A/N: Sorry this one's short, especially after the hiatus... hopefully you enjoy it regardless!

Book II: Corruption's End

Chapter 51: Calm Before the Storm

"It was one of the most beautiful planet's I've ever seen... and the worst one I've ever landed on." - Captain Darron Marius

After two and a half months in warp transit... it was finally time.

"In the pipe, five-by-five," the pilot called over the roar of the Valkyrie's descent. The craft jumbled and shook, jostling its contents. Stretching her arms, Yang unfurled Ember Celica, watching the weapon click into place. She'd spent the past months fixing it up, making sure the Mechanicus spooks didn't do anything funky to it. Thankfully, everything seemed in order. She fixed her Sergeant's beret in place, the black felt cap fitting snugly atop a mess of golden curls. Besides checking over her weapon, she' spent most of her time in the weight room, more than she ever had before. It felt good. It felt right. Cracking her knuckles, a smile spread across her face. Gained almost ten pounds of muscle too.

Beside her, Amat tucked his pistol into a holster on his hip. Like his rifle, it was comically over-sized. Yang gave him the thumbs up, throwing him a sly grin. Their compatriots were in fouler moods, scowling into folded hands as they whispered bleak prayers. They left their masks in their packs, as they had no one to terrify today.

It felt weird going a planet at peace. Once the bay door opened, there would be no hell-scape to greet her, no powerful miasma of ozone and death-rot to assault her. It's not bad weird, Yang decided. Just… different.

I wonder what Weiss has in store for us. After almost a year in the Imperium, she didn't know what to expect. Something was off about the mission, she knew that much for sure… even the kasrkin agreed. There's no way the Inquisitor would send her most trusted guards, her assassin, and her only... friend on a mission that she herself was not also attending.

Whatever her reasons, I'm sure she has them. Their parting had not been gentle… though Yang had found a small measure of satisfaction when she'd managed to crack Weiss' stiff facade, make her bleed. She's not untouchable.

The light in the shuttle bay switched to green, and the pilot let the Valkyrie down easy. Yang felt the too-familiar pull of a halted descent, and braced herself on one of the straps that hung from the railing above her. Amat did the same.

With the groaning hiss of pneumatic doors, Gartenwald revealed itself to them. It sucked Yang's breath away. Though shrouded in a purple-orange dusk, she could see hundreds of forested, snow-dusted mountains stretching out before them, jagged and spilling over with waterfalls. Mist from the frothing waters caught the suns, a gold-orange haze that seemed… familiar somehow.

A rush of fresh air buffeted the Inquisitorial party. Closing her eyes, Yang relished the thin, crisp air. After the polluted Uriel and the stale, recycled fare of the Ascendant Dawn, it was one of the best things she ever tasted.

"Go, go, go," Darron cried, waving them forward. In pairs, the party leapt from the craft. Yang's boots hit the dirt first, jet-wash blowing her hair into a torrent of snapping golden locks. Dropping to her knee and sweeping the landing zone with her lasgun, she waved Amat forward. He scanned the nearest treeline, pistol tucked against his chest. She pivoted, twisting her wrists as Ember Celica unfolded around them, locking into place.

Before them stood a mansion, one that crowned the mountain bluff they stood upon. It was typical of Imperial architecture, all flying buttresses and soaring rockcrete walls, complete with large stained-glass windows reinforced with rebar.

A detachment of official-looking people stood by the towering front door, wringing their hands as they watched the kasrkin spill out of the Valkyrie. The Planetary Governor, Yang remembered. This was his mansion they were using for the meet-up, a respectable enough distance from the nearby city at the base of the mountain… all in order to discourage eavesdroppers.

She could see the city from here, a collection of twinkling lights basking in the dying light of twin suns, built on the side of a winding river that snaked off into the horizon. Besides some obvious marks of Imperial authority (an enormous cathedral being foremost among them), the city reminded her of Aesbrough, if a bit smaller in scale.

"Fall in everyone," Darron ordered, couching his hellgun against his shoulder. Yang obeyed, tearing her eyes away from the city. As Chung soared away, the party marched on, approaching the greeting party, their boots scraping against the winding dirt road that led to the mansion.

"Lord Governor Aarsgaard, correct," Darron called out as they neared.

"Correct," a man said, stepping forward. He was tall, with streaks of grey running through his platinum-blonde hair. Dressed in matte-navy blue finery, a fur coat, and resplendent with golden Imperial lapel decorations, he cut an impressive figure. Even so, the kasrkin Captain dwarfed the man.

"We're here under the orders of the Lady Inquisitor," Darron said, throwing his fist up. Yang stopped in her tracks.

Following Darron around felt weird. She hadn't been the best at following Jorvis around, and the whole 'obey at all times' M.O. of the Guard always rubbed her the wrong way. Now that she was under the Captain's thumb, it grated more than usual. Though she was no leader, Yang had been wanting to flex her Sergeant muscles for awhile. Even if Gamma platoon waited in orbit, she felt weird being away from them. They needed her. Her friends needed her.

"You bear her seal?" The Governor asked.

