A/N: All passengers please fasten your seat belts, and leave all trays in the upright position. If at any time you feel nauseous, please use the provided bags in front of you. Thank you for flying RedrumSprinkles air, where the feels are real, and your predictions don't matter. :D

Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 40: The Brazen Berserker

"Brilliant lights will cease to burn," - [REDACTED]

Yang seethed with purpose, each breath that filled her lungs tasting clean and new. Whistling a tune from Remnant, she retrieved her weapons, her smile wide and shining brighter than the stars that hid behind the smog of Uriel. Kill, kill, kill! Honestly, what was she trying to accomplish with a promise like that?

Nothing! The voices said, all of them, a throaty harmony in her own timbre that bellowed their truths in her mind. Do what you love, what makes you feel alive! She laughed again. Lying to herself for eight months had been so exhausting, so tiring FUCKING BULLSHIT

Is what it was.

"I love it here," she said. Remnant was the past, the prologue to the blood-stained fever dream wonderland of the Imperium.

Leaving the camp, a worm pulled at her torn and sweat-stained sleeve, tears in its pudgy, freckled face.

"Yang," Asgeg said, voice weak and tremulous, "we found the Sarge… he… he… Emperor." She stopped listening. The noises the worm made were soft and laughable. Her boots resumed their pace, dragging her forward to the place where fun happened.

"Yang," the worm said again, moving in front of her. She wanted to smash her fucking face in. Use its shiny arm to mash it into a thin red gruel. Her knuckles tightened and popped, begging, pleading, oh please, please please "Yang, Jorvis and Ros are… well… you're the last one left with any kind of rank, so this is yours now." In her hands, she held a beret, a single silver skull badge in its center.

"Ooh, cool hat," Yang said, fixing it atop her mess of golden hair. The worm stepped back, tripping over her feet. "I want the chainsword too. And your grenades."

"Y-Yang, I don't understand, I know-"

She laughed, spraying blood down her front. "What was that, Asgeg, 'Geggy ol' pal of mine?" Yang asked, demanded. "It's like you said: I'm in charge, so get me what I want right fucking now. And that's an order," she added, winking.

Mael handed her the chainsword, trembling under Yang's unflinching smile. The blade was spotless and sharp. She spat. Died with a clean blade. What a shame.

"C'mon, get the lead out! Grenades, people," she said, hand extended towards the remnants of Gamma. "Cough 'em up." Exchanging glances, they obeyed, unable to meet her eyes as they surrendered their explosives. By the time the solemn procession finished, Yang had acquired almost twenty frags.

"Fucking finally!"

Spinning on her heel, she resumed her march on the munitorum, a jaunty whistle ringing loud and long above the wailing of the dead and dying.

"Yang," Caolin said before she sent an elbow into his stomach, throwing him backwards without breaking stride.

"Ta-ta~" She called, waving to the worms.

The factory swelled before her, a truly massive complex of twisting pipes and slate-grey rockcrete. Dust, she felt like skipping! See how much better this is?

Buh-bye Ros, so-

no stop get help you're not you

sad, so sorry-

find weiss, she can help

all gone. She broke into a jog, no longer content to walk. Faster, faster, faster! Her hair fluttered behind her as she picked up her pace, long legs dashing over the rubble and scrap, born to leap and bound.

Ember Celica unfolded, eager and-

stop please stop

ready to go.

As she neared, she heard the shouts of the cultists, the chorus of her arrival, heralds of their own sweet death. Spot lights drenched the sprawling wastes before her, almost blinding in their intensity.

A hail of bullets welcomed her, spattering the ground and filling her ears with the saccharine roar of gunfire. Spreading her arms, she welcomed the onslaught, laughing as the rounds refused to connect.

They zipped and hissed around her, but-

go back stop it

boy, they were just shitty shots!

Nothing could touch her. Stepping closer, the wall before her seemed to stretch to infinity, soaring up to meet the shrouded moons. With a swipe of her power sword, it cracked and splintered, revealing a tangled mess of baroque and rusted machinery.

Yang snarled. She just wanted to kill, HOW FUCKING HARD IS THAT? Her sword flashed and hacked, carving the Mechanicus' revered shit-heaps into shards of glowing scrap. Behind her trailed her new chainsword, its teeth biting and bouncing as she dragged it behind her.

