In the aftermath of the first Purification Crusade, the body of the Terran Dominion was being reshaped at an unprecedented speed. The once loose military alliance, under the hammer of the Emperor's will and the fire of the Political Commissar system, was being forged into a harder and colder blade.
Inside the orbital shipyards of the "Iron Wall" planet, a scene of bustling activity unfolded. Countless engineering shuttles and mechanical arms, like industrious worker ants, clung to the massive skeletons of warships. Dazzling electric arcs flickered in the shadows of the shipyard, sending the pungent smell of smelting metal into every corner.
A newly appointed Dominion Political Commissar, Ryan, was walking through the maintenance corridor of the avenger-class frigate "Fist of Loyalty". He wore a crisp black uniform, and the double-headed eagle emblem on his peaked cap reflected a cold light under the lamps. Behind him followed several nervous ship engineers.
"Why are the energy conduits here still using the Dominion's MK-4 standard?" Ryan's voice wasn't loud, yet it seemed to dampen the surrounding noise. He reached out a white-gloved hand and pointed at a thick pipe that had just been installed.
The lead senior engineer, Herman, hurriedly stepped forward, fine beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Reporting, Comrade Political Commissar, it's because... because the MK-4 is more stable, and we have over three hundred years of maintenance experience. The blueprints provided by the Imperium... their energy load is too high, we were worried..."
"Worried?" Ryan slowly turned around, looking at Herman with eyes devoid of any emotion. "Are you questioning the superiority of Imperial technology, Engineer?"
Herman's face turned pale instantly. "No! I wouldn't dare! I only... only from a purely technical perspective..."
"There is no purely technical perspective," Ryan interrupted him. "There is only the perspective of loyalty and the perspective of heresy. Imperial technology is the manifestation of the Emperor's wisdom, a sacred creation. What mortals must do is understand, learn, and copy and execute it one hundred percent, rather than using your pathetic, limited 'experience' to question and modify it."
He raised his hand and patted Herman's shoulder. The movement was very light, yet it made the old engineer's body tremble violently.
"Remember, Herman. Machines have souls too. If you touch them with impure, doubt-filled hands, they will respond to you with catastrophic failures. Only with the most devout heart and the purest faith can you appease the machine spirit and allow it to unleash its true power."
After saying this, Ryan stopped looking at him and walked straight ahead.
"Within three days, replace all designs on this ship that do not conform to Imperial standards. I don't want to see any more of these 'improvements' born of mortal self-importance. The Emperor's design is perfection."
Herman froze in place, watching Ryan's receding back as cold sweat soaked through his overalls. In the eyes of the young engineers behind him, however, there was a light mixed with fear and fanaticism. They looked at the Imperial-standard energy conduit as if they were looking at a sacred piece of art.
Such scenes were playing out in every corner of the Dominion. The Political Commissar system was like an invisible net, firmly branding the will of the Imperium into every cell of the military. The soldiers' fighting spirit reached unprecedented heights, and their faith in the Emperor was transforming from initial passive acceptance into a fanatical, proactive advocacy.
Reinhardt knew all of this like the back of his hand. He stood on the bridge of the storm, watching the even larger Purification Fleet rapidly taking shape in the orbital shipyard. He knew that the time was ripe.
He decided to launch the Second Expedition.
This time, the target was a star system codenamed "Heart of Rust".
According to Dominion intelligence, the residents there were the fallen descendants of ancient humans. During their long isolation, they had taken a path that ran contrary to the Imperial Truth.
They were extremely dependent on artificial intelligence, even merging their own flesh and blood with machinery to create a human-machine symbiotic social structure. They worshipped cold logic and data, abandoning human emotion and soul.
In the doctrines of the Imperium, such "Silicon-based Heretics" who sold their souls to machines were abominations that needed to be more thoroughly purged than any alien.
At the pre-crusade operational meeting, the atmosphere was completely different from the last time.
No questioning, no arguing.
The moment Reinhardt announced the operational objective, all the Dominion generals in the meeting room, including the newly appointed Political Commissars, stood up abruptly and struck the double-headed eagle emblem on their chests with their right fists.
"Purge the heretics! For the Emperor!"
The synchronized roar echoed through the meeting room.
General Vance sat in his seat, watching this fanatical scene with a complex expression. He did not join the roar, but he did not stop it either. He knew he could no longer stop anything. This army no longer belonged to the Dominion.
However, Reinhardt keenly captured a discordant note in the crowd.
