Book Three: The Heart of Yang Xiao Long


Chapter 104: The Looming

"Innocence proves nothing." - Imperial Thought for the Day

Yang.

Holiness.

Guide my lasgun, steel my soul.

Take me to your side when my Crusade comes to its end.

"I will."

The muscles in Amat's neck popped and strained as he caught the barbell from crushing her chest. A thousand pounds of iron rattled on its ends. He set the equipment down.

"Another prayer?" He deduced.

"I… yes," Yang realized. She blinked, and remembered she was in their training hall. Sweat beaded her forehead and down her neck, cast in a sickly light by the pale fluorescents buzzing above them. The steel walls rattled as Vulkmar and Laukr continued their sparring match next door.

"Need a second?"

Yang nodded. "Sorry." She took a breath, righted herself on the bench. Her leg twinged in protest, the last fragments of errant bone still sealing themselves to her tibia. Amat sat beside her and passed her a bag of chalk.

A chunk found its way between her fingers. She broke it listlessly, felt her hands become smooth, watched her calluses and palm lines vanish under a blizzard of chalk. Amat clapped his hand into hers, a poof of white powder bringing her back to the present.

"It was different this time," Amat said, his fingers fitting neatly between hers. "Cadia?"

"Cadia," Yang confirmed, flashes of a planet aflame flickering in her witchsight. "Corruption's End is about to make planetfall."

"We can only pray that the Emperor is with them," Amat said, practiced stoicism betraying a glint of blue adamantium. "The Lady High-" He paused. "Weiss will do the best she can. She's placed her faith in you."

"In us," Yang said, offering him a smile.

"Mm," Amat demurred. "Enough of a break. We should continue."

Yang chuffed. "Quite the taskmaster, aren't we? Should I expect something similar in our bedroom?"

Amat did not smile or redden - but it was a forceful effort.

Yang beamed. "Gotcha, assassin-man." She exhaled, refocused, and sealed up the fantasy that was inches away. "Let's go." Laying down, she clasped the dumbell, felt her aura swell within her. Amat braced himself, ready to catch the weight once more.

Once more, the grinding agony resumed. Even her aura had not fully recovered in the weeks since their departure from Woadia, from their victory over Augurhaz. The embers that remained aided her exercise but could not stem the dull, biting ache in her leg.

"Good, good," Amat said, hands gliding just below hers as she pressed the crushing weight up and down.

"Pretty good view from down here," Yang grunted, teeth grinding together in a skewed grimace that was more tortuous than flirtatious.

"So you keep saying," Amat said. "Trying not to think about Cadia?"

"Hmph."

Amat decided not to press the matter, and they were silent for a time as Yang worked.

"I'm… sorry," she said, forcing the words out between lifts. "If I'm coming off... too strong. I'm…" The next part didn't come to her.

"You haven't been sleeping," Amat noted.

Yang settled the barbell onto the rack, chest heaving, arms burning. "I haven't," she admitted. "Bad… bad dreams."

"I…" Amat looked away, eyes searching the floor. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

"No," Yang said firmly. Too firmly. Well done, Yang. "No, no, I'm sorry. I appreciate the offer. I just…" Her tongue found the empty gaps in her gums where some molars used to be. Once more, thoughts of Hilde flitted past, thoughts of her red, red lifeblood as it trickled down a pig-iron trophy rack. "The fight dredged up some stuff."

The fight. That's what they'd called it between themselves, two words as casual as a sparring match. A kerfuffle, almost. But in her dreams, the blood just kept flowing.

"We killed a daemon prince," Amat allowed. "Didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay," Yang said, patting his hand. "Didn't mean to snap."

"Ok," Amat said.

"Ok."

He dropped the barbell on her. Yang caught it, aura flaring, muscles straining to keep the sudden weight from crushing her. Her hair ignited, wrapping itself gently around her partner.

"AMAT!" Yang barked, arms straining.

"Your aura's doing better than yesterday," Amat noted. "Lift it."

