A/N: Guess who's back?! :D

Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 43: Revenant Cogs

"Josephus the Corruptor is no ordinary spell-weaver." - From 'Exterminatus Prioritas', a book describing dangerous heretics and arch-foes in the Segmentum Obscurus

The skitarii's black-red robes swirled with speed, flapping to match the Lady Inquisitor's long strides. Loni struggled as well, the barrel of her hellgun clenched in a sweating hand. On her back hung Arken, who moaned in senseless agony. Some of her kasrkin followed as well, huffing into their pale white masks as their feet rang against the cold metal floor.

The Lady Inquisitor was pleased with them, and inwardly glad Arken had suffered a bullet wound. Darron's rank suspicion of Yang and his reaction to her unchecked wrath on Ranshu had distanced him from her, and though his loyalty was still absolute, his world had been shaken.

Handing over him and his wife's genes to Prexius for use in Tyrham's skitarii guard was sure to upset him further. Arken's recovery would assuage his worries, if only for a time. She was also pleased that the kasrkin might survive. They were loyal companions, and their lives were precious, costly things.

Conditioning them over several decades had been an investment, but a worthwhile one. Once Abaddon was beaten from Cadia, she would return them to their devastated homeworld to act as nascent distributors of Recongregrator philosophy. She would miss their company.

The Lady Inquisitor smiled underneath her helmet. Their assault had been glorious to watch. More importantly, Yang had remained untouched, and still drew breath upon the gurney.

"Master Tyrham's chambers are near, my Lady," her skitarii guide droned, the voice staticky and flanged as it escaped his engraved mask.

"Very well," she replied. "My thanks." She didn't need his guidance, but accepted it anyway. The halls of the Workshop were still familiar to her, even after two decades' distance. Little escaped the steel trap of her memory.

Their guide summoned a lift at the end of the hall. As they waited for its arrival, a platoon of skitarii rushed past, bionic legs whirring in perfect lockstep, the long barrels of their galvanic rifles and transuranic arquebuses clenched tight against their shoulders.

"Hail!" They cried in flanged unison as they passed. "Hail the Lady Inquisitor!"

"Blessings of the Omnissiah to you," she replied, slamming a fist against her breast. They copied the gesture, of one mind and purpose.

Sister Mwatabu shifted in her armor, fiddling with the knobs on her armor.

"Something amiss, Sister?"

"Their God has always unnerved me," she said, inspecting the hole in Arken's carapace armor. "And even though your dedication to the Emperor is absolute, it disturbs me to see you use one of their blessings."

The lift arrived, its doors opening like a millennia-old vice. "I care very little about your reservations. Keep them to yourself," the Lady Inquisitor said as she stepped aboard, "Magos Tyrham is one of my allies. We are in his domain, and shall act accordingly."

Her kasrkin made noises of affirmation, masks bobbing in the barebone light of the lift's flickering fluorescents. Their wargear had been optimized by some of Tyrham's staff the last time they'd been on Uriel, and they'd been ever thankful of it.

"Very well, my Lady," Mwatabu said, eyes narrowing at their escort. Troublesome, one-minded woman. Her hospitaller status inflates her sense of self-worth far beyond its ken.

The skitarii plugged himself into a console at the front of the lift, connecting headwires and whirring bionic cables into concealed slots. Burbling in binary, he interfaced with the lift, shutting the doors and sending them skywards.

Her fingers drummed against the hilt of her power sword as the lift shifted tracks. Reaching into her rucksack, she removed the red book, carefully splitting it open and parsing its contents with a rustling of ancient paper. The stable of techpriests she kept aboard the Scythe of Morning had already created a digital version of the text, three copies of which she carried in separate data slates. Ira had one, and she carried two. Several others remained on the Scythe of Morning. Her investigation must not falter.

Whatever Josephus was searching for, his commitment to find it spoke volumes about its significance.

Ruby.

She shook her head. Behind her, Yang coughed, spraying blood against her oxygen mask.

"We have arrived," their guide said, withdrawing himself from the terminal. The doors slid open, revealing Magos Tyrham's personal residence.

Situated in the core of his Workshop, the room was a testament to Tyrham's power and prestige on Uriel. The ceiling was soaring yet invisible, blocked by countless crowded catwalks, power conduits, and chuffing pipes. Cherubim cluttered the air, each trailing long scrolls of parchment. Servo-skulls by the hundreds bobbed around on puffs of anti-gravity, chittering and warbling as they attended their tasks. Several lesser Magi and dozens of techpriests slaved over glowing consoles, their mechadendrites writhing and tapping at dozens of interfaces.

