The trip back to the planet seemed to be even longer than the trip away. He was in darkness, surrounded by crazed Necrons still screaming and flailing their limbs in frustration form their forced departure of the city. He heard the pools of skin and blood churn in the pillars as the ship travelled, some of which leaked out and prompted a brawl between the closest Necrons over who could lap it up. The sloshing intensified the hunger in his core, and he desired that cargo more than ever. Several times he tried to reach over and open the hatches, but he met scant success before a Necron clumsily bumped into him, and another fight broke out.
The ship jerked itself again and its engines calmed. It continued moving at a slower pace until it set down on the planet's surface. The ramp opened and the Necrons spilled out, crawling over each other and falling down while the Spyders pushed out the Necrons who did not leave immediately. He stumbled out of the craft back onto the street of the dark planet, pleased he had had the chance to kill and feed, but bitter the automatons ended it so soon. Up in the sky the fleet of ships were descending to the streets, each one dropping their Necrons to repopulate the empty city, and its silence was broken with their shifting and babbling. Then the ships took to the sky again and positioned themselves directly over the streets. After a brief pause, doors on their undersides opened, and their contents fell like great waterfalls flooding the city and sweeping away many Necrons and unfortunate Scarabs caught up in the torrent. After these ships dropped their cargo they departed, and another group took their place and dropped ton after ton of flesh and blood and entrails from every conceivable race. There were bodies that were wholly intact, some still alive, some mangled, some little more than muscle held together by a few bones and scraps of sinew, and they all splashed down on the waiting Necrons. And still more ships were arriving, first dropping their Necrons into the sea below then depositing their cargo to add to the sea that was billowing out in all directions to flood the city. As this all happened the Lord who had returned on one of these ships ascended the central pyramid once more and entered the little pyramid at the top, and he did not reemerge.
The furor of gibbering gave way to screams and shrieks of delight as the Necrons swam in the sea, donning skins and smearing gobbets of flesh across their unmoving jaws. Fights often broke out over the best pieces, and the screaming was joined with metal scraping as the streets were filled with fake feasting and fighting. The scene repeated itself down every street, in every alcove, and in front of every building, and even up inside of the towers Necrons sought refuge so they may enjoy their flesh in peace. Some were so covered in skin they were unnoticeable if it were not for their screaming. Others laid down to be fully immersed in the sea.
He too was enraptured by the sheer amount of gory loot. He embraced it all, standing waist-deep in gore, wearing whatever skin came his way. Faces, arms, hands, and feet were all stripped from their bodies and layered on his own. He shoved flesh and organs into his face; he still hungered greatly. His fingers were over two feet long; the additional joints in his legs were fully formed, keeping him hallway bent over. Despite how willing his limbs were to change, his mouth still did not open. The hunger was all-consuming; he kept trying to eat in hopes it would satisfy, but it did not. He moaned and screeched and kept trying to eat. He wanted more. He needed more. He always needed more. He was never satisfied, but he needed more.
While still trying to feast, he realized he had a name, but what was it? What was his name? Did he not have some cause he served? He racked his mind but could not recall. Why was he here, who were these machines, and what was his wretched name? Cramming more flesh into his face, he looked down at his chest, was there not a marking there that showed who he was? On his chest there nothing but was a dark spot continually stained by the blood dripping down. There was no marking to be seen, nothing that showed who he was. He scanned his entire body, but there were no signs or markings. There were only his claws that had served him so well and the tides of flesh to bathe in. He knew nothing else. All else had been forgotten. It had all been stripped away.
He rocked back and forth, splashing flesh and blood onto himself, screaming without end. The machines paid him no attention.