Darron presented it, a bold red 'I' in the center of a twelve-pointed white-gold snowflake. At the sight of it, the Governor's officials bowed, sweat beading their brows. "As discussed on comms, we require the use of your manor until further notice," the Captain announced.

"Of course, my Lord," the Governor said, fingers folding together. "If you need anything else, please do not be afraid to ask."

"We need the premises to be empty," Chera said, resting her arm against her hellgun. "And a list of any security devices you have on site."

"O-of course," the Governor stammered, the golden chains on his shoulders rattling. "Allow me to collect my family, and we'll leave you in peace."

Amat watched the procession silently, his eyes focused upon the Governor's retinue. Yang kept her eye on the assassin. She could tell he was thinking about something, but the mask made it impossible to tell exactly what that was. Why can't he just leave it off? It's not like he refuses to take it off anymore… Sighing, she watched the Governor gather up what he needed from his mansion.

His family emerged - his wife, two younger boys, and a baby girl, bundled up in luxuriant pink swaddling. They were shaking with fear. Upon seeing the Inquisitorial party, the boys ducked behind their mother's skirts. Grinning, Yang tipped her beret at him, hoping to diffuse the tension somewhat. It didn't help.

The encounter didn't last long, as the Governor fled with his family and household guard in a manner of minutes. The mansion was theirs. He seemed awfully prepared to bug out. Yang didn't dwell on it. Night was falling, and a chill crept into the air. Not that it bothered her at all. At least we get to kick it in a big mansion for a while.

The door was two giant slabs of cast-iron gunmetal, filigreed with fancy spiral designs. It opened reluctantly, revealing the interior.

"Damn," Yang whispered, elbowing Amat. "Look at this place." Like the rest of Gartenwald, it was suitably impressive. Though the exterior implied furnishings more along the Imperial schools of thought, the mansion was quite cozy. Rich red carpets covered hardwood floors, and a few pieces of leather-clad furniture stood in front of a roaring fireplace. "It's like some kind of ski lodge."

Though the place was nice, it did have some obvious leanings towards Imperial thought. Instead of taxidermied animals or other such trophies, golden skulls studded the walls, much like the ones that dotted the Ascendant Dawn's chapel. A great portrait of the Emperor sat above the fireplace. He was standing atop a titanic ork, a foot crushing its gigantic head underneath.

There were a few concessions to normalcy, as between the skulls hung some family portraits and picts, full of dour-looking lords and their unsmiling spawn.

Yang threw her duffel bag down on a couch and herself soon after. She sank into the soft leather, relishing in something that wasn't Munitorum standard for once.

"Negative on that, Sergeant," Darron growled, kicking her feet off the armrests. "We're fortifying this place first. Then you can laze about."

Yang rolled her eyes, but sat up anyway. "We're just meeting up with some other agents. Why do we need to hunker down?"

"Because other agents aren't always our friends," Chera said, unbuckling her rucksack. "We've killed heretics by the hundreds, sure, but we've-"

"Enough, Lieutenant," Darron said, his eyes narrowing. "It's not your place to question orders, Sergeant, but obey them. So hop to it."

I could break you, old man. Your wife too.

"Sergeant..."
"On it, sir," Yang said, unstrapping her power sword and resting it on top of her stuff. Weiss is gonna pay for making me mind these assholes.

"Amat, why don't you go find a good nest to set up in?" Darron said. "Overwatch on this entire valley would be ideal."

Amat nodded, and vanished into the mansion's bowels. Damn it, Yang thought. There goes my lifeline. At least she could raise him on the microbead. In order to antagonize the kasrkin as much as possible, she scooped up the largest couch she could find, one big enough to fit Sister Eleven. Then she picked up its twin, resting them on her shoulders as she strode over to the largest windows.

"Show-off," one of the kasrkin muttered.

"Hey now," Yang said, unfazed, "less talking more fortifying. Wouldn't want to upset the Captain now, would we?"

/

After boarding up the atrium's windows, turning over some couches to use as cover, and barricading the front door, Yang explored the mansion under the pretense of 'requisitioning additional supplies'. It was a stately manse, to be sure. Though the local dialect of gothic didn't make much sense to her, it seemed as though this place served as the Planetary Governor's home during his tenure. And there were a lot of governors. Yang lost count around forty portraits, each frame more aged and withered than the last, their oils cracked and withered.

The halls weren't as open as the atrium, but were just as warm and inviting. Some, though cramped, were still grand, displaying some rather impressive landscapes and holographic displays. A common theme, Yang realize, was tanks. Tanks shooting at xenos, tanks blowing up more grotesque tanks, people with swords standing on top of tanks. Made sense, since their sole important export to the Imperium were Leman Russ regiments. Odd that there weren't any manufactorums spewing out smog in the city below.

Then, Yang found it. The kitchen. Licking her lips, her boots skidded across the hardwood floors, screeching to a halt right in front of an aluminum-plated fridge. She'd had an unfulfilling gelatinous meal before descent, but she'd be damned to the warp before she let an actual meal pass her by.

Her hand hovered above the handle. Am I seriously going to raid their fridge?

