Brother Foticordia commanded the nine-ter-tall war-engine Ares Vassal, a Knight Paladin of ancient and noble lineage. The machine's deep azure armor plates bore the scars of countless campaigns, while its armant—energy displacent field, hellfire cannon, pulse cannon, and missile arrays—marked it as a weapon of devastating capability.
Through the Knight's optical arrays, Foticordia beheld the golden figure standing before his towering mount. The being radiated luminescence that seed to emanate from within, casting warm illumination across the rust-colored Martian regolith.
'Perfect,' the Knight-pilot thought with mounting awe. 'Divine'.
The stranger's words echoed in Foticordia's mind, yet he found himself unable to respond through sheer overwhelming reverence.
In the presence of such transcendent majesty, re words beca inadequate vessels for human expression.
The figure placed one hand upon Ares Vassal's knee joint, his touch gentle yet carrying imasurable authority.
"Machine, heal thyself."
The command resonated through every cogitator and vox-grille of the assembled Knights, carrying power that suffused flesh and steel alike with renewed vitality.
Golden radiance spread outward from the being's form, washing over the ancient war-engine in waves of restorative energy.
Foticordia felt warmth flow through Ares Vassal's entire fra—not re heat, but sothing far more profound. Every component, every sacred chanism, renewed itself as though freshly blessed by the forge-priests.
Battle damage vanished, wear patterns disappeared, and corroded joints glead with pristine perfection.
Deep within the Knight's core, the machine-spirit stirred with what could only be described as joy. Foticordia sensed the ancient consciousness awakening to unprecedented clarity, their neural interface strengthening beyond anything previously achieved.
"Who are you?" Foticordia's voice carried through the Knight's vox-grille, tight with tension and barely contained wonder.
"I am the Emperor."
The response carried such simple certainty, yet within those syllables lay the weight of epochs and the promise of glorious destiny.
Foticordia understood instinctively that he would never again hear words of such profound significance—not if he lived ten thousand years.
Tears stread down his face within the Knight's cockpit as an inner voice, deeper than instinct, commanded action. Ares Vassal perford a gesture that stunned all witnesses: the mighty war-engine dropped to one knee before the Emperor, pistons hissing as the noble machine lowered its armored head in submission.
This was the genuflection imperialis—the offering of loyalty unto death, perford by a Knight whose bloodline stretched back to the Dark Age of Technology.
In that mont of perfect clarity, Tymon Foticordia recognized the truth of the being before him.
"Welco to Mars, my Lord," he intoned through the Knight's vox-amplifiers. "All praise be to the great Omnissiah, the eternal God of All Machines."
The assembled Knights followed their brother's example without hesitation, their war-engines genuflecting as one while their voices rose in harmonized veneration:
"All praise be to the great Omnissiah, the eternal God of All Machines!"
"All praise be to the great Omnissiah, the eternal God of All Machines!"
The Emperor's manifestation upon Mars sent shockwaves through every forge-city and temple-complex on the red planet. His arrival fulfilled precisely the prophecies left by Moravec, founder of the ancient Singularity Brotherhood—that sacred order from which the Adeptus chanicus had evolved.
Countless Tech-Adepts and nial workers regarded Him as the physical incarnation of the Machine-God, savior of human civilization, and sole object worthy of universal devotion.
When humanity's stellar empire had collapsed during the Age of Strife, Mars too had descended into chaos and technological regression.
Yet through centuries of struggle, the Adeptus chanicus had restored order to the forge-world, building a mighty civilization founded upon worship of the Omnissiah.
To the Tech-Priests, science and technology were not re tools but sacred mysteries—religious artifacts requiring proper ritual observance and sacrificial offerings to function.
The Canticles chanicus proclaid the Machine-God as the supre deity, demanding absolute obedience from all who bore the sacred cog.
Fabricator-General Kelbor-Hal led a procession of Magos and lesser Tech-Adepts to witness this unprecedented event. Unlike the common masses, these senior mbers of the priesthood maintained skepticism regarding the stranger's divine nature.
"How could a god manifest in mortal form?" Kelbor-Hal's optical chadendrite focused intently upon the Emperor, scanning for evidence of deception or technological trickery.
