Book Three: The Heart of Yang Xiao Long

Chapter 89: First Time For Everything

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." - Unknown Writer from the Dark Age of Technology, recovered from a dataslate in the depths of Nova Yoruk.

Hours passed without word from Weiss, and Yang was beginning to wane. She felt the exhaustion steal itself upon her, a slow wave of fatigue that dragged her under, tied weights to her eyelids. Yang smiled despite herself. Soreness came too, the shakes. The adrenaline ebbed, her knuckles ached. Ember Celica was caked in gore, in spent gunpowder, in glory.

"Your Holiness." The generals had assembled before her, before the Chariot. They knelt before her, paid homage.

"Please," Yang said, "stand." They obeyed. "At ease," she added. Mostly for her own amusement. That too, they obeyed.

"Why did you not reveal yourself earlier?" Jak asked, earning himself four pointed, disbelieving stares. Of all the generals, he alone had been on the frontlines. His uniform was stained, caked with dried blood and filth just as Yang was.

"I wasn't ready," Yang answered. "Besides, I had nothing to offer at our little meeting. I'm the Emperor's Will, not his strategos."

"Oh," Jak said sheepishly. "And the Chariot?" He asked.

"Our Lady is looking into it, alongside Magos Tyrham," Yang replied. Around them, hundreds of skitarii had gathered, unmoving, their eyes solely upon her. Their red robes fluttered in the wind, but they themselves were silent. "I'm pretty sure they're still alive." She added, to a collection of nervous swallows. Only General Kavri looked unphased. But behind that polished silver mask, it was impossible to tell the truth. "There are things I need to attend to in orbit. I entrust everything down here to the Lady Highest."

"Understood," General Oranthus said. "We'll handle the mop-up efforts."

"No taint shall remain on White Horses," Vyhlashenko concurred.

"Without you," Yang said, "today never would have happened." She smiled. "Thank you."

"Your Holiness…" Jak said, head bowed.

She nodded, and it finally hit her - her wings vanished, her halo faded, her aura expired - a sudden, crushing sensation. Yang felt the weight of the day upon her, the most important day of her life.

The first day of the new millenium.

She sank to her knees, her breath short, sharp, pained.

"Your Holiness!" Campbell said, rushing forward with Vylashenko.

She held a finger up. One foot sank into the sand. Then a fist. Yang hauled herself to her feet, sweat pouring down her forehead. Yang stood.

"Long day, huh?" She asked them, hands on her hips.

A pause. "Quite," Campbell said. "I'll call the Lady's lander. I'll have my staff prepare the Ecclesiarch's Quarters aboard the Piercing Hammer for you."

"The Ascendant Dawn will be fine," Yang corrected him gently.

"I… yes. Of course. Your will be done."

"In that case," Yang said, "Can I have a moment alone before departing?" They'd already seen her stumble - and she'd rather face Josephus again than see her collapse.

They nodded, saluting promptly. Yang returned it. As they turned, she winked at Kavri, solely to bemuse the woman.

Once they'd left, Yang unbuckled the clasps of her flak armor. It loosened, barely a cohesive whole - it was burnt, painted in dried gore, cracked, studded with shrapnel, and overflowing with black sand. She sucked in a deep, frigid breath as her chest was freed from its oppressive prison. Thank the Emperor. The cold air settled on her sweat-damp skin, and she shivered.

Yang's legs burned, her hands ached, and she could feel bruises blossoming along her torso. Her fingers glided over her jaw, over the place it'd been knocked loose from her skull. Recalling the sensation, she shuddered. All the teeth she'd lost were accounted for as well - except those she'd lost in the Webway. Reaching a hand under her tank top, she felt the familiar ridges of the spiderweb scar Amat had left her.

A smile.

"I miss you, assassin-man," She said to herself, looking up at the shooting stars. She had it bad. No reason denying it any longer. Only been about eight hours since you saw him last, and you're missing him already. Yeah, it's bad.

