Chapter 4

EMIYA'S POV

This factory looks is a Cathedral in all but name.

That's what I honestly thought about while looking up at the enormous factory that made of an auxiliary unit for Malak's or, for how the Imperium and, above all, the Adminastratum called it, Angel's forge.

It was blackened by soot, with the only things clean a stoic figure, with wings made of blades and with very visible mechanical prothesis all over him.

There was another symbol, a half skull half machine inside a cog, on the enormous doors, which I could see from kilometres of distance, and some small servo-skulls, or at least so the voice in my reality marble called it, were flying in and out of it, after watching some workers, or soldiers, entering.

There was also a smell, both incense and of…honey? I was fairly sure the second was just my own magical sense giving me an idea of how their blessings felt.

'The Mechanicus flare for dramatics hasn't waned over the years, despite their now subservience to the Emperor.'

The voice, which knew far more than me about whatever space culture I was in, gave a quick explanation, which was his way to help for the task Alaya gave us.

Whatever the task was, due to the lack of instruction from the being.

'I did say I would help you, did I not? And while my father's empire may have fallen to the wayside due to the actions of his sons, both loyalists and not, it's not nearly as bad as I thought it was, the currents of the Warps not giving a good outlook for my father's domains.'

'Alaya doesn't have any children, and even if you believe that your "father" became a god, it may not be the same god that all these people pray to.'

'I take solace on the fact that he would have hated this, if he may be able to talk openly. He may have deserved to be somewhat humbled.'

I looked around.

I too would be, after seeing those around me.

They weren't emaciated, but I could see that a lot of them weren't in their best physical shape: their eyes were almost yellow, and I could see strange bone structures under their chins, and some had, under their shaved heads, strange bones were starting to protrude, poking under the skin, while their fingers had truly long, and unkept, nails.

And their weapons were equally unkept, with heat, cracks, even some, luckily low, radiation, while their trucks had oil leaks, and many of their tanks and vehicles, while new, had strange markings, similar to the strange pendants a lot of these guards had.

This...was worrisome.

Quite so worrisome.

That's without considering the tall, and grey, buildings around, where I could feel the same looks of scorn from some civilians and even some children, who had even more extreme...mutations, for a lack of a better description.

'Maybe it is a mutation, it's not like my father didn't accept worse mutation in his quest for his domain, nor like he deeply cared about it other than very much possible warp taint. Something he should have explained more in depth for obvious reasons.'

I snorted at that, but the silence around me, other than for the engine and the very on guard soldiers was almost deafening.

It was quite like a firefight could start at a moment notice, and the "Commissar" was aware of that too, by her looking around at the head, her gritting of teeth, and her tightening of hand around her laspistol.

Then a guide, just as strange looking and as angry, started to lead us, his squad following him without a word, while behind us we had a tank whose gun was already trained on the leading troop transport, while the heavy "bolter" was pointed at the squad, and was moving left to right every once in a while.

The tension was palpable, truly, and it continued to be so when we crossed each intersection, where the machine guns were following us, and after each checkpoint we had a few followers behind us, joining this strange and quite angry convoy.

Really, while I did have experience with this, and my throat when I was alive could testify to that, I didn't like being in this situation again.

'Could I point out that your own lightheartdness towards your own death is quite unsettling? I don't think I have ever met anyone like that, nor heard of that, and I know of people, and Primarchs, who came back from the dead, several times.'

'One has to find silver linings whenever possible. At least, to avoid a lot of sour feelings that the Counter Guardian's life give you'.

I wanted to at least try to be the man I once was, but it's not like it was easy.

At least the missions given by Alaya had greatly reduced in numbers, even if, due to the general clusterfuck that the galaxy (and oh how strange was it to use galaxy for where humanity how lived, even if he had thousands, and not many, years to get used to it), it was quite strange that such a thing was possible.

At the very least there were two main alien species, and a whole pantheon, out for Humanity, from waht the disembodied voice that called itself "Primarch", while not giving their name, had explained.

Really, if Alaya wanted to give me a vacation it could have done so much before, it would have avoided many embarrassing situations.

Like having to fight Heracles while his past self, or at least one of his past selves, was creating a beast with three backs.

'Wait, could you repeat that?'

The march continued, without any stop, and the rifles pointed at us became better, and the vehicles turning their guns at us were no longer almost broken, and the paint on them was pristine, almost able to reflect our reflections.

The soldiers themselves, while many, above all the younger ones, had those same mutations, most didn't, and some were even unsure by the situation but still professional enough to put their fingers away from the trigger

I could almost have felt impressed if I hadn't been in the crosshair of so many people.

'No, really, please repeat that, it's something truly not usual, and that's after you have used abilities I have never seen. To have something similar to a Spawn so far in the past would be quite interesting to hear.'

The tone was far too curious, and I really didn't like to think about Emiya Shirou, even if I did swear to try to become that man again.

'Spawn what? Don't you think that the situation is far too critical for you to be so curious about my previous life?'