Bursting through a wall, she emerged in a hallway, flakes of rockcrete pattering at her feet. Around her rushed a platoon's worth of heretics, recoiling from her sudden arrival. The sound of her billowing mirth echoed down the tunneling, labyrinthine halls, a bubbling sound that sent a shiver of fear through her new pals.

Thumbing the activation runes of her weapons, her hair burst into flames of black and red (like roses).

It felt so good.

The brown-clad forms rushed her, snarling and brandishing twisted, malformed weapons. Revving her chainsword, she relished the sound, the teeth rumbling, hungering. KILL!

Their deaths were so close she could taste them.

Twisting under the first attacker, she threw her shoulder into his chest, pulverizing it against the wall. Bones crunched under her pauldron, a screech of agony splitting the hall. As blood burst from his lips, she kicked off the wall, launching herself into a pack of weaklings.

Landing, she cleaved one in half with her swords, and when she hit the worn concrete floor, a nova of black flames stumbled the rest. They slapped at the dissipating flames, blinded and bleating like goats.

Purring her content, she buried her power sword into one, pinning him against the wall. While he grabbed and wrenched at the hilt with panicked arms, she stabbed her chainsword in another. It ground against his chest, spitting a line of gore across the ceiling. Sweeping his foot out from underneath him and releasing her swords, she filled her hands with grenades.

"Catch!" She cried, sending them clattering down the hall. The cultists screamed before they burst apart in deafening flashes, shrapnel ringing and ricocheting off the walls. The pulled pins fell at her feet with a metallic ringing, swallowed up by the gore that slicked her boots.

Only remnants were left, red half-worms that would wail if they had mouths. Not enough! MORE! MORE!

Ripping her swords free, she dashed past the carnage, each footfall painting the walls crimson. She'd entered some maintenance shaft, a twisting maze of pipes, corners, and dead ends.

Turning the corner, she ran into a fresh squad, weapons pressed against their shoulders. They skidded to a halt, heels skimming across the floor. The leader hollered something, raising his weapon to cut her down.

She sliced it in half with a flash of blue, spinning to rend him apart with her chainsword. A bullet slammed into her chest. Yang giggled, craning her neck to face the shooter. Fear ruled them all, their shoulders quivering, pit-stains running down their flanks.

She killed them all, mincing them apart as she pushed forward. At the end of the corridor stood a massive blast door, almost ten feet tall and sealed tight. Her lips parted into a toothy smile. Throwing her swords, they flashed and spun before embedding themselves in the steel. Bounding forward, her aura spilled into her legs, pumping, pumping, pushing. With an elated cry, she slammed Ember Celica into the center of the door.

It burst open with a metal screech, torn from its frame by the unrelenting force that was Yang Xiao Long. A massive factory floor sprawled out before her, brimming with brown-clad forms. They were scrambling and panicking, searching for their weapons. How many were there? A hundred? Two hundred? She laughed at them in their unpreparedness, their sheer fucking stupidity.

The lights, once an unsparing host of fluorescent bulbs, flickered off, replaced by a bank of pulsing red warning bulbs. They doused the floor in alternating sheets of total darkness and a brilliant, bloody crimson.

The bulkhead slammed against the floor, and she tore her swords free with a grin, one that reached her ears. Her next victims were close at hand, still backpedaling as the four tons of steel came crashing down. Purring teeth tore at the first one's flesh, carving him apart. Spinning, she slammed a foot into a cultist behind her, sternum shattering under her heel. His lifeless form broke against the wall a dozen yards away and crumpled to a heap on the floor.

Red.

Blood pumped against her temples, her lungs swelling as air laced with the intoxicating reek of fear filled them to the brim. Yang gave a wordless cry as the flat of her power sword hit a heretic's chest, pulverizing his ribcage and shooting blood from his extremities.

Black.

"Come on, who's next?!" So many worms! So many corpses to make!

Hollering with fear and rage, one launched himself forward, boots ringing against the cement floor. So fucking slow! The chainsword bit into his shoulder, spitting blood over the comrades that followed him, splashing across Yang's face, splattering against her bared teeth. Ripping it free, she leapt forward. Yes!

no no get a grip

The man screamed, trying to hold himself together as his friends tore him to shreds with lasbolts. The crimson lances did little more than annoy her as she plunged forward. Her feet flew across the cement floor, the rush of aura pushing them to their limits. It felt like sex. Leaping skywards, she dove into the nearest pack. YES!

Red.

