he said, pointing west, beyond the Chariot's entrance. "No attempts to break out. The skitarii landed east of us, and well… look for yourself." He handed her his optics.

Yang saw the skitarii nearly two klicks away and beheld the dark glory of the Adeptus Mechanicus at war. Brilliant flashes of cobalt obliterated the heretic lines, followed by entire companies of heavily augmented soldiers storming forth in perfect synchronicity, their crimson robes fluttering with speed. Striders advanced behind them, each walker unleashing an unerring barrage of autocannon fire.

And then she saw them. A pair of Knight Paladins emerged from a cloud of black smoke, nine-meter tall war machines bristling with elite wargear. They annihilated heretic fortifications and armor with thunderous battle cannons while coaxial stubbers and meltas massacred enemy infantry.

"God damn," Yang hissed, returning the Colonel's optics. Even two klicks away, she could hear the Knights and their cacophonous battle-chant. "We could use one of those," she added wistfully.

"True, but they're taking heavy casualties," von Israfel said as he appraised the situation. "They need the support. For them, this is the holiest of tasks."

"We better not fall behind," Yang said, chugging from her canteen. The cool water did not wash out the taste of blood, ozone, and cordite. "Don't want the metalmen stealing all the credit."

The Colonel shook his head. "We'll be setting up a proper beachhead," he said. "Once the artillery lands, we can sit pretty and watch them turn every meter from here to the Chariot into a smoking crater."

"We can't wait for that!" Yang protested. "Josephus might already be inside the Chariot! Every second we spare, he could be transmitting its specs to Abaddon. Or corrupting it," she said. "He's been known to do that," she pointed out, taking a moment to check her battery. Half-full. Good enough.

"Damnation," the Colonel conceded. Lifting his optics once more, he parsed the battlefield before them. "Emperor help me. You think First Company can handle the advance?" Glancing through her own binocs, she saw a labyrinth of corpse-fortifications and heretics before them.

"We can," she answered. "Gamma will lead the charge."

"Again!" Caolin supplied.

"Àuh!" Gamma cried proudly through panted breaths.

"If we can get the Janissaries to watch our flanks and bring up the rear, we can make it to the Chariot inside of thirty minutes," Yang estimated. "With some armor, I can cut that in half." Wish I could have one of those Knights. "I'm guessing the artillery won't be ready by then. If it lands at all," she added, gesturing to the sky. A hundred dogfights and flak bursts ruled the air, a constant stream of falling craft both heretic and loyalist. Corruption's End had air superiority, but only barely.

"I'll see what I can do," the Colonel grunted.

"Where's the Lady?" Yang asked. There'd been a worrying silence on Weiss' end. "And what about the Sisters?"

The Colonel shook his head. "Word is our Lady nearly killed herself breaking that accursed maelstrom," he said, waving his hand at the last vestiges of darkened clouds that faded on the horizon. "It's just us."

"We'll make do," Yang grunted, pushing down her concern for Weiss. She'll be fine. I have faith in her. "Gamma!" She called. "Ready up! Reload!" The orders were unnecessary - the Woadians were experienced enough to handle themselves just fine - but Yang liked to give them reminders anyway, let them know she was looking out for them.

"We're good to go Yang," Caolin answered. "Sarge!" He corrected sheepishly, with a sideways glance at the Colonel.

"Wounded?" She asked Varl, Gamma's chirurgeon.

"A few, nothing too bad. Lost a handful back there," he answered. "Tor and Svod are down for the count too."

"Will they live?" Yang asked.

"Probably," Varl answered.

"Push them off on someone else, we have to move."

Varl nodded and rushed to his task.

"Gamma... hup!" Yang cried. "Time to give chase!" She watched them steel themselves for the attack, repacking their tactical rigs and adjusting their armor. Emperor, she was proud of them.

"Ready?" She asked. They bellowed their approval. "Go!"

"Woadia!" They chanted as they clambered over the top, "True to Woadia!" Yang bounded forwards, taking the lead as she always did, throwing a quick salute to the Colonel as she left.

Crouch-running after their foe, Gamma advanced. Lasbolts, tank shells, and bolts screamed over their heads, an endless fusillade that pierced the snow and heretic bodies. Yang waved her platoon onwards.

"On me!" She cried to whoever could hear. They stacked up behind her. A series of hand gestures spread them out into a chevron, the best formation for breaking through defenses. Return fire snapped over them, inaccurate, ineffective. "We gotta move while we got 'em on the run!" She explained. "Keep it low! Don't stop!"

The punched out at a half-jog, eyes parsing the slaughter that surrounded them. Behind them, mortar shells hammered Corruption's End, a whistling scream that ended in a low rumbling. This far up, they could only pray the shells weren't finding targets.

Yet Yang knew it was futile - she felt their hurt, heard their pleas for salvation. Help us Yang, they cried out. She shook away the sensation, though their prayers wrapped a gentle, painful fist around her heart.

Gamma continued. Most of the heretics were too busy readying defenses or dragging comrades to safety. Under the withering blanket of fire from their fellow guardsmen, Gamma's advance was unchecked. First Company followed, picking their way through the hellscape of White Horses.

A chorus of high-pitched whistles reached them. Everyone hit the dirt, expecting more mortar fire. Instead, a host of flares burst above their heads, casting a searing white light across the hellscape of White Horses.

Stubber fire raked the dirt in front of them, showering them with sand and meaty debris. "We're spotted!" Lorl cried, holding his helmet tight.

"Keep moving!" Yang ordered. "Stay low!" Noses in the ground, they crawled onwards, lasbolts hissing mere inches above their heads. They muttered prayers and whimpered as stubber rounds split the air around them, but they did not waver.

"C'mon, c'mon," Lana muttered, pulling herself along.

"Steady," Neuhoff said, "The Emperor is with us."

A bullet snapped past Yang and landed into Gamma with a meaty thunk. She whipped her head around to see Thorgrid weeping, her fingers clenching her fatigues as blood seeped through them.

"Oh fuck I'm hit," she whimpered. "I'm hit bad."

