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Imperator: Wrath of the Omnissiah – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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Chapter 1

The Casus Belli Goes To War

‘Almighty Machine-God whose data binds the universe, look upon your humble servant and let the tangents of your intersection be beneficent.’

As ve spoke the ritual lines, Magos Dominus Militaris Xaiozanus Skitara Xilliarkis Exasas dilated the dorsal spiracles of vis intertracular lymphoid to release a cloud of bacteriophagic incense. The vapour billowed as a purple cloud, cleansing the air of biological contaminants that might infect the implant connection points in the few remaining parts of vis flesh.

Vis sense of smell had been replaced by far more complex molecular sensors when vis face had been removed, yet vis sensory system still latched on to the old memories and interpreted the smell as forge exhaust and hot metal. It was an aroma that ve had known since vis first moments in the incense-sterilised hatcheries of Metalica.

Lifting up one of four multi-jointed gripping limbs, Exasas let three drops of blessed lubricant spill from the slender bottle in vis grip. Flexible optical lenses capable of microscopic vision tracked the trio of liquid spheres as they fell past the gantry on which Exasas stood with the other senior tech-priests of Casus Belli. Ve followed their fall for several metres until they hit the gilded crest of the Titan’s head below.

From this vantage point the Imperator continued down into the brightly illuminated main deck of the Legio Metalica landing barge. Arrayed about the feet-citadels of the Casus Belli were lines of white-clad skitarii waiting for the command to board, arranged by squad and platoon, the precision of their ranks pleasing to Exasas.

Ve extended a link through the noosphere that connected to the skitarii alphas far below. At vis invisible command the squad leaders became surrogates for vis physical presence, an extension of vis communication system. Even as ve framed the thoughts, the words were announced by the mouths of the dozen alphas, ringing from across the Titan dock.

‘Tech-guard of the Casus Belli, the perambulations of destiny have again brought us to holy war. Our great Imperator is to be unleashed against the heretek darkness that has befallen Nicomedua. The servants of the Omnissiah have turned from their duties and we shall be the punishment unleashed against them in the name of the Machine-God. The Legio Metalica are blessed to be chosen as the executioners of this sacred task. With our companion-engines we shall see Nicomedua delivered back to the light of diligent service.

‘I stand before you as magos dominus, incarnation of the martial precision of the Cult Metalica. We are one, indivisible, favoured in the working of the Machine-God, for we have been given this sacred duty and in its completion shall move closer to the perfection of the Omnissiah’s design.’

Another noospheric pulse sent the embarkation order into the alphas, who disseminated the command to their squads. In unison, the skitarii offered their weapons in salute and then turned towards the gates of the Imperator’s citadel-like lower legs.

‘I still do not comprehend why you insist upon this ceremony. One might as well expend energy boosting the morale of a circuit breaker.’

Recognising the voice of Zerkei Metalis Gevren, the dominus turned vis centipede-like body to face the moderatus prime. Along with the other moderati, Gevren approached along the docking gantry, passing from the light of the vast chamber into the shadow of the Casus Belli’s akropoliz carapace superstructure.

Unlike the magos and the other tech-priests, the moderatus prime and his companions mostly retained their human anatomy. It was partly in honour of the humanoid form of the Titan, and partly because when they interfaced with the Casus Belli’s mind impulse units it remained more natural for them if they shared the same number of limbs and basic shape. Even the hint of a phantom limb reaction could prove devastating when spiritually connected to a forty-metre-tall war engine.

They wore bulky piloting uniforms rather than robes, though in the same white as the Metalican tech-priests, and each carried their interface helm under their arm.

Gevren himself was a solid figure, broad at the waist and shoulder, with a similarly slab-like face and flat nose. The glitter of implants behind his eyes and a few stud-points in the sides of his neck indicated the presence of the mind impulse unit connections inserted into his flesh.

‘It is not as if your warriors will contribute anything meaningful to this battle,’ added Moderatus Secundus Haili. Her smile was one of patient contempt as the group stopped on the other side of the gantry line, leaving a path to the command module entry ramp. ‘We shall leave them only ruins to guard.’

‘There are some duties beyond even the wrath of the Casus Belli, Zerkei,’ argued Exasas. ‘Tasks that are beneath the dignity of an Imperator Titan, but nonetheless vital to victory. If the ruins need to be guarded, my skitarii will be equal to the challenge.’

