Every day more worlds woke up, some fell, their new inhabitants killing the scouting parties and then those below; others got into a stalemate, an attrition between the rightful owners and the invaders; while most fought until they saw victory appear from upon the bodies of their foes.
Some saw this as their rightful awakening, as they'd inherit existence as they once laid claim to it so much time ago. They'd eliminate or enslave all those who opposed them, they would conquer the galaxy, searching for a way to recover their flesh; and then set on a course for the entire universe to be under the hands of the Necrons.
But only he and a select few knew what was the real purpose of their coming.
The Tyranid menace was one he'd observed for enough time to know that only a fully awakened Necron Empire could defeat; the humans might've been a good option, but they lack the unity, the cohesion, the coherency to arm a proper response to the hive.
The orks could be a tool to be used in the fight, but they'd be hard to control considering that they still held a connection to what once made them their fiercest nemesis. Krork and Mork might be deluded into helping them, but they'd devolve into a threat yet again.
Chaos meanwhile was only a nuisance, for it couldn't properly fight, making honor to their name.
They were the only real threat you'd need to take care of in order to begin claiming reality for the real lifeforms.
Unlike other lifeforms, Necrons had no way of seeing upon the warp in the same way other species could.
Of course, they could monitor it, they could block it, even travel through it, but there's no way they could sense the innards of it.
What they could see though was that in the material realm, where disformity and reality met, there was a change.
Humans began annihilating all opposition, bringing forth dominion over the Galaxy like they only had when their Emperor still walked among them.
They were disposing of their menace with upmost efficiency.
Roboute Guilliman cleaned through the Eye of Terror, while Dante swept through the Great Rift, showing actually organized armies that while they acted as a horde of different fiefdoms racing to conquer the most territory, their supply lines, their organization inside of those units; held true, with their bureaucratic sections working overtime to integrate the conquered territory into the Imperium.
It was truly awe-inspiring. Because this threw off his predictions, if they managed to seal off Chaos forever, they might be able to focus into the Tyranids, or at least form a cohesive alliance against them once they face the reality of their invaders.
But he knew something was off.
Chaos got empowered by war too, Khorne would've snapped, unleashing countless swarms of demons to fight off humanity, creating a vicious cycle. Or Tzeench would've turned all of those planets into jury-rigged bombs to kill trillions of humans.
Nurgle would've enjoyed things going back to the times of the Great Crusade, and Slaanesh would've enjoyed the songs of triumph for humanity, sending them into a degenerate state of placidity.
So what was what happened?
Were they truly so efficient? Or is this a ploy by the warp?
He'd never know, he knew something would come soon.
That's why he was personally overseeing a battle where humans were besieging a Chaos-infested planet, one on the outskirts of the Eye of Terror, which had survived only because of the technology they had stolen from his people buried deep within it.
This would be a perfect place from where to have a controlled view of the interactions between the two forces, with the ultimate intent to have the Necrons underneath waking up to control, pacify and regulate what came of it.
It was a fight where they scouted the terrain, found enemy dugouts, bombarded from space, and sent units to clean up. With Chaos forces amassing to hit low-orbiting enemy ships in the hopes of breaking the blockade and connect with their other scattered forces around the system.
Such a slow mess.
At least watching some of the ground engagements entertained him, the Tzeenchian cultists that inhabited this planet proved to be pretty imaginative when it came to their ambushes; and the humans responded en-massé, with countless ways, from entire mortar regiments flattening an area, to sending Astartes into breaking through their enemies.
What he began seeing though, more and more, was that they began losing power.
At the beginning of the battle, the cultists could envelop their strongest warriors to convert entire human battalions into dust; now, they could barely ingrain one with enough force to contend with a Space Marine from the Verydian Hawks.
Instead, they slowly began appearing in forms not so distorted, not muted, but... Elegant. Some left their robes adorned with words from their God to instead flare with pieces of artistry; they sang instead of calculating artillery strikes.
He feared what might be happening.
He was seeing through the bridge of his battleship, hidden from human eye through atoned stealth systems from times bygone.
In front of him, a console fed him information about the movement of the ships around the system, giving him an overview of the skirmishes of what Frigates escaped the initial push by the Imperial forces.
Until something pulsated on the systems.
It was an alert about an image, one just recovered from the quantum-sweep array scanner, coming from deep within Imperial territory, where a certain colony called 'Nube' laid.
His gaze shifted to meet the image.
He tried approaching one of his metallic fingers to expand it, only to see how another image alert popped up, coming from the same place.
Then, another.
And another.
Another.
Then, text, rows and rows of text written in short order or prose, all in different archives, measuring anywhere from a few hundred words to millions of them.
The flow of new information brewed with such a rage that in ten seconds of processing the arrival of data, the console just shut off.
If he had a heart, it would be throbbing with intensity, this had never happened; it shouldn't be possible at all.
