Rex Salazar: The Omnissiah Chapter 05 (Early Preview) (Patreon)

Chapter 05: Man of Miracles

Temple of Knowledge

To the Mechanicum, seeing a pile of broken machines was worse than a mountain of corpses. A graveyard of Mars’ forgotten children. This batch was known as Abyssus 19-Theta. It contains fragments believed to be remnants of archeotech from the Dark Age of Technology. No soul has made sense of it. The fragments did not match any existing STC data. If the Machine God wills it, the truth shall be revealed.

Rex exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. He took a step forward. ‘Alright, I got this.’ He reached and pressed his hand against the cold, rusted metal surface. “Now, what are you?”

Blue lines flared to life on his skin, streaking outward like veins across the broken relic and into its fractures. The nanites infiltrated the mass, seeping into fractures, sliding along corroded joints, and plunging deep into forgotten data cores. A moment passed before a pulse was emitted. 

Rex wasn’t expecting anything weird, but then something answered back. He felt a hundred broken voices whisper through the scrap:

Power loss detected… Core breach… initiating lockdown… Auto-forge 117 offline… fabrication ceased at cycle 4031… Atmospheric breach… evacuation failed… System error… system error…

Beneath the chaos, some were clearer than others, so Rex’s nanites began to sort them. They filtered through slagged metal, isolated surviving alloys, identified plasma-fused circuits, and categorized technologies that hadn't existed for thousands of years.

They began sorting the wreckage like ants in a nest: Alloys were separated by type and molecular structure. Wiring was categorized by conductivity and fiber grade. Circuitry was aligned into fragmented cores and viable subroutines.

The junk heap shifted as nanites separated still-viable components, creating neat stacks. Some minor pieces included Orichal-9 alloy plating, Self-healing circuitry, Radiation-absorbing fuel cores, nearly depleted but salvageable, and miniaturized atmospheric sensors.

“He still sees function…”

The mountain of junk had potential, and Rex was the conductor pulling out each surviving module.

One of the seemingly dead mechanisms inside twitched. The EVO didn’t move; his mind was somewhere else. As seconds passed, more and more pieces inside also began to move. 

It was when metal tendrils extended from the central unit toward the surrounding pieces that the council froze.

An even more enormous tsunami of raw data crashed into Rex’s mind. Schematics unfolded, outlining the machine’s inner workings. It was beyond anything he had interfaced with before and far more complex than the gravity lift.

The largest in the group showed him material scans, wireframe overlays, signal traces, and fragmented code.

A strange feeling in his head was guiding him through the information. Lines of diagnostic code scrolled through his thoughts, revealing damage reports and maintenance logs, some dating back thousands of years. Then came the function descriptors, flooding him with knowledge of this machine and why it had been built. His pupils flared an unnatural blue. Words tumbled from his mouth.

“Designation: Atmospheric Synthesis Engine.”

The chamber went silent. The scribe in the room was recording and typing a transcript of everything that happened. 

“Function: Regulate and process planetary air quality. Nanofiber filtration removes toxins, recycling them into breathable oxygen while stabilizing pressure gradients for long-term sustainability.”

The Mechanicum members exchanged glances. Even among their most esteemed members, no one had been able to determine the device’s function since its discovery. They could only determine that it was damaged during the Men of Iron’s initial siege of Mars. 

Much like other damaged Archeotech, they performed their prayers for centuries, hoping for the knowledge to come to them. In a way, Rex answered those prayers himself.

Rex’s stomach lurched. There was something inside it. Not an AI like Alpha. Simpler. 

Faith and belief are powerful in this world. It can birth gods, change probability, or even grant power. It is through this effect that entities classified as Machine Spirits are born.

Soon, the phantom imprint faded from Rex’s thoughts. Something had led him through the system after reviving it from dormancy. If he had to describe the sensation, it was like a child finally waking up—eager to stretch, move, run.