‘They are simply martial lubrication, Xaiozanus,’ said Gevren. ‘Human grease for the gears of battle. It is a pity that you waste your intellect with such a dull subject.’

The last moderatus, Rasdia, said nothing, but his expression was one of condescension. The coterie of moderati fell silent at the approach of the princeps senioris. Like them, she did not wear the robes of office, but her single-piece protective suit was more elaborate, decorated with gilded piping and ruby-studded fasteners. Her face was lined with age – and the toll of melding with the psychometric circuits of the Casus Belli. Slender black lines beneath the skin of her neck and throat and in the backs of the hands that held the interface helm betrayed the presence of life-prolonging inserts. She walked with the aid of a cane fashioned from the bone of a Titan-sized tyranid beast they had destroyed on Durasa Four.

‘You are looking at my stick again, magos dominus,’ Princeps Senioris Iealona said. ‘Even with your five independent visual detectors, I can tell when you are looking at my cane.’

‘Your perception is infallible as ever, princeps senioris.’ Exasas constricted vis body segments to shorten verself, bringing vis theoretical eyeline to the same level as the princeps senioris’. ‘It seems an unnecessary peripheral assistance.’

‘And I must remind you again that I cannot risk my harmony with the Casus Belli with further changes to my physiology or chemical balances. So, I must limp.’

She stopped between the two groups, tech-priests of all shapes and sizes to the left, human moderati on her right. As with the Imperator itself, she was the fulcrum upon which the alliance turned, the mechanical and the organic fused within her when she interfaced with the Titan.

‘You wish to test Liberik’s Fourth Theorem during our engagement?’ she said, looking at Exasas.

‘I do,’ the magos replied. Ve caught Gevren shaking his head scornfully. ‘I have proposed a corollary that I wish to enact with my troops, if it is possible.’

‘I will see what can be done, but I think it unlikely there will be any infantry engagement today.’

Despite the life-extension surgeries and cerebral enhancements ve had undergone, the dominus was still capable of disappointment. Ve remained still, containing any display of the emotion before the princeps senioris.

‘I am your honoured servant, princeps senioris. We shall do as the Machine-God moves us.’

‘That we shall,’ said Iealona. She glanced at her moderati and waved her cane towards the zigzagging ramp that led into the open gate in the side of the Imperator’s head. ‘Time to get started. We are due to rendezvous with the rest of our battle group in forty-seven minutes and begin the assault in sixty. Six Warlords, three Reavers, three Warhounds and a pair of Warriors shall be accompanying us. And a whole skitarii support echelon. We shall not keep them waiting.’

They advanced as a group along the gantry. It made Exasas uncomfortable, seeing their individual stride patterns, making no effort to harmonise their movements. Their humanity was meant to be key to their success with the mind impulse unit, but to the magos it seemed like a terrible inefficiency.

Ve spurted an audible packet of binaric at the other tech-priests and together they followed the humans into the Casus Belli.

Each of them in turn briefly approached the small shrine alcove in the docking vestibule, laying a hand or tentacle-like mechadendrite on the twelve-toothed cog symbol rendered in gleaming platinum upon the devotional stand. Exasas placed the tip of a tendril against the symbol and felt a pulse of recognition from the Titan’s dormant spirit.

‘Benevolent Casus Belli, I commend my body to your protection and dedicate my mind to your service.’

An archway led to a corridor that descended into the command module proper, cleansing incense falling curtain-like across the opening. Exasas moved through, inhaling deeply of the strong fragrance, neuroreceptors firing swiftly under the influence of the stimulating agents contained within the mist.

‘Almighty Machine-God whose data binds the universe, look upon your humble servant and let the tangents of your intersection be beneficent.’

The callipers of Ghelsa’s augmetic phalanges clicked as her dark-skinned fingers closed around six meticulously inscribed steel polyhedrons. She lifted them from the polished offering plate and touched them to the breast of her off-white coverall.

Ghelsa kissed her steel-wrapped fist and held the shapes to her brow. Her metal-capped knuckles clinked against the silver twelve-toothed cog set into the flesh of her forehead before she threw her hand down.

Cast from her fingers, the twelve-sided dice clattered into the concave bowl, skittering around the raised lip. Shadows and light played over the spinning, skipping shapes as the silent watchers crowded closer, peering over Ghelsa’s and Adrina’s shoulders as they waited for the dice to come a halt.

