ECHOES OF MEMORY

The god-engine stood immobile in the vast Legio hangar, her towering form the embodiment of the Emperor's wrath. His will was obvious to all who saw her, encapsulated in the vast banks of missiles stood on her shoulder, in the gigantic volcano cannon on her right arm, and the ominous-looking power claw on her left. She was decorated in the colours of Legio Bellatorus; deep obsidian black armour, edged with gold, with the head and a few panels picked out in gleaming ivory white. On her torso armour was a carving in the shape of a scroll, with midnight black letters four foot high spelling out her name in High Gothic.
Nulli Secundus. Second to None.
It was the perfect name, Varus thought. In the enclosed hangar, bereft of natural light, powerful spotlights picked out her freshly-cleaned plating, their harsh lighting making the plasteel and adamantium shine like mirrors. The light playing across the weapons picked out every burnished rivet, every panel, every piston, every last aspect of the titan's terrible beauty. Many Titan Legions wore trophies on their mighty god-engines, the carrion spoils of war, ripped from the corpses of enemy monstrosities that they had brought low. Not so the Legio Bellatorus. After each battle, their titans were utterly cleansed, every last fragment, every speck of detritus, down to the last molecule, scoured from their noble forms by the powerwashers and sonic cleaners of the Legio's menials. The scrap would be gathered from the floor of the hangars, and thrown into the furnaces, ensuring that not even the smallest trace remained of those who dared to oppose the Emperor's will. Legio Bellatorus marched to war as pristine and fresh as they day they first stepped off the forge floors. The lone record of past victories borne by Nulli Secundus was her Honour Banner, hung from her torso, detailing the greatest victories she had achieved on one side, and the tally of her current Princeps on the right.
Today, for the first time in Varus's memory, there was nothing on the right side of her Honour Banner.
Princeps Senoris Hostus Pilius Iuba was dead, and his Honour Banner had been struck, replaced with a fresh, clean, blank banner. A fresh banner for a fresh Princeps. And Varus was to be that Princeps. He took a deep breath, muttered a prayer to the Omnissiah, and entered the titan.

The great doors barring access to the head of the titan were blocked. Magos Nicodemus stood in the path, with two Skitarii hoplites barring the door itself, force spears held ready. Varus approached, his heart pounding and his mouth dry with a rare mix of dread and anticipation. Not since he had first entered a titan had he felt such apprehension. He stopped, waiting for the induction ceremony. The servo-skull floating over Nicodemus flew towards him, an ornate bio-scanner set into its mouth appraising him.
"Princeps Varus" intoned Nicodemus. "Do you pledge yourself, body and mind, to the Omnissiah?"
"I do pledge myself" replied Varus, his tone solemn.
"Do you swear to never, under pain of eternal damnation, to never reveal the secrets of the Machine to any outside the Holy Orders?"
"I do so swear."
"Are you ready to bond with Nulli Secundus?"
"I am."
Nicodemus nodded, a human habit that seemed curiously alien coming from the distinguished tech-priest. He stepped aside, and in perfect unison, the two faceless Skitarii snapped to attention, their spears clear of the doorway. Varus approached the door, holding his ident tag to the scanner nestled on the side. Gears whirred and clicked, and the lights above the scanner flashed green.
"Identity confirmed," barked the nearest Skitarii. "Princeps Varus, of the Warlord Titan Nulli Secundus. Access granted."
With a long, drawn-out hiss of pneumatics, the doors slid open and Varus ducked into the command centre of the titan. The command throne sat directly in front of him, an oddly spartan item considering the power the dwelt within it.
Not 'the command throne', Varus realised with a thrill. My command throne.

