Saint Tiberius
The Unyielding Bastion
This is the Legend of Saint Tiberius, the Unyielding Bastion.
This is the Legend of Saint Tiberius , the Unyielding Bastion. The battlefield of Velkar Prime was a desolation of twisted steel and shattered earth. The war had raged for years, with The Church of the Iron Coffin struggling to hold the sacred chapel planet against the heretic legions of the Thrice-Born Compact, a faction that had forsaken mechs in favor of forbidden war machines—artillery, orbital bombardments, and bioweapons. The Compact’s armies had already reduced three of the great cathedral-cities to charred ruins, their artillery ripping through gothic spires and obliterating the stained-glass depictions of the Mech Saints. The faithful defenders fought with fervor, but one by one, their machines fell, destroyed by weapons that did not grant them the honor of combat against another mech. Then came Tiberius, a mech-pilot of unwavering faith, clad in the towering steel of Cathedral-Pattern War Mech Lux Dominus—a colossus of iron, shaped like a walking fortress with vaulted armor plates and a great sanctified reliquary fused to its carapace. Tiberius was no mere warrior; he was a shield of faith, a bulwark against heresy. When the last bastion of the Church on Velkar Prime was under siege, with all other forces either fallen or fled, Tiberius stood alone against an entire army. The Compact’s forces surged forward, a tide of blasphemous war machines and traitorous mech-hunters, believing the last holdout would fall within hours. But Tiberius and Lux Dominus did not break. On the first day, the artillery came, a relentless bombardment from the distant ridgelines. But Tiberius did not yield, raising his mech’s great shield, its surface engraved with the litany of the Martyr-Pilots. For days, he stood against the storm of fire, refusing to retreat even as shells cratered the ground and scorched the sacred plating of his machine.
On the tenth day, the Compact sent hordes of foot soldiers to overwhelm him. They climbed his mech’s armored form, trying to plant demolition charges, but Tiberius activated his flame-censers, the sacred fire purging the desecrators as they screamed in agony.
On the thirtieth day, the enemy deployed their war engines, towering siege walkers that bore no reverence for combat, instead lobbing crude incendiaries and plasma bombardments from afar. Tiberius roared in defiance, striding through the flame and wreckage to meet them in battle, his blessed warblade carving through their corrupted frames.
On the sixtieth day, they offered him surrender. They sent a messenger, promising safe passage if he abandoned his faith. Tiberius did not speak, only raised the audio amplifiers of Lux Dominus, and through them echoed the voices of a thousand war-prayers, a chorus of steel and faith that drowned out all doubt.
On the hundredth day, his mech was in ruins. Its outer armor was a scorched husk, its right arm reduced to shattered servos, its reactor leaking sacred fire. But still, he stood.
On the two-hundredth day, the Compact stopped sending men, unwilling to waste more on what they believed would be a corpse soon to fall. They rained down artillery barrages, enough to level cities, but Tiberius sank his machine into the trenches, bracing against the endless storm.
On the three-hundredth day, his mech’s power systems began failing, but still, he fought, firing with whatever weapons still functioned, striking down the enemy with faith and fury alone.
On the four-hundredth day, the Church’s reinforcements arrived—an entire Crusade Fleet, answering the long-lost distress signal of Velkar Prime. They found Tiberius still standing, his mech now little more than a crumbling wreck, its frame half-buried in the ruins of battle, surrounded by a mountain of enemy dead. Tiberius, broken and bleeding inside the remains of his cockpit, sent one final transmission before his reactor failed: “Velkar Prime endures. The Sacred Machine still stands.” His body was recovered, his lifeless hands still gripping the controls, his expression one of tranquil resolution. The remnants of Lux Dominus were enshrined in a grand cathedral, its shattered armor left untouched, its weapons preserved as sacred relics. To this day, every mech pilot of the Church utters his final words before battle, and his name is spoken alongside the Saints of Iron. His remains, clad in ceremonial warplate, stand in eternal vigil within the High Sanctum of Velkar Prime, where the faithful gather to lay their hands upon the cold steel, whispering prayers before they march to war. For Saint Tiberius , the Unyielding Bastion, proved that faith is not merely spoken—it is held firm, unshaken, even in the face of oblivion.
Age
43
Children
Sex
Male
Eyes
Light brown
Hair
Bald
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Middle brown
Height
6’3”
Weight
194 lbs
Aligned Organization
Related Plots
Comments