A/N: An Ira POV chapter! Haven't had one of those in awhile...

Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 65: The Soul is the Conscience of Sentience

"The Omnissiah's designs are grand, each soul a single cog in the greatest machine ever made." - Magos Corva

Ira meditated in the Lady Highest's chambers, parsing data with a hum of simplistic binary cant. He kept careful watch over his Lady all the same, making sure her vitals were stable. Besides an elevated heartbeat however, she slept soundly. In her fingers she clutched the relic she'd liberated from Ezzelino, a calming refuge in the chaos of the past few hours.

Despite the Hallowed Inquisitor's misgivings, he'd breached the secrecy of the compound and invited the Sisters of the Sacred Rose to attend the Lady Highest. Alone, he was not enough to keep her safe.

Ira breathed deep, augmented lungs swelling with twice-filtered air. Now that his Lady was incapacitated, it fell to him to make up the difference left in her temporary absence. He felt woefully inadequate to fill such boots, but he did not join the Inquisition to remain tremulous and indecisive. Action was always preferable over vacillation.

He hoped she would recover soon. Though he was now a Recongrator in full, this place was not his home. The techpriests here were strange and flighty, and so many of them kept their flesh. Not like Magos Tyrham.

Fatigue settled into his subsystems. His former master acquired projects like a squeaky cog acquires grease, and had needed all the help he could get. But he was ascended, a Magos in full, his dedication to the Omnissiah unquestionable. Magos Tyrham did not feel tired or inadequate, nor did he sleep or dream.

And news of the Chariot had put them all on edge. Knowledge regarding it was spreading like an oil fire, and locating it was a duty beyond any Ira could hope for. To live in such times was to live a life of tremendous faith and terrible fear.

Uriel had been fully mobilized thanks to the efforts of Magos Tyrham, the forgeworld's entire armada lying in wait - waiting for news of the Chariot before descending en masse. Ira prayed that Captain Darron's mission was a success, and that valuable intel had been obtained from Lady Silvershield's team. The former skitarii knew her only as a shadowy and perpetually grinning sort, a woman rumored to have an unhealthy fascination with eldar.

If the kasrkin and Yang knew the weight of what they carried, Ira suspected it would crush them.

Armored knuckles rapped against the Lady Highest's door. The Sisters. Even from here, he could hear their power armor whirring, smell the stink of incense and sacred unguent hanging from their persons.

He opened the door to reveal three women that towered over him. The Palatine, Sister Eleven, and Sister Victoria. The final sister nodded at Ira, the simple stylings on her bionic fist glimmering a dull, holy gold. Some of of his better work. Did she need another tuning? Possible, but the Palatine's impertinent frown and straight-backed demeanor suggested otherwise.

In the sparse, wire-lined walls of the Recongrator headquarters, they seemed to take up every inch of space. It wasn't like the open halls of Uriel's forges, where he could feel the programs swirling around him and the machine-spirits singing in harmony.

Here, the halls were sparse and clean, and far too shallow. They made Ira feel like an insect scurrying underneath a microscope.

"Is there something amiss, Palatine?" he asked.

"We need to speak with the Inquisitor," the Palatine, blunt and to-the-point.

"The Lady Inquisitor is resting," Ira said. "It wouldn't do for us to disturb her."

Palatine Naja bint Mutaa al'Ibahni's frown deepened, twisting her scarred lips into an ugly shape. "Very well," she allowed, bristling. "You are sure she is not corrupted?"

"Absolutely," he responded. The Sisters had such a... linear mode of processing, their list of questions rarely more than 'where is the enemy' and 'how many'. This was the first time they had made their insinuations regarding their Lady's state so naked and bold.

It is not a useless inquiry, Ira reminded himself. It simply lacks a spine.

"I understand your concerns, Palatine," Ira continued, "but I will repeat myself once more: the ruinous powers do not assail her."

"How can you be so sure?" The Palatine asked. In the tight confines of the hallway, her voice seemed to resonate, to swallow him and the other Sisters.

"I have been investigating Heretics for twenty years," Ira answered. "Guilt is evident in moments. The way they speak, the way they breathe, their very presence screams it to the heavens," he said.

"Our Lady's mad ramblings did not give me a good impression," the Palatine said. Her adjutant nodded sagely, the elegant scars on her face still and unmoving.

"That is because you did not listen," Ira said, careful to take the proper tone - instructive, rather than condescending or didactic. Learning how to impart tone and meaning in words beyond their base meaning had always been a challenge. "And you lack the hardware to interpret her words fully," he added, not unkindly. He opened his Lady's door. She rested peacefully, lips working yet silent all the same.

