Book Three: The Heart of Yang Xiao Long


Chapter 96: A Place Called Ruination

"[Strive] for victory. That is obvious. What may be less obvious is the nature of victory." - Attributed to Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves.

Laughter filled Maion's dreams. Her nightmares. Mocking and endless. She knew it to be She-Who-Thirsts. It was not the knowing laugh of the Harlequins, the sniggering, mocking snicker bolted to a twisted smile with too many teeth.

The Prince of Pleasure laughed to hear Herself laugh. To make Maion understand that there was no escape from Him.

Again and again, Maion watched the Tou'Her suffer, decay. Their faces melted, flesh peeling and sloughing. The soundtrack was more insipid laughter. And screaming. But there was comfort in their pain, in Maion's revulsion, in her burning hatred for the Dark God's mockery.

You haven't claimed me yet.

Not.

Yet.

The thought pierced the Dreamer's veil, and Maion awoke, the last remnant of her torturous dreams a long, lingering smile with full, moist lips.

Everything ached. She opened her eyes, but there was only blackness.

Where am I? I was… on a mission. The memories came.

Yang. Amat.

Grandmother.

Bregediel's son.

Maion rolled over and puked. She heard the bile splash across the floor, but could not see it. Her arm was on fire. She could still feel herself clawing bloody channels into it, feel her torn skin gathering under her nails, warm and wet.

What happened to me? She laid back on her bed. Plain wraithbone. No sheets or pillows. I am not possessed. Eldar did not suffer possession. If the warp reached for them in truth, She-Who-Thirsts simply took his long-awaited meal.

So what happened in the infirmary?

Light entered the room, and Maion's sight returned. It was an empty white cube, her bed nothing more than a raised platform. Above her, single red jewell pulsed warmly. No such place existed within the Tou'Her compound.

Must be somewhere on Il-Kaithe. An observation chamber of some kind. I am lucky to be alive. She must answer for her… outburst. Whatever its nature. Time to sit up.

Nothing happened.

Everything ached, but Maion knew that she must rise.

Nothing happened.

Her arm was aflame, unresponsive. Summoning her aura, she forced it to bear her weight.

Nothing happened.

But the stump of her right arm wriggled uselessly.


Yang stretched, working out the kinks in her muscles. The Ascendant Dawn's combat klaxon blared, a clamorous siren's wail that called her back to war. Back to what I'm best at. She grinned as Amat slipped inside their barracks.

"I know you're there, assassin-man," she called to the rippling slip of air.

"We've arrived," he said, materializing before her as the bulkhead slammed shut.

"So I've noticed," Yang said. "Ahead of schedule," she added. "Good." She returned her gaze to their armory shrine. "How are we on time?"

"We have some," Amat said. "The 111th is mobilizing."

She knew - she heard their prayers, their boots drumming against the hull of the Ascendant Dawn.

"There's also the Space Wolves," Amat said. "They've just pulled into orbit."

Yang's grun turned savage. Finally, space marines! A gleeful, childish glee ran down her spine. Her first chance to fight among the Emperor's Angels of Death, on her homeworld no less. She packed away questions like 'why are they here and not on Cadia', and 'why did I refer to Woadia as my homeworld' away for later. For now…

"Let's not keep them waiting," Yang said, sizing up her power armor, freshly donated by the Sisters of the Sacred Rose. "Zip a gal up?" She asked, jerking her thumb at it.

"What about the Tech-Priests?" Amat asked.

She shook her head. "I want you to do it," she said.

"Very well," he replied. He didn't look surprised.

Yang undressed, pulling off her sleeping clothes and tossing them into a haphazard pile. "Rude to leave a lady's bedside," she said absentmindedly.

"Haven't slept with any ladies recently," Amat said.

Yang chuckled. "You're mean, assassin-man." The light-hearted jab sounded… wrong. "Everything okay?" She asked.

"For now."

She turned to him. He averted his eyes, ever the gentleman. Not a hint of red showed in his cheeks. Padding over to him, she took his chin in her hand, turned his face towards hers.

"Amat," she said. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her, drinking her in. Just the way she liked. "The usual," he said eventually. She took his hand, placed it over her stomach, over the spider-web scar.

Yang leaned up and kissed him. Carrying his hand in her own, she moved it over her abs, over her hips, down the sides of her thighs and back again. His breath hitched, grew warm and wet. His fingers sank into her hips, his grip tightening, hard enough to make her melt.