"It's just your ass," Varl grunted. "Two new holes. Be glad it wasn't a lasbolt." Pulling her hand aside, he packed a wad of gauze into her hand. "Keep the pressure on it, and for the sake of Holy Terra itself, don't let it touch anything. This place is a minefield for infection."

"Yeah," Caolin said, wincing as a deluge of rounds cracked overhead. "Infection's the real danger here! What the fuck happened to our armor?"

"Kalla?" Yang asked, wondering herself. He shook his head. "Fuck!" She cursed, fist meeting sand. Hazarding a quick glance upwards, she came face to face with a heretic - they'd stumbled on a hidden trench salient. She thrust Ember Celica forward, pellets mulching the shocked cultist before her.

Yelling, she rolled into the trench, landing on the new corpse she'd made. A dozen heretics trained their guns on her, only for Gamma to fall upon them. Once more, bayonets sang out and buried themselves in accursed flesh. It was over in seconds.

Wiping face-shreds off her features, Yang took the opportunity to appraise the advance. All around them, black-armored forms moved forwards, some running, some crawling. Looking behind them, there were thousands upon thousands. She grinned, spitting out the bloody taste that filled her mouth.

This is where I belong. Waving her crackling powersword beside the 111th's battle standard, a rallying cry rippled through Corruption's End, a renewed declaration of purpose. The fist around Yang's heart slackened, and her grin widened.

"Well done," She said. "If they have any batteries, take 'em. I don't care what they got scribbled on 'em, as long as they fit." A Valkyrie swooped low, rockets hurling up a holocaust of shrieking death below. Heavy bolters strafed the lines, a solid chunk-chunk-chunking that filled the battlefield with shrapnel.

Around them, the chorus of war roared unending. It seemed as though their comrades had stumbled into more heretic lines. Shouts, cries and the reports of weapons filled the air. But they could not rest.

Hopping up, Yang waved them onwards. They were beginning to flag. They did not have auras, and they'd been fighting viciously for nearly thirty minutes straight.

They obeyed, heaving and lurching as they advanced. Always the advance. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, mixing with their warpaint and the blood of their foes. They shivered violently, convulsing as the uncaring cold of White Horses settled on their skin.

Yang looked to the sky. The storm had finally faded, replaced with thousands of shooting stars, shimmering brightly in White Horses' thin atmosphere. Ship slag, she realized. Wreckage from the battle in orbit.

"Damn," Lana said, her voice husky and dry. She took a swig from her canteen.

"Let's not get distracted," Yang said, tearing her eyes from the sight. "You can stargaze later." Still buried in the trench, they took a two-minute breather. Yang took the time to scan the battle, constantly checking her chronometer. They were still at the tip of the spear, and no enemy counterattack manifested despite the torrent of fire directed at Corruption's End. Worrying. Once their two minutes was up, they pressed on. The break hadn't helped much.

Gamma encountered sporadic resistance, beating back any organized opposition they found. As they progressed, Yang noticed they were descending - the entire battlefield was a quarry, almost too gradual to notice. Behind them, she could see the blaring cannons of their armored support and whole hosts of guardsmen marching down the battlefield.

"Grenade!" Someone called. Yang's aura flared, and she could hear the thing rattle behind her, coming to rest in front of Shen-se. There was no time to think. She rolled, cupping the twisted, spiky sphere in her hands and burying it between her chest and the sand. It detonated, a muffled 'wumph' that pummeled her aura. Growling, she bit down the flare of pain and the agonizing temptation to unleash her semblance.

"Yang!" She couldn't tell who it was - a rocket landed somewhere nearby, and the air was full of metal. Accurate fire rained down on them, forcing them to ground.

"Return fire!" She bellowed. They tried. They traded lasbolts with their unseen foe, burning out their lasguns in an attempt to still the raging storm that lashed them. No effect.

"Fuck!" Caolin cried, jamming a new hot-shot round into his longlas. "It's those caped fuckers! Where'd they come from?!"

Silverhearts, Yang recalled. A flash of silver confirmed it, their shields locking together with a resounding clang of ablative steel. Their barrage continued. Only a few inches of sand and spare corpses kept death at bay.

"We can't push these guys out!" Asgeg said. "We're pinned down!"

Given the unrelenting volume of fire, Yang wasn't sure if her aura could tank all the hits she'd take between their position and the Silverheart's line. It probably could, but Gamma would get mulched trying to 'rescue her'

There was only sixty meters between the lines. This is Josephus' personal guard. We're getting close.

"Kalla!" She barked. "Give me the vox! Everyone else, stay low!"

Kalla handed her the vox set, guarding the box itself with his body.

"Wulfric-Aquila, this is Wulfric-One-Gamma-Aquila," she bellowed into the mic over the deafening roar of battle. "We're pinned down under accurate enemy fire. Requesting armored support, how copy?"

"This is Wulfric-Aquila," Colonel Israfel replied. She could hear bolter rounds blaring through the static. "Armor is delayed, they hit some mines, over."

"We didn't hit any mines!" Yang protested.

"Nearly everyone behind you did," the Colonel replied. "Emperor's watching you."

"He'll be watching us real close soon enough!" Yang snapped. "What about the lascannons?"

"Moving up. I'll… Anton! On the left!" More reports. "Gamma-Aquila, I'll see if I can't transfer you to someone who can help. Stay down, over."

"Can do," she grunted. A hiss of vox-static greeted her, followed by a spate of heavily-accented gothic.

"This is Victor-Seven-Dobro-Aquila, heavy weapons mortar platform 'Shellwaker'. Send traffic, over."

"This is Wulfric-One-Gamma-Aquila," Yang repeated, ducking under a lasbolt hot enough to sear her aura. "Requesting fire support sixty meters north of our position, over!"

"That's danger close," the man protested.

"It better be!" Yang replied. "We're getting chewed up, heavily-armed heretics north of our position! They're fucking Silverhearts! If you don't hit at least one of us, I'll have the Lady herself try you for heresy! Over."

A brief pause in comms. "Have it your way, Gamma-Aquila," the man replied. "Mark your position with smoke, over."

