Book Three: The Heart of Yang Xiao Long


Chapter 99: Faith

"Death is the solution to all problems." - Unknown Terran Warlord

"Stay here," Yang instructed Vadiik. "Bunker up. Don't look outside until you hear friendlies." For once, the old woman did not put on airs. Fixing her lho stick between her lips, Vadiik looted a pair of heretic ammo boxes and made for the rope ladder.

"Be safe, Miss Long."

Yang forced herself to smile. "You know me better than that."

Vadiik grunted and began her ascent.

"Let's go, Holmbr!" Yang bellowed. They howled their approval, drowning out the ephemeral heretic chanting and keening, ear-piercing xenos squeals. The Vlka Fenryka were on the hunt.

Aesborough rang with the clashing cries, and the Cathedral rumbled. A spike of pain struck her temples, and blood shot from her nose.

This is your punishment.

Yang wiped her lip with the back of Ember-In-Glory. "Amat!" She said, keying her microbead. "Still got your exitus rifle?"

"Three rounds," Amat growled. "We have to kill it. We have to cast it down."

"Amat?"

A long pause. "Sorry."

"You good?"
"Yes."

"Your assassin… friend," Torbrand said as they stormed towards the Cathedral. "What have you done to him?"

"Conversation for later," Yang said. "I have questions for you guys too."

"We shall see if there is a 'later'," Laukr noted.

"So glum, brother!" Vulkmar barked, a hidden grin splitting his lips. "Tonight is a time for song-making!"

"Hm," Laukr allowed. The Wolves switched to a private vox-channel.

With every bounding step, Aesborough felt more and more alien. She'd spent two weeks wandering these streets when she'd first arrived, but now it felt like she was trudging through the Black Library.

The air shift and wavered, the scent of copper filled the air, buildings blended together. Ozone clung to the back of her throat. She felt eyes pare her apart, though she saw no one. There were no more ambushes. No mines.

"What's the plan, boys?" Yang asked, attempting to defeat the sudden silence.

"Likely a fragment of the Blood God," Torbrand answered. "Melee focused. Highly durable. We surround it and pummel it until something breaks. Focus the vulnerability. Your bolt shells will help distract it."

"Can do," Yang agreed. She paused. There was something to say, but Torbrand said it for her.

"Through us," He bellowed, his voice echoing over the city. "The Emperor Protects!"

Yang roared her agreement, a jet of golden flame piercing the night sky. The prayers returned.

Please, Holiness.

They came upon the Great Cathedral of Aesborough. It was a massive construction, standing twenty stories tall, its great dome surrounded by gothic towers, its nave wide enough to admit two hundred thousand. At its facade, dark-metal doors stood some twenty meters tall, embossed with an image of the Emperor standing atop a hill, surveying his legions. It had been crudely defaced, but far from destroyed.

The plaza surrounding the Cathedral was empty, save for a crowd of heretics and xenos that stood before the doors. Waiting. Two rows of cameleoline-clad heretics knelt at each side of the doors, heads down. Behind them, the xenos spread their arms, trembling with excitement, their beaks blaring out horrid, gibberous chanting.

With a screech of grinding metal, the doors were torn from their hinges, crashing upon the stone with a sound that echoed for kilometers. The daemon emerged.

It stood twelve meters tall. A naked, sexless parody of the human form. It wore the same crimson skin as the bloodletters, but there the similarities ended - its arms were too long, and its bronze-taloned hands clutched a pair of blackmetal cleavers twice the size of the astartes. A hole sat in the center of its chest, surrounded by tattoos that writhed and danced, images of joyous slaughter, of triumph, of duels fairly won and trophies taken.

Where a head should sit between the shoulders, there was instead a fleshless human skull, black flames boiling in its eye sockets, snarling out between long, bronze fangs. In those eyes, Yang saw Hilde-That-Was. She could taste the blood that flowed from the stump of her neck. It tasted like nectar. A trophy taken. No challenge, but a brave, simple soul. There was no glory won but who cared hahahahahahaha

HAHAHAHAHAHA

The

Blood

Flowed

ANYWAY.