Spinning and stumbling through the swarming fools, her arms were a blur as they swung and stabbed and hacked and did her bidding, the swell of death filling her chest with the warmth of adrenaline. One died, three fell apart, six torn asunder by the whirring song of her blades. Flash-boiled blood and gibbets of flesh rained down upon her and the cluster broke under her ferocity.

Black.

One hopeful man tried to swing a sword at her, but she cut it in half with a slash of blue. Twirling around, she beheaded him, rocketing his terrorized face far away. YES!

Oh dust it felt so good.

please no

They're bad people anyway! They all deserve it!

"YOU HEAR THAT?" She bellowed, voice echoing, resounding, swallowing them whole. "THIS IS ALLLLLLLL ON YOU!" A giant man rushed her with a stubgun, blaring shots from its fluted barrel. She ran to meet him, ducking under his firing arc before ramming the stilled chainsword under his guard. Speared into his flesh, she cranked the throttle, and he erupted in a geyser of offal. "This one actually had balls!" She said, bits of his stomach dripping off her pauldron. "Where's the traitor marines? Your daemons? C'mon!" She said, challenging the gathering horde, a tide of metal and mottled flesh that swelled on the factory floor, gnashing their teeth and keening at the avatar of death before him. "Challenge me! FIGHT ME!"

Red.

They rushed her. They never learned. That, or, like Yang, they just didn't care.

Laughing, she dove into their midst, blades purring with glee. She carved a space for herself among the press, splitting any who dared to come near her. Another stubber lit into her, its rounds bursting apart her punching bags and denying her the fun she needed.

Roaring, she bowled the shooter over, grinding both swords into him so she could watch him die.

no stop

Stumbling over to her next target, her power sword slammed into him, throwing his halves across the rooms.

Black.

She was drunk.

Drunk on her power, drunk on her invincibility, on her grief, on her guilt and shame, drunk on the blood that surged through her veins and locked all the pain away. She was drunk on the blood her boots sloshed through, on the Imperium and its callous disregard for life. It felt like fucking heaven.

Let go, she thought, you saw what you did to that eldar cunt. Barbecued her. Reach out, do it again, FIND US

No! What would Ruby say?

The thought sucked the breath from Yang's lungs, and she saw her sister's face when Mercury's leg went snap

why why why why why

"Gah!" She fell to her knees, trying to claw her way to the surface, find sanity in Ruby's memory. It was too late. Bullets and lasbolts hammered into her, each one fueling the red-black inferno that rippled through her hair, pushing Ruby's moon-white face deeper under the waves.

Her scream split the forge, its cry bringing the weaker-willed among the arch-foe to their knees. Easier to kill. But where's the fun in that? In fact… it was too easy as it was. Shrugging off the small-arms fire, she looked at the swords in her hands. Looked at Ember Celica languishing on her wrists. At her fingers, which longed to shred and feel flesh tear beneath them.

no no no no no

Too late-

no

Her swords deactivated, clattering as they splashed into the spreading pools of viscera. Yang advanced, cracking her knuckles on the last few remaining cultists. The rest were fleeing, yowling prayers to their god to save them.

He wouldn't though.

"For Khorne!" One cried, pointing his lasgun in her face and pulling the trigger. Red filled her vision, but the bolt barely moved her. She broke the pathetic weapon over her knee, jamming its shards into his gut before ripping them free.

Yang moved on. Her steps rang against the tangled mess of assembly lines and sweltering foundries, each one bringing forth a fresh scream from the survivors. They hammered at a bulkhead, clawing their fingers down to nubs as they tried to escape, run, COWARDS

Giggling to herself, she plucked the pin from a frag and rolled it into them. A burst of shrapnel sent limbs flying and torsos tumbling across the floor. Two left for now.

One rushed her, tears streaming from his scarred and tattooed face. Wretch. Worm. Maggot! His fists met her flak armor, each one slackening in their strength, before he could little more than clutch at her.

Pulling at his chin, Yang looked into his eyes and grinned. She snapped his neck. The crack of bone beneath her hands sent chills running up her spine. Too good.

She advanced on the last one. Their leader, by the look of all the skulls hanging at his belt and the armor that saved him from her grenade.

"Hey there buddy!" She said. He wailed.

"Open up, I beg of you!" He cried, gauntlet hammering the wrought steel door. With a flash of sickly yellow hair and onyx flames, she cupped his face in her hands.

"Shh… shh… now, what do we say?"

"S-s-say?"

"What do you say to your pathetic masters, who you failed so miserably?"

