The first stop of our fleet before beginning a full-scale conflict with non-human life forms was a Forge World suggested by one of my advisors.
An industrial hub, it produced a multitude of useful armaments and vehicles that would significantly accelerate our conquest and allow us to proceed without unnecessary losses.
Ideally, without any at all—though one must remain a realist.
The journey itself took a little over six days, during which I familiarized myself with an unusual Precursor material that had long piqued my interest.
The black, perfectly smooth stone demonstrated an ability to locally block psychic energy, causing headaches and a sharp spike in stress hormones even in me.
Theoretically, it could become a mass-produced nullifier for the abilities of any psyker.
However, since this remained in the realm of theory and I had only found the ruins of a former device, I had to develop everything virtually from scratch.
Back on Schenalus, experiments had shown that ordinary humans felt physically ill near this stone, while sorcerers would outright scream in terror and plead for death.
Now, I had the chance to observe its reaction to the pure Warp.
The results were intriguing.
While inside the ship, the small fragments were too minute to affect the Geller field’s operation, but the ship’s systems warned me that bringing them closer to the generator could cause malfunctions.
In theory, this stone could be used as a weapon for warfare within the Immaterium, which opened fascinating perspectives.
I still needed to see how demons would react to direct exposure to this material, which had the potential to become one of my most critical strategic assets.
Regardless, this would not be a quick task.
The stone was a cryptic material, and creating a system from scratch based on principles I didn’t yet understand is not simple, even with my capabilities.
Yet nothing is impossible if enough time is invested.
And so, studying its composition at all levels and subjecting it to every possible scan, I spent my first voyage through the other dimension.
Occasionally, I had to divert my attention to administrative matters and issuing orders to the ship’s crew, but these were trifles compared to governing an entire planet.
This “rest” lasted until the breach into the other universe opened once more, bringing us to our destination.
Zeta-13-C, orbiting a large red star, was an impressive world.
Even from orbit, it was clear that its entire surface was covered in oceans of steel and endless factories rising into the stratosphere.
There were no visible bodies of water or remnants of wild life—only artificial structures created by human hands.
It was a magnificent, if not entirely aesthetic, testament to the greatness of the human mind and the drive to bring order to a wild world.
The two moons surrounding the planet had also been heavily modified; their surfaces were covered in a red-orange web of lights, marking the hearts of civilization and the most active production zones.
Orbital defense stations circled them, acting as bastions against void-born threats and serving as docks for ships too massive for surface spaceports.
Hundreds of kilometers of tech and steel stood watch over a planet likewise encased in metal.
Even before reaching the surface, I heard the voices of millions of machines working in unison.
From the massive, continent-spanning machinery that maintained the very possibility of life on a steel sphere—where billions could not survive without complex air, water, and waste recycling systems—to the smaller factories and the faint “spirits” of transports and handheld weapons.
They rejoiced in the mere fact of existing on a planet where every screw was venerated.
Clearly, the machines liked the people who maintained their functions and cared for their condition.
The existence of such consciousness in machines had long unsettled me, but the fact that it was not “psionic” in nature offered some relief.
I conducted experiments with the Blackstone, and despite any amount of material, my ability to communicate with technology did not wane, and the voice of the machines remained just as loud.
This was even more confusing, as it left it unclear: how exactly could I speak with inanimate objects?
Originally, I thought I simply had the ability to talk to primitive Artificial Intelligence, but that was debunked by the fact that ordinary rifles and cannons also possessed a semblance of consciousness, however primitive.
The cognitive abilities of the machines depended on their age, yet even newly minted gear created by my own hands possessed a faint voice.
I dismissed the theory that this was merely my own insanity.
I could command technology without words and perform feats with them far more impressive than anything I’d shared with the Tech-Priests.
I can only believe that there are forces and energies I have yet to discover that allow for such wonders.
Perhaps communication with the Mechanicum will shed light on this mystery, as I would soon speak with one of their ranking members in the Cult of the Machine God.
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The Mechanicum was a highly specific organization whose leader and Messiah openly despised all religions, yet granted them a sliver of his recognition.
Many argued it was too little—since after his initial appearance on Mars and his demonstration of miracles, he had mostly just ordered more weapons and soldiers, ceasing to deliver the Machine God’s word.