Past the low, harsh seat of the Princeps, two seats for the moderati were tucked into the front of the cockpit, surrounded by command consoles and vid-screens. The two seats were filled – there was no enemy to be fought today, but this was a momentous event and the full crew had to be present. Both moderati – Sura, the steersman, and Culleo, the sensori – turned and nodded in greeting to Varus as he entered. He returned the gestures, and walked around the command throne, savouring the moment, before gently lowering himself on to it. Through the seat, he could feel the slight vibration of the reactor ticking over. The datacables connected into the headrest draped down over his shoulder. He resisted the urge to plug in immediately. Melding with a god-engine was not to be done lightly, but now of all times, the utmost care had to be taken.
He tapped the intercom button on the armrest, and when he spoke, his voice echoed through the entire superstructure.
"My crew. This is Princeps Varus. Stand by for activation procedures."
All through the titan, servitor clades and tech-priests began their ministrations to the Machine God. Incense was lit, hushed prayers were recited, and the very walls of the titan shuddered as reactor roared fully into life. The screens in the command room came online, and the external view was revealed on the main screen. Status reports, ammunition feeds, oil and fuel levels, and hundreds of other data points appeared on secondary screens. With the practised eye of seasoned moderati, Sura and Culleo skimmed the panels and screens in moments.
"All stations reporting green, my Princeps" Sura announced. "We are ready to walk."
My Princeps. Varus smiled, forcing himself to remain sanguine.
"Very good," he replied, opening a channel to the Enginarium. "Magos Nicodemus? Is Nulli Secundus ready?"
"The litany of awakening has been successful, Princeps Varus" came the reply. "May the Omnissiah bless this activation."
"And all activations to follow" finished Varus. "Thank you, Magos." He cut the connection, turning his attention to the moderati.
"Commence the linking procedure."

Both moderati reached behind them with practised ease, taking the datacables and hooking them directly into their dataports. They both shook as their minds connected with the merest fragments of the titan's, the restraints of their seats holding them in place until the physical shock had passed. Varus watched, waiting until their spasms had subsided. The titan was expecting Princeps Iuba, and likely would not take kindly to his absence. Moreover, this would be his first time connecting as a Princeps, and he had been warned that the experience was far greater – in all respects – than that of connecting as a mere moderati. He steeled himself, praying under his breath to the Omnissiah, asking for His blessing in this venture. He tapped his rank pins – now those of a Princeps – and grasped the datacable, plugging in it to his dataport.
He felt a moment of familiarity as the datacable connected, just as it always had when he was a moderati. Then, confusion, and then –

- then he was gone. He was falling, he was flying, he was drowning, and he was burning. Emotions and shards of memories and feelings hit him one after another; wave after wave, a tsunami of information and knowledge. He knew – really knew – what it was like to be a titan. What it was like to be a god standing astride the battlefield. In a horrible moment of understanding, he realised fully how weak and vulnerable he truly was. The weakness of his flesh was laid bare before him, and he closed his eyes and wept.
Voices. Murmuring, Whispers. A choir of half-heard, vague mutters surrounded him, coming from everywhere and nowhere, speaking with one voice and a million difference voices. He opened his eyes, and saw only darkness. Somehow, he felt, perceived, a room. A small room, bare, empty, with just him and the unseen choir of voices. Their whispers overlapped, and synchronised, and then they spoke as one.
A NEWCOMER. SPEAK. IDENTIFY YOURSELF.
Varus stood, although he felt ethereal, as if in a dream. He cleared his throat, although he had no throat to clear.
"I am Princeps Varus, of the Legio Bellatorus," he announced to his unseen interrogators, "and I am the Princeps of the Warlord Titan Nulli Secundus."
Silence.
In the distance, Varus though he heard a noise. Something far off, coming slowly towards the room.
Then the voices exploded into furious whispers, untold conversations breaking out. Varus strained to hear their words, but he could only pick out fragments here and there. A NEW PRINCEPS, some hissed. IUBA HAS FALLEN murmured others. The discussions became heated, and Varus could discern only one more phrase.
WILL SHE ACCEPT HIM?
Abruptly, just as the voices seemed to reach a crescendo, they all snapped back into unison once more.
HOW DID IUBA DIE?
This was not was Varus had expected. He stammered his reply, cursing his non-existent tongue as he got the words out.
"He, ah – of natural - in his bed. He died of a sickness."
Once again, the choir fractured, furious debate breaking out. They still whispered, but somehow the volume was at nearly a roar. Varus heard only one voice clearly. HE LIVES, it said. IUBA LIVES WITH US. In the background of their cacophony, Varus could hear the distant sound drawing closer. The voices once again solidified into one.
WHO DO YOU SERVE?
No hesitation.
"I serve the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor in all things."
WITH WHOM DO YOU FIGHT?
"I fight with the Legio Bellatorus."
BELLATORUS FIGHTS STILL, the voices chorused, their tones jubilant. The background noise had swelled to roar now, the once-distant figure practically at the door. The voices quietened, as if in fear.
SHE COMES, they murmured.
"Who comes?" Varus demanded, but they did not answer.
YOU WILL BE TESTED.
"What do mean?" he cried. Again, the voices did not deign to answer him directly. In the darkness, a mist appeared, drifting towards him. As it neared, it resolved itself into a humanoid shape. By the time it reached him, Varus saw the ghostly outline of a man in a Legio Bellatorus uniform, resplendent with gleaming Princeps Senoris rank pips at his collar. Raising his eyes, Varus saw he recognised the ghost.
It was Iuba.
GOOD LUCK, the figure breathed, then dissolved into nothingness.
The noise erupted into a deafening roar. The walls collapsed, the ceiling vanished, and Varus stood in a wasteland, lit by an omnipresent pale light, as if a bright moon were hiding behind light clouds. A mountainous shape towered above him.
A titan.
Nulli Secundus.
Varus stared, frozen in fear and awe, transfixed by the spectacle of the god-engine. Her every rivet was perfect. Her armour gleamed like polished obsidian, her head like ivory, and the cold red light of her optics blazed as she studied him. Varus felt as if he were rooted to the spot. He wanted to run; he wanted to fall to his knees and praise the Omnissiah; he wanted to never leave her; he wanted to get as far away as possible, but he could not move.
The air split with a thunderous roar, like planets breaking. Had his incorporeal form possessed eardrums, the noise would have ruptured them in an instant. As it was, the sound penetrated every part of his mind. He could not hear himself think. He could not even think. There was nothing in the world, nothing in creation; nothing but Varus, the titan, and her roar. He screwed his eyes closed, and tried to block out the noise. He screwed his eyes closed –