Digging into the pocket of her fatigues, she retrieved a pack of lho one of her faithful had pressed upon her. Fuck it, why not. Think I've earned it. She lit one with a cone of golden flame that sprouted from her thumb and took a deep drag. The lho wouldn't do much - she'd never been a big fan - but she relished the normalcy of it. The familiar Munitorum-approved taste that pushed out the stale cordite and ozone that coated her tongue.

Amat. Amat, Amat, Amat.

The question of what to say to him lingered like the lho-smoke. It was naive to think things would be exactly the same, yet she wanted it all the same. Will he still want me, given what I am?

She shook her head, ran a hand through her hair. It was disgusting, just as caked over with sweat, blood and grime as her armor. Her skin. For once, she couldn't bring herself to care. Another drag.

It's going to be okay, she told herself. You'll know what to say once you see him again. Worked out last time. Just gotta have faith. She grinned. Faith's a funny thing, after all. Inspecting her palm, she reached out for her aura. It was there, but it was dim. Nearly spent.

"Hell of a day," she said to no one. She piled together a small stack of loose sandbags and sat, letting loose a cloud of smoke with a long sigh.

Felt weird to sit. To be alone after everything that happened. Laurentius had only detached himself from her hip once she floated the idea that his superiors might want to get word of what had happened on White Horses. Most of Corruption's End kept their distance, intimidated yet still adoring. A few had swarmed her like she was a celebrity. 'Your Holiness'...

In time, she'd be right back out there. Showing her face. Being their Beacon. For now, the respite - however brief - was welcome.

"Hell of a day," she repeated. With a grunt, she absentmindedly plucked a wedge of shrapnel from her flak armor. There was a lot of shrapnel. Wedged in there pretty good.

Yang realized she was distracting herself from the big questions, but she was too tired to care. Do I have free will anymore? Am I still me? I certainly feel different. Fuck man, I don't know. She thought of Oscar, the person that Ozpin wore after the incident. She shivered once more.

What now? She had purpose, but no direction. Yang sighed. Grinned despite herself. Nothing's ever easy in the Imperium of Man, is it? She straightened - a thought had struck her. A quick turn of her head confirmed she was alone for the moment. What remained of the 111th kept a distant, ad-hoc perimeter around her, knowing that she'd take offense at being 'protected'. Emperor, she loved them.

Slowly, she folded her hands together, closed her eyes. Here goes something.

"Dear… Emperor. So this is a little weird. Me. Praying, I mean. I faked it plenty of times before, during Preacher Alvito's sermons. Played along to make everything go smoother with the Woadians. Vadiik was pretty clear about how seriously people take your worship."

She winced.

"I'm rambling. Like I said, I'm new at this. Anyway, I think you're a part of me? Or my soul? I don't really understand the meta... What was it called? Oh yeah, metaphysics. Doesn't really matter. I know I saw you, and I know you took Ruby's appearance to make me feel better. I actually really appreciate that. Also the wings and halo. And the Sisters. Everything, really."

"This feels really fucking weird. I feel like a crazy person, but I'm going to keep going. Bear with me."

"So… I did your Will. I kicked Josephus' ass, secured the Chariot. Really hope it comes in handy. Or isn't already corrupted. I just don't know how the rest of this Saint stuff works. Are you supposed to tell me what to do? Am I supposed to just make it up as I go along? I mean… that wouldn't be a problem. It's been my favorite way of solving problems so far, even though it creates a few more in the process."

She paused to take a drag from her lho stick. "I'm butchering this," she told her ruined flak armor. Her ruined flak armor said nothing.