Yang's wings exploded, her aura flaring as fury surged through her. Her eyes went from violet to red to gouts of golden flame. Holy power coursed through her, a million prayers her clarion call, her hymn of vengeance - the clarifying purity of righteous anger.

"Welcome, Yang," the Daemon said. Its voice was like an impaling - the wet, grinding growl of a red-dust blade as it punctured flesh and organs.

It sounded like Ruby's death.

Holmbr said nothing, but Yang knew the faces they wore. Each looked at the manifestation of hate and violence and blood and glory with utter contempt, their lips curled as if they were looking at nothing more than an oversized cockroach.

The daemon looked at her, and she could see the hatred that burned in those featureless pits of black flame. Woadia shrunk beneath her feet until there was nothing but the plaza. Holmbr. The daemon. Her.

Ember-In-Glory erupted, a rapid-fire burst from the gauntlets wiping out half of the gathered worshipers in a cavalcade of rippling explosions that filled the air with fragmentation and shreds of meat.

The daemon sprung, blindingly fast, a ripple of red skin and HATE and BLOOD

Yang threw her hands up, catching the warp-spawn's cleavers in the palms of her gauntlets, the weight of the assault splintering the stonework beneath her and driving her a meter into the ground. A lance of agony pulsed from her leg, and she bit down a scream. The blades sparked and shrieked against her hands as she fought to wrest the barrels of Ember-In-Glory into a firing position, the blasphemous souls bound to each cleaver howling with glee, with hatred for the ANATHEMA.

Jöm launched himself at the daemon, flying through the air, his thunder hammer crackling with consecrated power. A cleaver's pommel struck his chest, hurling him through Aesborough proper. He tumbled through a dozen buildings, each one collapsing under the force of his flight.

Holmbr surrounded the daemon in moments, barreling towards the abomination with murderous intent. It rushed to meet them, wading through the blood of its followers. The liquid lapped eagerly at its heels as it stood, tendrils of gore reaching out for their rightful owner.

"I am Blood-Prince Augurahz the Empty-Hearted," it boomed, black flames billowing out between its fangs, its voice shaking dust from the city. "And I have come for you, Lost One."

Yang snarled, unleashing a barrage of bolter shells. The daemon spun, and the rounds impacted against the Cathedral, carving great rents into the stonework. Laukr was waiting, tossing aside the red ribbons of a heretic as he swung his chainsword to hamstring the creature.

Augurahz slapped the strike with a swipe of its cleaver. Its twin whirled, no more than a black afterimage as it hurtled through the air. Vulkmar brought his fists down on the daemon's elbow, diverting the blade.

Ingvar joined the fight, catching a boost from Torbrand to strike at the daemon's twisted face. Augurahz swatted him aside.

Bursting from a pile of rubble in a cloud of dust and broken stone, Jöm rejoined the battle. The cuirass of his power armor was splintered, spewing unguent and sparks. Blood dripped from his cracked helmet.

But he was undaunted, his thunder hammer raised high.

"Fenyrs hjoda!" He bellowed, his voice filling the plaza.

"Fenrys hjoda!" Holmbr echoed.

Yang and the Wolves charged the daemon, surrounding it, hammering at it with an endless barrage of strikes. It weaved around them, moving like a surging red river through the snarl of blades, fists and bolter shells.

A maðkurgangr slammed into Yang's back, screeching as its beak gnawed at her power armor. Reaching over her shoulder, she tore it away, only for it to latch onto Ember-In-Glory. She fired.

Worms and green gore splashed across the plaza, painted the fallen doors of the cathedral. Yang ducked, and felt her aura scream as one of Augurahz's cleavers scraped its surface.

Fuck!

Seizing the opening, Ingvar rammed his fist into the daemon's ankle. A metal crack sounded out, the snapping of a solid bronze bar. Augurahz kicked him away, but the astartes absorbed the force, leaping away and rolling to a stop.

"Daemon!" Torbrand bellowed, brandishing Vigriðrkonungr. Its teeth ran over with blood and alien ichor. "Face me!" At his words, Holmbr paused their assault. They spread out, looking to surround the warp-spawn.

