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The Next Day.
Inside the fortress command hall, Qin Mo stood in silence before a vast hololithic projection that bathed the chamber in cold blue light. Streams of tactical data crawled across the air like spectral constellations as he analyzed the current state of the Celestial Engine.
Behind him stood Grey and Yoan, both silent as statues while the projection reflected across their armor, their motionless forms resembling sentinels carved from iron and shadow.
The Celestial Engine was only halfway complete. From orbit, it resembled a colossal artificial world in embryonic form, two immense orbital rings slowly revolving around a smaller planetoid wrapped in scaffolding, shipyards, and construction lattices kilometers thick.
Additionally, two artificial celestial bodies orbited the structure itself, smaller companion spheres forged from mined asteroid cores and armored in layered ferrosteel.
The "core" of this artificial celestial body housed a Tesseract Labyrinth that contained the Nightbringer shard, a C'tan entity of terrible power. This Tesseract was further supported by power conduits that drew on its energy to power the station and generate artificial gravity.
Encircling the core was the primary infrastructure layer, military barracks for the First Legion regiments, extensive munitorum-grade supply depots stretching for hundreds of kilometers, macro-reactor complexes, fabrication districts, a massive dimensional drive, and more than ten thousand shield generators linked together into overlapping defensive grids.
And this… was merely the beginning.
At its current stage, the Celestial Engine was akin to a half-forged planet, its core and mantle completed while the immense outer crust, continental superstructures, defensive bastions, orbital docks, and hive-sized habitation layers remained unfinished beneath swarms of construction drones and voidcraft.
Unlike Imperial voidships or drifting space hulks, the Celestial Engine required no conventional crew. Every function was controlled by a single Stone Man, a silicon-based construct permanently integrated into the machine-control cortex at the heart of the station.
That single Stone Man was sufficient to govern the entirety of the Celestial Engine: systems management, automated repairs through drone swarms, dimensional navigation, logistics coordination, internal security, and even battlefield analysis.
Currently, the half-finished Celestial Engine housed the combined strength of one hundred regiments drawn from two worlds within the Talon System, amounting to nearly seventy million First Legion soldiers under arms.
While the personnel had already arrived, the transport of weapons, armor, ammunition, armored vehicles, and industrial-scale logistical reserves was still underway, an undertaking so massive that entire cargo convoys vanished daily into the station's cavernous docking sectors.
Everything was proceeding efficiently.
But one issue remained a logistical nightmare.
Food.
Even a force numbering in the tens of millions consumed unimaginable quantities of supplies each day.
Nutrient paste, protein cultures, recycled water, agricultural biomass, ration blocks, and livestock shipments all had to be imported from agri-worlds scattered across nearby subsectors. The Talon System simply lacked the agricultural infrastructure to sustain such a massive military population for any extended duration.
"I need to speak with both of you," Qin Mo said at last, turning toward Grey and Yoan.
The two men nodded wordlessly, listening intently.
"When you arrive at the Forge World of Agripinaa, you will not be participating in a short campaign," Qin said. "You may not return for years."
His tone remained calm, but the weight behind the words settled heavily across the chamber.
"Do not pursue secondary objectives. Do not chase glory. Do not allow yourselves to be baited into unnecessary engagements." His gaze hardened. "Victory lies in strict discipline and execution. Follow my instructions to the letter. Do not allow distractions, pride, or emotion to dictate your actions."
After delivering this short but heavy briefing, Qin Mo paused for a few seconds before speaking again, this time to Grey alone.
"Teleport to the Celestial Engine and familiarize yourself with the troops you'll be commanding."
"Yes, my lord." Grey nodded and left immediately. His armored boots echoed as he strode out, vanishing into the steel corridors beyond the command hall.
Once only Yoan remained in the chamber, Qin Mo gave him further orders, the kind only meant for a Pariah to hear.
