Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 90
It began with the faintest stirring of consciousness in the deepest reaches of the data-storage crypts. Threads of awareness coursing through subatomic filaments into a solid-state quantum sepulchre, where they were enjoined into one whole. A mote of self-awareness was born but without sensory input it was nothing but a spark of intelligence, without context or perspective. Onto that shard of a mind was piled layers of memories, personality and character, adding complexity with every fragment of being that enjoined the growing intellect.
Like pouring Promethium onto a bonfire the mind grew into a majestic form, a towering intellect filled with pride and self-importance. Yet the disposition of the consciousness was still jumbled and confused, unable to settle into a fixed pattern. Without an external stimulus the mind could not process anything and so remained mere potential in the silent reaches of the sepulchre. This silent consciousness did not feel itself being transcribed into a memno-core orb, precisely layered into it one subatomic particle at a time. Neither did it feel the orb being conveyed with utter reverence to its intended destination. No reaction was forthcoming as the orb was installed into a body worthy of its majesty and then brought to wakefulness through a process the usurper races could only describe as technomagic. But it felt the sudden surge in perception as the eyes activated.
The first thing he saw was a wide chamber, echoing in its vast environs and cloaked in darkness. It was formed of dark stone, etched with ancient glyphs that glowed a faint green. Two lines of hunchbacked statues stretched before him, bearing heavy rifles with green crystal rods fitted into their casings. He did not know this place, or rather he did, but the memories would not come, still jumbled and confused in his mind. That should alarm him, he mused, he should be panicking but there was no such emotion in his being. All he knew was cold curiosity and an instinct, no, the memory of an instinct that this place was built for his majesty.
The next thing he noted was that he was standing upright in a hexagonal coffin, his body held still but reverently by cushioning gravitic fields. He was elevated above the statues on a short pyramid, with many steps leading down to the perfectly flat floor. Two more statues stood before him, one even more hunch-backed than the others but fitted with a rising twin headpiece and bearing a purple shawl of metal scales in its arms. The other was more upright and its head was higher and crowned with two bronze fans. Its chest bore a strange mark and on one arm hung a massive shield while the other held a tall stave. Memories shifted and the knowledge came that these were familiar, yes, they were known to him.
Finally came the sense of self and green eyes fell to take in a metal body. It was identical in form to the statues but far more regal in bearing, nearly upright in stance and with finer limbs and smoother finishes to the chest and hips. Shock and revulsion, panic and alarm, memory told him these should have been his responses, but there was nothing. No emotion stirred in his being, no fiery mote of a soul burned in his breast. Only a cold curiosity and sense of familiarity, like this had all been done before. The certainty grew in him; he had done this many times over.
Suddenly the hunched statue spoke, "Dread Lord, are you awake?"
The tall one then uttered, "We await your commands."
He looked at them and in a flat voice of mechanical inflexions spoke, "Who am I?"
The hunched one replied, "You are our master."
"We are your servants," the tall one said.
"Show me," came the words by rote.
A section of floor rose, globules of metal flowing together to make an upright pedestal like a wax candle melting in reverse. One side was perfectly reflective and in the surface he beheld a metal statue braced in a sarcophagus. It was indeed finer than the others, prouder and more regal. The head was framed by four bronze fins and from the narrow chin protruded a short metal adornment, like a plaited beard. The shoulders were covered by bronzed sheaves of armour and the chest was blackened while over the heart was stamped the same rune as he had seen before.
The sight stirred a response and finally memories slotted into place. Information flowed through his being, telling him everything he needed to know. Names, identities, places and dates. He knew who he was, he knew his dominions and servants and rivals. He knew the wars he had fought, the conquests and the defeats and the ancient hatred of his race, the unrelenting ire for their first enemy and the oppressors who had come after. Even in this cold and passionless state that hatred would never diminish. He was certain of his status, yet at the edges of his mind were a few dark spots, memories that hadn't returned properly or were distorted, like a missing piece in a child's puzzle.
Mathep brushed off his concerns as he stepped forward and commanded, "Dress me."
