Author's Final (?) Note:

I am incredibly thankful to all y'all that have supported this story over its writing, and sent the encouraging and constructive reviews, PMs, etc... to keep me going. It's been a slog for me to write this puppy, but not I can put it to pasture like Old Yeller. Just kidding. With this done, I will try to focus a bit more on the Mass Effect crossover to get that back on track.

So let's talk about Naestra and Aarahan- Google "Wood Elves Sisters of Twilight." that will answer SO MANY complaints/questions. I straight ripped those two from Fantasy-verse, because I love the lore of them, and I feel this is a similar-enough origin story to bring them back since they got dropped by the Axe of Sigmar.
Also, since I know a lot of people want to know about what happened to Jadus, I leave you a few clues:
1) Seeker returns soon after his departure, which he said was to leave the planet, and says that there was some Imperial official's private shuttle went boom
2) reread number 1
3) Arahan referenced killing the man who tortured her mother. If you go back to Jadus' arrival in the building, he had a fancy gun that burned her.
4) Helsing mentions "explosives level the playing field"
5) read number 4, then reread number 1
Hope that clears up some of the mystery

A woman gets a name in this chapter.

And then there is the "Kill" order from Helsing. No spoilers anymore, so here's what that was. The daemon was about 99% in control at that point, but Louk's soul was still there. Helsing needed that to be crushed so that the daemon could assume full control. Because you can't kill something if it isn't entirely there. He needed that daemon 100% invested in the body so he could Smack it.

Reviewers-

TichePotato- Glad you loved it!
CannonsAreBetterThanOrganGuns- ALL THE TRADEMARKS! Glad you caught the reference. It is about as subtle as mud on a white door, but only if you know the Fantasy Lore. The Stormcast story is going to be great once I finish the other five thousand stories I have in progress (obviously not all on site)
ErnestShippinglane89- The prequel idea would be interesting, but I already have too much planned to try and write that out. I can promise you that this won't end in pure darkness, but I can't guarantee there won't be a couple more emotional gut punches in this epilogue.
Shaddowrunner22- but that was 2 words... :D. It was incredibly brutal to write. But don't worry, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Muricamatthewx- She wasn't talking about Louk. see the above notes.
Malgrath- Well, she wasn't really a "Saint." But faith has its own power in the Warhammer universe. And no, Helsing is not the Emperor or what not. I'll keep looking into the Bloodborne Lore. If i get enough time off, I'll probably start streaming Youtube walkthroughs while working on other stuff just to absorb the background.
AzraelvonGruber- Dreadnought. Definitely Dreadnought. or a servoskull with those little confetti poppers. Lol
ksgrip- Well, this is going to be a series, so Arahan isn't just a "k here bye" character. Also, Star Child? I mean, I was hinting since Chapter 1 that he was not a normal human, but I never made him that powerful. And as for the Eldar response, see above notes. It's Warhammer, the human-eldar relations aren't going to go all swanky just like that. Last note, pretty sure if your mother died in childbirth after she had been raped (because there is no way in hell the Eldar are going to admit that was consensual) and you finally found the man who had 1) raped your mother, 2) abandoned her to die in childbirth, 3) got possessed by a daemon and murdered all his friends, 4) created a human-Eldar hybrid which definitely would be considered an abomination by the Eldar... it would be poor writing to NOT have resentment there. That being said, I completely understand the desire for a happy ending. But to be honest this story was never going to have a happy ending. I never had that planned. I apologize that it frustrated you.
Lord Mortem- eh, you aren't the only one. It was a calculated risk, but I feel sufficiently acquainted with math that I believe it will, down the road, make up for itself.
Mitchellsy- Woo!
Disciple of Ember- "He's mine" is entirely vague on purpose. It could have been Anna, or it could have been something (or someone) else. Yes, Penance is mentioned to have died on Armageddon. Don't worry, it will make sense. Also, YES. YES. OH MY GOD SOMEONE NOTICED THE DUALITY OF THE TWINS REFLECTING THE TWO OTHER ELDAR. Haaaaaaaaugh. Thank you for noticing. It's almost like that was ANOTHER hint about the relationship between the witch and Lidrana.
Mittyjimmy- Quite possible
SomeGuyOverHere- WHAT ARE THOOOOOOOSE!
Anon- Dunk'er's death sucked to write. Anna's was even worse.
Mr Bones- I had one person draw some sketches of the characters before. That was probably the most humbling thing that's come out of this story for me. Having someone draw my characters and solidify their images was incredibly exciting. I posted their tumblr name a while back. Haven't gotten permission from them to post the imgur links for their work yet, so I haven't linked those.
tmroc725- Penance died at Armaggedon, as far as Louk knows. Dunk'er and Anna were two of my favorite characters in this story, and I loved all my peeps. While I feel I was unable to give them all the screentime they deserved, I loved every single person I put into this story. Except Jadus. Fuck that guy.
Guest- YUP. How do you think I got myself in the mood to write this chapter?
odd0neout- Eh, Arahan might win you over eventually. She's certainly the 'more Eldar' half of the twins.
AkRuiner- Yes, now that this story is done I am going to try and blitz that story to catch it up a bit. I've been working on it too, just wanted to get this bad boy done first.
AyeJimmy123- The Noiceest of Noices! That's what ending this story felt like.
kenshin327- Helsing is a character that's fought evil so long he doesn't really have a 'good vs evil' outlook anymore. He has a 'get it done vs won't work' outlook. Though, after tens of thousands of years fighting the same asshole daemon, you'd probably only care about ending it, no matter the cost.
ManwithaPlan113- Oh yes, the feels train!
Nox- Their deaths will always be remembered!