"Affirmative," Yang replied, heart pounding in her throat. Patting down her collection of grenades, she searched for one with a colored band. The constant hail of fire was beginning to wear on her as the shouts of her comrades swelled with panic. They returned fire sparingly, every chance they got. Their ammo was running low. Mael checked his backblast before firing a rocket, one that ripped a hole in the Silverheart lines that was instantly patched. "C'mon, c'mon." Finding one with a purple band, she ripped the pin clear and chucked it a few meters in front of them. A pillar of purple smoke shot into the sky, the gas giant casting it in a sickly blue glow.

"Fifty-sixty meters ahead of the purple smoke, Shellwaker!" Yang said.

"Scanning... location confirmed! Blyat!" He cursed in gutter gothic. "You guys are really up there! Standby for HE round." Another burst of debased gothic followed, ending in the bassy blast of a mortar tube. "Splash in ten, over!"

"Copy!" Yang replied. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an hour. A low whistle pierced the din. Her eyes shot skyward, searching. The shell landed a dozen of meters in front of the Silverhearts, their shields crumpling under the force, knocking a dozen of them on their asses. Gamma took the opportunity to spread out, take whatever cover they could find.

"Just few meters short, Shellwaker!" Yang reported. "Adjust by ten, then let 'em have it! Send two thermobaric, then dump fragmentation!"

"Copy that, Wulfric-One-Gamma," Shellwaker replied. "Emperor protect you." More pops ripped through the vox receiver, accompanied by distant cries. "Thermobaric away! Splash in ten!"

Setting the transmitter down, Yang clapped her hands over her ears and opened her mouth. Those in Gamma that could see her did the same.

They did not hear the first two rounds, but they felt them. Two gut-churning blasts struck Gamma, their insides roiling as the pressure wave punched through them. Yang felt upside go down, vomit splash the roof of her mouth, a sudden lance of pain pull at her lungs. Her aura was no relief. She saw two plumes of fire vaporize the Silverheart forward line, the heretics shaken apart from the force and collapsing into puddles of meat.

There was hardly a second to recover before the fragmentation rounds slammed into them, crumpling their lasbolt-proof shields like paper under the strain of sustained mortar fire. Clouds of dirt, sand, and human soared into the air, some blasted far enough to rain upon Gamma.

"Good effect on target!" Yang called into the vox. "Hot fucking damn you guys can sling some shells!"

"Copy that Gamma-Aquila," Shellwaker replied, unable to keep a proud grin out of his voice.

"Dump any smoke you got on the same fire mission," Yang shot back. "And standby for a rolling barrage. Any chance you can get more of your Victor-Seven friends in on this?"

"I can try, Gamma-Aquila," Shellwaker said. "Also, your protocols are terrible. Over."

"Feh," Yang said, grinning wide as she handed the receiver back to Kalla. "Kiss my ass." The barrage of fire had paused. Rallying her platoon with her power sword, she bade them to continue the advance. They roared their support, their progress now unchecked.

The Silverhearts were not helpless, but their frontline had been broken, bathed in oily flame. Dozens stumbled around listlessly, blood pouring from their extremities as blood blisters bloomed across their skin. Those that had suffered the worst of the barrage crawled on their hands and knees, ruptured organs trailing from their lips.

The Emperor was watching us, Yang thought as she charged. Any closer and those rounds would have cooked us. More shells landed down the line, belching up impenetrable clouds of smoke.

Gamma's last brace of grenades sailed through the air, arcing into heretic cover and over the Silverhearts' shields. The subsequent explosions rippled through their lines, fragmentation scattering around them in a frenzy of maddened steel.

Lasguns flashed, a power sword sang, shotguns and bolt pistols barked. Once more, Gamma began a familiar, intimate slaughter. And they were not alone - thousands of Corruption's End charged with them, throwing themselves at heretic lines, eating lasbolts and autogun salvos, dying with the Emperor's name on their lips.

A half-klick to their west, a tide of serfs poured over Silverheart shields. Unarmed but for a handful of lasguns and crude blades, most ripped the heretics apart with their bare hands. Limb by limb.

General Jak himself presided over his troops, weaving through a tide of lasbolts, dual bolt pistols devouring the wavering Silverheart lines. Accompanied by thousands of chemdogs, he followed the his legions, stepped over their shredded bodies as his lector read from the Lectitio Divinitatus.

Yang didn't watch too closely. She hacked, spun, punched, wholly in her element. This time, there was no perfectly in-synch war party, no eldar, no psykery, no Amat. Just blood and brawn and steel. No one to save her from a rubric marine. Be careful, stay alert. A single sorcerer had nearly spelled her end on Ranshu. A rubric marine had nearly smashed her into a paste - a Lord of Chaos could easily crush her.

Underestimate nothing.

Though lethal and effective, the Silverhearts were no rubric marines. Even still, the heretic guard did not retreat, each soldier fighting bitterly to the last, dragged down and perforated by guardsmen, all the while their faces as placid and unmoving as Amat's.

Yang bit down the comparison and continued her bloody work. Casualties were mounting. Fatigue was causing slip-ups, mistakes. Even Neuhoff wavered, his chainsword swinging wildly as he dueled a pair of Silverhearts. Every bolt shell had been spent. We can't keep this up.

Correction, she reminded herself, you can, they can't.

And she needed their help. Smashing a Silverheart head into the ground, she glanced at the Chariot entrance. Yet another swarm of heretics amassed between them and their goal, yet another horde of the damned ready to die. All to buy Josephus another second.

"Emperor's balls," Caolin spat, ripping his knife out of a Silverheart's flank. "There's no end to them!"

But Yang wasn't listening. Beyond the masses, beyond the horde of singing, chanting fanatics, she saw him. Even at a half-klick away, Josephus the Corruptor seemed to tower over her, an eight-foot monstrosity wrought from corrupted metal and warp-stained flesh. Insectoid mechanical limbs with human hands and pulsing arteries jutted from his back, two clasping above his head to form a sickening halo of flesh and chrome. Like his guard, he bore a silver shoulder-cloak, one that covered his left arm entirely and dragged across the sand. In his right hand he bore a simple staff of polished meteorite with an onyx raven figure atop it.