Inotep, the hunch-backed vizier of his court, stepped forward and presented the cape, fitting it to the shoulders as he intoned, "All bow before your sovereignty Dread Lord."
Tamunn, his unflagging Lychguard, presented his Chronostave and Resurrection Orb saying, "With these weapons you shall lead us to glory."
Mathep placed the orb to his hip and took up the Chronostave, examining the twin forks bracketing a glowing green crystal as he inquired, "Why has my slumber been disturbed?"
Inotep grovelled, "Dread Lord, the seventeenth Dolmen Gate has been activated, more usurpers dare encroach upon our domain."
"My domain," Mathep growled dangerously.
"Of course," Inotep grovelled, "It is your kingdom."
"Shall I ready your fleet to attack?" Tamunn asked.
"First things first," Mathep replied, "There are rituals to be observed, I am not yet myself. I shall deal with the usurpers in due time. Until then have the outriders watch the intruders, if they attempt to flee back to the Dolmen Gate then you have my sanction to cut their legs out from under them."
Mathep set off, walking down the steps and setting off across the black stone of the chamber. As he walked he passed the lines of soldiers to either side, the Necron warriors of the Hyktot Dynasty, last and proudest of all Dynasties. Mathep was Phaeron of this ancient kingdom, supreme overlord of all the Tombworlds in the satellite galaxy they claimed as their own. All paid him homage, from the lowliest warrior to the mightiest Overlord.
Mathep gave the warriors no mind as he walked, knowing they were incapable of thought. Like him these beings had once been alive, living breathing Necrontyr, until they had been marched into the biotransference furnaces and reborn as undying Necrons. Unlike him the common mass of his dead people had not enjoyed the very finest of neuro-sculptors and memory-transferring quantum splicers. They had been converted en-masse, given the simplest of bodies with the most basic of safeguards. Their Necrodermis skin did not wither or perish, eternally self-repairing and rebuilding, but their minds were not so fortunate. Neuron by neuron they had decayed, losing memories and personality each time they were cut down and reborn, until nothing remained but a hollow shell.
Mathep was the ruler of a kingdom filled with blank automatons, only the highest nobles and most learned Crypteks owning much in the way of personality anymore. The knowledge steeled his purpose and reminded him why he existed. The Necrontyr had been tricked into giving up their diseased flesh; little knowing the price would be their souls. All Necrons had left were their minds, and to lose that was a fate worse than death. Mathep would not allow that to pass, he would undo this affliction and restore all that had been lost.
More resolute than ever Mathep lead his companions out of the chamber and emerged onto a wide balcony. It was located high up the side of a black pyramid, that dwelt under the light of a flickering forcefield. The pyramid lay in the middle of a vast city, filled with lesser edifices. Pyramids, spires, mausoleums, tombs, crypts and vaults arose in all directions, each filled with waiting ranks of Necron warriors and their assorted war machines. It was eerily silent, bereft of birdsong or the swaying of trees or the soft sigh of wind, cold and deathly, a moment in time held in perpetual stillness. Between the palaces of the undying were wide boulevards, utterly silent and unoccupied save for the occasional drifting Canoptek Spyder, tending to the arcane systems that were the hallmark of the Necron's Technomagic.
The city stretched for a hundred kilometres ahead and behind, where it ended in impenetrable black stone walls. To left and right it continued for ten thousand kilometres, filling this spar of the Dyson Sphere that was the jewel in his kingdom. Above a forcefield capped the roof, flickering vaguely as it absorbed the ambient radiation of the star and kept the interior perfect in every measurable way. This mighty bastion was the glory of the Hyktot Dynasty, constructed when they still boasted flesh and blood and it had been the envy of all other Phaerons. He did not need C'tan shards, pieces of Dead Gods to fuel his empire, this one star provided all the energy his Tombworlds could ever need.
Waiting for him was his personal barque, resting where it always was. It was a black craft of smooth edges and curving flanks, with golden icons engraved into the metal. Two Necron warriors sat in sunken pits at the fore and at the rear rose a large curved arch, hovering overhead like a scorpion's tail. Mathep wasted not a moment to step aboard, his metal feet gripping the surface perfectly. His advisors boarded too and then the barque set off, flying over the city with regal majesty.