- and opened them. The noise had stopped. He was sitting in the command throne, in the cockpit. And –

The cockpit rocked. Weapons impact. Varus started.
Weapons impact.
Impossible. They couldn't be under fire. Nulli Secundus was safe in her hangar.
"Princeps!" The shout snapped his attention fully to the situation. It came from the moderati. Except… it wasn't his moderati. The man who had called him, the man sitting in Sura's seat, was a stranger. Varus couldn't ever remember seeing him before.
"Princeps! Void shields are down! What do you command?"
Varus's head swam with confusion and disorientation. He shook his head, desperate to clear it.
"All power to weapons!" a voice snapped. Varus realised it was his own. "Get me a targeting lock on that Reaver!"
"Yes, my Princeps!" cried the unknown moderati, deftly coaxing his controls as the titan began her ponderous turn towards the nearby foe. Varus's hand, independent of his mind, flicked a vox button on the armrest of the throne, and once again his voice spoke of its own accord.
"Magos, we need void shields restored immediately!"
A disembodied, mechanical voice that was certainly not Nicodemus spoke in his ear.
"Princeps Crassus, there are certain theological aspects that I do not expect even a Princeps to understand. The restoration process is –"
"Magos, I don't care if you have to redline the reactor all the way back to Mars!" barked Varus's voice. "I need those shields back online or we're all dead!"
"I will supplicate the machine spirit, Princeps" replied the Magos stiffly.
"Do what you can" Varus replied. He turned his attention to the viewscreens. Outside, a trio of enemy Reavers were closing on Nulli Secundus, eager for what they thought would be an easy kill. The lead Reaver began firing, a Gatling cannon spinning up and unleashing a hail of fire at Nulli Secundus. The venerable Warlord-class Titan staggered, shuddering with the multiple impacts, but the armour held.
"Have we a targeting lock yet?" barked Varus. The moderati at Culleo's console nodded.
"Locked and ready to fire, my Princeps".
"Fire" snarled Varus.

The great energy weapon spoke. The Titan bucked, the servo-stabilisers failing to kick in, and the iridescent beam of light dragged up as it fired. It hit the lead Reaver dead-centre, then pulled up and left with the recoil, raking the torso, head and shoulder of the corrupted god-engine. Its shields cracked as the beam was moving along the body, and the head took the full force of the las-weapon. Its armour cracked, and the cockpit shattered under the furious assault. The titan slowed and shuddered to a halt, crippled but still upright. The other two Reavers moved up to flank their downed comrade, both firing simultaneously. Gatling rounds raked Nulli Secundus, her armour cracking in places as she turned to minimise the Reavers' angle of attack. Varus watched as the right-most Reaver powered up a melta cannon.
"Magos –" he began, but whoever the stranger toiling in the bowels of the titan was, he had come through, and the voids flickered into life mere moments before the searing melta beam impacted. The roar of superheated air was audible throughout the cockpit, and the temperature seemed to rise a few degrees, although Varus tried to reassure himself that it was just his imagination. The Magos was good, though – the shields held, and Nulli Secundus remained intact.
"Orders, my princeps?" asked the sensori moderati.
Varus looked at the viewscreen, watching the two Reavers coming around past the crippled engine. Nulli Secundus had only one ranged arm weapon – her volcano cannon – and he knew he could not eliminate both Reavers before they could fire again. The shields, he knew, would likely not hold up to another melta shot.