Augurahz's answer was his blades, blinking through the air to impact against Vigriðrkonungr. Torbrand held, aided by Laukr and his chainsword. The blades spat hateful sparks as they fought for purchase against the otherworldly metal.

Yang slid under the grinding blades, pouring her aura into her gauntlets. A brace of aura-charged bolter shells slammed into Augurahz, impacting against his tattooed skin and filling the space between them with blood. As it splashed against her power armor, she saw faces in the crimson sea, screaming, screaming, screaming.

I rose from the murder of millions

I birthed oceans of blood with naught but a pen

I am red

I am steel

I am Augurahz.

"You're fucking dead!" Yang countered, forcing the voices out her head. The daemon's blood boiled away, swaddling her in metal-scented steam. She roared, lashing out with Ember-In-Glory, her fists swinging inches shy of the daemon's chest.

Laukr flanked the creature, grinding his sword into the creature's broken ankle. Augurahz fell to a knee, just long enough for Yang to burst skyward, Ember-In-Glory glimmering with golden soul.

It connected with the daemon's fleshless jaw, snapping its head back, scorching its neck and shoulders with holy flame. Augurahz recovered instantly, black-flame eyes meeting Yang's as his skull soared forward.

LOST ONE

WILL YOU NOT RETURN?

Yang only saw Hilde.

Augurahz's head impacted against hers, and then she saw nothing at all.

She awoke a moment later, soaring through the air. Pain flooded her as she broke through the Cathedral's walls, as she impacted against the ruddy-wet floor and slammed into the base of the altar, cratering against its solid stone face.

Its aquila had been defaced, the massive golden eagle bent, half-melted, covered in alien writing. And worms. Everywhere, the choking, alien miasma.

Yang struggled to rise, power armor whining, sparks spitting from her power pack. Another pulse of pain jutted up her leg. Had she'd worn a helmet, there'd be a HUD readout that explained how badly her leg was fucked. Pain and experience told her that the bones in her foot and ankle were covered in hairline fractures. Maybe a cracked femur to boot.

No time to worry about it.

"Still no sight line," Amat whispered in her ear. His voice was hoarse. Forced, almost.

"We need you, assassin-man," Yang wheezed, trying to stand, power armor spasming, carving into the stone floor. "This thing is fucking us up."

"En route," Amat promised.

Yang shook out the stars that danced in her vision, blinked away the sudden urge to sleep. Concussion too. Major. "Fuck," she hissed to no one.

The Cathedral had been well and truly defiled. A fighting pit of some kind had been constructed in the nave, littered with Khornate iconography and painted in blood, both human and xenos. There were too many bodies to count.

"Well fought," a voice said.

Yang looked up, expecting a hallucination, a terrible vision of the warp. Instead, it was heretic soldier.

Lying against a column, the stumps of her legs pumped yet more blood into the small lake that covered the floor. Tattered remnants of her cameleoline cloak shrouded parts of her maimed body, but did not disguise the strange rifle she clutched to her chest. She pushed up the red-tinted goggles that shrouded her face, revealing a small smile. Strands of chestnut brown hair framed a torn, freckled face. Her eyes were utterly black, their pupils thin red dots.

"Glorious, isn't it?" The soldier asked, nodding at the violence outside - Holmbr keeping Augurhaz from the Cathedral. She leaned against the cylindrical barrel of her autogun, coughed up a river of blood. "Ah," she sighed. "You Imperials are ignorant about what truly matters. It's written all over your face."

"Shut the fuck up," Yang growled, stomping towards the Cathedral entrance, hobbled by her leg. Part of her prayed one of her servo-skulls would fuse the soldier's mouth shut. Why isn't it shooting?

"We saw your coming," the soldier called after her, voice echoing, echoing, echoing. "Fire and blood. It's not too late for you."

"Shut. Up." Yang said, tasting blood. She raised Ember-In-Glory to end the heretic's life, before she decided against it. "You can bleed to death," Yang said. "I won't give you the satisfaction."

"It flows all the same," the soldier said. She levelled her rifle at Yang.

Click.

Laughter filled the Cathedral, desperate and wracked with agony.