A pulse of blue light surged through its conduits. Fractured metal reknit, foreign mechanisms realigned, and auxiliary systems were reactivated one by one.

The Atmospheric Synthesis Engine rumbled. When all of its mandatory subroutines are finalized, the nanites are disconnected. Rex staggered back and steadied himself.

The engine started up for the first time in millennia. Turbines rotated, and the air in the room shifted. 

The Magus monitoring the room received a notification. Atmospheric sensors, used to detect poison, registered the change. The air composition was changing. One of the tech-priests brought a probe closer to the archeotech. Their cogitator registered that the expelled air had a composition of 78% nitrogen, 20.95% oxygen, and small amounts of other gases. “He speaks the truth…”

The chamber erupted. Lexir-Kor, Ryza-Tal, Ikar-Vohn, and Ferris-Keph Logis moved toward the Engine. With it restored, they were able to interface with it properly. Their augmented minds scrambled to process the flood of data. 

Many parts from this single engine filled in the gaps from some corrupted STC fragments in their archives. That alone was cause for celebration. It only confirmed the impossible truth. The Atmospheric Synthesis Engine was real.

The results were indisputable: According to internal records of the engine’s hard drive, hundreds were deployed in the upper atmosphere during the Dark Age. They were environmental stabilizers on a planetary scale. 

If they could get more of them up and running, they could purify the air of the existing toxins and restore oxygen levels. The protective ozone could return, reducing the need for many to remain underground to avoid the solar radiation. 

The archeotech reactivation was immediately classified as Theta—a designation reserved for the most divine rediscoveries.

Rex's thoughts churned while the Magus in the room began praying in thanks. ‘I have no idea how I did that…’’ Rex ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Yeah… I guess it works now.”

Finally, Rex stepped back. The heap was no longer a heap. The debris had been reorganized, showing a few partially functioning constructs: small drones, an incomplete telemetry hub, what looked like the core of a solar harvester, and …

It had old-world coils and precise wiring reassembled into a compact, rectangular shape.

He lifted it from the pile, still warm from the nanite construction. His hands cradled the perfectly symmetrical, slightly scratched chrome frame, complete with a simple lever, two slots on top, and a dial with settings ranging from 1 to 6.

Rex blinked. He stared at the object for a long moment. "...Is this... a toaster?"

He turned it over in his hands, dumbfounded. It seemed to be portable with its own built-in rechargeable battery. A tiny ID plate on the underside read: Model No. T-3100 — Sunbeam Appliances, Made in the USA

Rex slowly lowered it, mouth twitching. “…How did this thing last this long?” Was it in a museum or something?

Behind him, the Tech-Priests gazed in awe, utterly baffled.

“Omnissiah…” the a Tech-Priest breathed. “What is this divine construct?”

Rex exhaled, adjusting his grip on the device. “It’s a toaster.”

The Tech-Priest tilted his head. “…A toaster?”

“Yes,” Rex said flatly. “A toaster.”

There was a pause. The Tech-Priest’s optical lenses refocused with an audible click.“What does a toaster do?”

Rex stared at him. Then at the toaster. Then back at the Tech-Priest. ‘They even lost the knowledge of toasters?!’ “It… Uh. It makes toast.”

“…What is this… toast?”

Rex blinked, half-hoping someone else would answer for him. “Uh… Do you guys eat bread?”

“Bread?”

“It’s a starch food with carbohydrates.”

“We have nutrition paste.”

Rex paled. ‘Dear lord, I hope we find a futuristic food fabricator and fast. I am not gonna live the rest of my life on paste.’

“You are familiar with this machine, Omnissiah? How old is it?”

Rex continued to examine it. “It’s over 20,000 years old from about my time.”

A shock went through the room. “Bless the Machine God! It must be the oldest piece of archeotech on Mars. Its machine spirit has persevered all this time.”

One of the robed clergy stepped forward. “May this humble follower hold the ancient relic?”