Psh, fuck yeah I am.

Somehow, she didn't think the Governor's family would mind. In fact, the Governor looked like he was about to piss his pants, and his family just looked relieved that they weren't getting lined up against a wall.

Is that the kind of reputation the Inquisition has? You know… the organization I belong to? And what was that about not all Inquisitors being friendly? Yang knew she poisoned the one on Elodia, but she had no idea how deep the supposed corruption went. How many of her comrades has she killed? The question was almost enough to spoil her appetite.

Almost.

She found a large bowl of spiced noodles, wrapped in clear plastic. Hello, leftovers. She didn't have any chopsticks or silverware, but that wasn't going to stop her. Brushing her fingers off on her tunic, she dug them into the bowl and helped herself.

They were surprisingly good. Terra, even boiled leather tastes good compared to Guard rations. The intrusive thought died away, because even compared to regular standards, it was quality food. Fit for a Governor, she thought, smirking. She fit another fistful of noodles into her mouth, thoughts about Weiss forgotten.

"Getting into trouble?" Amat asked, materializing at the kitchen door. Yang jumped, startled by the intrusion into her private meal. She slupred up a noodle, grinning all the while.

"Depends if you're going to try and stop me," Yang said, twirling her finger around another mouthful of food.

"Get between you and food?" Amat asked, lurching into the kitchen, red-tinted visor parsing each cabinet. "I'm not suicidal."

Yang chuckled. "Damn straight… you want some?" She said, extending a handful of noodles towards the assassin. He opened up a counter, exposing a bin of polished silverware.

"I think I will. Like a civilized person," he added, plucking a fork from among its brethren.

"Ooh, fanshy," Yang said, her mouth full of food. "Didja cut up your gel-paste too?" Once more, Amat didn't reply, removing his mask instead. He'd shaved. "Looking good, assassin-man," Yang said, pushing the bowl his way. He grunted, digging his fork into the offered food. "How is it?"

"Good," he allowed. "Strange texture. Although I find it odd you're so willing to plunder the Governor's food."
"Didn't you have a perch to find?" Yang asked. Amat shrugged.

"There's a tower on the north wing of the mansion, right above the garage. I just figured I'd make sure you weren't ripping the Captain's limbs off," he said with a flickering smile.

Yang paused.

"Oh, I didn't think you were actually going to do that," Amat said, trying to catch some noodles. "I was joking… did I do it right? Sometimes it's hard to tell."

"Did you say 'garage'?" Yang asked, scooting forward.

"Correct. I didn't look in there, but-" Amat didn't have a chance to finish his reply (or his noodles), as Yang was already sprinting off to the north wing. It'd been so long since Yang saw anything other than tanks and Basilisks, It's almost too much to hope… but… could there be? She licked her lips, the strange spiced-noodle taste flaring up once more.

"Yang?" Amat called down the hallways. Yang skidded on her heels. "It's that way," he said, pointing to her right. Beaming, she threw him a salute and dashed down the hall. Sure enough, there was a big double-door with the words 'Garage' above them, printed in big, bold letters.

Yang pushed the doors open, and grinned. It seemed as the the Governor had a penchant for tinkering. The sparse, concrete walls were lined with toolboxes, resting quietly in the dark while their master was away. Flicking the lights, ranks of fluorescent bulbs flickered on, illuminating the contents.

She was disappointed there was no bike, but in the center of the garage there was something else… an amorphous lump of canvas with four wheels sticking out from underneath it. Yang took a deep breath.

No fucking way. With a sweep of her arms, she tore the canvas away, revealing the most beautiful thing she'd seen in months.

It was a convertible, sporty as all hell and painted a rich shade of scarlet. Two black racing lines ran down its side, hand painted with extreme care. Tremulously, Yang ran her fingers along them. It was so clean, she could see her reflection in the paint job. She licked her lips before letting out a low whistle.

The body was a bit blockier, with square wheel wells and a sheer grill. A polished supercharger stuck out from the hood, polished to a mirror shine.

"This Governor knows how to live," Yang said, inspecting the interior. The upholstery was rich black leather, the same kind that adorned the furniture in the atrium. As expected, there were some differences in design between Remnant and Imperial engineers - the ignition was on the armrest by the stick shift - but the basic principles were the same. Steering wheel, radio, speedometer, fuel gauge, brake and gas pedals. All the important parts are in the right place.

"Good thing Magos Tyrham can't see this," Yang added. "Pretty sure all this tinkering would stick in his metal craw."

"I doubt he'd care," Amat said. "Nor would the Mechanicus. If they had to investigate every chop shop in the Imperium, they'd be swamped in bureaucracy and busy-work before they could say 'tech-heresy'."

"Guess that makes sense," Yang said. "But damn, just look at this thing!"

"We're going on a ride… aren't we?" Amat asked.

Yang grinned.

A/N: Alright everyone, that was officially the LAST chapter of set-up! From here on out, it's gonna be balls-to-the-wall insanity... cliff-hangers and reveals galore! BUCKLE UP, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Thanks for your patience everyone! Until next time!