Yang ignored it. A chill shot up her spine as her power armor injected a fresh wave of pain suppressants and adrenaline into her bloodstream. She burst from the Cathedral, hounded by echoing laughter.

Augurhaz's cleavers sliced into Torbrand's cuirass, spitting out a wedge of molten ceramite in the process. No blood.

Yang struck the Daemon Prince, driving the combined weight of her gauntlets into the back of his knee. He bent, long enough for Jöm to lash out with his thunder hammer.

It impacted against the monstrosity's elbow, splitting it in two, sending his towering black-iron cleaver spiralling into the night. There was no roar of pain, no growl of frustration, nothing except a spurt of black flames from which a fresh pair of taloned fingers emerged.

Augurhaz retaliated, the flat of its cleaver singing brazen harmonies as it howled for the blood of the ANATHEMA. Ingvar stopped it, bellowing in pain as his arms shattered within his armor.

"Thanks!" She cried, unleashing a flurry of bolter shells at the Daemon Prince. Ingvar said nothing, shoving aside the accursed cleaver, his power armor hissing with the strain. And then it vanished.

Vulkmar leapt, his hands encircling the new limb that was spurting free of Augurhaz's ruined elbow. The astartes twisted, wrenching apart the brazen bones with a shriek of stressing metal.

The agony tore the Daemon Prince's attention away from Ember-In-Glory. A wave of bolter shells impacted against Augurahz' chest, burrowing into its crimson skin and detonating, explosions birthing geysers of blood and black flame.

Augurhaz roared, a noise that shook stones loose from the Cathedral, a noise that filled the streets of Aesborough, a terrible, primal cry of fury that cowed every human loyal to the Emperor.

Despair and sickness coursed through Yang, hateful and fierce - the minds of her faithful roiling under the assault. They called out for her, worried for her, prayed for her, for their families, for their homeworld.

Holiness!
Please!

Yang!

Blood poured from her ears, drowning everything in a dull, wet roar. The battle raged on.

Augurhaz hurled Vulkmar into the sky as Ingvar, Torbrand, and Laukr dogpiled on the Blood-Prince, fists flashing, weapons humming with speed and power. Yang joined the melee, surging forward with a blast from Ember-In-Glory, spinning with the momentum to strike at Augurhaz' skull.

Its cleaver hurtled for her head, faster than she could dodge. She fired, turning her controlled launch into an evasive maneuver, hurtling her past Augurhaz until she landed dozens of meters away, the force of her descent punching a crater into the plaza.

The opening she'd created was enough for Jöm to land another strike, driving his thunder hammer onto the daemon's collarbone. More metallic snapping issued forth, more fountains of black flame and warp-rotted blood. Augurhaz only batted him aside, once more hurling him through Aesborough.

Vulkmar impacted against the ground, his uncontrolled descent coming to an instant halt. Laukr covered him, chainsword blunted by Augurhaz's warp-tainted flesh. The Space Wolf held his ground, fangs bared behind his spark-spitting helm.

Hounded by the Daemon Prince's cleaver, he could only deflect the frenzied, blistering-fast swipes, pushing the blade aside by inches as Vulkmar fought to regain consciousness.

Torbrand joined Laukr, Vigriðrkonungr slick with daemonblood. Together, master and protege duelled the Daemon Prince, blades meeting with ear-splitting shrieks of grinding metal. The air was filled with molten shrapnel, with the smell of ozone, with the hissing of weapons too fast for Yang to follow.

Jittering and twitching, Augurhaz's replacement arm finally emerged, slick with blood and a fresh set of writhing tattoos that danced in the moonlight. From the piled bodies of the sacrificed, a rift in reality split open, accompanied by the screams of a billion-billion souls claimed in the name of HONOR and GLORY and

THE FLOW OF BLOOD UNCEASING

A fresh black-iron cleaver jumped out of the rift, and Augurhaz caught it, redoubling his efforts, pressing Torbrand and Laukr until their backs were against the Cathedral. Yang fired Ember-In-Glory, but the masterwork weapons clicked empty.

"Fuck!" She cursed.

Augurhaz laughed, driving a strike at Laukr. Vigriðrkonungr deflected it, shearing a wedge of daemonflesh off in its passing. The daemon's attack struck the Cathedral wall, ripping a hole in its flank and sending cracks spiraling up its surface.

