Szazadrekh watched the Terran vessel descend. Its ragged exterior glowed as it started to tear into the atmosphere. It was strange. He never considered the vessel to be a threat neither a benefit, but something didn't seem right not only with it just sitting above one location, catching and releasing landing craft. And nothing seemed right about it descending to the planet in fire.

He wondered if this was Kophtet's doing, or more likely Azultep's. "Belakh, call Nephalut. I'd like her to see this." He sat at his throne, chin on fist, thumb rubbing against the shaft of the wand.

Moments later he heard her soft steps approach from behind. He sat on his throne (one of many, the rest on each of the other ships, because he preferred backups), waiting for her to come around.

"At this rate, you'll never have a jaw," she said.

"Come around and take a look at this."

She came around to the front of the throne.

"You think this is Kophtet and Azultep's doing?" the Lord asked.

"Unless they got some giant space gun or figured out how to sabotage the ship from the planet, I doubt it. It could also be his fleet."

"Right." Szazadrekh realized that while the two fleets had mixed together, there had been barely any communication between the two besides the base logistics. He also wondered who could be in charge of that fleet. "Who do you think is his second-in-command?"

"Azultep's?" Nephalut asked.

"Yes, Azultep's. Surely a ruler with a few loose screws like him has someone do all the technical commands, like coordinated navigation and maneuvers. I have Belakh as my second, and I don't remember seeing that old king use scarabs often. I'm sure he wouldn't have a fleet if someone else wasn't in command of it."

"My guess is as good as yours," Nephalut said. "Although I wouldn't be surprised if it was some Scyren."

"But who's in charge of those strange guards? I don't recall any notable royal house that went into the great slumber with guards like that."

"He is surely a strange king," she replied. "From what I've heard, some doubt he even went into slumber, that he's been around for years. That explains the madness. . . Other than rumors I don't know."

"Isn't it your job to answer these questions?"

"These are the questions I'd rather leave unanswered. I don't want to upset a hive of- well. . . You know."

"But if you find the queen-"

"I don't think it works like that." Nephalut placed her hand on her hips. "Now is this why you called me out here? I know better places on the ship where we can flirt since these questions are sweet nothings given the issues at hand. I still have finish the jaw and crack some answers from our little friend."

"Woman, how long does it take to make a single jaw?"

"With a mouth running like yours, I have to make it extra resilient. And did you just call me a woman?" Nephalut leaned back and chuckled. "And here I thought you kept telling yourself I was male. I'm glad you recognize-"

"That you're in a body of a male." Szazadrekh reluctantly sighed. "I've been thinking about Kophtet's claims to be royalty in the body of a peasant-"

"Because he still looks down upon the work of a Cryptek as something below him. As his co-worker I can attest that he is not only sloppy and stingy, but also not Cryptek material."

"I know Crypteks have their insanities, but dear C'tan does he have some screws loose. I think I know what Azultep sees in him. If he is right about his claims to royalty, I can see why he was given the body of a Cryptek and not a ruler. Only the mad and the cruel would put him as ruler of anything."

"Mhm," Nephalut said. "Anyways, I'm heading back. Keep me updated about those two freaks if anything interesting comes up." She walked away, the torn flesh still on her swaying.

Szazadrekh chuckled. "You're one to talk."

The wand's tip fizzed and popped as Szazadrekh bounced it against the throne's armrest.

Belakh landed in Szazadrekh's lap, chirping.

"Yep. Back to boredom as usual."

Belakh chattered and squeaked.

"Good to know there's no more surprises waiting on this ship."

The scarab danced around and stopped. In the glyph display before them the focus changed from falling Terran vessel to Azultep's flagship. The two prods of it's tuning-fork shape still flanked Szazadrekh's ship. In the center of the massive ancient vessel was a complex of pyramids, with a massive one in the center. "Contact, Belakh."

The scarab hopped aside and scurried off, squeaking and squealing as the glyphs on the walls shifted around the display.

The hissing cosmic static cleared. "Ahem," said the Lord.

"What is it?" said a female voice.

"Is this Azultep's second in command?"

"Speaking."

"Was a shot fired at that Terran vessel?"

A pause. Szazadrekh waited. If a shot was fired, the question would be why. Then he could find out if there were any tangible threats attached to the fall of the Terran vessel, or if its fall actually meant something good - something against the terrible feeling he had.

"None accounted for," she replied.

"Mhm." She could be lying, he thought. Or she had no idea either. . .

Although unrelated, he might as well ask as he had her attention. "Question. Where do the Scyrens come from?"

"That's an answer not for you," she replied.

"Alright then. Thank you very much- wait. Can you at least show me what you look like?"

A pause. Belakh chirped in the background.

"Why?"

"Security reasons," said Szazadrekh. "I would like to have a face accountable for the answer I was given." Was she a Scyren? If not, what other strange rank or servant was she?

"If I am to show my face, you must not relay its appearance to any other."