"To you she rambles and raves, but I hear it all. She speaks not in madness nor in heresy," he said, glancing sideways at the Sisters, peering at them from the rim of his hood. "But in fragments of a whole. She beseeches the Emperor for guidance, begins ancient conversations one moment, and abandons them the next... only to return to them an hour later. Not a single word indicates she has fallen, but she is undeniably... broken," he finished. "There is something wrong with her."

Or this place, he thought. Ever since her promotion, something had begun to gnaw at the Lady Highest. But nothing so dramatic as to reduce her to her current state. Perhaps Captain Darron was right - the arrival of Yang Xiao Long had stirred something loose in their Lady, unscrewed a vital gasket that kept the great Lady healthy and hale.

But that couldn't be what troubled her now - The Scythe of Morning had received no word from Darron's team since their arrival on Kastile Secundus. Only after her promotion did she seem shaken.

Sister Eleven rolled her broad shoulders, her pauldrons nearly scraping against the walls. "You understand our position," she rumbled. He did.

"I assure you my diagnosis has not been compromised by sentimentality," Ira said. "Our Lady is extremely disoriented, but no more than that. There is no need for suspicion."

A servitor stomped past, one that belonged to the Recongrators. Ira and the Sisters lapsed into silence as it passed, an unspoken agreement that their words were better left privy only to themselves.

"I will be the judge of that," the Palatine said once the servitor had rounded the distant corner. "We will not serve a fallen Inquisitor."

"You won't," Ira reassured her. "The instant I believe your suspicions are justified, it will be my blades that pierce her hearts," he said, sweeping aside his cloak to reveal one of his power swords. Even in the dim, reflective lighting of the Recongrator compound, it shimmered with promise.

That was the deal, after all. The Lady Highest knew the risks of her witchcraft, and one of the first things Ira learned was identifying the signs of those possessed with its talents. And those who had fallen prey to its perils.

"Is this something we need the Magi for?" the Palatine asked.

Ira shook his head. "Magos Tyrham is consumed with more important projects, and as for Magos Prexius…"

"I think it's best we involve her as little as possible," Sister Victoria finished, to the grim amusement of her sisters. Sister Eleven huffed a short laugh.

"A wise decision," Ira admitted. His bionic eyes flicked to either end of the hallway, ensuring the Hallowed Inquisitor did not slink in the shadows. "This place is an unsettling one," he said. "I trust you all far more than the current occupants," he added, playing to their egos. Another lesson that needed learning in his twenty years under the Lady Inquisitor. "It's imperative we keep our Lady safe."

"It's our job," Sister Victoria said, resting a gauntlet on her thunder hammer. Sister Eleven rankled as well, trailing a finger over the housing of her heavy bolter.

"She brought us here," the Palatine reminded them.

"It is an Inquisitorial headquarters," Ira replied. And home of the Recongrators. Of brothers and sisters dedicated to a cause far greater than themselves, each one a cog in a great machine. His opinion of their goal did not change his opinion of their headquarters.

"But that does not make it a haven," he said. There was something in the air here. He could not sense it with his many instruments, nor log its presence, but he felt it all the same. It was an unsettling ache, one that discomfited him, made him feel like his composite parts were being pried from him. Was it here when I arrived?

"Is there another reason why you sought me?" Ira asked.

"No, Ira. We merely wanted... clarification," the Palatine said gruffly. "We have spoken but once since you invited us in. You are her sole Acolyte, and her duties fall to you while she is…" she paused. "Disoriented."

"You have your orders," Ira said. "Though I suggest adding four additional sisters to patrol duty. One can never be too sure."

The Palatine nodded. "I will send a message along."

"Ensure the astropaths stay aboard the Scythe of Morning," Ira added. If there was something truly amiss with his Lady's witchcraft, more psykers could only compound the issue.

The Sisters did not salute like they did to the Lady Highest, but they obeyed all the same. Sister Victoria remained behind.

"Now?" Ira asked.

She nodded and displayed her new arm. "Pinky finger's been acting up," she said. "I know it's not done, but this is the first issue I've had with it."

Ira smiled. "Very well. Step inside, and please be quiet."

Sister Victoria nodded, and ducked into the Lady Highest's quarters. After one last look into the hallway, Ira locked the door behind him. In his Lady's quarters, the space was well-kept and organized, though some blood-spattered books and her personal dataslate lay askew on a simple desk. The cogitator beside it lay dormant and unused.

The Lady's wargear stood on a rack at the foot of her bed, imposing and glorious.