Now, for the Epilogue

It was done.

Helsing stood over the corpse, expressionless, eyes fixed on the unmoving corpse. He had felt its death. He had heard its screams. The Warp itself had recoiled, a screeching wave of fury and terror spilling outwards, driving its presence away, sending the gathering shoals of daemons fleeing for safety. The rippling tide of the Warp's retreat had sucked the air from his lungs, drained the power from his soul, flaying him to the bone as reality struggled against the Immaterium's wound.

It was a thing that had not been done in millenia. It was a terror of myth that even the Neverborn feared. Death was anathema to them. They could be defeated, they could be banished, they could be trapped into constructs and bound as slaves. But they were not supposed to die. They were immortal, eternal. Souls tethered to an existence that defied the very concept of beginning and ending.

Reaper was dead.

But its death had not been clean.

It had lasted a fraction of a second, barely the blink of an eye as Helsing's unholy blade had cleaved the daemon's spirit into a thousand fragments. For that terrible, confusing moment, the daemon had lost control. Louk's soul had poured back into its consciousness, burying the daemon in the pure rage of humanity that the daemons could only hope to achieve. That was the moment the blade had pierced him, it. That was the moment the daemon had died.

Kicking the body over, Helsing stared down at the bloodstained, torn body of Louk Shannegh. Bones shattered, muscles stretched and torn, expression twisted in a macabre snarl. He had known it would come to this, of course. He had known it since the day the screaming child emerged from the womb of the stimm-addicted joy girl deep in the bowels of Flostak Hive. A man destined for ruin, born to be consumed, destroyed.

If time had not numbed him from the horrors of guilt, he might have wept for Louk Shannegh.

"Well done, my friend" he offered, as fitting an epitaph as he could bring to mind.

It was a shame, truly. This had been perhaps the most enjoyable team he had worked with in his long lifetimes. Better than the legionnaires, certainly. Or the Knights Templar. The First Hand. Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. The Terra-born Luna Wolves. They had been master warriors all, experts in destruction and death and everything he had needed, time and time again. The worst time, he had needed an army at his side, with the Legio Mortis and ten thousand servants of the Mechanicum.

All he had needed this time was a martyr, a fool, a pariah and a damned Ogryn.

His right hand cracked, bones reknitting as his savaged limb drew back together. The spell had cost him. He had know it would. Harnessing the power of the Old Ones, the gods before gods existed, was no feat a mortal could dare to accomplish. The slivers of agony continued to flitter across his nerves, sparking and biting like a thousand poisoned blades. In time, that would fade. Everything faded. Everything passed away.