"Start withdrawing" he commanded the moderati. "Magos" he added to the vox "coax every bit of power you can. I need the shields at full power, or as close as you can manage.". He turned back to the sensori moderati.
"And arm the apocalypse missiles. Get me a targeting solution on the centre Reaver."
"The… the centre Reaver, my princeps?" asked the moderati, his disbelief plain on his face.
"The centre Reaver!" Varus barked. "Now!"
"Yes, my princeps" came the reply, as the massive god-engine began her ponderous walk backwards, still keeping her weapons trained on the enemy. The two Reavers began to move forwards.
"Firing solution plotted, princeps. Missile barrage ready to fire."
"At my command" Varus declared, watching the two Reavers advance. "Tight spread, ten missiles. Stand by…"
The two Reavers had moved ahead of the downed engine, and were closing together, shielding it from a direct attack.

"Fire" Varus breathed.
The Nulli Secundus fired, ten high explosive missiles arcing towards the enemy. The two Reavers braced, anticipating the attack. Varus smiled. The enemy princeps would be aware of the danger, of course. They would divert power, bolstering their front and top shields. Of course, this would mean that shield coverage would be uneven, and they would be sacrificing shield integrity in other areas. Naturally, they would chose to sacrifice shield integrity of the rear shields, as there was no danger from behind.
The missiles struck the downed Reaver. Its reactor detonated, a nuclear explosion erupting outwards. The explosion ripped through the weakened shields of the two Reavers, tearing apart their back armour, burying debris and shrapnel deep into them. Void shields flickered and died. Weapons lost power as the systems struggled to compensate for the sudden damage.
The Reaver on the left stumbled, superheated steam blasting from vents. Nulli Secundus increased the speed of her withdrawal, princeps and moderati alike recognising the signs of a titan about to explode.
Sure enough, moments later a second nuclear detonation lit up the battlefield, followed swiftly by a third as the final Reaver succumbed to the damage inflicted by its comrades' death throes. By the grace of the Omnissiah, Nulli Secundus's shields held, buffeted by howling winds and veritable tornadoes of detritus. As the winds died down, and the dust cleared, the three enemy Reavers were revealed; rendered to mere scrap by the three detonations.
Varus sighed in relief, and looked at the viewscreen, and –

- and the Nulli Secundus was firing, her Apocalypse Missiles streaking into the sky, arcing towards a fleeing mass transporter. Alongside Nulli Secundus stood five maniples of Legio Bellatorus titans – a staggering twenty engines – and all of them were firing everything at the vessel. The ground shook, the titans themselves trembled with the sheer scale of destruction that was being unleashed. The void shields of the mass transport glowed pale blue, ripples spreading out from each weapon impact. Wave after wave of concussive force hammered the shields, laser beams tore into it; heavy ordinance rounds pounded it repeatedly.
"Princeps" came the monotonous tones of a tech-priest, "our scans indicate that their shields are almost –"
He was cut off by an almighty crack as the transport's void shields collapsed, and thunderous roar echoing out, followed by an almighty blast of wind that staggered even the titans. Nulli Secundus leaned into the howling gale, the cockpit buffeted by hurricane-force winds as the displacement of starship-scaled voids collapsing in atmosphere. The other titans braced similarly as they ceased firing.
"Princeps Verrens" came a voice over the vox. "The honour of the kill belongs to Nulli Secundus."
"Acknowledged" Varus heard himself say. He turned to the moderati – another two strangers sitting in Sura and Culleo's seats. "Get me a lock on the most vulnerable part of that ship. I want this to hurt."
"Yes, my Princeps" the sensori. Targeting data flashed across the viewscreen, data scrolling across the secondary screens listing the ship type, engine type and a myriad of other information as cogitators calculated the weak spots and optimal firing solutions. Varus granted the cogitator sub-routines access to the volcano cannon's motive systems, and then immense weapon began tracking, fixing a lock on the fleeing vessel.
"Target acquired, my Princeps".
"Acknowledged" Varus replied. "Firing".