"Amat," she hissed, pulling away to catch her breath. Now the assassin was as red as a lasbolt, pupils wide and utterly, singularly focused. Yang decided it was her favorite expression that he'd ever worn.

His grin turned sad, and the moment was gone. "You know this won't... fix anything, right?" He asked, breath dancing along her neck.

"I know," Yang said, fingers trailing through his short-cropped hair. "But like I keep saying, I'm bad at words." She ran her hands down his back, traced the muscles along his stealth suit.

"Things will make sense on Holy Terra," Amat allowed. He disengaged. Slowly. "Now, I believe someone has a ball gown to don." The attempt at humor rang hollow, but it still made her smile.

"True," she said, turning back to her armor. "Now, although I'd strip for ya at the snap of your fingers, I didn't get naked just for your benefit." A sly glance at Amat over her shoulder, an impish grin on her lips. His favorite one. "And I don't think the Wolves of Fenris will take 'getting frisky' as an excuse for our tardiness."

"Our?" Amat asked.

"We're landing together, of course," Yang said, approaching her armor. Opening a gauntlet plate, she pressed a big red button. The power armor unfolded like a flower, revealing the inner workings and the inch-long needles that ran along its spine.

"And you made this decision for me?" Amat asked, setting a hand on her waist as they stared at the armor.

"I…" It was her turn to blush. "I want to fight with you again. We make a good team. We don't have to, if you don't think it's a good idea."

"It isn't," Amat said. "But I was going to regardless of what you said. Only got three shells left."

"Better save 'em for something good," Yang said, breathier than she wanted. "Now let's get started." She filled her lungs, slowly, pensively. The excitement of Amat's touch faded. Now was not the time.

Now it was time for war.

Amat took her hands and laid her into the armor.

"Do it."

He pressed the button, and pain lanced through Yang as thousands of pseudonerves penetrated her skin and burrowed into her central nervous system. She screamed, crushing Amat's hand, fingernails digging into it, agony, agony, agony.

"Fuck!" She cried, eyes streaming salt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Amat held firm. Molten metal split her spine open, hollowing, digging, pulling, stretching. Every limb went limp, her vision blurred, her grip sagged, her tongue lolled out from between her lips as the power armor's systems rewrote her spinal cord to accept its brute-force interface.

"Hey Yang," Amat said as he stroked her hair. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

Yang gurgled, blinked. Yes, she tried to say. Scream. Please don't ever let go of me again.

"Good," Amat said. "I know this is a lot. We're gonna make it through. We're gonna make it. Together."

A final spike of pain sent convulsions through Yang, and her hands curled into claws before the world came back into focus. She panted, tried to catch her breath. Amat was still there.

"Saint thing not bothering you so much?" She asked, huffing.

He shrugged.

"Ha." She leaned back into her armor as the plates folded around her, sealing her into her armor. Small waves of agony pulsed through her, uncurling from her spine and settling into her extremities. Bite down. Push past. "You know… about this whole relationship thing," Yang said. "I've done some reading about Living Saints."

"You read?" Amat asked. The sarcasm was there, but the smile was not. He wasn't there quite yet.

"Ha." Yang managed. "Oh fuck. Ow. Don't make me laugh. And I've seen you reading the pulp-print the Woadians pass around."

Amat said nothing.

"Mhm, that's what I thought," Yang said. "Anyway. Living Saints. Got Laurentius to lend me a book. You know Saint Sabbat?" She asked. "Sabbat Worlds Crusade?"

"I've painted her before," Amat answered. "And my Lady... hails from one of the reclaimed worlds."

"No way Sabbat wasn't fucking Milo," Yang said, grimacing as a vicious, grinding pain crawled its way down her freshly-augmented spine. "I refuse to believe it."

"Your opinion on that matter might differ from Imperial authorities," Amat said.

"Well I'm a Saint too, so they can jump up their own asses." Yang said, finally making herself smile. Amat grinned too. There we go.

"You okay?"

Her teeth ground against each other, the sound like groaning metal. "Yeah. Still hurts like a bitch."

"It will for some weeks," Amat said, picking up the rivet gun. "We should have done a trial run."

"We thought we had more time," Yang said. "I'll live."

"Yes." After a quick breath, he pressed the rivet gun to the suit's seams. Like every motion that belonged to Amat, it was smooth and precise. A pleasure to watch. Quietly, a prayer tumbled over his lips. Unconscious, but spontaneous. An original composition.

