Prologue: Blue Bushes and Red-Tipped Grasses
Deep in that endless void, a white spark flickered to an ember.
He had been called Hakondes once. Long ago. Long before the world of Terra existed. He had forgotten what it meant to be a good son, a hardworking father, a dedicated Necrontyr. He had forgotten what his life was like as a botanist, and his dedication to the work. He did not remember that his son had gotten sick, or the days of darkness that would follow. He did not remember the beautiful woman with the violet eyes who had smiled at him, or how she had saved him from his own demons. None of that mattered now. It was forgotten. Erased. He could barely glimpse his own name, yet, how little he knew about his past life was of no concern or imagination. What he felt was not pain or emotion. What he felt now was sheer willpower. No foe would stand between himself and his goal, as long as he still held this hateful fire that raged inside his metallic, greasy shell. Robotic legs carried his bidding without complaint over cumbersome boulders and steep stretches of verdant hillsides lush with flora in an endless march of damnation. His metal feet grinding the pebbles and rocks beneath them with a thin, sleek structure that belied its crushing weight. Traversing up the hillsides into thinner and colder atmosphere was of no concern to Hakondes as he does not rely on breathing oxygen like his past biological shell once had. He doesn't remember dying, or what he had perceived the meaning of his life to have been, but the repair scars where his sentient metal shell had healed him had not fully molded together in places. They served as malevolent reminders to his fragmented consciousness of operating a living tomb. Now there are uneven strokes of folded metal, constantly churning inwards towards the hot hateful fire inside his chest cavity. The orange glow of the horizontal vents in his chest cavity mimicked a living ribcage, inside which was illuminated internally by a ball of brilliant fire. He lumbered as he walked over the rocky hillside infected with red-tipped grass and generous blue bushes that simulated waves in the wind. How many steps were taken to reach this hillside, or how many hillsides have since been scaled to get here were inconsequential.
There is no color in his vision and for as long as he could remember, that's how it has always been. What he could see is a blurry mess of white and gray shapes and the energies that surround them. There was one certainty amidst the misty white vision that formulated inside his metal skull: to hunt the beings in the galaxy that would interfere with his master's plans. It's voice was always in his thoughts. Dictating, arguing, and demanding. Most of the time incoherent, it is just muffled gargles and frustrated cries of rage. The master's voice is inhuman and robotic, as if another entity is translating its thoughts into understandable language. He found himself approaching trees the size of mountains, with trunks as thick as tanks. They were attacked by wild blue bushes at their roots that carved into and out of the ground in prophetic designs. He continued on into the shroud of trees and flora, as the last of sunlight urged him onwards.
Hakondes has few memories of his life. Most of which are aiming the sharp, jagged bayonet of his double-barreled gauss reaper at the swirling-colored clouds of energy in his vision. The large bayonet below the bottom barrel is carved from crystal spires deep within their tomb worlds or crafted on their massive Monoliths. Near the trigger is a series of coils of unknown elemental origin and behavior. The energy coils seem to only react with the metallic hands and minds that wield them. Glowing with unholy energy, the gauss weapons become an extension of the undying metal lifeforms. Aside from being virtually blind to the beauties and details of the world around him, his aim is deadly. Once the deep red energies emerge in his simulated vision, an unstoppable force takes over his body. The pistons and joints inside his sturdy shell swell with tension and scalding liquid pumps into his systems from his fiery core. The liquid that courses through his body is spiked with a surge of willpower and determination. His focus narrows, his metal fingers sink themselves into the perfectly cut grooves in the handle and grip of his gauss reaper.
In the distance, a dark shaped silhouette emerges in his cloudy vision. It begins to advance towards him from the cover of the bushes and trees, slowly at first then accelerates to a charge. The trigger is in his mind, his thoughts of extermination create reality before his eyes. With lightning-fast reactions, the deep-red cloud in his vision that was once advancing towards him is instantly inundated with blinding white flashes and beams. The silhouette crashes with the terrain and the red glow fades from the unmoving shape. The body of the human male lay dead in the dirt. The silhouette that charged unknowingly did so into a hurricane of orange fire that arked and spat into the air like a gasoline fire in the wind. His armor was illegitimate against the flurry of rage from the robotic humanoids weapon. A half piece of plate had covered the man's chest and chainmail hung along the bottom trim that tucked into his leather belt. The chainmail had already melted and the iron chest plate was bubbling from the heat of the blast.