The duluz of the downdecks wore a mixture of tabards, half-robes, kilts and coveralls depending on station and expertise. Many showed signs of crude augmentation – either gifted by a patron in the upper echelons of the priesthood or made in one of the basic workshops of the lower spaces. Like Ghelsa’s, their clothes were uniformly off-white, the colours of their hegemaarkhus, the forge world of Metalica. Their formal allegiance colours were augmented with an array of tattoos, piercings, brand marks and other decorations to identify home world, sect membership, personal relationships and other sundry information. Most had not seen the metal-sheathed planet, but were natives of various vassal systems or the detritus of conquest and liberation swept up by the Casus Belli on one of its many campaigns. Ghelsa was one such tributai, sent to serve in the Legio Metalica as part of an ancient pact between the tech-priests and her world of Zakhinta.

The gaming pieces belonged to Ghelsa, who was proud to tell anyone who asked that she had made them herself from bearings that had once been part of the Casus Belli’s starboard hip main rotator. She had salvaged them two years earlier during a rededication to the Machine-God and spent half of that time diligently filing the flat surfaces with a handrasp and autopolish. She had used an acid stylus to etch the twelve sacred symbols, each one of the Perfections of Form as listed in the holy books of Metalica.

A red flare of light played over the settled dodecahedrons – the signal beam from Adrina’s artificial left eye. Ghelsa was quicker to count the revealed symbols than her opponent’s scan-mechanism.

‘Four iambic crucibae,’ she groaned, throwing up her hands in despair.

‘Militus Martia!’ her opponent cried in triumph, reverting to crude Gothic in his excitement.

There was a mix of cheers and moans from the onlookers as various side bets were won and lost.

Adrina held out a pudgy, oil-stained hand, his smile not unkind. Half a tattoo was just visible where his wrist entered the tattered white cuff of his overseer’s robe, depicting the iron skull of the Legio icon. He was epilekhtoz, Metalican-born, hence his higher station.

He beckoned with fingers tipped with broken nails, their golden enamel chipped and scratched.

‘Hand it over, vin Jaint. Everyone saw you swear the wager before the Omnissiah’s oracular.’

She delved a hand into one of her coverall’s many pockets and produced a thin sliver of circuit-covered plastek. Adrina leered as he made to snatch it from her fingers. Ghelsa pulled it out of reach.

‘One downshift only,’ she warned, glancing to the others as witnesses. ‘And if you’re caught, you didn’t get it from me.’

Adrina nodded, his fingers twitching in excitement.

‘Come on, come on, my downshift starts soon.’

Eyes narrowed, Ghelsa handed over the forged datachip. The overseer thrust it into an inner pocket of his robe, hiked his chain of office more comfortably around his neck and gave a smile. He stood, head bent to one side to avoid the condensation-dappled coolant pipe that ran through the small chamber.

‘Always a pleasure, vin Jaint. Luckily for all of us you’re a better spindle-wrangler than you are a player of Omnissekh.’ The crowd parted to let Adrina pass and they filed away, ducking beneath the various cables, pipes and other impediments between them and the small hatch that led back into maintenance duct S-11.

Notasa lingered for a moment after the others had left, his gaze suggestive, which was impressive considering his eyes had been mirror-sheathed, the orbs like pure quicksilver.

‘You can’t win at everything, Ghelsa,’ said the diminutive duct-runner. He leaned back against the bulkhead, arching his neck like a contented feline. ‘But no need to be sad for long.’

‘The lower port manifold array is coming loose,’ Ghelsa said with a grimace of lost opportunity. ‘I really should go and fix it.’

‘Always so dutiful,’ snapped Notasa, his anger fuelled by rejection. He flicked stained blond hair from his face, revealing skin pocked with tiny scars from errant welder sparks. ‘You know they’ll never make you epilekhtoz, no matter how hard you work. You’ll always be tributai like the rest of us.’

‘You’ve got it all wrong, berth-friend,’ Ghelsa said, stepping forward. She picked up the metre-long multi-tool she had left beside the door. Its considerable weight was nothing in her grasp, her own significant musculature assisted by a tracery of exo-skeletal cable sealed into her flesh.