The weapon pulsed with power, a dark cobalt aura enveloping it, a subdued glow that drew every eye towards its bearer. Beckoned them closer. Whispered glories and truths to them, sung the praises of its wielder.

His face was Amat's.

A blade caught her chest, sticking fast on her aura and between the plates of her flak armor. A swell of pain came next, tearing her concentration away from Josephus. Yang looked at the woman who had stabbed her, saw her piercings, saw her face contorted in anger and hate and fear.

An uppercut from Ember Celica ripped it all away, the headless body tumbling through the air.

"Yang!" Lana called.

"I'm fine," Yang replied, ripping the jagged sword from her armor. Returning her gaze to Josephus, his face was still Amat's, but the smile it wore was not. It was inhuman, broad, filled with pointed teeth.

"No blood?" Varl asked incredulously, injector in hand. Yang waved him away.

"I'm fine, see to the others. Kalla?"

Obediently, Kalla handed her the vox receiver.

"Shellwaker, this is Wulfric-One-Gamma-Aquila, requesting fire support once again, over."

"Be advised, Gamma-Aquila, we're low on shells," Shellwaker said. "One of our supply ships got fragged, and you're not the only fire mission in the AO, over."

A shot cracked over Yang's head, burying itself into her reinforcements with a meaty crunch and an explosion of fragments. That was a bolt round!

"Copy that, Shellwaker," Yang said. "We have eyes on the big blue bastard himself, but there's an entire army of heretics between us and him. Anything you can spare for a rolling barrage would be much appreciated, over."

"We'll send a few rounds every thirty seconds until our resupply arrives. Then bury your heads in whatever cover you can find on this miserable planet, and we'll rain holy hellfire on that sooka, over."

"Appreciated. Send smoke first if you can, over." Yang passed the radio back to Kalla. "Let me know when the shells are coming." She turned to the rest of Gamma. They were disposing of the Silverheart wounded, helping Second and Third push the rest of the guard away from the salient they'd opened or readying another gunline against the next encroaching horde. Corruption's End was catching up as well. The distant flashes and echoing sounds of war were not so distant anymore. The entrance was surrounded - Josephus was trapped.

"How's everyone doing?" She asked. The consensus was easy enough to see. Everyone was exhausted now, shivering, many - if not most - nursing one wound or another. Thorgrid's wound was not unique. Lana and Sparlich nursed weeping lasburns. Shrapnel had struck a few others in Squad F, twisted flecks of metal protruding from their armor. Sygwald's lung had been pierced, and he gurgled helplessly as a chirurgeon from Io tried to save his life.

"Little winded," Caolin allowed. Neuhoff grunted in place of an actual reprimand, even though his face was as red as the arterial blood splashed across his chest, heaving breaths leaving him in billowing clouds of white steam.

"We gotta cut through them again," Yang said. "Josephus is right fucking there," she said, pointing. "And it's high time someone shoved a boot up his ass."

"Into that?" Caolin asked. As he spoke, the Imperial line opened up, more sporadically than when they'd first landed - ammo was getting thin this far away from the LZ. The salient they'd opened was calcifying as Woadians settled into what cover they could find. They fought for each inch bitterly. Dearly.

"Yes," Yang said simply. "We got more fire support coming in, but it'll be hard. There'll be traitor marines."

"Fuck," Caolin said. He shook his head, wiped a running streak of war paint off his cheek. "I'm in."

"Me too," Asgeg said, binding a flesh wound on her left arm.

"Death," Lana agreed as she pressed a pad of gauze to her chest.

Mael nodded sternly, dropping a new rocket into place. His last one. He clutched Rhain's necklace, counted the beads.

Lorl planted the standard in the sand. "We're with you Yang," he said. "We all are."

Neuhoff revved his chainsword. "Death," he said.

Yang smiled, a small lump of gratitude sticking in her throat, and a passing cloud of cordite watered her eyes. Yeah. Cordite.

"You ready boys and girls?" She bellowed.

"ÀUH!" They answered. Lifting her sword aloft once more, she let it be a beacon. Not just for Corruption's End, but the heretics, Josephus. A guiding fire that told him his end was near. A whining whistle told her Shellwaker had pulled through.

"Charge!" She cried.

The mortar round landed, shredding a dozen slavering cultists. Gamma advanced. Their cohesion was loose, their legs burnt, they could see the hulking figures of traitor marines, they were losing feeling in their fingers, and their lungs were full of charred sand and ashen snow.

But they advanced.

Yang met the cultists ahead of her platoon, bursting forward to draw attention upon herself, challenge the enemy champions. They swarmed her, drowning her in a tide of flesh and steel.

Some were monstrosities nearly the size of astartes, servitors rendered into towering abominations rippling with long claws and unholy tendrils. One spat gobs of accursed flame, threatening to engulf all of Gamma. A rocket from Io sent the entire hulk skywards, secondary explosions showering them all in molten slag.

"Hold it high!" Yang called to Lorl. looking back at him, she could see other Woadians clambering after her. Janissaries too. Other regiments she didn't recognize. Thousands. Behind them, hundreds of thousands. Around them, millions. "Woadia!" She cried.

Leaping atop a giant, she ripped out the cables that trailed from his head, Ember Celica punching a hole through its mutilated skull. Riding the body to the sand, she rolled clear and cut into a squad of heretics, her power sword a blue blur that spat red smoke.

Another mortar round landed, danger close. It was practically on top of her, but she didn't care.

"Josephus!" A Ranshan cultist cried, before a hotshot lasgun blast melted everything above his waist.

As Gamma joined her, she could feel their hope, their contempt for death and Chaos. All of Corruption's End was laid out before her, their prayers and desperation and glories and fears. At the tip of the spear, she knew they all looked to her, to the flashing blue sword and her mane of bright yellow hair, to the standard of the 111th and the broken helm that stood atop it.

"My Sisters!" A voice boomed out over the battlefield. "I am angry!"

Screaming from the heavens, the Sisters' thunderhawks plunged, the Palatine's cry echoed by a tempest of missiles and bolter fire. A ragged cheer rose from Corruption's End.

"The Sisters!" Asgeg said, throwing off a heretic. "Golden Throne!"

