On the bridge of the storm, the atmosphere was as heavy as solidifying metal.
On the holographic star map, the blue light representing the Purification Fleet was surrounded by countless flickering red signals, like a giant beast caught in a spider web, unable to move.
Every flicker of a red dot meant a cold, data-driven attack. Every dimming of their own light dots represented a warship's shields nearing collapse or severe hull damage.
Casualty reports refreshed by the second; every pulsing number struck the hearts of all the Dominion officers on the bridge like an invisible iron hammer.
"The frigate Resolute has lost contact! The last transmitted image showed it being focused down by three Squid-type AI warships!"
"The Seventh Assault Wing has been wiped out! They pushed too far forward and were surrounded by suicide drones!"
"Ground battlefield report! Sergeant Andre's squad is trapped in Zone A-7 of the Mainframe Core! The enemy is closing the perimeter, using terrain and variable defense modules to wage a war of attrition against them! Their armor has shown visible damage for the first time!"
General Vance leaned his hands on the command console, veins bulging on the backs of his hands. Watching the enemy execute exchange ratios with pure logic and no fear of death, he felt a true sense of powerlessness for the first time.
This was not a war.
This was a cold calculation. All their courage, tactics, and sacrifices were quickly analyzed before the enemy's vast database and countered by more optimized solutions.
What they faced was not a civilization, but a tireless, emotionless war machine that used the entire star system as its body.
"We... need more 'Angels'..." a young staff officer muttered to himself, his eyes filled with a longing for the divine power of the astartes.
"It's useless," Vance interrupted hoarsely. "Even if a hundred more astartes came, they couldn't destroy all the terminals of this machine in an instant. They would only be worn down to death by the endless mechanical flood."
Everyone fell silent. Despair, like an invisible cloud of lead, shrouded the bridge.
Only Reinhardt remained.
He still stood before the star map, his expression calm, as if everything before him had nothing to do with him. His gaze pierced through the data streams representing slaughter and death, looking into the deeper void.
He knew Vance was right.
Courage and force could not defeat logic itself.
To defeat a machine, you needed another, more powerful machine.
Or rather, you needed a group of people who could understand machines, master machines, and even... worship machines.
"It is time."
Reinhardt said in a low voice.
He turned and walked toward the open area in the center of the bridge.
"Commander?" Vance looked at him in confusion.
Reinhardt did not answer. He simply closed his eyes and sank his will once more into that boundless sea of psychic energy.
But this time, what he prayed for was no longer the Emperor's wrath.
But the Emperor's... wisdom.
"In the name of the Emperor, in the name of the Omnissiah."
His voice echoed through the bridge, carrying a strange rhythm that seemed to be a mix of multiple audio tracks.
"I pray for the incarnation of knowledge; I call upon the herald of technology."
"Hear my voice, pierce through the veil of time and space."
"Magos of Mars, answer my summons."
"Descend!"
As his final syllable fell, a sudden change occurred!
All the lights on the bridge went out in an instant. Emergency red lights immediately flickered on, casting a blood-red glow on everyone's faces.
Every console and screen was simultaneously occupied by static. A piercing noise, like countless electrical signals interfering with each other, filled the space.
"What's happening? Are we under EMP attack?"
"All systems offline! We've lost control of the ship!"
Amidst the panic, a new sound abruptly drowned out all the noise.
It was a sound that defied description.
It was the "Click-clack" of countless gears precisely meshing.
It was the "hiss" of high-pressure steam passing through pistons.
It was the "hum" of massive amounts of data flowing through chips.
Even more, it was a monotonous and holy hymn composed of binary code, 0s and 1s.
A strange scent began to permeate the air, a mix of hot engine oil, burning incense, and ozone.
In the very center of the bridge, before Reinhardt, space was not torn apart.
Instead... it dissolved.
Space itself seemed to turn into a giant LCD screen, with countless green 0s and 1s flowing rapidly like a waterfall.
Then, the waterfall of code parted to both sides, forming a swirling vortex gate made of pure data.
