Praise the Omnissiah, but Maybe Hold the Applause
Have you ever loaded into a Warhammer 40,000 game and immediately smelled the incense of recycled ambition? That’s Mechanicus II, both a promise and a confession, wrapped in polished steel and flickering neon.
It’s the kind of sequel that whispers, “Remember me?” while trying really hard not to trip over its own cables. But before you roll your eyes and assume this is another grimdark cash-in, let me assure you: even from this short demo, Mechanicus II might actually be good. Not life-changing good, not “sell your organs to upgrade your PC” good, but decent.
Let’s start where it hurts, the mechanics. The first Mechanicus was one of those quietly brilliant tactics games that didn’t need cinematic pyrotechnics to flex. It was about precision, positioning, and feeling like a half-human archivist sending your metallic congregation to their doom in the name of data.
Mechanicus II keeps that same skeleton, welds on a few new limbs, and gives it a fresh coat of paint. It’s evolution, not revolution. You’re still herding your hero units across battle maps, still wringing Cognition points from the battlefield like sacred oil, still pretending your Servitors have feelings when they’re basically ambulatory toasters.
This time, though, the big headline is choice; you can play both sides of the holy scrapyard war. The Adeptus Mechanicus are back with their red robes and ritual hard drives, while their chrome cousins, the Necrons, march in from the other end of the apocalypse.
Both factions get their own campaigns, their own brand of fanatical logic, and their own hero units with more abilities than a Swiss army mech. The Mechanicus runs on an activation system: flip a switch, power up an attack, and watch the sparks fly.
The Necrons, meanwhile, thrive on their Dominion meter, a slow-boiling rage gauge that turns their troops nastier with every tier. By the upper levels, they’re hitting twice just because they can. It’s like watching a Roomba evolve into a blender.
The Cognition system, however, is where the sequel starts flexing its circuitry. In the first game, Cognition was a limited resource, something you hoarded like the last can of machine oil in the galaxy.
Here, it’s dynamic, integrated directly into combat flow. Each unit gathers Cognition differently: Servitors generate it by tanking hits (bless their squishy metal hearts), while others earn it for completing objectives or landing long-range shots.
It’s an elegant loop that doubles as a teaching tool. Even newcomers start to grasp unit roles instinctively, which is impressive in a franchise known for turning casuals into scrap.
Visually, the demo already looks sharp enough to give your monitor a sermon. The Necrons shimmer like cursed jewelry unearthed in a dead civilization; the Mechanicus strut around like space priests at a tech convention.
Shadows spill across the tomb worlds, and the lighting feels appropriately heretical. It’s less “sci-fi battlefield” and more “cathedral built by machines that forgot why they worship.” The UI, however, is still a ritual of patience. Functional, yes, but you’ll need caffeine and faith to navigate the menus without muttering a few binary curses.
The sound design hits that familiar industrial hymn, mechanical chants, reverb thick enough to chew, and footsteps echoing down metallic corridors.
It’s not a soundtrack you’ll hum in the shower, but it does what it should: it makes you feel like you’re trapped inside a sacred factory. I call it “cathedral-core,” which is also what my fridge sounds like when it’s plotting against me at night.
Gameplay-wise, Mechanicus II is shaping up to be leaner and more deliberate, though not necessarily riskier.
The new cover system finally adds some tactical texture between “stand and die” and “advance and die.” Environmental hazards and destructible cover push you to adapt.
Mechanicus units hide and snipe, while Necrons just blow the furniture apart. The result is more rhythm to the firefights and a little more unpredictability in each skirmish. You can’t coast through a mission half-asleep; the battlefield demands your attention, like an angry metal chessboard.
That said, the two factions, while distinct in flavor, don’t feel as radically different as I’d hoped. Right now, they’re variations on the same theme, two sides of the same broken coin.
The Necrons ooze cold efficiency, and the Mechanicus buzz with self-righteous voltage, but in the demo, they share too many unit archetypes.
