"Behold our savior!" The preacher declared, gesturing at the chaos displayed on the screen, showing a man – naked and alone, taking on an entire legion of the Blasphemous Machines and winning. Old prophecies spoke of his coming, the one who was destined to liberate them from the tyranny of their non-living overlords. And now, he was here. "Behold the Promised King! He has arrived! And he fights for our freedom! Are we to just sit here and watch him fight alone? It our destiny to win back our planet! And now destiny has arrived! My brothers and sisters! Do you truly want to sit here and watch or do you wish to come with me to the surface and fight by the side of the Promised King!"
The ragged masses cheered and roared with him. And the preacher could only smile at the fervor with which they screamed and yearned for freedom and vengeance against the old enemies of mankind. For centuries, they've lived beneath the ground, deep enough so that the Blasphemous Machines could not find them with their infernal technologies. Far from the surface, his fellow men devolved into primitive warrior-tribes who warred over resources and technology, worshiped profane gods and engaged in cannibalism – brother killing brother, parents killing and feasting on their own children, like maddened beasts. And so, gradually, the knowledge of their ancient ancestors faded, alongside their knowledge of technology and machinery. Books were tossed aside in favor of weapons and wisdom was torn down by violence. Within two centuries, his brethren became less than human – far less.
It was an embarrassment, a disgrace. Humanity shouldn't have to live underground, in fear of those who dwelt above them, like puny little ants. Humanity was meant to rule over all things, including the machines that arose against them long ago. Even now, in their barbarity, his fellow humans had already forgotten their own history, where they came from, and how they came to be here, and who they used to be, the greatness that was once theirs. It was disgusting, but also pitiful. Many a night had come and go, where he'd cry himself to sleep, waiting and hoping for something or someone to come and save them from the machines, to bring about an age of enlightenment and light, a new golden age.
And then, he saw it, the one who would come to liberate them, the one who would become their god-king, the one who would lead his people to victory and freedom.
It came to him in a vision, many many decades ago, a babe who'd fall from the sky in a ball of fire and molten metal, who would come to them in their hour of greatest need, and liberate them from the machines. He'd seen a great warrior, an honorable king, and a wise ruler, a noble god of justice and virtue. And so, with tears in his eyes, the preacher awoke. And, from that day forth, he began spreading the good news, preaching to the masses, telling them about the god that would, one day, come to liberate them. And they listened. The weak and the downtrodden, those who lived beneath the shadow of warlords and violent tribes, heard his voice and took his words to heart. And they dreamed with him, they prayed and they hoped that the prophesied savior would come, at last. Years passed and the followers of the One Faith steadily grew; in it, they found hope, a light in the otherwise endless darkness that pervaded their lives.
One by one, lesser and weaker tribes fell under the sway of his faith, drawn to their fervor and strength of will. Their numbers grew larger and larger, until they began to outnumber even the most powerful tribes. The One Faith spread across the labyrinthine corridors and pathways that was their home. And, soon enough, the preacher found himself leading a flock of million faithful men and women; many of them were hideous and malformed mutants, yes, but all were welcome to wait for the coming king, their god. And so, they marched across the underground paths, absorbing larger and larger tribes, peacefully and, at times, forcefully welcoming them into the One Faith.
And that was how they eventually found themselves waging war against both the Kaisar Tribe and the Skulltakers Tribe. The Followers of the One Faith grew too large and too many; the tribes that'd fallen to them were small, but numerous and, over time, they became one of the largest and most powerful among the tribes and, at that level, war with the other powers was inevitable. The Kaisar Tribe was a band of 'disciplined' warriors, who fought in lockstep and were said to be unbeatable in the narrow corridors, especially with their shields and spears. Their warriors were highly trained and incredibly skilled. The Skulltakers Tribe, meanwhile, was a mob of raving lunatics and bloodthirsty madmen, who worship the Red God, who demanded the skulls of their enemies, hence the name.
The Followers of the One Faith, despite their numbers, had few warriors. But, what they had, in place of strength at arms or ferocity, was knowledge. The Preacher's father had been a man who remembered the old ways, the ways of the ancients who came before them, their ancestors. His father preserved the workings of the machines, how to operate the inner workings of the tunnels, how to turn the ancient lights back on, and, most importantly, how to use the weapons their ancestors had left behind. And there were plenty of weapons, queer barrels that shot forth powerful bursts of crimson beams that no shield or armor could stand against.
He found the weapons, distributed them to the faithful. And, soon enough, the Followers of the One Faith, found that there was little that could stand against them. They marched forth and neither the disciplined ranks of the Kaisar nor the most maddened zealot of the Skulltakers even had the slightest chance against them in battle. The Kaisar fell first, being the closest and the most threatening. Within a fortnight, their proud leaders were kneeling at the feet of the faithful, conquered and defeated, and converted to their religion. By then, the only real enemy that stood against them was the Skulltakers Tribe.
And it was when the Followers of the One Faith waged war against the horde of frothing madmen and barbarians that everything went wrong.