"I-I-I-I-" Snarling, she smashed his nose onto the bulkhead.

"You say you're sorry!"

"I'm sorry!" He bawled, blood running into his lips before his gums overflowed and ichor leaked from the corner of his mouth.

"What do you say?"

"I'M SORRY!" He said, shattered green teeth falling from his lips and clacking against his twisted, pathetic armor.

"LOUDER, YOU FUCKING WORM!" Yang roared, throwing his head into the door once again. He slumped over, mumbling words his fractured brain couldn't fathom. Slipping her fingers through his greasy hair, she thrust his face into the steel again and again, feeling his skull splinter and crack.

"Knock knock!" She bellowed to whoever would listen. Again she slammed his face into the bulkhead.

Again.

There was little left above his spine, but it didn't stop Yang, oh no, no no.

With a cry of effort, she poured the crackle-hum power of her aura into her fists, smashing the door open and sending it crashing down the hallway it concealed. She threw the corpse aside, a broken toy in a playhouse of tissue-paper dolls.

Her feet flew up the stairs she found, desperate to never feel anything ever again. A squad of heretics was waiting for her.

find weiss

Ember Celica bellowed, its shells murderously effective in the cramped constraints of the scaffolding steps. The pellets shred them apart, tearing away their bodies and leaving them little more than slop. The survivors quailed and shook.

She broke them with her hands, her fists like jackhammers as they pummeled them into pulp, ribs cracking under their relentless assault.

please this isn't right

Shut up! She stumbled and tripped over the broken, blubbering bodies. Her shoulder felt like someone had set it alight, and her head felt like it was about to split in half. She screamed again.

Get out of my head!

No!

You're not a part of me!

I am you, you stupid fucking slut!

No, she wasn't done yet! Kill! KILL!

Yes! Protect your pathetic, weak friends! This is what you were born for! Laughing, she shot up the stairs, bounding against the pressed metal steps. Nothing. The top opened up to a flat section of the roof, crawling with heretics and gun emplacements. Sandbags and searchlights studded the walls, almost a hundred more friends to play with.

A few squads shrieked and pointed at her, readjusting to meet their assailant. Their lasguns whirred and hummed, trained on the flickering incarnation of death. Behind them, flak cannons by the dozen roared, sending up brilliant tracers into the shrouded night.

With a gleeful giggle, she threw her arms behind her and launched herself forward with Ember Celica. She slammed into the first group, yellow lightning crackling off her fists. They spun to face her, but the beat was already in her head, the dance steps plotted. It was her favorite song, her favorite dance, the one of life and death.

A sword swung for her neck. With a jab, her knuckles broke the arm at its elbow, her foot swinging around to rip its owner's head from its shoulders. Picking up the body, she hurled it into its friends, bowling them over as the corpse gushed its life-blood.

She laughed as she bobbed around the clumsy attempts to stab and shoot her. Lashing out, her hand caressed the nape of an attacker's neck before hurling his face into the puddles below, his skull shattering off the rockcrete floor.

She spun, catching a bayonet thrust with the palm of her hand. Wrapping her fingers around the weapon, she ripped the wielder forward into her fist. She struck him once, twice, three times before he fell apart, the screams dying away as his lungs flooded with blood.

The next one dove at her, the fucking idiot. Catching him mid-flight, she grabbed his face and squeezed until it burst. Ha!

please oh dust please no

Dashing to the next squad, she scooped one off his feet, lifting him above the ebony ghost-flames that licked at her hair. With a joyous roar, she broke his spine, ripping him in two while he twisted and screeched. Gore and entrails slopped over her, warm rivers of flesh and offal staining her scalp, running down her face and soaking her to the bone.

More! KILL MORE!

She laughed as the others retreated, cowering before her inexorable advance. Ember Celica launched her forwards, meeting heretics' heads with a crunching satisfaction. Pellets tore them apart, shredding flesh from bone, paring limbs from torsos.

Dashing forwards, she caught a smaller man in his stomach, digging her fingers into the soft and putrid flesh. Filling her hand with intestines, she ripped them free, howling with glee at the cultist's pathetic mewling cry. He slumped over, trying to make sense of what happened to him.

"Weak!" Yang bellowed, smiling. "You're all so fucking weak!"

A war-cry pierced her ears as a heretic unleashed a stubber into her flank. The rounds slammed into her, throwing her from her feet and sending her rolling across the roof. Her semblance drank up the punishment, the pain tasting like bathtub amasec.