Yang obeyed, teeth gritted, body aflame. Her leg sent daggers of red agony shooting up her back, grinding against her spinal cord, lancing into her brain. With a shout of effort, she freed herself, once more settling the barbell back in its place.

"You… fucker," she panted. "No more exitus rounds... so you attempt to kill me while I bench press." She wheezed, wiped her forehead down with the end of her tank top. "Very, very unsafe use of weightlifting equipment."

"You have to be ready for Holy Terra," Amat said simply.

"There'll be plenty of time, I'll-" The rest of her words were lost as he kissed her. "Mm. Mmmmmm." They separated.

"I think we're ready to move on," Amat said, gesturing at the rest of the room.

"Fucker," Yang said, grinning. "That was cheap."

"I was not created to play fair," he reminded her loftily.

"Ha. Once my leg heals up we're gonna have that sparring match. Now that you have an aura, we'll be even. And I'm going to kick your ass."

"We'll see," Amat said. "You may have brutalized your way through the Imperium's foes so far, but here you're outmatched."

"That sounds like heresy," Yang replied in her best Commissar voice. "Don't let Neuhoff hear you."

"It's merely the truth," Amat sighed.

"Wait… you actually believe you're going to beat me?" Yang demanded.

Amat did not answer.

"Just for that, I'm going to heal even faster."

"Is that how it works?"

"Watch me."

She swung off the bench and leapt to her feet. The instant she put weight on her leg, it crumpled. Amat caught her, offering his hand so that she could squeeze away the waves of seething, pulsing pain.

"And that's why," Amat muttered. "Too easily provoked."

"Hah," Yang said, teeth grit. His words were in jest, but she didn't hear any humor in them. "Wait till we're done with this shit," she said, waving her hand at the next item on their set. The dreaded balance ball.

A rubber half-sphere embedded in a plastic base, Yang could not imagine hating an object - even the wheelchairs she'd pettily thrashed in the past months - as much as she hated this particular device.

"We're going to do something new," Amat said, helping her along. "We're going to play the lying game at the same time."

"The lying game?" Yang asked.

"A training ritual taught in the Vindicare Temple," he answered. "It will help you recover. Ignore the pain."

Yang considered it.

The balance ball eyed her, an inert lump of rubber so full of hate it might as well have been possessed by a daemon.

"Okay," she said eventually.

Haltingly - always haltingly - she took her first step with her good leg. When its broken sister followed, the shooting pain returned. On the soft, uneven surface, she could feel every millimeter of every hairline fracture, each seeming to rip open anew, each its own jet of superheated copper.

Amat held her hand to steady her.

"There are three men on a feudal planet," he began. "Each is convinced that one of their member is a heretic. They take their cases to their lord. The first man accuses no one, and instead professes his innocence, stating that he lives without sin. He attends church daily. He kneels to pray before each meal and harvest."

Yang nodded, trying to imagine the scene, listening to Amat's monotonous baritone for a hint of telling inflection. Sweat dotted her forehead as the pain tore into her concentration.

"The second man chooses to accuse the first," Amat continued. "He says that the first man slips into the darkened woods each night and does not emerge until morning, his face full of shame."

"And what about number three?" Yang asked through clenched teeth. Now came the most brutal stretch - balancing on her mangled ankle alone. Amat squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

"The third man says that the second is the real heretic, who accused the first due to a personal grudge and not out of piety."

Yang's tongue ran over her lips as she tried to block the pain out.

"Who is lying, and who is the heretic?" Amat finished.

"Oh fuck you, that's who," Yang spat, caught between a grin and a rueful grimace. Her boyfriend smiled.

"That's not an answer."

"Fuck me then," she said, trying to bludgeon down the wall of pain that blocked off the logical parts of her brain. "Uh… the first man is the heretic, and the second is the liar."

"Why?" Amat asked, watching her intently.

"Uh… fuck. Second man is only partially lying, because he had to be spying on the first to know the thing about the woods!" She declared, grinning despite the pain. Gotcha! "The first man is the heretic because heretics can always pretend to be pious."

