Apothecary Norskar walked to the center of the grounds. Before him stood a true legend.
It was an immense, imposing Saturn-pattern Dreadnought.
Its massive frame resembled a mobile fortress. Countless battle scars covered its thick armor plates, intertwining with the insignia of the Word Bearers to tell the story of a long history of the Great Crusade.
Although the heavy weapon systems mounted on its arms were locked in safe mode, they still radiated a heart-stopping aura of destruction.
"Chaplain Skranchi." Norskar's voice rang through the empty grounds with due respect.
The hiss of activating hydraulics sounded, followed by the faint hum of the internal life-support systems.
The Dreadnought's massive torso slowly turned. Its thick frontal viewport lit up with a dark red glow, like a sleeping beast opening its eyes.
A deep voice, mingling mechanical grinding with unquestionable authority, emerged from the machine's speakers with the distinctive low resonance of electronic modulation:
"Norskar? Why have you awakened me?"
"Battle-Brother Skranchi," Norskar said, choosing the more formal address.
"I hope you can participate in a special test. Our Legion has welcomed a... rather unusual Recruit."
"Where's Novan!" Skranchi's voice abruptly rose, carrying a barely perceptible urgency. There was anger in his tone as well; as a Dreadnought veteran, he hated the sensation of being awakened more than anything.
"He loves testing Recruits! Have him do it!"
Norskar fell silent for a moment, then spoke as steadily as ever. "Battle-Brother Novan fell honorably in the cleansing operation in the Sarax System, 1,451 Terran days ago."
The Dreadnought lapsed into a brief silence, broken only by the hum of its idling engine.
A few seconds later, Skranchi spoke again, trying another name. "Then... what about Rass? That lad who was always clamoring to wrestle someone! He should still be around, shouldn't he?"