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“Nuh-uh”“The fuck you mean ‘nuh-uh’?” I asked incredulously, looking at the Mini Master of Mankind as he shook his head, hoping that indulging the 40-ish millennia-old joke might somehow help-if only to deal emotionally with his chicanery by adding my own. 

“It means nuh-uh, as in, ‘No, I don’t want to fight the crazy soulless metal robot’. Why? Because that Necron Lord would atomise me if I tried,” Alex declared vehemently. “Can’t you just fight him instead? I’ll watch from here. This bubble is nice and safe-“

He rolled aside to dodge a scythe from a Canoptek Wraith, then tilted his head to dodge some nasty beam weapon from another. 

“-safe-ish, I mean,” he finished with a childish grin that appeared to be edged with some stress. I really needed to figure out how to mess with that stupid phasing. I’ll have to examine what remains of Serenade; maybe there will be some signs.

I recalled it being mentioned in the Infinite and the Divine that the planet prevented all types of “translation”, as the Necron Lexicon called it, making it impossible to ‘phase-out’ of the planet's bowels. I still had the planet in my Realm, though with its mass having had its polarity swapped, changing it from Blackstone to ‘Whitestone’, I wasn’t sure whether the original mechanism still functioned. 

If that didn’t work, studying the Hollow Sun’s interdiction arrays and anti-teleportation fields would have to do once I claimed the world. One step at a time. 

 “Fine.” I rolled my eyes, then turned my attention back onto the gathered Necrons. So much necrodermis ready for the taking; I wanted it all, even if I had no specific use in mind. I was sure having a massive stash of living metal would come in useful for something. I just had to disable the ‘translation’ and reanimation protocols to keep the disabled Necrons’ remains here to be harvested … or I could keep it going. ‘Cause if I messed up, I’d much rather have the damaged Necrons be translated somewhere into the depths of the tomb complex rather than somewhere else light-years away. I knew that phase-out trick transported ‘dead’ Necrons to the nearest facility where they could be reanimated. And if that happened, at least I knew where I could harvest them later.

Damn. Trazyn infected me with his kleptomania. I thought with a substantial amount of amusement. It was a useful trait to have in this galaxy, even if it made you some unnecessary enemies for dubious gains. I just had to make sure my hoarding tendencies didn’t go overboard. I had to keep my greed in check. Biting off more than you could chew typically didn’t fare well unless you had plot-driven plot armour like Cain or Guilliman. 

Using the multitasking system I set up, I targeted the wrists of every Necron below and, with a flex of my will, ripped off every metallic hand holding a weapon. They would heal from that, given some time; necrodermis was busted like that, but I wouldn’t give them time. 

I dropped through the bubble, landing on the floor and exploding into a mass of white tendrils that surged out like a tsunami of eldritch wrath, devouring the neat pile of unresisting necrodermis and weaponry. To my unmitigated joy, all the necrodermis my eldritch flesh devoured in the first second from a thousand Necrons remained within me, unable to be teleported away, along with all their guns and blades. Disarmed, the Necron Warriors could do little but stare in mindless incomprehension at the onrushing tsunami of ravenous white tendrils as they were yanked off their feet and absorbed moments later. 

The mass of onrushing eldritch tendrils split, a gaping hole opening in the middle just in time to let a beam of viridian energy pass through it without actually touching me. I drew all my expended mass back into a single humanoid Avatar, and with another step I was within melee range of the Lychguards standing around the Necron Lord who’d just tried to blow me out of existence.

A Staff of Light, huh? That would be a good trophy. The Necron Lord’s form crackled as viridian energy arced across his metallic body, which then leapt at his Lychguards, lighting them up. As the massive bodyguards advanced on me, I could feel the energy reinforce their necrodermis carapace somehow. A Lightning Field as well, then? Well, wasn’t this Lord full of neat little trinkets for me to take? How nice of him. 

Trazyn really is a bad influence. 

*****

Krispekh, Phaeron of the Nihilakh Dynasty, sat upon his throne, silent as he listened to his court argue below while a holo-projection depicting the destruction of the arrogant interlopers’ fleet played out on loop. All his currently awake Overlords and Lords were present, gathered at his summons at this momentous occasion. Some of those he’d known before the Great Sleep were still slumbering, some were out of contract — presumed to be dead due to system malfunction, natural forces, or orbital bombardment from fearful lesser species — and some were known to have outright died, either at the hands of the same lesser species or from detestable conflict with other dynasties.