"You may encounter a Plague Fleet," Qin said quietly. "You will recognize it immediately, diseased green vessels covered in corrosion, ruptured hulls, corpse growths, and impossible organic mutations. Avoid close-quarters engagement at all costs. Nurgle's rot is no joke. It is spiritual contamination given physical form. Even your metal chassis could be twisted into rotting flesh if exposed for too long."
"I understand." Yoan nodded grimly.
Over the past two years, he had not remained idle within the Talon Sector. Whenever signs of Chaos corruption emerged in nearby systems, he had led null-teams recruited by Klein from across the region to cleanse the taint. Though such outbreaks had decreased, the danger never truly passed.
He had seen hive populations transformed into deranged cults.
He had seen men continue fighting after their organs liquefied.
He had seen corpses stand back up.
He had watched entire settlements descend into madness after hearing whispers carried through corrupted vox transmissions.
Yoan understood the threat Chaos represented.
"I'm not done," Qin Mo continued. "There's another potential threat. You may encounter Traitor Astartes, those marked by Chaos. They bear a sigil with twin elongated helmet crests. They call themselves World Eaters. Absolute close-combat maniacs, once-loyal Space Marines now driven mad by the Blood God. If battle is unavoidable, keep Grey and the others away from prolonged melee engagements."
Yoan nodded again. In his mind, these so-called "World Eaters" sounded like the berserker cultists who once ravaged the Hive World, fanatical warriors driven only by bloodlust.
"That's all I have to say," Qin Mo said, placing a hand on Yoan's shoulder. "Go now."
"Yes, my lord." Yoan turned to leave, but after several steps he suddenly stopped.
"There is one issue," he said. "We currently possess no reliable cross-galactic communication capability. If we need to report developments, how should we proceed?"
"For now, use courier vessels," Qin replied. "I will establish a proper long-range communications infrastructure as soon as possible."
He tapped a nearby dataslate with mild irritation.
The necessary infrastructure had been delayed too long.
Interstellar communications had always been part of Qin Mo's long-term plans, but recent events had forced his priorities elsewhere. Agripinaa's defense and Vick's protection had become matters of immediate necessity.
"Oh, and one more thing," Qin added just as Yoan turned to leave again. "You remember Vick, the Tech-Priest? You are to guarantee his safety. His survival takes priority even over the Forge World itself."
Though Yoan did not fully understand why this Adeptus Mechanicus priest was so important, he did not question the order. Orders were orders.
He would see them carried out, no matter the cost.
Even if the world burned, Vick would live.
....
Meanwhile...
Forge World Agripinaa.
The entire planet had long ago ceased resembling a natural world.
Once-green continents now lay buried beneath continent-spanning manufactorums, steel-plated wastelands, and oceans of machinery. The skies were perpetually drowned beneath layers of black industrial smog illuminated by the crimson glow of forge-fires and reactor vents.
Silo-cities and refinery spires pierced the heavens like metallic mountains, while horizon-spanning factories stretched farther than the eye could see. Rivers of molten metal flowed across tectonic plates like blazing industrial arteries pumping lifeblood through the machine-world.
Lightning arced constantly between the tallest plasma stacks, filling the polluted atmosphere with violent flashes of blue-white light.
The air trembled beneath the roar of macro-forges, the pounding of assembly lines, and the endless thunder of planetary industry.
From every district echoed binharic hymns dedicated to the Omnissiah, the Machine God, and the Prime Motive Force.
Sacred canticles droned endlessly from vox-horns mounted upon rusted adamantium walls, their distorted harmonics merging with the mechanical heartbeat of the Forge World itself.
Within the forge-complex known as the Luminance of the Omnissiah, tens of millions of Skitarii and tech-guard personnel had established layered defensive perimeters.
The outer bastions bristled with macro-turrets, missile silos, and defense lasers powerful enough to cripple voidcraft in low orbit. Lines of Kataphron Breachers stood motionless within defensive corridors like dormant war machines awaiting activation.