Ira led the Sister past it, into an adjoining room within the quarters. A small kitchenette with a well-stocked refrigerator and flame-retardant dining table awaited - Ira's impromptu workshop while his Lady was unwell.

He gestured for her to sit at the head of the table, where his tools lay unfurled atop a sheet of embroidered scarlet silk. True to his request for silence, she knelt with great restraint, taking care that her armor did not whirr overmuch. Ira suspected that if she sat on the provided chair, she would crush it beneath her.

She offered her arm to him, which he took with great care. It wasn't an elegant construction (elegance suited Sister Victoria like serenity suited the Palatine) but it was something far greater - it was functional. Built atop a simple heavy-duty plasteel skeleton, it was a five-fingered death dealer, clad in black ceramite and inlaid with dulled gold. Its knuckles were capped with golden skulls, frowning and imperious.

"May I?" Ira asked.

"Of course," Sister Victoria said, sure to keep her voice low. Ira's finger split apart to reveal a tuning tool, which he attached to the Sister's elbow. The plates on her arm sprung apart at the seams, ready for maintenance.

"Have you noticed any other problems?" Ira asked, his eyes automatically adjusting the brightness to see into the depths of his work.

"Not outside the pinky-finger issue," Sister Victoria replied. "I've kept it well oiled and maintained, per your instructions."

"Good, good," Ira mumbled.

In the room behind them, the Inquisitor mumbled something in her sleep, something about strings. Ira logged the words, storing them away for later cross-referencing. Perhaps in a few days he could uncover what his Lady was trying to say.

"Is she…?" Sister Victoria asked, green eyes wide as they examined her Lady.

"She is fine," Ira said, turning a bolt a millimeter wide. Odd for it to have come loose so soon after installation. A prayer to the Omnissiah played on a loop in his secondary processes, guiding his hands and directing his efforts. He ignited his wire-torch.

Pressing it to a psuedonerve bundle, he investigated the source of Sister Victoria's complaint.

Sister Victoria's arm was still in its tuning stages. Ira would have preferred to spend another month or so before grafting it to her flesh, but - true to her calling - she demanded it be attached anyways, in case she would have need of it.

It surprised him.

Maintenance while augmentics were still attached often caused their wielders great pain. But Sister Victoria did not flinch or grunt. A blue spark flickered into existence before she waved it away absentmindedly. In fact, she seemed wholly fascinated with his work.

"It's no masterful construction, I assure you," Ira said, his finger tip fixing a bolt in place. It seems as though the Sister had been exercising her new arm quite extensively. In preparation for what, he couldn't say, but it was the cause for the pinky-finger's erratic movements. "The Omnissiah has not yet granted me such insight."

The error I'm correcting is proof enough of that.

"It's sturdy," Sister Victoria said. "In the end, that's all that matters."

"Holy is the work that lasts eons," Ira intoned, agreeing. "Though it lacks Magos Tyrham's touch."

Sister Victoria smiled, revealing a golden incisor engraved with a fleur-de-lis. "The Magos is incredibly busy, from what I've heard."

"It's the truth. These are trying times we live in," Ira replied. "An abundance of projects distract him from the gravest worries."

The Lady Highest mumbled in her sleep, something about deserving to be a 'team leader'. Ira recorded it and logged it with the others, filing it away in his memory banks. Making sense of it would come later. Right now, his attentions were focused on his work.

"The Chariot," Sister Victoria said, her smile long vanished. "I pray we are not too late."

"It matters not," Ira said. "Even if we stand alone against all of Josephus' armada, we must continue."

"Are we?" Sister Victoria asked. "Alone, I mean."

Ira shook his head, loosening a few wires from atop his head. "News about the Chariot has spread, far beyond Our Lady's intentions to keep the news within a select few." He frowned, fastening a new electroservo conduit to the arm. Now that he had fixed the errant finger, additional work could progress. "Uriel has recalled its fleets. The sheer holy tonnage..." Ira wiped a bead of sweat away from his eyes. One of the many annoying downsides beholden to flesh. It was frustrating that many of the augmentations he'd rejected were prerequisites for the ones he actually desired.

"Trying times," Sister Victoria agreed. "But the Emperor shall see us through."

Ira burbled an 'amen' in binary, to Sister Victoria's amusement.

"How's it looking?" She asked, nodding at her arm.

"Almost done," Ira answered, sealing away one of the gearboxes. "The machine-spirits within are cooperative," he noted. "Despite their humble origins."

"You're pretty good," Sister Victoria said, waggling her metal fingers. "You must have excellent teachers."

"Our Lady's tech-priests have been helpful, but far from friendly," Ira said. "Only Magos Tyrham teaches with passion."

