The desert night was cold and silent, with only the eternal wind howling through the twisted metal and broken concrete of this forgotten badlands ruin.
However, inside the only well-preserved large building in the center of the abandoned town occupied by Osiris, time had quietly passed during focused work, and the scene had been completely transformed.
Days later, the once somewhat empty workshop had been efficiently reconfigured, every inch of space given a clear function and order.
Most striking was the nascent power core in the center of the workshop. It was no longer the crude battery array it once was, but a composite structure made of a primary fusion reactor and multiple magnetic confinement rings.
Exposed energy conduits and a not-yet-fully-enclosed reaction zone temporarily revealed a rugged industrial form, but the stable low-frequency harmonics within and the continuously rising energy readings on the operation terminal heralded a nearly infinite power supply potential.
The entire workshop thus operated in an overloaded state: the lighting system output was constant and dazzling, tool torque was maintained at peak, and the air purification unit ran at full speed, almost completely filtering out metal particulates and exhaust.
By the wall, four combat Servitor had completed their initialization procedures. They stood silently, their reinforced alloy shells gleaming with a cold light, their head optical sensors still dormant, lenses dark.
All weapon systems had passed final calibration, energy cells were fully charged, and physical ammunition belts were loaded, ready to be activated at any moment, becoming silent guardians, efficient tactical units, or the ruthless extension of their operator's will.
Osiris stood in the center of the workshop, surveying his creations. Tools on the workbench were arranged with millimeter-level precision, newly manufactured parts glowed faintly with cold-processing luster, and data streams on the terminal screens refreshed steadily like a waterfall.
The servo-skull, "Buddy," hovered to one side of the energy core, performing monitoring tasks, the blue light in its eye sockets blinking at a constant frequency.
A uniform energy field permeated the space; all systems were under precise control and optimal operation, presenting a deep satisfaction brought by a near-perfect integration.
His gaze finally fell upon the wall — a high-precision regional map, continuously surveyed and updated in real-time by a cluster of servo-skulls.
Topographical data, resource coordinates, and mutant creature nest locations were all marked with extremely fine lines; and several new trajectories, radiating from the southeast towards the town, were continuously spreading across the map as brightly highlighted red vector lines.
Just then, a replica servo-skull, which had been performing patrol and monitoring tasks in the outer perimeter, transmitted an encrypted data stream.
"Alert: High-volume vehicular movement detected. Bearing: Southeast, Twenty-two kilometers. Unit count: Seven. Configuration: Heavily armored pickups and one suspected APC. Thermal signature matches eighty-seven percent probability of 'Wraiths' unit ID. Behavior pattern: Low-speed search sequence. Inferred intent: Retaliatory sweep and asset recovery."
Osiris' optical lens instantly focused, magnifying the glaring red vector lines, his logic core rapidly processing, cross-referencing data.
"Scaled deployment. Augmented asset loading. Objective registers not merely as punitive action, but as total threat elimination and reputation stabilization."
He analyzed calmly, his synthesized voice clear and unwavering in the empty, humming workshop.
"The behavioral metrics remain inefficient, but the kinetic threat level has significantly increased."
He felt no fear, only a calm sense of "the expected trouble has finally arrived," even with a hint of clinical anticipation to "verify equipment performance."
His logic core began to rapidly calculate the win rates, resource consumption, and potential risks of various response plans.
Notify the Maine Team? The thought was immediately discarded.
The relationship between him and Maine was one of equal employment and cooperation, and on a technical level, he even held the dominant position. Utilizing external assets for this localized threat was inefficient and unnecessary.
This was his territory, his operational anomaly, and it was only logical that he resolve it personally. This was not arrogance, but a principle derived from a clear understanding of his own capabilities and efficient problem-solving.
"Containment efficiency is rated at one hundred percent."
He affirmed to himself, and to the hovering "Buddy," his tone imbued with the calm confidence born of absolute technical strength.
Thanks to the trading channels established with the Maine Team, he not only obtained high-quality batteries and materials, but also, through Maine's clandestine network, successfully purchased a small batch of high-purity, stabilized sub-fusion fuel rods for a substantial but entirely worthwhile fee—a transaction that required serious scratch.
