Ardakas, Forge Master to the Knights Vermillion tapped his fingers impatiently upon the adamantium shell of the dreadnought sarcophagus. The progression had been slow, the predicted numbers falling short, he concluded the Omnissiah was not smiling upon him this day. He lifted his heavily augmented helm and stared into the visor panel of the mighty war machine before him, making sure all the optic sensors focused upon him. His fingers worked deftly along the data-pad he clutched in his other hand, small dendrites flickering out and engaging ports along its side. His servo-harness was on the constant move, picking, twisting, tightening and tugging at various nodes and fixtures beneath the Dreadnoughts armour plating.

'Now, tell me Typhot. What are the fundamental cores to your creation? Why have we chosen to ensnare you from the clutches of death?'

He was loathe to hear the answer again but he would prevail, he would find the area of damaged tissue that was causing such a reaction and replace it with synthetics. Maybe it would stop this childish nonsense.

+ We were not created, We have existed since before time itself was born into this universe. +

Ardakas canted a burst of binary which caused the tech-priests around him to flinch at its crude usage. This was not progress, this was failure, something had happened to Brother Typhots mental stability in the transference with the sarcophagus. At first, his prophetic dooms and words had caused the Master Chaplain no end of frustration, it was believed Typhot had suffered possession from a daemon of some sort. A scrying took place and it had made Ardakas bionics itch, to have anything of psychic presence, whether it was used to root out pysker powers or not unnerved him. Yet, he was clean from any taint and his words had become more cryptic the more the Chaplains had persisted.

So it fell to Ardakas to indentify the problem and correct it, a duty he was not too keen on performing.

'No, you were created, biological and chemical reactions stimulated by physical intercourse brought your existence into being, then through evolution and the power of initiative and imagination you prospered and grew, then once again, chemistry and bio-engineering were employed to turn you into a genetically superior warrior with beyond natural abilities and skills. You are fundamentally human and have been constructed into a living weapon. That is what you are Typhot, nothing more, nothing less.'

He erased the last set of runes that flashed upon his data-pad, he was getting closer, his attachments had detected some unusual brainwave energy, his beta wave frequencies were off the chart. Ardakas flicked his eyes up to stare into the sensor nodes of Typhot once more, perched upon the giant war machines front like an imp astride a giant.

+ Your theories are incorrect, you have imprisoned us inside this chamber and subjected us to pain and agonies your kind will never feel. We exist, We always have. +

Something spiked on Ardakas' data-pad and he jabbed a finger into one of the runes, highlighting the read out and super imposing it onto his own vision. He studied the numbers and graphics his equipment was giving him and it made no sense. It was telling him that nothing was wrong, the beta waves had suddenly ceased their irregularities and the genetic structure of his brain tissue was perfectly intact, except for the damage sustained pre-insertion into the sarcophagus. In fact, it was telling him the was nothing, all brain activity had ceased, all life support systems were no longer operational. Typhot was dead.

Ardakas cursed and slammed his data-pad down onto the ceramite and adamantine carapace of the Dreadnought beneath him.

He checked his readings once more and it seemed that the Astartes within could not take the mental and physical strain of interment. He jabbed one of his servo-arms at a passing Priest.

'Prepare the mortuaria and alert Adept Liksa I will be needing her to fire the incinerator. Send for Master Alabaster, he should be made aware of the developments.'

He patted the stationary machine beneath him, creasing his brow beneath his helm.

'Tis a shame to lose one such as you Honoured Brother Typhot, I was rather fond of you before your interment and I lament your passing was unkind upon your mind and soul. Rest at his right hand, Typhot.'

He unhooked his data-pad and released his mechadendrites from the various ports along the sarcophagus. He turned to leap down from the giant war machine, already setting his minds to other more practical tasks when pain exploded into his system. A crushing force that shocked his systems more than anything ever had done clamped around his right arm, obliterating it into a mangled wreck of pulp and shattered ceramite. The crash and squealing tear of metal erupted around the mech-bay and all action ceased. Ardakas swung his head round to see his attacker and felt something he never felt before, it tasted bitter in his mouth. He felt fear.

The dreadnought had risen up upon its hip mounted servo units and brought its gigantic siege claw round to pin the Forge Master in place, ruining his arm and rendering him useless and stunned. All the sensor arrays upon the sarcophagus had gone from their dull forest green to a searing, angry red. Arcs of energy played about the war machines surface, leaps and bounds of crackling fire scoured sigils and symbols into the ceramite. One tendril touched Ardakas destroyed limb and he felt a coldness wash over him, like he'd just been suspended in freezing cold water. He knew what this was.

The mighty dreadnought rose up, stomping into a standing position, Ardakas dangling from its claw. The giant machine tore itself free of its bindings and restraints, the metre thick servo arms holding it down buckled and crumpled.

All Ardakas was thankful for was that he had not installed the blessed Assault Cannon's rotary functions or firing controls yet, but still this was a truly devastating disaster. He screamed in code as he was dragged upwards, kicking and swiping in a futile attempt to free himself. He came face to sensor with the dreadnought and recoiled at what he saw, the sensor bank was wreathed in a wall of blue and white flame, ice began to freeze over the adamantine casing and hoarfrost speckled Ardakas own armour.

+ Why do you insist on calling us Typhot. That is not our name. +

Ardakas released the servo-joints upon his shoulder of all power and the sheer weight of his armoured body, resplendent with its harness tore him from the remains of his ruined limb. He could feel his body trying to keep him conscious and he stared up at the war machine towering above him, halo's of blue and white energy leaping around it, touching mechanical systems and overloading them. He could feel the cold radiating from within the sarcophagus. A terrible dawning came upon the Forge Master in that moment.

There was a psyker within the Knights Vermillion.