The only species with the capacity to send such datastreams would have been humanity just before their downfall by focusing their quantum laces right into his ship to begin breaking it down.
Wait...
He began making sense of what he had just seen, and he was shocked.
He rushed to his throne, he needed to shut off all systems.
There was no time, all those inside his ship would be lost if he di-
In a single moment, he fell to the ground, his very self had been overwhelmed.
Every single one of his sensors told him that there was something pressing against him, something on the ship, something flooding everything around them, from the smallest subatomic particle to his 'eyes' were being hunted by a presence.
For a moment he felt it all on his chest, as if daggers were being pressed against his metallic carapace, digging slowly but surely to the core within him. His arms quickly went to try and grasp what was getting onto him, what was the dreaded threat that slipped through all manners of existence and was now somehow causing damage in a way not even the C'tan were able to.
But when his hands met his metallic thorax, he felt how there was now a pair of soft lumps on his breast, despite the fact that they were obviously part of his chassis.
"Oh no..." - He uttered. For he felt not alive, not in flesh, but there was something horribly different within him, something that resonated with the desire for flesh the flayed ones suffered for.
His body was now bursting with the energies of something like a soul entrapped on a microcosmos, forced to live through eternity seeing infinity, though not being able to do anything but be an observer.
He was able to touch and feel, but something was off, like he couldn't actually touch anything.
Oxygen could go inside of him, inside of his still metallic form, but it didn't do much more than serve as a placebo for his lack of flesh.
Un-alive, not dead, nor undead.
It made him ache, he screamed for release from this inner pain since he approached a polished wall, seeing his reflection, this new form had given him such heavy hips though with broad shoulders, long legs and gentle arms being born from a leaner body; a deformed to show a perpetual grin, one on a face he remembered from the times he was alive, a face similar to his mother's; and a mouth with lips that could feel the coldness of his throne-ship settle around him. All decorated by countless small details that made him remember the jewelry-invaded bodies of Slaneeshi slaves to dot this still unequivocally Necron being that was turned now into some kind of matriarchal statue.
An inmortal bursted through the doors of the bridge, trembling, metal clashing as alloys were deformed to give him features that no Necron had for millions of years.
His body was transformed too, similar to the Silent King's, yet it had some slight differences in size, in ornament; that made him pale to his liege. But what was the starkest difference was that in his forehead was the sun pierced by the crescent moons; a marking of what he knew was invading every inch of her people, knowledge he couldn't utter.
"Lord Szarekh!" - He conveyed, his voice obviously preoccupied, though his voice had been transformed into a sweet melody that in its preoccupation showed a little bit of care, of love. - "What is happening?" - The question was a shriek, one filled with desperation, with the burning need to find an explanation for his suffering.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn't have an answer.
Foremost it was obvious that they had been changed in their appearance and senses, but to how far did these changes go?
It was impossible to know at the moment, so he just reacted in a way he never thought he would to soothe the mind of this poor soldier.
His arms opened up to let this afflicted Necron, enveloping him with tender care as he pressed their bodies together.
Obviously he was surprised, but he didn't do anything to express dissatisfaction from this. Far from it, for he surrounded his king's waist with his own arms, their metal sharing now what seemed to be heat, the lifeful characteristic of a hug.
Szarekh, the Silent King, heard something deep within his mind as he did this, clouding his judgment as he began realizing what had happened.
Enjoy it.
Feel how you care for those below you.
For you are great.
And thus you should take care of those not as great as you.
Give your attention to whoever needs it.
And what species needs more love than humanity?
Be the elder species you were always meant to be.
Let your soul guide you.
Teach humanity.
Words as sweet as those from the C'tan.
But this time they had no ill intention behind. For it was what his people wanted, what they aimed for in the future if war were not a constant in this reality.
If they were to be the masters of the universe they'd have to rule over some.
In all of the Cosmos they couldn't be left alone, for they'd need allies, as the dynasties might not be always united, and they needed a fold to aid them in correcting those who fell out of line.
Humanity was the best contender for that, thus they should be led until they take their role as the equals of people as great as the Necrons.
Or... Maybe, more than equals... Companions.
As that thought invaded his mind, on his forehead, just below where crest of his crown began, a sun pierced by two moons appeared.
The Emperor, Dante, Guilliman, they all had been foolish.
Humans needed not just one ruler and vassals, but two ruling bodies, they needed someone to be the teacher of them all, with the Emperor, or Guilliman as the first student.
They needed an Empress, a Queen to teach these little people the ways of the true inheritors of the Universe.
He parted ways from the embrace she was holding with her soldier.
It seemed like she had gone through the same realization.
"Don't worry, it was just a shock, my dear soldier," - She said, cooing as her hand tried caressing the alive metal of her subordinate. - "you need to step up from it, and be ready, for there's a lot of work to do."
She seemed to groan as the touch of her Queen invaded her, but wasn't enough to actually feel like the warm touch she craved right now, yet she nodded, looking up to meet her face, as if the pain was being subdued by her mere presence.