Yang ducked under a black-iron streak, Ember-In-Glory connecting with Augurhaz's ankle. She felt something within break, and as she touched the creature, the taste of blood filled her mouth, poured out between her grimacing lips, surrounded her with glory.

Yang saw Uriel, saw Ros vanish, saw hardened cultists break and flee before her, saw herself bathing in their gore as she tore her way through the Manufactorum, saw her TRUE purpose rendered in perfect clarity

Isn't this what you really want?

Gritting her teeth, Yang flung herself free as another terrible howl split the night air.

ENOUGH

"Your Holiness!" A voice crackled in Yang's microbead - the Colonel. Pain in his voice, a brutal struggle not yet won, but he soldiered on, as he always had. "We have come to assist you!"

"No!" Yang shrieked. Not now, no, no, no-

Her aura ate a monstrous blow, one strong enough to shear chunks of ceramite free from her power armor.

Blackness.

Spitting blood, she sat up, blinked away the dizzying haze that pounded within her skull. Her semblance was roaring, begging to be unleashed - upheld by the final dregs of her aura. Someone was whispering to her.

Why have you forgotten her?

Ruby.

You ABANDONED her.

Where am I? What's going on?

Before her towered a daemon, and Yang remembered. It all came crashing back.

Between her and annihilation stood five space marines. All wounded, their power armor fraught and frayed. She could see them panting with exertion.

Augurhaz neared, shaking the plaza with each step.

Behind him, a series of bright flashes illuminated Aesborough, followed by the bone-rattling thunderclap of artillery batteries.

"And so your faithful die," Augurhaz said, his bone-maw dripping globs of black warpflame. "O, shard of the Anathema. You hateful little worm." He chuckled, and it sounded like flesh ripping. "Forgive me my gloating," he rumbled, the hole in his chest vibrating. "Such moments of victory are best when heartily savored."

Yang retched. Assaulted by the wrongness, the pain, the memories of Salem's Palace. She swam in and out of consciousness. Her microbead was screaming.

"Gas, gas, gas!" Sounded like Longinus.

Where was Amat?

Where'd Weiss go?

Get it together.

They're counting on you.

They need you.

"And the Space Wolves," Augurhaz said. "Have you-"

Holmbr scattered.

NOW! The voice was Amat's.

A shield-breaker round impacted against Augurhaz's forehead, fracturing the skull, staggering the Daemon Prince with the full fury of the Officio Assassinorum's peerless munitions.

Yang gathered up the prayers that thundered through her, the desperate cries of her faithful, the mindless terror that seized the people of Woadia. The vision of Hilde, braids bouncing in the morning sunlight.

And she stood, leg screaming in agony.

"Daemon!" She bellowed.

Holmbr struck, and Yang joined them. She launched herself at the Blood-Prince, unleashing her semblance, the full might of every blow that struck her since she made planetfall. White flames burst from her eyes, her halo cast the entire plaza in golden light, and her wings flared magma-hot.

Ember-In-Glory connected with Augurhaz's stomach, her armored fist ripping a three-meter gauge into the daemon. He roared, cleaver-pommel slamming into her back. She ate pavement, sinking into the plaza, tasting blood and bitter, vaporized brick.

Its cleavers sought to behead her. She made to dodge, but her leg crumpled, unable to support her weight.

Jöm parried one of the blades, obliterating it in a shower of glowing black metal. Its twin met Jöm's collarbone and cut him down to the waist. Laukr's chainsword bit into the daemon's neck, while Torbrand shoved Vigriðrkonungr into Augurhaz's armpit, the ice-white teeth spitting out gallon after gallon of warp-tainted ichor.

Once more, Yang stood.

She heard the Woadians' pleas, heard them gasping and choking as pillars of sickly yellow gas rose into the moonlit sky, she heard Jöm choke on the blood that filled every cavity in his body, heard Torbrand's furious, agonized growl.

She heard her own call to the Emperor as it thundered across the Empyrean, a prayer that filled her fist with crackling lightning and hatred for chaos, for Augurhaz, for the suffering they caused, for the Blood God and the whispers he once poured into her soul.

