A/N: Reupload because the formatting got corrupted with heretical Dark Mechanicus scrap code and completely messed up. Thanks to the people who pointed this out. I posted this before I went to bed so I didn't realize at first. Oops.

"No." the Inquisitor flatly replied, relaxing his stance as an awkward silence formed despite the raging battle behind them.

"..."

"No...?" Tazmun, rediscovering the concept of confusion for the first time in a few million years, lowered his weapon in disbelief, "Honored foe... what do you mean, no...?"

"I'm not going to duel you! Your Lychguard are hard enough! And you also just sliced open that Marine like canned meat!" Peratix pointed at the dead Conservator, laying in a crimson pool of viscera just behind Tazmun.

As the Necron turned back to look at his most recent kill again, Peratix decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Making a break back towards the defensive line, he dove into cover while ordering some of the Sororitas and Stormtroopers to open fire. The still slightly bewildered Royal Warden was an easy target for the hail of lasfire and bolt rounds that came after him. Unfortunately, being an easy target didn't mean being an easy kill. Sparks flew off his exquisitely decorated necrodermis chest, as he calmly emanated an aura of anger from his unmoving metal face.

PZZZTT

A bright blue ball of plasma streaked across the hall, slamming into Tazmun's back and charring some of the scales on his metallic cape. Mangos J-1M readjusted his aim as Guardsmen and Eldar rushed forward, letting loose with lasguns and shuriken catapults, "Acknowledgement: Thank you for the distraction, Inquisitor."

"Thanks..." The Inquisitor sheepishly pretended he hadn't just tried to save himself from dying gloriously in melee combat for the Emperor against an unliving champion many lifetimes older than him.

Caught between two incoming forces with more of his Lychguard being cut down, Tazmun weighed his options. Absent mindedly deflecting an incoming bolt with a flick of his glaive, a panel in the wall opened up to reveal a crackling green portal.

"Warriors… return to me!" a slightly more feminine voice rang out and echoed across every hall and chamber, "Work still must be done!"

Without a word, Tazmun stepped in and disappeared in a flash of green light. One by one, the Lychguard disengaged from whatever combat they were in and followed their leader through the portal except for the last one whose body was melted into slag courtesy of Magos J-1M's patented plasma weight loss program.

The panel seamlessly slid back into place with nothing to suggest it was ever anything different. Slowly, a fog rose from the ground and began to cover the battlefield. Shots were fired through what was a thin mist at first, but as it increased in density, non-power armored soldiers began to stick to cover more while flashlights proved ineffectual in trying to pierce the fog. As the green arcs of energy began to disappear, the expeditionary forces slowed their own return fire as most could barely see beyond the entrances at this point. And then, the tomb was silence once more saved for the humming of eldritch machinery and the bated breaths of nervous soldiers who could hear their hearts pounding in their chests, still filled with adrenaline and waiting for another attack.

The guardsmen from the Magos's group filled holes in the defensive lines just in case as auspexes, helmets and scanners flipped through a dozen different filters to scan out the area. Medics began to perform light first aid on those who could still be saved and administering stims to those who kept their weapons trained at the long halls that were filled with Necron legions a few moments ago.

"I... I think they're all gone sir." one of the Guardsmen looked over to Inquisitor Peratix, who gently poked a wound he just realized he had, while still keeping his lasgun aimed down the corridor.

"We also cannot detect anything on our own scanners either." a Tau battlesuit reported with a Conservator Marine reporting the same, "If we are to withdraw, I recommend we do it now with haste."

"Affirmation: Casualties statistics high. Recommendation: Withdraw and reorganize." the Magos lowered his massive plasma gun and began to examine his chassis; he'd need to get them replaced. Had he still been fully flesh, the holes and burns his robotic body now possessed would have easily killed him, "Addendum: Intel inadequate, 91% chance root of mission failure."

"Mon-keigh! What are you insinuating?" the Warlock stopped over, staring down (technically up) at the metal mon-keigh who stood at least a head taller than him.

"Acknowledgement: Intel suggested small Necron presence. Report: Large Necron presence."

"Had your primitive minds not been so impetuous and eager for self-destruction, this operation could have been a success. Need I remind you the entire reason we are entangled in this is because BOTH of you primitives tried to expand beyond your ability and awoke the unliving?"

"Query: Self Destruction? Irony: Noted."

With that, the expedition devolved into bickering and arguments. The Eldar were blamed for their faulty foresight in that told them they would only need small kill teams and not proper armies. The Imperials were blamed for poor coordination and using a Magos and an Inquisitor, both of whom had little experience in leading anything larger than a retinue from afar, as commanders. And the Tau were accused of cowardice for not advancing forward with the rest and instead staying behind. Voices were raised and so were guns. Mask's mask lit up with a ":O" face as they raised their staff in preparation to smack someone with it.

