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“How does it work?” I asked as our shuttle touched down on the surface of Gheden, right at the foot of the monolithic structure that was the Phaeron’s pyramid palace. I’d been paying careful attention throughout our flight, but I’d probably keep analysing the scans I’d taken as our shuttle phased onto Gheden for years to come with little to show for it. I was pretty sure we’d been synced to the specific … dimensional frequency the Crown World existed on. Space didn’t work like that, and it wasn’t actually a frequency at all, but that was the best I could do for a metaphor with my current understanding of dimensionalism, subspace and metadimensions. Oh, the woes of being from a scientifically inferior civilisation.

“That, I am afraid, is a ‘trade secret’ as you humans call it,” Trazyn chuckled, almost managing to sound like that one good-natured fun uncle everyone had. “Come. The court is waiting for us; we shouldn’t tarry overlong. This promises to be annoying as it is, no need to give my opponents even more ammunition.”

“Anyone I should be worried about?” I questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Overlord Shemvokh,” Trazyn declared without hesitation. “He is using this opportunity to establish himself as the leading voice daring to speak out against the Phaeron,” Trazyn sighed, with a static-y noise that was probably meant to be a scoff. “The ambitious fool is charismatic, I’ll give him that, but it’s sheer idiocy to plot against the Phaeron.”

I blinked slowly as I processed that information, tilting my head as I recalled a little factoid. The Phaeron of the Nihilakh Dynasty had been named in earlier editions, a Necron who broke the dynasty’s tradition of isolationism in favour of slow and meticulous expansion. Krispekh, he was called. The embodiment of slow and steady wins the race, a stereotypical Necron leader.

Then they changed the name between editions, and by the time of the early 2020s — with the Psychic Awakening, to be specific — the Phaeron of the Nihilakh was called Shemvokh. There was no lore explanation behind it, just a silent change that was practically a retcon. It was Shemvokh who answered the Silent King’s call to war, and it was Shemvokh who personally led the defence of the world of Cherist at the head of his dynasty’s armies. He had also devoted his dynasty to the effort of building the Contra-Empyric Nexus in the Nephilim Sector before that, the same Pylon-network which Imperial scholars would later come to refer to as the Pariah Nexus in Low Gothic. 

If I recall correctly, he got his metallic ass whooped by a battle nun. I mused invalidly as we stepped onto a floating vehicle that looked like a Ghost Ark but was made for comfortable transport instead of exploding things into molecular dust. As in, it had a small open space surrounded by railing where we could stand — instead of a fuck-off huge gun — as it zipped across the empty landscape towards the looming structure of the colossal pyramid we were heading for. 

It would seem both Krispekh and Shemvokh are real, and are in fact different Necrons. The current Phaeron … and perhaps the one that is to become the new one in the next few years, or decades. I thought to myself. It wouldn’t have been all that strange that an Overlord could overthrow a Phaeron with some support. There was no difference between an Overlord and a Phaeron on the mental or technical level; they ran on the same ‘Overlord’ necrodermis frame. The difference was influence, wealth, political power and the singular position of authority over the dynasty, with the latter tending to have far more than the former. 

While a part of me kept ruminating on what that new information would mean for the meeting that I was heading to, I also took the opportunity to drink in the dreary, alien and horrifyingly dystopian scenery of the Necron tomb. Necron architecture was a thing to behold, especially since I was pretty sure having a thick grey cloud cover shrouding the sky and the light of the system’s star was all part of the ‘vibe’ they were setting, both subconsciously and intentionally. As was the pyramid and the line of monoliths and columns and arches that dotted the road leading up to the front gate, which itself was large enough to have a mid-sized Titan walk through it with ease. 

I watched a swarm of fighter aircraft fly overhead, only visible in the dark atmosphere due to the eerie greenish glow of their hulls. Then I ran my gaze across the battlements and the weapon emplacements, all connected to the tomb complex’s power generators so they had nigh-unlimited ammunition. Stationary Monoliths and weapons batteries populated every peak and stable surface, nearly two-thirds of them specialised anti-air and anti-orbital batteries while the remaining were artillery pieces that could probably give even an entire Legio of Titans a hard time. 

