All along the hastily prepared trench lines, the brave men of the 2nd Paradigm heavy infantry burrowed deep into the mud, seeking shelter from the incessant shelling of the enemy long guns and the hard grey rain. Less than a mile away, upon a sharp-edged ridge, the traitorous scum who had overrun the northern AgriDome had set up their artillery.
As recently as a month ago, no citizen would have believed that the Unionist movement in the outdome slums would have ever dared openly revolt against Lord-governor Rosewater, let alone that they would have the resources to strike so hard a blow. Now that the lackeys of the Arch-heretic Vera held the only on-world food supply, the situation in the primary Hivedomes was becoming increasingly desparate.
Colonel Dastun lowered the auspex unit and shook his head wearily. His men were exhausted and their morale nearly broken by the lack of success of this seige, and yet his orders were clear. Before nightfall, he must lead his men in a suicidal charge into the prepared defences of the traitor scum, to win or perish. Raising the optics to his face again, he braced himself for what he would see. The machine spirit of the old worn device struggled momentarily to resolve the image, then the rebel lines lurched into focus. His eyes burned and his guts seemed to squirm inside him, for among the enemy lines there were raised blasphemous and nauseating banners dedicated to the four Great Ruinous Powers of the Warp, their glyphs an abomination to any clean soul.
Suddenly, the Vox unit strapped to his aide's back crackled to life. "All ground units, this is HQ! prepare to advance! Line sections 31 through 40, clear your sectors immediately! Reinforcements are coming though!
(Reinforcements?), Colonel Dastun mused. He'd heard no news of off-world troops arriving. So who could be coming to help his Regiment? and why so wide a gap in the line?
A thought struck him. To the south there sat an ancient shrine of the Adeptus Mechanicus, which was said to be the final resting place of one of their mighty God-Engines, left slumbering on this backwater world since it's last Dominus had perished in the original conquest of this planet. Could the Mechanicus be sending some of their guards?
A distant sound reached his ears then, even above the thunderous wrath of the traitor guns. From behind the lines resounded a ponderous, steady thudding, growing ever louder, like... footsteps?
but that would mean...
Spinning about, filled with a desparate hope he dared not voice, Colonel Dastun tried to pierce the concealing rain with his gaze.
Nothing...
Nothing...
Then a shape, like a giant from ancient days, looming out of the storm. Gleaming black and red and steel, so immense that each stride covered 20 yards. Massive arms swung in tightly controled arcs as it walked, its impassive face fixed upon the enemy.
Before this holy Titan there rumbled a heavy tank, bearing the icons of the Cult Mechanicus. As it passed the now empty trenchline, the men of the 2nd Paradigm could hear its loudspeakers blaring.
"MEN OF THE IMPERIUM! LOOK UPON THE FACE OF THE MACHINE-GOD INCARNATE AND KNON YOUR DELIVERANCE IS AT HAND! ALL HAIL THE EMPEROR! ALL HAIL THE
OBLIGATUS MAXIMUS!"
Colonel Dastun found himself on his knees, his trembling fingers making the sign of the Aquilla over his heart. He realized he was weeping for the joy of seeing one of the ancient Titans of old.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------
High above the muck and the men, Princeps Roger smith sat in the command throne of the newly reawakened Big-pattern battle titan 'Obligatus Maximus', or as he refered to it when the technomagos were not around, the Big O.
Turning his head to regard the strange, quiet slip of a girl seated behind him, who had risen out of the ranks of the noviature and proven herself to be almost supernaturally in tune with the blessed Titan's systems, he began his final orders. "Moderati Wainright, ensure that the void shields are operating smoothly, and charge the gatling blasters!"
"They have been ready for the last hour, Roger Smith." she replied, aparently more calm than the Princeps himself felt. It was one of her traits that irked him to no end.
(No time for that now,) he thought, and opened a channel to the Generatorium deep within Big O. "Chief Engineer Burg! Prepare the primary plasma coils for full striding speed!"
"Very good master Roger," the distinguished looking old techpreist replied with an enigmatic grin, "The God-Machine but awaits your word."
Turning once agian to face the viewplate, where the forward positions of the heretic rabble were displayed, Princeps Smith let himself begin to merge with the mind of his Megadeus. The time had come to begin the purging of the Unionist taint.
"Big O! Showtime!"
Note: Just a merging of two realities I find fascinating... if people want more, I'll do it. Comments, questions, and incendiaries welcome.
edit: spelling, grammar, a little added text, and a better "full name" for the Big O. 4th revision. thats what i get for writing improv on the fly...
I haven't seen a whole lot of him, actually. ^^