A/N: Aw yuss, Chapter 22! :D

Book 2: Corruption's End

-Chapter 22: Smoke Them If You Got Them-

"Munitorum-brand boots. Munitorum-brand lasgun. Munitorum-brand body bags. Munitorum-brand souls. I don't care what she said, I'm fucking done with it all." - Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik in her service journal

The smell of it all was the worst part. Hours after the besiegers -the Yǒng-lo- retreated, the stink settled in. The rotten scent of the arch-foe was everywhere, mingled with the familiar tinge of las-charred flesh and voided bowels. The smell of a warzone. Yang looked out over the ramparts where her comrades had stood firm. The sand they'd spilled out onto the battlements soaked up the blood well enough, but it couldn't hide away the death that happened here. At least this way, the Woadian dead left burnable corpses behind, instead of leaving them to burn like on Jala Prime.

"Lho-stick?" Ros asked, handing her a roll of paper. Yang looked at her, confused. Her friend repeated the question. Oh. Right. A cigarette. She accepted it without hesitation. Yang wasn't one to smoke, but any measure to block out the choking odors appealed to her. Lighting it, she took a deep drag, remembering the taste of Vadiik's smoke that clung about her frame.

"They're tough bastards, I'll give 'em that." Ros said, lighting her own cigarette. Dark circles pulled her eyes down to rest in bluish bags, lines creasing her face. Yang nodded, looking out over the besiegers' camp. They had halted their attacks for now, choosing instead to labor over some unknowable chore.

"Fuckin' A, Ros." Yang said, relishing the scent of smoke as it blocked away the foul miasma of war, scouring her tongue clean of corpse-rot. "They don't give up easy." She scoffed. "That one fatass took a dozen lasbolts and three tube-charges to go down." Ros shook her head in disbelief, letting smoke spill from a thin gap in her lips.

"Emperor, how I hate them." She muttered. Yang didn't reply, instead flicking ash over the ramparts and onto the growing pile of corpses that sat outside the walls of Shao-la.

"We should probably go check on Mael." She said. Ros nodded in agreement, striding over to the other edge of the walls.

"Sarge says we're on watch rotation now. He doesn't think they'll attack again today." She rubbed her eyes. They'd been awake for almost a whole day, and after two clashes against the enemy, she was exhausted. Yang wasn't fairing much better. "Emperor," she sighed. "I hope he's okay."

"Me too." Seeing him scream in silence twisted her guts into a knot. Yang leaned over the side of the ramparts. Hopefully, Sarge is right, and they won't come back for the rest of the day.

Yang sighed, taking another drag. At this rate, the bodies outside the walls would stack high enough act as ladders. A Ranshan woman approached them, a wide wicker basket balanced on the crown of her head. Like the local medics, she wore a black armband with a stripe of gold. The population of Shao-la had come forward in a rush of volunteers since the return of the Yǒng-lo legions. Every available man, woman and child assisted the Inquisitorial forces with gusto. The women fetched water and cooked paltry meals. The men helped shore up defenses, hauled away the dead. Children scuttled around like beetles, working as ammo-jacks and couriers.

The woman reached out with a palm worn smooth by labor. "Empty batt-rey?" She asked in clipped gothic. Almost every las-cell in the platoon was spent, poured out into the mass of green and black-clad warriors.

Yang and Ros handed the Ranshan woman their dry cells. Below, the Full Metal Bitch and Our Lady's Heart served as impromptu charging stations, the Leman Russ tanks humming as they refilled their ammo supply.

Caolin walked over, tossing his spent hot-shot batteries into the woman's basket. She thanked them with a quick prayer in Ranshan before attending to the rest of Gamma platoon. His face was drawn like Ros', weariness pulling the long scar across his lips into a thin line.

"Hey guys," he said. Blood washed the front of his flak armor, and his war paint was smeared across his face. "Anything going on?"

"Nope. Cigarette?" Yang asked, handing him the Munitorum-issued smokes.

"What?"

"Sorry, lho-stick." Damn it. C'mon. You're not that tired. He nodded, plucking a smoke from a box and accepting a light from the end of Ros' ash.

"How many more times?" He asked, staring out over the ramparts. "How many times we gotta push 'em back?" Ros looked at him.

"Emperor, the fuck's wrong with you?" He waved her concern away, his hand trailing wisps of acrid smoke.

"Sorry. The smell's getting to me." He took a drag, running his other hand through his milky-white hair. "It's just these civvies, you know? They're breakin' their backs tryin' to help us out, and you know that once our Lady splits, they're done for." Yang finished her lho-stick, flicking the stub into the corpse-midden below. She didn't know what Weiss was up to, and she'd been very vague about this Archive of hers. Whatever it was, hopefully it put them on a collision course with Josephus. The thought of leaving Shao-la to burn made Yang feel like punching things, and a Chaos Lord seemed like a good place to start.