"Their timing is impeccable," Yang grunted as she beheaded another cultist. "Seems like they don't like doing the heavy lifting."

"Don't blaspheme," Asgeg shot back.

The brief moment of levity was cut short as a piercing shriek met the Sister's fury, the inhuman and soul-rending quork of a Nevermore. A primal pang of fear shot through Yang, the same instinct bred into every human from Remnant.

Before she remembered where she was.

A crow the size of a Valkyrie tore into the Sister's lead Thunderhawk, claws tearing away metal and components. The pilot struggled to regain control, wrestling the creature with the full might of her craft's mighty engines.

The crow won, dragging the Thunderhawk low and splitting it in two.

"Bring that bird down!" Yang ordered.

At once, lasbolts and tracers punched into the sky. None found purchase. Another Thunderhawk tried to dogfight with the creature. Whirling into a spiral, the crow pierced the cockpit with the tip of its beak, tearing through the craft and emerging on the other side with a Sister in its grasp. Sister Eleven.

Soaring to the earth, it landed before its master. Sister Eleven beat at its legs before its beak clamped around her waist and tore her in two.

"Oh fuck," Asgeg cried. "Emperor protect us!"

Another mortar round landed, the shrapnel that whistled past shocking Yang from the grisly display. "C'mon!" She shouted, rallying her comrades. "Kill that fuckin' thing!"

Crawling from the wreck of her Thunderhawk, Palatine Naja bint Mutaa al-Ibanhi emerged, eviscerator purring for blood. Tears streamed down her cheeks, untameable anger seething from her soul. She opened her mouth, and there were no quotations from scripture, no benedictions, no beseechments.

There was only fury.

A howl of rage boomed out from the vox speakers on her back, and all of White Horses knew her hate. Whole squads of heretics died before they could react, the Palatine's eviscerator carving through Silverhearts like they were tissue paper. Flanked by the Lector Superior and a handful of other survivors, the Sisters cut an unmatched swath of carnage through Josephus' forces.

"Let's go, move it up!" Commissar Neuhoff shouted. "After them!"

Nodding, Yang pressed onwards, hearing the cheers and prayers of those behind them. With the Sisters, we can do this. But they can't do it alone. Palatine Naja did her best to disprove that, however, rushing a traitor marine and grinding her chainsword into him until he split in two.

More bolter fire rained down on them, Josephus' inner circle protecting their lord with all they were worth. The titanic crow lurched forward, its bloody talons shaking the earth with every step. A wash of flame from a Retributor warned him away, so it leapt into the sky.

"Mael!" Yang cried.

He was already on it. As an ear-biting scream pierced them once more, Mael's last rocket cut it short, striking square on the bird's shoulder. Half of its wing vanished in a puff of blood and feathers. Screeching, it plummeted atop the Palatine, landing with a sickening crunch.

"Palatine!" Yang cried, before she was hurled into the air.

Briefly, she wondered what had happened. Her arms scrabbled for purchase and found none. She landed hard on her shoulder, smoke pouring from her flak armor and filling her lungs. Coughing and hacking, she recovered her weapons, a dull pain aching down her arm, her hand pulsing and unresponsive.

Fifteen meters away, Lana stared at her dumbly, lips moving.

"What?" The only reply was a high-pitched whining. Annoyingly, Yang found she couldn't hear again. Whatever happened did a number on her aura. Her semblance boiled, begging to be unleashed. Growling, she popped her arm back into place, worked her fingers.

Just in time to receive a Silverheart. His lasgun flashed, but Yang had already flattened. Landing on her hands, she spun low and lashed out with a heel, breaking his knee. He screamed noiselessly, his face placid and unmoving. Yang kicked his lasgun away and stumbled towards the Chariot, searching for the Sisters. Six were charging the wounded crow, desperate to recover the body of their Palatine.

Naja found them first. With a terrible screech that overcame Yang's deafness, the crow writhed and convulsed before the sound of an eviscerator drowned it out, tearing its way out of a stomach. Ripping herself free of guts and ichor, the Palatine roared victoriously, the gallons of black-red blood that painted her steaming in the frigid air.

"JOSEPHUS!"

"I am here," a voice sounded out, piercing the din of combat, a whisper that came fully formed in the minds of those even two hundred meters away. It sounded… calm. Powerful. Driven. How Yang imagined a Primarch would've sounded.

He emerged from beyond the battle, his walk easy and confident. The nearer he got, the larger he seemed. All loyal to him bowed as he passed, making way for his long, loping strides.

"You have killed Gorrag," the voice said again, dripping with fury. "I applaud your valor, Sister Naja. That was no easy feat."

"Silence, worm!" the Palatine bellowed.

A thousand cheers followed her echoing words, Corruption's End crying out its approval. With her words came renewed hope, renewed vigor. Yang suddenly felt better too. She leapt to her feet and pressed on.

"Yang!" Caolin said, laspistol smoking. "Where are you going?" Turning, he buried four shots in a heretic.

"To help the Palatine!" Yang said.

"She can handle herself!" Caolin protested.

"I'm…" Yang paused, locking eyes with her friend. "I'm sorry, Caolin."

"Sorry?" He asked. "For what?!"

She closed her eyes. Sighed. Her hair erupted into golden flame, her semblance finally unleashed. Power radiated from every inch of her, the damage she'd accumulated pouring into her veins. Glancing at her armor, she saw it was nearly destroyed, studded with uncountable flecks of shrapnel. It was Shellwaker that had hit her.

All of Gamma looked to their sergeant, jaws slack.

"Emperor be with you all," she said softly. She knew they could hear. Turning back to Josephus, she braced her power sword and charged. The Palatine fared poorly against the Chaos Lord, her swings missing by inches, easily avoided. She screamed her fury and her hatred, but nothing would avail her.

"Die, spawn of Chaos! Die!"

"I grow weary of you," Josephus said, boredom ringing in every syllable. Casually, his hand flickered with lightning. Yang poured her aura into her legs, but she was too far away. A hundred and fifty meters. A hundred. Fifty.

A blinding burst of energy seared the Palatine, arcs of blue sorcery crackling through her entire body.