Chambering a pair of rounds into his storm bolter, he stalked towards the still twitching, struggling form of Penance. A great chunk of her side had been torn away, swept from her body by the Reaper's blade. Blood frothed on her lips as she lay near-unmoving, eyes gazing pitifully up at him. She would die soon, in agony.

"The faith of humanity" he mused, gazing down at the dying woman with intrigue. "Now, that surprised me. Oh, for the faith to move mountains. I used to think that was a pithy saying, empty words meant to encourage the weak." The storm bolter rose, and he sighted on her chest. At point blank range, her armor would mean nothing. "I would say you have earned your Penance. What do you think, Cariad?"

Her lips moved slowly. A strained wheeze slicked out, stirring the froth and blood oozing down her chin. Drooping ominously, her eyes closed, and her head lolled to one side. The shallow rise of her chest became the only indication of life remaining. Helsing sighed, not out of regret, but disappointment.

The las blast struck the side of his face, shearing flesh and bone in a blinding flare of red. Staggering, Helsing turned outwards of the shot, lifting a warding arm to protect himself. Getta stood at the edge of the clearing. Dried blood coated her hands and arms, stained the legs of her trousers from assisting Mullison with the wounded. Exhaustion and terror had reduced her pretty face to a gaunt, haunted expression. Eyes wide and brimming with tears, she held her laspistol in a trembling shooter's stance.

"What… what are you" she shouted, sounding so far away. "Monster!"

"That," Helsing reached up with his unarmored hand to inspect the wound. The flesh throbbed, blood congealing and filling the wound as his body pulled itself back together. "Was rude."

"What did you do" she demanded. The laspistol barked again, shooting wide in her panicked hands. She flinched, but did not lower the weapon. "You're one of them! You're a monster."

He did not deign to reply. Hooking the storm bolter into its holster, he flicked the activation stud on his powered gauntlet. A jolt rippled through him as the powerfist crackled to life. Still silent, he strode forwards, his expression stretching into a threatening glare.

"Stop!" She fired again. The bolt struck his breastplate, doing no damage. "Don't come closer."

Again, she fired. And again. Her shots struck his armor, flew wide, punched into his healing arm. It made him hurt. It made him angry. He drew closer, close enough to count the tears pouring down her face as she began to shuffle backwards, horror spreading like a plague across her expression.

"No." Her voice dwindled to a terrified whimper as a lucky shot caught him in the throat. He staggered, balance wavering. The wound began to close.

The bolt shell slammed into her gut, punching her off her feet. Getta's body slammed into a tree, slid to the ground, and went still. Her laspistol slid from her nerveless fingers.

Turning stiffly back to the shooter, Helsing raised an eyebrow in wonder. Cariad dropped the bolt pistol, letting the weapon clatter against her armored thigh. Her energy spent, she slumped to the ground, eyes dimming as the last bit of life seeped from her body.

"Well then," he muttered. "Perhaps there is more use out of you."

Striding back to her body, he stooped to a knee and put a bare finger against her lips. There was still breath.

Incredible.

"You just don't want to die, do you?" He pushed her head to the side, inspecting her for signs of cognition. "After all these years, you continue to impress."

"Let-" Blood spilled out of her mouth, and the woman wretched painfully. Her words were a whisper on the wind. "Let me die. I… served."

"A moment ago and I would have honored that request." He chuckled humorlessly. "No, Cariad. You may still have some use."

"Please…" tears spilled down the woman's cheeks. "Haven't… done enough?"

"You will be done when I say you are" he snapped, his patience rapidly thinning. Placing a hand on her forehead, he reached out into the veil, grasping at the weakened recesses lingering about the site. It was like pulling water with a sieve, but he found the strength he needed. The cold poured over her body, blueing her skin, freezing her body into ice. The last expression remained, the weeping horror and guilt of a broken heart. He admired that for a moment; the artistry of her features was truly inspiring.

When he had time, he would come back for her. But there was still much to do.

Leaving the ice-bound body behind, he fetched the last piece of the puzzle. Louk Shannegh's corpse. The little fleck of glowing blue stole his attention, captivated him as he bent down to inspect it. A soulstone, embedded in his chest. The stone had melted flesh and bone, infusing itself into the body. Interesting, he mused. A parting gift from the man's most spiteful enemy. He ripped it free of the body and slipped it into a pouch on his belt.