The volcano cannon spoke, its voice the roar of a small sun as it spat a white-hot beam of pure energy at the mass transport. The beam struck the vessel squarely in the vast engine array, shearing through the structural supports and severing four of the massive engines in one fell swoop, before lancing the reactor itself. A second sun lit up the Legio Bellatorus maniples as the transport's reactor went nuclear. As the unholy light died away, Varus could see shattered fragments of the vessel and titans fall to earth, many starting to burn up with the heat of re-entry. On the viewscreen, analysis flashed up, listing confirmed contacts in the raining debris
"My Princeps" announced the tech-priest, "we have a confirmed kill of the mass transporter Tyrannous, and we can confirm her cargo was at least thirty god-engines. Legio Condonare has been utterly destroyed."
Silence greeted this pronouncement, which had been broadcast to all titans in the area. Then, almost in unison, the titans began to sound their warhorns, a triumphant, jubilant chorus that roared out their victory.
"Princeps Verrens" smiled one of the moderati, turning to look at Varus, "you will be forever honoured by the Legio for this."
"No" Varus heard himself reply, patting the armrest of his throne. "She will."
He sat back, with a contented smile, and –

- and now the war outside the cockpit had changed once again, and Nulli Secundus was closing in with another Warlord. It was a Chaos machine, heavily corrupted, great organic-looking spikes growing from the armour plates, and the stench of the warp – there was no better way to describe it – emanated from it in waves. The head of the titan was twisted into a horrific snarl, and if one looked closely, it looked almost as if fangs were growing from its jaw.
Varus decided it was better not to look. Fortunately, the Princeps in whose body he was a passenger was of the same mind. He was barking orders at his moderati, calling on the Magos to push the reactor for all it was worth. Nulli Secundus was roaring, her warhorns blaring out her fury as she charged the enemy.
The monstrous Warlord turned to face her, firing a short burst from its Gatling cannon. The projectiles shattered against the void shields, and then the two gods of battle met, crashing together, swinging their weapon barrels like makeshift clubs. In this close, void shields were useless; melee attacks would bypass them entirely. Both titans would have to rely on the strength of their hulls and the power of their close-quarters weapons. They rammed each other, their initial strikes ineffective; they backed off slightly, facing each other like two pugilists of old squaring off. The enemy titan roared, and the vox echoed with the mechanical scream of its name. Harbinger! Harbinger! Harbinger! It made a reckless swing with its Gatling cannon, and Nulli Secundus blocked it with her volcano cannon. The dull thud of the impact shook both engines, the tremor running through both, causing all manner of minor fractures and ruptures. Nulli Secundus pushed back, forcing the enemy away, and both titans stood facing each other, sizing each other up once more.

Once again, Harbinger showed its impatience – it roared with anger and frustration and swung in hard again, bringing its quake cannon in as an impromptu maul. Lacking dedicated close-quarters weapons, it swung its immense ranged weaponry in frustration, lashing out almost blindly at its hated foe. Such clumsy attacks were easy to see coming – the problem lay in avoiding them. Nulli Secundus stepped backwards and pivoted, ceding ground to the Harbinger in order to avoid the Gatling cannon. The quake cannon caught her on the side, and she staggered, but not even a Chaos-maddened Princeps would be fool enough to fire a quake cannon at point blank range, and the only use the corrupted weapon saw was as a glorified battering ram.
Nulli Secundus came in hard and fast, dropping her left shoulder and swinging with her right. The volcano cannon swept around in a great arc, coming to bear on Harbinger. Unlike the quake cannon, this could be fired point-blank and at this range, it would bypass Harbinger's shields and tear her apart. Recognising the threat, Harbinger pivoted as gracefully as its bulk allowed, twisting away from the deadly barrel, and trying to push it away with its own Gatling weapon. The two marvels of Martian ordinance clashed, and as Harbinger continued to pivot, it pushed the volcano cannon further away from its torso. It was now side-on to Nulli Secundus, facing towards the volcano cannon, and pushing it away, completely safe from the wrath of the laser weapon. It bellowed in triumph, - Harbinger! Harbinger! Harbinger! – manoeuvring its two weapons in an attempt to shear the volcano cannon clean off.