However, every sufficiently experienced Magos also recognized that the universe held too many fools.
Though less than a century had passed since the Omnissiah landed on Mars, the first voices had already begun to complain that the Master of Terra treated them as servants rather than the allies they truly were.* For now, these voices were quiet, but each year they grew more numerous.
Despite those who viewed the Tech-Priests as blind fanatics merely feasting on the information wealth of the Dark Age, they were the true keepers of the fire left by the geniuses of the past.
They could act rationally even when reality clashed with their desires and beliefs.
After all, the Mechanicum holds the largest collection of human knowledge in the galaxy and possesses thousands upon thousands of brilliant minds—geniuses in every sphere, without whom 31st-millennium industry and science would be unimaginable.
They are all united by one thing: faith in the supremacy of the human mind.
Yet with that faith comes both the realization of many truths regarding the world’s mechanics and a certain vulnerability to specific religious signs.
So, when the machine spirits across an entire Forge World became hyperactive, working at unprecedented levels and significantly increasing productivity, no one understood what had happened at first.
But the flotilla in the heavens soon provided the answer.
The closer the giant ship leading the armies came to the planet, the brighter and more obvious the reaction of the machine spirits became.
Many priests believed the Omnissiah himself had decided to visit them and began urgent preparations for the holiest of events.
The reality proved to be nearly as significant.
The Gloriana-class battleship did not descend to the surface—no spaceport was yet equipped for such an engineering marvel—but the shuttle from such a colossus was itself massive and occupied one of the largest available berths.
When it landed, tens of thousands of people gathered to meet what was clearly a son of the Emperor.
First to exit were the Space Marines, thousands of them marching forward to fill the multi-kilometer plaza created specifically for meeting high lords.
The rest of the planet resembled towering hives where people moved like ants, and countless factories scattered by the tens of thousands.
Few Imperials appreciated the aesthetic of a machine world, which is why the Tech-Priests had long ago begun building “more beautiful” streets for guests.
However, Ram Thanakur, the Archmagos governing this planet, knew from the first glimpse through his ocular sensors that this was no ordinary guest, nor even a common Primarch.
He had met the beast-like Russ before and held a less-than-positive impression of the Omnissiah’s sons who lacked his elegance and intellectual capacity.
But according to his sensors, Ferrus looked promising immediately.
He was fully clad in magnificent armor, clearly overflowing with various devices—most of which were incomprehensible even to a Tech-Priest of his age.
His reflections were interrupted by a sound that first confused Thanakur and then plunged him into total shock.
As the Primarch descended the giant ramp, illuminated by the brilliant light of artificial moons, he simply raised a hand, and everyone fell silent.
Because the machines began to sing.
Of all the people on the planet, perhaps only Ram himself could decipher the nature of what was happening and understand the language of the spirits, as he was the only Tech-Priest qualified enough to interpret them directly.
Even within the entire Cult of the Machine God, such individuals were rare, but he held his position as ruler of a vital world for a reason.
The song of the spirits was not a physical change in sound waves—none of his sensors could detect it—for their language consisted of streams of encoded images and ideas, without a single letter or symbol.
However, the inhabitants of the Forge World, who spent their lives serving and attempting to satisfy such entities, could feel the magnitude of the historical event.
Because of this, the moment the giant took his first step forward, tens of thousands of people instantly fell to their knees.
Only the Tech-Priests and specialized combat cyborgs and servitors remained standing.
Yet even they were reciting their most sacred prayers and utilizing every available recording service to capture this truly historic moment.
The Archdominus sat in silence, trying to record this wonderful moment with the last remnants of his non-augmented brain.
Though he appeared as an ordinary man in cult robes from the outside, beneath the artificial skin and flesh remained only two kilograms of gray matter that constituted his “Self.” And right now, every remaining neuron was in a state of ecstasy.
Across the bright, clean plaza marched thousands of Astartes, with the son of the Emperor leading them.
The Father of the Storm Walkers grew closer with every step to the central giant building where, on the first level, the ruler of the planet waited.
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The private chamber of the Archmagos in charge of this world was a surprisingly pleasant place for me.
Gray and devoid of excesses like paintings or holograms, it was simultaneously spacious enough for me to stand without hunching.
The Tech-Priest had only a desk with a cogitator, behind which he sat, watching my every movement and word.
