The Guardian of Tyr II

It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Terra. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. His vast legions give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants — and far, far worse. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

Hektor walked through the lonely corridor that connected the barracks to the chapel workshop. Gold statues of the Emperor and his children line the walls as high arches give way to open air and the brisk winter breeze. Hektor stopped and looked out on his homeworld through one of these arches. He was born on Tyr II, an icy so called death world, dedicated to the production of soldiers to fight in humanity’s never ending wars. Today was calm though, the glacial peaks gleaming in the early morning sun. Tyr II wasn’t always like this, it used to be a peaceful farming world in the northern sector of the Imperium, but that was long before Hektor was born. Now, a frigid wind descends upon them from a galaxy-spanning tear in the fabric of the universe, and at its center the Eye of Terror, bore down upon Tyr II from above.

Looking up at the purple vortex threatening to swallow his planet reminded Hektor of his purpose. Today was the day he joins the Pack, the order of Knights that protects his world from invasion. He picked up his pace as he continued back down the corridor, he was already late to the Princeps Ritual and he knew the Tech Priests liked to be punctual. As his father kept reminding him, he knew he should avoid angering the Priests.

By the time Hektor reached the end of the corridor he was out of breath. The Imperium’s architect apparently wanted this Hive City’s people to work extra hard to get where they were going. In front of him stood a large set of doors, ornate and golden, and flanked on either side by 16 foot statues carrying golden axes and wearing wolf pelts, symbols of his family’s influence. As he approached he heard a familiar mechanical grinding that slowly inches the heavy doors open. 

He found himself on a narrow catwalk inside the Chapel’s Workshop. The roof was only ten feet above him but there was a sixty foot drop from the catwalk to the floor. The Workshop stretched on for over three kilometers, one of the smaller Chapels in the Hive. It was mostly used for training new Tech Priests and Knights instead of producing weapons for war. As Hektor made his way down a set of stairs that connected to the catwalk he spotted the bright red cloak of the High Priest Magos. Even from halfway up the catwalk he could tell the Magos was tall. It stood a whole two heads taller than the other mechanics in the Chapel. But it wasn’t until he called out to the Magos, who rotated to face him,  that he truly understood his fathers words.

Hektor Fenris. You are 10.75 minutes late.

A static mechanical voice drifted out from underneath the Magos’ hood.

I have had people executed for less. This won’t happen again.

Hektor could tell from the artificial eyes that gleamed from underneath the hood that the Magos was not joking around. The Magos stared through Hektor, it’s face an amalgamation of mechanical parts built right into its flesh. It’s red robe, adorned with the intricate symbols and glyphs that represent the Cult Mechanicum, hid the metal monstrosity that gave off a faint hum as the Magos moved.

He realized he was gawking at it for too long and gave the imperial salute, linking his thumbs together to form his hands in the shape of an eagle with two heads. 

“It won’t happen again High Magos, please forgive me”

The Magos spun around in place and started walking away from Hektor. 

Come.

The Magos waved its long mechanical arm, gesturing for Hektor to follow. As they walked in silence Hektor was staring at the Magos’ back. He could see its arm swaying back and forth, the black iron glistening with wet oil. The Magos had eight fingers on its right hand, each one had a different tool at the tip but as they sat by the Magos’ side they twitched with malice. It didn’t seem to walk either, rather it glided across the ground as if on wheels, which Hektor realized was probably not too far from the truth.

The Magos stopped suddenly, startling Hektor. It pointed to its left but Hektor saw nothing but the closed bay doors. When Hektor had no reaction a raspy metallic voice whispered in his ear from behind.

Look up, you dimwit.

As Hektor looked up, he saw that he was standing between the colossal legs of a 60 meter tall Titan, the sheer scale of this war machine stunned Hektor and left him in awe. From where he was standing, with the Titan towering over him, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread. One barrage from this mechanical nightmare could level an entire city and the earth cracked and crumbled underneath its every step. 