Grabbing Louk Shannegh's corpse by the collar, he dragged it away from the field. It had somewhere to be, and his time was running out.

-v-

The Eldar stood in ranked battle lines.

A hundred warriors of the Dire Avenger Aspect Shrine stood tall and proud, their shuriken catapults held at the read, plumed helmets motionless as they waited orders. Striking Scorpions lurked in the shadows, prowling for any dangers that might threaten the strike force, their movements nearly invisible to the naked eye. At the foot of the Webway portal itself, five Dark Reapers scanned the skies, watching with a hunter's patience for any signs of the enemy.

Helsing looked down on it and fought the urge to laugh.

It would not have been nearly enough.

"It is finished" a voice said, echoing through the xenos speaker on its armor.

He turned to the speaker, and strode closer, dragging the corpse behind him. "You lied to me."

"I gave you the truth." The Eldar turned to offer its dismissive stare. Ancient by even the standards of their own race, this Farseer was a true relic of the past. A perfect symbol for the race itself. Ancient, crumbling, but so very dangerous and powerful.

"What you gave me…" he tossed the body to the ground before the Farseer, "was fuck all."

"It is not my duty to ensure you understand what you are given." A mocking chuckle emerged from the Eldar.

"You speak like a child" the Inquisitor growled.

"And you understand like one" came the sharp, violent reply. The Farseer's eyes glowed for a moment as his calm slipped, offering a glimpse to the untold power hidden in his soul. Down on the plain, warlocks glanced up at the two figures on the hill, their battle senses tingling. Seeing no danger to their leader, they resumed their duties. "You have walked this galaxy since the dawn of your species, yet you still make demands of things you cannot know. You grasp at power beyond your grasp, and weep when it eludes you. Truly, if you are the eldest of your kind, then there is no hope for humanity, if this is what they could only aspire to."

Lifting his unarmored hand, Helsing pointed at the Farseer, backed by a murderous glare. "I will find the one who gave this prophecy, and then speak to me about power beyond my grasp."

The words were meant as a threat, as a challenge. Instead, the Farseer's mocking laughter grew louder. "So sure of yourself, and yet you are so blinded with mon'keigh pride that you fail to know your own desires." The Eldar raised a thin hand and pointed down, towards his belt. "You wish to commune with the speaker of the words? There she is, Son of Blood."

His eyes drew to the glowing soulstone. Plucking it free of the pouch, he held it up, inspecting the fallen soul with hesitation, confusion.

"Lidrana was a bright star on our Craftworld" the Farseer continued. "Even as a child, her talent for foresight and divination could not be denied. When she came of age, there was no question she would take the Path of the Seer. And for an age, she served in the ranks of warlocks and seers with admirable skill. Had she remained on the path, I know she would now sit on the Council of Ulthwe."

"But she had no potential. Her psychic presence was dulled, stifled."

The Eldar's cruel smile faded into disgust. "She bore a child, and in the pains of birth she experienced a vision. It was… unfortunate, the she foresaw the life of her child from beginning to ending. This vision tormented her, so much that she approached the Council and demanded action, demanded an explanation." The disgusted sneer shifted focus from Helsing to the Eldar himself. For a long moment, the Farseer remained silent. "Of course, I could not tell her why her daughter would be… sacrificed. Nor could I explain to the Council the nature of the threat she would face. Regardless, to interfere in one's own fate is forbidden. It took little effort to convince the Council that she was a danger to the Craftworld. And so Lidrana was offered an ultimatum. She could remain on the Path of the Seer and surrender her child, give it away and banish it from her mind. In doing so, she would be allowed to continue her service to the Craftworld."

"And if she did not?" He stood quietly, listening to the Eldar's words with a mixture of anger and solemnity. It was rare for any Eldar to admit something so… scandalous. This was almost a confession.