“It is a great honor for me to meet the son of the Omnissiah, who has evidently also inherited his great gift, bestowed by the great lord of mechanical force. This is an incredible honor, and I will do everything in my power to assist you in the greatest task of reclaiming the majesty of the human race,” the Tech-Priest’s synthesized mechanical voice conveyed all the benevolence and respect his vocal implants could manage.
I didn’t waste words and simply nodded.
Моя head was thumping after my mass message to all the machine spirits, and for the first time in my life, I felt a fatigue like liquid steel spreading through my muscles and mind.
Even my hearts beat harder than usual after sending a single message to millions of recipients.
However, the way the priests had greeted me only sparked a desire to repeat such tricks a hundred times more.
During our conversations, my father had several times spoken about the harm of religion and the communal worship of the non-existent, but the mere existence of the Mechanicum undermined his every attempt to convince me.
Furthermore, I fundamentally disagreed with his position—there is no practical difference between a religion and an ideology; both are ways to bring peace to the soul and to drive it toward great deeds.
In both cases, everyone wins, and there is no need for senseless hypocrisy like the irrationally cruel destruction of all religions except one.
“There is no need. The Mechanicum and your world in particular are doing an excellent job assisting the Great Crusade. Of course, I won’t refuse additional shipments of heavy armor and ammunition, but I don’t want to seem like a common extortionist. Therefore, I have come with a gift.” I respectfully placed a silvery metallic cube on the table before the Archmagos.
“My home world is rich in technology left from the Dark Age, and thus I occasionally manage to unearth true treasures. And I thought, who better than you, one of the Machine God’s most successful priests, to realize the potential of such a gift? In return for this gift, I only ask that you facilitate the supply of vehicles for the upcoming campaign and guarantee that the first production models to enter mass service are assigned to my army. And know this—He is proud of servants like you.”
To be honest, judging by the Tech-Priest’s vivid reaction, I could have asked for the entire planet and he would have given it for such a treasure.
STCs were true relics to the servants of the Red Planet, and they were prepared to give almost anything for genuine rarities.
However, that is unwise policy in the long term—it is much better to gradually build connections with the cult’s elite so that years from now I have an entire army of people loyal specifically to me, rather than chasing immediate gain.
“Without question, we will provide you with everything necessary and more for such a gift. And—and I will be eternally grateful for your words, Saint.”
Funny, I didn’t even know Tech-Priest voice synthesizers were capable of trembling.
The first of many I will bend to my side, and my life is unlikely to end soon.
Now, I only have to deal with the Orks—how difficult can it be to defeat a few barbarians?
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“WAAAGH!!!” The unrestrained roar of otherworldly beasts who knew no mercy or compassion could terrify even the most steadfast soldiers, but now there was no room for fear.
The Orks gave no chance for weakness, so the cornered humans could only trade their blood for every second of their lives.
“Fire! Shoot into the horde! Idiots, don’t waste time aiming! It doesn’t matter where you hit, a bolter round will catch at least one of those things!”
Even though the aged commander, most of whose body had been replaced by augmentics, shouted with all the strength of his synthesized throat, his words were barely audible over the roar of hundreds of thousands of Orks storming the final fortifications of the human world.
The first detachments of the Imperial forces consisted of the bravest soldiers, forged from true adamantium, but everyone has their limits.
The greenskin horde, arriving on a literal asteroid equipped by the xenos’ mad geniuses, had breached the defenses of Prikitti without much trouble.
Upon landing, they destroyed the largest city on the planet, where a monument once stood commemorating the victory over the now-extinct lizard-xenos.
Now, however, a new species reigned over this land, and hundreds of ships leaving the atmosphere sought to spread this influence to other planets.
But the armada of Imperial reinforcements, led by a truly gargantuan ship, intended to dispute that truth.
*Many forget this, but at least in the 30th millennium, the Imperium of Man was not the absolute master of the galaxy.
The Mechanicum was not a vassal or subject, but a full ally with thousands of worlds and an army capable of standing against the best of the best (though the Primarchs would still have crushed them, which is why they didn’t show open aggression until the Heresy).
Despite being disliked or openly despised by all of the Emperor’s sons, they were still a step away from casting aside the Machine God, and only a small misunderstanding called the “Horus Heresy” prevented them from doing so.