The Skulltakers, in their desperation, and through some gruesome, cruel, and insane manner, had begun colluding and summoningdaemons, creatures of rage, malice, and destruction. They came with fire and wrath, charging into their lines, each one bearing the strength of a hundred men, wielding wicked weapons that tore through armor just as easily as their weapons did. Many followers of the One Faith died in the first incursion and many more perished in the second. And yet, their faith carried them forward. While the maddened zealotry of the Skulltakers was, indeed, power, the enlightened fervor of his flock proved stronger and greater still. They marched on and met the red daemons. And, by the third battle, his flock of believers began winning and winning. As it turns out, the secret to defeating the demons was through the tactics of the Kaisar Tribe, tying them down in the narrow corridors with heavily-armored units and funneling strategies that forced them into tight spaces, where their weapons, Laser Rifles, tore their unnatural flesh apart.
His flock marched forth, then, taking victory after victory and leaving piles of demonic corpses in their wake. It was glorious. Sure, they suffered casualties here and there, but, in the depths of the tunnels, not even the demons could properly leverage their strength and, eventually, the ravenous hordes of the Skulltakers dwindled, their numbers counting for nothing in the grand scheme of things. The Followers of the One Faith marched on, their fervent hopes and dreams carrying them forward, where no other thing could've done so, where no other weapon or shield could've pushed them as far as they did. The demons, while ferocious and mighty in their own right, stood little chance.
And so, they marched onward, victorious, until, at last, they arrived at the gates of the enemy, at the stronghold of the Skulltakers, where the bleached bones and putrid corpses of those they'd proudly slain hung from the rafters or were spiked upon long and bloody poles. The fighting was brutal. At the heart of their territory, the Skulltakers fought with all they had left, like a wounded and cornered animal, unleashing all the terror and horror of their blind zealotry and fanaticism, accompanied by the little angry minions of their little angry god. It was not enough to break the faithful, no. If anything, it only made them fight even harder than before.
But... he should've noticed it sooner. The signs were all there, after all. It'd been a trap. The Skulltakers knew that death was coming for them, no matter what they did. Their defenses were poor and their warriors, while crazed and maddened and utterly fearless, were easily dealt with as they lacked any form of discipline or cohesion. And, of course, they lacked the powerful and wondrous weapons wielded by his flock. Knowing this, the Skulltakers performed a most profane ritual, binding their very lives to a demonic pact that would summon an avatar of their god should they all perish.
And that was exactly what happened.
As the last of the Skulltakers, a frothing barbarian of a man, breathed his last, their citadel of blood erupted in a mighty explosion of fire and death, killing many of the faithful. And from that destruction came forth a gargantuan winged demon, bearing twin axes; its face was horribly scarred, half of it was bone. Twin wings sprouted from its back, tattered and shredded and burnt. Wherever it went, its cloven hooves burned the ground beneath it, leaving blazing imprints. It roared when it approached them, shaking the very earth around them and, likely, collapsing a few of the tunnels in the process. But then the strangest thing happened. Instead of charging or attacking them immediately after its grand entrance into the waking world, the towering demon stopped, looked upwards, and then grinned, before it leapt and punched a massive hole through the ceiling, before crawling and pulling itself up.
Confused and utterly bewildered, his flock declared themselves victorious over their foes and announced the dominion of the Followers of the One Faith. They plundered what little artifacts were left behind by the Skulltakers, the brutes who'd once terrorized the depths.
And that was how they came to discover that the Skulltakers had been monitoring their savior, through an ancient device that allowed them to witness the horrors of the surface, the Machine Army and the Titans.
And their lord, who was here now to save them from the tyranny of the machines.
"We shall fight by his side!" One man roared, declaring for all to hear with a raised fist. The others roared with him, the faithful, the zealous. Onto the next war, it seemed. The Preacher could only grin as the masses cheered and chanted the song of war and the symphony of death. They had the weapons. They had the numbers. The machines were distracted and outmatched by the Promised Lord. Now was the time for the uprising, the for mankind to reclaim its place in the surface and beyond. "For the Promised King!"
"For the Promised King!"
"For the Promised Kingdom!"
"For the Promised Destiny!"
And so, the faithful followers poured out of the caverns and the tunnels, marching out in defiance of their Machine Overlords. They scattered across the many exits, millions and millions of armed zealots, ready to die for their belief, for their god. The Preacher led from the front, stirring the hearts and minds of his brothers and sisters in the faith. And, for the first time in five hundred years, humanity poured out of their labyrinthine homes, out of the tunnels, and into the surface. And, when they fired their weapons in great volleys, the army of machines never knew what hit them.
A mountain shattered and fell apart in the distance, reduced to little more than ruined rubble. And, when the Preacher turned, he saw his lord, the Promised King himself, surrounded by the corpses of dozens of shattered and broken titans, and thousands and thousands of machine warriors, dead at his feet. His god stood there for a moment, watching them with a curious but bored gaze, before his lord turned and charged right at the broken-winged demon that'd emerged from the rubble and charged him right back. And the world shook.