The architecture of the pyramid and its surroundings reminded me of that one pyramid in Mexico City, where a dozen smaller pyramids surrounded the path leading up to it — but made from glossy grey metal, of course, interwoven with thrumming lines of green energy that cast the entire complex in a futuristic light — though here, instead of the path continuing up to its peak, it led to a towering gate leading into the pyramid proper. 

I’m never going to grow bored of sights like this. I thought to myself, savouring the sight in silence. Even with all the horrible things that existed in this galaxy, it was still strangely beautiful in many places. It was sometimes challenging to ignore the underlying horror and just enjoy the scenery, but I managed it often enough, which was yet another privilege of having enough power to raze entire star systems. 

Numerous passages split off from the main one that continued on straight ahead towards the centre of the pyramid, where it transformed into a massive vertical shaft that went straight down kilometres into the crust of the planet. Our transport flew down, rapidly descending while I watched legions of Necron Warriors and Immortals march up the spiral path that ran around the entire height of the shaft. Canoptec Constructs crawled over the walls and numerous other flying carriers and vehicles fluttered about around us, going up or down or into any one of the innumerable passages opening up in the walls, wide enough to allow Doom Scythes through.

We finally reached the throne room not much later, our transport settling down on a landing pad at the end of an extravagantly decorated hallway leading up to the titanic hall where the Royal Court of the Nihilakh Dynasty was currently in session. According to Trazy, it’d been in session for five decades and could be expected to last for a few more as things currently stood. I was just another agenda brought up on it.

The actual throne room had a strangely gothic vibe to it, as defined by towering heights, numerous columns and pillars and soaring vertical lines all across the walls. It wasn’t the drab, colourless thing most Necrons thought all architecture had to be; the base was the same metallic grey, but the thrumming green lines of power covered the walls in vertical lines that decoratively accentuated the rest of the interior. Grand tapestries, ancient sigils and strange shapes hung from the ceiling, from the walls and from the columns, all primarily in light teal and turquoise, with rich gold and bronze trims and details. It felt like I’d stepped into some futurist’s reimagining of a grand gothic cathedral.

But of course, instead of fanatical worshippers or gawping foreign tourists taking pictures right next to signs forbidding exactly that, the wide-open space was populated only by soulless metallic beings who all turned as one to stare at us as we gradually approached. Besides the obvious Necron Nobles who, despite their metallic, soulless nature, couldn’t quite shed the tendency of all nobles everywhere to look as gaudy as possible, I saw Lychguards line the walls, along with a few stranger, rarer kinds of Necrons scattered here and there. I saw Royal Wardens at the archways, Vargards at periodic intervals, Deathmarks hiding high up in hidden corners, and even a few Triarch Praetorians here and there. They had packed quite a bit of power. 

One of the Lychguards standing by the gate slammed the butt of his warglaive on the floor, causing a resounding clang to echo across the hall. “Overlord Trazyn of Solemnace, and his … guest.”

That’s me. I thought to myself with a small smile as I strode up to the pompous crowd of Necron nobles arrayed in a vague semicircle around the Phaeron’s surprisingly minimalistic Blackstone throne. It was such a simple design, the seat itself was shaped like an upturned crescent and the backrest of the throne a large disk matching the crescent’s radius. Neat. 

The throne sat on a small dais, with its back to the wall of the room, and the intricate details- Necron runes and sigils- made it seem like the simple throne was actually just a tiny piece of the entire throne room. The throne might have been simple, but the entire room was designed to draw the eye to it, and when viewed as such, as the final piece of this architectural marvel, it suddenly went from curiously simplistic to pretty damned impressive. A focal point, if you will. 

Phaeron Krispekh lounged in it like someone prepared to remain in that seat for the next half a century and be as comfortable as possible while doing so. Or I suppose, taking into account the fact that Necrons were incapable of feeling physical discomfort, he was just projecting that image. He managed it quite well, looking just like a stereotypical aloof, untouchable sovereign lowering himself to entertain lesser beings such as those gathered before his dais.