"Naja!" Yang cried.

Josephus watched the body crumple before turning to greet his next challenger. "Yang Xiao Long," he said, as if accosting an old friend. "Behold the glory of the ancients," he said, gesturing at the Chariot behind him. A long, low rumble emanated from it, and a hulking aperture creaked open. "Stunning, no?"

He still had Amat's face.

"It'd look better with your corpse decorating it," Yang shouted back.

"So fiery and willful," Josephus said. "Are all specimens from Remnant like you? The souls that flicker in the warp… they tell me so very little about you personally. I am quite fascinated."

Yang said nothing, gritting her teeth as Corruption's End battled behind her.

"You are searching for something, yes?" He asked. "You have a burning question for me. Oh, how it aches. A familiar question. The White One was consumed with it when I met her mind on Ranshu. Weiss Schnee," he said, playing the words on his dual tongues. "Glimpses of… red."

"Where is she?" Yang asked.

"An answer for a favor, perhaps?" Josephus said, cocking his head at an impossible angle. "I am so very close to completing my life's work. Within reaching grasp, you might say," he added. The aperture widened, revealing meter after meter of reinforced blast plating and thousands of whirring gears. "This... inconvenience you have brought upon me is misguided. We share the same foe, after all."

"Shut up!" Yang barked, stomping forwards.

"You would be surprised. Abaddon the Despoiler is no more my liege than the Schnee child is yours. His… usurpation would be so very easy with the Chariot in my grasp. So very quick. The Mechanicus, for all their strengths, would parse over every inch of it for centuries, searching for flaws that do not exist."

"Shut up!" Yang cried again, picking up her pace.

"All I ask is that you turn around, Yang Xiao Long," Josephus said. "Direct your anger outward. Then you will have answers. Then Abaddon will lie dead at your feet, your sister at your side. I have seen that to be your fate."

"Fuck you!" Yang screamed. Ember Celica barked, hurling her forwards.

"Alas," Josephus said, his words carrying an unbearable grief. "I so despise wasted potential."

Her power sword hurtled towards his head. The instant before she split his brain pan in two, her sword met an unstoppable force, an unseeable energy that pushed her blow aside. It was not aura. A refractor shield. She wouldn't get caught off-guard again. Leaping off Josephus' armor before he could retaliate, she retreated, landing ten meters away and skidding to a halt.

He was already upon her, claws bursting from his fist. They howled, cackled, laughed, laughed, laughed. They missed her by inches as Yang dove beneath the blow, her shoulder roiling with revulsion. Planting a fist in the sand, she spun, her foot lashing out with all her aura behind it.

A dull clang echoed as her kick broke past the refractor shield and impacted uselessly against his armor. She attempted to roll away before a blow caught her in the stomach. Every dram of oxygen exploded from her lungs, and she was thrown into the air. Helplessly, she watched as Josephus readied a second blow.

Yang woke up in a crater of sand a few seconds later, her head ringing with pain, agony shooting up the side of her face. He'd got her. Groaning, she wobbled to her feet, faced her foe. Josephus had hurled her nearly twenty five meters away. Now his hand smoked and spat sparks, a twisted mess of flesh and wiring. More claws ripped themselves free from the ruined mess in a spray of blood. He picked up her power sword.

Deactivating it, he snapped the blade in half. "You are very durable," he allowed. "A puzzle, given that you are mostly flesh."

Yang tried to respond, but could only gurgle. Past the blinding pain, she felt the unholy sensation of half her jaw hanging from her face, held in place by threads of sinew. Her tongue lolled out of her ruined cheek, Blood and broken teeth spilled down her flak armor. There was little left of her aura.

"I pray that I will meet another soul like yours in the future," Josephus said. "I pray that they will see the Truth." Black flame boiled around the crow atop his staff, which he leveled at Yang. Profane utterings spilled from his lips, a sickening mixture of binary and pure, unfiltered chaos.

They were soon drowned out by the roar of an eviscerator.

With a spurt of black ichor, the Palatine severed Josephus' arm at the elbow, her face still seized in a rictus of implacable rage. Her flesh hung from her, every inch of it burnt and trailing smoke. Rendered bald by the scorching warp-flame, Naja wheezed blood down the front of her scorched power armor. It was the last thing she did.

Josephus plucked the Palatine's head from her spine, tossing it to Yang with a flick of his hand. It rolled and fell still in front of her, eyes unseeing, lips curled with unquenchable hate.

"The fate you have chosen," he whispered.

Corruption's End despaired, all hope leeching away. Yang could feel it intimately, every soul, every pained grimace and shocked expression. She no longer wondered how she knew. She only prayed that their grief would end. She prayed that something could be their answer, their saving grace.

She realized she was crawling. Cradling the Palatine's head in her arms, she looked into the unseeing eyes. It was then the answer struck her.

The answer to everything.

They needed a beacon, a place to store their hope. Someone to look upon and feel their hearts swell with pride. They needed someone to guide them, to shine a light onto all that made them human and let it scream into the void that the spark would never die.

They needed her.

That's why she could feel them, hear their prayers, their pleading, hear the yǒng that echoed over the surface of Ranshu.

Yang plunged her mind into the warp, no longer wandering aimlessly. She had a purpose, and she soared over the waves of chaos that composed the eldritch nightmare-realm, her mind free, free, free. The Emperor's golden light was brighter now, shining bright enough to boil away the black tendrils that ate at its edges and gnawed at her heart, that seeped their way into the crevasses of her being. She reached out to the Emperor, not in desperation, but in affirmation. In realization and the sheer joy of existence. Of humanity.

An image of Ruby caught her grasping hand, radiant, pale-moon fingers reaching out for her own.

"Thank you," Yang said, smiling a true and honest smile. "I understand." The vision of her sister nodded, and the smell of rose petals wafted over Yang, engulfing her in their familiarity. It wasn't her, but merely a facsimile. A comfort meant for her and her alone.

"Yang Xiao Long," her sister said in a voice that was her own, yet far more terrible, "Go forth."

