A/N: *Ahem*. Is this thing on?

Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 77: Laughter

"A human once said brevity is the soul of wit. Fitting, no?" - Unidentified Harlequin

Chaos erupted in the Webway, spilling out of the rift with hateful alacrity. Horrid, misshapen monstrosities they were, each one bent in their own twisted way, none of them identical. As Maion righted herself upon the Void-Whisper's wraithbone hull, she had time for one last mournful thought before she donned her war mask - Our doom is here at last, and it is all my doing.

Then the blood-dance of Khaine began.

Seconds after landing, Maion split a daemon in half, her chainsword hissing as it sprayed her friends and family with gore. Yang shielded Amat with her body, turning her back to the violence.

But the Striking Scorpion had no time or thoughts to spare them. Her shuriken pistol erupted, belching a stream of monomolecular-edged discs that tore into their attackers with whirring precision. They scored into their targets, ripping away their multicolored flesh and eliciting long, echoing screams.

Garnet's witchblade weaved about with unerring speed - even a short time on the Seer's Path had wrought potent results. His erstwhile brother fought with ferocity as well, his sun rifle living up to its name as brilliant orange-white beams evaporated oncoming daemons.

The mon'keigh did not join the fight, so focused were they on protecting the assassin. That was fine. It suited Maion - this hunt was hers, and Khaine thirsted for His due. There were no shadows here, nowhere to hide, yet it mattered little.

Their doom had come.

A screeching horror came for her, a many-mawed form with wriggling tentacles. Maion's mandiblasters burnt a dozen holes into it, a salvo followed shortly by a swipe with her chainsword.

Seconds into the battle, and they were already hemmed in, pressed on all sides by daemons. The mon'keigh stood in the center of a salient, accompanied by Pyrrha and her life companion.

Grandmother!

The thought was suffocated by her war-mask moments later, but it existed nonetheless, a desperate shout of self-hatred and worry. Maion dove into the violence once more, a whirling green avatar of murder. She wove between her foes, flowing around each grasping tendril and slash of warp-stained claws with exacting precision.

For every opening the enemy gave her, she acted, her chainsword a flash of iridescent ichor and grinding, biting teeth. Still, she stood between the horrors and the mon'keigh. Pyrrha.

I am a soldier! She cried, a thought that thundered through Maion's core. I will do my duty to Il-Kaithe!

Her comrades echoed her thoughts, a resonant roar that filled their minds and drove them together, a wall of shuriken and chainswords and lasbolts. A wall that brooked no quarter, a wall that stood triumphant.

Shielding his life companion from a daemon's grasping reach, Caelus unleashed his runes, scathing blue marks that rent devastating holes in his foes. Each one ripped their essence out with explosive force, each one a thunderous, decisive blow.

But their wall would not last.

A hasty gesture from Lossamdir sent Asillar aloft, soaring upwards to rain hellfire upon the Changer's slaves. Circling the war party's salient, his lasblaster spewed an endless stream of yellow-orange bolts. He sailed between hails of warp-stained projectiles, spinning and twirling, a smooth and effortless flight.

Garnet pushed forward into the crowd, his soul-shield bursting from his hand with an explosion of blue light. Every warp-spawn that touched it was set alight, their skin burning a bluish-purple from the power of the Warlock's soul. In his other hand, his witchblade sung a terrible cry as it hummed through the air.

He pushed on, each swipe of his sword banishing another daemon, his shield guarding him from all attacks. His mind sung a harmony of war, guiding and directing his comrades as he advanced.

A mental rebuke from Lossamdir folded him back towards his family - the Void-Whisper was not designed for battle atop its hull. Studded with blisters and wrought from slick wraithbone, a single step too far would send Garnet tumbling into the ruins of Niurvenah.

Beyond them, Ahriman's ship neared. A harbinger of doom. A sudden lurch briefly paused the battle as the Void-Whisper fired its engines, unbalancing every being upon its hull. The lander's pilot bounced across the hull, his unconscious form falling into another wave of daemons.

Lossamdir!