When she stopped, a cultist tried to jam his bayonet into her. Laughable. Pitiful, actually. Her fist rocketed upwards, catching his throat and seizing it between blood-slicked fingers. She squeezed as she stood, pulling his face down to meet her own, staring into the eyes that bugged out from his pockmarked face. With a soft hiss of breaking flesh, her thumb pierced his throat, spilling his dying scream and a torrent of blood down the front of his flak armor.

She dropped him, one more useless sack of meat.

"Blood! Blood for the Blood God!" One blared, throwing himself forward, wrapping his arm around her, grabbing a fistful of red-gold locks. He reeked. Smelled like a week-old battlefield, clouded in a copper blanket of sweat and fear. His free hand slammed into her flak armor, fingers wrapping around the pins of her grenades.

Laughing madly, he yanked them away, ready to embrace oblivion. Yang grinned, jamming her hand down his throat and pulling him up so she could meet his eyes. Fear ruled him until the frags went off, a crackling burst of explosives that rent him into a mist.

Yang flew backwards, flak armor smoking and hair whipping in the wind. Beaming, she landed, rolled, turned, and dove back into the fray, power and battle-lust and blood and drunkenness dripping from every pore.

stop please you're better than this you know better YOU CAN TURN AROUND

"NO!" She bellowed. Her foot lashed out, snapping a cultist's shin and sending shards of bone shooting out from the back of his calf. Screaming, he pitched forward, throwing himself into Ember Celica. The strike blew away his torso, and the rest of him scattered across the roof.

How many? How many more? I could do this forever, she thought, dancing under the rain of flesh.

Free of fear, fear of promises, of grief, of everything except the pumping rush of murder and the club-beat of adrenaline that thundered through her. Her aura felt like the chorus of a thousand songs, a thousand pulsing bass-kicks of drugs and sex and glory, won atop a pile of writhing corpses.

The flak guns died away as their crews panicked and scrambled for their weapons. They were so scared of her! Diving for cover and trembling like corpse-maggots, they prepared themselves for death.

She laughed once more, a sound that echoed off the sheer walls, swelling upwards to meet the unseeable summit of the colossal Forge. She took her time approaching, relishing their mounting despair as their weapons coughed their last. Batteries dead, mags empty.

Nothing could stop her.

Tearing one from cover, she smashed his head into the floor before ripping his arm free. Clambering over the sandbags, she jammed the broken arm into his friend's neck, splintered bone jutting out underneath the straps of his gas mask.

Ripping it free, she struck another, aura keeping the limb from liquefying under the unrelenting force. She killed them all, a grimm let loose in an elementary school. There were no more eldar, no space marines, no daemons, but it… it didn't matter anymore. Just bathing in red was enough.

Weiss could

help

go fuck herself. Why fix anything? This is what she'd wanted all along.

The last one fell before her, his knee-guards scraping against the oceans of blood that soaked his brown fatigues. His hands splashed forward too, and she could hear the choking sobs leaking out from behind his cheap plastic mask.

"Daemon," he shouted, blubbering. "Why have you turned against us? Why not slaughter the corpse-worshippers?" He crawled forward, boots slipping and sliding. "Why?" he asked, fingers pulling at the red of her fatigues. "Why? Why? Why?"

She ran her fingers up the cords of his neck, savoring the feel of his cracked and weeping skin. Her thumbs crawled up his cheeks, pulling at the rivers of salt that coursed over them.

"I'm not a daemon, hun," Yang said, digging her digits into his eyes up to the first knuckle. "I'm even better!" She yelled, loud enough so he could hear herself over the sound of his panicked suffering.

Mashing the pads of her thumbs against his skull-pan, she let him die.

Giggling, she looked out over her work. A hundred bodies laid sprawled out before her.

None of them moving.

None of them whole.

Every inch of her dripped blood, and her hair was a sodden golden rag, each strand billowing black-red flames. This is what it means to live for the gods!

there are no gods

The thought was hers, and it straightened her back, screwed up her red-soaked eyebrows in puzzlement.

there are no gods and your name is yang

No!

your name is yang and you have a sister named ruby

"GAH!" Yang cried, stumbling, spinning, aching. She wanted to kill! She didn't want to think about Ruby!

you're more than that she knew you were better

"I am!" She told her aura, the voice that told her she was WRONG WRONG WRONG. But how could she be? It felt so good!