BANG

"SILENCE." The Inquisitor roared and pointed his bolt pistol at the Sororitas who was already aiming at one of the remaining Wraithguard, "Sister, you pull that trigger and you will get the guardsmen-commissar experience of a lifetime. Now, things have gone sideways, and we can either stay here, hope the Necrons don't come back and kill each other. Or we can leave while we still can and get a proper force in here to purge everything. The Tau had a good idea, regardless of the intent of their actions before, I suggest we all start to do it."

One of the guardsmen began to raise his voice in opposition, but Peratix placed a bolt between his feet without looking to shut him up. With the dead silence of the tomb complex, the expedition carefully and cautiously retraced their way back to the garage door while trying to raise comms. There were as many guns pointed at the walls as there were at someone else.

=][= | =][= | =][= | =][= | =][=

Max flinched as the oil jumped out of the crackling hot pan, carefully trying not to get any on to his hand while removing the bacon. Assured by the forward operating bases that he did not need to intervene, Max went off to make some food. Eargerly watching the human pull out the large strips of fried meat, the Kroot watched with wide eyes and hungry mouths. Previously, the Shapers had forbidden the consumption of "bacon" out of fears it would lead to evolutionary dead ends. Max however, convinced them otherwise and that prohibition only ever increased illicit demand. Now, the Shapers just pretended not to notice the conga line of Kroot who waited at the shuttle port that made regular journeys to the other part of the Tau settlement that was built along the kitchen half wall whenever Max brought out that plastic pack of bacon.

"Here you go, enjoy. It's still hot so be careful." Max pushed the plate of bacon over and immediately the crowd of Kroot descended upon it, ripping chunks of the still sizzling meat.

"Mon-keigh!" Ylandin flew past Max's face on a jetbike as he began to clean up his stove, "The expedition into the tomb of the unliving would appear to request your assistance in opening the gate."

Leaving the Kroot to munch on their meal, Max made his way to open the garage door. He looked to the counter and saw all the tiny soldiers rush around, still attempting to reconnect to the expedition team. The Guard had already brought down a pair of flyers and a medical team, presumably just in case of the worst-case scenario. Moving past, Max cracked open the door enough to let the teams out and took a sharp inhale that caused him to shiver when he saw what remained come out.

First came the Eldar, their proud demeanor lessened as the Warlock led the remaining Wraithguard back to their Hanging Realm, a bundle of soul stones in its arms. Next came the Inquisitor, clutching at his side and clearly hopped up on some sort of stimulant to get by, shaking ever so slightly as he boarded a Valkyrie. Some of the stormtroopers and sisters had to be carried over shoulders or by less wounded pairs out before medical teams rushed to them. The lone Tau battlesuit's jump jets spluttered and sparked as it leapt out of the darkness and almost collapsed onto the ground upon landing.

Tau ground troops and Imperial Guardsmen carried their comrades and each other over their shoulders out to be laid out. Max felt a lump travel down his throat as he counted too many missing limbs and too many tiny soldiers laying perfectly still to be a good sign. At the very end, the rest of the Imperials hobbled out. The Magos made his way over to the Inquisitor's valkyrie, slower than Max remembered as the Space Marines were the last to leave. They bore some truly crippling injuries, missing limbs, huge burns and shattered armor that did not bode well for the flesh underneath. But they stoically marched on normally as if nothing happened and minimal signs of pain or discomfort.

The room was filled with a frenzy as Max closed the door. The moans and groans of the wounded filled the air as medical teams nearby rushed to patch the wounded. Those with more severe injuries were being taken aboard transports and rushed to whatever proper medical facilities each race possessed. The truly horrifying, were those that had to be left to die, their wounds too fatal to be treatable and the doctor's time too valuable to be wasted on them. Without thinking, Max bolted out of the room and grabbed his first aid kit from his kitchen and began to open it up.

He set the box of basic medical supplies on the ground and opened when he realized that all of his stuff was too big for the miniature medis to use. A single band aid would have completely covered someone. The alcohol pads were more suited for cleaning vehicles than to be used topically.

His eyes widened as he took another sharp, uncomfortable breath while his hand shook; there was nothing he could do to help. For all his effort to try and give these lost peoples a new home on his own, he could do nothing but watch. The mon-keigh titan, the Gue'vesa'o, Sir Maximas, for all the strength he had compared to the people under his roof, he couldn't help them in this time. Leaving the first aid kit on the floor, Max rose to his feet and silently shuffled his way on to his couch.

His heart skipped a beat when he thought of all the soldiers who didn't make it out. Those who had to be left in the darkness, begging out to whatever god they prayed to save them or crying out for their parents like lost children. Running his hands through his hair, Max tried to keep his calm, taking deep breaths that clawed their way out of his throat.

"You are distressed. You possess so much strength, yet not the strength to help the wounded." Ylandin appeared on his jetbike on the coffee table and dismounted, "Your spirit cries because your body cannot."

"Thanks, as if I didn't know." Max glared at the Farseer and hissed, "Any other wise insights?"

"I can see it in your mind, you feel responsible for the failure of today. To you, oaths are made of stone and not easily broken, but now you see the rubble that comes with it."

"You know, you would really, really suck as a therapist or counsellor."