"He is quite different from the Magi I've known in the Sacred Rose," Sister Victoria admitted.

"He is an uncommon Magos," Ira replied. "He sees potential in everything, in everyone. I began as no more than a pawn in his forces, but he allowed me to become something far greater."

Sister Victoria half-smiled. "In that way, the venerable Magos is not too different than Palatine al'Ibanhi."

Ira sealed up the final hatch, soldering the last bits of circuitry back into place. His finger attached to her elbow once more, and the arm sealed itself shut. But Sister Victoria didn't leave.

"Most of the Thanatos mission are the Sacred Rose's refuse," she continued. "Saved by the Emperor's grace from the Repentia, but not from an ignoble posting. And the Palatine doesn't care. She sees the Emperor's grace within all of us."

"What did you do end up here?" Ira asked, curiosity peaked.

"A previous Lector and I did not see eye to eye," Sister Victoria said, metallic fingers wrapping around the hilt of her thunderhammer, fluttering the purity seals that adorned it. She hefted her weapon, letting it rest against her consecrated pauldron. "I was... a troubled child. But the Lector was not possessed of the Palatine's foresight. She only saw a nail that stuck up..." She spun her hammer, flowing into a silent dance of perfect, mechanical strikes, pushing her arm to its limits as it swung the relic around. Within the confines of the cramped kitchenette, it came close to striking the walls several times, but Ira knew she would never be so careless.

"The Palatine saw a hammer." Sister Victoria said, finishing her dance. Once more, she rested the weapon on her shoulder. "Thank you Lord Ira," Sister Victoria said.

"Simply Ira will do," Ira said. "Two more sessions, and it should be good for the next decade."

"Provided I apply the proper unguents?" Sister Victoria said, a hint of gold peeking through grinning lips.

"And prayers," Ira chided. "Machine-spirits are fickle, and deserve dread respect. The ones in that arm seem content though, so you must be keeping them assuaged."

"Through me, the Emperor does His will," Sister Victoria said. "And through my will, the machine-spirits serve Him too."

Ira bowed, his knuckles making the sign of the cog. "Blessings of the Omnissiah upon thee," he said.

In return, Sister Victoria made the sign of the Aquila. "May hatred steel your heart," she returned. ''Should the Inquisitor awaken, I wish her well. The Emperor needs all of His servants."

She departed, once more leaving Ira with his ailing Mistress. He returned to his praying, awaiting the moment she would murmur another piece of the puzzle.

Sister Victoria's intrusion had been a pleasant one. She paid the Omnissiah proper due, and he couldn't help but feel a swell of satisfaction that the work he put into her arm was bearing fruit - small glitches notwithstanding. It was a new feeling, one wrapped in the trappings of flesh, but welcome nonetheless.

"He's here," the Lady Highest said to no one. "He's here." Ira logged her words, a low prayer in binary ensuring everything was organized properly.

The unmistakable bellow of an explosion rocked the entire facility, a great quake of judgmental fury that seemed to swell up from the depths of the earth. Ira dove atop his Lady, augmented body shielding her from harm. The room continued to rumble, summoning bits of the ceiling to crumble and fall. Blood and ichor pumped from Ira's ears. Even in the cavernous home of the Recongrators, the explosion was piercing. His audio feed whined and spat out gibberish, trying to sort itself out.

Amidst the chaos, the Lady Highest merely turned over in her sleep.

"Told you," she said as fresh blood streamed from her eyes.

A/N: Uh-oh, that can't be good! I wonder what that could be?

However, we won't find out for awhile, seeing as in the next chapter Yang and company reach their long-awaited destination…

Also, a short note regarding the story as a whole: currently, I've plotted out chapters up to Chapter 101. At that point, the end of the story is in sight, so it looks like A World of Bloody Evolution will end up being around 115 chapters long. It definitely won't be shorter, but it could end up being longer.

Another important note: I've been asked a lot recently about whether or not the most recent 40k canon advancements (feels so fucking weird to be typing that) will be incorporated into A World of Bloody Evolution.

The short answer is "no".

The long answer is "not significantly".

Basically, I've had this story set in stone for a long time, though I've been open to changing it if I think of something better or am unsatisfied with the direction the story takes. However, in ~3 years of writing, that hasn't changed, not even after the setting changes. What this means is that while I might include some characters, places, or set pieces into the AWoBE, the story will not march in lock-step with what occurs during the most recent book. In fact, it will deviate quite severely. The reasons for that will become apparent shortly (think within the next 10-12 chapters), and I think you guys will like what's to come.

I won't say anymore for fear of spoilers.

Until next time!