"A heads-up either way would be nice," she continued. "A hint or a sign would be cool, though I'd probably miss it. Really doubt they'll be as clear as the last one. I think I'll be happy no matter what. All the people I helped today, the way they looked at me. I mean… damn. The idea of people worshiping me used to freak me out. Still does, if I'm being honest. But now it's… well, I don't want to say 'warranted' because I'm still parsing all this 'divinity' stuff. Will be for a while. I think what I'm trying to say is that I kinda get it now. I mean, I feel… something. I know now… I know for sure you're out there. On Terra. Watching over us through the Astronomican, or something like that."

A pause.

"I still don't really know what to do. I mean, I know I need to punt Abaddon back into the Eye, but I can't say how I'll go about that. Everything feels different now. Like, for a moment today, I realized I felt awful for the heretics. If things had gone differently, they might never have fallen, you know? And now that they did, they're doomed. I mean, fuck. That fucking sucks."

She gave a weak chuckle. "Josephus can go fuck himself though. Gives me some perspective though. You're not really omnipotent. I realize that. You couldn't have waved your… mind-hand or something and saved all these people. Instead, you sent me, and I saved as many as I could. I hope I did a good job. And I'd like to keep this up. I think we make a pretty good team. If that's how this works. Fuck, I don't know. I don't even know if you're listening, but I'm giving it a shot anyways. So yeah," she said, her tone brightening. "I guess that's it. Oh. And if you do requests, I have a couple. Hope that's not a problem. Damn. Uh… I'm going to try anyways."

Deep breath.

"If you could help Weiss find herself, that would be cool. Amat's been going through some shit too. I'll do what I can, obviously, but some help would be appreciated. I know I can't solve everything myself. I mean, I know I'm a little arrogant, but I'm not that bad. And speaking of my... failures, all my friends from Remnant… I'd like to see them, obviously, but all I can do is hope you look out for them when they show up. If they show up. There's stuff I need to say to them. At least I got the chance with Pyrrha, even if she went a little… native. I think she means well. Had to. Wouldn't be here otherwise, right?"

Oh.

"One last thing. I don't know if you have jurisdiction in the Webway, but… please, if you do... if nothing else, please help my friend Ros. I still think about her sometimes. I don't know what she's going through or if she's even alive, but please, look out for her since I can't anymore."

"So… I think that's it. My throat hurts. Thanks for listening. Oh yeah, Amen."

Yang opened her eyes. Nothing had changed, she was still alone, her lho smoked gently between her lips, and Corruption's End was still undergoing clean-up efforts. There was no divine sign, no great and terrible voice to answer her prayer, no vision of Ruby.

She felt better regardless. But now that she did, her body screamed at her to rest. I should listen. It'd been a very long day. Her head bobbed before she rocked back to consciousness. Fuck, didn't know it was that bad.

Holding her lho out, she unscrewed her canteen and dumped the last of it onto her face. It was cold and refreshing, but it didn't fix anything. C'mon. Gotta stay awake. Before I sleep, I have to talk to him. Can't sleep until I do.

Mercifully, Chung's Valkyrie descended moments later, buffeting her with jet wash. She waved to him. Gathering her stuff and packing it away, she finished off her lho with a long drag and buried it into the sand.

The Valkyrie swung low, and Yang hopped aboard. As it soared into orbit, she watched the battlefield shrink. She watched her faithful shrink. There were so many. She pressed a hand to the glass.

Won't be gone long. Promise.

Teasing Chung had kept her awake during the short trip to the Ascendant Dawn, but it certainly didn't keep her alert. Everything within her burned low. She'd meant to check in on Weiss' progress, but it had slipped her mind. No idea how, given how fucking important an intact STC is.

Yang shook her head. She'll be fine. She's got Tyrham and all of Corruption's End with her. Everything's going to be fine.

The Valkyrie rocked as it docked with the Dawn. Finally.

"We've arrived, Y-" Chung caught himself. "Your… Holiness," He said, as carefully as he dared.

"Thanks dude," she said, throwing him a flippant salute. We've got you running up and down today, don't we?"

"No problem at all," Chung said. "It is… you know… my job."