Amat did not respond. He waited until the mandatory, brutalizing half-minute of balancing practice had ended. The pain barely subsided once both feet were returned to the ball.

"Wrong," he said. "All men are lying, yet none are heretics."

"I was right the first time," Yang managed, panting, "'Fuck you' really was the right answer."

Amat chuffed. "The lying game is not about deducing a correct answer," he explained. "The lie is always in the game itself."

"Fine," Yang countered. "It's bullshit, but I still need an explanation." It was once again time for the balance ball. Anything to distract her.

"They all lied out of omission. The third man knew about the second man's grudge, but did not disclose that he was the first man's friend. The first man did not disclose the truth behind the second man's accusation. The second man told the truth, but did not disclose why, as you deduced, he was spying on the first. The first man's lie was telling the others he lives without sin."

"Because that's something that only the Emperor can do, right?" Yang asked, realizing.

"Correct," Amat answered.

"This game is bullshit," Yang grunted.

"Yes," Amat said again. "That's the point. It's not a logic problem, but rather about developing logical heuristics, thinking around and outside the box. But the Vindicare taught only the basics. Mother-"

He stopped.

"Palla," Yang supplied gently.

"Yes," Amat said, "Instructor Palla and I did four thousand such lying games. She intimated our cousins in the Callidus likely puzzle their way through two million."

Yang blinked. "I think I would rather try to jump into the Eye of Terror."

No grin, but Amat smiled all the same. "You'll need them on Holy Terra," he said.

"I'll have you to protect me," Yang countered. "Both from threats, and when pilgrims ambush me with bullshit deduction games."

"I suppose," Amat said. He gestured towards the balance ball again. "But for now, the torture must resume."

Yang groaned. "You would have made a good Commissar."

"I've been told I'm bad at projecting my voice," Amat said. "Now get up there."

She obeyed, pain shooting through her leg once more. The worst was yet to come.

"Now," Amat said, "an Inquisitor comes to a planet suspected of harboring xenos…"


Yang finished physical therapy some hours later, with a headache to spare. She huffed, dressing for mess with the rest of her warband. The lying game was nearly worse than the recovery. Though her leg would doubtlessly recover before their arrival to Holy Terra, she pondered if she'd survive the politicking awaiting her on humanity's homeworld. I don't know how exactly the lying game is going to help with that, but Amat wouldn't have introduced it to me if he didn't think it was important.

A part of her that was both Yang and Emperor wanted to curse and say 'feth it all' and Speak, to cross her arms and thunder with full-throated righteousness that she had Arrived. That her words brooked no argument, and she would tolerate no dissent. That the Heart of Yang Xiao Long was holy writ.

She shivered. She was no stranger to violent, arrogant impulses, but now they came stained with golden thunder and pious fury. A deep breath. Emperor, center me. That she was praying to a part of herself helped none at all.

"Ready?" Amat asked, threading a muscular arm through his bomber's jacket. He looked as good as ever, but his shoulders were low. For Amat, this meant no more than a few millimeters, but Yang always noticed. He still struggled when it came to presenting himself socially. Even amongst her trusted few.

"Of course babe," Yang said, kissing his cheek. It's not my place to force the matter. But it was her duty to be seen amongst her friends and faithful.

They took mess in the Ascendant Dawn's main hall, a great empty space that was once a thriving concourse for the Woadian 111th. A meeting space, a great hall, a cathedral. Now it felt like a graveyard. She couldn't bear to visit the cargo holds.

The way to the main hall was long and winding and painful. She would not be seen using a cane. Or, Emperor fucking forbid, a wheelchair. It gave her an excuse to cling to Amat. A journey that she could pace out in thirty seconds took four grueling minutes.

Tonight, there was talking, the gentle notes of a stringed instrument. Yang smiled. They were gathered around the long table Laukr and Vulkmar's attendant serfs had set up, talking and poking at great plates of food. Caolin, Asgeg, Vadiik, Laukr, Vulkmar.

Just five. Colonel von Longinus and the Commissars were absent tonight, begging off to work on their project. They promised to attend the next. She frowned.