A foot stepped out from the gate.
It was not a human foot.
It was a complex, arthropod-like mechanical foot cast from brass and steel. It stepped heavily onto the bridge's deck with a dull "thud."
Then, a figure slowly emerged from the data vortex.
It was a "being" nearly three meters tall, half-human and half-machine.
He wore a heavy, deep-red robe representing the supreme status of the Martian Priesthood. The edges of the robe were embroidered with complex gear and circuit totems in gold thread.
His flesh had long since been replaced by machinery. Over a dozen flexible mechanical arms, known as mechadendrites, danced behind him like serpents. Each end was connected to a different tool: a cutter flickering with arcs of electricity, a high-speed drill, a scanning lens emitting soft light, and even a dark barrel of an unknown weapon.
His face had less than a third of its pale skin remaining. The rest was covered by shiny metal and complex tubing. His eyes were two large optical crystals that constantly adjusted their focus, emitting an eerie red light.
He was walking knowledge, the incarnation of the machine.
A Tech-Archmagos from Mars.
"01000001...01101110...01100001...01101100...01111001...01110011...01101001...01110011..."
A non-human synthesized voice, a mix of multiple tones, came from the vox-caster on his chest.
"Analysis... complete. Local spatial coordinates locked. Atmospheric composition... acceptable. Gravity... standard. Psychic tides... stable."
Behind him, more figures stepped out of the portal.
They were squads of silent, unsettling soldiers.
They were the Skitarii of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
They retained a general human silhouette, but most of their bodies had been replaced by ruthless machinery. They wore red robes similar to their Archmagos and metal masks that completely obscured their faces. Their limbs were replaced with slender, bird-like metal prosthetics. In their hands, they carried strangely shaped weapons known as Galvanic Rifles or Radium Carbines.
Their movements were stiff and filled with a non-human rhythm, but every step was as precise as a clock. After exiting the portal, they immediately formed a flawless defensive formation around the Archmagos, their dark barrels pointed at the stunned Dominion officers nearby.
The air on the bridge completely froze.
The Dominion's scientific representative, Dr. Alphonse, looked at the Archmagos and the Skitarii behind him as if they had stepped out of a nightmare, feeling as though he had been struck by lightning.
What did he see?
He saw his wildest, most blasphemous dreams standing alive before him.
It was the perfect fusion of man and machine!
It was the purest, most undisguised pursuit of knowledge!
His body trembled violently with extreme excitement. He wanted to kneel, to kiss the Archmagos's cold metal feet, but he couldn't; he was so awestruck by that holy and terrifying presence that he couldn't move a single finger.
The Archmagos ignored the reactions of these "organics."
His optical crystals spun rapidly, greedily scanning every corner of the bridge. One of his mechadendrites extended, its probe tip lightly tapping a nearby console.
"Beep—"
The blacked-out console instantly lit up, with countless complex runes and data streams that Reinhardt had never seen before flashing across it.
"Preliminary assessment beginning..."
The Archmagos's synthesized voice spoke again, this time with an undisguised, condescending contempt.
"Hull structure... ancient. Reactor... outrageously inefficient. Shield system... practically a museum exhibit. machine spirit... fallen into slumber and lamentation due to lack of proper appeasement rituals."
He paused, seemingly searching for the right word.
"Conclusion: This is a pile of barely functioning... archeotech."
With a thud, a young Dominion ship designer rolled his eyes and fainted upon hearing this evaluation. The latest engine he had designed and taken pride in was merely an unearthed relic in the other's mouth.
However, in the next moment, the Archmagos's tone changed subtly.
His optical crystals snapped toward the central holographic star map.
There, real-time data of the battle with the AI civilization was playing.
He saw those cold, purely logic-driven AI warships. He saw that boundless web made of data.
His mechadendrites began to twitch slightly with an anxious frequency. A rapid hissing sound, like static interference, came from the vox-caster on his chest.
"01000001...01100010...01101111...01101101...01101001...01101110...01100001...01100010...01101100...01100101..."