"She won't let the city fall. I'm sure she's got a trick up her sleeve." Yang said. Weiss had always been a stickler for details on Remnant, and as an Inquisitor, her pursuit of perfection had flowered into full-blown paranoia. Then again, Weiss could just say 'fuck it' and glass the whole planet to be sure no taint of chaos remained.

"I miss Rhain." Ros said. Reaching for another lho-stick, Yang grimaced. The smell was returning.

"Me too," she said, remembering their bearded friend. "I think he'd like this place though. Shao-la."

"What makes you say that?" Ros asked.

"No, I see it." Caolin said, taking her offered light. "He was a family man, through and through. I think he'd like to see all the brats scurrying around." Yang chuckled.

"He didn't get angry too often, but I'm sure he'd pitch a fit worthy of Commissar Asshole himself if we had to abandon this place." She said. Caolin grinned, taking a deep drag.

"Yeah. I miss him too," he said.

"He's at the side of the God-Emperor." Ros reminded them. "Let's just hope Mael doesn't join him so soon after."

The Lady Inquisitor growled. Even with her psychic talents, searching through the countless volumes was growing wearisome. A blizzard of parchment and scrolls whorled around her, each one scanned in seconds. The abundance of servo-skulls and cherubim had been spectacularly unhelpful as well. She preferred hunting human targets. Then, she could take what she wanted from their minds in a matter of minutes. Now, the situation forced her to pore over thousands of manuscripts for hours on end. Progress was slow.

Her kasrkin, long adjusted to her flagrant displays of psychic power, went about their business. They wrestled or gambled, as none of them could aid her in any meaningful way. They were soldiers, not librarians. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave away the onset of a headache. Her kasrkin were good people. Loyal. Many of them were the same fresh-faced youths she'd requisitioned all those years ago, now grizzled and scarred by twenty-odd years of service. It had been a spectacular pain obtaining them. The higher-ups on Cadia had fought her tooth-and-nail when she'd requisitioned them the first time. When she came a decade later seeking replacements for the fallen, her reputation sent them scrambling to foist them upon her.

"Sergeant Arden?" The man snapped to attention, dropping his dice in a flash.

"Yes, my Lady?" He said, saluting.

"At ease, Sergeant. I was wondering if you could fetch me some recaf? It appears as though I'll be working through the night." He nodded, relegating the task to Petir, who rolled his eyes in annoyance. He mumbled something about bringing some for everyone else.

"My Lady, is that wise?" Nicolas asked, looking up from one of the tomes the Lady Inquisitor had discarded. His eyes were a deep violet, just like Yang's. He was one of the replacements, an eager donation from a blueblooded Cadian family. An exceptional soldier, but unlike his kasrkin brethren, he preferred a quieter method to pass the time. "You've been down here since we arrived. Even Inquisitors need their sleep, right?"

"A completely unfounded myth." The Lady Inquisitor replied with small smile. "Although I appreciate your concern."

"It is my duty after all." He said with a shrug. Returning to her scrolls, the Lady Inquisitor frowned. According to the records, the only visitors in the past few years were the Archive Keepers. She'd interviewed them thoroughly, but not one showed a sign of corruption, let alone hinted at what Josephus sought within the expansive halls.

The runners Ira sent informed her that the forces of the arch-foe sung out his name in their foul chants, but that only compounded her questions. Did he already infiltrate the Archives, and the uprising was the result of his passing? Or was it a cult he seeded generations ago, finally brought to bear so that he might break the Archives open in person?

Many of the tomes and ledgers she'd leafed through were fascinating on their own, but since they weren't relevant to her inquiry, they had to be tossed aside. A pattern was emerging in her notes, but it wasn't anything substantial yet, let alone something to act upon.

She stood, deciding to take a quick respite before her recaf arrived. Walking over to her astropaths, she rested a hand on Calista's shoulder. The poor girl was trembling.

"Any word?" They'd flown down a few hours after the heretic army arrived. The Lady Inquisitor wanted them close, as she'd sent a few feelers out regarding Josephus and the Archives. The astropath shook her head, index fingers bouncing off each other.

"N-nothing yet, m-my Lady." She said. Taki nodded, his sightless eyes flickering. His voice was a thin whisper as it slid out from his face wrappings.

"I find myself in the same disposition."

"Wilver?" Wind-Through-The-Valley shrugged, his quill-hand still and unmoving.