"Yang!" Asgeg said, waving to her with a tall glass of a frothing green liquid.

"Hey guys," she said, "sorry we're late."

"About time," Caolin said, "we didn't want to start without you."

"Speak for yourself greenling," Vadiik grunted, polishing off her plate. Also in recovery after her defense of Aesborough, she looked pale, thin, and hollowed. Yet her blue-gray eyes burned. Clad in simple pilgrim's robes with the sleeves rolled up, she looked out of place compared to the dark-skinned Woadians and towering Astartes.

"You don't have to wait for us," Yang said, painfully settling into her spot at the head of the table. "You're a growing girl, after all," she added, throwing Vadiik a beatific grin.

"Hah!" Vadiik barked, a thin smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "Saint or no, I'm not waiting for orders to take a shit."

Laukr strummed his instrument, patently ignoring the conversation as well as the tower of meats and starches steaming before him. Yang knew it would go cold before he touched it. Vulkmar had no such compunctions, tearing into a roast bird the moment she'd sat.

Seeing the Space Wolves out of their armor made them no less massive. They were enormous, hulking beings, clad in simple gray tunics that bulged and stretched from the bulk they contained. Their features seemed even more alien without their power armor to frame them. Their gigantism was more pronounced, distended heads and stretched features sitting atop necks that were more a pile of muscle than features in truth.

"Well some of us have respect for Living Saints," Caolin said.

"He's lying," Asgeg said. "He was procrastinating drinking his protein powder," she noted, nodding at the tall glass of green liquid beside him.

"Feh," Caolin sighed, caught.

Yang laughed. "It's part of the training regimen, Caolin," she said. "You have to."

"Don't be a whiny bitch," Vadiik concurred. Her glass was empty.

"Do it fast," Vulkmar provided between mouthfuls of meat and mjod. "Like a bandage."

"The lord astartes has commanded it," Yang said. She spoke too soon - a serf had placed her own drink before her. By Terra and Throne and Emperor, it smells like steaming sewage.

"I didn't know the astartes had culinary preferences," Caolin said.

Vulkmar barked out a laugh, food particulate spraying the length of the table. "Just us Vylka Fenryka!" He boomed.

Laukr sighed, lips frozen in their perpetual frown.

Caolin did as was bid him, gagging and choking the whole way through. He sat the glass down and retched. Asgeg pounded him on his back with her augmentic arm.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"There's a good lad, Lieutenant" Vulkmar said. "All of us need to be in top shape for Holy Terra." He eyed Amat. "Right, Amat?"

"Right," Amat said noncommittally, turning over his food with a fork.

"Terra," Laukr said, "is a pit of vipers." Quiet reigned in the hall. It wasn't often Laukr said anything at all, much less offered an opinion.

"Terra is holy and sacrosanct, Lord Astartes," Vadiik said.

"And it will be your deaths if you do not prepare yourselves," Laukr said. He hadn't moved at all, yet it still seemed like he towered over the old veteran. "Torbrand served there, amongst the Wolfblade. There were no less than seven assassination attempts upon the Belisarii. Bodies in the thousands."

"Laukr," Vulkmar grumbled into a drumstick. His seventh. "Your words are as welcome as a wet fart during lovemaking."

"He isn't wrong," Amat said. "Holy Terra is as much a deathworld as Fenris." Everyone turned to him, Yang included. Amat offering opinions - or stories about his time on Terra - was just as rare as Laukr's opining.

Vadiik grumbled.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Vadiik," Amat said. "It is no pilgrim's paradise, and 'pit of vipers' doesn't even begin to describe it. It is a place of terrible violence and choking smog. Dangers lurk everywhere, and we are to be thrust into the center of it."

"So drink your damn shake," Vulkmar said, a huge elbow nearly knocking Caolin off his seat.

Then they both laughed. Yang joined them.

"Sorry," Vulkmar said. "Still not used to socializing with so many humans."