A servitor wheeled past, ignorant of the Inquisitor's arrival.

"Magos Tyrham, I have arrived!" She cried, descending the steps that led from the lift doors. Her retinue followed, stepping around the jungle of cables that snaked over the floor.

The Magos stood in the center of the coordinated madness, next to a Chimera-wide pylon covered in monitors and input stations. He turned to face her, long red robes rustling as they shifted around his mechanical bulk. The holographic projection did not do his presence justice, as he'd made some adjustments since they last met. Standing three meters tall on backwards-bent bionic legs, he appraised her, six glowing eyes peering out from the the darkness of his hood.

He bowed steeply in acknowledgment, arms unfolding with cacophony of clanks and grinding metal to hem the robes that fluttered against the floor. He's taken some of my samples to heart. Standing to his full height, he detached himself from his control pylon.

"You've changed, Magos," the Lady Inquisitor said, a half-smile working its way across her lips. "New legs?"

"Among other adjustments," he admitted, before cocking his head quizzically. "You are equipped with raiments of war. Other than that, you are unchanged, Lady. Thank you for your assistance."

"My allies deserve no less," she said.

"Pleased to be among their number," he replied. His mechadendrites worked even as he spoke, passing tools and data slaets between themselves. "You come in… dire times."

The Lady Inquisitor nodded, reaching into her rucksack. Bringing forth the red book once morre, she brandished it before him, dwarfing it with black fingers lined with silver. "My investigation requires your assistance."

Magos Tyrham surged forward, a tsunami of bionic energy and curiosity. His legs whirred and clanked as he approached, each step resounding in the spacious chambers. "A journal?" A metal arm emerged from within his robes, eight-fingered and filigreed. "May I?"

She handed it to him.

Leafing through the pages, he squawked in binary. "Where did you find this?" He demanded, circling her with great mechanical stomping. "An ancient tome."

Looking up at the Magos, the Lady Inquisitor rested a hand on her power sword. The last person to seize the book had been… corrupted. She trusted her judgement that the book itself was untouched by chaos, but she would not be caught unawares.

"Rarely are you so animated, Magos. Is something amiss?"

"Negative, Lady." He replied. The whirring apparatuses that stemmed from his back ceased their tasks, all focusing on the book in his gilded arms.

Her kasrkin looked at her, awaiting an explanation. Nothing was forthcoming.

"Magos Tyrham, there are official matters we must discuss," she said. Looking at the chaos of his chambers, she decided that such a place was unfit for the business at hand. Too many prying eyes and open ears. "Is there somewhere else we could speak? I wish to see the work you've performed on Myrtenaster. And some of my retinue require care."

"Of course," he said, "of course, of course. Follow." A mechadendrite waved them forward as he lumbered towards an adjacent room. Magos Prexius' Laboratory.

The kasrkin who had been with her twenty years ago shuddered, reluctant to follow the Inquisitor. Loni had no choice, and she swallowed before readjusting Arken and hustling after her master.

The door was colossal, but simple in its construction. Besides the ubiquitous mechanicus skull, the only other decorations on its frame were the symbols of the Magos Biologis, a dozen of which encircled its progenitor emblem.

It roared open, tumblers screaming as the frame swallowed the three-inch-wide steel. The Lady Inquisitor and her retinue followed Magos Tyrham inside, and she made sure Yang's gurney cleared the gap successfully.

The interior was dim, dank, and claustrophobic - the antitheses of Tyrham's chambers. Most of the light glowed from the vats that lined the furthest wall of the room and drowned the room in deep-ocean blues. Surgical tables littered the metal floor, accompanied by mechanical growths that blistered from the ceiling, laden with sharp blades and a legion of injectors. Defunct servitors garbled and clanked as they patrolled the blue gloom.

Even through the filters of her helm, the Lady Inquisitor could smell the sterile reek of disinfectant, a miasma of cleanliness that seeped into every nook of her armor.

With a resounding crash, the door slammed shut behind them, startling Christa. Sister Mwatabu chastised her, swatting the back of her helmet. "Stay strong, Trooper," she mumbled.

"Certain this is necessary?" Magos Tyrham asked, absentmindedly throwing a few light switches as his long strides took him to the center of the room. "My chambers and company are without flaw."

"I am certain. Where is Prexius?"