After some moments of deliverance, from the thin, robotic lips were born a few words:
"And I will begin immediately with it, my liege."
The Silent Queen now handwaved to dismiss her, not without saying "Good girl."
.
.
.
.
.
.
You know how horrible is it to do scouting missions?
You know how horrible is it to do scouting missions alone?
It was terrible, all made worse when you were obviously meant to die and your deathplace used as a marker for artillery to rain upon the kilometer around you so the infantry comes up and cleans the place.
This planet used to be beautiful when you arrived, clearly it had been a house of Chaos Undivided, for there were torn up placed where civilization had been laid, others where it was sprawling, with ample natural sites both horrible and beautiful; all tainted by your usual horrors like bloodfests, horrible mutations, a stench of putrid deformation or shrines filled with things a sane person couldn't describe.
So the trusty guardsman had to keep true to his Lasgun while walking through the sides of a mountain where there was suspicion a Company's worth of cultists was hiding.
It was deep on the night, luckily he been assigned some old night vision equipment probably found in the storage from a 15th-millennium hillbilly's armory.
The datalinks it used to have to be able to connect to an entire army were down, obviously, the mechanicus would never repair such things and night vision equipment that got produced only got to select units; despite the fact that they could obviously produce it for most soldiers.
But hey, at least they sent him with enough things to survive for a week alone, unlike the other bastards who really were sent to just die in the first hour of being tunnel rats.
The air felt heavy tonight though, there wasn't quite a way to put it; it was just the odd feeling like something was either going to happen very soon, or that there was something big nearby extruding something diluted by the wind.
Right now he was walking on a plain filled with two-meter-high blades of grass, with muddied earth beneath that felt oddly like the swamps back on his home planet; like he was with his grandpa looking for vermin again.
Colors amiss thanks to the NV in his eyes, it still felt surprisingly comfortable to be around, a soothing prelude for the inevitable contact.
His right ear twitched.
Near his left, something had moved.
Fear crept on his back, kept at bay by his need to keep composed.
He turned to point his lasgun in the general direction, his eyes scouring for anything around.
His mouth wanted to open, for he needed to say something to soothe himself, hum something to evade feeling creeped out, hunted.
For around him there was nothing but the verdant nature, his ears seemed to just betray him, for he could now hear even the slightest movement of the grass blades.
Every movement slowed down as he kept moving forward, not a single muscle acting without direct order, lest he fall into his nature and falter.
On his right, the unmistakable sound of something mushing against the muddy ground below surprised him, this time he got the safety off, he was ready to just fire.
And he saw a target, for an ephemeral moment there were eyes looking at him, irises like knives, as if they were cleaving through the veil of reality to hunt his immortal soul; donned in a face of both permanent gore and the beautiful state of natural delicacy.
All it took was one blink for him to lose it.
Air ran away from his lungs, his whole body trembled as impending doom came after him. He was a dead man.
No.
A whisper in his ear told him.
Let me say your name, so it might be your battle cry.
Do not fear the guidance of your purple eyes.
Earn your place in the foreversky.
Kind, yet commanding. So venerable, but so trustable.
Were these the words of the Emperor? Was it his own soul commanding his material form? Was it his conscience?
No matter, for he had a duty, he was born for a motive, and there was nothing that could stop him; he swung his rifle to meet whatever was behind him, encountering the same eyes that disappeared an attosecond after the Guardsman found the reticle of his rifle meeting with the obscured form of his enemy.
The dance repeated, for every time he hunted for it, it moved, evading the gaze of the barrel and the trigger.
For an entire minute, in which little by little, he could make out the form of his enemy; a beast deformed by washed out flesh in varying states of decomposition, with an obvious origin in a humanoid body, naked bar what once was armor like that of a Tempestus Scion; marks of countless trinkets that meshed with its flesh; all in a skin that felt greenish, despite the obvious hue he was forced to look things through thanks to the Night Vision.
Not to mention, the countless scars, oddly fleshy horns, holes, and depravity in the form of indescribable features that each time appeared taller and taller.
In a moment though, his eyes didn't meet this figure.
He was alone.
All around him, only grass.
Beyond, the mountains of this untamed planet.
Above him, three small moons dancing in harmony, commanding the majestic waves dotting the Equator of this Chaos world.
If he had paid a bit more attention, he would've noticed how from the craters of these marbles in the sky was born a tint similar to those of his eyes, pouring everywhere like an infection. But he had to worry about the sound of water dripping.
A trickle that didn't come from around him, or above.
So he looked to his feet.
The mud that surrounded his soles had given place to an almost crystal like-aperture into below, where he could see the translucent figure of the mangled helmet that covered his hunter's face.
This time, in a blink he had fired his lasgun, the red concentration of photons blasted the warp-sorcery away, but too late, as the nurglite demon jumped from the veil, claw first to embed itself onto his helmet, a fetid cloud of stench causing the man to recoil as this beast stood in front of him.