"Well that's why we're here," Yang said, spooning up a massive forkful of pasta. "Team-building." The Colonel and the Commissars were the most common absentees, but they had a lot of bureaucracy to wade through before they got to Holy Terra. She still wanted them here.

"Aye, lass." Vulkmar said. He turned to Vadiik. "Laukr takes particular delight in wiping smiles from the faces of others. You'll handle Holy Terra well enough."

"I know that," Vadiik said. A pause. "I… just wish to complete my pilgrimage. I have served the Emperor for so many years." A growl. "I guess I was a foolish girl for thinking that it would be easy."

"Oh we'll make planetfall," Laukr said. "It's what comes after that concerns me."

"No one would attack us, right?" Yang asked, turning to Amat. "I'm… you know. Me."

Amat said nothing at first, gathering his words like he was packing a magazine. "You don't know that," he said eventually. "It's true that there are very few enemies of the Emperor on Terra, but that does not stop his faithful from making reckless, evil choices."

"Oh," was all Yang could think to say.

"They didn't see you, you know…" Asgeg said, flapping her arms like they were wings. "I…" she swallowed, eyes darting around the table quickly. Though she was a longtime compatriot of Yang, she still chose her words with care. "I can imagine there'd be some Inquisitors who might not believe in Yang's divinity."

My divinity.

Yang shook the thought away.

"Too right," Vulkmar concurred. "A slippery lot, they are. Vile too. Even the best ones," he added after Asgeg, Caolin, and Amat regarded him.

"I do wish Weiss could have joined us," Yang said. "The Lady Inquisitor," she clarified.

"She acquitted herself well during the Josephus campaign," Vulkmar allowed. "Or at least, that's what Torbrand said. But I wouldn't trust any of them," he said, leaning forward. "You had a close rapport with this Lady Inquisitor, but imagine someone her equal. Someone you do not know so closely. The power they wield, the suspicions they might harbor."

"Finally," Laukr drawled. "Wisdom from Vulkmar."

The table chuckled. Vulkmar did not.

"Oh, I'll clobber you for that one."

"Hm," was all Laukr could muster, his long lean features taught and unflinching. Instead of replying, he plucked at his instrument. His giant fingers seemed to strangle the instrument, but he still managed clean, sharp chords.

The conversation lapsed as they ate, tearing into their food with aplomb. Yang was lucky to have them, even though pangs of guilt stabbed at her from unfamiliar angles. Vadiik had fought like a cornered astartes to protect the citizens of Woadia from the heretics and xenos. In her simple, rough-hewn pilgrims' robes, she looked so much older than Yang remembered her. Now she had taken up her bolt pistol and chainsword once again to make pilgrimage to Holy Terra.

She chose to come with, Yang reminded herself. And she's making a valiant effort of getting back into fighting shape. Speaking of which…

Yang drained her protein shake, a vile slurry of aminos and medical compounds designed to aid in wound recovery and building muscle mass. The green slop churned in her stomach like it was alive, like it was trying to crawl back out her throat.

"Blurgh." She managed. Amat patted her shoulder. It would be a long journey to Holy Terra, and she didn't need her witchsight to see more terrible concoctions in her future. All I do for Emperor and Imperium, she thought to herself.

Laukr gave her pause as well. Despite his practiced, unshakeable dedication to a stoic veneer, conflict roiled within him. Yang considered herself something of an expert with those types, after all.

He was honored to be chosen, to be the bearer of Vigridrkonungr, to be a founding member of a Living Saint's warband. Yet his heart longed for Cadia, for his brothers in the Vylka Fenryka, for his masters Torband and The Blackmane. His soul burned, desperate to bare his fangs and perform the murder-make in the name of Rout and Imperium.

Yet here he sat, playing house with mere humans, a flippant Saint, and her Throne-damned Vindicare companion. Something terrible brewed here, the smell was all wrong.

Yang stopped eating, realizing too late she'd been drawn into the man's thoughts.. "Laukr," she started. "I'm sorry. You don't have to take your meals with us if you don't want to."

The instrument squelched. "Excellent," Laukr said, scooping up his food and storming out of the hall, his footsteps reverberating throughout the hall.