The thought rang out from every eldar, a desperate plea to save their comrade. His wings ignited, blue bale-fire consuming their feathers in a burst of speed. Roaring aloud, he charged after the pilot, sun rifle blaring.

A crack of speed surpassed him - Pyrrha's weapon, the fabled Miló. It impaled three of the beasts upon its red-gold length, singing a terrible lament as it tore through their corrupted flesh.

The Soul-Wielder had joined the battle.

Deftly, Lossamdir recovered the pilot. He soared upwards, away from the desperate daemons who were denied their meal. Their furious screeches were cut short by Miló as it cut a blazing, dizzying path through their ranks.

As the Void-Whisper accelerated, Maion found it increasingly difficult to keep her murderous rhythm. Captain Ellamár was determined to escape alongside the Black Library. A sudden course change halted the battle once more, as the craft lurched to starboard and threw the war-party's balance.

Pull back! Lossamdir cried, a sharp mental poke that pierced the party's war-masks. The Captain is preparing to depart! Maion obeyed the exarch, leaping towards a towering daemon. She thrust her chainsword into its skull, goring it. Pulling herself towards its body, she pressed her feet against its shoulders and leapt away, tearing her sword free in a spray of icy black ichor. She fired her pistol as she flew, hurling a blizzard of shurikens at nearby targets. Each disc carved away great chunks of flesh, their victims laughing madly as they collapsed.

Yang put the assassin on her back as a war raged across her mind - part of her clearly wanted to join the fray, a call to unleash her sword and storied gauntlets. Another was wracked with concern for her injured friend, a part mired in guilt and grief.

Maion pushed the warrior from Remnant along, covering her retreat. The message was clear and well received - Yang nodded, picking up her friend's equipment and dashing down the length of the Void-Whisper.

Where is the rest of the war party? Asillar demanded, circling the daemons and harassing them from above. We need support.

Behind us, near the midship torpedo tube. Lossimdar answered, handing the pilot to Yang, who now carried two bodies over her arms. There is an emergency repair elevator that will take us within the hull. Go now, and swiftly.

A mad dash ensued as the salient broke and fled, obeying the exarch's directions. As her feet rang against the wraithbone hull, Maion knew that it was a hopeless pursuit. As Ahriman's ship neared, the Void-Whisper and the Black Library would be disabled by the horde of daemons spilling out from the endless rifts in the Webway. Another opened before them, spilling out pink-and-blue nightmares, gibbering daemons that laughed and laughed and laughed.

They were pinned.

Break through! Lossamdir and Obsidian called. Give no quarter! Only the unrelenting advance! For Khaine! For Il-Kaithe! For the end of chaos!

Bellowing war-cries, the party obeyed, punching through the daemons with relentless haste. The mon'keigh let loose with her hellgun, scorching burning holes into her targets, prayers to the Emperor on her lips. Garnet's shield activated once more, protecting his comrades as they continued their push. Globes of acid and slender, skeletal needles hounded it, each one turned away by his soul.

Maion took the outside, dashing past daemons and splitting them apart with her chainsword. A horror leapt over Garnet's shield, a pink-fleshed creature of eight arms and as many mouths. Her pistol belched its last, its final few shuriken scything through the creature with ease. It burst apart, banished back to the warp.

Her aura flared as an unseen daemon raked her chest with its claws, scoring great rents in her aspect armor. Her mandiblasters erupted into its laughing face, her chainsword severing its head from its body. Hissing, she ignored the damage, pressing onwards. Without shadows to utilize her semblance, she was hampered, held back. Vulnerable.

More runes slammed into the daemons, bursting them apart. Caelus hummed an old song as he worked, his hands working as they weaved his weapons into existence. His life companion fought at his side, Miló following every gesture, gilded Akoúō turning away projectiles.

With a cry, Maion shoulder-checked a towering creature with skin wrought from teeth and six arms. It stumbled back, unable to dodge the chainsword that whirled around to carve it into fourths.

They had broken free, and the withdrawal continued. Asillar and Lossamdir took to the air, stemming the tide of daemons that hounded the rear guard. Maion and Garnet reached the torpedo tube first, pivoting to face their foes.

