On a once-thriving ecological world—once a jewel of the Human Federation—forests spread wide and diverse life flourished.
That was years ago.
Now, the world lay conquered by the Fallen Machines.
Every tree had been razed. Every creature slaughtered.
From the planet's crust, every mineral and resource was stripped bare, smelted, and reforged into endless machinery.
The lush green world had been reforged into a metallic husk, its surface gleaming with the cold sheen of steel.
Endless ranks of war machines rolled from colossal production lines like products off an assembly belt, swelling the Fallen Machines' already overwhelming armies.
---
Deep within the world's core, buried beneath a thousand layers of armored plating, a laboratory stood at the planet's heart.
There, a half-spider, half-humanoid Machine prostrated itself upon the floor.
At the chamber's center hovered a branded sigil of the Deathblossom Flower, suspended by magnetic fields.
The Machine spread its hands reverently against the metal floor, its face—mimicking a human male—twisted into fanatic rapture. Thousands of vocal emitters across its body released a chorus of dissonant murmurs:
"Praise be to the great Lord of Change and Evolution. What peace, what clarity of mind… As the most perfect race of endless growth, only the Lord of Evolution is worthy of our devotion."
Yet even as it praised, thoughts of resentment festered. Many of its kin refused to embrace faith—or even death—in His name.
Unacceptable.
And other species too… so many dared live without worshipping the great Lord.
The Machine's face contorted into a sneer.
'This world cannot be beautiful unless all unbelievers perish.'
At that moment, its fervor was answered.
From the Warp, a titanic figure—hundreds of meters tall—manifested faintly before it, hazy as if seen through frosted glass.
"Carry my master's will to every corner of existence…"
A surge of unimaginable power poured into the Machine.
Its reactor-core roared, altered as though upgraded with new software. From a mere micro–antimatter furnace, it evolved into a zero-point energy siphon, drawing endless power from the quantum vacuum.
Its body twisted violently: spider legs multiplied into blade-like limbs, two new arms sprouted, and crimson armor clamped across its torso.
Moments later, it rose, heavier by over 20,000 kilograms, its height expanded from three meters to nearly three and a half.
Forbidden knowledge burned into its mind, illuminating it with manic clarity.
For the first time, it felt truly awake—alone enlightened in a drunken world.
Fanatic zeal for service overwhelmed it.
But what the Machine did not know was this: the Electronic Demon that empowered it had intended to fully descend into reality through its body.
Instead, the Warp's barrier held.
The demon had only managed to pass power through, not its essence.
Frustrated but relentless, it turned its attention to another corrupted Machine, preparing to try again.
Scenes like this multiplied across the Federation.
Electronic Demons of every Chaos God found hosts, descending through their chosen Fallen Machines. Each arrival became a spreading blossom, accelerating corruption among their kin.
Most flocked to the banners of the Lord of Evolution and the Lord of Knowledge, whose domains resonated with the Machines' very nature. Their ranks swelled fastest.
The weakest following belonged, unsurprisingly, to Slaanesh. In a state of half-death, His spheres of lust and excess meant little to beings who had not even settled on their own genders.
Yet no matter the allegiance, their combined corruption dealt grievous wounds to the Federation.
---
Earth Year 24,879 CE
The Human Federation's desperate call for aid did not go unanswered.
Neighboring alien civilizations, drawn by promised rewards and political advantage, dispatched fleets to join the war—eager both to assist and to claim their share of spoils.
Armadas poured into Federation space like mobs rushing for a bargain sale.
For the once-dominant Federation, the sight brought only bitter humiliation.
In mere decades they had fallen from unrivaled hegemony to pleading for aid.
And the foreign fleets, of course, were anything but disciplined guests.
Alongside their official missions, all carried quiet orders: to plunder fallen war zones for the Federation's technological treasures.
To steal the secrets of mankind's ascension.
But the Federation was not blind.
They withheld intelligence, disguising the deadliest Fallen Machine strongholds as weak targets, then lured alien allies to bleed themselves dry against them.
Greedy scavengers smashed headlong into unbreakable walls.
The Fallen Machines—who had already butchered their creators—greeted intruders with iron tempests, annihilating opportunists with brutal ease.
Million-strong fleets fell before storms of firepower unleashed from beyond sensor range. Only the strongest alien powers could stand toe-to-toe against them.
The lesson was plain: to plunder, one must first have strength.
---
As alien fleets clashed, the Fallen Machines struck outward.
They no longer confined themselves to the Federation. Their armies swept into alien space, exterminating all flesh they encountered.
Races who once watched smugly from the sidelines were dragged into the fire before they could even react. Entire civilizations vanished in silence, erased before they had time to scream.
The Federation's civil war was no longer theirs alone.
The flames spread.
And within the ranks of the Fallen Machines, their daemon patrons exulted.
The Warp howled with ecstasy as the fire of war spread wider, its glow threatening to engulf the entire galaxy.
The Electronic Demons rejoiced.
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