The legs themselves were towering structures of armored plating and mechanical sinew and the steel was adorned with tribal and rune-like engravings, reminiscent of House Fenris’s viking-like symbolisms. These ancient carvings glow with a sense of primal power and as Tech Priests circle it’s giant legs, their chanting and incense reacting to each rune. Each step it takes could shake the earth beneath your feet, and Hektor realized that even a slight misstep could result in utter devastation.

The lower portions of the legs were equipped with enormous pistons and hydraulic joints, giving the Titan an almost animalistic, predatory appearance. The rumble of hydraulic systems and the clanking of metal plates pulse through the ground, making it clear that this behemoth is very much alive and breathing, despite its mechanical nature.

As he craned his neck to view its full stature, he caught glimpses of massive weapon mounts, turrets, and sensors that bristled from the Titan's upper torso, brimming with deadly expectation. The head, with its aggressive, wolf-like visage and burning red eye-lenses, are a final testament to House Fenris's distinctive and fearsome stature as this world's protectors. The air is thick with anticipation and the scent of machine oil, and Hektor couldn’t help but feel that he was standing before a guardian of the Wolf King's legacy, a symbol of both honor and ferocity. 

“Oh” was all Hektor could manage to get out. He felt the color drain from his face as he turned back to the Magos,

“So I have to merge with that?” there was a waver in his voice that the Magos seemed to pick up on.

Do not worry, only 3 out of 5 Princeps die during the ritual.

Hektor stared blankly at the Magos’ blank eyes. Was this it trying to encourage him?

Now that you have seen your Titan, it is time to begin the ritual. Follow me and do not wander.

The Magos led Hektor to a small room at the back of the Workshop where it gestured for Hektor to undress. It had him change into a ceremonial robe that looked more like a red hospital gown, and led him through another set of doors. Hektor stood at the threshold of a sacred chamber. It was shrouded in a dim light cast by the eerie glow of flickering runes engraved into the steel walls. Two rows of Tech Priests entered from a set of doors on the opposite side of the room. Their faces hidden behind heavy cowls gently guide Hektor toward an altar in the middle of the room. As they laid him down on the altar's table the air became heavy with the scent of incense and the distant hum of machinery. Before he had been selected to be the next guardian of Tyr II, his father had sat him down and talked to him about the process. Hektor was horrified to learn of the heavy augmentation that the Tech Priests would do to him but his father told him this was a great honor, and that he could not refuse.

A large arm descended from the ceiling, each of its many fingers displaying a different kind of cutting tool. A small metal bar was placed into Hektor’s mouth as he was told to bite down. Several tubes of clear liquid were jammed into Hektor’s veins, and he felt a sense of mental clarity and ease that he had never felt before. The Tech Priests began the augmentation with his limbs, stripping his bones of his fragile flesh, replacing his tendons and muscles with mechanical fibers and sinew, and reinforcing his joints with steel. Hektor could feel the cool touch of metal against what was left of his skin as the machines became a part of him. He was given a neural interface, a small computer that was drilled into the inside of his skull, that would serve as a link between his mind and the spirit of the Titan. These interfaces were delicate, connecting a human mind to a colossal machine spirit would put immense pressure on the pilot's brain. 

In the periphery of Hektor’s vision he caught glimpses of the Tech Priests praying meticulously as they augmented his weak body. Despite the excruciating pain, Hektor was acutely aware of the weight of the imposing Machine's Spirit. The Titan itself seemed to watch over the ceremony and he could almost feel its ancient consciousness judging him. As the augmentation continued, Hektor began to understand the true gravity of the trial he was undergoing. His body was no longer fully human, instead a hybrid of flesh and machine, a living conduit for the divine will of the Machine God. For Hektor, the Princeps Ritual was both a rebirth and a solemn pledge, a covenant that will forever bind him to the Titan and its Machine Spirit.

Once the augmentation was completed one of the Tech Priests helped him up from the table. He caught a glimpse of his reflection on one of the Tech Priest’s eyes and saw that he was a completely different person. His facial features were hollow and gaunt, and his head had been shaved. Spread out evenly across his scalp were cable ports where he would be connected to the Titan. He could no longer feel his arms and legs and the room was swirling in front of him. The Magos approached the shell of Hektor.