Vulkmar sighed. He drained his mjod, aware they were all looking at him.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said.

"What do you mean?" Yang asked. "I… thought I was being… I don't know… accommodating?" Dammit. Ruby was so much better at this shit than me.

Vulkmar chuffed. "You cannot 'accommodate' Laukr," he explained.

"He seems like a brat," Vadiik said.

"True," Vulkmar allowed, "but that isn't the whole truth of it. He was… taken quite young."
"Taken?" Yang asked.

"By the Choosers," Vulkmar said. "For glory amongst the Space Wolves. We actually underwent the Test of Morkai together. I was nearly a man when I took the Canis Helix. Laukr… Laukr was a boy of twelve winters."

"Twelve?" Caolin asked. "I could barely read when I was twelve!"

Vulkmar nodded. "The Chapter selects us for our killing prowess, scouring Fenris for great battles and blood-feuds. They choose only the most able."

"And he was on the battlefields at twelve?" Asgeg asked. "Even Cadians give their kids more time! What in the name of Holy Terra happened?"

Vulkmar shook his head. "He only told me once, before we were Vylka Fenryka in truth. The story of his choosing…" He grumbled. "Sorry, Side-Braids, I don't think it's my place to tell." A pause. "I'll say this," he decided, running a hand through his considerable beard. "Laukr may have come to the Chapter a boy. Seventy pounds soaking wet. Scared and angry and alone amongst a crowd of thousands… but he was the greatest killer of us all."

Yang saw glimmering Fenrisian fangs. She blinked away the sensation, and clapped her hands.

"Well," she declared, "he could stand to be a bit more friendly."

Vulkmar guffawed. "And that's the Emperor's honest truth! I've tried, but it's Torbrand that really understands him." He leaned forward once more, bending the table with his bulk, "Our Sergeant knew that Laukr cannot be 'accommodated'. You want my advice?"

Yang nodded.

"Order him to keep eating with us. Otherwise, you'll never see a single black hair on his head for the rest of the journey. I like you all," Vulkmar declared. "You're a good sort. But I would like to take meals with my brother. My friend," he added after a while. "Brat though he may be."


"What a cheery dinner," Yang grumbled, tossing her shirt onto their bed.

"Don't think too much of it," Amat reassured her.

Yang sighed. "I just feel at a loss sometimes."

"Be glad Vulkmar is more like the Woadians you're familiar with," Amat said. "Most astartes wouldn't even deign to acknowledge your friends. The Emperor blessed you with a friendlier Chapter."

"I know, I know," Yang said, sinking into his arms. He held her, running a hand through her hair. "It's just…" She put a hand on his chest. "Ever since… you know," she started, "I can see so much of a person. It just comes spilling over. But it hasn't made me any better at…" She couldn't find the word.

"Leading?" Amat tried.

"Something like that," Yang sighed. "I've always been a 'take it or leave it' kinda gal. What you see is what you get. I never compromised on who I was, I never put up a face. I… used to be in a bad place, I know that, but I always just tried to meet people as-is. Vulkmar's easy, but Laukr…"

"He's like Darron and Chera," Amat explained, sitting her down on their bed. "You don't see eye-to-eye on everything. And that's fine. You've been remarkably blessed to even find so many like-minded souls so far."

"Like you?" Yang asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Like I know how you're trying to deflect with humor," Amat said. He put some distance between them, no more than an inch. Enough to help her understand. "I wasn't lying about Holy Terra. You're… amazing," he said. He didn't even blush this time. "You're quick, you're funny, you're blunt and brutally honest. A peerless warriors, a sliver of the Emperor Himself. But that's the Yang Xiao Long I know. You cannot expect everyone to look at you the same way."

"I know that," Yang said. She offered her hand up, and Amat took it. It was calloused and pale and wonderful. She ran her thumb over his. "I know that. But I just… bah!" She rocketed upright, ignoring the pain that wormed its way up her leg.