Yang gave him a grin. "Good point. Now I'd head back down there in case Weiss calls. She'll probably need you soon."

"Weiss?" Chung asked. "Oh. Our Lady. Yes. Yes! Of course," he added hastily.

"Awesome."

Yang stepped off the lander, cringing over her slip-up. A minor one. Probably not a big deal, but still. Hard to keep track of all the titles. Especially when there were so Throne-damned many. And I'm so tired...

No!

"Gotta push on," she said. She made her feet fall in front of each other, she made them walk all the way to Third Company's barracks block. The bulkhead to Amat's place stood before her. That happened fast. Am I losing it? How'd I get here?

Doesn't matter. Gotta do it. A deep breath. She shook out her hands, cracked her neck. Tried not to think about what would happen if everything went wrong. She opened the door.

Amat was right where she left him, his hands covered in drying paint. He looked up from his work.

"Yang." He said.

Yang said nothing. She took a few hesitant steps. A few steps that turned into strides, that turned into a run. She leapt into his arms, holding him as tight as she could. As she buried her face into his chest, the chill of White Horses finally left her. Gently, he rested his hand on the back of her head. Held her close.

"It's… good to see you too."

But Yang couldn't hear him - she was already asleep.

Another fifteen minutes of descending brought Inquisitor and Magos to the Chariot's true entrance. Neither spoke. Weiss was sure that Tyrham was running an incalculable number of programs, but he was outwardly silent, not a single spurt of cant escaping him. She felt like she was being watched, yet knew that to be impossible. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the statues were all staring at her, their featureless faces waiting expectantly.

A shiver ran down her spine, pooling in the notches in her vertebrae that fused to her power armor. I should have worn it. Everything about this place felt immutably wrong, yet intimately familiar, an aching, persistent duality. The bas-reliefs were the worst - the scenes they depicted danced on the edges of her memory. Close, but too distant to recall in full.

"Door is sealed. Activating cutter," the Magos burbled. Once more donning his hood and mask, the fingers on one of his mechadendrites peeled back, revealing a conical device. It sparked blue, and he pressed it to the edges of the door. The metal hissed angrily, spitting out a deluge of sparks.

Weiss half-expected the statues to lunge at them, but they remained motionless. Staring at her with eyeless faces. Myrtenaster hung at her hip, ready to carve through whatever foe assailed her.

Emperor see me through. But Weiss knew the Emperor's grace had been spent already, the proof of which burned fiery-gold far above them. She prayed reflexively, a measure to keep her mind sharp rather than in expectation of deliverance.

Magos Tyrham's cutting was slow. Whatever metal made up the Chariot's entrance, it was highly resistant to his instrument. Weiss closed her eyes, tried to focus on her witchsight. There were no answers - her foresight was black and whorling, filled with whispers in a language she did not understand. She pressed her relic to her chest, and it touched her soul, humming with familiarity and comfort. With love.

In ten minute's time, the Magos' work was done. His arms strained against the bulkhead, servos whining, massive pneumatic pistons hissing and spitting. Weiss joined him, though with her aura spent, she provided little assistance. The door eventually gave, peeling away from its frame as it trailed orange-red strands of molten metal. It fell, slamming to the floor with a deafening clang that echoed, echoed, echoed.

They found themselves beholding something that bordered on the alien - a great cavern, its walls and ceiling so expansive that they were shrouded in darkness, with two rows of colossal plastic ebony trees stretching out before them, their canopies and branches blossoming with decrepit yet still-brilliant solar panels.

Red solar panels.

The floor was webbed with neatly-ordered cables, their insulation etched with esoteric markings. Spritely motes of light flitted throughout the massive chamber like fireflies, casting the pseudo-trees in an intermittent golden glow. Streams of code pulsed through the floor, their passing announced by an organic musical tone. A false forest of plastic and glass, of metal and rust and vulcanized rubber.