The pain receded, now in low tide.

Once she was sealed inside the armor, he scooped up a golden pan full of molten wax, his other hand bearing a declaration of purity. Of wholeness and duty, a promise of salvation before the Golden Throne. Amat hung her sash over her cuirass and sealed it to her with the purity seal, the wax steaming softly.

Yang stretched her fingers, watched her armor respond. Every movement was smooth and perfect, her hand moving more quickly than she was accustomed to. Once more, the impish grin.

"You're pretty good at that for your first time," Yang said.

"I practiced while you were away," Amat explained. A gentle smile. "I knew you'd ask."

"I don't deserve you," Yang said.

"I'm exactly who you deserve," Amat said evasively, before settling back into placidity. "Ready?"

"Of course."

Freeing herself from the armor stand, Yang took her first steps. She was much taller than she was accustomed to, now eye-level with her boyfriend. And her body moved… weird. It felt like there was a constant, forceful wind at her back, an unseen not-aura complimenting her own.

"Whoa," she said, steadying herself on Amat's shoulder. His practiced countenance fractured.

"Ow," he wheezed between clenched teeth.

"Oh fuck," Yang cursed, removing her hand. "Emperor, are you okay?"

"Yes," he lied. "Just some minor bruising," Amat breathed, gingerly caressing his collarbone. "Major bruising."

"Sorry!" Yang said, reaching out for him before realizing what a terrible idea that was. An inch before impacting against his chest and shattering his ribcage, her hands flew back to her sides. She pinwheeled, the force of her attempted recovery throwing her balance. "Oh, fuck me!"

"You'll be able to fight?" Amat managed.

"Yeah," Yang said. "Gotta put it through his paces. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yes," Amat wheezed. "Gotta say, being eye-level with you… it's weird."

"I know!" Yang said, taking a careful step back, appraising him as she finally found her balance. Another grin. "At least I can do this now," she said, lunging forward. She caught the small of his back, dipping him down and pressing her lips to his.

They separated a moment later. Amat was half radiant, half terrified.

"Couldn't resist," she said, shrugging. Her pauldrons rolled with her shoulders, servos hissing and whirring with barely-restrained power. Emperor, I can feel it. Even something as small as a shrug carried the weight to crush a tank.

"Just glad you didn't snap my spine in half," Amat said, straightening.

"You're dangerous, assassin-man," Yang said, scooping up Ember Celica. "You keep distracting me from my holy duty."

Amat scoffed, but didn't reply.

Ember Celica fit around her wrists just as Weiss promised. They'd always been a comforting weight, but now Yang couldn't even feel them. And now the last bit, she thought.

Ember-In-Glory sat waiting, a gauntlet at either side of her armor stand. Their weight had sank them into the barracks floor, straining against the riveted steel. She donned one, then the other. Twisting the interfacing support-grips within the weapons, she sealed them to her arms, grunted as the internal suspension locked onto her power armor.

Now there's some weight.

"Hup!" She cried, settling into a fighting stance. The gauntlets obeyed immediately. Pulling her elbows close and rotating her wrist, she racked Ember-In-Glory, a meaty shick-shack-chunk her answer as the bolter shells fell into place.

"Oh hell yes," she purred.

"Emperor," Amat said under his breath.

Unbidden, her servo-skulls activated, floating into place behind her head. They formed a slowly-rotating circle, a secondary halo made from the Imperium's finest. Activating her aura, she let her wings fill the barracks, dousing her home in flickering, golden light.

"You're forgetting something," Amat said.

Yang's smile fell. "I... wanted to leave it behind." Weiss' relic was the last item within the armory. The golden disk called to her. Through it, she saw Him. Weiss too.

"You can leave it if you want," Amat pointed out.

"No," Yang said, stomping over to the shrine. Her steps were forceful, sudden, her knees rising higher than she intended. "It's…"

"It's not hers any more," Amat said.

"I know." As delicately as she could, Yang looped the golden chain around her neck, let the relic rest against her cuirass. It was warm. It felt like holding a canteen of steaming coffee, like holding her sister on a rainy day on Patch. It felt like she had on White Horses. Ember-In-Glory settled atop the relic. Held it.

I won't fail you. She took a deep breath.

"Come on gorgeous," Yang said, shooting Amat a brilliant smile. "Let's go fuck shit up."