He tried scoring another shot, piercing through the midriff of his assaulter's torso, only to cause no damage beyond sending decomposed flesh everywhere, all t be incapable of stopping the two-and-a-half meter behemoth that swung a humongous limb to throw him to the ground.
As he impacted the mud, adrenaline pumping to quell the pain of the impact, he tried rolling, covering himself on the fetid earth; only to end up bumping into the feet of another of these beasts. One as deformed as its companion, yet with different armor, this one looking more hand-crafted in esoteric materials to fit a bloated abdomen in what would be the figure of a woman.
In the eyes of this one there was not hatred though, not the need of hunt, to eliminate a threat to the inmaterium, which terrified him even more.
Luckily, this meant that he got a small window from where to stand up, holding his lasgun by the strap before running toward anywhere where he could stand and have a clear shot to these beasts, who began pursuing in earnest.
There's many things he was, but he wasn't dumb, he knew that they weren't going at full speed, and yet he wasn't going to miss this opportunity, he was supposed to die tonight, at least he hoped he'd kill some with his own hands instead of letting artillery do the work after he died.
Around him, the sound of many more creatures dotting the grass forest, along with the silhouettes of countless fleshy monsters littered everything. He even considered closing his eyes to not see these details unfold near him under the somber lilac moonlight. And as he was going to do that, the reminder that he needed to keep going to a nearby rocky hill to make his stand; kept him focused.
Once his feet touched solid ground instead of the swampy earth, he turned his lasgun into high-rate-low-power to unleash a hail-mary of fire everywhere.
Flashes from the muzzle of his gun illuminated the entire place, causing him to be blinded as he poured photons on these demons; provoking an even worse scene for his eyes; as with every shot, these mangled disasters crept closer, holes on their bodies a non-issued as their otherworldly endurance made them not care about the piercing attacks.
Click, click.
"No more ammo." - Roared a raspy voice from them.
His eyes finally focused after being blinded.
In front of him, there were at least thirty deformed critters that made him gag as their collective stench almost caused the air to be unbreathable, tears forming in his ears as he felt damage to his very soul by just looking at them.
It seemed like the entire Company was here to kill him.
Adrenaline was still pumping, there was no pain, his mind raced with ideas of what to do.
He went with the most obvious one, reloading his lasgun. They lunged at him the moment the power pack fell, but he stood his ground, firing blast after blast.
They were ruthless. One head got blown off, but they let the body fall into the ground to use it as a platform where to jump and top-attack the guardsman.
He never stopped firing.
Even as he landed on the rocks, his head impacted against the hard granite, cracking his bones; his ribcage cleaving his lungs; the trigger was never let loose. He was only quelled when his right arm got eviscerated by some sort of acid coming from one beast who had been sufficiently damaged by his rifle.
Screams tore his throat, decibels no one bar the demons could hear.
His eyes were injected with blood as the pain of not only his body being damaged, but his soul and pride poured.
Two killed demons, more than your normal human would ever kill, he should be happy with it, he had done his work.
But he felt like he should've done more.
He looked for respite on the sky again.
The moons now had a hue to them, a glow, a purplish glow.
Scented with the aroma of a hug from your loved ones.
With another whisper.
You still haven't earned your place.
That's right. He hadn't.
Something within him awoke. As if the whisper had managed to oil a machine that carried the strength of Atlas, the intellect of Archimedes, and the wits of what he envisioned the Emperor was.
He had only one arm, and the tendrils of the nurglites were invading his body, burning, eating, decomposing him into nothingness. It was enough though.
On his chestplate, there was a knife, one he took out in a simple, quick grasp and embedded it onto the eye socket of the helmet of the bloated mess above him.
Following came the same knife rupturing the stomach of one of the beast, causing it to explode, sending him flying further uphill.
Barely standing up to grab his laspistol he managed to get a few shots into one of the nurglites before having to duck as it threatened to bash him with its grotesque arms.
He was still moaning for the loss of his arm, and how his flesh kept burning, yet his mind could still reason; which is why he noted that they were acting strange, he still wasn't dead, this was like torture, one which they were enjoying.
The confirmation came once this beast grabbed him with sticky, mushy flesh that almost embedded itself into his clothes. His laspistol was quickly to cleave it though, making the demon flinch and giving him the opportunity to run.
Run he did, not without leaving a grenade on his path as he ascended through the hill, firing however he could at the horde of evil coming at him.
Laughter, mockery, shouts of anger and desire came for him. Never noticing how the greenish tone of decay had been replaced by dusted amethyst hues and decorations that made them look like ancient figures of fertility.
They were turning into decay for nature, into a regression into natural instincts.
This looked less like a hunt for a soul to eat, and more like a hunt for a mate, one they'd share like a herd.
It didn't matter that he got turned into a limbless corpse, if he served his purpose as a source for breeding.