"I'll hold my word." But what would he tell Nephalut? His chamber was silent to all ears but Belakh's, leaving Szazadrekh as the other only knowledgable mind of what was said. Nephalut wouldn't ask Belakh, as scarabs rarely told their secrets. Plus, Malat knew Belakh well enough that that last thing in the known universe Nephalut would consider would be prying the knowledge out her scarab's close friend. Lying to Nephalut. . . He didn't know if he should. Keeping a secret was dangerous, but so was this conversation. He needed to secure the source of information by seeing her face.

"If anyone else sees this and does not swear to secrecy or keep it, you must either kill them or bring them to me. Do we have a deal?"

Szazadrekh's joints quaked and the tip of his foot spasmed against the floor. He leaned forward in his chair and gripped the armrests. Time was of the essence and he desperately need to verify the source of the Terran vessel's demise considering the threat of a seemingly indestructible Deathmark and his horde on the loose, as well as a wandering Kophtet and Azultep looking for "cake" on the surface. He sighed, and replied, "We do."

The display flickered.

He stood up, shaking in confusion. Belakh dropped from the ceiling and chirped to swear his agreement to secrecy.

The door behind the throne opened, soft foot steps approached the throne, and Szazadrekh's jaw dropped to the floor.

His wand hit the floor and bounced down the steps. Belakh was too surprised by what was displayed to catch it.

The door shut. Malat scurried to the side of Belakh and chirped. Belakh squeaked back. Malat ran back to Nephalut and chirped.

The display flickered again, and the second-in-command was gone.

Szazadrekh rose from his throne and stepped around it. "Jaw?"

"She's his second in command?" Nephalut said. "I'm not easy to scare, but that. . . How does someone get a. . . what do the Terrans call them?"

Szazadrekh approached her. "I guess we're attaching the jaw in your lab?" He too was in a state of shock and a bit of horror of what he just saw-who Azultep's second-in-command was. Belakh scurried about their feet as usual, but the Lord was sure the scarabs were surprised as well. No wonder the second-in-command asked him to kill anyone who did not swear to keep what she looked like secret.

If knowledge spread, there could be an allegiance of races against Azultep, even among the Old Dynasties and Houses, viewing his second-in-command's identity as a threat or a valuable asset. Even those perversions of the Warp that possessed the Terrans could view this adaptation-or what they'd consider to be a horrible mutation, the impossible becoming possible-to be a threat to their existence, a threat that put a crack in the order of opposing forces since the beginning of time. It might as well be on par with the pestilence many Xenos called the "Tyranids" .

Maybe he was over analyzing, maybe there were some errors and inconsistencies in his theories. He had a bad feeling about that Terran vessel falling from orbit and the notion that bad things were on the way. This may be what his instincts were warning him about, this dangerous knowledge. He now wished that he never knew, that he never asked. He should have restrained his curiosity. There were better Lords, better Phaeron's who would be able to possess such knowledge with ease and keep it secret until eternity ran its course.

Regardless, what could he do with this information, what did it mean in regards to the new threat? He found himself in a place he hated, having new answers that created even more questions in times of trouble.

Nephalut looked at the Lord, her half-torn, half-burned flesh on her face expressionless. Malat hopped on her shoulder and gave her an earful. Before the scarab could finish, she told Szazadrekh, "The secret is safe with me."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he said. "There's a lot on my mind right now. Too much to worry about."

"Let's put this new problem on hold. After all, her request to keep it secret gives us reason to set this potential issue aside and deal with what we already have."

"But I can't sit here and do nothing. We need to solve our current problems as soon as possible, or else the burdens we carry will increase and eventually crush us. I've been doing nothing. I don't know what to do. I not sure I know anything at all about what we face. I know I ought to do something, but I'm afraid that by learning anything new I might come across more problems. More questions. More threats.

"That's why I've always been laid back as a Lord. Stepping away from problems saved me from a lot of pain and suffering that I would face had I done something. Silence, passivity, distance. . . Problems solved themselves without my involvement. I could stay a safe distance from issues. Sure, I'd get into fights here and there, but whenever I found the chance to pull away I would. I could accrue more warriors, larger fleets, greater armies and not have to worry about being destroyed. But now. . . Now I've found myself in the epicenter of a problem. It's a problem I know will only grow. That will only become stronger the more I pull away and the less I do."

Nephalut looked at the Lord and then his new jaw in her hands. She looked back at him. "You could send some scouts-"

"I'm not sending Deathmarks down there," he replied. "Neither scarabs."

"Get some wraiths down there."

"It's a big planet."

"Send a legion of wraiths. Several legions. Surround the planet. Contain the problem. You have an army capable of wounding a major Dynasty. You have a fleet that with its combined firepower could cleanse a system. Use what you have. Be a Lord."

"Perhaps." He looked at the new jaw. "But lets solve this problem." He pointed at the new jaw. "I might need some other modifications. I'm too royal, you see-"

"This new jaw and the special Necrodermis is all you need," Nephalut said. "Remember, you have those under you who will fight for you if you give the order. You don't need to be a one-Lord army."

He stood for a moment. Silence rested between them.

"Show the way," Szazadrekh finally said. "Let's get me a new jaw and necrodermis."

The door closed behind them as they walked down the corridor. Back in the room, Belakh leapt onto the throne. Three chirps later and thousands of wraiths were at the ready.