Yet no matter how thoroughly his augnted senses probed, the being before him registered as transcendently perfect. All detection protocols failed, as though attempting to analyze pure divinity through mortal instrunts.
"Moravec prophesied My coming," the Emperor replied with serene authority, "yet you question this truth. Does such doubt not constitute betrayal of the Machine-Spirit?"
The assembled Knights shifted ominously at these words, their war-engines' weapon systems powering to readiness. Should the Magos prove themselves heretics, swift execution would follow without hesitation.
These Knight-pilots had sworn binding oaths to the Omnissiah above all earthly authority. They would never permit any being to question their god's earthly avatar.
Kelbor-Hal sensed the crowd's mounting tension. To deny the Emperor's divinity now would trigger schism across Mars—the populace and Knights would assu such denial stemd from selfish desire to maintain temporal power.
The Adeptus chanicus had evolved from Moravec's Singularity Brotherhood, and faith in the Omnissiah ford the bedrock of their civilization. The Magos' authority itself depended upon this sacred belief.
"We would never betray the Machine-Spirit," Kelbor-Hal declared carefully, "yet we require further proof of Your divine nature."
"The revered Sage Moravec sealed away his life's work before his departure, creating a hidden vault that none have located across the centuries. If You are truly the God of All Machines, then You alone should be able to find it."
The Emperor's expression remained serene. "Naturally."
Escorted by the Legio Custodes, the Emperor led Kelbor-Hal and his fellow Tech-Priests into the labyrinthine depths beneath Olympus Mons.
These tunnels represented remnants of the ancient galopolis that had once crowned Mars' mightiest peak—magnificent cities constructed during humanity's golden age, reduced to buried ruins by the Age of Strife's devastating conflicts.
The passages stretched endlessly through Martian bedrock billions of years old, their walls thick with millennia of accumulated dust.
Hundreds of hovering servo-skulls provided illumination as the procession descended ever deeper, their tallic footsteps echoing through chambers that had known only silence for centuries.
They passed through dusty catacombs lined with empty cells and alcoves filled with ancient bones—the remains of Tech-Adepts who had sought sacred knowledge in these depths and never returned.
Rusted machinery and scroll-cases containing forbidden lore lay scattered throughout halls that had once housed the greatest libraries of human knowledge.
Kelbor-Hal and his companions grew increasingly excited as they penetrated deeper into the complex. The legendary Moravec Vault—rumored to contain secrets that could unlock the universe's deepest mysteries—lay sowhere ahead.
The Fabricator-General activated his data-matrix and cartographic mory cores, recording every passage and chamber for future exploration.
Already, he anticipated the technological marvels that might erge from Moravec's sealed repository.
After navigating a twisted corridor carved from living rock, they erged into a circular chamber spanning one hundred and sixty ters in diater.
The hall emanated soft luminescence despite lacking any visible light source—a phenonon that spoke of technologies beyond current understanding.
An ancient portal dominated the far wall, its surface covered in intricate runic patterns that seed to shift and writhe when observed directly.
A chanical interface panel and rotating dials were embedded beside the massive doors, alongside text rendered in sacred binary cant.
"This is Moravec's vault," the Emperor announced with quiet certainty.
Kelbor-Hal's optical sensors translated the binary inscription:
[Only he who protects the Empire, the Human Lord, the earthly incarnation of the Machine-God, can find this place.]
[All who worship the Machine-Spirit must unconditionally obey the incarnation of Omnissiah, lest they be cast out by the Machine-Spirit.]
[The Machine-Spirit, the secret of technology, surpasses all flesh and blood. Praising the Machine-Spirit is our sacred duty, guarding the Machine-Spirit is the basis of our peace, and appeasing the Machine-Spirit is the foundation of your existence. Without dogma, the Machine-Spirit will not assist. Ring the great bell once! Push the lever, activate the piston, and pump! Ring the great bell twice! Press the button, start the engine, ignite the turbine, inject life! Ring the great bell thrice! Sing in unison, praise the God of All Machines!]
Recognition of Moravec's authentic scriptural style sent waves of excitent through the assembled Tech-Priests. Every eye turned toward the Emperor with mounting reverence and anticipation.
"Noble Omnissiah," Kelbor-Hal intoned through his vox-grille, "we beseech You—reveal unto us the sacred mysteries within."
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