Inside, even the servitors marched with purpose, rerouted from assembly lines to states of battlefield readiness.
Assembly-line labor units had been repurposed into ammunition carriers, combat engineers, and emergency repair crews. Every cog in the manufactorum had shifted toward war production.
Vick, clad in crimson-and-brass robes woven with circuit-thread scripture and bearing his cog-toothed magos staff, moved steadily through the endless military preparations toward the manufactorum's upper sanctum.
"Evening, Magos."
"Praise be to the Omnissiah."
"Magos Vick."
Every Skitarius, Enginseer, and Forge-Cleric he passed greeted him with the Cog-Gesture regardless of rank. Vick acknowledged each greeting with a silent nod.
After enduring countless greetings and gestures, he finally arrived at the command sanctum to meet the Fabricator-Locum, the planetary ruler of this Forge World.
The sanctum was a throne-room of industry, lined with pulsing data conduits and blessed cogitators. Servo-skulls drifted overhead trailing incense smoke and devotional parchment etched with binharic scripture.
"You are late, Priest," said the Archmagos, his voice a rasping mechanical tone.
A vocalizer implant layered his speech with feedback-laced bass, more machine than voice. His face was completely replaced with augmetics, devoid of flesh, but Vick could still hear the dissatisfaction beneath the digital static.
Though Vick had once officially held the title of Magos Explorator, his position within the Mechanicus had since become politically… complicated.
Too influential to ignore yet too controversial to dismiss.
Too unorthodox to elevate.
Official Mechanicus records had quietly altered his standing over time. What had once been a sanctioned rank became a title unofficially revoked through bureaucratic manipulation without public notice.
To formally recognize him as Magos would be interpreted as endorsing his dangerously open philosophy regarding technological dissemination.
Despite the reverence others had for him, Vick remained, by Mechanicus hierarchy, a Priest, not a full Magos. Only peers and subordinates addressed him as "Magos" out of respect; superiors did not.
The reason Vick earned such widespread reverence was because of his selflessness. Unlike most Tech-Priests, who hoarded knowledge as sacred property, Vick believed humanity's survival depended upon controlled technological advancement rather than endless secrecy.
He had distributed an STC template for mass-printing crystalline components under the name of the Omnissiah's Grace.
More shocking still, he had openly released his research regarding artificial crystal technologies to the wider Mechanicus, complete with documentation, replication protocols, and personal support for implementation failures.
Such an act, bordering on techno-heresy in its openness, had sparked fierce debate among the Archmagi of Mars, but no one could deny the efficiency gains and the loyalty it had earned him.
So while his official title remained Priest, to his peers and followers he was already a Sage, and in whispered code-streams hidden within data-looms and private noospheres, some even called him a prophet of a purer Mechanicus.
"The Imperial Navy has withdrawn," the Archmagos stated, gesturing toward the hololithic projection dominating the chamber. "Unless circumstances change, Agripinaa will face the coming invasion alone."
The projection unit itself had been a gift from Vick. Unlike conventional hololithic displays, it rendered tactical information in real time across multiple atmospheric and orbital layers simultaneously.
Glowing schematics spread across the chamber air: troop formations, reactor outputs, shield integrity maps, seismic stress readings, and orbital defense trajectories.
"We are not without allies," Vick replied calmly. "The Omnissiah remains with us."
The Archmagos cast him a sidelong glance, clearly devoid of enthusiasm.
He pointed toward the southern industrial district where another manufactorum complex blinked on the display.
"I require you to travel to the southern manufactorum and requisition additional defense detachments. The entire Forge World is threatened."
His mechadendrites twitched irritably.
"They may refuse. Their enclave follows isolationist doctrines and considers outside intervention doctrinal contamination." He paused. "But your reputation may convince them. Ensure that it does."
"As you command, Archmagos," Vick intoned before turning to carry out the order.
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