"No messages as of yet, my Lady." She nodded.

"Very well. Would you enjoy some recaf? I've sent for some."

"M-my Lady is too kind." Calista said, retreating into the hood of her robe. The Lady Inquisitor chuckled.

"I need you all at peak performance. These are dark times after all, and we find ourselves in a difficult predicament." Even if she found what she was looking for, Totha's Archives was still an issue. She could not leave it for the arch-foe to find or defile, yet its reserves of knowledge could prove useful to the Imperium. But alas, I do not have the means to eradicate the legions outside the walls of Shao-la while leaving the Archives intact.

"Your will be done, my Lady." Taki said. "We are with you always." He continued, bowing his head. Always so loyal, the Lady Inquisitor mused. He was her oldest astropath, about to reach his fourth decade in her service.

Petir returned with the recaf, much to the delight of her gathered retinue. "My Lady," he said, handing her a steaming cup. Just in time, as 32-Scholar Intendant swooped up to her, its quill still scribbling madly. His passing frightened Calista, who retreated further into her robes with a squeak.

"I HAVE FOUND THE DOCUMENTS YOU HAVE REQUESTED." It said, hovering around the Inquisitor's head.

"Excellent. Please have the Keepers bring me some copies." She took a sip of her recaf. It was burnt and it tasted like warmed-over piss, but it would serve. Returning to her current mess of paperwork, she let loose a long sigh. Useless. Trying to extrapolate Josephus' movements and intentions from records of his past misdeeds was a slow and methodical process, one that did not lend itself well to the time constraint she labored under. The sheet of parchment in front of her (a record of cultist activity in the local subsector) flew away, its text just as useless as the last one.

A half hour later, her the head Archive Keeper interrupted her readings.

"Lady Inquisitor, the documents." He said. Dozens of students trailed behind him, each of them carrying a truly astounding amount of tomes. There had to be at least two hundred books to pore over. "The collected index of known heretics and their actions in the sector for the past… millennium."

The Lady Inquisitor took a long sip of recaf. This was going to be a pain.

The King of Shao-la rested. His operation had been a long one, but with the Lady Inquisitor allowing every expense to keep his Radience's health, Darron had no trouble retrieving the bullet from within his body. Now he slept off the anesthesia, but did not do so peacefully. He moaned and whimpered, sweat pouring down his face.

Darron sighed. It made sense that the boy still squirmed. As with all injuries inflicted by the arch-foe, the bullet had to be excised swiftly. However, this one had been left to rot. It was a testament to the King's will that he'd managed to survive for so long. Chera sat over the boy, brushing black locks away from his freckled forehead. The local nurses kept their distance from the kasrkin, their eyes full of worry.

"Don't fret, he'll make it." Darron said to them, wearing a tired smile. They bowed their heads in thanks. Ignorant peasants. He thought. No. no, that wasn't fair. They'd tried their best, but they simply didn't have the skills to deal with something so unfamiliar. Every medical text from the Archives only got you so far, after all. When it comes down to bloody brass tacks, you had to to pull the bullet out of there. And five days of neglect had made the wound a complicated procedure.

Chera gave him a proud smile, the one that never failed to make his heart feel whole. Chuckling, he buried a kiss into the shaved half of her head. As always, she'd been a consummate assistant, cleaning the rot that infested the wound while he struggled to remove the collection of lead fragments.

"Good job, babe." He said, withdrawing to wash his hands in a bowl of clean water.

"You always say that." She said, wringing out a washcloth.

"You always do a good job." He replied. "I'd say you'd make a decent nurse if you gave it a shot."

"You think?" Chera said, placing the damp linen rag on the King's forehead. The boy shuddered at the sudden change in temperature.

"Oh, most definitely. I think the uniform would suit you," he said with a wink. She snorted with laughter.

"Thanks, but I'll take my hellgun over a skimpy miniskirt any day. And you know those outfits don't actually exist, right? Purely a product of fantasy and pulp-print."

"I never denied that." Darron said, grinning before a yawn split his mouth wide. "But the idea has its merits." He handed off his bloodied tools to an attendant, who murmured a 'thank you' in heavily accented gothic.

"You should catch a nap."

"I'll live. Remember when I had to patch Harran up? That was on day three of no sleep, and he didn't even have arms." Darron had done it though, saved his life while they'd been lit up with enough lasbolts to flash-cook a Hive Tyrant. His role as the unit's commanding officer and its surgeon was an unusual one, but it grew out of necessity. The Captain had an uncanny knack for patching his kasrkin together, a talent honed by twenty years of service to the Lady Inquisitor.

