"Our King—tens of millions of years ago, he shattered the gods..."
Holding the C'tan Phase Staff, Trazyn stood silently before the silent gates of the tomb-fortress in the Crownworlds of the Necron Dynasties.
"But this time, does he still have the power to shatter Her again? I have my doubts..."
Bang!
"Mind your words!"
A Necron Overlord, his body a flawless construct of living metal and his cloak composed of high-tier necrodermis scales, suddenly swung his staff at his companion—who, glowing green-eyed, was clearly scheming about what to pilfer next. Striking him as both a reprimand and a warning, the Overlord spoke with sharp seriousness:
"Trazyn! Stop looking around with that scheming gaze of yours. Drop your little habits. This is not the time for your mischief. I don't know what you experienced on Cadia, but if what you claim is true—that you have found..."
"...or rather, bargained for—a promise among the stars that would allow our kind to regain both soul and flesh. The tangled stars and chaotic timelines have broken my divinations, but perhaps you may indeed bring forth a turning point."
After a long silence, the Necron Overlord's massive, crown-encased golden head flickered with streams of data light—an almost human pulse of longing radiating from his emerald monocular optic.
"But I warn you—do not repeat what you did last time, when you dumped those hyper-toxic, rapidly reproducing creatures you found on the human jungle world Catachan into my tomb world as a prank!"
"Ah, ah... Orikan, don't dwell on the past. My apologies. That time, I simply had to borrow back my astrolabe in that manner."
The vocal modulator of Trazyn's speech unit resonated softly, his emerald eyes flickering mischievously.
"I know how much you treasure it, truly. But you've been working far too hard, my dear Astromancer. Think of it as... a chance to relax a little. Heh. And what's more relaxing than a good hunt, hmm?"
"Your astrolabe? That was my astrolabe! And that's your excuse for releasing a thirty-meter-long, highly venomous, hyper-fertile reptile into my observatory?! Don't change the subject."
"Uhuu~ weren't you the one bringing up old stories?"
Quickly turning his head away, Trazyn gazed—not with reverence, but with amused curiosity—at every corner of this tomb world that symbolized the absolute authority of the Necron Dynasties, the final dignity of the Necrontyr race whose flesh and souls had long perished.
This was the very heart of the Szarekhan Dynasty.
Trazyn scratched his metallic chin thoughtfully, the sound of zzz–crkkk echoing from the friction of necrodermis. Hiss... everything here's such good stuff. Some relics even dated back to the earliest stages of the War in Heaven... ahem.
Back to business.
Despite his mischievous nature, Trazyn still possessed a sense of duty befitting his station as an Overlord. With the Necrons' collective unity and identity at an all-time low, he deemed it necessary to pull some strings and gather allies after boarding this metaphorical ship.
After parting ways with the Otherworldly Supreme of all races beyond—the Divine Empress Selene—Trazyn had wasted no time in rushing to the Szarekhan Dynasty, bringing along his cryptic friend, the "Diviner" Orikan, to pay homage.
Yes—homage.
For the ruler of the Szarekhan Dynasty was none other than the supreme sovereign of the Necrons, head of the Triarch, and the last Silent King himself—Szarekh.
Undeniably, before the Great Sleep, the Szarekhan Dynasty had been the most prestigious, influential, and powerful of all Necron dynasties and their Necrontyr ancestors.
However, after the Silent King's self-exile, their Great Sleep was far from peaceful.
They suffered countless retaliations from the vengeful Aeldari, who scoured the galaxy desecrating and destroying Szarekhan tombs and treasures.
And worse, Szarekh's departure left many Necrons feeling betrayed and abandoned. Only after the Silent King had destroyed the Command Protocols of Supreme Control did they realize how deeply they had once been enslaved.
Their anger and hatred toward their departed monarch drove some dynasties to wage war upon Szarekhan itself. Others, awakening earlier than their kin, seized the opportunity to manipulate power, usurping or annexing the dynasty's outposts for their own ends.
Of course, everything changed the moment the Silent King ended his sixty-million-year self-imposed exile and returned to the galaxy.