Her breaths came labored and sharp, the dim coal of her soul burning against the gloomy, sanguine mist. Under her red-soaked pauldron, the pain of her glyphs surfaced, blindingly hot. So hot, they seared her skin, humming what sounded like pleading, hymnal beseechment.

Once more, she collapsed to her knees, hunched over and drowning in red.

Amongst the dead, Yang struggled for control, for anarchy.

Impossible. Inevitable.

These were the words that assailed Amat, the conflicting concepts that hounded him until they forced him to acknowledge their existence. The eldar attack had faded as soon as it arrived, melting away into the darkness like the piratical shadow-kin they were.

His Lady made short work of them. But Yang…

Yang had fallen.

That was the reality he faced. One that brought a soreness to his eyes, one he tried to blink away, to no avail.

He wished he could have been anyone else. The blessings bestowed upon him, the talents and opportunities afforded to him…it sounded heretical to fathom, but he wished it all the same.

He wished his mother had lived. He hadn't even remembered her existence until a scant few minutes ago. Her face seemed so close now, but whenever he tried to bring it forth, he only found the lectern gaze of Instructor Palla. His head pounded. Felt like someone was punching it, beating it into the half-collapsed watchtower he'd made a nest in.

Yang finished her dance with a ear-splitting smile, an avatar of the Emperor's wrath living within the grinning skin of the arch-foe. Her hair was no longer gold. It turned his stomach, made him want to fill his spy mask with vomit.

It was time to complete his mission.

"If Remnant is real," he said, whispering against the scope of his rifle, "I pray to the Emperor your death returns you there." The thought of her soul languishing within the Immaterium made his eyes ache.

He wished he was not Amat.

He wished he was not the epitome of the Vindicare. His lungs filled with air, air that tasted like amasec and the unfamiliar pang of laughter.

He wished he could blame the distance. Four kilometers, three hundred and eighty-six meters.

He wished he could blame the wind. North to south, four kilometers per hour.

He wished he could blame Yang's sudden collapse. On the nature of her mysterious aura. His exitus rifle shifted.

He wished his mission had been something else. His finger curled around the trigger, familiar yet cold and repulsive.

He wished he could have spoken with her more.

He squeezed the trigger.

Yang was still panting when her aura seized control of her instincts, but it was too late. Agony exploded through her, filling every pore and casting her depleted aura aside like a sheet of broken plastic. Skidding to a stop amongst a quagmire of broken heretics, she howled in agony.

Shaking fingers clutched and warbled at the gaping hole that had sprouted in her stomach, the one that poured her blood into the crimson cocktail she stewed in.

The pain helped her finally pierce the clouded crimson fog, allowing a gold to shimmer through. Her aura. Depleted and spent, but still burning. Still alive, and wholly hers.

She was free, surfaced from the red red haze that had swallowed her.

Gasping and spluttering, her eyes twitched and quivered, drowning in the horrors she'd performed. She screamed twice more. Once, for the round that tore through her, piercing the immutable wall of her soul and laying her down, broken and bare. The second scream was louder and far more terrible, the scream of a sane woman looking at her hands and thinking them too small to cause the slaughter she bathed in.

"Wh-wh-what?"

Blackness ate at her.

So cold.

Is this… me? She thought, trying to sit up. Pain lanced through her, and she looked at the hole that sat underneath her quivering palm. It was enormous. Wide enough to slip her fist inside. She wailed, legs pumping at the broken bags of flesh beneath her. I'm a monster.

I-

I'm dying.

The thought shattered the citadel of agony built around her mind. I'm going to die again. Her fists clenched and unclenched, far beyond her ability to rein in or control. Ember Celica stayed with her, binding her wrists in memories of Remnant. Of Ruby.

I'm going to die a monster.

Yang found sudden peace in the thought. She would be free of responsibility, of guilt. Of the murderous temptations, of the horror she'd just wrought with her two small, shaking hands. If her stomach wasn't poking through her fingers, it would have spilled bile into her throat.

I'm sorry, Ros. Ruby. Weiss. This is what I deserve.

I couldn't hack it, Yang decided, tears carving white rivers through the blood that painted her face. Couldn't keep my promises… I'm sorry, Weiss. I succumbed. You were right. So, so right. If you find Ruby, please… don't tell her what I… what happened.

As her lifeblood left her, she thought of many things. She thought of Weiss, who'd become an Inquisitor to fix anything she could. She thought of Blake, her best friend. She thought of her anonymous killer. My thanks, stranger.