Red-metal warp ichor painted the Cathedral as another exitus round connected, obliterating the right half of Augurhaz's torso. As the daemon stumbled, Holmbr advanced, ripping out chunks of flesh by the fistful, carving into it like the centerpiece of a blood-drenched feast. The daemon ignored them, hatred for the Anathema driving it towards the focus of its boundless rage. Its cleaver descended.

Yang caught it, her aura shattering in a brilliant explosion of fire and gold. The sudden stop splintered the accursed blade, but it could not stop Augurhaz's final strike - a colossal fist that would pulverize her inside her armor.

She knew she could not stop it, but her baleful grin did not waver.

She had faith, after all.

Amat's final shield-breaker round tunneled into Augurhaz's arm, driving down its length, breaking it at every meter, shredding it from the inside. It burst from the daemon's shoulder, glowing hot and trailing ichor.

Augurhaz screamed, toppling against the Cathedral, crumbling its western wall. And Yang advanced. Her aura was gone, her semblance spent, but in her palm she still held her hatred, the prayers of the faithful. It crackled and spat with holy energy, casting the plaza in a shower of golden sparks.

ANATHEMA

"No words from you now, daemon," Yang said as the Cathedral wall collapsed around her.

I WILL RETURN, LOST ONE

It blared, a psychic bellow that shot blood from her nostrils, from everyone on the continent of Akuri.

"I don't think you will," she said as she advanced. Weiss' relic bounced against her chest, radiating a pure and simple power. "Never again."

For the first time, the black flames that composed Augurhaz' eyes narrowed, its skull-face distorting into an expression Yang couldn't read.

I AM AMONG THE MOST ANCIENT OF PRINCES, it screamed. YOU ARE NOTHING. NO ONE.

"Rejoice," Yang hissed, coming upon the broken body of the Blood-Prince. "Your servitude is at an end."

YOU ARE A LIE, Augurhaz cried, words pouring over with blood and desperation. Once more, Yang saw images of Hilde, of the boundless slaughter that had racked the once-serene agriworld.

Her homeworld.

YOU CANNOT-

Ember-In-Glory descended, and Yang buried her fist into the Prince's skull, bone-fragments flying, black flames roiling. Augruhaz screamed once more, a soul-rending screech that shook every building in Aesborough, that rained brick and mortar down upon them.

Its skin boiled and frothed, squirming as rifts of golden light split it into a hundred sections. Its tattoos fled the holy flame that ate at its skin before they were consumed. For a brief, horrible moment, Yang saw a throne of skulls.

The Throne.

Then Augurhaz broke, bursting into a cloud of foul-smelling ash. Never again to assault the mortal plane. It was done.

Yang collapsed amidst the ruins of the Cathedral. More tired than she'd ever been. Every dram of energy was gone, and there was nothing left in her but pain. It was done.

"Yang," a voice said. Torbrand. Fighting to breathe, she turned to see Holmbr surrounding Jöm. "Thank you."

She nodded.

Jöm waved off his companions, blood flooding from the gaping rent in his body. He took a few hesitant steps towards the Saint, thunder hammer dragging a furrow into the plaza. His expression was unreadable past his helmet.

Yang nodded. Jöm returned the gesture. Laukr caught him before he fell.

"Until next winter," Laukr said.

"Until then," Jöm said, expending his final breath.

He sagged, and Laukr could not support his weight any longer. Holmbr strode over to help. Yang joined them, limping. As a column of daemon-ash rose into the night, they helped Jöm's corpse watch the Blood Prince's body decay into nothingness.

Jöm stood vigil over his final victory, his brothers and a new Saint by his side.


A/N: I wish I had more time to expand on Augurhaz (I like his design a lot), but alas, it's not to be. I hope you guys enjoyed the battle!

Once again, massive shoutout to MrDarth151 of Spacebattles. Wouldn't be here without his help! His insight into the Space Wolves has been a tremendous boon to this story. :)

Next chapter is AWoBE's 100th! Holy crap!

Even though it'll be a shorter chapter, I have a few special things planned that I think you'll enjoy. See you then!