On the first day of class, the priority was to morize vocabulary.
Hades, drawn in a rather hasty art style, sat despondently in the library, gloomily morizing technical terms. Around him, various books ford a prison of knowledge:
“101 Basic Circuits Every Incubator Instructor Must Teach”
“3,000 Types of Screws Every Servitor Should morize”
And, of course, there were books with titles written in binary, octal, or even ASCII code, such as “How to Please Your Machine with Lubricating Oil.”
Nearby, the snoring of the Space Wolves Manning grated on Hades' already strained nerves.
Stop thinking about it, he reminded himself. Manning was the spoiled son of a privileged family, while he was the sole hope of a newly-ford legion and owned nothing but standardized parts.
Swallowing down the torrent of knowledge threatening to overwhelm him, Hades resigned himself and buried his head in his studies once more.
Now, he finally understood the aning of “so-called thirty years of study.”
Even Astartes, genetically enhanced warriors with boosted learning capabilities, required three decades to master the basics of a legion's technical maintenance.
It was as if they were thrown onto Mars and cramd for thirty years straight like students preparing for the gaokao.
Hades suddenly developed a profound respect for the Techmarine and Master of the Forges among the Death Guard.
Thankfully, he had a cybernetic brain.
Flipping a page and snapping a picture, Hades let his left brain absorb the knowledge directly.
He planned to reference it when needed later.
Why didn't the chanicum invent sothing like USB drives?
What Hades didn’t know was that such devices did exist within the chanicum. However, he lacked the necessary permissions to access them.
When he felt as though he was about to literally vomit knowledge, Hades finally lifted his head and rubbed his neck.
He stared at the wall opposite him, zoning out.
Ever since he walked out of that chanicus sanctuary a few Martian days ago, Hades had been pondering the chanicus religion.
According to his mories from his past life, the chanicus was created by the Emperor himself. Its purpose was to preserve critical technologies through the Age of Strife, paving the way for his Great Crusade.
Hades refrained from judging the Emperor's intentions. He understood the Emperor needed people willing to sacrifice themselves for knowledge during such a dark era.
And faith was often the most effective catalyst for such behavior.
The cheapest form of faith was often cloaked in religion and ignorance.
But witnessing the fervor of the Tech-Priests—an unwavering, heartfelt belief that the Emperor was the Omnissiah—left Hades sowhat... shaken.
No, it was pointless to agonize over an established fact. Hades wouldn’t waste his precious brain cells on such matters.
What puzzled him was that faith in this universe actually worked. If you prayed to a god, so entity in the Warp would respond.
So where did the chanicum's prayers go?
Hades hadn’t seen them summon a true Machine God from the Warp.
At present, he had two theories. The first was that all of the chanicum’s faith funneled into the actual Machine God, the Void Dragon, imprisoned beneath Mars by the Emperor.
The Void Dragon, a shard of the C’tan, could be understood as a deity of the material realm—imnsely powerful but bound to physical laws.
Thus, faith in the Void Dragon would have no utility, as the C’tan operated solely within the rules of the material universe.
The second theory was that the Emperor impersonated the Void Dragon's avatar on Mars, siphoning its authority. This redirection ant all of the chanicum’s faith ultimately empowered the Emperor.
Either way, one thing was clear: the Emperor was the biggest beneficiary of the rivalry between the chanicum and the Void Dragon.
The Tech-Priests themselves, however, had diverse attitudes toward their faith. So were fervent zealots, while others treated their belief as a convenience for conducting their experints.
Take Magos Gell Yordan, for instance. He was a devout fanatic who seized every opportunity to preach to Hades.
Hades’ response? A resigned, “Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right. Praise the Omnissiah.”
The wall-mounted digital clock glowed, displaying Martian midday. With a beep, it broke Hades’ train of thought.
Staring at the mountain of books on his desk, Hades collapsed in despair, rhythmically thumping his head against the table.
He had once fantasized about finishing his studies quickly and returning to his squad. Now, though? What kind of nightmare was this?
What Hades didn’t realize was that his learning pace far outstripped others. Without a point of reference, he couldn’t perceive just how extraordinary his progress truly was.
The sound of Hades’ head-banging woke up Manning, whose snores abruptly stopped. Groggy, Manning glanced at the clock.
“What? Ti to eat? Let’s go! Stop studying!”
This marked the second day that Manning dragged Hades away.
Martian cuisine consisted of specially seasoned algae and a porridge with a faint hint of machine oil.
The brownish-green, spherical algae, sprinkled with vinegar and salt, glistened under the lights.
The porridge tasted like... nothing, save for a subtle tallic tang.
Unlike the sweet flavors on Death Guard ships, Martian food leaned salty.
It’s not a problem though, Hades wasn’t a picky eater.
After a morning of grueling study, Hades turned his frustration into appetite.