The bullet had brought her to her senses.

Finally, she thought of Ruby. Her sweet, strong sister. I wish I could have seen you again… Her thoughts became more and more distant, fading, fading away. The last time she approached this barrier she'd been brought to this galaxy, and now she was poised to cross the veil once more.

Who knows what new adventure awaited her this time around? As the black miasma of smog cleared from the skies of Uriel, the stars twinkled, countless and pure.

Yang Xiao Long smiled as the nothingness took her.

A/N: This wasn't a fun chapter to write. Okay that's a lie, it was a blast, but it still made me a little sick. Ingesting Khorneflakes tends to do that. Anyway, I know a few of you will be a little upset that Yang was eventually able to push the corruption out of her, but eh, I figured it was something that could happen. Auras are monstrously powerful things, Yang's even more so. If you want to listen to music during Yang's blood-craze, I suggest either 'Professional Griefers' by Deadmau5 or 'Hydrogen' by M.O.O.N.

So if you could leave your thoughts in the form of a review and have some happy holidays, that would be great!

Oh, and don't worry, the story isn't over yet. Promise.

Review Replies:

LordGhostStriker: I guess it really wasn't was it? Fits her pretty well, I'd say.

The Walrus of Eden: I have to say, got a kick out of your reaction. Happy that OCs can elicit that kind of reaction. Hopefully the cultist-hunt satisfied!

antisnipe: That's actually a very good point. I guess everything remains to be seen.

Xyston: Oh damn, that's pretty fitting. Yeah... sorry about that. :/

SanguinePanguine: Thanks dude! I always love seeing new faces around here. :D

snoogenz: It'll be a... long conversation. :(

Galm: Hopefully it satisfied! Thanks for your reviews!

OBSERVER01: At least she was able to retain control of herself. And while I like the Dark Eldar aesthetically, I don't really like their MO as a faction. Disgusting little sweat-goblins.

tankbuster626: Thanks, man! *tips fedora* :D

Sasswot2000: That's an interesting theory you have there.

Nemris: An accurate diagnosis. Also, EVERYONE, COME CHECK OUT THIS GUY'S STUFF. He made me an awesome piece of fanart, and has a kickass RWBYHammer40k story himself. Seriously man, thanks again!

Victor L: Subtlety really isn't Yang's thing either. Very accurate interpretation as well.

blaiseingfire: Dark Eldar frequently terrorize human populations (be they soldiers, civilians, or otherwise) to collect slaves and resources. It was ostensibly a mission to kidnap Weiss, but the wyches took it as an opportunity to nab as many fresh slaves as they could.

redcollecter: Or the cultists...

Fencer22: You're not entirely wrong at all. Also, I'm glad you're sticking with the fic despite not knowing too much of the setting. Really flattering!

Enuncia: Wow, thanks so much! I'm totally blushing! :D

Kiyoushu: I like the second one.

Guest: Thanks so much for hopping on board! Happy you're enjoying the OCs!

Yoshtar: Ahehehehe... sorry?

Magnificent Bosh'tet: Hey, thanks a lot! I put a lot of time into it, so I'm glad to see it pays off.

ATP: She can sense danger. Not sure about an omake... are you offering to make one, or asking me to do one? Unfortunately, I'm so busy, the latter is very much impossible. Sorry! Also, thanks for the note, but I'm not sure what you meant...

Gafgar: That's one way of putting it. Fuck having a soul though, am I right?

HD-spartan: Well, I hope this chapter satisfied. Good point about the candle though. I like it. :)

Guest: A LOT of blood.

OnyxIdol: A very good point. Poor Ros. :(

OnyxTheSaiyan: Thanks for joining me! Hopefully you enjoyed psycho-Yang!

praetorianprefect: I can't promise anything, other than that this fic is centered around RWBY characters and OCs.

soupie13941: Very fitting song. Also, turns out it was a combination of herself and Amat. Small victory, I suppose.

Quelthias: I'm always surprised when people who haven't seen RWBY hop on board this fic. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, it just strikes me as weird! So glad to have you on board!

theblacklightprojekt: For the Emperor to what?

IronWolfe: Hey man, thanks so much for tuning in! Really pleased to hear that you like the OCs. I put a lot of work into them, and I know they can be massive turn-offs, so it's always nice to hear when people like them. Thanks so much for reading!

Seriously guys, thank you so much for a wonderful year! I love you all! :D