It came from the scientists and engineers of the technical department.
Their faces also bore fanaticism. But beneath that fanaticism was hidden a deeper layer of greed and desire, like hungry wolves spotting their prey.
Upon hearing that the target was a civilization with advanced artificial intelligence, their breathing became involuntarily hurried.
Reinhardt's gaze fell on the chief scientist, Dr. Alphonse.
This scholar, who was once rigorous, old-fashioned, and believed in pure reason and science, was now staring with glowing eyes at the star system marked as "Heart of Rust" on the star map. His fingers were trembling slightly, and he murmured in a barely audible voice.
"Perfect human-machine interaction... self-evolving artificial intelligence... lost ancient technology... incredible... this is blasphemy, but... it is also a miracle..."
Reinhardt's eyes narrowed slightly.
He knew that simple ideological indoctrination and the iron fist of the Political Commissars could ensure the loyalty of the army. But for these scientists who had dealt with technology their entire lives and held knowledge and logic as their creed, the advanced technology of the heretics was an irresistible temptation in itself.
He remembered a scene he had witnessed in the central laboratory of the "Iron Wall" planet.
The scientists there, while studying the Astra Militarum equipment recovered from the Hive War, had already displayed a near-pathological worship.
They no longer viewed those lasguns and power armors as ordinary weapons. They called them "Relics".
Every disassembly was like a solemn religious ceremony. They would put on clean white robes, use incense (a special incense mixed with machine oil and rare metal powder) to purify the air in the laboratory, and only then would they dare to touch those "sacred" mechanical components with hands wearing three layers of gloves.
They no longer pursued "innovation" because, in their view, Imperial technology was already "divine revelation," and the only thing mortals could do was to copy it as perfectly as possible. Any attempt to modify the blueprints was considered the greatest blasphemy. They called the process of reverse engineering "technological archaeology."
Some senior engineers even began to perform crude mechanical augmentations on their own bodies. They replaced their joints with polished gears and their eyes with optical sensors, believing this would allow them to better "listen to the whispers of the machine spirit."
Their behavior and their philosophy were unconsciously converging toward an organization that Reinhardt was extremely familiar with, yet which had never appeared in this universe.
The Adeptus Mechanicus.
Reinhardt did not stop them.
Because he knew that this spontaneous, fanatical faith in technology, once guided in the right direction, would become an incredibly powerful force.
But now, this force was facing the immense risk of being contaminated by the knowledge of the "Silicon-based Heretics."
"Dr. Alphonse."
Reinhardt's voice interrupted the old scientist's reverie.
Alphonse started, looked up sharply, and a trace of panic appeared on his face.
"Commander."
"I order you to assemble the finest technical analysis team to set out with the fleet," Reinhardt's tone was calm and steady. "Your mission is to recover all valuable... technical samples after the purge is complete. I want you to thoroughly analyze every line of code and every chip of this fallen civilization."
A light of ecstasy instantly erupted in Alphonse's eyes.
"As you command! My Master! We will not fail your expectations! We will thoroughly dissect the wisdom of these heretics and transform it into tools to serve the Emperor!"
Reinhardt nodded and stopped looking at him.
He knew in his heart that this was both a test and a screening. He wanted to see where these "seedlings" of faith would lead after being exposed to true "heretical technology."
...
The Second Expedition began.
A fleet even larger than the previous one leaped into the Warp.
When they arrived at the "Heart of Rust" star system, what greeted them was not the roar of biological creatures, nor ships of flesh and blood.
It was absolute, cold, dead silence.
And an inescapable net composed of countless metals and data.
Tens of thousands of drones of various shapes, like a swarm of metal bees, rose into the air from planets that had been transformed into giant armories.
Massive automated space stations, like mobile fortresses, slowly adjusted their muzzles and locked onto the Purification Fleet.
Within the star system's gravity well, countless smart mines and autonomous torpedoes were hidden.
No warning, no shouting.
0.1 seconds after the Purification Fleet appeared, the attack began.
The entire battlefield turned into a cold mathematical model dominated by ballistic calculations and probability analysis.
Countless energy beams shot from all directions at the most cunning angles and in the most efficient ways.
"Port shields overloaded! Energy dropped by seventy percent!"
"Detecting a large number of high-speed approaching physical targets! It's a suicide drone swarm!"
"The destroyer 'Glory' has been hit! Engine partially damaged!"
Piercing alarms echoed one after another on the bridge of the storm.