Just dig in, buddy. That’s all you can do!
By the ti Hades set down his twenty-third plate of algae, Manning was staring at him in disbelief.
“Bro, does the Death Guard not feed you or sothing?”
Manning, who avoided chanicum als whenever possible, couldn’t understand this grass-eating lifestyle. Hades ate the algae like how he feasted on at back on Fenris.
Other Techmarine rely ate to sustain themselves.
But Hades? He was the first person Manning had ever seen eat so enthusiastically.
Hades swallowed the algae lodged in his throat.
“The Death Guard's food is great. Nutritious porridge and tal rations—delicious and filling.”
“Every day, it’s just that?”
Hades looked at Space Wolves Manning with a face full of confusion.
“Yeah, every day.”
That’s the bare minimum dietary standard for Space Marines, right?! Manning was taken aback. Is that seriously all the Death Guard eat?
He had heard about the Emperor's Children’s tea tis, the Ultramarines’ grand banquets, and the Blood Angels' sanguinary feasts. Even the more austere legions incorporated bread or at from nearby agri-worlds into their diets.
But the Death Guard’s diet? This was a first.
The incongruity of a personable Primarch and such an austere nu—it didn’t add up.
Still, looking at the nonchalant expression on Hades' face, Manning found himself at a loss for words.
Forget it. Next ti they grab drinks, he’ll bring so wild ga along. Rare to find soone he could let loose with.
Manning sched quietly.
Across from him, Hades was lost in thought. He vaguely rembered Enrique warning him to steer clear of Manning, but how had things ended up like this? A re fistfight had sohow led to their current camaraderie.
Hades glanced around and noticed the Iron Hands and Iron Warriors sitting as far away from them as possible.
Wait… was he being avoided?
However, Luna Wolves Sunderland and War Hounds Peres caught his glance and smiled at him kindly.
< >
The afternoon session was practical work. While Hades could’ve chosen to bury himself in the library again, he decisively made a beeline for the chanicum workshop.
In the distance, sparks flew as other Techmarines-to-be dissected and reassembled machinery. Hades, however, stood contemplatively before a Deimos-pattern Rhino.
The chanicum deed these "gentler machine spirits" ideal for beginners' first practical lessons.
But what exactly was a machine spirit?
From Hades’ understanding, there were three types:
1. Esoteric Machine Spirits: Manifestations within the Warp. These were the most common and traditionally understood type, often brought into existence by the soldiers' collective belief in them.
2. Scientific Machine Spirits: Advanced automated or semi-autonomous systems that the chanicum referred to as machine spirits for simplicity.
3. Forbidden Machine Spirits: Rogue AIs skirting the edge of legality. After the Treaty of Olympus Mons, the Emperor banned AI research outright to prevent another rebellion. However, certain Tech-Priests operating in legal gray areas still maintained intelligent AIs, passing them off as machine spirits.
What? Breaching the treaty?
No, no, this isn't AI—it’s the Great Machine Spirit!
“Honored Hades of the Death Guard, greetings.”
The voice interrupted Hades’ musings.
A Tech-Priest acolyte, robed and heavily chanized, erged from behind the Rhino. Unlike others, his face lacked any organic tissue, replaced entirely by cables and a display screen.
What caught Hades’ attention, though, was the acolyte's "eyes"—a single strip of pixelated blue dots blinking like cartoon eyes.
“Hello,” Hades replied, blinking.
“How should I address you?”
The acolyte flinched as if startled, even backing away slightly. Sweat-drop emojis appeared on his display.
What in the Omnissiah’s na is going on? Hades wondered.
“Y-you may call Jin, Jin-306,” the acolyte stamred in a strangely human-like tone, even simulating a stutter.
Hades knew most Tech-Priests disdained their biological voices, viewing air currents from vocal cords as inefficiencies.
Well, I suppose there are all kinds in a large enough forest.
At least Jin wasn't one of those rigid, dogmatic Tech-Priests. Feeling optimistic, Hades motioned for him to continue.
Jin's pixelated eyes blinked.
“Lord Hades, I, 306, am assigned to your practical training. You may ask any questions, and I shall provide the most canonical answers.”
“Today’s session involves your first interaction with a machine spirit.”
“The MK1C Deimos-pattern Rhino before you was part of the third production wave during the early Great Crusade. It saw extensive action on the frontlines against xenos until its service ended due to fuel mixture corrosion issues within its engine.”
“The first docunted manifestation of this machine spirit occurred during a prolonged siege on an agri-world. Despite insufficient fuel levels, it completed a mission by traveling approximately 3.4 kiloters, delivering vital supplies to the front.”
“Since then, the tank has exhibited repeated signs of machine spirit activity. When retired from active duty, Magos Yordan personally retrieved it from the battlefield to serve as a teaching tool, inspiring faith in the machine spirit among initiates.”