He never thought this though, for his adrenaline-fueled self only had in mind to keep going up, until a small plateau in the top of the hill, where he did everything he could to stop the advancing beasts, to the point where oxygen was amiss, but he still kept throwing grenades to them, kicking them, or simply bashing his pistol against them.
All until he was surrounded again, this time with no escape.
The moonlight surrounding the scene was powerful enough to let him see the details of these converted beasts.
In their shoulders, crescent moons scribbled on top of what the symbol of Nurgle once was.
Their armors were more delicately finished, while still reminders of fallen battles, and styles long-gone, they now had the touches only a stylist could give them, from liveful colors to precious gems, depictions of events in the lives of these fallen ones, words of poetry and desire; or merely just a reinforcement, for the armor still had to be used to subdue those wanted by the new Regnant of the Galaxy.
Finally, they got their weapons out, now that the chase was finally over, they weren't going to be as gentle. There was no reward on giving him opportunities to surrender.
So close. - He heard whispering from the moons, not in anguish, but in a soothing way, as if preparing him.
Fuck it, if this was going to be it, he might as well end it with an explosion, his last gren-
Before he could even reach for it, one of the demons, one bearing a knife-tooth mouth in her chest where her cleavage would normally be, lunged at him.
The tip of it was just in front of his left eyeball.
It broke down just as it was about to strike, with green light coming from it in such illumination that he swore the forges in his hometown were duller.
The demon screamed in anguish as it became nothing but glowing green dust; and so did all of the others as they were quickly turned into molecular leftovers, their souls returned into the arms of whatever had happened to Nurgle.
Only one thing stood in front of him after that.
A single Necron Immortal.
One to dispatch an entire company of Nurglite warriors.
Or that's what he'd normally see.
Instead, a woman-like figure stood ten meters from him, silent, her weapon glowing, revealing countless measures to contain the power of something that could turn something, into nothing, dematerializing anything that opposed it.
She was taller than the nurglites, albeit slender, her frame wasn't wider than his bar on the shoulders and hips; not counting the plates of armor that imitated a bare chest and served to give her the appearance of using a cape behind her, for there was something that danced from her head, scrolls of words of a language lost millions of years ago, dotted by lines of power reservoirs glowing in lime colors, acting as strands of hair that gave her a look of someone young vested in ceremonial clothes.
Despite that, she still had pieces of silky clothes made obviously for royalty, demarking her origin in the personal armies of the Silent King, accompanied by the symbols noting her origin embedded in gold trinkets.
It was a Necron.
The gigantic weapon, bigger than a heavy bolter, was still primed, prepared to shoot at him.
In the souless face illuminated barely by the glow of marks in her hair and the lavender moons; he could barely make out a confused gaze accompanied by what seemed a smile in lips plump, but souless, still robotic, as if made by a rookie sculptor. With nothing in her eyes but emptiness surrounding emerald spots that worked as irises.
Was this the thing that'd prove that he was to have a place in the afterlife?
Had he to fight this Necron?
He had not his weapons, only his grenade.
The surprise of this change had shocked him though, his body had stopped pumping adrenaline, so as he threatened to get the safety off, he fell to his knee with a horrid scream of pain.
Metal screeched as it moved, crushing pebbles as it advanced through this rocky hill. He looked at the Necron with disdain, knowing this being was his enemy, but the ache of decay eating his body up caused him to be able to do nothing but see how his eyesight degraded while only this xeno was in his vicinity.
Words didn't came, not even in insults, for he could only scream in agony.
Thus, in what could only be described in the unholiest even happening on the system (that he knew of): he got lifted up by one of the arms of this necron woman, and then propped against her chest, feeling the surprisingly soft metal bumps acting as breasts; it felt like some sort of solid mercury alloy that just kept him locked, warming his damaged face.
She left her weapon in the ground below, freeing up her other arm to envelop his legs, forcing him to be completely against the living metal.
His screams were quelled momentarily as the shock pinned him, only to continue yet again as he felt how his now missing arm was being tortured yet again.
But how?
He looked at it.
From the body of this Necron came that same alloy that formed her breasts, living metal that united itself with his flesh, anchoring to recreate his arm, linking with his nervous system to give him a prosthesis so faithful to real flesh that he almost thanked her.
If only he wasn't awestruck so much that he could not react.
She found this amusing though, she giggled, the innards of her frame shaking as this had never happened in over sixty million years.
The two indigo eyes watered, for the conflict of not knowing wether to follow his humanity and be thankful or his formation and hate her settled.
Her own gaze shifted to show that she understood it. She leaned in closer, the metallic face of this necron somehow acting like it could smell the aroma of the human; and then she began closing in more, until her lifeless sides pressed against his cheeks.
So smooth, so perfect, but it lacked something, it was uncanny despite how nice it felt, how it was a warm surprise that contrasted with almost everything he'd lived through.