Congratulations, you are now more perfect than you ever were before. Now we move on to the last stage of your transformation.

Hektor said nothing as he followed the Magos, as he walked he was supported by another Tech Priest who held him with care. He was led back out into the Chapel’s Workshop, and to the feet of the Titan. Hektor looked up from the arms of the Tech Priest and saw that the Titan was staring back at him, its eyes glowing a faint red that seemed to follow him. The Magos led them to a small lift by the side of the Titan which slowly grinded to life. As they ascended Hektor could hear faint whispers that emanated from the inside of his skull. 

When they reached the head of the Titan the Magos led them to a thick metal door that led to the cockpit. Hektor was amazed by how large the control room was, situated right behind the eyes of the giant machine, he could see everything that the Titan could. In the middle of the room was a large silver throne surrounded by a deep red carpet. This was where Hektor was to be plugged into the machine, this is where he would become one and merge his soul with the machine’s spirit. 

Hektor was led over to the throne and as he sat he felt a surge of power emanating from a ball of wires attached to the ceiling above him. The cool steel of the throne felt oddly familiar, the curve of the seat fit him perfectly and as he sat a warmth washed over him, pulling him deeper into the throne. He let out a deep sigh of satisfaction, teetering on the edge of consciousness. He once again felt at ease, but the Magos wouldn’t let him be at peace forever and interrupted him by grabbing Hektor’s bald head.

I will now plug you into the Machine Spirit. This will be your final test, do not die.