"True, but you're not twenty-five any more, hun." Chera countered with a smile.

"I know. But honestly, I'm not that tired. Swear on the Throne and all the kasrs." He rested an arm around her shoulders, nipping her ear with a playful bite. "And besides, the image of you in a nurse's skirt is better than uncut recaf." She laughed again, leaning into his embrace.

"Keep it up Darron, and I'll keep my Carapace armor on until I'm sixty."

"You'd never last."

"I'd outlast you." Darron huffed a half-laugh, reaching for his lho-sticks. To his dismay, his fingers found nothing but lint. She held up his smokes with a smile. "Not in front of the kid you don't." He sighed.

"You'll be the death of me, woman." She didn't reply, choosing instead to entwine his fingers with his. They watched the King sleep for a while. Soon, their Lady would need them, and this brief moment of peace would be lost.

"Did you ever think what it'd be like to have kids?" Chera asked.

"Sometimes." Darron replied. The idea had crossed his mind now and again. It never lasted long though. It wasn't a question of ability. It was a matter of duty. We are kasrkin. Not just soldiers, but the best soldiers short of the Adeptus Astartes. Our duty does not lie in breeding. Their duty barely permitted marriage. They lived as soldiers. One stray lasbolt was all it would take to end it all. This is something they accepted, and they'd resolved to enjoy what they had while it lasted. He smiled.

"If we had any though, I'd hope to the Emperor they'd be like him." Darron said, nodding at the resting king. Chera grinned in agreement. If only all the planetary governors were so capable.

"Just imagine if we were born agri-worlders." She said. Her husband laughed.

"Us? Agri-worlders?"

"We could fuck as much as we wanted, whenever we wanted. Raise a crop of petulant little snots and work the fields until we keeled over." She kissed the stubble on his chin. "And we wouldn't have to bend and scrape to Our Lady's every whim." He chuckled.

"We wouldn't, would we? Although I'd bet you'd nag twice as much to compensate. 'Darron, go feed the grox!' 'Darron, go sow the field!'" He scratched the back of his head, brow furrowing. "Is… is that what they do? I'll suppose I'll have to ask a Woadian." Laughing, Chera punched him on the shoulder.

"You know I'm not serious," she said. "I think I'd fry my brains from boredom." The King stirred in his sleep, murmuring in the local dialect. Their gazes returned to him.

"So, no regrets?" Darron asked.

"Never. I'd dive buck naked into the Eye of Terror before I give up being kasrkin."

"Agreed. Careful though," Darron said with a smile, "Our Lady might actually order us to." Chera beamed, her hand brushing over her glyph-marked shoulder.

"I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Me too."

Their watch duty ended a few hours later as the sun reached its zenith in the sky. Outside of a few probing squads and trading stray pot-shots, the siege entertained a moment of peace. The Yǒng-lo had found the gatehouse of Shao-la a tough nut to crack, and their reluctance allowed Jorvis some leniency. He permitted Yang's squad a brief sojourn to the city streets, which she was all too happy to take. The smell of the heretics faded as the elevator descended, replaced with the rank aroma of Shao-la at war.

The metallic scents of blood and iron-working fought for dominance, struggling over the cloud of sweat and shit that suffused the city. The disadvantages of a pre-industrial society made themselves all too apparent a few hours after they'd arrived. They don't even have toilets. Yang thought, her nose crinkling. You wanna talk about heresy, there's item number one. But unlike the Yǒng-lo, the city lacked the underlying reek of decay, and it was an order of magnitude better than the ramparts.

Ros tapped her on the shoulder, a wry grin on her face.

"What's up?"

"Your art piece has a few admirers." She said, pointing. The warrior Yang had thrown behind her a few hours ago hung from a clothesline, saved from splattering against the stone streets of Shao-la. Instead, the thick cord had wrapped itself around his neck, strangling him. A crowd of children too young to ferry ammo cells had taken to circling him, stoning the corpse with peals of shrieking laughter.

Caolin and Ros chuckled. Yang was glad the guy was dead too, but it rankled her seeing children act like that. A few days later, when the line snapped, they'd be treated to a real sight. The bloated corpse would shower them with fetid blood and maggots, and they'd run screaming to their mothers. The thought was abnormally dark for her. It felt like someone was whispering the thought into being. She shuddered. The elevator gate squeaked open, and the moment was lost.