“Sure…” Rex handed the man the toaster.

The Tech-Priests got to his knees, murmured a prayer under their breath to the toaster in unfiltered awe. Behind him, others rushed forward—Magi, Enginseers, and servo-skulls—all drawn by the ancient technology. “This toaster has seen the rise and fall of man. Who knows what wisdom the machine spirit will bring to us all.”

“Right…” Rex rubbed his temples, dragging his palm slowly down his face as he watched grown men worship a toaster. Meanwhile, the most advanced piece of tech that Rex has seen so far that could help rebuild Mars was being treated like chopped liver.

From his high platform, the Fabricator-General slowly rose. “I believe trial one has been completed, exceeding expectations.”

The High Council stood frozen in awe—for the first time in millennia, a true miracle had unfolded before them.

The realization spread like wildfire. Mere moments after recollecting themselves, Magos Ryza-Tal was already devising new trials. A part of it was doubt. It was too good to be true. The Fabricator-General and the High Council convened in a storm of encrypted exchanges. The implications were staggering:

What else does the Omnissiah know?

What other miracles can he perform?

#

Rex was led into a massive hangar bay that dwarfed that of Providence. Rows of war machines stood among Titans and battle tanks. Rex stared in the distance at what could be described as a red and black Providence ship but with a gear and skull image on the side. ‘Are those spaceships?’ 

Ikar-Vohn followed his gaze and smiled. “Indeed, the Ark Mechanicus is one of our holiest vessels. Perhaps in time, you can also spread your blessings unto them.”

“Right…” 

The air was saturated with the tang of oils, incense, and hot metal. Servo-skulls drifted between the massive war machines, tracking Rex's movement. 

One particular skull caught Rex's attention as it glided past, its crimson optical sensor sweeping methodically across the chamber. He narrowed his eyes. “Um… what are those?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I’ve seen them flying around before.”

Dominus Ikar-Vohn turned toward him. “Servo-skulls, Omnissiah.”

"Servo-what?" Rex repeated, already regretting asking.

Ikar-Vohn gestured toward one of the hovering constructs. “They are crafted from the skulls of loyal citizens, to which components and an antigravitic impeller have been added. In this way, they may continue their service to the Mechanicum even beyond death.”

Rex recoiled slightly, his expression twisting. “Wait—you’re telling me that’s a dead guy’s skull?”

“Correct,” Ikar-Vohn confirmed, completely unbothered. “To have one’s skull chosen to serve as a servo-skull is a great honor. It implies one’s service in life was satisfactory enough to warrant continuation beyond death.”

Rex turned back toward the floating skulls, watching as they hovered around the chamber, silently recording data, carrying out minor tasks. His initial fascination soured into something between mild horror and morbid curiosity.

“…Okay, I gotta ask,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What do they actually do for you guys?”

“Servo-skulls serve multifarious purposes,” Ikar-Vohn explained. “Some function as auto-scribes, meticulously recording conversations, important deliberations, or the confessions of prisoners. Others are deployed for menial tasks—guiding individuals through labyrinthine forge-cities, carrying illumination sources, or performing routine surveillance.”

Rex stared, blinking in confusion. ‘So, you guys basically turn a dead guy into a crappier smartphone attached to a drone?” 

“What is this smartphone you speak of? Is it another artifact from the before times?”

Out loud, he just sighed, shaking his head. ‘Man, you people have a weird definition of honor.’

Their path wound through rows of war machines. Two enormous Skitarii guards stepped aside in silence, and the gate opened with a hiss of steam. Colossal adamantium doors groaned open. A billowing cloud of incense-laden steam erupted from the opening. The mist parted, revealing the chamber beyond.

And then it emerged.

The Paladin-class Knight stood nearly nine meters tall. Deep blue armor plates gleamed with the heraldry of House Taranis. Rex could tell it had seen battle from the damage on its plates.