Melee bruiser, mid-range gunner, long-range sniper—it’s all a familiar composition. I want one side to feel like a puzzle and the other like a fever dream, not just aesthetic cousins fighting over who gets the shinier coffin.
The demo’s story setup is pure 40K: a tomb world waking up like a cranky god after a long nap. You play both perspectives, the zealots digging for glory and the undead reclaiming what’s theirs.
It’s grim, absurd, and theatrical in all the right ways. The writing is cleaner than the first game’s technobabble, with just enough human phrasing to keep you grounded amid the binary chanting. Fewer codex entries that sound like they were translated from a toaster’s diary and more clarity about who’s shooting whom and why.
As far as the challenge goes, the demo sits comfortably between “forgiving initiation” and “casual electrocution.” It’s approachable without being toothless. Even if you’ve never rolled a die in a tabletop game or can’t tell a Servitor from a vending machine, you’ll still understand what’s happening.
The Cognition system helps, too; it clarifies cause and effect. You see where your energy goes, what it costs, and what happens when you mess up. The AI seems competent without being sadistic, though I can feel the potential for cruelty simmering under the surface. Give it a few updates, and this thing could start deleting players for fun.
Long-term appeal is the one mystery this demo doesn’t decode. Two campaigns sound generous, but if both end up mirroring each other’s missions, the novelty might evaporate fast.
What I’m hoping, because yes, even cynical veterans hope, is that the final game gives each faction its own identity arc, deeper hero development, and more mechanical divergence. Right now, the Necrons feel like shiny humans with better posture. I want alien logic, not just mirrored mechanics.
To Bulwark Studios’ credit, this first impression is solid. Mechanicus II doesn’t revolutionize the formula, but it clearly understands why the first game earned its cult following.
It’s sharper, cleaner, and confident in its design. But it also plays things a bit safe, like a well-oiled machine afraid to leave its comfort zone. This isn’t the divine rebirth of tactical Warhammer; it’s a respectful continuation. And that’s fine. The devs know what they’re building, and they’re doing it with care, not chaos.
The polish shows. The camera moves with cinematic swagger, explosions have that crunchy reverb that tickles your bones, and every crit hit sounds like a deity applauding your bloodlust.
Animations could use a touch more life, too many units still glide like Roombas at prayer, but when combat flows, it’s easy to overlook the stiffness. It’s flashy, heavy, and unmistakably Warhammer, which already puts it ahead of a lot of genre peers.
After some time in the demo, the shine starts to dim just a little. The UI gets fussy, the pacing stutters, and the missions start to echo each other. None of this is fatal, it’s just the reality of early code.
You can feel the potential in the circuitry, even if it’s not fully charged yet. That’s the preview takeaway: Mechanicus II works; it’s promising, but it’s not ready for canonization.
So, is this the sequel we’ve been waiting for? Kind of. Mechanicus II feels like a sacred machine that knows its purpose but hasn’t achieved enlightenment yet. It’s beautiful, confident, and still searching for that spark of madness that made its predecessor a cult classic.
Maybe that’ll come at launch. For now, the demo suggests a sequel with purpose, polish, and room to evolve.
Mechanicus II’s demo is like buying a refurbished mech; you know it runs, you just wish it had a few new tricks hidden under the hood. Still, it’s smart, stylish, and reverent enough to keep me interested.
The Omnissiah may not have declared it holy yet, but I’m ready to kneel again when the full version drops.
I’m Brad Deep. I swing sarcasm like a power axe, bleed machine oil onto my keyboard, and call it communion with the Omnissiah. My books are field manuals from the war between man and motherboard, and these previews, these midnight dispatches, are just maintenance logs from the front.
You can find my books wherever heretics still read and remember: every life’s a campaign, every choice a dice roll. Keep your systems clean and your circuits holy, and I’ll see you when the full release awakens.