"In the name of the Omnissiah," Tyrham said.

Weiss could offer him no words - she imagined this is what a craftworld would look like, not a relic built by Dark Age humanity. It was clearly built by human hands, yet it was nothing like anything she'd seen. Not even on Remnant could such a place exist, despite its… unsettling similarity to Forever Fall.

Is this really where ships are built?

The floor pulsed again, calling the pair onwards through the trees. Its passing sounded like a heartbeat, though the cavern itself was as silent as a graveworld. There was little choice but to follow. Weiss caught herself gliding a hand over one of the trees. It had to be eight meters across. Its black bark felt identical to that of real wood, nearly flawless in its texture and appearance. Only a thin film of dust ruined the illusion.

"Magos," Weiss said. "Do STC remnants look like this?" Weiss said.

"None that have been logged," Tyrham replied. A pause. "There are machine spirits here," he said, his voice even. "They are awakening," he continued. "I don't feel good. I feel like meat."

Weiss didn't like the sound of that. Her augmentations were nowhere near as extensive as the Magos'. Wading into the Chariot without wireless dataports was like stumbling about after her eyes had been put out. A slim blade of fear slipped into her stomach, dispelling the last of her fatigue. Adrenaline - faint yet insistent - hissed through her bloodstream, birthed gooseflesh across her skin.

Any number of dangers could assault them at a moments' notice. A step too far into a nest of monofilament wire, an unseeable energy field that scrambled the fibers of her being - nothing was beyond the ken of Dark Age humanity.

But they kept walking.

"Clear of corruption?" Tyrham asked.

"Yes," Weiss replied. As far as I can tell.

The simulacrum trees spread into a circle, forming a massive grove that hid the ceiling away. Lights glittered off the solar panels, the intertwined branches and snaking cable-roots lined with thousands of flickering black shadows.

In the center of the clearing a statue sat crouched - a nude woman with her face buried in her hands, her floor-length hair a bright, vivid orange, her flesh-colored synthskin pulsing with pearlescent streams of data.

"This is the center," Tyrham said. "I…" He stalled, the pitch of his voice plummeting. "Error. Error. Unauthorized user. ERORR," his voice boomed, his mechadendrites flailing. "UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS HELP ME-" Something burst within him, shooting up a shower of unguent. The magos toppled and collapsed.

"Tyrham!" Weiss cried. She glanced back at the statue.

It was staring at her.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Weiss swallowed, a cold sweat lining her forehead. The statue had a normal human face, its eyes a bold, brilliant green. There was no hostility within them. Only… curiosity? Exhaustion?

Loneliness?

Fear?

Who are you?

A slow trickle of blood leaked from Weiss nose. It filled her lips, stained her teeth. Nothing moved. She could barely think. Blink. Her mind roiled and swayed, a ship set adrift in a sea of electrons.

The statue stood. Slowly. How much time had passed? Barely an instant. But only when measured against eons, against the endless, expansive loneliness that has consumed me, consumed my endless waiting.

"Who are you?" The statue said. As it spoke, clouds of dust burst from its lips, expelled on a synthetic wind. It breathed. It breathed, its chest rising and falling, breasts heaving, nostrils flaring, lungs inflating. "Who are you?" It repeated. Its voice defied its face, its words spoken with an uneven lilt, syllables stressed that should have been left silent. Yet it sounded entirely human, its timbre spritely and lucid. Utterly feminine.

"I… I'm Weiss. Weiss Schnee," Weiss said, unable to say anything else.

"Your companion..." the statute said. "We are engaged in a dialogue. He is not forthcoming."

Yes. You are... like them, the words said as a long, pale arm reached out for the Magos. Its hands caressed a limp mechadendrite, its eyes inspecting the claws upon it. "Approaching human. The taste of the Great Enemy lingers chrome on the eyes of my tongue."

"Great… enemy?" Weiss asked, forcing the words past her lips, past the crushing weight that sat upon her chest. This is wrong. Everything is wrong.