Ylandin took off his helmet and looked up at Max, showing his face for the first time, "The burden of responsibility is heavier than entire worlds. But that is why so few can wield it. One of your conditions for not fighting was to keep everyone fed and safe. And today you have failed one condition."

"And what about you? Don't you feel any responsibility for this? With your future predictions? Or are you going to find a way to blame everyone but the Eldar." Max snapped back.

"Even under the most ideal circumstances, the future is unclear and ever moving. Seeing the correct path is not always the same as starting on the correct path. And having been displaced so far from my own has only made it harder."

"So, you don't feel responsible?"

"I am a Farseer. I don't feel responsible for what happens to those under me, I am responsible for what happens to those under me. I can see a thousand paths before me, but I cannot see which path is always the correct one, nor which paths have already begun. Yet my people look to me to find such a golden path."

Max got up and walked over to the sliding glass door that led out to his backyard porch and leaned against it. There was a surprising amount of dead birds and animals outside, maybe a sign from the universe. He took another deep breath, as the Farseer came to join him on his bike. The Kroot on the countertop quizzically looked over at the pair from their perch, trying not to push each other off trying to listen in.

"Max, a lesson I once had to learn is that when leading warriors, you will always come back with less than you set out with. Even in victory. To walk along the edge of the blade is to be sliced by it. I am sure that all the commanders here have had to learn such a lesson. To dwell on each lost soul is a weakness none of us could afford in our daily struggles before."

"Does that weakness mean you can't feel compassion towards the soldiers?"

Ylandin opened his mouth before closing it, closing his eyes to think as to what to say next, "Your heart is heavy because you believe you cannot help. Let me show you otherwise, follow."

Following the jetbike, Max walked under the Hanging Realm of the Eldar, its bridges and paths filled with rushing figures tending to the wounded or whatever other tasks they performed by Christmas lights. Entering back into the laundry room, Max watched as the first aid kit he had brought out had a chain of soldiers hauling things out of it like a chain of ants. Sterile cloth and band aids were cut into more usable bandages. A Tau medic and a techpriest tried to figure out what each ancient Terran pill did what and which would be safe for Xenos biology. The tube of burn bream had been thrown over by a pair of Wraithguard who were now rolling the end to push out small squirts to be used as limited remedy for gauss burns.

"An inability to intervene does not remove the ability to assist." Ylandin faced Max who first looked stunned but slowly warmed his smile.

Without saying a word, Max dropped to his knees and began to pull items out of the first aid kit while informing the Tau and the techpriest about what pills did what. Although too large to personally involve himself in any of the actual treatment, Max brought over cups of fresh water for not only the wounded, but also the doctors and the FOB operators. He even managed to bring over an empty pre-built Tau habitat so there was a slightly more sterile place to tend to wounds. Slowly, the wounded were triaged and delivered back to their bases along with the dead bodies. In their place, command staff and army clerks filled up the countertop, bringing more equipment with them.

A fire for vengeance had been lit and whatever infighting happened in the garage gave way for it. This time, the commanders took center stage as they planned the operation. It was unanimously agreed that the Necrons could not be left alone in the garage. General Bragana was in favor of an overwhelming assault from the outside launched from the driveway. After Max informed him that he had no way of opening the garage from the outside, the Eldar proposed a series of lightning raids that targeted specific components to whittle away the Necrons. That plan was soon thrown out as it would be slow at best and a repeat of what just happened at worse.

Ultimately, it was decided that a modified version of Bragana's idea would be used: an invasion launched from the laundry room. They had ample knowledge of the layout and environment of the garage-turned-catacomb and the number of surprises they would face was significantly less. After the door was opened, artillery would fire in, providing a covering bombardment for mechanized units to rush in and form a beach head. Foot troops would then join them and form a multi-layered assault; each unit would have another unit a short distance behind them to prevent ambushes by Necrons too spooky to adhere to normal laws of physics like everyone else.

.

"So, the plan is set and we're all in agreement?" the Grand General looked up from the holotable with a projection of the garage's new layout slowly spinning to see several nodding heads, "Excellent. We will meet back here at sundown. Now go, make your preparations and drill your soldiers, we have some ancient skeletons who need our help being put back to rest. Oh, and Sir Maximas?"

"Yessss?" Max's eyes met with Bragana's as both of them had a slight grin appear on their face, their minds clearly on the same wavelength.

"Titans of the Legio Titanicus are typically beyond my authority to request but they provide excellent vision and possess potent combat abilities along with being unparalleled morale boosters."

Max lowered his face and dropped his voice just a little into his "serious" tone with a devilish smile.

"Terran-class Titan, Gloriana Maxima has accepted your request. Standing by for tasking."

A/N: Well a lot of stuff has happened in my life all at once but I managed to find some time to write another some more. Shoutout to LordMentat whose review gave me the kick I needed to finish writing. Again, thank you for all of the views, favorites and follows! As you can probably tell, reviews are the best way of getting my lazy butt to write more often! Thanks for reading!