"Don't worry. I'm here." - She whispered in monotone lullaby. - "You don't have to worry, you've already worked too much. Let me protect you."
Enjoy your foreversky. - He heard behind those words, behind her, behind the moons, behind the veil of reality.
What?
This couldn't be.
No.
Did the Empero-
No, it couldn't have been him.
This couldn't be his end.
What did that even mean?
His throat was still blocked by the reminder of pain, so he could say nothing, yet he understood his fear, like a mother knows when her children are pained.
"Silly human, going by yourself against what your doctrine dictates should be the work of fireteams of scions or units of Astartes or Sororitas," - Her attempt at being sweet felt odd, the remark relating to the military innards of the Imperium reminded him that this was no woman, this was a machine, not a living being. - "but I admire your bravery, you killed six of them... Hmn.." - She took a deep 'breath' of the smell of the human skin as she nudged herself harder against him. - "I should reward you for standing for so long, dear."
Following that, he heard the shuddering of her metal as she kept trying to inhale every molecule of his scent, provoking low-frecuency moans from her as every capacitor on her body felt as if they were being rewarded by a surge of energy.
His body in general too began being invaded, for one of her hands got a hold of his rear, her big hands enveloping him and squeezing.
He felt violated.
Quickly he tried nudging himself away, grunting to get enough force as she just kept pressuring more and more.
"Shhhh~ Calm down sugar... Don't waste your energy, relax, I'm just giving you the love a young boy should get. You humans have gone too long without any care; but don't worry, we're here, and we won't leave you alone ever again." - After she said his spine almost collapsed as he felt how the slender fingers of this machine began prodding against his belt, threatening to cut it if she put in too much force. - "We might've missed your attempt at ascending, but you will see yourself go to such wonderful lengths under our care."
She cut his belt. He had to drop the grenade to get a hold of his pants lest they fall down.
All the warmth he had felt until now from this pillowy filthy xeno had now been replaced by the horrible realization that this wasn't only violating his ideals, but his very self.
A frown settled on his gaze, and words finally came through his mouth.
"Don't touch me, vile thing, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
She immediately stopped caressing him, her head retracted, the smile from joy at having finally gotten herself her own human replaced by an insulted facade.
"I am sorry, what did you just say to me?"
As any stubborn human, he immediately replied.
"I said that you should let me go, you rapey bunch of scrap!"
Seemingly, she obeyed, for he fell ass-first to the ground, where he tried standing up before being kicked to the ground, pinned down by one of the legs of the Necron.
He immediately tried to get her off from him, but she threatened to pinch his throat with the tip of her feet.
"I saved you. I show you my love, I promise you to be forever by my side, and you spit on it?"
The question was rethorical.
"You're a nasty, insolent, naive, stupid, arrogant and uncaring brat."
The pressure became stronger.
"The Silent Queen ordered me to get myself a human for me to engage with, to be her protector, her guide, her mistress. I could've gone for an Astartes, a Captain of a ship, but I valued your effort, Cadian, and you fail to give me the coin of pure love I've given you."
Anger in his eyes, only squirms of subdued freedom coming from said human.
"I gave you an arm and healed your wounds. And all I wanted was to feel up your skin, your flesh, to taste you to make sure you were the flavor I was looking for. Such a naughty boy you ended up being."
Fuck it, he was going nowhere here, he just wanted to die at this point, he gathered some saliva and just spat it to her foot.
Apparently, this worked because she stopped making more pressure.
"Shocked? Stupid alien bitch, just kill me already."
...
"Come on, you have me on the ground, I am not surrendering to some stupid-ass xeno, the fleet's gonna blast you once I die and I ain't getting you what you want, so suck it u-"
"Mom."
"Huh?"
"You're going to call me mom from now on."
"I am n-"
The necron leaned in and slapped his face across.
"You are, you will call me mother or mommy every time you talk to me."
"Fuck y-"
Another slap, a harder one, leaving a red mark on his face.
"There will be a lot of fucking, but first I'm going to discipline you. Disrespectful little boy."
"I ain-"
Slap.
"What did I just say?"
There was no getting away, she wasn't going to kill him.
And he was going to say nothing then, because the Emperor would never forgive him for calling a robot alien 'mommy'.
"I'm going to correct you, and then you're going to be a good boy, and you'll learn to please your mommy, and I'll please you. When I tell you to mating-press me, you're going to do it; and when I tell you to clean up afterwards, you'll be a good kid and do it. Then, when I teach you how to use a Gauss Rifle, you're going to obey me when I tell you who to shoot. I don't care if you hate me, but you won't deny my love, and every single drop of semen and love in you will be mine."
Lord have mercy.
"Now, lick my feet clean, and drop your pants. I'm not going to leave this planet being the only one who didn't dry her human up. We're gonna discover wether or not you can get this old metal knocked up; and if ends up you can't, we're gonna find a way so you can, understood?"
Before giving his answer, he pondered... Did her words mean that... The Necrons were doing that to the fleet too?