Yang wiped her eyes, and gave the holy image of her sister a crushing hug. For a moment, it really felt like Ruby, a bundle of warmth of joy. Then it was far, far, more. Power flooded into her, a tsunami of lightning and sun-bursts of golden strength.

Her mind returned to her body, and she lay once more upon White Horses, the taste of blood in her mouth. Josephus stood, watching in horror. His face was no longer Amat's, but a twisted mass of flayed skin stretched too tightly over a distended skull.

Her soul sang.

It was as if a billion angels filled her body, pouring their energy and their hymns into her aura. She'd never felt better in her entire life. She spat out a cavalcade of broken teeth, already feeling their replacements worm their way out of her gums. Her jaw sealed itself to her skull, and she set it in place with the heel of her wrist.

The radiant, joyous smile granted by the vision of Ruby vanished in a second, replaced with a vicious, imperious frown. She was free. She understood, and the realization crashed into her over and over again.

I belong in the Imperium.

I belong to the Imperium.

"I am the redeemed," she said, struggling to her knees. "I am the vanguard of a quintillion souls." It's my duty. But it was so much more. It was her calling, the one she was built for, cried out for in the dive bars of Remnant when she didn't know anything about life but grief.

The calling she died for. Pyrrha was right. A fist dug into the earth, steadying her. Yang looked up, meeting Josephus' gaze. Her eyes were magma-red.

"I am their beacon!" She cried. "I am the fist of their vengeance! I AM THE WILL OF THE EMPEROR!"

With her bellow, towering wings of golden flame erupted from her shoulders, their light ethereal and blinding. She stood, swaying not from effort, but from the concentration it took to restrain herself, to keep from bursting into tears of joy.

Yang shivered. The power of the Emperor. It was hers, and she was its. It had been hers all along. Corruption's End watched in slack-jawed awe, their battle paused for but a moment. I won't fail them. I won't fail the Emperor. Not anymore.

"Unfortunate," Josephus said. "I should have known that any attempt to show you Truth was misguided." Lightning crackled in his fist, sparking between the claws of his ruined hand. "I should have known from the moment my strike did not kill you."

Yet Yang Xiao Long was more alive than she'd ever been. She was bastion of consecrated power. As she advanced on Josephus, Ember Celica spat spent shells onto the corpses at her feet. Each step was slow and purposeful.

She left flaming boot prints in her wake, size ten Munitorum Standard.

A halo burst into being between her shoulders, its light framing the crown of her head with blades of holy light. Her hair soared to meet it, lifting off her shoulders and burning white-hot. Shell-belts landed in Ember Celica effortlessly, a twist of her fist locking them into place.

"Let's go, fucker." For Rhain. For Svyr, Sister Eleven, the Palatine. The billion souls you corrupted, every life you've ruined.

This is for Ros.

They charged one another, clashing atop a pile of Silverheart dead. Ember Celica met Josephus' claws, and an explosion of psychic energy rang out across the battlefield. Walls of flame erupted from her strikes, washing over Josephus like water. His refractor field screamed and sizzled, and the scent of ozone filled the air.

Turning aside a punch, he seized the opportunity, his forehead slamming into Yang's, burying her a full meter into the sand. Catching his neck as he recoiled, she hauled herself out, fist hammering at his face. Ember Celica's first blast was reflected, but the second broke his shield. The third mauled his face, peppering it with shot and scorching it in holy flame.

His hand caught her back, and she was hurled away. Her wings flared, steadying her flight. Conserving her momentum with a practiced pirouette, she landed, fists in place. Ember Celica barked, and she rocketed towards her foe. Her shoulder met his chest, a metallic crunch letting her know she'd ruined his power armor. Stepping back, he swiped at her head before a secondary strike caught her ribs. She skidded away, spitting blood.

It smoked gently.

A single hit wouldn't stop her. Not when she finally knew.

Around them, Corruption's End continued its assault. They saw her and wept, meeting the foe with restored zeal. This battle was not hers alone. It never had been, never would be. Lasguns coughed their last, bolters barked, chainblades flashed gold in the light of Yang's soul.

"It ends here, heretic!" She roared.

"Words you would not have said a year ago, I gather," Josephus returned, unguent spilling from a split lip. "Don't you see what you've become?"

"Better," Yang said.

They met once more, flames engulfing them both. In the crucible between them, they traded blows at lightning speed, each one blocked, turned aside, countered. Josephus screamed a black word, and a twisted metal spear shot from his palm.

Yang caught it, spun, hurled it back. It pierced his shoulder, stuck through halfway. Grunting, he yanked it out, broke it over his knee. The shaft reformed into two shimmering oil-slicked blades, each dripping with hate and fear.

Ember Celica soared forth, caught him in the chest. His new swords hissed through the air, one after another, a flurry of death. Yang could feel them scrape at her aura, heard them whisper.

Don't you want to see Ruby?

Shunting one aside with the flat of Ember Celica, she grabbed his arm, yanked it towards the sand. Her heel flew towards his temple, bubbling flame encasing her foot. Josephus caught it an inch from her target, the flat of a sword stopping it wholly. Cursing, she danced away, retaliatory swipes hounding her every step. Fuck he's fast!

Shining bright, her halo brought her - and Corruption's End - comfort, a reminder of the stakes, a reminder of their duty.

I won't let them down.

A blade caught the ruined pauldron of her flak armor, the edge stopping at the paint that read '111'. Yang grinned. Ember Celica caught Josephus' wrist, mangling it with a blast of flaming shot. Organic wiring and black sinew spilled from the wound, wrapping around his fingers to keep his hand attached.

Another shot rang off the remnants of his armor, pellets scattering uselessly. His refractor shield was still sputtering, arcane heretek meddling giving it life despite Yang's unrelenting assault.

She took a deep breath, reached out for the Emperor again and was answered. Flame billowed between her lips before Josephus' hand engulfed her face. Yang let it loose regardless, belching a firestorm into his palm. It turned orange, then red, then black as it melted away under the flood of warp-flame.

His sword swung around, howling for Yang's neck. She caught it, felt it boil at her palm, seething hatred and unknowable power eating at her aura. Shoving it aside, Ember Celica shunted upwards, forcing Josephus back. He snarled, his melted hand sloughing away. Fibrous cables and pulsing synthetic flesh sprouted from his wrist once more, accompanied by an orb of lightning.