Without giving Hektor a second to process what the Magos had just said, it started grabbing the wires from the ceiling and inserted them into the ports that dotted Hektor’s head. He felt each plug as they were slowly and delicately connected to his brain. The sharp electrical shocks that zapped his mind awake, a reminder of his duty and purpose, it was almost time to tame the Machine Spirit. As the Magos inserted the last plug, Hektor suddenly felt a wave of lightning wash sporadically across his brain and as soon as his whole brain felt like it was about to be ripped in two his mind went blank and the world went dark.

~~~

Hektor woke up to the sounds of cannon fire and the quaking of the earth beneath him. When he opened his eyes he was in a blood soaked field that stretched on for many kilometers around him. He saw corrupted Chaos soldiers, twisted by the powers of the Warp, charge forward with a zealous fury. Their armor was adorned with nightmarish symbols and Daemonic sigils, their banners exuding cruel, malevolent energy. Across the battlefield, the Imperial Guard, resolute in their loyalty to the Emperor, formed a steadfast line. They unleashed a hail of lasgun fire, their shouts and prayers blending together in a symphony of determination. But it was clear that the sheer numbers of the Chaos forces threatened to overwhelm them.

He watched as the hundreds of thousands of corrupted soldiers crashed into the endless green lines of Imperial Guardsmen. He listened to the horrid screams as the tank line launched its artillery barrage upon the disfigured heads of the traitors. Enormous autocannons and missile launchers spat death and destruction upon the heretic forces, decimating their ranks and scattering them like leaves in the wind. Yet the horde did not yield and kept pushing forward, inching closer and closer to the Hive city that stood as the first bastion of humanity. 

Hektor felt his body take a step forward and the ground shook again as he marched. What was this feeling? He tried to stop but his body continued to make its way towards the rising wave of chaos. He tried to scream, to call out for help, for someone to stop him. Instead, he began to feel a violent energy collecting into his left hand. He looked down and saw that instead of a hand a large plasma cannon sat in its place, a blue light glowing brighter and brighter from the magnetic accelerator coils as they charged to full power. That was when it clicked, Hektor was no longer human, he had become the Titan. He had no idea how he had gotten here, the last thing he remembered was being plugged into the Titan’s throne back on Fenris. The blast from his plasma cannon snapped him back into reality. He watched as it was lobbed hundreds of meters into the air and came crashing down on the sea of fighters. As soon as the ball of plasma touched the ground it exploded in a wave of liquid plasma that washed over his enemies and scorched the earth underneath them. 

In the midst of the chaotic battleground, several drop pods descended from the heavens like vengeful comets. The sound of their entry was a deafening roar, drowning out the clamor of battle that raged all around. A blazing tail of fire marked their descent, a searing contrast against the darkened, war-torn sky. The moment of impact was a shattering explosion, the earth quaked as the pods collided with the ground. Clouds of dust and debris billowed around them, momentarily concealing the horrors of the enemy from view and a shockwave rippled through the enemy ranks, sending some of them sprawling to the ground.

In that brief moment of silence, Hektor held his breath, waiting for the pod's occupants to emerge. The world seemed to move in slow motion, as those around the pods tried to recover. And then, with a defiant hiss, the drop pods hatches swung open.

A lone Guardsman emerged from each, lasguns in hand, standing resolute amidst the sea of malice. The grim determination in their eyes were testaments to the indomitable spirit of the Imperial Guard. With a rallying cry, they opened fire, and the battle roared back to life with a renewed fury. The drop pods had become a beacon of hope in the midst of the enemy's dark tide, a symbol of the Emperor's unwavering protection, before getting swallowed in a mass of bodies.

Just as Hektor’s imposing form reached the frontlines a pulse of energy swept across the battlefield with the force of a hydrogen bomb and a freezing chill descended upon the planet. Hektor looked towards the sky as a deafening tearing sound could be heard throughout the whole Galaxy. A purple string began to form in space just outside of Fenris’ Naval  Airspace. The string exploded as the fabric of the universe itself began to tear and a purple hole opened up, a portal to the Daemon infested Immaterium. Massive Daemonic battle ships began to flood into real space, their fleets bearing down upon the quaking planet. Millions of red Daemons came crashing down on the battlefield, sweeping like a tidal wave, and washing away everything they touched.

The Daemon horde was a terrifying spectacle, with grotesque and monstrous forms. Fire and blood accompanied their arrival and soldiers on both sides watched in paralyzing horror as the Daemons unleashed their diabolical wrath upon traitor and loyalist alike. Chaos reigned as the Daemons tore through the battle lines, leaving only death and gore in their wake. The battlefield, once a war zone between men, became a nightmarish hellscape, as more and more Daemons descended from their warships. Soldiers, who had fought against each other moments before, now found themselves united in terror, struggling to survive against the common infernal foe. The Imperial Guard, now facing annihilation from both sides, rallied with newfound desperation. With the Emperor's name on their lips, they unleashed a final, heroic charge. 

Hektor felt himself charge forward, as fast as his metal frame would take him. He crushed Daemons under his gigantic feet and shot hot plasma into the wall of flesh that surrounded him. Out of the corner of Hektor’s vision he could see an Imperial warship come crashing down to the earth from orbit. As he looked up he heard the roar of cannons as a Daemon flagship shredded the last of the Imperial reinforcements. The flagship slowly rotated in place, shifting its focus to support the Daemonic forces. Hektor’s augmented vision flashed red as warning signs popped up. He had no time to read them as the flagship had begun charging its cannons again. He tried to brace for impact but his large frame fights against him. He doesn’t hear the cannons fire but he feels the shots tear through his metal body as he falls backwards towards the ground.

Yet another failure. How disappointing.

The Magos stood in front of Hektor’s limp and hollow body. Blood dripped from his eyes and nose and his eyes were rolled back into his skull. The Magos apathetically unplugged Hektor from the Titan and watched as his body crumpled to the floor. It pulled out a heavy, iron bound grimoire and scribbled down a few notes. It then snapped the grimoire shut and began to exit the Titan’s cockpit. It gestured to the lowly Tech Priest that had accompanied them,

Prepare the next test subject. House Fenris has many children, one of them will bond with the Machine Spirit. We will test them all if we have to.

The Magos left the Tech Priest behind, who picked up Hektor’s limp corpse. He looked down at Hektor’s hollow cheekbones and paper thin skin. “All in the name of the Emperor” he concluded.