Once more, the Ascendant Dawn's landing bay resounded with the clamor of the 111th readying for war. Battle-chants rang off the towering walls, officers barked orders, loader-servitors hauled supplies, and enginseers droned in binary cant, readying the regiment's wargear. This time, however, Yang was not among the sweltering press, nor cramming herself into a cramped lander.

Not yet at least.

Yang strode through the tumult towards Colonel von Israfel, the 111th parting before her. They bowed and prayed and clasped their hands, wove their hands through her effusive gold-flame wings and marveling that they were not burnt. They saw Ember-In-Glory and touched its fingers reverentially, their hands barely enough to close around its pinky.

Amat followed, uncloaked. No one stopped him or asked his purpose - the exitus rifle he carried spoke to his duty.

The Saint waved to her faithful, patted their shoulders, shared hugs and fistbumps. She passed Commissar Neuhoff, who nodded respectfully. Today, he and the other Commissars knew they were useless - each Woadian burned with righteous hatred, their eyes alight, their jaws set and teeth grinding.

Woadia was aflame.

Lorl held the standard aloft, let it tower triumphantly over the assembled guardsmen. As ever, a twisted blue navy-blue astartes helm was pierced atop it, followed by the long black banner of daemon-killers. But the flag of the 111th had changed - now fully black and bearing a gold-weave trim, the regiment numbers had gained a bladed halo, and was circled by the words 'All Hail the Living Saint Yang Xiao Long'.

At the center of the landing bay, the Colonel, Major Dagfinsson, and the Captains of each company awaited her. Unlike the enlisted, they saluted sharply, heels snapping together to greet the Saint.

"All hail!" They belted out. Their eyes flicked to Amat, but they said nothing. It was possible they didn't even know what he was.

"At ease boys," Yang said, returning the salute casually as she sauntered up to the impromptu command station. Situated by the Colonel's lander, a handful of holographic displays and vox stations served as the regiment's temporary command hub. "What's the situation?" She asked.

Colonel Longinus von Israfel frowned, lines drawing his face tight. "Woadia fares capably given the circumstances. Battle rages across its primary continent - Akuri. Imperial forces are holding the line, but they're thinning."

"First time I've heard astartes described as 'thin'," Yang said, crossing her arms.

"They showed up aboard the Sonatorrek an hour before us," Longinus explained. "And they just made planetfall. Currently, our plans are to follow them in. 'Shock and Awe' is the astartes specialty, and I believe it'd be wise to exploit any opening they create."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Yang said. "Where'd they land?"

"Well behind enemy lines," the Colonel said, fiddling with a dataslate. "I'm not a native Woadian, so my geography is a bit rusty." He grunted, trying to make sense of the high gothic ciphers he received from the defense forces.

J burbled something, its mechanical eye humming to life and spitting out a holographic projection of Woadia. Collecting information from the nearby cogitators, battle-lines emerged on the map, followed by hundreds of icons that showed which unit was stationed where, and how it was faring.

"Didn't know it could do that," Yang said, just as bewildered as the command staff. I guess just having it dispense cigars wasn't fancy enough.

"Helpful regardless," Major Dagfinsson assured her. Thin-faced and with hard, squinty eyes, he was every inch the opposite of his predecessor. He scraped his well-trimmed ash-white beard, deep in thought.

Yang returned her attention to the map. One grey-blue icon was marked with the sigil of the Space Wolves, and was indeed far behind the front. Near a city labeled 'Aesborough'.

A pit opened in her stomach. She wanted to believe it was a coincidence, but Yang had shed her naivete a while ago. Replaced it with a halo and a pair of wings.

A purpose.

"Those bastards," She hissed, tasting cinders in the back of her throat, her eyes flickering red.

"Holiness?" the Colonel asked, sweat lining his forehead.

"I…" Yang swallowed the rage, so easily summoned. "I'm from there," she said, pointing at the city. The officers said nothing. "Sorry," she said, shaking her head, ignoring the gentle flames that licked at it. "Keep going."

"Our condolences, Holiness," Longinus said. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself. "Let us continue." He tapped the Space Wolves' icon. "According to the Captain of the Sonatorrek, their only astartes complement was single Pack. A lone tactical squad, in more standard terms." He paused, finger hovering over the map. "The Captain said they made planetfall outside Aesborough. Directly atop a heretic main operating base that supports a number of enemy FOBs across the Akuri front."