Booming a profane curse, Josephus unleashed his power upon her. Instantly engulfed in a wave of storming hate. Arcs of power struck her, bolted through her. She ignored the pain, shoved it away.

Bracing herself against the barrage, she unleashed her semblance, upending her soul in a blast of sanctified fire. Her wings whipped at the energy surrounding her, pushing it away.

It's not just my semblance anymore. It's not just my aura.

Corruption's End prayed, and she listened. She heard the battle-chants, the shouts of encouragement, the wails of the wounded. Throwing her arms aside, she dispeled the last of Josephus' power.

Bursting forward, she soared through the air, Ember Celica braced. A thunderous blow connected center mass, and she heard something break within him. Digging her fingers into his armor, she ripped components off by the fistful, scattering countless hateful augs across the sand.

"Where's your shield, fucker?" She demanded.

"Corpse-Worshipper!" Josephus returned, his face smeared with ichor and oil.

"Where are your dark gods now?" Yang bellowed.

He lunged, his sword scraping against her flank. Pinning the blade with her elbow, she twirled, snapping it in half. Her fist shot upwards, crushing his chin with the flat of Ember Celica.

Her other hand plunged into his vile armor, her fingers wrapping around some biomechanical construct that seethed with power. Gotcha. Crushing it in her first, she ripped her arm free, hurling the remnants of his shield generator behind her.

"Your sister will die!" Josephus said. He swiped at her, catching her flank and sending her tumbling. "She'll die cold, alone, afraid!"

Yang ignored him. She closed the gap once more, feet dancing as Josephus battered her with strikes. He should have stuck to sorcery. Ember Celica rent more armor with each blow, shooting out a whirlwind of molten slag. Hurling her foot into his chest, she punted him back towards the Chariot, now totally open, the interior swaddled in darkness.

Josephus looked to the Chariot, reached for it - his final mistake. Yang rushed him.

Ember Celica slipped under Josephus' guard and met his jaw. Her gauntlet roared in victory, a noise matched only by the choir-glory of her soul. He stumbled back, his defenses finally rent. The great Corruptor toppled over, shaking the earth as he fell.

Grabbing his arm, she planted a foot on his chest and pulled, every fiber of her being straining with the effort. Josephus screamed, but could not stop his flesh from tearing, his reinforced bones from separating.

It came loose with a spray of black ichor. His other arm grabbed her ankle, before she broke it at the elbow with an earth-shaking punch. Yang stood over him, her frown judgmental and unflinching.

"You have severed yourself from your fate," he said. "Your sister is lost to you. Now and forevermore."

"I'll live."

With a cry that echoed across the surface of White Horses, she brought her fist down one final time, smashing his head into a paste. Her other fist punched through his foul, twisted armor, Ember Celica mulching what was left of his tainted heart.

Glowing crimson ichor and rotten oil splashed against her, gallons upon gallons of rot. Each drop was burnt away.

The battlefield was silent, entranced by the majesty of Yang. She howled in primal victory, a fifty-foot gout of golden warp-flame bursting from her lips. Her fist beat against her flak armor, Ember Celica ringing against the broken, shrapnel-studded plates.

When her cry died away, she panted and heaved, a grin stretching across her face.

Mael was the first to reach her, his eyes streaming tears as he shambled forward. Her smile widened.

"Hey buddy."

"Ung," was all he could manage. Her wings flapped, buffeting the corpse-littered ground with a burning, cleansing gust.

"Shhh," she said, caressing his face. "He's dead. I fucked him up pretty good." As her fingers left streaks of blood across his chin, a brilliant light spilled forth from his gaping mouth, warm and pure. When it dimmed, a new tongue stood in its place, pink and brand-new like a newborn's.

He fell on his face, hands clasping at her mud-stained boots.

"Hail," he cried, his voice rusty and scratched from disuse. The lonesome sound echoed across the quarry, carried by the wind stirred up from her voluminous wings. "All hail the Living Saint, Yang Xiao Long!" Looking up to meet her beaming face, he embraced her, rapturous tears soaking away the grime that encrusted them both. "Yang Xiao Long!"

His voice was new that night, but the hundreds that joined it were not. They were young and old, spent and fresh, man and woman. They all sang the same chorus.

"YANG XIAO LONG! ALL HAIL THE LIVING SAINT YANG XIAO LONG!"

She climbed atop Josephus' steaming corpse, that she might be more visible.

"YANG XIAO LONG!" Thousands more took up the cry. "YANG XIAO LONG!" Another thousand. All around her they stood, each wearing the same expression - bewildered, unrestrained joy. "ALL HAIL THE LIVING SAINT YANG XIAO LONG!"

Hundreds of thousands now added their voices to the chant. And in the night of White Horses, she ascended, leaving Josephus to rot. Above her, thousands of shooting stars fell from orbit, each streaking a brilliant gold. Yang swelled with love for Ruby, for Weiss, for Amat, for the Imperium, for all the wounded souls within it. Her wings beat once more, borne on the gust of three million soldiers chanting the name of their guiding sun.

"YANG XIAO LONG! YANG XIAO LONG! ALL HAIL THE LIVING SAINT YANG XIAO LONG!"

END BOOK TWO

A/N: I burn.

Thanks to everyone who's still with me four years on. That's right, today is the four-year anniversary of AWoBE's release! It's been one hell of a journey, and I appreciate every single one of you for sticking with my story. It really means a lot to me, and I wouldn't have gotten here without all of you.

I really hope you enjoyed the chapter! It's by far the longest chapter of the story so far, and will probably remain that way for the rest of the fic. The Battle for the Chariot and Yang's apotheosis was originally envisioned as the halfway point of the story, but now it's more accurate to say this is the 3/5ths point. There's still some stuff to cover, and I'm currently projecting to have around 120-130 chapters.

Also, I'll be taking a quick break from AWoBE, mostly to ensure the following chapters are up to snuff, as this is a rather critical point in the story.

Next time we'll investigate a certain Chariot! See you there!