The Cathedral gates had not opened in thirty years. Even the ironwork seemed to resist the motion, shrieking as sanctified hydraulics forced them apart. On the other side, a city waited.
They had gathered in silence—not because they had been told to, but because they didn't know what else to do.
Children clutched their parents' sleeves. Merchants closed their stalls. Pilgrims pressed against the cordon lines, faces lit by the cold radiance spilling from within.
And then he stepped forward.
Colossus‑01.
Each footfall was a tectonic event—the ground thrummed, windows rattled, dust shifted from the eaves of ancient towers.
To the crowd, he was not walking. He was arriving.
Those close enough to see his eyes—those vast, furnace‑lit optics—swore they caught something human in them. Not mercy. Not rage. Something far colder: decision.
Some bowed. Some knelt. Some simply stared as if memorizing the silhouette in case they never lived to see it again.
The Fourth walked ahead of him, her black‑and‑gold mantle trailing behind. She did not wave. She did not acknowledge the crowd. She was his herald, not their leader.
With each block they passed, more people emerged, drawn by the sound, the vibration, the knowledge that the God Engine had moved.
By the time they reached the transit lift at the city's edge, the streets were packed to capacity. No banners were raised, no anthems sung—only the hiss of hydraulics as the platform descended into the launch tunnels.
For thirty years, he had been still. Now, he was in motion. And the galaxy would learn that motion had meaning.
—
High Council Chamber — Forty Floors Above the Streets
The chamber's walls were lined with relic banners from conquests past—worlds taken, species brought to heel. Yet the air tonight was tense, uncertain.
"We cannot unleash him again," High Executor Kirell said, voice strained. "Not without knowing what provoked this order."
Across the table, Admiral Veyrn tapped his gauntlet against the surface, impatience in every click. "You've seen the signals from the fringe. Something is moving in the void. The Fourth would not summon the First unless—"
"Unless she means to terrify every system into submission again," another councilor cut in. "The last time Colossus‑01 marched, ten colonies seceded out of fear alone."
Kirell's gaze swept the chamber. "We command fleets. Armies. Entire manufactoria worlds. If we show we rely on him for every threat—"
"We do," Admiral Veyrn snapped. "And we will. This is not a question of politics. It's survival."
Silence fell as the central holo ignited—a live feed from the Cathedral's transit lift, showing the giant descending into the earth, The Fourth a small shadow before him.
"You see?" the admiral said quietly. "The decision is already made. Our debate is irrelevant."
Several councilors shifted uncomfortably. Others stared in something closer to reverence than fear.
Only Kirell's voice broke the moment. "Once he marches," he said, "there is no turning him back."
And none of them could answer that.
—
Launch Tunnels — Colossus Platform
The air in the tunnels was thick with incense and the hum of sanctified machinery. Ritual squads moved with mechanical precision, checking the restraints on his limbs, calibrating the interfaces to his core.
None of it was necessary. His systems never degraded. His armor never required mortal hands.
But the rites had meaning. Not for him—for them.
A Titan of the Sacred World was not launched. He was sent. And every launch was a prayer.
Benedetta was there, her frame smaller but no less imposing. Her armor bore scars not yet repainted—proof she had been fighting without pause.
Their optics met. No words, no data exchange. Just recognition.
She tilted her head slightly, as if to say, Still alive? His only answer was the low vibration that ran through the platform—the sound of a storm about to break.
Crew and clergy kept their distance. Two war‑gods in one place was an event measured in omens.
And above them, in the command gantry, The Fourth stood with her hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed not on him, but on the void they were about to enter.
The platform shuddered as it locked into the primary mag‑rail. Colossus‑01 stood still, the floodlights raking across his armor like searching hands. Every plate, every edge, every seam was the same as it had been the day he was born.
Technicians whispered as they moved along the gantries above him, their tools clutched like relics. None dared touch his frame without making the sign of the Five Codes over their hearts.
Benedetta took the opposite platform, the smaller berth still dwarfed by her frame. She had no herald. No cathedral gates to open. She had been at war while he had slept—and she carried the silence of it in her stance.
The Fourth's voice came over the launch intercom, calm but absolute. "Status."
A dozen reports came in—reactor output optimal, mag‑rail alignment perfect, void shielding stable.
She listened, but her eyes never left the horizon projection.
In the command deck, Admiral Veyrn leaned over the star‑chart, fingers tracing the fringe territories. "The signal came from Outpost S‑9. Nothing in the region but listening posts and automated survey drones."
Kirell was present too, though reluctantly. "Outpost S‑9 is four jumps beyond our closest patrol fleet. It's not worth the risk."
The admiral's head snapped up. "It's worth it if The Fourth says it is."
Almost on cue, she stepped onto the deck, her boots echoing against the steel. She moved to the star‑chart without a word, tapped the blinking red glyph of S‑9, and the holo magnified—static‑laced footage from the outpost's last transmission.
A corridor, lit only by emergency strobes. Bulkhead walls pitted with bite marks. A figure in a torn enviro‑suit crawling toward the camera, blood trailing behind.
The feed cut.
No sound accompanied it, but in the silence that followed, everyone could almost hear the ragged breathing, the skittering in the dark.
The Fourth turned from the holo. "Prepare the First."
Kirell's jaw tightened. "Majesty, if this is the Swarm—"
"It is," she said simply.
Benedetta's optics dimmed, as if narrowing. Colossus‑01 remained still, but the vibration in the deck under his feet deepened—the hum of weapons systems running silent checks.
The admiral stepped closer. "Do we deploy both?"
The Fourth didn't answer immediately. She looked between the two Titans, then to the holo projection of S‑9, and finally back to the councilors.
"Benedetta moves first," she decided. "The First follows when I say."
Kirell exhaled, the tension in his shoulders only half‑relieved. "And if this is their trap?"
Her eyes were cold. "Then they will learn what it means to bait gods."
The launch sirens began to sound. Deep, slow tones that reverberated through the entire undercity. Civilians above would hear it and know—the God Engines were leaving their walls.
Technicians scattered, pulling back into safety alcoves. Hydraulic arms disengaged. The mag‑rail began to thrum with energy, power flowing into coils the size of towers.
Benedetta stepped onto her launch track, her reactor's white glare cutting shadows into the walls.
Colossus‑01 remained on standby, immobile. The Fourth's gaze never left him, even as Benedetta's platform locked into firing position.
A comms officer's voice cracked over the intercom. "We're… getting another signal, Majesty. Not from S‑9."
The holo flickered to life again—this time, the source was uncomfortably closer to the Sacred World's borders.
The footage was worse. A drone's perspective, gliding through what should have been an asteroid mining station. Instead, it was a charnel house. Hull plating had been dissolved into honeycomb‑like holes. Entire decks were missing, as though eaten away by something vast and patient.
And then the drone's camera swung around a corner—and caught it.
For a fraction of a second, a silhouette the size of a cathedral filled the frame. Organic. Wrong. Covered in plates that weren't armor but living carapace, each one pulsing faintly like it was breathing. A head crowned with spines turned toward the camera, and eyes like molten amber burned into the lens.
The feed ended in static.
No one spoke.
The Fourth's lips moved just enough to form one word. "Swarm."
The launch sirens doubled in speed. Benedetta's platform shot forward into the darkness of the mag‑rail, the thunder of her departure shaking the entire structure.
Colossus‑01 remained still. His optics burned hotter, but he did not move. Not yet.
The Fourth stepped to the edge of his platform, close enough that her voice could reach his core. "When I call, you will come."
And the God Engine answered with a sound that wasn't speech, but something older—the kind of sound that made mortals bow without knowing why.