Leather and cloth covered the man's arms and legs in a forest green and brown camouflage that seemed to be rather effective in the verdant landscape. However, the camouflage was ineffective against Hakondes's vision. The man held onto a spear made from etched wood and carved stone and a shield made from a turtle's shell. The shell had many deep symmetrical ridges that intersected the frame of polished iron. The frame and shell were wrapped with leather straps to a large iron buckle as the handle. The weathered appearance of the iron helmet on the ground, wet with blood and boiling from the evaporative effects of the gauss weapon, was a sure sign that he was an enemy scout. He stared at the corpse. How he knew this, he still did not know. Had he engaged with this same enemy before? It seemed so sudden and foreign, yet expected and familiar. He was filled with doubt and seized with questions. Where was he even? He didn't know where he came from, or how he got here.
His eyes flickered.
His posture suddenly straightened. He realized he hadn't moved after eliminating this naive foe.. He was surrounded by massive trees and bushes that danced together. His visibility was poor, as thick trunks from the towering trees claimed every few meters of real-estate. The air was still and calm around him. Sensors within his sentient metal detect variations in atmosphere changes and relate that information to his core. The natural path he was standing in was lit by a thin ray of sunlight that descended through the leaves above him. Sunlight touched his body and, in its radiance, he glowed with a magnificence. He turned his head and looked at the fallen warrior and his turtle shield, then glanced at his surroundings. For a moment, and just a moment, he saw cascading blue bushes and flowering trees with vibrant, red-tipped grass all around him. Then it was over. The maddening white and gray cloudy vision reappeared as if it was never gone, and his gaze focused ahead on the path. His eyes glowed with fire, illuminating his metallic skull in a glow that contrasts the deep purple and blue of twilight, as the last of the sun crests over the final hillside. Stepping over the corpse, Hakondes's foot sank and crunched deep into the arm of the warrior as he advanced onwards.
Hakondes was alone on this planet. He woke up among broken metal warriors and metal allies. His sleek, tall frame was pinned to the ground by piles of metal bodies and debris. Scarabs of his origin were littered across the courtyard he was laying in like weeds. They are nasty and vicious metal bugs that execute protocols ingrained in their minds at the time of their creation, like he was, millions of years ago. The scarabs were much smaller than he was, but deadly in their numbers. The spyders are the larger variant, capable of crushing buildings with their extraordinarily large pointed legs. Scarabs and spyders were among the servitor constructs who protected their Tomb Worlds. Over 60 million years ago, great cities and entire worlds were forged into expansive, protective tombs where the sentient metal beings slept. As the billions of warriors slept, the scarab and spyder automatons were charged with defending the tombs from outsiders, along with the defense systems and weaponry upon the tombs themselves. Within the massive tombs that penetrated the stratosphere, a deep consciousness monitored and protected the denizens within. Referred to as the Tomb Mind, it dictated the start of the revivication process and had full control of the automatons until an Overlord was awoken, who it could pass on full control to. It was a slow and arduous undertaking, often infected with errors from the blow of time. Mindless beings who were sometimes disconnected from the Tomb Mind would find themselves without the protocols that dictated their existence. There was little known about the Necrons, as they were named. However, their treachery against alien species was known to be deadly and relentless.
Dead trees now populated the corners of buildings and the curved streets, lying with defeat and still ablaze. Vines and moss had once kissed the sides of the cobblestone buildings, now they were all black with ash or mutilated by collateral damage. Small robotic spider-like legs were scattered amongst the broken stone houses and streets nearby. Evidence of fires were present in almost every building, even the stone walkways that were visible through the carnage were scarred with ash and rubble. Robotic limbs hung from trees by wire and among the metal bodies lay a gruesome scene of flesh and blood. Human bodies and burnt flesh mixed with the smoke, filling the air with a suffocating aroma of death. It had no effect on Hakondes or his body. The only thing that commanded him was an empty dedication to destroying an enemy he had no memory of.