A sigh as soft as the breeze rattled from the Farseer's lungs. "She was stripped of her power. We sealed it inside her, locking it away so that none could ever open it, and banished her from the Council's presence. An outcast in all but exile, she spent years wandering out Craftworld seeking a way to protect her daughter from her fate. It was… pitiful. Obsession, blinding her from the very truth that a seer must accept. When she entered the temple of the Howling Banshee, I dared hope she had accepted her fate. But she had not. She never did. For some time she trod the Path of the Banshee, until the fated time drew near. We had thought her lost in the battlelust of Khaine, only for her to relinquish her wargear and leave the Temple for the Dire Avenger Shrine. It was there she was reunited with her daughter, as a protector. And together, now, they die. Can you imagine that? Living your life knowing exactly what would happen to your child. Knowing the tragedy that would befall them, and being helpless to prevent it? How could you possibly understand?"

"I understand that far better than you could imagine" Helsing muttered, glancing down at the corpse at his feet. "And what of the other, the daughter?"

"Her fate was sealed the day she drew breath." A hard edge crept back into the Farseer's voice. "The birthing will finish her. The taint in her womb will cause her great agony before she passes."

"You don't seem bothered. I thought all Eldar were precious" the Inquisitor mocked, enjoying this moment where the most ancient of Eldar was caught at a disadvantage.

"Auriel was never well-gifted to begin with. Her powers were so much lesser than her mother's" the Farseer insisted. "Still, every loss is a tragedy that your pathetic mind could not comprehend. But I also know the pain and suffering that would have been heaped upon us should the daemon have broken free. It was a..." hesitation stopped the Eldar, and he took several shallow breaths as the words struggled to form. "It will not happen again."

"No," Helsing said proudly. "It won't. Now then, we still have one more matter before this deal is completed."

Kicking the body over, Helsing stabbed his finger accusingly at Louk Shannegh's body.

"His soul. You will put it back."

"No."

The Farseer spoke the word softly, devoid of emotion. It struck the Inquisitor like the blast of a battle cannon. Helsing swayed, digesting the word, his mind spilling into a blur of responses so viciously that he could not pick one. So he settled with the simplest.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you, though?" The Eldar stepped closer, looming over the corpse. "Are you, truly? You know what they called you, do you not? The Coward. The Betrayer. Do you know what I despise the most about your kind, Firstborn? It is that your kind had the potential to do what we could not. I was told the tales many times. The mon'keigh shamans, master of the Warp, powerful enough and wise enough to realize that the daemons were coming to consume them all. Your precious God-Emperor, created out of the death of all. A being to be so pure and powerful that he could protect the galaxy itself from the Neverborn. And he would have. Mon'keigh could have done it. But you ran away."

"I did not run" Helsing snarled.

"Refused, ran away, abandoned your fellows." The Eldar shrugged his ancient shoulders. "The word matters not. But when the essence of every shaman drew together to create the Abomination, it found itself lacking the last piece. The one piece that would have finished it, completed it as a perfect, unimpeachable being. That was you, Firstborn. By your act of cowardice, humanity's greatest weapon, their most perfect tool, was broken before it had even been made. The wisdom of the Firstborn Shaman. That was what he lacked. That is why all of this has come to pass."

"It is always easy," Helsing stated, drowning his temper through sheer will, "to judge the actions of the past. You were not there."

"Had I been, I might have stepped on the newborn's neck. Saved the galaxy from the scourge humanity would become."

"It was not my place." His anger drained, and suddenly Helsing felt very, very tired. It crashed down on him now, the weight of all that had occured. He laughed weakly, startling the Eldar. "Fifty thousand years. I fought this battle for fifty thousand years. Gods, I am so tired of it."

"For that alone, I honor your battle." The Eldar bowed stiffly. "And for that alone, I offer you this."

Sweeping his staff out over the plain, the Farseer indicated the two long humans standing amidst the Eldar strike force. Mullison the medicae, standing nervously with a pair of Dire Avengers beside him. Eulogy Jones, her shattered body lifted into the air by the xenos technologies of the Eldar, bonesingers clustered around her broken frame. The Farseer made a sharp cutting gesture with his staff, and the bonesingers went to work.

"Enough blood has been shed today. They are allowed to live."

"It would be easier to kill them" Helsing muttered.

"Yes, but you have lived long enough without the consequences of your actions. They live, Shaman. That is my condition."