And then Nulli Secundus pivoted, her reactor running clear into the red with the effort. Her power claw came up, powering into the exposed side of Harbinger like a runaway freight train. The immense superstructure withstood the impact for a microsecond before it crumpled like a tin can, rupturing before the multi-ton force weapon with an ear-piercing shriek of tortured metal. The immense digits of the power claw closed around the reactor, then pulled hard. The reactor ripped away from its housing, cables snapping, cutting off power to the rest of the titan. It ground to a halt, fatally crippled. Superheated steam rushed from the severed reactor, blasting through the exposed Enginarium, burning several crew members alive. Nulli Secundus withdrew her power claw and stepped back, her volcano cannon powering down as her own reactor vented in a desperate attempt to cool down. She raised her power claw, holding the severed reactor up as if it were the still-beating heart of an enemy warrior.
"Sic semper proditores" Varus snarled, the High Gothic words blared from Nulli Secundus's external vox as the immense power claw closed and crushed the reactor into scrap.
Thus always to traitors.

Harbinger's carcass swayed from side to side, all power lost. Tiny figures could be seen rushing around in the interior. In a loyal, disciplined titan, they would be carrying out damage control, trying to save as much of the god-engine as possible for future recovery. Here, in this corrupted vessel carrying only those weak enough to succumb to the empty words of the Archenemy, they were fleeing for their lives, rats abandoning a sinking ship. They would not get the chance to make good their escape.
Varus gestured towards the enemy, and Nulli Secundus mirrored his movements, backhanding the Harbinger in a contemptuous gesture, heaving the wreckage of its own reactor at it as a final insult. The impact of the power claw tore the front of the cockpit off, and the corrupted moderati, bound to their seats, fell screaming to their deaths. Above them, the reactor slammed into the torso of the once-proud titan, which rocked back under the impact. It teetered perilously, then slowly, surely, toppled backwards, falling onto her back with a sound like the very earth rending. An immense cloud of dust and debris erupted from the impact, shrouding the remains. Nulli Secundus took a couple of steps forward, bringing a titanic leg down on top of the downed Harbinger, crushing the remnants of the central structure. Sheblared her warhorn, a long, low victorious blast that echoed for miles around. Soldiers and titans on both sides all turned to see her standing over her downed enemy, triumphant, immortal, and invulnerable. She was the very image of Imperial victory, and the sight of their champion lying dead at her feet was enough to break the spirit of the enemy Legio. They began a fighting retreat, which rapidly became a rout as they lost cohesion. Fleeing, disorganised, they made easy prey, and the engines of Legio Bellatorus quickly moved to cut them down.
Varus leaned back in his command throne, exhausted.
"Magos" he rasped into the vox, his throat parched with fatigue. "Vent the reactor. Get us back down to safe levels." He closed his eyes, and then –

- and then he was back. He was himself, sitting in his command throne. Sura and Culleo sat in the moderati seats, and the view screens showed the hangar, instead of some long-past battle. He exhaled slowly, savouring the taste of the recycled air in the cockpit, feeling the blessed relief at being back in his own body. He looked down along his body, flexing his arms and hands experimentally. As he did so, he heard outside the movement of great motive systems as the weapon arms of Nulli Secundus moved in unison with him.
It was a success, he realised. I am now the Princeps. I will walk with Nulli Secundus.
YES echoed a voice in his mind. It was deep, thunderous voice that could only be the voice of Nulli Secundus herself. WE WILL WALK TOGETHER, LITTLE PRINCEPS.
The two minds, one of flesh and blood, one of circuitry and wires, finally connected in perfect union as the great god-engine allowed the link to be established. Varus looked down at his body, and saw that, instead of flesh and blood, it was one of metal. He was no longer sitting in the cockpit of the titan, as he had been in his visions – now he was the titan. His right hand was a mighty volcano cannon, humming as it built to full power; his left was a power claw, the built-in Vulcan mega-bolter whirring and clicking as the ammunition feeds loaded the weapon. He rolled his shoulders, and the Apocalypse missile launchers rotated experimentally, then flashed messages through the noosphere, reporting they were loaded and ready to fire. He looked down at the Mechanicus menials scrambling like ants around his feet, and finally, he felt that he knew what it was to be a god. He took a step, slowly, ponderously, and one of the mighty legs lifted and moved across the hangar, coming down with enough force to shake the ground. He stepped forward again, more confidently this time, and the other leg swung forward to join the first.
"Yes" he breathed, and as the great machine began to stride out of the hangar, each step more certain than the last, both Princeps and god-engine spoke together, the voices of man and machine blending into one.

YES they said. WE WILL WALK TOGETHER