Hakondes woke to his chest cavity reanimating itself together, which is where he feels the voice of his master originate. It speaks to him through unsupressable thoughts and whispers that he cannot ignore. However, its voice has been fading and he lacks the constant orders that turned his body into an unhesitating blade of destruction. His back was braced against an ornate stone fountain that was no longer in working order. The metal in his chest heated itself and folded inwards until it hardened and the thrum of the fire within him stabilized. His legs were pinned by other robotic bodies and limbs much larger than his own. The body next to him had been thrown into the fountain and still remained there. The beautiful stone masonry was scattered around him and a pool of water, blood, and oil soaked the cobblestone and grounds around the mass of debris. The pool shone a reflective color, mimicking the yellow sunset. Hakondes looked around him, collecting the images of white and gray to formulate his surroundings. His memories are gone and the only thing that he could think of now is to hunt down whoever killed his brothers and attempted to kill him. His rage burned in his chest and the frustrated pained screams in his head were all that he could hear now. He braced his palms to the ground and surged with all of his strength to free himself of the carnage of bodies around him. The metal grinding against metal shrieked with a painful sound as his arms shook with tension and his legs produced white sparks. Near the apex of his arm's length, he dug his heels into the stone beneath him and lifted his left arm up to grip the rim of the fountain. Now with leverage, the other arm responded with the same motion and his fingers crunched into the stone, cracking it to the appearance of a spider web. Determination and willpower exceeded his expectations and he freed himself from the tangle of bodies on top of him and launched himself backwards into the empty fountain with a harsh crack. Rolling over to his side, unhurt, he attempted to stand and immediately fell down again. He looked down and saw his right leg involuntarily amputated below the knee plate during the struggle to free himself. If he could sigh, he would. But these feelings were not coded into his mind. This would only delay his actions for a few moments as his body would reanimate itself soon. He braced his back against the inside wall of the fountain and looked around again. This time, seeing the body of a metal form face down next to him, rubble from the large fountain crushed his chest guaranteeing no chance of reanimation. A weapon lay next to him, a short barreled, bayoneted gauss reaper. It appeared intact but lifeless, almost like the body next to it. Hakondes peered down to his outstretched leg to see the structure forming for his new leg. A long-pointed metal rod protruded from the broken point like a bone, growing and twisting as other strands of metal wire magically wrapped themselves around and fused with the rod. Like a plant growing in fast-motion. This was a slow and painless process because there was no danger that required his reanimation abilities. In the face of a threat, the reanimation protocols encoded in his consciousness can repair entire limbs as fast as an Astartes warrior can tear them off. But with this increase in power to reanimate, his body would lack in strength and his mind would cloud with perpetual adrenaline. Laying here in the sea of bodies, he would have to be patient for his protocols to do what they are meant to do.
But he didn't. He fell to his chest with a small splash of the residual water and oil that remained inside the fountain, and used his hands to crawl to the weapon. When he wrapped his hands around the grip, the weapon hummed and the power coils hissed and spat as they boiled water. The shorter length of the double-barrel weapon made it easier to aim from the hip at shorter ranges, but the effectiveness of such shots wouldn't penetrate effective armor from farther than 200 yards. The coils in the gauss reaper are designed for higher burst damage at close range as they unleash terrifying bursts of energy from their tips. The Necrons are equipped with technology of unknown origin and construct, thought to be created in a time long past. The energy blasts from their weapons are like small solar flares that disintegrate even the air around their touch. Alternatively, the gauss flayer was a longer, single-barreled rifle and was just as common as the gauss reaper on the battlefield. The longer barrel of the flayers provided additional accuracy at longer ranges, and the blasts of energy that it emitted were more concentrated. In the firefight that just seemed to end, these gauss weapons were most likely responsible for disintegrating whatever lived here, along with the frenzy of claw and blade from the scattered spyders and scarabs.
Why was he here? What was his mission? Hakondes thought.
His foot had reanimated enough to walk, and he rose to his feet, swinging his new gauss reaper into the grip of his other hand. He stepped over his fallen brother, his new weapon lowered, in the fountain and began his march down the street over metal bodies and flesh. The bruised houses and carnage of his strike team and this unknown enemy stained this portion of the country black, which was rich with iridescent blue trees and flora that burst with spontaneous flowers and plants of intense color and vibrancy. As the sunset approaches, it infects shades of red and purple clouds into the sky that compete for supremacy. The iridescent flowers on the ground come to life and light up the forest like a metropolitan ecosystem. Blue and white lights flicker through the agitated rustling of flowers and trees. The occasional lustrous green light can be seen from some flowers, hidden behind fortresses of blue bushes and red tipped grasses. Hakondes marched into the forest, tracking a residual red mist trail that is in his vision.