His posture contrasted intensely with the majestic architecture and the brutally simple yet eye-catching throne, but that only enhanced the image he was projecting. It had to be intentional. It was too perfect of a non-verbal self-aggrandisement for it to be accidental. Noted. 

I gazed at the Phaeron and he stared back at me with a pair of unliving green eyes that probably saw more than I wanted, but not nearly enough to understand what was standing before him. I, in turn, measured him. He appeared every bit a part of the architecture, just as the throne, the tapestries, the columns and the reliefs. He wore a strange head-adornment, a golden crest that went from ear to ear, but it was only the second most significant piece of his ensemble after the oversized true glyph of the Nihilakh Dynasty emblazoned on his chest in the same gold, complemented with a teal background. One of the only two runes to actually show up on his throne was that selfsame glyph — the other being, of course, the Ankh of the Triarch — and I’d seen it also showing up all across the throne room on towering banners and Monoliths. 

From what Trazyn had told me, only the highest-ranking Necron Nobles could wear the true glyph of their dynasty, and even regular Necron Lords had to wear a simplified version of it. That glyph was the closest thing the dynasty had to a crown, a symbol that represented their mighty political status to every Necron they came across. 

Trazyn came to stand before the throne, the crowd of nobles parting around him silently, their eyes tracking both him and me with an intensity that would have made a lesser woman quake in her boots. Luckily, I was no lesser woman. It also helped that I was currently whooping the everloving shit out of one of their peers in my other Avatar, although it had to be noted that the poor Lord was seemingly still quite disoriented from his hurried awakening, as he was seemingly acting almost entirely on instinct. That gave me a good bit of confidence, though the memory of how that Chronomancer almost killed me — permanently — always gave birth to a new kernel of healthy paranoia. Who knew what superweapons the Nihilakh Dynasty, the one known to be the wealthiest of them all, had squirrelled away in the depths of their millions-of-years-old vaults? Best to handle what I could as quickly as possible. 

Trazyn bowed ever so slightly to the Phaeron, just a deep nod of his head with his hand on his chest. He held that position for a long moment before rising without prompting, which I didn’t have to be a genius to guess was a tiny bit of a faux pas. Not that Trazyn seemed to care, nor did I. Hell, he barely even drew any attention with that stunt while I stood next to him through it all with my head raised high and eyes directly meeting the Phaeron’s gaze. A small smile played on my lips, though it didn’t mean anything at the moment. The Necrons wouldn’t know the difference between human expressions; Trazyn was the Necron equivalent of a humanophile for not only having learned our languages, but also studying our body language deeply enough to mimic it himself with eerie accuracy.

“Overlord Trazyn.” Phaeron Krispekh’s voice didn’t even attempt to sound like anything other than the soulless voice of a long-dead king. It was the kind of voice you’d expect from a mummy, speaking through an old budget microphone connected to an even cheaper loudspeaker from the early days of Hollywood. It was aloof, just the right amount of arrogant, and unmistakably confident in the fact that he was the most important being on the planet, if not in the entire galaxy. “It would seem your boasting of your ally’s capabilities was not exaggerated in the end.”

The Phaeron’s words were the ember that started the wildfire, apparently being the sign that the other gathered nobles could all speak up as well now that the Phaeron had said his piece. Half the Overlords started speaking as one, then fell silent, looked at each other for a moment, but one used the other two’s silence to forge ahead without any apparent care for decorum. 

“This is ridiculous; just having this lesser creature within these hallowed halls is a disgrace, but are we truly going to pretend that it has the right to stand here as our equal?!” Shemvokh exclaimed before anyone else could, or at least I was pretty sure it was Shemvokh. Trazyn had said I’d know which one was him once he started speaking. 

Well, this is going to be fun. I thought dryly, rolling my eyes as I got ready to throw hands, just in case. Both literally and figuratively, considering this meeting could end up going either way. I’m so going to extort Trazyn for everything he’s worth for dragging me into political bullshit. Blegh.