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“The palace of the gods awaits the faithful”

The princeps declared in high gothic, a self assured smile broke as the chorus of chanting built to fever pitch.
The assembled council of tribal elders greeted the princeps with a bow, five of them, their black sheer masks concealing their ritually tattoo’d faces.

The savages of Humardu we’re a deeply spiritual people, reverence for the gods and all manner of rituals worship taking up much of their society and daily lives. Their inability to distinguish technology from magic had been historically exploited for recruitment and replenishment of labour by the machanicum and imperium. Humardu’s hardy populace made ideal stock for soldiering or manufacturing.

Their gods were not his gods. The princeps didn’t care, their blood would soon fill the sea and the prophecy would be fulfilled. Their destruction would birth something new.
Deception was not unknown to him, but the legio’s combat doctrine was as direct and aggressive as their princeps and this subterfuge and attention to ritual was always a tiring affair, some part of the manifold in him stirred with impatience. He reassured himself he had not fully concealed the truth from these poor souls as they may yet still find themselves in the palace of some god, just not one of their own.

A guttural series of deep throat singing and distant unseen drumming grew steadily in intensity, the princeps could sense it would not be much longer, even across the vast sunlit bay the stars began to pulsate, the void quaked in recognition of what was to come. A strange sense he had been here before fell over the princeps as if remembering some half forgotten dream.

All five elders reached their arms to the heavens, the throat singing ceasing and the unseen drummers falling silent. They reached for a small pouch on in their robes containing a flask of sacred oils. In unison they emptied the small flask of yellow liquid over their heads and proceeded to prostrate themselves before the princeps.

A small robed figure strode out from the mass of bodies and presented the princeps with a torch, the head of which had been fashioned to resemble the skull of some local predator. The robed figure spoke, it’s voice was young, sounding like a child.

“Ashgkar! Feysho! Kah-nashi ermasa otosh!”

“They impend, you must light the fire.”

The princeps had understood the tribal utterances, but pointed all the same to the prostrate and oil soaked elders arrayed before him and looked back to the short robed figure, as if unsure of his part in all of this.
The princeps stepped forward, his ceremonial white body glove backlit by the setting sun and he touched the torch to the oil at their feet.

“The palace of the gods” He declared mockingly as the he lit the last of the elders aflame.

The five men made no sound as their flesh burned. The princeps was genuinely impressed by this display, the pain must have been unimaginable he thought.
He lost himself in the flame, the elders bodies toppled over, he hadn’t even noticed crowd assembled around him had produced ceremonial blades and had slit their wrists. He only wrenched himself back into the moment when the masked crowd turned from their gaze on the pyre to look back towards the coast.

They had followed the specifications he had passed on to them perfectly, the edifice they stood on was built with a purpose and the blood running down from their wrists collected into the super structure and streamed down stone channels directly disgorging into the sea.
The water in the bay turned crimson, steadily reaching the the feet of the princeps warlord titan, the “King in Yellow” which stood like a silent guardian in the middle of the bay.

The princeps began to weep, the smile never leaving his face as he proceeded down the steps of the vast stone temple. Looking out at the bay he could see the silhouette of his engine, it’s white helm’s targeting optics were glowing with an unnatural red hue. He could somehow commune with the engine and this connection grew stronger.

The moment the princeps stepped into the frothing crimson sea, the king in yellow let out an ear splitting bellow of its war horns sending thousands of local avians flying into the air from coastal tree tops. The princeps strode out through the shallow water, his white bodyglove now thoroughly stained red. He reached out for the great engine, placing his hand firmly on its cold ceramite hull. The princeps could see the first of the crane ships coming in along the coast. In amazement, some of the cultists were still standing in their seemingly endless observance of the king in yellow.

He could see one of the crane ships securing its fasteners around a reaver titan back on land. The princeps personal shuttle now crept down the shoreline, halting in front of him and extended its boarding ramp into the water. A familiar face greeted him from the head of the ramp. It pointed to the princeps and back to the water.

“The prophecy said total immersion; I won’t remind you of the importance of this.”

The princeps rolled his eyes at the scolding and immersed himself entirely in the sea of red frothing liquid. Emerging once more totally stained he walked up the ramp the end of which was already beginning to retract.

“Is it done?”

He walked past the familiar face without making eye contact. A noticeable silence was his reply.

“Well?” The princeps inquired again.

The scolding voice canted something in binary and plugged an unseen mechandrite from its robe into a port on the wall.

“The pattern is incomplete, pict data shows one star remains” It replied.

The princeps barked back “I’ve seen them with my own eyes, they’re pulsating, I can feel the king’s machine spirit from here, like I could interface with the manifold without hard plugs”

“That’s impossible!” The voice shrieked back.

The last cultist looked on in amazement as the vast crane ship swept in and started to cradle the warlord in its rigging. Its aspect being lifted out of the water and into the heavens was the last thing his eyes would ever see. A single tear ran down the cultists tattooed face, his frame toppling over on to the bodies a level below, his blade still firmly clutched in his hand.

The shape of a coffin ship was now visible on the horizon through the shuttle's main viewport. The princeps glanced back at the source of the scolding voice as if to predict the words it was about to speak.

“The last star is pulsating, the ritual is complete.”

The king in yellow’s war horns began to blare again as it was swallowed by the vast hold of the coffin ship.

The princeps turned and looked at the crane ship ahead of him disappear into the cavernous gantry of the coffin ships open hold, an excited grin filling his face.

“The Warmaster will be pleased.”

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