After all, we had reached our destination, a steady stream of servoskulls going around us, while many "servitors", a parody of human cyborgs on tank tracks, were standing in front of us, their blue cannons which shot an ammunition hot as the sun, and were equally prone to burn you if badly treated, making a wall.

From the door itself, and more accurately, from the human's part's socket came out of the line a much more adorned flesh and metal contraption, tentacles ending with gold and silver, an enormous ruby the lens for its internal camera and engines almost too silent to be the same kind of turbine used for the others.

A small Analysis, with the planet's mana screaming to be used, let myself also see that the inner workings, like the circuitry and the internal engine, were much finer than the others.

The skull…far less so, but it wasn't the worst thing I had seen in the few days I had been sent here, and not unlike what a first-grade magus would do to his enemies, if they had known of a way to create such familiars without being immediately flagged with sealing designation.

The brain being used as a computer alongside the circuitry made it that much more unsettling, though.

'Truly remarkable, every time I feel your ability I feel almost humbled, and ashamed at how our race mastered another way to give a mark on the world without using the sea of souls. One day, hopefully, you will be able to explain it to me with the approval of my father, so that I may learn without my hubris blinding me, while also finally going over the technological dark age we find ourselves since millennia.'

The situation really wasn't ideal for thinking about this.

The skull was, after all, flying around, making much noise, stopping a bit more only in front of the "Commisar", until it came in front of a driver of one of the trooper transports, and it stopped there.

It hovered in place until a human and at the same time mechanical voice, distorted by the speaker of the skull, came from it:

"Ah, so the prodigal son returns to his maker, alongside his squad. You may enter, and I want both you and your squad in my own office, if you please. That is, if you remember that much since your own programming."

Then the Skull went towards the centermost of the biologic robots, and a red light came from its lens into the war bio-machine, a stream of data passing through light.

Something that had just begun to be used openly in my time, and even then through a cable not the very air.

Then a cavernous voice came from that battle abomination, while with a puff of smoke its engine started moving its tracks backwards:

"ACCESS ALLOWED" it bellowed, while the blue light of its plasma started to die down, going from ominous blue to simple heat, and threat of restarting the gun, while a corridor was created for us to pass through, the guardsmen I was beside clutching their lasguns, or making a quick eagle sign, or even gulping slightly.

The "Commisar", instead, was at the head of our little column, and didn't move, her hat almost covering her eyes while only a few red hair pocked out from it.

It was like she was calculating the situation in her mind, and her blue eyes did move around, first to the servitors and then to our "followers", who were now muttering angrily between each other, and then myself.

It was like being dissected by a Magus, and probably, due to the name of her organization, just as dangerous for my own un-life.

Then, after a few seconds, she pressed her own vox three times and started moving forward without a word, and just as she did that, the newly promoted lieutenant shouted "forward march!" and it was like the platoon exhaled all together when they passed through the servitors, the Chimera's exhaust almost sighing as well when they lurched forward, almost scared by the situation they were in.

The enormous doors in front of us opened towards us, and hiss of steam and a scream of machines alongside it, while the symbolic skull divided neatly in the middle, and a stream of red robed cyborgs, alongside some soldiers with the same symbol on their left shoulder, came out.

And these were proper cyborgs, not the body horrors that were guarding the entrance or flying around, their prothesis almost more a work of art than of science, and I could feel the attention, care, and artisanship at how they were created, even if streamlined.

Now, if only they had been using them at their potential, or keeping them out of incense, or even just not use, for some reason they only were aware of, tentacles.

Their propensity for melee weapons, if the axes they were weaving around, which had their same symbol, was also something I couldn't quite understand.

Those axes were still dangerous, though.

'Those axes, in their hands, are still quite dangerous indeed to fight against if you were a normal human. Or an ork trying to loot something valuable.'

I rolled my eyes at that, but didn't rebuke.

The axe itself was interesting, not nearly as good as even a well-crafted mystic code, and that's not talking about the absolutely unfair comparison between it and a Noble Phantasm, but still interesting.

Maybe if they were using the power to the fullest, and they weren't dumping it all to the whole head but instead putting more attention to the edge, along with using better circuitry…

'I could have already said it before, but your ability is truly remarkable, and the techpriests in front of you would destroy entire sectors to have it at their disposals.'

I shuddered slightly at that, the feeling of that Designation far too close for my own taste.

'I would advise, then, to not use that, instead of using it, alongside your other abilities, to repair mundane Chimeras.'

The situation was such that leaving behind one of the transports would mean the useless deaths of many, which were so easily avoidable.

'That also was a danger that was easily avoidable, at least that's what my father would have said, or ordered, us to.'

There was a certain bitterness in his tone, something that I could agree with.

One didn't make a galaxy spanning empire by being nice, and if the species, and dangers, this "primarch" fought when he was still in possession of a body, it was somewhat understandable.

Understandable, not agreeable, but understandable.

And something I could resonate with intimately, and that I wanted to change.