‘How about on the downshift?’ Ghelsa asked, feeling the urge to reconcile even though, rationally, she knew she had done nothing wrong.

‘Just go and fix that manifold array,’ muttered Notasa, stepping away from the hatch. ‘Maybe we’ll see each other later.’

Already anxious about the time she had spent playing Omnissekh, Ghelsa aimed a kiss towards Notasa’s cheek, but he retreated, scowling. The spindle-wrangler ducked out into the corridor, stepping out from the relative cool and quiet of the coolant exchange access.

The sound had always been there, of course, and most of the time Ghelsa barely registered it. For three and a half years – Martian-adjusted standard – she had lived on or around the Casus Belli. Since achieving adulthood her existence had been dedicated to the services of the Machine-God, as dictated and directed by the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Yet there were times, like now, when she moved from one part of the downdecks to another and listened again, her attention drawn back to the nuances of her home. There was the obvious noise, the clatter and clank, the grinding of the massive gears, the low pulsing of the reactor links. Any neophyte could identify them within a matter of days. It was the deeper, quieter sounds that were the most welcoming. The hiss of coolant as a spin-off drained heat down from the main reactor exchanges. The ever-present gurgle of waste water falling through the cisterns beneath the starboard decks. The thrum of the pumps inside the capillary towers that took lubricant up to the immense hellstorm cannon.

She stepped into a pass-niche as a trio of sweat-slicked mattokhai labourers dashed past, the uncoupled pieces of their thrum-hammer over their shoulders, power cables swishing like monkey tails. Droplets of perspiration trickled down her cheek and the side of her nose, the heat and humidity of the core-ways as oppressive as the first-hour labour-sermons of the tech-priests. Ghelsa made her way along the corridor, the metal dappled by the pale yellow glow of lumens behind wire cages, in places splashed by the green or amber of a system registry lamp through a grimy inspection plate.

Through the mechanical din she detected organic sounds. The hacking cough of Merkadoa, who was still waiting on a promised new lung after an incident with the trash conflagrator’s secondary exhaust. Chatter. Ceaseless, unintelligible sounds occasionally punctuated by a spurt of screeching, clicking binaric from a passing enginseer, and ever so occasionally the artificially modulated tones of a higher-ranking tech-priest descended from the God-decks to conduct an inspection or investigate a delayed report.

Just as her constitution had adapted to the clammy conditions, and her ears were attuned to the sonic flexes of the internal society of the downdecks, so her eyes were well accustomed to the gloom. With her other senses guiding her unconsciously to her destination, Ghelsa was free to wander almost at will, knowing instinctively where to step around open hatches, dodge across ladder holes and duck beneath intervening cables and piping. It was mid-shift and most of the others were at their stations, the narrow walkways and transit-bridges populated only by occasional movement.

Through the doors and arches she passed she saw other tributai at their work, blotches of white through clouds of vapour. She saw smears of paleness in dark maintenance bays or clustered around the fully robed enginseers as some fundamental duty was enacted or a Principle of Conduct passed on for the appeasement of an itinerant fragment of Casus Belli’s all-encompassing machine-spirit.

Thoughts fixed on her job in the lowest decks, Ghelsa moved on.

The command module dominated the inside of the Imperator Titan’s head. Two massive eye-like screens relayed realtime feeds from thousands of augurs across the war engine, creating a complex representation of the surroundings in both visual and noospheric frameworks. Exasas not only saw the doors of the barge’s hangar as a human would, but knew exactly the composition of the metal and the weight and torsion values, as well as a welter of data on atmospheric pressure, temperature and other tertiary readings. It was the closest ve could come to feeling as the Titan felt without the benefit of the mind impulse units to organically share the sensation.

The princeps senioris’ main command throne sat on a dais towards the back of the chamber, looking down at the three moderati positions. Each was a reclining chair beneath a tangle of cables that would connect to the incumbent’s MIU systems. On the left, Moderatus Haili controlled the energies of the plasma annihilator; the twinned position on the right for the hellstorm cannon was the seat of Moderatus Rasdia. The two of them made for their couches, handing their interface helms to the tech-priests attending each station.

Moderatus Gevren was stationed between them, responsible for the activation and monitoring of the rest of the Casus Belli’s considerable arsenal – main battery, defence laser, anti-aircraft systems and point defence weaponry.