This was the key to the successful ignition and stable operation of the nascent fusion reactor core beneath his feet.
Although these fuel rods were far from comparable to the sacred fusion cores of the Adeptus Mechanicus' homeworld, their energy density and stability far surpassed the common energy sources of this world.
Just yesterday, he personally performed the fuel rod replacement and injection process.
The process was solemn and precise; he shut down the reactor's non-core zones, and his mechanical tentacles, as if performing delicate surgery, removed the old, inefficient fuel cells before precisely inserting the new, faintly glowing blue fuel rods into the core chamber.
As a deeper hum resonated, the energy output curve instantly became stable and robust, leaping several orders of magnitude.
A surging flow of energy immediately coursed through every conduit in the workshop, and also filled every energy conduit within his own body.
A long-lost feeling of immense power had returned.
The creations on his person from Mars—whether the radiation pistol concealed beneath his robes, the laser cutter integrated into his mechanical arm, the grotesquely shaped exterminator pistol hanging at his waist, or the phosphorus weapon capable of melting a Leman Russ tank into scrap metal in the Warhammer Universe—had all completely shed their previous energy-starved state.
They now docilely adhered to his body, their internal energy capacitors fully charged, emitting a faint, dangerous thermal signal that only he could perceive, like slumbering beasts, waiting for his single thought to awaken and spew forth the destructive flames of another dark universe.
Though he was not a Sage of the Adeptus Mechanicus, as an experienced Tech-Priest, his full combat capability was finally restored here, sufficient to handle most challenges of this world.
"External observation units: elevate to maximum alert status. Maintain continuous trace of hostile assets, calculate approach probabilities, estimated contact intervals, and simulate optimal interdiction coordinates."
"Buddy, inject threat response protocol 'Bastion' into all active servitor chassis. Command actuation on standby."
He fluently issued a series of commands, his voice still steady, yet revealing a sharpened edge.
"Command confirmed. Protocol 'Bastion' is ready. All systems responding to highest level directives."
The servo-skull clicked in response, and on the projected light screen, the speed of the data stream suddenly accelerated.
Osiris walked steadily towards the four silent combat Servitor.
He reached out, his cold metal fingers stroking the shoulder-mounted rocket launcher of one of them like caressing a loyal dog, sensing the subtle tremor of its internal mechanisms on standby.
"Servitor initialization: complete. One hundred percent operational. System requires field validation of combat effectiveness."
His tone was as calm as if arranging a routine debug, yet the destructive power it contained was unmistakable.
"Activation commands on standby. Deployment objective: Utilize fragmented urban terrain for multi-layered ambush architecture and kinetic interdiction. Prioritize concentrated energy fire on hostile mobility assets and heavy iron, followed by unit-level eradication."
He was not anxious about the impending conflict; instead, he became even more focused and calm.
He returned to the main workbench, brought up the Servitor weapon system interface, performed a final quick soft calibration, and fine-tuned their coordinated combat command sequences and fire distribution priorities.
His movements were meticulous, precise to the millisecond, as if what lay before him was not a bloody battle, but a precise technical demonstration.
Inside the workshop, the atmosphere remained focused and orderly, even more so, with a cold, poised sharpness.
The energy core ran stably, emitting a reassuring low-frequency hum; the Servitor stood silently, like ancient warriors in steel sarcophagi; the servo-skulls moved soundlessly, and on the monitoring screens, the distant red dots representing threats continued to approach unhurriedly.
Osiris stood among his creations, his mechanical body, brimming with powerful energy, beneath his dark red robe, the hem of which moved without wind.
Outside the window, the setting sun was painting the boundless desert a canvas of twilight yellow and blood red, and the eternal wind seemed to carry a hint of an unusual clamor, like the clash of metal.
A storm was gathering on the horizon, but he had built a technological bulwark, sharpened blades of steel, and awakened dormant fury.
This was a calm before the storm, supported by absolute technical confidence, ample material preparation, and his newly restored, tank-shredding personal combat power.
He merely awaited those uninvited chooms to ignorantly step into the ultimate testing ground, a fusion of ruins, steel, and destructive flames, meticulously prepared for them by him, the Tech-Priest.