Author's Note
Before you dive into this story, allow me a brief explanation.
Technology in the Warhammer 40,000 universe is not simply a matter of wires, metal, and plasma engines. It is an intricate, half-forgotten web of faith, tradition, and deliberate ignorance. Within the Cult Mechanicus, technology is not to be understood—it is to be worshipped.
Most of the Imperium's machines, weapons, and ships are relics of a lost era: the legendary Dark Age of Technology. At the heart of this legacy are the STCs (Standard Template Constructs)—sacred blueprints from humanity's golden past. But in truth, nearly all STCs are lost, corrupted, or hoarded by warring factions.
And STCs are only the beginning of the madness.
Every machine is believed to house a Machine Spirit, a divine entity that must be appeased through ritual chants, sacred oils, litanies of activation, and occasionally, human sacrifice. A Tech-Priest cannot simply "turn on" a plasma reactor—they must pray it doesn't explode while doing so.
Innovation is heresy. Curiosity is dangerous. The Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus are forbidden from true invention; they are trained not to create, but to recite. Understanding how something works is discouraged unless that knowledge has been dogmatically approved by ancient scripture or the Lords of Mars.
Even the act of building a starship is a sacred endeavor. A single cruiser might take decades to complete. A battleship could require centuries. Each bolt must be anointed. Each hull plate must be blessed. The bureaucracy is so dense that even the Administratum might take notes.
Forge Worlds such as Mars, Ryza, and Lucius are the powerhouses of Imperial industry, but each has its own rites, taboos, and mystical procedures. Sometimes the same machine will be constructed differently on two worlds simply because one Forge believes a cog must be turned clockwise... and the other counter-clockwise, with incense.
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That's the lore. But now let's talk about this story.
To keep the narrative moving—and to maintain my own sanity as a writer—I've decided to streamline a lot of the above. Therefore:
The Tech-Priests in this story actually understand the technology they use. They're still religious, still chanting praises to the Omnissiah, but they also know what a cooling system does and how to troubleshoot it.
Starship construction will be drastically accelerated. Not because I disrespect the lore, but because no one wants to read twenty chapters of liturgical paperwork before a ship launches.
And yes, I've introduced Universal Bulin from Azur Lane. An utterly absurd being capable of building warships with nothing but a wrench, a drill, and sheer willpower. In this story, she represents cross-universal technological absurdity. If she understands the blueprint, she can build it. Logic be damned.
Is this canon? Of course not. Is it heretical by Mechanicus standards? Almost certainly. But I assure you, I've written all of this with deep love for the source material—and with enough respect for readers to trust that you'll recognize the difference between a lore violation and a narrative adaptation steeped in machine oil and reverence.
Thank you for reading this note. Please enjoy the story—and may the Machine Spirits remain unoffended, or at the very least, dormant.
Narrative Deviation Protocol: Sanctioned by the Will of the Omnissiah.