Though the Szarekhan Dynasty had suffered greatly—its worlds devastated by prolonged targeted assaults, sabotage from rival dynasties, and encroachments during their king's absence—the moment Szarekh returned, things shifted once more.
True, the Szarekhan Dynasty seemed to have lost its dominance after the long millennia of turmoil, but still—the Silent King had returned.
Yes, his authority had waned after his exile and the destruction of the Supreme Control Protocols, yet who among them truly had the audacity to challenge him openly?
So far, aside from one upstart tyrant—the self-proclaimed "Storm King," who had staged a military coup during his former monarch's slumber—none had dared to confront the Silent King directly. Some were opportunists, others rebellious, yet none dared defy him outright.
Many of the reawakened Necron dynasties, ever pragmatic, quickly bowed once more before the living-metal-clad figure of their ancient ruler. Even those who doubted him found their actions far more obedient than their words.
As for Orikan, the Silent King's close advisor, he technically commanded no dynasty or pharaoh of his own. He led instead a secretive cabal of tomb technicians—a coalition force drawn from multiple dynasties.
Connections had their privileges. Thanks to Orikan, Trazyn—the Overlord with a rather infamous reputation—was now able to enter the Szarekhan Crownworlds openly, where treasures abounded at every corner.
"By the way," Trazyn said, tone casual but eyes glinting with mischief, "it's said that fragments of the C'tan Deceiver are imprisoned here, yes? Well then, Orikan, how about it? That's The Deceiver, the most hated being of our kind. Fancy using its shard for a little... eternal time-travel experiment? I only need your permi—"
"Silence!"
"..."
The royal Lychguards—the Silent King's own Triarch Praetorians—stared impatiently at the two Overlords whispering to each other. Though their intellects were not as refined as that of Lords or Overlords, they still caught fragments of the hushed exchange—
A promise to restore soul and flesh.
Thud—!
Suddenly, a deep, resonant tone—like the chime of an ancient bell—echoed through the entire tomb world. Countless emerald eyes turned as the massive doors of the Silent Hall began to move. One by one, black-green Tesseract Vaults, shaped like angular pyramids, ascended into the artificial night sky of the tomb world.
Their surfaces shimmered with flowing silver like liquid metal, flashing with iridescent auras of horror. From the conduits and carapaces of Canoptek Spiders and Scarabs, arcs of green lightning leapt toward the vaults' apexes, igniting flickers of ghostly fire.
Between the vaults, bright currents of energy rippled—silken streams of light and electric sparks drifting like luminous banners. Along with them came endless waves of information—bursts of anguish, hatred, and torment.
Trazyn knew what they were looking at—the Tesseract Vaults that held the shards of the C'tan.
And as the gates of the Silent Hall opened, it could mean only one thing: the arrival of the Silent King.
Thud. Thud.
Without hesitation, Trazyn turned and knelt on one knee toward the central vault cluster that shone like a constellation. Orikan did the same. Then followed the Lychguards, the attendants of the Triarch Council, and finally every Necron warrior in the hall.
All except one.
A figure strode forward—taller than any of the others. His body was a masterpiece of craftsmanship beyond description. Where other Necrons appeared skeletal and lifeless, his form was graceful, almost vibrant. Each of his movements carried undeniable precision and vitality.
Even in the presence of their ancient absolute ruler, every other Overlord seemed diminished by comparison.
Step... step...
After three measured steps, the herald of the Silent King stood before Trazyn. Both hands held a tall ceremonial broadsword. His head was adorned with a high crown, his shoulders draped in a cloak of smooth, interlinked metal plates. In a voice that resonated like sacred machinery, he declared solemnly:
"Trazyn of the Nihilakh Dynasty. Orikan the Diviner. State your purpose."
It was well known that according to the traditions of the Triarch, the Silent King himself would remain eternally silent. His words would be carried by the other two members of the Triarch—or by his chosen heralds.
"My King, upon the fortress world of Cadia, within the Imperium of Man, guided by the Celestial Orrery, I encountered a new, complete extra-dimensional Star God—and forged an agreement..."