Oh no.
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They had become the best Marines in the art of Recon by Fire.
It was the pride of the Verydian Hawks, originally a Raven Guard successor chapter influenced by the Ultramarines to be dead set on a doctrine.
There was no enemy they couldn't uproot, thus why they were deployed here, a planet where all forces were scattered and ingrained into the planet.
Just now, Decima, an Intercessor, had finished cracking the skull of a demon of Tzeench open.
An entire underground library had been found, filled with the stories of species long gone that inhabited this sector of space before the opening of the eye of terror.
It'd been a sweeping mission he'd done a hundred times already, with some on his squad even thousands of times.
The problem was that just when there were about fifty remaining demons, all avian-like desecrated beings with feathers sharp as their knowledge about soul that they displayed with psychological torture. At first showing horrible images, death of civilians, desecration of symbols, torture; shifting in one moment to images rather disturbing, images of these avians having... Some sort of ritual... With them.
Only one amongst the ten marines knew what this meant, but he didn't want to tell them, his blush seemingly impeded any word to come out.
Maybe that had to do with the sudden change of these birds?
They seemingly had gotten a wider form, with ampler bossoms in the middle of combat, something which he found quite rare, because that wasn't a very good tactical choice.
Their movements seemed to always focus on their groins afterward, or to lunge at the marines to do strange movements he could only attribute to weird rituals.
Their chants changed too, from inchantments for warp powers into things his ears couldn't quite process. As Raven Guard successors there was some things that were just white noise the plebs made, and their teachings by the Ultramarines made them quite innocent to some things.
Things like "You are us to F- not theirs!", which he would never understand but it seemed to be quite serious as they said it like it was the only chance they had to make them not kill these heretics.
Now they were just cleaning, they had to record all of this knowledge, it might be heretical, but knowledge was still knowledge, which would surely help them to understand the cave systems on this planet.
His battlebrothers were working on that, at least, he was the one categorizing the bodies by how they killed them, which according to the Ultramarines helped with logistics, somehow.
That's how he noticed that all of the ones they had killed on the last five minutes of battle had lilac tones where the others didn't, with new markings, including moons and planets pierced or something like that, he didn't care; plumper bodies, and a lot of little gems, some of which he grabbed because they'd look great with his Linking Park-themed armor.
They kinda reminded him of the women some guardsmen had painted on their vehicles.
He found them odd.
Corvus Corax's (supposed words) were clear
.
Thou shall seek for thy femoid whomst body is covered in void-colored clothes, with fishnets, eye shadow and combat boots.
.
So he'd never think of these weird beings like his human brethren did.
But he wouldn't mind to get to understand some of these things, the more they acted and went through the galaxy, the more he noticed the love some people had for feminine bodies.
Who could he talk to about these kinds of things though?
If only.
Good wish. - Someone whispered him.
His bolter immediately sprung into his hands and he dropped five bullets into one of the chandeliers of the room, incidentally causing it to go dark.
He wasn't going to waste any second. His IR filters flared and he scoured the room.
"Brothers, status report." - He said, forgoing his innocent thoughts, his Astartes side coming through again.
He got no answer.
Around him nothing had moved.
This meant that whatever was near them, was trying to get them apart.
So he ran towards the main hall, where he knew at least two of his brothers were working.
Sure, there was the unmistakable sound of gunfighting.
No screams or screeches though, negating the possibility that this could be a chaos encounter.
Maybe one of their brothers had gone rogue?
It wasn't it either, in the room, the moment he took a step, was nothing; his brothers were gone, only some kind of green dust remained.
Everywhere he looked there was no light, apparently his brothers had heard the same thing as he had.
Luckily his Night Vision equipment wasn't from a 15th-millennium hillbilly's old boogaloo arsenal so he had a good sense of everything going on, the damaged pillars, opened books, bodies of the Tzeenchian troops. No movement around.
He tried walking away from there, maybe the enemy was jamming his comms, he needed a direct link with the fleet.
Every few seconds he took a look behind him, he swore there was something bad with the envivorement, there was no feeling of chaos taint, there wasn't any kind of smell of the putrid otherworldly beings, so the menace had to be from the material realm, xenos maybe?
As he was about to go up the stairs of this forgotten library, he heard something shuffling behind him.
With superhuman speed he tore three bolts to the origin of the sound, successfully making contact with something metallic. One that had come from a rift in the middle of the material realm, not created through the powers of the warp, but knowledge about existence itself.
His IR sensors then caught and showed him. It was a Necron. Or it felt like one. It was a Dimensionalist. One taller than a Dreadnought, with more flare than an Aeldari priest.
And in his eyes, this was the perfect woman, as described by Corvus Corax, just replacing some details with green and gold; it was a tall, armed woman with the grim aestethic his genefather demanded.
Replaced was the metal for a still robotic yet sleaker look, where the chest had been replaced by booba.