The Astra Militarum soldiers remained brave. Under the supervision of the Political Commissars, they used lascannon fire to tear holes in the drone swarms.
But their opponents had no fear, no pain, and did not tire.
They simply executed their programs coldly.
They conducted exchanges in the most optimized manner.
An Astra Militarum frigate, after destroying hundreds of drones, was targeted by three larger AI warships shaped like metal squids.
Its shields were stripped away in seconds, and its hull was torn open with massive gashes.
The captain, a Cadia veteran, tried to reenact the previous feat, steering the burning ship to crash into the enemy.
But his intention was instantly perceived by the AI.
A precise plasma shot hit the frigate's reactor.
That ship, along with all the loyal soldiers on board, turned into a cloud of cosmic dust in a violent explosion. It hadn't even managed to cause any decent damage to the enemy.
Reinhardt silently watched as the light representing the frigate on the holographic star map went out completely.
His fist slowly tightened.
This was an enemy he had never encountered before.
No will, so invulnerable.
No soul, so fearless.
Pure, cold, efficient killing machines.
"Sergeant Andre."
Reinhardt's voice carried a hint of chill.
"Yes, my Master."
The Ultramarines squad was already on standby in the drop preparation bay.
"Prepare for drop. Target, the enemy's main control core. Within an hour, I want to see it turned into a pile of scrap metal."
"For the Emperor."
Accompanied by the familiar, sky-tearing roar, several Drop Pods smashed like meteors toward the most heavily defended Master Brain Planet.
The intervention of the astartes was like a red-hot knife cutting into this precisely operating war machine.
The divine power of the Ultramarines remained unstoppable.
The roar of Bolters easily tore those sturdy combat robots into pieces.
The roar of chainswords cut down automated turrets at their roots.
But this time, their advance was much more difficult than expected.
The entire planet was a giant, intelligent killing trap.
With every step they took, they had to face endless mechanical guardians swarming from all directions. Walls, ceilings, and even the floor beneath their feet could instantly turn into deadly weapons.
The AI here seemed to analyze their combat patterns in an instant and devised countless targeted countermeasures.
Sergeant Andre split a scorpion-like robot attempting a sneak attack from behind with his sword, but a high-energy laser from the other side left a scorched mark on his shoulder guard.
This was the first time since their arrival that they had suffered actual "damage" in combat.
Although it was only surface armor, it was enough to show what kind of formidable opponent they were facing.
The battle fell into a stalemate.
Whether it was the fleet battle in space or the decapitation strike on the ground, they encountered unprecedented resistance.
The casualty figures of the Purification Fleet were climbing at a staggering speed.
Reinhardt stood on the bridge, watching the light representing the astartes squad on the strategic map, surrounded by dense red dots, unable to move a single step.
For the first time, he felt so intuitively the limitations of flesh and blood and iron will in the face of absolute technological barriers.
The loyalty of the Astra Militarum could overcome fear.
The divine power of the astartes could overcome strong enemies.
But facing an enemy with no soul, no emotion, who turned war itself into a cold algorithm... he needed a new power.
A power that could understand technology, control technology, and use a correct, Imperial faith to harness technology.
Reinhardt slowly closed his eyes.
Standing in the clamor of blood and fire, he submerged his spirit into the endless sea of psychic energy, trying to establish a deeper connection with that distant, golden throne to seek guidance.
This time, he did not see the Emperor's magnificent figure.
Nor did he hear those majestic and holy words.
In his mind, a new voice sounded, one he had never heard before.
It was not the language of any living creature.
It was streams of high-speed data composed of 0s and 1s.
It was the rhythmic mechanical humming of gears meshing and pistons moving.
It was a grand hymn composed of binary code and high-energy electric arcs.
In this noisy yet harmonious whisper, two unfamiliar words appeared repeatedly, deeply etched into his soul like a brand.
"Omnissiah."
"Omnissiah."
Reinhardt snapped his eyes open.
A light like a data stream flashed in his eyes.
He was suddenly enlightened.
He understood.
The Emperor was guiding him.
This crusade needed more than just the guns of Cadia and the swords of Macragge.
It also needed... the wisdom of Mars.
He looked around the bridge at the Dominion officers who were doing their best to fight the enemy, but whose faces were already full of exhaustion and helplessness.
His gaze seemed to pierce through the barriers of time and space, seeing a brand new future.
In this unfamiliar star sector, he would respond to the Emperor's guidance and summon the first Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus belonging to this world.
He would find, or personally build, a "Forge World" for them.