Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 100

Mathep strode through the depths of his royal pyramid with a quick gait. His form glittered magnificently, every inch of him gleaming and his scaled robe sheened to perfection. He was resplendent, but that had taken time, such artifice too important for mindless scarabs to perform, he had demanded his appearance be honed by Necron attendants. He was behind schedule but did not rush, haste was anathema to his nature and it would not do for a Phaeron to be seen running late. All of these factors were motivated not by pride but by protocol, the rituals of the Hyktot dynasty were stringent and he would comply to the letter.

Three paces behind came his advisers: Tamunn, Inotep and Antari. The Cryptek's presence was not mandated by protocol but his presence would convey the correct impression to his guests. Mathep needed them to respond as he wished. The Overlords were his vassals by ancient oath, sworn to obey his every word in the days when they still had flesh and blood but they were willful and stubborn, liable to misinterpret his orders in ways that suited themselves. Mathep needed more than their begrudging allegiance, he needed their commitment to the cause.

As they walked Inotep cautioned, "Do not underestimate Zathoem, he is gaining popularity in the court."

Mathep demurred, "My Nemesor's ambitions are known to me, they present no threat."

Inotep shook his head and cautioned, "He is undefeated in battle and those Overlords who favour martial endeavours support him."

Tamunn scoffed, "Those who can still speak that is, half of them haven't said a word in the last thousand awakenings."

"They still act!" Inotep argued, "They chafe at our quiet harvesting of worlds and convoys. They yearn for conquest and slaughter. Zathoem would give them blood across the stars."

It was a concern but Mathep replied confidently, "Zathoem is ambitious but he respects the protocols of the court. He will never move against me unless I display weakness or failure, which I never will. Protocol protects me."

"As it does him," Inotep snapped, "Zathoem knows as long as he adheres to protocol he is untouchable. A vassal who does not fear his master's punishment is a danger."

Behind them there was a sigh as Antari lamented, "Does this pointless bickering require my presence?"

"Yes," Mathep countered, "The presence of so honoured a Cryptek will reinforce my position."

Antari derided, "Such matters are your concern, mine lies elsewhere. I am losing valuable time, when I could be conducting my studies."

The Cryptek's skills were too essential to lose so Mathep reassured, "It will be worth it when the Overlords are dragging mut-ants back by the million. Think of it as an investment of effort, a few hours of your time today for billions of experimental specimens tomorrow."

Their swift walk had brought them to a majestic banquet hall, one that could have hosted an army. The black walls were covered in the glowing green icons of Necrontyr language, litanies of glorious conquests and vengeful campaigns against the ancient enemy. The roof was a flawless sheet of the same material but from it hung thousands of banners. Real cloth woven in the days of flesh and blood, held in shimmering stasis for sixty million years. Silver attendants stood motionlessly around the edges of the hall, waiting for the command to move, yet it was the beings gathered in the centre of the room who demanded his attention.

Waiting around a smooth black table stood a dozen individuals, each one as perfect in form as he was. These were his vassal Overlords, the nobility who administered his kingdom in his name. The least of them ruled over a dozen tombworlds and commanded armies that could sweep any usurper race from the stars. They were the heirs of ancient Dynasties and their bloodlines had once conquered this satellite galaxy and cleansed it of all the Old One's creations, claiming these stars for the living Necrontyr.

Mathep eyed them as he approached, recalling each of their histories. There was Hakenthup, lord of the Endless Abyss, whose legs had been converted into a long sinuous tail. Ahs, master of the Hertina Supernova, who had turned himself into a Destroyer complete with heavy Gauss cannon. Maneth, lord of the Screaming Void, who had four spider-like legs. Thouqar of the Gtinar Wastes, whose skull bore a dozen eyes. Ginmut of the Searing Point, who had whip-like tendrils for arms. Juthu and Kunthu, twin lords of the Inner and Outer Marches, seemingly normal save for the red tint to their eyes. Rekh of the Red Giants of Kina, whose feet had not touched any surface for a million years. Glimka, Satrap of the Blue Expanse who had eight arms. Finally Kinterh of the Infinite Well, whose arms had been replaced with Heavy Gauss cannons.

Mathep acknowledged their martial power but judged them no threat. Their individual changes were signs of growing neural decay. Each physical change a proclamation that they were forgetting who they were. Their minds were withering, falling apart one neuron at a time. Despite the finest neuro-buffers and triple-reinforced intellect caches they were losing their memories. Too many deaths and resurrections were robbing them of identity, leaving behind madness and dementia. If they continued to risk themselves and die over and over, they would eventually be as mindless as the average Necron warrior. A fate Mathep intended to avoid.