The sight that greeted them was the Webway at war.

A hundred Harlequin fighters harassed Ahriman's fleet, streaks of laughter that flitted about with uncanny speed as relentless streams tracer fire followed them. They carved through Ahriman's fleet, explosions trailing across void shields and unprotected hulls. Daemons swarmed over the ruins of Niurvenah, an endless multicolored horde, an avalanche of desecration and abyssal fury.

Ahriman's flagship lashed out with crimson lances, raking the Black Library and scoring into its hull. Minimal damage. For now. Alongside the arch-fiend's capital ship, a heavy cruiser fired its screeching thrusters, turning its broadside to the Void-Whisper.

Uncle!

I know!

"Isha grant me strength!" Garnet cried, spreading his arms wide. A colossal shield bloomed into existence beside the Void-Whisper, just in time to weather a salvo of macrocannon rounds.

Garnet cried out in anguish as his aura depleted in an instant, blood shooting from his nose and mouth. He fell to his knees, leaning on his witchblade for support. It did not avail him.

He collapsed into a heap, still and unmoving.

"Garnet!" Pyrrha screamed, rushing to her son's side. A fresh chorus of roars issued forth from the daemons that coated the Void-Whisper's hull, and they advanced en masse, the taste of death on their tongues.

Lossamdir pulled into a dive, smashing a blubbering monstrosity bearing down upon the Soul-Wielder and sending it careening off the edge of the Void-Whisper. Cracks opened up in the party's defenses as their ammo depleted and casualties mounted.

Maion's war-mask flickered as she felt the hairs on her neck stand on end, the taste of ozone stain the back of her tongue. For a moment, she thought Ahriman had forgone his plans to seize Grandmother and Yang, opting instead to wipe them from existence entirely.

Yet it was not Ahriman.

"Enough," Pyrrha's voice echoed out across the Webway, wizened yet dripping with power. Black-white runes materialized around her head, and her back was as straight as it was when she was a hundred.

"Pyrrha!" Caelus called.

"Ahriman!" Pyrrha cried, her words resounding through the Webway. "Begone from here! STAY AWAY FROM MY SON!"

Black soul-fire erupted from her hands and eyes, every dram of her semblance erupting from her hands. Settling into a Mistralan war-stance, she braced her hands before her. Gnarled and wreathed in power, she curled them into fists.

A great and terrible screeching filled the Webway as Pyrrha emptied the full force of her semblance into halting Ahriman's flagship. At first it was barely checked. Then laughter echoed throughout the Webway - Duulamor's laughter.

Ahriman's ship slowed.

Then it stopped.

Pyrrha bellowed with all her might, millennia of power upending itself upon the damned sorcerer's ship, her voice shaking the very foundations of Niurvenah. The flagship struggled against her semblance, its daemonic engines blaring at full power. Blue bale-fire spewed from its thrusters, yet it managed only inches.

She screamed as Ahriman brought his attentions upon her, battling for dominion over his ship. Her legs crumpled under the strain, and she fell to the deck, hands still outstretched.

"No... no further, hell-spawn!" Pyrrha roared, black-metal flames spilling from her lips. Caelus caught her shoulder, lending her his power. Together, they slowed Ahriman's advance. The Void-Whisper and the Black Library began to outpace their enemies, making for a nearby corridor in the Webway. Slowly. Inevitably.

NO.

The daemons renewed their assault, forcing Maion's attentions away from her Grandparents and their growing anguish. Instantly, the warriors were overwhelmed, hemmed in from all sides by snarling manifestations of hate. Lossamdir bore the first wound as he protected the Soul-Wielder, demonic claws penetrating his aura and striking deep into his stomach. A cry of pain and surprise broke Maion's war-mask.

Uncle!

But Lossamdir fought on, and Obsidian neglected to use his semblance. He slew the daemon that wounded him, his fist soaring through its skulls and cleaving its body in half.

Maion suffered the next wound, a blast of eldritch energy boiling away the remnants of her aura. She stumbled back, reeling from the strike. The blows were raining too fast, too plentiful to avoid. Wildly, she lashed out with her chainsword, her mandiblaster coughing its last.