In most Titans the moderati were in sole control of their armaments, but the guns of the Casus Belli were too large for a single moderatus to control – or in the case of Gevren, too numerous. They were aided by gunnery teams with the weapons themselves, mostly slaved servitors that acted as extensions of the moderatus’ will, each team overseen by a trio of tech-priests to ensure their continued operation.

Between the princeps senioris’ throne and the moderati, and along the outer walls of the chamber to either side, the tech-priests addressed their panels and interfaces. The noosphere crackled with their intent, linking their minds even as dataports and mechadendrites connected them physically with the Omnissiah’s greatest warrior.

Exasas’ position was just behind the moderatus prime, from which ve could link into the noosphere signals related to the skitarii systems and personnel. Connecting to the cogitators, ve felt the company of warriors settling into their barracks chambers within the two leg-citadels, and several more platoons likewise preparing for departure in the battle stations of the akropoliz.

Ve could feel the skitarii as a homogeneous force, or relay part of vis strategic consciousness into one of a hundred and forty-two separate organisms via their noospheric cortical weaves. In a split second the magos dominus could switch to the individual view of a particular warrior – ve picked one on a whim and watched the faces of the three soldiers opposite through vis chosen receptacle’s eyes. At the same time, cyclical simulators tracked other battle-pertinent datafeeds, for the moment semi-dormant and reliant on the last orbital data uploads ve had taken just before boarding.

Little had changed and the princeps senioris’ assessment that there was only a small probability of infantry engagement remained accurate. Their mission was to break the heretek lines defending a citadel and break into the mountain passes, spearheading the full battle group. It was an overwhelming use of force, mounted not only to sweep aside the barriers to the advances of the Astra Militarum and other skitarii armies, but also to demonstrate the folly of further resistance to the will of the Omnissiah.

Exasas played back vis memory-store of the prime dominus’ instruction, passing it through vis thoughts and into the minds of vis subordinates.

Exasas [broad trans/concept/loop]: <Az Khalak will burn by nightfall.>

A tremor ran through the noosphere, a throb of intent that channelled into every datafeed. Exasas turned one of vis sensory inputs to the princeps senioris and saw that she wore her helm, its MIU cables linking her to the essence of the behemoth she would guide into battle.

Sharing her thoughts, made whole by the metaphorical sacrifice of her consciousness, Casus Belli started to rise from its slumber. The leading edge of a powerful wave of awareness touched upon the noosphere and digital systems flickered into wakefulness, caressing Exasas’ sensory inputs. Ve heard a sigh from Iealona’s parted lips, grunts and murmurs emanating from the moderati as they were joined to the machine-spirit.

Exasas could not comprehend how it might feel to be one with the god-machine. Ve could interpret the millions of data-signals and extrapolate sensory curves for eternity and still not know what it was like to share physicality with the might of the Imperator. Only Iealona and her predecessors had shared that singular, glorious experience.

A visual feed highlighted a glint of amber light on the head of the bone cane leaning against the side of the command throne. While monitoring the other developments, Exasas allowed a portion of vis thoughts to consider the implications. Princeps senioris, and to a lesser extent moderati, had shortened lifespans due to their connections with the immortal spirits of the Titans. For the Machine-God’s warriors to live, their mortal components had to shed a little of their span. Even as her frail body was failing, the princeps senioris was able to clad her thoughts in the armour and power of the Imperator. She could not escape her mortality – in fact she hastened it – but in the time she had, she could share the body and thoughts of an immortal.

As an exchange, it was not without merit.

The noosphere flared with reports and counter-signals, confirming the readings of the plasma reactor, the online status of motivation and balance systems and the networking of the mind impulse units with the moderati and princeps senioris.

Exasas sent vis own confirmations, having spared a moment to check that all skitarii personnel were aboard and at their stations.

Awoken, the spirit of Casus Belli yearned to be free of the confines of the barge. With a final flurry of data exchanges, the tech-priests allowed the reactor to come to full power and the MIU to flow unhindered between the circuits of the Imperator and the synapses of its princeps senioris.

Casus Belli lived.

Click here to buy Imperator: Wrath of the Omnissiah.

This book is dedicated to Tony Cottrell for being at least partly responsible for the last thirty years of my Titan fanboyism.

A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2018.
This eBook edition published in 2018 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Akim Kaliberda.

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