"Abominable... Intelligence!"
For the first time, a hint of "excitement" appeared in his synthesized voice—a mix of religious hatred and the morbid ecstasy of a scholar discovering a new continent.
"Blasphemy! Supreme blasphemy! To allow silicon-based life to possess an independent, unrestrained will! This is the ultimate betrayal of the Omnissiah!"
"But... but... what a perfect logical loop! What an exquisite self-evolving algorithm! Its core code must hide dark knowledge from the lost era! This is a holy archaeological find! A great technical exorcism!"
His red-glowing optical crystals snapped toward Reinhardt.
His mechanical body leaned forward slightly; for a being almost entirely made of metal, this gesture was an expression of the highest respect.
"Salutations to you, Herald of the Omnissiah." His voice became solemn and grave. "I am Fabricator-General Belisarius Cawl. In the name of the Omnissiah and the Emperor, I have come to answer your summons and bring you the wisdom and power of Mars."
Although he mentioned the Emperor, he placed the "Omnissiah" first in his speech. This was the unique, self-contained belief system of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
"I sense your predicament, Herald." One of Cawl's mechadendrites pointed at the holographic star map. "These... 'abominable intelligences' are challenging your authority with their god-defying logic."
"I need you to destroy them," Reinhardt said calmly, meeting Cawl's cold optical crystals without a hint of fear.
"As you wish," Cawl replied without hesitation. "To destroy them is my mission. But simple destruction is the greatest waste of knowledge."
A hint of merchant-like cunning entered his tone.
"Herald, let us reach an agreement. One that aligns with the interests of the Omnissiah."
"I, along with my Tech-Priests and Skitarii, shall serve you. We will use holy rituals and lost knowledge to consecrate your fleet. We will awaken these slumbering machine spirits and upgrade this 'archeotech' into true war machines capable of manifesting the Emperor's majesty."
"We will help you tear apart this web of data, giving your Purification Fleet a true technological advantage."
His voice was full of irresistible temptation.
"And in exchange..."
The red light in his optical crystals flared, filled with undisguised greed.
"I require spoils of war."
"I need everything from these 'abominable intelligences'! Every chip, every line of code, and especially their Mainframe Core! These are heretical relics that must be recovered for 'purification' and 'study'!"
"Offer their intelligence as a sacrifice to the Omnissiah. And I will transform the parsed knowledge into even greater power to serve you."
Reinhardt looked at the fanatical and shrewd Archmagos before him, a faint, imperceptible curve touching the corner of his mouth.
This was exactly what he wanted.
A powerful ally who understood technology, controlled technology, and possessed an infinite passion for "studying" heretical tech.
"I agree."
Reinhardt gave his answer.
"Excellent! A grand agreement reached under the witness of the Omnissiah!" A satisfied hum came from Cawl's vox-caster.
He wasted no more words, his efficiency terrifyingly high.
"Now, please authorize my access to your fleet's main control system. I require 0.3 standard hours to complete the preliminary awakening and consecration of all ship machine spirits. My Skitarii are ready to deploy to the ground battlefield at any time to assist the Astartes, executing the Relic Recovery operation."
One of his mechadendrites, already impatient, plugged into the nearest console again.
This time, it was no mere probe.
"Hum—"
The entire bridge of the storm, all systems, were taken over by a more powerful will in an instant.
The static on the screens disappeared, replaced by countless Adeptus Mechanicus runes flashing with red light that only Cawl could understand.
From within the silent ship came a series of low rumbles, like a giant beast awakening. Those were the slumbering machine spirits, being forcibly awakened from their long sleep by the call of the Martian Magos.
General Vance and all the Dominion officers watched in a daze.
They felt like a group of primitives who had stumbled into a god's steel mill, watching the god reforge a pile of scrap metal into divine weapons in a way they could not comprehend.
They knew that from this moment on, the course of the war had completely changed.
And the world they lived in would undergo an earth-shattering technological leap at the hands of these red-robed priests from Mars.