“Based on your genetic profile, this Rhino’s machine spirit showed the highest compatibility with you, which is why it was selected for your training.”
Previous users described this Rhino’s machine spirit as staunchly xenos-averse, gentle, forgiving, resilient, and notably lethargic.
Given that most machines around Hades tended to exhibit mild irritability, the Magos assigned him the most docile spirit available.
Jin’s digital eyes ford a cheerful smile.
“Now, Lord Hades, allow to instruct you in the basics of offering reverence to the machine spirit.”
Incense burned, candles flickered, oil was applied, and the battered tank was draped in crimson silk, its ornate gold thread shimring in the light.
After completing the ritual, Hades blinked at the incongruous combination of machinery and fabric.
Jin, anwhile, bowed deeply toward the tank, then turned and bowed to Hades as well.
“Lord Hades, the ritual is complete. I can feel the calm and joyful spirit of the machine. You may now place your hand on its fra and attempt to commune with its spirit.”
“This process requires silence, so I will take my leave for now.”
“If you need anything, please call for .”
Jin’s digital eyes flickered before he quietly left, vanishing among the workshop’s many machines.
Watching Jin disappear, Hades suddenly felt a twinge of pity—the resigned humility of a worker facing an unreasonable taskmaster.
We’re all just laborers, no need to make things harder for you.
Reflecting on life’s universal struggles, Hades turned back to the battle-scarred tank. Flickering light played across its pitted surface, while lted wax dripped slowly down its shell, and crimson silk lay smooth atop it.
It might look silly, but still…
Hades removed his work gloves and carefully touched the tank’s worn surface. Knowing this Rhino likely housed a Type I esoteric machine spirit, he suppressed the Black Domain energy within his body, moving it away to prevent interference.
Closing his eyes, Hades tried to focus and establish a connection.
But how do you even communicate with a machine spirit?!
Typically, Techmarines could sense faint calls from the machine spirits, discerning the machine’s condition and operational readiness.
But Hades felt absolutely nothing.
It’s like glaring at a rock.
After nearly an hour of futile effort, Hades couldn’t hold it together anymore.
He racked his brain, recalling the chanicum’s ceremonial prayers.
Ah, right!
Tech-Priests often used servo-skulls programd to sing binary hymns, placing them in sanctuaries to delight the spirits.
Maybe he can try sothing similar.
The prayer rituals primarily involved singing hymns, right? If simplified, wouldn’t playing chanical hymns work just as well?
Hades wasn’t sure, but since he’d already wasted an hour, he decided to give it a shot.
Using his cybernetic left brain, Hades located a recorded hymn and began broadcasting it in binary.
Machine spirits should respond faster than humans.
Confident in his logic, he sped up the playback. Then, he duplicated the hymn in his mind and played it simultaneously.
Still no response. Undeterred, and perhaps a bit bored, Hades began replicating the hymn further.
Given his cybernetic processing power, his left brain could easily handle multiple tasks—he could even run 777 instances of high-resolution simulations without issue.
Finally, after copying the hymn for the 13th ti—
BOOM!
The tank suddenly emitted a plu of black smoke, startling the other Space Marines in the distance. They looked over at Hades, puzzled.
But Hades didn’t care about their reactions.
Because at that mont, his left brain received a binary ssage:
“Stop that noise!”
Huh? Oh, aweso—it worked! He communicated with the machine spirit!
< >
The Rhino’s spirit had been asleep for ages.
The fierce, adrenaline-pumping battles that once defined its existence were long gone. No longer did it push through muddy terrain or shield its comrades amidst a hail of bullets.
It had grown old.
The endurance it once prided itself on had worn it down, and it longed for one last grand battle—to burn bright on the battlefield one final ti.
Instead, it had been removed, separated from its comrades, and placed in a shrine.
As the oldest among its kind, it had seen countless Techmarines co and go.
Eventually, more machines joined the shrine. The Tech-Priests recognized its yearning for rest and gradually decommissioned it.
And so, it slept—a deep, unending slumber. Bathed in incense and hymns, its senses dulled over ti.
It would never awaken again, or so it thought.
Until—
A cacophony of what sounded like garbled binary gibberish blasted through its senses, relentless and unceasing.
Furious, it activated its internal diagnostics and confronted the source: a figure it instantly disliked.
“What kind of nonsense prayer is this?!”
< >
Terra, the Imperial Palace.
“What was that just now?” Mortarion asked, looking across at Malcador, whose face was obscured by his hood.
“That,” Malcador replied calmly, “is the result of your father’s efforts.”
“Psyker abilities? Is he succumbing to the sa Warp-corrupted depravity as the traitors?”
At Mortarion’s insult, Malcador took a deep breath.
“You should understand your father’s intentions. Psyker power does not always equate to Chaos, Mortarion. I thought you, of all people, would recognize this truth.”
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