Pyrrha continued her hopeless struggle, the black-metallic glow that surrounded her flickering and failing. Still, she stood over her son, ignoring the daemons that hounded them. Yang protected her friend, still carrying the wounded on her shoulders. Her feet lashed out, splitting the head of any daemon foolish enough to approach her. A daemon leapt for her, its jaw unhinged and lined with razor-sharp teeth.

There was no time to warn her.

Maion dove forwards, checking Yang out of the daemon's path. Its teeth sunk into the Scorpion's shoulder instead, each fang a white-hot knife of pain that set her soul on fire. She screamed, jamming her chainsword into its hide and twisting.

The daemon relented, black gore spewing out of its flank. Her other hand wrenched the creature's jaw loose, removing herself from its maw. Roaring, she smashed her helm into its face, breaking its teeth upon her aspect armor.

A blast of heat scorched the air beside her, melting the daemon into nothing.

The rest of the war-party had arrived. Both mon'keigh and eldar weapons erupted from the maintenance elevator, a deluge of hellbolts and shuriken that scoured the daemons that crawled across the Void-Whisper's hull.

Ysdrea led the Howling Banshees forward, their shrieks filling the Webway, resonating beside Pyrrha's fading calls.

"Get them inside!" The mon'keigh Captain roared. Two of his comrades took the wounded within the Void-Whisper, while a Dire Avenger helped Lossamdir to safety. His sky-blue armor was stained with blood, and his mind roiled with pain.

"Garnet!" Obsidian cried, pushing aside the help. "Get Garnet first!" Obeying the Exarch, a Dark Reaper grabbed the warlock's wrist, stopping a moment to unleash his weapon. Explosions rippled through the daemons, bursting them into a fine mist.

Maion stumbled to safety, dragging her chainsword behind her. Every muscle ached, every nerve felt as though it had been doused in molten metal. Slipping between a pair of Banshees, a daemon lunged for her back.

She tried to swing her chainsword around and block the strike, but Khaine did not smile upon her. Claws bit into her chest, rending her armor and slicing away great swathes of flesh. Maion screamed as blood sprayed from the wounds.

Her mind went black from the pain, the remnants of her war-mask too thin to keep her conscious. When she opened her eyes again, she was tumbling across the Void-Whisper's port side, painting it in blood. Weakly, she scrabbled for a handhold, anything that would bring her to safety. There was nothing, and the hull eventually gave way to open space, and the city of Niurvenah far below her.

The fate that Garnet foresaw, she realized. Blackness. At least I did not sell my soul cheaply.

Asillar caught her, plucking her from her plummet.

"The spawn of mon'keigh cannot waste soulstones so carelessly!" He cried, soaring upwards.

Perhaps the lack of blood was affecting her mental acuity, but Maion thought she heard a smile behind his words. Regardless, she allowed the Swooping Hawk to haul her up into a carrying position. He slapped a shuriken pistol into her hands as they neared the elevator.

Pyrrha and her husband's strength finally failed. Ahriman's ship began its progress once more, battering through will opposing it. The rest of the war-party gathered in the service elevator, laying down suppressive fire to cover those still retreating.

A blast of arcane energy clipped one of Asillar's wings, and the two aspect warriors tumbled to the hull, Maion's flank screeching in agony. Growling, Asillar dragged her to safety, his lasblaster blaring. Summoning her fury, Maion fired her pistol, raking their pursuers with shuriken.

The Soul-Wielder's power finally evaporated, and she collapsed. Caelus caught his wife, cradling her as he sprinted to safety, his steps uneven and unsure. Yang burst from the elevator, Ember Celica roaring.

"Go!" She bellowed.

Maion saw that despite the chaos, despite the blood that painted the Void-Whisper - Yang was grinning, smug satisfaction ruling her features. She grasped a daemon's horns and forced it to its knees before putting her foot through its face, her sword whirling around to decapitate another.

"Let's go, Sergeant!" Darron cried.

"On it!" Yang returned the instant Pyrrha and Caelus had been secured.