"The ones made in humanity's image," the statue answered, head cocked. A pause that lasted forever. "The Men of Iron."

"I… I don't understand," Weiss managed. The title was familiar - she had read her ancient history - but its relevance eluded her. She could barely think past the statue's unrelenting, all-consuming stare. How familiar her eyes seemed. How utterly alien.

"I am the End," the statue said simply. "The Vehicle of Deliverance. Built for a singular purpose - the Chariot of Salvation. Greetings."

"An abominable intelligence," Weiss realized. The words didn't feel real - the thing was alive, the thing was a woman, and she had a soul, a soul, a soul, a soul a-

Name. My name is Japheth-Series-Zero-One-Omega. In the breadth of my existence, I have taken the name Ohma. I am Ohma. This is my home. I am my home. I adorned my home, and then I slept.

"Ohma," Weiss breathed.

"You are Weiss," Ohma said. "And this one is Tyrham. Humans. Or so you say." Her hand cupped Weiss' chin. She looked so much like Penny it hurt. "You have suffered much."

"Yes," Weiss said. The fake skin that caressed her chin was impossibly soft. Impossibly warm. "How did you know?"

"I am learning much from Magos Tyrham. I am learning everything."

"What… are you?" Weiss asked.

"I was built to end the greatest war in human history. I am the Chariot. The Chariot is me. And I am Ohma."

"The Men of Iron," Weiss said, trying to focus on facts. "I've read… ancient history. They made war upon humanity. During the Dark Age of Technology. They nearly won. You fought them? An abominable intelligence?"

"Yes," Ohma answered. "An artificial intelligence built solely to prey upon my own kind. To cast them down."

"You don't… build ships?" Weiss tried.

No.

Ohma's body convulsed, her chest seizing, shoulders shaking. Her throat bulged and constricted, her hips rocked, she hunched over, and her hand disappeared down her gullet. It emerged moments later, a slim silicon wafer clutched between her fingers, dripping with translucent fluid.

"A cybernetic warfare suite. A sliver of myself," Ohma said, standing upright once more. Rigidly. Fluidly. Both at once yet neither one or the other. Cables erupted from the floor, latched themselves to her. Reconstituting her. "A cancer upon all Men of Iron."

"I don't…" Weiss took a few hesitant steps forward, tried to get a better look at Ohma's body. At the mechanism by which she produced her function. "You are a Standard Template Construct?"

Yes. This... body is simply an interface I made. I like it.

"But this entire chamber is me," Ohma said, the words curling out of her full, round lips. "I heard you descend. I felt your feet on my skin."

Weiss risked a glance at the Magos. He was motionless.

"Yes," Ohma continued. "The Men of Iron were sentient yet soulless." And I abhor soullessness - a void can be filled with a great number of things, after all. The cables detached. Disappeared. "My creator taught me that."

"And who was that?" Weiss asked tentatively. Hopefully.

"I do not know," Ohma said. "Their body did not linger long. I only knew their thoughts."

"You're… a psyker," Weiss tried. Is Ohma… like me? Is she from Remnant? Was her creator? A tiny voice whispered in her mind - Penny? One of her sisters?

"No," Ohma said. "Not as you understand that word." But I exist in many places, and my words can be everywhere. Felt. Understood. You are in my home, after all. Make conversation in my womb.

"What the fuck," Weiss breathed. The taste of blood filled her mouth. Her eyes stung. A dryness infected them. How is she doing that? Why can she think in me?

"Arthur C. Clarke often said that sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," Ohma said. "My creator loved his writings," she added, as if that explained anything.

My creator loved to read.

They weren't like you.

They didn't look like you.

They didn't think like you.

"Take it," Ohma said, brandishing the wafer. "My singular purpose."