"Good accuracy, I hope that translates well to your... Learning abilities..."
"What?"
Before he could question further, from one of her wrists came a beam of gauss energy, reminding the Astartes that this was still the enemy, so he fired in reprisal, only to notice that the Necron didn't even flinch, instead it stopped attacking.
Why?
Then he felt a breeze on his briefs.
He looked down.
Oh no, the little Astartes was out!
"Excuse me." - Decima said, covering himself with one hand, trying to walk away.
"I don't excuse you, child."
"I'm sorry but I can't be naked in front of someone else, that's heretical!" - He said regardless, taking a book to better cover himself up.
Book that was... Desintegrated by her gauss-wrist.
Wait... This meant that this Necron...
It wanted...
Oh no.
"The Codex says no sex until marriage!"
The Necron leaned in closer.
"Then let's marry."
"I don't know you!"
"We have an eternity to meet each other."
"You're a xeno!"
"I am your teacher, dear."
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"
As he said that, he began running up the stairs, only to trip, rolling down the stairs in a convoluted way that ended up with almost every bone in his body broken; yet the only thing he cared about was that his left knee had gotten hurt, so he sit and put his hands on
"TSssssss, ah... Tzzzzzz... Ahhh... Sssssssst... Ahhhhhh." - He groaned for a while.
Once he stopped caressing his knee, he looked up, noticing how the necron had discarded all of her clothes and was now presenting him with something that he didn't understood, the Codex didn't say anything about ladies not having a little Astartes, much less a metallic one.
"Wait, wait, noo, noooo, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
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And just as his screams got quelled by his helmet being crushed under the weight of 5ton tits, so did human resistance all around the system, for all of those not marked as good students were eradicated by the Necrons, who quickly discovered that only about 1% of them all had gotten any students.
This was a further punishment given that the Necrons underneath awoke, only to find themselves urging for someone to caress, finding all of their possible mates already claimed.
The Silent Queen was able to quell things before they erupted into infighting, limiting the sharing of the humans; because instead of that, they decided that for the well-being of their kin, they were to establish themselves, as to not let the humans be claimed by the other forces of the Galaxy.
Because Szarekh feared, that whatever Chaos had done to them, had done to the other sapient species, which could only mean that turbulent times were coming... Especially considering the two biggest troubles... The Tyranids... And the Orks.
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A/N: This chapter ain't having too many laughs, I know. But it was kinda a mesh of ideas I had for a time and I wrote in different moods.
Sorry, but I wanted to write something a bit different.
Plus, having a guardsman instead of someone with actual power kinda changes up things.
Suspension of disbelief works, but the old switcheroo of 'Grimdark chapter entrance to then be retarded funsies' didn't work in the drafts, so I went full 'Shit, slaneesh's working'.
I hope you enjoyed it regardless.
That said, next chapter is indeed gonna be for the funsies because we're bringing on the Orks, or the Nyds, you choose.
Also I'm kinda on Law School so I don't have a lot of free time to write mateys.
Reviews:
Pilarman2: Spoiler, but they are all yanderes.
bmanbeast57: One vote for Yvraine.
Icbjs: sex
Kamori I'm The Infinity: Aighty mate, next time we'll have a funnier side exploring big sides instead of limiting ourselves with a single character!
Also, two votes for Yvraine.
merendinoemiliano: funney
You will fear my laser face: Hmmmm, sex with big buff woma.
And yeah, it all depends on which one y'all vote.
Abel: I'm the fifth most based person I know, thank you very much. I love you too.
DecentBloodbornePlayer: *Schizoposting
AlanTawers: It'll go as far as my love for 40k.
Also thank you matey, I hope you enjoy it. Having people like you commenting and making my tummy feel good is the reason I write at all.
Plus, 3 votes for the elf woma.
Mkfhda: ñomñomñom
MSG1000: based vote.
Also, we're gonna have sex here, have no doubt, but I like teasing y'all more.
Plus, it's both. 'No way fag' is a meme. And it's also a way to show it that it affects everything. I tried making it clearer in this chapter with the Astartes scene (And in the previous chapter I thought I had done it too) basically, as Slaneesh unleashed the internet, everyone got massively braindead in some way or another, and adopted multiple clichés and stereotypes as part of their personalities, even if they're badly done, because that's how the internet works.
It's basically an in-story excuse for the quality divergence and general retardation in my writing, which I think makes it all the more funnier given your respnse.
RandomGuest: It's a driving force for the story. Sorry matey.
LoliDefender20: I'm going to choke you and facefuck you someday if you don't change that username. But thank you mate, you're one of my most beloved fans.
Spenge: sexo con alien, mmmmm, rico.
death'sgodson1224-DGS: two based and fuck-womens-rights-pilled votes
ShortyMcCoy: one gigabased vote
AJ: three based votes
Yvraine and the "Both is Good" options won, which means that I hate you and he's going to fuck Magnus. (Magna?)