The Inquisitor snorted. "You held me in your debt for ten thousand years, and this is what you demand? The lives of two humans?"

"I demand the guilt of their survival." The Farseer's eyes flashed. "They will remind you what you sacrificed. What horrors you committed to bring this moment to pass. I desire that you face it every day. That you dwell in the memories of the burned worlds, the forsaken trusts. You are a monster, Abraham van Helsing. And I wish you to remember that every day until fate cuts you down and you are no longer able to return to your mortal shell."

"Fair enough."

The damning words meant little to him. He would forget them soon enough. The particulars rarely remained. In two hundred years, they would all be shadows in the memory of the moment he killed the daemon.

"Do you wish to know why" the Farseer asked.

"Why you're a lying son of a bitch and you are stepping out of your deal?"

The aged Eldar drew his staff forward and laid the butt against the corpse's chest. "I cannot return that which has not been taken. His soul remains."

"That's impossible. I watched it die."

"You saw what you desired to see." The Eldar's eyes narrowed, a contemplative look creasing his expression. "In that last moment, it was not the daemon that wished you dead, was it? You are so intent on making plans with plans, but you lack the finesse to order them, to protect yourself from your own intentions. His hatred binds him to this shell. Were you to return that lift to his body, he will kill you."

Helsing frowned, studying the body. "If his hatred saves his soul, it is a small price to pay. Besides, he will not remember any of this."

"You intend to take him to Titan?"

"They will purify his soul."

"Yes, through much fire and tribulation." The Farseer's words were filled with genuine curiosity. "I find myself asking, just what has this man done to you that you have decided to make him suffer so?"

Helsing stared down at the corpse. He did not speak for several minutes as a confusing emotion reared its head inside him. An emotion he had drowned ages ago, buried in the sand, locked in a steel cage, cut out of his heart and mind as efficiently and ruthlessly as he could.

A tear spilled out of his eye.

"He was born."

"So the sins of the father must be visited upon the child tenfold?"

Helsing glared up at the Farseer, and tossed the waiting Farseer the soulstone. "I see we are all hypocrites today."

"Yes." The Farseer inspected the soulstone in silence. The weight of the Eldar's sorrow spread like an oppressive blanket. Abruptly the Eldar pocketed the soulstone and turned to leave. "My forces will leave this planet now. Do not follow. If I see you again, I will kill you."

"You can try" Helsing growled, a feral grin spreading across his face. The grin faded as the Eldar retreated down the hill. At an unheard psychic call, the Eldar turned as one and began to march back into the Webway portal.

Helsing let out a long, held-in breath.

"What a dick."

-v-

Present Day

The world exploded into white. Burning lights scalded his eyes, weak and unadjusted from the darkness. Pain lanced through his limbs, his torso, his head. Millions of needles plunging and ripping into his body.

He wanted to scream, but he had no voice.

The pain subsided, and he sat up. A white robe covered him, medical. White walls around him in a white room, with gleaming steel cabinets and shining surgical devices. Tubes ran into his arms, some red with his own blood, others clear or filled with colored liquid.

A mirror occupied the space directly in front of him, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Curious, he looked into it.

The face in the mirror was wrong.

It was young, vibrant, full of life and energy. The aged grey hairs were gone, the wrinkles and scars nonexistent. A gasp filled his lungs, but he held it in. Reaching up with care, he touched his cheek and felt the skin. Soft, smooth. So unlike the leathery hardness of his last days.

He was young again.

A door opened, the unbroken white wall splitting like a gaping wound, and a familiar figure strode in. He did not wear the icons of his position, nor the sigiled armor of authority that had so often signified his standing as a Lord of humanity's most sacred orders. Instead of the glory and trappings of office, the intruder wore a simple white smock over simple clothes, the kind a nurse wore in the operating table.

"Helsing?" He blinked slowly, uncertain of what he was seeing.

"Good to see you again, Louk." Helsing smiled at the man sitting on the table.

"I… I died."

"You did."

"Then… why am I here? Where am I?"

"You, my son," Helsing said, the smile growing wider, "have achieved what mere dozens have in the history of humanity. The state of perpetual life.

"Welcome," the Inquisitor stated, "to Eternity."