"Oi red man, you wanna gawk some more or enter the manifactorum?!" I was snapped out by my internal reverie by the booming voice of Lieutenant Merrick, which went over the sound of engines behind us, and the louder silence of the tens of strange mutants behind us.

I moved, with large strides, while the biological robots and the turrets went again in position, and the booming voice of that same abomination ordered, or was ordered to say:

"ACCESS DENIED; RETURN TO YOUR POSTS."

The guards stared at the servitors then, as one, they followed the order, but kept to their stare, and no words still between them.

Then, with the same hiss they opened, the door started closing the moment I crossed them, and no longer was the clouded sun outside the source of light, but, instead, many old lights, some neon, some were incandescent bulbs, some were candles.

And then there was laser to light around.

Truly, the mishmash would have made an architect feel elated, alongside with the many industrial tubes and machines, and didn't pay attention to the many other abominations walking, or wheeling, or tracking around.

There were also normal workers, with prothesis, some with masks, other with not, some with red robes and others wearing barely anything.

A work inspector would find decades of job inspecting this room alone, and if the heat I felt from my left, behind another enormous door, that right there was another century.

Really, this whole place would be an MHLW's nightmare, and that's just the sight; the sound, that felt like going inside a battlefield with the hammering, and the shouts of the mechanical foremen, and the sounds of hot metal.

And that's without the smell, that I was quite sure was something that you didn't want to breathe for more than an hour.

Even if the honey aroma had finally gone away, thanks for small mercies.

The soldiers in front of me, though, were almost inoculated by this situation, and were speaking animatedly to one another, moving up on a steel wide staircase, while the infantry fighting vehicles and the truck with the foodstuff were brought towards the lower depots, under a door so big that it almost felt like a whole other building was under us.

The climb itself wasn't fast, but it wasn't also boring: there were many more machines around, some inactive and some moving, some almost broken in the inside and others in perfect shape.

And all of them were misused: what was an extremely efficient micro fusion reactor? Practically a lightbulb; What was an almost instantaneous communication device to other systems light years distant was used, instead, for almost a hundred of years since its creation for calls from the foreman to the office we were going to.

That was despite it being "newly" built, and so it was a feature they didn't know about.

'Humanity lost much during the old night, Counter Guardian. You should be aware of that.'

I nodded, but I couldn't shake the feeling of disgust when I continued to see the incense, and the rituals, and the oil plastered on the machines, while I could almost feel those same machines almost screaming in my mind to be used we-

Wait, I could feel what?

Just as I tried to find that feeling, it went away, and the immenseness of my Reality Marble made it so that even the weapons I had seen were almost…muted, in a sense.

But what I felt was…strange.

Truly strange.

I did have that feeling while repairing the Chimera, but I didn't quite pay attention, and the necessity to start to move made it hard to truly measure.

'Belief has a power of its own, after thousands of years in believing in machine-.'

'Come on, it can't be that.'

It would be like believing that a toaster houses a spirit, even the Romans would balk at that.

'My father wasn't a god, he didn't believe so, but, if what you think is right, and what I was able to feel during thousands of years is true, then he is becoming one. Same goes for many minor gods you have both heard and encountered."

'This is too strange, there is still some power needed behind to kickstart the process.'

Like a soul.

Or a life. Mostly a life, something that my Reality Marble had many examples of.

The stairs were almost finished, and the red robed man leading us was stopped by a flying skull, which was passing that information the same way I saw it before.

And that same feeling was in the circuitry of its communication.

But simple belief for each spirit? That wasn't something that worked in such a way, and grade.

'Much time has passed.'

'Some things remain the same, this is one of them.'

I could hear the dissatisfaction, but really, how could such a thing be true?

Formation of spirits wasn't so cut and dry.

"Query: Commissar Adrastia has been requested by the Secular Director. Request: May she follow me?" The mechanicus's voice came out like an AI voice, sounding slightly feminine, while its mask pocked out from the red robes that covered everything.

The request, though, was interesting.

And more interesting, in a quite bad way, was her answer, direct and sharp, her legs moving closer and her back straighter so she would look taller:

"I agree, but only if you let me bring one of my own soldiers, the red one, along with me, while giving rest to my troops."

That is not the kind of interesting I like to be in.

I saw the lieutenant surprised at this, but really, knowing that this was at the very least a secret agent, from what my Analysis could say about her strange rosette, and my own experience along with that.

Which didn't make me really want to go along with the ride, but, unfortunately, I had gotten used to be dragged along by strange people without any agency to say "no"; also, the presence of such agent could give us more information, something we were sorely lacking right in that moment.

So, being led to a lavish office, being left alone with a man with so many prothesis that a metal detector would beep a kilometer away, us being left alone without backup, and his first words being:

"Good day, Inquisitor Adrastia of the Holy Inquisition. May I ask your assistance in a matter of deep importance for the survival of this planet?"

And that was before tea was even served.

Truly, how the times had fallen if threats were done without at least a bit courtesy?

AN

So, as I promised, another chapter.

Hopefully this chapter is good for you fellas, also:

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