Mechanicum

Sons of Mars listen well, for one will come, mighty and strong, holding the sceptre of power in his hand.

Clothed in light and fire, his mouth shall utter eternal words, while his mind shall be a fountain of knowledge and fact.

When the Saviour shall appear ye shall see him as he is,a man like ourselves and yet greater by far.

This will be the first step in the greatest endeavour of Man.

It shall begin on the highest peak of the dominion of Ares.

When Deimos and Phobos are at apogee and perigee, there thou shalt see the face of the Omnissiah.

Clad in a body of gold, and wreathed in the firmament of the storm, the Lord of all Machines will stand in the midst of his people, and shall reign over all the dominion of Man.

Great shall be the glory of his presence, that the sun shall hide his face in shame.

For verily I say unto you that he shall be the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the master of flesh and the forger of metal.

He shall be a light that shineth in darkness and a banisher of ignorance.

He shall be the object of devotion and love, which kings might envy and emperors sigh for in vain!

He shall desire the good of Ares's realm and the happiness of Man.

All must become one in loyalty and see all men as brothers.

Ruinous wars shall pass away, and peace shall reign among the stars.

Strife and bloodshed and discord will cease.

All men shall be as one kindred.

The divisions of the stars shall all be one!

The Coming of the Omnissiah, exloaded by Pico della Moravec, 

Primus of the Brotherhood of Singularitarianism.

0.01

It never rained on Mars, not any more. Once, when Mars had first known life, back in an age long unknown to man, mighty storms had torn across the landscape, gouging channels in the rock and carving sweeping coastlines from the towering cliffs of the great Mons. Then the world had endured its first death, and the planet had become a cratered red wasteland of empty dust bowls and parched deserts.

But the red planet lived to breathe again.

The terraforming of Mars had begun in the earliest days of the golden age of man's expansion to the stars, bringing new life and hope, but in the end, this was a remission, not a cure. Within the span of a few centuries, the planet had died its second death, choking on the fumes of volcanic forge complexes, continent-sized refineries and the effluent of a million weapons shops.

It never rained on Mars.

That thought was uppermost in Brother Verticorda's mind as he guided the battered bipedal form of Ares Lictor up the gentle slopes of Olympus Mons towards the colossal volcano's caldera. Resembling a brutish, mechanical humanoid some nine metres tall, Ares Lictor was a Paladin-class Knight, a one-man war machine of deep blue armour plates with a fearsome array of weaponry beyond the power of even the strongest of the Terran Emperor's Astartes to bear.

Ares Lictor walked with an awkward, loping gait, thanks to a stubborn knee joint that no amount of ministration from the tech-priests could restore to full working order. But Verticorda handled his mount with the practised ease of one born in the cockpit.

It never rained on Mars.

Except it was raining now.

The brushed orange skies above were weeping a thin drizzle of moisture, patterning Verticorda's cockpit, and he felt the cold wetness through the hard-plugs in his spine and the haptic implants in his fingers.