"I… I… I burn!" She explained. "I feel incredible, all the time. Everything is so vivid and clear, and I want to run a hundred laps around the Ascendant Dawn all the time. I finally, finally feel like I belong somewhere. I understand the Imperium, the Emperor. Throne, I am Him," she said. "It's just so clear," she repeated. "And I guess it's just frustrating to see that not everyone can see that in me."

"You're pacing." Amat noted.

"Oh…" Yang said. "I guess I am." The pain reminded her as well, dull, red, angry. But duller than it had been a week ago. Than it had been only hours ago.

"You're recovering."

"I am," she admitted. "One little anti-tank mine." She shook her head.

"It was a meter across," Amat said. He was next to her. Emperor, he's fast. Slowly, awkwardly, he ran his hand down the side of her cheek, down to her neck. She shivered with glee. The caress was fumbling, clumsy, but it was Amat, so it was amazing.

"There was also the daemon prince," he noted.

"Him too," Yang admitted. She sank into him, feeling the whole of him. "That whole thing."

"I won't pretend to know how you feel," Amat said. "I still struggle with my own witchery. But…" He chuckled. The smallest, most Amat smile possible. "One annoyed astartes is only the start. The masses will love you, follow you to the galactic rim and beyond if you ask it. But it won't be toothy smiles and happy harvests every step of the way."

"Guess this is what I get for getting into politics," Yang joked. She pulled back. "'Toothy smiles and happy harvests'?" She asked.

Amat coughed. "Something from the Woadian pulp-prints, I think," he explained.

"Amat," Yang admonished. "Those get graphic!"

"That they do," he demurred, scraping at the stubble on his chin. Then a full, brilliant smile. Just for her. "But they pale in comparison to some thoughts I've heard from a certain Living Saint."

"Amat!" Yang exclaimed, flushing. His smile was already gone. "You're horrible."

"Yes," he said.

A long, quiet moment.

"Thank you," Yang said. He did not reply.

Terra loomed. Oh how it loomed, golden and horrid and beautiful. She pulled her boyfriend close.

But at least I'll have Amat.


A/N: Has it been a year already?

It's been a hell of a year. Lots of big life things happening… I even got paid for a piece of writing! It wasn't fiction, but it still felt like a huge milestone for me. I hope you all have been having a good one too - in this world of ours we all deserve something nice.

Speaking of which…

Today is a blessed day! Not only is it time for the annual AWoBE update, but today is also just a few days away from the release of Warhammer 40k: Darktide! An outstanding 40k FPS has been just out of sight for literal decades, and with double-digit hours in the beta, I can confidently say that it's finally here. There's definitely some performance issues, but being able to play as a guardsman acolyte for the Inquisition is a dream come true (for reasons you can probably guess)! Furthermore, the game was written by Dan Abnett of Gaunt's Ghosts fame.

In preparation for the release, I've been re-reading the series and WOW. They still hold up, but it also made me realize how much I plagiarized in the early stages of this fic. Granted, fanfiction is inherently derivative of other works, but uh… OOF. My bad. However, as A World of Bloody Evolution strays further and further from its core inspiration, I do have some more good news to share:

Despite my hectic schedule this year, I finally had time to sit down and really plan out how the rest of the story is going to go… as well as actually start writing it. I'm still planning to finish the fic before resuming regular updates… Although I always get stymied with particular chapters and the story ALWAYS grows with the telling (it's fanfiction, I can be as indulgent as I want), I'm pretty confident I can actually finish the rest of the story before the end of 2023.

I'm hoping to finish around late spring, but I sincerely doubt I'll be that fast. No matter what, I'll probably take a month to edit, revise, and polish what I've written, which will also delay things. Nothing less than my best, I promise.

If you don't hear a peep out of me by August-September, assume I hit the expected roadblocks, and you can get the full update on November 28th, along with a new chapter. No matter what, I WILL NOT MISS an anniversary update.

Again, I greatly appreciate your patience. This is, by a considerable margin, the largest work I've ever attempted, and likely ever WILL attempt. Without you, I never would have made it this far.

You guys are, truly, the best. 3

~RedrumSprinkles