His gaze landed on Overlord Shemvokh, that overambitious upstart who’d risen to the rank after Overlord Tarekh, known as Tarekh the Undying, failed to live up to his lofty moniker. From what Krispekh’s agents have been able to uncover, he had died a disgraceful death, being vaporised by an orbital volley of some plasma weaponry.

Krispekh had liked Tarekh. The Overlord had been the first of his Overlords to awaken after himself — barring, of course, Trazyn — and he’d been an able and eager servant. His gaze wandered over to and peered at the holo-projector, his core-matrix savouring the sight of the utter destruction brought upon that pathetic fleet. According to his agents’ reports and Crypteks’ analysis, this fleet came from the same lesser species that Tarekh had been unfortunately destroyed by. Tarekh had proven to be an utter fool, riding out into war on the surface without gaining absolute orbital and aerial supremacy first, but he had been Kripekh’s. He had been his, and those arrogant ‘humans’ dared to destroy him. Dared to take what was his. 

Krispekh did not like having his possessions taken. Not one bit. He’d waged war for much less, and he was ready to reap the lives of billions for this offence as well. Stealing from a Phaeron was a crime punishable by utter obliteration of everything the misbegotten thief loved and cared about. Entire worlds would be wiped clean in his conquest and rage.

Calming himself, Krispekh glanced back at Shemvokh as he became embroiled in a vehement argument with Overlord Amunteaph, the only other retainer Krispekh had who had faced these ‘humans’ before. It had been a subject of much ridicule for the past two centuries that Amunteaph had been destroyed by a strike force of a lesser species, forced to be transported away, and his body remade from the ground up. Much of that ridicule had quickly faded with Tarekh’s ignoble death. After all, if even the Phaeron’s favoured Overlord fell before these ‘humans’, then it wasn’t truly that shameful to merely lose a battle against them, was it?

If he had teeth, Krispekh would have been gritting them in frustration. He knew he had to be careful, much more so than he’d been planning to be. He was still by far the most powerful of the Nihilakh, but with Tarekh’s death and the loss of many of his worlds in the Starheart Wars against the accursed Eldar, the gap in military power between what was at his personal command and what a coalition of two or more of his Overlords could field had suddenly become concerningly small. An ambitious Overlord could take advantage and depose him, if they could convince two of their fellows to join them in their treachery.

Krispekh suspected Shemvokh and Amunteaph were the ones he had to fear the most, though thankfully, the two loathed each other with passion so they would never ally against him. Unfortunately, Amunteaph had ample reasons to be miffed and aggrieved, since Krispekh hadn’t exactly been understanding of his failures against the humans. Troublesome. 

His focus shifted over to the holo-projector, and he internally connected to the data-stream of the primary sensor arrays of Gheden. Trazyn and that weird pet creature he’d been campaigning for an alliance with were nearing the surface, and soon they would join his court. 

Any other time, Krispekh wouldn’t have entertained the disloyal Archivist’s latest fixation with anything more than a token amount of grace. Trazyn was of the Nihilakh; he deserved that much, and it was always amusing when envoys from other Dynasties came to complain about his antics. It was a pleasure to watch them blather, then tell them he wasn’t going to do anything about it, and that if those relics they’d lost were truly that important, then perhaps they should have protected them better. Always entertaining. 

Alas, as ridiculous and downright shameful as it was, Overlord Trazyn was the only member of his Dynasty that Krispekh could trust absolutely not to join a rebellion or coup attempt against him. Not because the Phaeron had inspired such loyalty in the Overlord that he’d never think about betraying him, no, but because Trazyn would never in his eternal life do something that would land him with responsibilities. Responsibilities, which would keep him on Gheden, away from his precious Infinite Galleries, and unable to engage in his favourite hobby of liberating artifacts and adding them to his collection.

Overlord Kepakh, Phaek and Pharanteph were the only other Overlords in his court, pushing the number up to six. Once, before the Great Sleep, the Nihilakh Dynasty had more than twenty of them, and many times that in Lords. Alas, the sixty million years spent slumbering in their tombs hadn’t been kind to their Dynasty. Krispekh had hoped more would awaken and rejoin the court. Even now, Anrakyr the Traveller was out there among the stars, searching for Tomb Worlds that’d been disconnected from the network but remained intact enough to begin the awakening protocols. Perhaps he would find a few lost Tomb Worlds of the Nihilakh in time. The galaxy had changed during their slumber, and while it was in a much more favourable state than it was when they entered the Great Sleep, it still wasn’t ideal. The Aeldari Empire of old was gone, the Krorks were a degraded shallow shell of their former selves, and no Old One had managed to escape their fate. But these humans, these Chaos Daemons and the so-called ‘Tyranids’ … they were all a problem that threatened the supremacy of the Necrons.