Hundreds of insectoid legs announced her arrival, metal chittering that echoed deep into the darkest corners of the room. "Here, Lady Inquisitor," she said in her husky whisper. Magos Ada Prexius descended from the ceiling, four meters of interlocked insectoid carapace studded with apparatuses and mechadendrites.

Doused in blue light, her humanoid half emerged as well, wrapped within torn and ragged mechanicus robes. Four twisting limbs uncurled from within her robes, servos hissing and spitting steam.

"Welcome to my laboratory," she cooed, snaking closer to the Lady Inquisitor and her retinue. Sister Mwatabu balked at the sight of her, before a quick glance strangled her complaints in their crib.

She neared, revealing her face.

Long raven hair billowed forth from her hood, surrounding porcelain-white skin and wide, pink-hued eyes. The Lady Inquisitor could not keep her gaze from the Magos' supple lips, which she'd painted an… uncomfortable shade of red.

Sighing with content, her body writhed itself around Loni's feet, while various instruments poked and prodded at Arken's wound.

"This one is Arken, no?" she asked. "Their names were logged so long ago…" Unfurling herself, she pointed to a surgical table. "Leave him there, I'll deal with him shortly." She bustled over to Seff, inspecting him with curiosity. Her hundreds of legs moved like a metal ripple, shifting and folding as they clattered against the cold floor.

"New blood as well," she said. "Such fascinating creatures, these Cadians," she added, caressing Seff's face with skeletal metallic fingers. With a slick hiss, a small sampling knife sprung from the titanium pad of her index finger.

Tyrham barked at her in binary. She retreated, slithering away from Seff with reluctant haste.

"If you could, Magos," the Lady Inquisitor said, hoping to redirect the monstrous woman away from her petrified guardsman. "Another member of my retinue is critically wounded. She requires immediate attention."

Syringes sprouted like claws from Prexius' hand, and she chittered forwards. Nodding at Yang, the Inquisitor sent a quick prayer to the Emperor. Please. Save my friend.

"Another Cadian!" Prexius chirped, examining the pile of rags and meat that was Yang Xiao Long. "And these wounds! What a resilient specimen!" She hummed a short tune in binary, summoning a host of servitors. They freed her from her gurney and spirited her away to an operating table, peeling off bandages as they went. A blinding light flickered into existence over the table, suffusing the room in piercing white light. Muttering in binary, Prexius began her task.

Magos Tyrham turned to face the Inquisitor.

"She is no different," she said.

"Runtimes are hard-coded," Tyrham suggested. A servitor led them to a table, bloodstained and rusting at the corners. "Besides this," he said, gently setting the book down before them, "there is the matter of the arch-foe infesting my Workshop. Surely you do not mean to extract me?"

The Lady Inquisitor shook her head. "The heretics know I am here. They will flee your workshop like bilge rats."

"Psychic abilities are well-recorded. And the general defense?"

"General Campbell will be setting forth shortly. Your fellow Magi have hindered our progress, citing concerns about damaging your Forge," she explained, settling herself onto a provided chair.

"Small-minded," Tyrham said, "they are no different from your last visit."

"Speaking of which," the Lady Inquisitor reminded him, "how have you found everything? Useful, I hope?"

His gilded mask dipped, orange eyes shuttering. "The genetic material provided by your guard has greatly augmented my skitarii's effectiveness. Magos Prexius is the one to speak with about that."

"And Myrtenaster?"

"Completed five point six-two standard years ago. Psycho-reactive materials are a…" he paused, as if he was taking a breath. "Processing. They are a joy to work with. Apologies, phrasing unfamiliar. A tech-priest will be along with the weapon shortly." Stopping, he flipped through the red book once more, hands moving with nanometer precision as they parsed the pages.

"And the other Magi?" She said.

"Suspicious, but silent. They have not encroached upon my Forge." Good. It had been with her help that they had desisted from investigating Tyrham. From what she knew, his practices were considered unsavory by the Cult Mechanicus. But she could not afford their backwards thinking to squander such a talented (and more importantly, powerful) asset.

She watched him read, bringing her fingertips together in remembrance. It had been no easy feat, but she'd crushed the insurgency on Uriel, shifted the blame, burned the records, butchered the survivors. With her powers and some carefully-constructed 'proof', her words had convinced the Magos Council their fears were misplaced and misguided.

Grinning, she leaned forward, peering into the black of Tyrham's hood. "To answer your earlier question, I discovered that on Ranshu, in the Archives of Saint Totha."