She pushed Asillar and Maion into the elevator moments before its doors began to close, a slow meeting of two reinforced wraithbone plates. Yang dove inside next, turning around to give the last few daemons (and Ahriman) a strange two-fingered salute.

The doors slammed shut, and the elevator descended. Immediately, the Void-Whisper accelerated, pressing the war-party against the lift's walls. Yang cracked her knuckles, beaming as bright as a sun.

"Class is dismissed."

She fell unconscious moments later, followed shortly by Maion.

Yang awoke with a massive hangover. No, that wasn't right. Aura strain, more like. Blood and ichor painted her borrowed armor and her knuckles were sore. "One hell of a night out," she said to anybody who would listen.

As it turned out, it was two eldar medics who stood above her, watching her with mild concern, their white robes rustling softly. Yang couldn't remember if she'd seen them before. A lot of eldar looked the same, after all. Is that racist?

"Please lie still," one of them said gently.

"Fuck that," Yang said, sliding off the floating stretcher they'd placed her upon. One of them reached out, hesitated, and returned his hand to his side.

"If you insist," he said, his shoulders rolling in a strange approximation of a shrug.

"I'd worry about everyone else," Yang said. The last thing she remembered before exhaustion took her was Pyrrha holding off Ahriman, Maion flying off the side of the ship, blood gushing from her side, and horrid burn marks along Asillar's back.

And Amat.

The two medics exchanged a look. "If you insist," the other one said.

"Since you're not shitting yourselves," Yang said, "I assume we got away?"

The first medic nodded, his eyes flickering with an expression she couldn't read. "Both the Void-Whisper and the Black Library escaped. Barely."

Relief filled her chest, and a hundred weights tumbled off her shoulders. I did it. We did it.

She said her thanks and set off for the medbay. A shower was desperately in order, but not until she confirmed that her friends were okay. Every inch of her ached, and her shoulder glowed with golden warmth. The fringes of a headache ate at her, but it was bereft of the whispers that normally accompanied one, replaced by a pure and simple pain. Peace.

The medbay doors opened, revealing a bustling medical crew at work. Most of the focus was centered upon Maion, and the floor beside her bed was littered with bloodied bindings. Pyrrha lay beside her, resting. She looked old, older than she had any right to be. Whatever youth she had regained in the Black Library had been lost, the ravages of age scouring her skin and body once more. Any glint of green had been drained from her eyes, and all that remained was two unseeing cataracts. Caelus stroked her hand, and the two conversed silently. They had not noticed Yang.

Garnet rested too, leaning against his bed. His usual energy had vanished, but he still managed to crack a handful of weak jokes with the medic who accompanied him. She giggled softly at his words as she washed the blood from his black-red hair and applied some medicinal gel.

Amat was alone, pencil scratching against a pad of paper. His eyes met Yang's, and a broad, glowing smile worked its way across his face.

The tears began before Yang could stop them, rolling down her cheeks, salty and hot. One after the other. We did it.

We did it.

We did it.

"Yang?" Amat asked, his glorious smile fading. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He cocked his head in confusion. "Why are you smiling?"

A/N: First things first, I'm sorry about the long hiatus. Life's been coming at me pretty fast, and I wanted to take a break from this story. There's a couple other reasons progress has dragged, but I won't get into excuses. The good news is that we're back!

As for this chapter, I hoped you enjoyed it. I know a few of you are probably pissed that Pyrrha "beat" Ahriman, but a closer examination of the chapter (and this arc as a whole), should give you a few more angles to look at it. Spelling it all out felt… wrong. It didn't click with me, so I cut it.

In any case, we're going to be hopping right along - Book 2 is (mostly) finished, with a few minor additions and revisions to hack out before the rest of the chapters are released. With any luck we might be back on a weekly schedule.

Until then - cheers!

Oh, and quick note - I'm going to put more effort into review replies moving forwards (I've gotten a little lazy with them). I really appreciate everyone who's swung by and left likes, favorites and reviews in the intervening months - seeing stuff like that in my inbox always brightens my day.

Next chapter: not everything worked out so cleanly...