For once, Trazyn's tone was solemn, stripped of its usual irony and jest. In concise, illustrated clarity, he recounted Selene's appearance.
He described how Selene had seized one of his avatars, how She bestowed divine might upon flesh, gifting soul to soulless metal, her power tearing across the galaxy. He told of her declaration of war upon the gods of the Warp, of the extinction of their ancient foes—the true descendants of the Aeldari, the Dark Eldar of Commorragh.
He spoke, too, of the Apostle suspected of possessing both Star God and Chaos God traits, of Her legions—armies existing simultaneously in the material universe and the Sea of Souls—and of the Warp-born Honkai Beasts, a tide of destruction rivaling the Tyranid Hive Fleets themselves.
As Selene's envoy, Trazyn, through the gift She had granted him, managed to peer—however faintly—through the now-collapsing veil of reality, glimpsing echoes of the celestial clash.
Tap... tap...
As Trazyn spoke, the Silent King's fingers rhythmically tapped the shaft of his supreme phase scepter. Anger and yearning boiled within his living-metal frame.
The Silent King's gaze fell upon Trazyn.
Then, through his herald, came the voice of the Triarch:
"Perhaps She indeed possesses this power... but the Star Gods cannot be trusted. We have already lost once before. Shall we stumble again upon the same path?"
"The Necrontyr cannot afford another fall."
He repeated the words.
"Trazyn of the Nihilakh Dynasty, am I to understand that you have already accepted this so-called pact with the foreign Star God?"
Expression calm, Trazyn answered simply, "Yes."
"You?! How dare you—!" This time, it was not the herald but the High Justicar himself, his voice sharp and cold as a blade.
Trazyn ignored the outraged stare of the Szarekhan emissary.
"The Necrons have stagnated for sixty million years, my King. Tell me—how long has it been since a new life was born among us? A new consciousness? A new idea? Our technology, our culture, our philosophy—they have long since ceased to evolve. We are decaying, eroding in eternal stillness."
"I am sick of the sterile logic of my kin—the endless cycles of politics played by the same few minds. Are we still living beings, my King? Or are we merely husks of the Necrontyr we once were? If a new chance—a sliver of change—appears before me..."
"Then I will take it. Even if it comes wrapped in the poisoned bait of a schemer. Slaves of the Star Gods? So what? How much worse could it truly be?"
"Besides..."
Trazyn rose slowly, extending his left hand. Then, deliberately, he peeled back the thin, smooth layer of living metal that covered it.
Instantly, the glow of a thousand green optics widened in shock. Beneath the polished necrodermis shimmered a mass of pulsing, violet-red flesh—wet, living tissue, veined and vibrant, covering most of his right hand.
Every Overlord, every Lord, every Necron present—each one a high-ranking commander—recognized what they saw. This was no delusion born of the Flayer Curse. This was true flesh, genuine life growing from the soulless metal of a Necron body.
"You—you have already accepted the gift of the foreign Star God?!"
Gasps rippled through the gathered Necron elite. Even the heralds faltered.
For beings of preserved will and consciousness, their desire to regain flesh and soul burned as fiercely as the oldest human cultist's faith—perhaps even stronger.
"Noble Szarekh, last and greatest of the Silent Kings—this is the message I bring from the Empress of All Beyond, the Goddess of Finality—of Collapse and Creation, of Destruction and Order, of the divine Selene."
"To offer loyalty to the Divine Empress... and in return, our Necron kind shall reclaim flesh—and a future."
Trazyn raised his hand high. The violet-red glow intensified, flaring outward toward the Silent King.
At once, the Praetorians moved—ready to strike, fearing regicide—but Szarekh did not move. He remained perfectly still, his silent gaze fixed upon Trazyn.
Finally—
"Wait."
It was his own voice—the true voice of the Silent King, ruler of all Necrons.
He extended his hand, grasping the beam of light.
When it faded, a crystalline cube of violet-red light hovered in his palm.
"A decision... shall be made only after I have met Her myself."
Bzzzzzz—
...
Elsewhere—in the Eye of Terror.
Unlike the measured deliberations of the Necrons, one heretical priest's mood was far from composed.
"Damn it—!"
—
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