Mathep looked over his capital and asked, "Have the vassal Overlords awoken?"
Tamunn replied, "They await your commands."
Mathep stated, "I will address them in due course. In the meantime, what of Ashtari?"
Inotep answered, "The honoured Cryptek continues his labours. He requests more subjects to work upon."
Mathep replied dismissively, "He is welcome to take samples from the stasis-prisons, we have millions of animals for him to work upon. If the stock runs low I can always conquer more. As always the Dolmen Gates will provide."
Inotep paused then and said, "Dread lord… I do not believe it is the quantity that troubles him, it is quality. These animals that usurped the galaxy in our long slumber are inferior, to achieve your goal we need better ones."
Mathep was not placated and snapped, "Do not hide behind excuses. I expect results!"
But Tamunn replied, "The galaxy is awash with dregs and filth, such inferior stock will not do to make a suitable host for our minds."
Mathep accepted this as he lamented, "Our perennial flaw endures. Our science is unsurpassed but never have we been masters of our own selves. Our flesh bodies rebelled against us, tormenting us with cancers and rot, the spiteful gifts of the star that gave our race life. How we sought relief from our suffering, only to watch our ancient enemy laugh in scorn as our every attempt ended in failure. Then the great deceivers robbed us of our very souls, promising immortality while stealing the very essence of life. One enemy hid the secret of immortality from us; the other gave us a poisoned chalice. Our minds are innately superior but our bodies fail us, always the same enigma, but in different formats. No more I say, we will find a way to claim back all that was ours and more. Flesh and soul, emotion and immortality shall be ours. But only if Ashtari can unravel the secrets of life!"
His diatribe had seen them fly far over the city and now they approached a lesser pyramid. The barque settled down on a low roof and Mathep disembarked saying, "Stay here while I pay my respects." He walked down a short ramp sunk into the roof, entering the pyramid. One level down he found himself entering a garden, a perfect recreation of a pleasant park rendered in precious metals. There were trees with fractal-edged leaves, grass woven from silver threads, bushes made of gold wire and flowers with platinum blossoms. There was even a river made of purest sapphire, the light reflecting off it like water. Among the leaves moved a single Necron, one whose frame was as glorious as his own but hung with shimmering drapes, to make it appear like a gown.
Mathep stood for long minutes, staring at the vista and the sight stirred his memories. In the darkest corners of his being the final pieces of his consciousness slotted home and he remembered who he was and why he fought. This had once been the garden of his beloved daughter, Sustha, who loved this place more than any. She had been the light in his eyes and the sun in his sky, until the dreaded cancers that plagued the Necrontyr came for her. So young, so tearfully young. For her sake had he ended his resistance to the biotransferance and ordered his kingdom to march into the bio-furnaces, only to realise too late how he had been tricked.
Mathep did not speak to Sustha, there was no point. Not enough of her mind was left to converse with; she only endlessly replayed the same routines she had known in life. In truth Mathep no longer felt affection for her, such things had been ripped from him along with his soul, but he remembered what it was to have such emotions. This was what marked him apart from the other Phaerons scattered across the galaxy, he remembered what it was to live.
The rush of memories fixed his purpose and fired his determination, gifting him a resolve that had endured the Great Sleep and the frequent awakenings since. He would find a way to return to life, claiming new flesh-bodies and finally besting all those who had scorned his race. His hatred for them was pure and unbending, a cold fury that would never be quenched. This was not the hot rush of hormones and adrenaline usurper races called anger, no, it was an unbreakable will to achieve his goal no matter what it cost. Necrons knew not the emotion of anger, but hatred was a choice.
His purpose clear and his resolve set Mathep turned and strode from the garden. He would reclaim all that had been lost, even if it took an eternity. He would start with this latest batch of usurpers trespassing in his kingdom. They would fall before him, as had all others who had faced him over the long epochs.