"Ranshu?" Tyrham replied, handing the book to several of his mechadendrites. "Processing. Located." He was silent for a time. "Unsure of how it arrived so far away from its home."

"Its home?" The Lady Inquisitor asked, unable to disguise her interest.

"This text is binary, coded in an archaic algorithm." Tyrham stopped, stooping to match her gaze. "Two millennia old, in fact."

The Lady Inquisitor swallowed. This wasn't just ancient, it was a relic! "And how does that reveal its origin? Binary, as I understand it, is a language spoken by the Mechanicus across the Imperium."

"But the algorithm is not… it is from Uriel." Tyrham nodded, turning to the Inquisitor. "I can't make sense of it all. Not yet. Additional translation is required. Preliminary results are… troubling."

"Troubling?"

"The text is erratic. The code deviates from accepted standards." His hands folded together to make the Sign of the Cog, a gesture unique to the Cult Mechanicus. "...But I was able to identify the author."

Finally! The Lady Inquisitor thought, sitting forward. She stole a glance at Ira, who was similarly excited. Progress! One step closer to Josephus. To Ruby. To Abaddon and victory! She knew not what the book contained, not yet, but all would be revealed in time. Nothing escaped her for long.

"This codex and its contents are the property of Magos Hagai," Tyrham said. The Lady Inquisitor remained still, unfazed.

"The name is unfamiliar," she said, perplexed by the apprehension in Tyrham's sub-vocals.

"Josephus Hagai."

A/N: AWWWWwwwwww shiiit!

Sorry about the wait (and the shorter chapter). Been busy with a new semester and what not. Hopefully you enjoyed it!

Please, let me know what you thought, and drop a review!

Review Replies:

Darkerpaths: An interesting opinion!To be honest, I'm just gonna go ahead and weasel out by saying that this story isn't about the 40k galaxy, it's about Yang making her way through it. It's not about all the 'remnant friends' meeting up again either, but I hope the revelation in this latest chapter should push the plot wheels along.

Absolute Configuration: Sorry, but Myrtenaster is next chapter! Glad to hear you enjoyed the POV switch-up!

snoogenz: That was pretty much the haunting implication. What do you mean by award situation?

tankbuster626: They're the armed forces of the Mechanicus. Think Imperial guard, but all wired up and metal-ly! :D

Darth Sith'ari: I can't say, sorry!

DofChaos97: He'll come up in the story again, but we probably won't be meeting him for a looooong time, if ever.

redcollecter: Well, that and the revelations. :)

Kaeni: Hey, thanks so much for your kind words! I'm doing my best to go professional, but it's a difficult market...

ATP: Ave Cadia! :D

Guest: Hahaha! I try to keep it going! Everyone's reviews helps a lot with that.

Quelthias: Bionic Yang!

RampantPoultry: Thanks so much! OCs can be the life and death of fics, so it's good to hear you like them. :)

Scot911: Yeah, probably not a situation that happens everyday...

Kamzil118: Of course!

Gafgar: The process is complicated. Not warp-y at all, but certainly flirting with the concept of techno-heresy.

soupie13941: I've gotten a few other comments like yours (about being the first time reading about kasrkin)! YO, BLACK LIBRARY! I'M UP FOR IT IF YOU'LL HAVE ME!

Magnificent Bosh'tet: Creepy cogboys are creepy, after all.

OBSERVER01: Now I would LOVE to read a 'reading' version of this fic. It's cause I have an oversized ego.

Pektraan: Glad to hear you're enjoying it so much! No aura/psyker explanation though, sorry!

Hefster: Well, I never specified who Maion's ancestor was, only that she was female!

Nemris: Glad to hear you liked them! I wanted to give it a little bit of a "Rainbow Six Siege" vibe, with extreme competence to offset what the Woadians normally bring to the table.

Kiyoushu: The process is a closely kept secret. And Sisters of Battle literally have no concept of chill. It's pretty much built into their identity that they don't have chill!

Yoshtar: I... thank you? I think? :D

mr.a: They are not happy about the development, I can tell you that much.

Sigurd: Hahaha! Actually made me laugh. :)

robyork1690: Glad you're enjoying it so much! Can't comment on your theory though, sorry!

LegionOfMisfits: I wrote a Maion chapter, just for you. I mean, not really, but I finished it just as I got your review, which made me laugh. Thanks so much for all your reviews!

Thanks again, you guys! It really means a lot to me that you're enjoying the story so much! :D