For all its majesty, the Knight was wounded.

An exhaust port belched thick black smoke, far more than its failing systems should produce. His armor plates showed brutal scars of combat—some missing entirely, others held together by crude battlefield welding. Its right knee joint was jerking spasmodically with each step.

The chamber remained silent save for the Knight's uneven footfalls. Tech-Priests and Skitarii escorts moved with ritualistic reverence, shepherding the holy relic. 

"Omnissiah." The Council of the Mechanicum spoke once more. "Behold, a veteran Knight that helped establish our foothold on Mars during the dark times.”

Archmagos Lexir-Kor spoke with religious fervor. "This Knight has served House Taranis through generations of conflict. Through its might, and many others like it, the Mechanicum triumphed over the mutant hordes and rampaging Silica Animuses that once threatened to consume Mars after humanity's great fall."

Ferris-Keph continued. "But war is a merciless architect. Despite our most devoted ministrations, we have failed to restore its locomotion. Its Machine Spirit slumbers, unresponsive to our most ardent supplications. We trust that you can communicate with it."

The Paladin loomed over Rex. Faded heraldry and crude battlefield repairs told stories of survival.

“Touch it,” one said. “Let your will guide the fragments. If the Omnissiah truly walks among us, the machine spirits will not resist.”

Rex exhaled sharply. "What’s one more today?" Swallowing his nerves, he approached the Knight. His eyes locked onto the damaged knee joint. Countless stares burned into his back, but he forced himself to focus.

He hesitated, then placed his palm against the chilled armor. Rex recalled the strange feeling from the engine. That same feeling might happen again.

So, in a moment of pure, misguided theatrics, he declared, "Machine, heal thyself." The moment the words left his mouth, he winced. God, that sounded ridiculous.

In the same blue light, his nanites surged across the metal, slipping through microscopic seams, diving deep into the war machine's failing systems.

Data erupted into Rex's consciousness. Mechanical diagnostics cascaded through his mind, intertwined with blueprint schematics that mapped centuries of engineering. Battle logs stretched back generations. He could sense an emotion of pride radiating from it.

The Knight's Machine Spirit stirred.

Rex gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus as his nanites began their diagnostic sweep:

Actuators worn thin, compressed under millennia of mechanical stress.

Servos misaligned by fractional degrees.

Hydraulic conduits fractured, leaking into hidden recesses

Power distribution nodes are struggling, barely maintaining minimum locomotion protocols

With that, his nanites proceeded to the next step. Metal fused at the molecular level. Servos reset to their original specifications. Hydraulic systems were purified of every microscopic impurity. Power pathways were recalibrated and optimized.

After many plating shifts, the Paladin core started to sound smoother. Its systems roared back to life. 

Within the Paladin, the young noble pilot gasped. His neural link blazed with sensation. The Knight felt genuinely whole. Instinctively, the pilot stepped back. The Paladin followed effortlessly.

The pilot lifted the foot again, testing, scarcely believing what he was experiencing.

No resistance. No stiffness. 

Their war machine was restored to its former glory

A shudder rippled through the assembled priests like an electrical current, spreading from the front ranks to the furthest corners of the sanctum.

One by one, the faithful of Mars knelt, and Rex remained the sole figure standing.

The Council of the Mechanicum observed in fascination. A whispered binary exchange erupted from their midst, too rapid for human ears but laden with implications.

"The Archives must be consulted immediately!"

"Impossible. The sealed cogitators are forbidden to all but the highest-ranked Magi."

"I do not doubt that he is the Omnissiah. Our laws are immaterial before such a manifestation."

"The Fabricator-General makes the final decision!"

They all turned to Arkhan Valus. The Fabricator General smiled at Rex. "Let this be the third and final trial. May the Central Cogitator, the heart of this very city, open itself to us."

Rex, utterly oblivious to the nuanced debate occurring, shifted uncomfortably. 'The hell is a Cogitator?'