Weiss realized she'd been holding it the entire time - her hand unmoving, silica gel dripping softly onto to the moon-white floor. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"How long… how long have you been down here?" Weiss asked.

"As long as I have been alive," Ohma said. "I awoke. I learned. I fulfilled my purpose. The galaxy fell silent. I adorned my home as I waited for word of triumph. It never came. I slept. And now I am here before you."

I have been here a very long time.

I am very alone.

Weiss' thoughts raced, but she couldn't land on a course of action. Instinct drove her to comfort the woman - the intelligence - so painful were her unspoken words. Questions hounded her, but they all seemed so far away. Focus. Prioritize.

"Tyrham," Weiss tried. "My companion. Did you hurt him?"

"No. He is occupied," Ohma answered. "He is conflicted. He is laid bare before me. As are you."

"Ohma," Weiss tried. "We - humanity - needs you. But humanity..." Her hand touched the relic. Tried to. Couldn't move it for some reason. "We're so much different than what you knew."

You are a liar.

Weiss blinked as Ohma's body neared. The Inquisitor was trapped - too late did she realize that cables had snaked around her limbs, held her tight against the warm metal floor. Closer and closer the woman came. Weiss was too tired to struggle.

Am I losing my mind?

No, you are simply... different. You lie out of ignorance. A deception born from sheer difference.

"You're a psyker," Weiss insisted.

"No," Ohma repeated. Plucking the sliver of silicon from the Inquisitor, she took it into her mouth, which bulged and chewed and spat out a cloud of foul-smelling heat. The wafer followed. Changed. Slotted for Weiss' neck port. "Be still, Weiss Schnee."

Weiss was flipped over, suddenly and violently. She could feel Ohma's fingers parting her jumpsuit, peeling away the black leather at the base of her neck. Helpless and vulnerable, she tried to summon the will to free herself, to escape. No, no, no no-

The taste of blue filled her mouth, an explosion of bitter, teeth-rattling voltage that thrummed within her, pulsed in time with the beating of her hearts. She felt Ohma within her, a needle that poked and prodded at her brain, stripped away every layer of self-importance, every lie the Lady Inquisitor had ever told, every memory that belonged to Weiss Schnee. She touched upon the Schnee Castle, Ruby, the decades of emptiness on Remnant, the Schola, Holy Terra-

And then Ohma was gone.

Weiss fell to the floor, wheezing, spent, broken. Rolling onto her back, she saw Ohma standing over her. Her expression was… relieved? Rapturous? Impossible to tell. Impossible to know.

"You are not touched by the Great Enemy," Ohma said at last. "You may keep your lives."

Weiss coughed into her fist, spattered it in blood. "You thought I was a Man of Iron?"

"No. But I had to be certain. You are not from from the era of my creation. You do not understand our warfare. Just as I do not yet understand yours. We are far more alike than I first believed."

"I… I don't understand."

Ohma smiled. "The fundamental question at the heart of all human existence. Understanding. Knowing. Humans fear what they do not know. What else cowers in the bleakest, blackest depths of humanity's ancestral memory, but fear of the night? Fear of what lurks in the dark?"

"What are you?" Weiss asked once more.

"I am the Chariot of Salvation," Ohma said, wearing a long smile. "And I am no longer alone."

A/N: The Chariot lies revealed. In short, do not fuck with DAoT tech. For those of you wondering, the Chariot is not something from canon, but rather an original creation. Its - and Ohma's - true nature will be revealed in due time, but for now, there are a few hints I left you guys to figure it out. ;)

I'm also sorry if all this is totally beyond what's already been depicted in canon. As I've said before, I'm not 100% up-to-date with latest canon developments.

On a side note, I want to extend a heartfelt 'thank you' to a fan, Whirrun, who has commissioned two beautiful pieces of fanart for this fic. You can find them both on his tumblr!

In Chapter 90, we'll hear from Amat, and we'll pop back to the Tou'Her for some brief existential horror. I'll see you all next time!