In the whole gathering only two were capable of speech anymore. The first was Khadjem, lord of the Dead Fields and Zathoem, conqueror of the Invasta Fortress and slayer of the last Old One in the satellite galaxy. The Nemesor, highest in service to the Phareon and most lauded vassal in the court. These two deserved respect, if not outright wariness. Their bodies were not altered, they remained as they were and their minds were sharp.

Mathep joined them at the table and proclaimed, "My loyal vassals, I bid you welcome to my world and my table."

Khadjem answered for all, "Dread Lord, we offer eternal fealty and obedience. May we know why you have summoned us."

"All in good time, first we feast."

Attendants brought heavy thrones of black stone and those who could sat, those who couldn't squatted in an undignified pose. The Overlords glowered impatiently but tradition could not be argued with and they waited as platters of clone-meat and alcoholic wines were placed before them, shimmering in crystal goblets. Of course not one of them was capable of eating the food nor ingesting the wine but the Hyktot dynasty had always feasted their vassals and Mathep insisted all rituals and customs be maintained, no matter how farcical or obsolete the custom was. Everything was as the Necrontyr had performed it, even the meat, cloned from preserved specimens of species that had gone extinct long ago.

After the servants retired Zathoem looked at his lord and remarked, "I understand another usurper incursion has penetrated your domains."

It was a subtle dig but Mathep could not punish the Overlord for it, so long as he stayed within the bounds of protocol. Instead the Phaeron demurred, "A small group of usurpers encroached and was dealt with. It is of no import."

"It must have been of some consequence, else you would not have summoned us."

Mathep eyed his Nemesor, taking in the green headdress that framed his face and the bronzed shawl that cascaded over his shoulders. Memory stirred and he recalled that in life Zathoem had lusted for his daughter, a base craving that Mathep had denied. Such fleshy desires had not survived biotransferance, Zathoem cared nothing for such things anymore, yet the impulse to take what was Mathep's endured. It was what made him so successful and so dangerous. In life Mathep had tolerated this frustrated desire, the sensation of having others crave what was his stroking his ego, but now only protocol held him back from destroying the ambitious Nemesor.

Mathep leaned back in his throne and said, "These usurpers have brought a revelation with them. A new breed of vermin, called mut-ant. These insignificant motes have opened up new vistas of possibility: a route back to the flesh."

Zathoem sniffed, "And you wish us to conquer these helpless wretches?"

It was a subtle rebuke, outwardly a humble question, but hiding a stinging suggestion that such conquests were unworthy. Mathep was not about to be goaded and replied, "Pathetic as they are, these creatures have what we require. A way to create a perfect host, immortal and free of the diseases that tormented our flesh."

Suddenly Khadjem interrupted, "Flesh… I remember flesh."

It was an odd remark, lacking his usual wit and Mathep turned his attention on the Overlord. Khadjem seemed distracted, pushing his meat around with a pointed finger. He was hunching over his meal like a predator would a kill, protective and possessive. Strange, as he could not eat it, yet he could not stop touching it. Mathep looked past the golden robes and rising headdress he wore and suddenly noted the Overlord's fingers were not digits, but talons. Curved silver claws like tiny versions of the Flayed One's.

Mathep realised neural decay had at last come for Khadjem, eroding his sanity, and saw a way to remove a threat and establish superiority over the others all at once. The Phaeron calculatedly laced his fingers under his chin and stated, "Yes flesh, the living beat of a heart in your chest and the rush of blood in your veins. We seek to reclaim such things and I see the way."

"Blood," Khadjem whispered longingly as he sliced a piece of meat with a talon, "Hot blood, having breath in your lungs and the feeling of food sliding down your gullet."

The Overlord's condition was worse than Mathep had realised, he must have been hiding his decay for a long time. Mathep knew he only needed a push to fall and goaded, "Imagine it, to live again. To stand with life in your breast and conquer the galaxy as living beings once more."

Khadjem's gaze was far away and his feral urges were rising but suddenly Zathoem interrupted, "Is that wise?"

Eyes shifted and the various Overlords tensed as so blatant a challenge and Mathep snapped, "You question my commands?!"