I have to make sure it’s still me sitting in this throne by the time he does. Krispekh thought sourly, barely resisting the urge to glare at Shemvokh and Amunteaph. They hadn’t done anything yet, and moving against them now might provoke the rest, and Krispekh knew he wouldn’t survive all his Overlords rising up against him. It was incredibly frustrating, but he would have to play the game of politics and courtly intrigue to dispose of his foes once more for the first time in millions of years. The prospect was almost nostalgic, reminding him faintly of the time before Biotransference when he was just a Lord of the Necrontyr, fighting tooth and nail for every shred of political power he could get to one day claim the title of Phaeron.

It’s been a long time since he could just point and have his problems utterly annihilated by eager servants and bootlickers. Perhaps it would do him some good to shake off the nonexistent rust and breathe new life into his core-matrix. It wouldn’t do to have him calcify into a dimwitted relic.

He glanced at the two Triarch Praetoreans standing in the dark corners of the opulent throne room. The Nihilakh Dynasty had always been one of the most traditionalist ones out of the entire Infinite Empire, thus the presence of the Praetoreans. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t help him. Plotting, assassination and coups were about as traditional as you could get within a Necron dynastic court. The Triarch Praetoreans wouldn’t interfere, not now that the Awakened Council was no more and the Silent King ruled once more, even if his return remained a secret. Although … Krispekh thought back to that peculiar meeting a few years ago. Perhaps if he could frame Shemvokh as a supporter of Biotransference? It wouldn’t take much work. There was promise there. Wouldn’t the Praetoreans be more willing to interfere in dynastic politics if the upstart was shown to be against the vision of the Silent King? That was treason after all. 

Shemvokh wouldn’t even know. Only Krispekh knew who it had been that he met on that day. Only he knew what the two of them talked about, the promises made, the vows upheld. Only he knew. 

But no. Trying to use the Triarch Praegorians wouldn’t be his first choice; the risk of offending the Silent King was too great. He would have risked it had he no other options … but Trazyn had given him one, hadn’t he? 

An entire fleet, destroyed in but a few seconds. Whatever this creature was, it held power comparable to a Necron strike fleet, or perhaps even an ancient superweapon. If he could make sure he had the Yyth Seer all to himself to provide him precognitive foresight into his enemies, and Trazyn’s pet to wield as a weapon, he would have little to fear from some upstart’s attempts at unseating him from the Phaeron’s throne. And he had reason to suspect that Trazyn’s pet hadn’t displayed their full power - they could still fly back on their own power without Trazyn’s assistance afterwards. 

Yes. That sounded like a much more reliable plan. Although, in the short term, something simpler might work even better. Shemvokh had been quite outspoken against even entertaining Trazyn, and much more so against the mere proposition of allying with a creature of a lesser species. 

How hard could it be to bait him into offending this powerful creature hard enough so it demands his head, or a duel of some sort? The powerful were the same everywhere; he very much doubted a being that could vaporise a fleet would just take Shemvokh’s insults. There would be an argument; he could almost hear it already, an argument he would do his best to nudge towards ending in a violent confrontation. Useful. 

Perhaps I could sabotage the reanimation protocols on Gheden? Krispekh mused, feeling a gleeful thrill deep inside his cold, metallic chest where his heart used to be. Due to Gheden’s peculiar nature, Necrons couldn’t be translated outside the planet. All who fell on the Crown World had to be reanimated on the Crown World, since they couldn’t leave it. A sudden power outage perhaps? Anomalous generator failure? Conduits shorting out? Reanimation systems corrupted?

It would be obvious, but that was good. He wanted the other would-be treasonous snakes in his court to know that all had happened by his design. He just wanted it to be impossible to prove with certainty; after all, the Awakened Council still ruled, if in name only, and they frowned on Necron killing Necron. It would be humiliating if they summoned him, and refusing their authority could still bring trouble, since only he knew their authority was no longer valid. The Triarch Praetorians would no longer enforce their rulings, but it would be troublesome all the same if his little scheme got exposed like that. After all, what kind of Phaeron could not handle his own misbehaving court without causing a ruckus? A shame on him. 

It was time to greet Trazyn’s pet. And if it could handle Necrons… surely it could handle other lesser species like the ‘humans’ or even the detestable Eldar. An unknown variable that only he, through Trayzn, could command… now that could be useful if used properly.