AN: Yes, I know I'm starting a new project before ending two others. Yes, I know most of my views come from an absolute shit Harry Potter Fanfiction. Yes, I know this is a disservice to Warhammer and Titans. However, I still have a thing for Warhammer and Giant Robots, and nothing is as great as the God-Machines of the Mechanicum. So I've started a story following a Legio I rolled up on 1d4chan.
Hope you all enjoy it. Updates will still be slow as fuck because outdoor work exhausts me and keeps me away from my computer until it's too late for me to want to write.
"The Flesh is weak, the Machine is Eternal". This catechism had been a permanent fixture in my life, an anchor that had steeled my soul when my steed bawled in pain, when I felt the angry howl of a metal god threaten to overwhelm my mortal will. It had provided me the strength to strike down the heretical blasphemies of the Dark Gods, made my will manifest in roaring plasma and thundering fury. It was an indisputable fact, proven as the countless blood and flesh died unremarked in their millions, swarmed as ants as the avatars of the Machine God brought fear to the most repulsive xenos across the galaxy.
That catechism had proven false. The Legio encountered a Tyranid Splinter fleet, a vile xenos race, a hive mind race of chiton and flesh which nearly overwhelmed the beleaguered defenders of Hive City Lacholidron. The Legio walked on those sand blasted wastes, uncountable hordes sweeping across the crimson sands with a chittering roar. Amongst them strode massive beasts, Biotitans the size of the hab towers, drooling pools of acid and bringing rending claws to tear down the walls of Humanity. All flesh, all weak. Yet the Machine faltered. My Legio had walked in that city's defense, and in the shadow of those walls, we failed. Flesh tore steel, biological acid melted through countless conduits, and servants of the Omnissiah fell to the claws of that vile alien race.
The Legio Deus Ferrum nearly died. Of the countless God Machines, only one maniple remained. Mine. I am now the Senior Princeps of a dead Legio, a failure of the College. Even we barely escaped, and now we few can only brood and grieve over the horrific damage inflicted on our God Machines.
I felt a presence intrude upon my senses as a vast shape left a pool of darkness. It approached me, a slight tremor of the catwalk being the only indication it was more than a phantasm as it approached. Getting close, I could swear I smelled something like decay and sweat emitting from the figure. Looking up, it seemed only a dark void stared back, black eyes of infinite depth that seemed to be missing something of humanity. It made me shiver, not helped by the glint from his predatory grin as he noticed my discomfort. His armor, a deep void edged in white, whined as he got close.
His voice was a deep growl. "Lady Princeps. It seems your idols lie in ruins." He looked out over the Titan Bay, his eyes settling on the massive figure of my Warlord. A dark red edged, with bright blue highlights, its once majesty was marred by massive wounds and several tank sized bites taken. The cockpit seemed to be nothing but a hunk of metal attached to the lumbering frame. "A shame you've been reduced to staring at the corpse of that which you held dear above all." His tone meant the opposite of course, and my anger rose, but was held in check by habit and the knowledge that he could snap my neck in the time it took for me to blink. "The Ferrus Omen is wounded, but she will be healed, and she will walk again." His breath held the smell of death. "I wonder, under what banner could it claw its way back from death?" I now turned towards him, anger making my body tense. "It will walk under the banner of Mars and the Collegia Titanica, as it always had. My Maniple survives to fight another day. Unlike your squad." The next thing I knew, I was against a pillar, the face of a furious demigod twisted with naked emotion. I looked upon him, but despite my thundering heart and the weakness of my limbs, I swallowed through his grip. Though it was a vice, it was not one that would kill me, and that position gave me courage. "I am the Senior Princeps of the College. Laying a finger on me is tantamount to heresy." He seethed, but dropped me. His voice was a low whisper, his voice coming out like nails on stone. "You insult us. We have more than enough experience with damnation. Your idle threats mean nothing." He seemed to tower over me, and within his eyes seemed to be a trace of madness. "When I laid bleeding on the battlefield, my brothers cut off and doomed, and my mission certain to fail, you arrived, and you gave us the time to reach it and cut out its heart. My Pod died, but our mission was possible only due to your efforts. For that we owed you a debt. That debt is all that saved you. You disrespect my pod again, and I will leave you in worse condition than your Titan'." He stalked away, and as he vanished into the shadows, I held my breath, waiting for some sign of breath, a hiss of an opening door, waiting for a sign that he had left. After about 2 minutes, I finally relaxed, letting out my breath I had been holding, and sagged against the pillar. The steel felt mercifully cool to the burning pain on my back. Despite his aggression and the tone, I knew it was not likely that he'd carried out his threat. He was the last survivor of his squad, and if there's one thing I understand right now, its loss. It would be something even the inhuman angels might understand. At least, I think.