"Not at all Dread Lord," Zathoem deflected, "I merely seek a more efficient route. Conquest is bloody and demanding in lives but we are currently undying. I humbly suggest we conquer the galaxy first… then return to living flesh."

Dissatisfaction rang through Mathep. The Nemesor truly knew the in and outs of the protocols. He had challenged the Phaeron without challenging him, Defying his authority while appearing a humble servant. Mathep carefully pronounced, "Such warfare would be slow and laborious either way. Thankfully I have the Synaptic Annihilator, a weapon to scour worlds bare of intelligent life. Why wage war, when we can obliterate all resistance with but a whim?"

"There is no satisfaction in using such weapons. The ancient Dynasties fought in the field, seeing their foes fall with their own two eyes, not eradicating them from orbit!"

This brought nods from the Overlords and Mathep sensed he was losing them. He barked, "Success is not measured by territory alone! We must reclaim all that we were. Life and blood and soul as well as the tallies of worlds that bow to us."

"Other Phaerons do not think so," Zathoem needled.

"Other Phaerons do not rule the Hyktot, I do," Mathep snarled.

Suddenly Khadjem leapt to his feet and screamed, "I can't take it anymore, you and your blasted caution! Decrying the other Phaerons but blind to your own tyranny and madness! So timid and unworthy, you lead the Hyktot as a coward!"

A neuron clicked inside Mathep's head and he knew the Overlord had gone too far, violating protocol by insulting his master openly. The other Overlords were suddenly removing themselves from Khadjem's vicinity as Mathep raised a fist aloft and proclaimed, "You dare defy me! Learn the punishment for disloyalty."

From the corners of the room poured shadows, microscopic scarabs advancing in lockstep. They dove upon Khadjem and flowed up his legs and body, covering him head to toe. Tiny callipers bit deep and ripped away chunks of living metal as Khadjem screamed aloud. Despite their undying status Necrons retained a sense of self-preservation and a feedback damage-report system that was analogous to pain. Khadjem was covered head to toe by scarabs, eating him piece by piece and his vocalisations rose in pitch as they destroyed him.

Self-repair routines went into effect, trying to rebuild his body but they were outpaced by the scarabs, more damage being inflicted each moment than could be repaired. Khadjem collapsed screaming to the floor as his form lost shape yet Mathep wasn't done making his point. From his side he lifted a Resurrection Orb and activated it. A wondrous relic of the past the Resurrection Orb stimulated Necron self-repair subsystems, boosting the living metal's ability to rebuild.

Waves of power buffeted Khadjem and his body restored itself, only to lapse once more as Mathep cut the power. The scarabs continued tearing and gnawing at him, taking to the edge of oblivion only for the Phaeron to bring him back from the brink. Over and over, letting Khadjem suffer unspeakable agonies in endless repetition. The Overlord was in too much pain to live, yet could not die, not until Mathep allowed it.

Finally he judged the other Overlords had got the point and he lowered the Resurrection Orb. Khadjem's body dissolved into silver puddles as the Scarabs finally ended him. The Overlord's mind would even now be downloading into a fresh body in his distant Tombworld, but he would remember this pain. Mathep was certain of it.

The Phaeron turned to his vassals and uttered, "We shall conquer these Mut-ants and return to the flesh, that is my will."

Zathoem lowered his head, admitting the Phaeron had won this round and said, "Of course, Dread Lord. Your will be done."

Mathep was satisfied with his labours but suddenly Antari stiffened. The Cryptek had generously loaned the use of his micro-scarabs to the Phaeron and Mathep asked in concern, "Cryptek, What is the matter?"

"An alert from my chambers," Antari hissed, "The specimens have escaped!"

The Overlords looked at each other in concern and Tamunn barked, "I shall recapture them."

Yet Mathep held up a hand and said, "No… Zathoem you shall hunt down these escapees and bring them back."

Zathoem looked like he would argue but he wasn't about to risk Khadjem's fate and lowered his head in acquiescence. Everybody looked confused at the odd order but Mathep was ahead of them in his designs. The captives were a vermin race, but Genic-gets were persistently troublesome in their efforts. Mathep knew how resourceful and ingenious they could be, he'd experienced it first-hand. Zathoem would have his work cut out for him finding and capturing the escapees and if he failed, then protocol demanded punishment for the Nemesor. Either Zathoem succeeded and brought back valuable specimens or he failed and Mathep could be rid of a rival. As far as the Phaeron was concerned it was an exceedingly efficient solution.