Chapter 180: Pray Unto Him
The texture of heavy industrial design stretched across the domed ceiling of the cathedral, encasing the god at its center.
Hades stood in the middle of the red-robed Tech-Priests, wearing the expression of someone who had completely given up on life. He tried hard to maintain composure—he failed.
But his half-forced, half-genuine expression was entirely misinterpreted by the gathered Tech-Priests. They saw divine majesty in his deadpan stare, solemn and detached from the affairs of mortals.
Just as Hades was about to leave, a guiding Tech-Priest clung to him once more. Around the edges of the cathedral, others began murmuring in prayer. Dense binary chants rippled through space like concentric waves across water, spreading outward in layers.
A chill prickled down Hades' scalp. Sister Nera's gaze grew sharper, her eyes piercing. Hades was certain he sensed killing intent within them.
Charon gave a faint gesture, subtly signaling to Nera to stand down.
The Tech-Priest before Hades still persisted in persuading him to stay. As the one tasked with guiding the ceremony, he was its most fervent proponent.
After all, it was he who had witnessed a divine miracle on Barbarus. That moment convinced the Tech-Priest that this "Lord Hades" truly possessed unrivaled divinity. The emissary sent by the Omnissiah into the mortal realm—a god of machines, bearer of all truths, come to purge all corruption and errors.
Only when his soul had been touched on that fateful day did the Tech-Priest truly understand why miracles defy description, and why gods remain unspeaking—because words are too feeble to encapsulate their power. It was a searing sensation, etched deep into his very soul.
All of it traced back to their original faith. These Tech-Priests, drawn from the lower levels of the Graia Forge World, responded to the call not only out of duty, but from an unwavering belief in the Omnissiah. They had boarded the ship to Barbarus without hesitation.
Perhaps the high Tech-Priests of Graia pledged themselves out of political alliance with the Legion—but it was the fanatic devotion of the low-tier adepts that made the miracle possible.
And for their unshakable faith, they were granted a reward uniquely their own: to witness a true miracle firsthand.
Praise the Omnissiah, thought the Tech-Priest.
The unfaithful could never comprehend such grace.
"My lord, please, stay just a little longer," the Tech-Priest implored sincerely.
"Orders are orders. I must obey them," came the hoarse voice of the god—a refusal, still attempting to evade.
The Tech-Priest could not fathom why one with such divine power as Hades would still submit to the chains of a mere Legion. If he were to manifest openly upon a forge world, his name would be etched into the very foundation of Mechanicus history. He could change the entire trajectory of the Machine Cult.
After all, the last emissary of the Omnissiah had already shifted the course of its destiny.
While the Tech-Priest pleaded, Hades was screaming internally. Countless overlapping prayers filled the vox-channel, making his head pound like it was about to burst.
And standing beside him were two figures who only worsened his predicament.
The Tech-Priest continued to beg. Hades refused—firmly, decisively, without hesitation.
In the end, realizing that Hades could not be swayed, the Tech-Priest gave up.
Gods had their own paths to walk. All he could do was utter a final plea, weak though it was:
"My lord… even if you cannot remain, please grant us a few words before you go."
"We await your command for this Forge World satellite, Mint. It turns only for you and the Death Guard."
With his words finished, the ornate red robe unfurled its many small mechanical limbs, lifting its hem—just as the Tech-Priest prepared to kneel—
Hades reached out with both hands and stopped him.
"Do not kneel."
In that instant, all the low murmurs of prayer vanished. The surface of the water stilled. Countless organic eyes and mechanical sensors turned to him in unison, waiting.
The god had stopped them from kneeling—with his own hands.
The Omnissiah, the Machine God, was never known for mercy. And yet—
At the center of it all, Hades was thinking something far simpler: judging by the strength with which this Tech-Priest had grabbed his hand earlier, if he hadn't supported him with both arms, the man probably would've faceplanted into the floor.
As for this Tech-Priest asking him to say a few words…
'There's a half-off deal on machine oil at that corner vending hub,' Hades thought.
'Cough. No, wait—that's not something I can say right now.' He shot a glance at the Custodian beside him.
Probably safer to go with some meaningless ceremonial platitudes, right?
[You may speak freely.]
Charon's voice came through the vox-channel—cold, utterly devoid of emotion.
Hades wondered if "speak freely" here meant "nothing you say can save you now."
Seeing the look on Hades' face about to collapse into full-on panic, Charon relented and offered clarification:
[My lord permitted your actions back on Mars.]
[This wave was already present in the flow of foresight.]
Charon, truthfully, was also struggling to process the situation.
Even with the Emperor's forewarning that Hades might garner some degree of reverence from the Mechanicum, the grandeur of this cathedral—the throne-like vacancy behind the altar—made even him, for once, feel an unfamiliar uncertainty.
Still, he chose to place his faith in his master's vision.
This... could still be interpreted as "respect."
Hearing this, Hades blinked slowly.
'Wait— is this implying the Emperor gave me some leeway to handle the Mechanicum my own way?'
He glanced again at Charon. The Custodian's armor seemed to gleam more brightly in confirmation, as if affirming Hades' every action, all while one hand firmly stopped the Sister of Silence from drawing her weapon.
Well then. With his metaphorical death immunity card in hand, Hades decided to drop a few lines and make a quick exit.
He raised his head—only to find that the red filling the cathedral was... gentle?
These Tech-Priests, each one capable of shredding a small military unit with ease, beings whose eccentricities defied mortal comprehension—here, in front of Hades, they were trembling lambs. Too afraid to kneel. Their crimson robes made them look like flayed offerings.
A lifetime of faith had taught them to bare their necks willingly before the divine.
The cathedral's candles blazed with steady light, flames gleaming off metal surfaces and casting dazzling shadows. Rich incense filled the air, wrapping the velvet of their robes in a somber warmth.
'Hmm… maybe empty platitudes really wouldn't cut it here.'
Hades blinked. Words hung in his throat for a moment, before flowing effortlessly in refined High Gothic, slipping into every ear like silk:
"People of Mint,"
"Thank you for your contributions to the advancement of human technology."
"Do not be trapped by desire. Do not be lost in obsession. You are torchbearers in the endless night. May the dark never swallow those who seek truth."
"For truth. For mankind."
Hades fell silent. He figured that ought to be enough to get him out of this.
However—
A tremor ran through the hands he was holding.
Startled, Hades looked down at the Tech-Priest before him.
'Wait… wait, is he… crying?'
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