Feeling some weakness, I cursed the foul xenos that had left me staring at great tears in the Ferrus Omen, still trapped in my weak fleshy shell. My limbs shook as I rubbed a hand over my face, traveling past the cybernetic eye and over the short, spiked hair, feeling some grease from several days of sweat and dirt mixing together. Despite my bravado, I couldn't shake a feeling that it would never walk again, and that I'd be trapped forever with the rest of the mortals, a meaningless insect. The head of the Warlord was level with me, and on some spiritual level I felt its judgement upon me. It seemed to scowl in disgust at my weakness and poor will. I looked away and headed towards the door at the end of the catwalk. Staring at my near death would do nothing, and the Maniple needed orders in this time of struggle.
I only hope I had guidance to give.
It still didn't feel real. Lavenim sat in the bridge of her Warlord, the Furior Solis, smelling newly applied holy oils and shining with polish from blessed servitors crafted specifically to service her ancient machine. She had driven all of them out, the tech priests, the servitors, her Moderatii. She exercised her right, and all obeyed and left her alone. She knew they were worried about her mental state. She heard whispers from serfs who believed they were stealthier than they were that suspected she was being lost to the Manifold. Many claimed that she was visiting the Senior Princep's quarters in order to discuss the growing issue, as had happened with the previous princep of the Furior Solis. While she was visiting, it was for no deeper reason than to satisfy a basic human lust, though whether she hung onto this lust in fear of losing her humanity or not she didn't know. But surrounded by the freshly blessed bridge, engines seeming to almost thrum with potential, she could only feel despair as she thought of the reason it was so easy to clear the bridge. Nearby sat the Warlord Ferrus Omen, its towering figure reduced to near scrap by a tenacious alien horde. She knew the Senior Princeps, her friend, would be taking it hard. Nothing could be done, as she had learned the hard way that in her dark moods it was better to leave Zakaria alone.
They had marched in defense of that pathetic city, had fought off the hordes in order to give time for reinforcements to arrive and relieve the faltering city. She remembered near the end, when it was only their maniple left, with the towering forms of the xenos filling the field. Zakaria had ordered her to withdraw, and fought 4 of them on her own while she covered the rest of the maniple, the Reavers Pentium Irae and Imperator Fili, both heavily damaged from the fighting. Despite orders, it still burned to abandon her friend, only compounded by her pounding headache.
All that remained of the Legio was their maniple. And with a dead Forge World, she knew the future was uncertain. It was times like this she even gave credence to the curse that supposedly laid upon the founding of the Legio. However, she could only rely on her faith in the God Emperor and the guidance of the one who watched over the Legio.
Suddenly, she noticed a light rapping on the door to the cockpit. Opening it with a button on her throne, she saw one of her Moderatii standing in the doorway. He cleared his throat, and informed her "My Princeps, all of the other Princeps have been called to our mess hall. I tried to tell you earlier but…" She sighed, looking very tired but stood up, staggering for a moment as the full pain of a headache hit her with force. Shaking her head, she neatened her curly red hair, arranging it to look somewhat neat around her shoulder and covering her port as she habitually did before sweeping past. He fell into step behind her, and as she descended towards the legs, she couldn't help but feel as though he were a predator, following her as a wolf follows prey. She shivered but disregarded the feeling as a vestigial effect of unlinking from the Titan and kept going.