"They landed directly on a base?" Yang asked. "They didn't get shot down?"

"Drop pods," the Colonel answered. "Much harder targets than landers. All landed intact, but the status of the heretic base - and the astartes - is unknown for now. Given this, I think our LZ should be east of their current position, which should allow us to assist the Space Wolves in their assault on the MOB."

"Sounds good to me," Yang said. She'd prefer a closer drop, but there was a chance AA defenses would still be online - and the 111th had endured their fair share of hot landing zones. Emperor, watch over them today.

A thought occurred.

"Did the Sonatorrek's Captain tell you why they're at Woadia?" She asked. "Hell, the Iron Hands hadn't even arrived at White Horses before we departed. We had to rescue-" she paused, biting down the name 'Ohma'. "An STC on our own."

"I was told that information was 'need-to-know'," the Colonel answered. He scoffed. "Rude, considering our holy mission." A sigh. "It hardly matters. The Emperor's will - and yours - have brought us providence, though their numbers are quite low."

"How many marines exactly?" Yang insisted.

"Five."

Yang huffed, watching the Space Wolves' icon flicker on the holographic map. Crazy bastards. Five men - astartes - against the Emperor knew how many heretics.

"Alright," she said. "So we support the Space Wolves. What happens then?"

"Aesborough," the Colonel explained. "The heretics are using the occupied Aesborough as their command center for the invasion," the Colonel continued. "There's… disturbing reports of what's happening inside the city. A few cells of Woadian resistance are still active in the area, but they went dark a few days ago."

Fucking Chaos. She could feel her fists tightening, Ember-In-Glory rattling with the power of a thousand supercharged servos.

"Any idea what we're up against?" She asked, forcing her jaw open to keep her teeth from grinding.

The Colonel pointed at a few blood-red icons grouped together in Asterheim. "Besides the usual hordes of unwashed cultists," he said, "they have professional regiments in reserve and along the front lines. They're Lost and Damned - heretics bred, trained, and blooded in the Eye of Terror itself. Their exact origin and regiment are unknown. They also brought along an army of xenos soldiers - the exact race is unidentified, but resistance forces call them 'Maðkurgangr' - the Worms that Walk."

"Hm," Yang grunted, biting down the churn of disgust that sat in her metal belly. Woadia, defiled by chaos-cursed xenos. Aesborough too. She remembered the weeks she'd spent in the city as she awaited the Ascendant Dawn. Walking amongst its people, marveling at the Grand Cathedral, watching the supply ships soar into space.

Back then, she found the Imperial Cult distasteful at its best. Evil at its worst. A year later, it thrummed within her, calling for her to cleanse her homeworld. Submit there heretics and xenos to holy purgation.

She didn't know what to make of that.

"Our current objectives," Longinus continued, "are to assist the Space Wolves while they cripple the heretic leadership in Aesborough, then build a two-way defensive perimeter around the city in the event heretic regiments collapse inwards in an attempt to preserve their command structure. Between our landings and the existing pressure, we should be able to cripple the entire invasion. Is there anything else you'd like to add?" the Colonel asked.

"Nope," Yang said, their earlier talk fresh in their minds. She forced herself to wear a reassuring grin. They deserved it. "I trust you," she told them. "Be on your toes down there, and don't be afraid to hit me up when you need some heavy artillery," she said, tapping her microbead.

"We will," the Colonel said.

"Excellent," Yang said, her smile turning true. Turning savage. Turning to the 111th, she raised Ember-In-Glory. "To Woadia!" She bellowed, her vox-enhanced voice booming across the landing bay.

"WOADIA!" Came the response.

"ÀUH!" Yang cried, crumpling the hull with a stomp.

"ÀUH!" They cried. "ÀUH! ALL HAIL THE EMPEROR! ALL HAIL THE LIVING SAINT YANG XIAO LONG!"


A/N: I feel realllly bad about delaying the introduction of the Space Wolves for another chapter, but I promise you it's gonna be worth it. I tried combining this chapter with the next, and it did not work at all.

Big shout-out to MrDarth151 of Spacebattles for helping me out with this chapter (and like, the next four chapters to come). I really needed a sounding board for the 'Return to Woadia' arc, and he was a tremendous help.

Other than that, sorry this chapter took a while to release. Lots of things I wanted to be absolutely sure of before I committed!

Next time…

Well, you'll see. ;)