Their feet once more stood on the brick streets of Shao-la. The brief lull in the battle did nothing to stop the bustle of activity below the great walls. The Elodian armor sat behind the gate, the crew smoking lho sticks on top of their tanks, waiting for word from Ira or Colonel Longinus. A bolter-gunner sat a scrawny street urchin on her lap, showing him the inner workings of her weapon as she serviced it. Local spearmen sat in something resembling a battle order, their primitive weapons a veritable forest of iron and pale wood. Their wives, girlfriends, children and other hangers-on spoke with them briefly, stopping by to pray or slip them a mouthful of food.

The song of carpenters' saws filled the streets, accompanied by the constant ringing of hammers on anvils and the grinding of whetstones. To them, this was just another day of siege. What made it different this time was the Inquisitorial forces stationed among them. Hopefully, we're enough.

They got directions to the 'heal-tent' that the head nurse mentioned. It was farther away from the walls, where the moaning of the wounded did not reach their comrades ears. The nurse had called it a tent, but that didn't do the concept justice. Ranshan builders had converted an entire market square into a hospital, with enormous stretches of canvas hanging over the district, upheld by hastily constructed wooden pylons.

Both Woadian and Ranshan wounded sprawled on flimsy cots. It took awhile of searching before they found Mael, as there was no decipherable means of organization. He was soaked in bloody bandages, and blood matted his shaggy white hair. A nurse sat over him, her face pained and bearing the same marks of weariness as Gamma platoon. Her arms and apron were so soaked in blood, and it took almost a full minute before Yang realized it was the girl he'd danced with.

"Hey." Ros said. The woman looked up for a moment before returning to her needlework. "How're you doing buddy?" He gave them a thumbs down and a defeated groan. His mocha skin was pale and pasty, his chest rising like a limp balloon. Huffing with frustration, the nurse tucked his arm under the flimsy sheets, mumbling something in Ranshan. That he was still conscious spoke volumes about his constitution, but it still made Yang uneasy. Medical supplies were at a premium, and she doubted he was enjoying a luxury like basic painkillers.

"Good to see you made it, big guy." Yang said. Mael groaned. "At least you got a friend to take care of you right?" She threw the woman a wink. She rolled her eyes, and continued suturing. "His name is Mael, by the way," she said, pointing to her friend.

"May-ell?" The woman asked, eyebrow raised. Still, she didn't look up from her work.

"Mael," Yang repeated, patting his leg. He waved her away, groaning.

"Mael," the nurse said. "He live." She said, tying the last of the thin twine ends together. Caolin breathed a long sigh of relief. "Soo," she said, putting a hand over her bloodstained breast.

"Soo," Ros said, . "Please take care of our friend." She ruffled the wounded man's hair. He groaned in annoyance. "He means a lot to us."

Soo smiled and nodded.

"Thank the Emperor for His mercies," Caolin said when they left the healing tent. Yang grinned, patting him on the back. She was glad to see Mael was okay, but the ramshackle field hospital left a bad taste in her mouth. Her shoulder itched.

A/N: Little bit of a breather chapter! Don't worry, the next... holy shit... the next chapters are fucking crazy. Hope you enjoyed, and as always, leave your thoughts on the review page! Love to hear everyone's thoughts on the story, major or minor. :D

Review Replies:

The Walrus of Eden: Well hey, if you like them, mission accomplished! :D Also, yuss, best fanfic. ;) hahaha

reality deviant: I guess you'll have to wait and find out!

InquisitorMarek: Holy shit! Thanks for the super long (and thematic) review! Seriously means a lot! :D Also, shit, you're the guy who writes the GuP crossover! Gotta say, interesting work. :3

Knives91: Can't say! So glad you're joining us here on the hype train!

DanAbnettFan1997: I'll give it a look-see. Hopefully this didn't grate to badly, or at least sounded somewhat plausible.

Dom380: Glad you're enjoying her! And believe it or not, Il-Kaithe is probably the most accepting of their kin, considering they're willing to ally themselves with humans and their cousins in Comorroagh! And the Imperial Navy Lances, (realistically speaking) would probably completely destroy the city if they fired on the army. All of the baddies are about 1-2 km away from the city, which in WH40k space battles-terms is danger-close.

OBSERVER01: Fund it. :D

RED Roman Pyro: I shudder yet laugh at the image. "Me bitz are all glowy-like!"

Magisking: Hm. Interesting. :)

Gafgar: Guess we'll find out!

Legion of Misfits: Glad you're enjoying yourself! Stick around! :D

Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Holy shit, Auntie Yang might be the best thing ever.

Nemris: Thanks! I'm glad you're having fun!

biolaj1998: I've left a lot of clues!

Yoshtar: Can't say. What do you think?

dksamuri: Thanks!

Ugh, my regular commenters, you guys are the bomb. Seriously, love you guys! :3