Szazadrekh left the lab, his new lower jaw bouncing. The new body part felt strange and foreign, yet familiar. The new Necrodermis also felt strange with a strange ticklish burning sensation running up and down his arms. Supposedly it was better than the rest of the material that made up his body, however Nephalut refused to replace every bit of the old living metal with the new. Her reasoning was that she wanted to keep a large portion to study. Although he had the authority, Szazadrekh chose not to wield it. Knowing a deadly secret about Azultep's second in command while chaos reigned on the planet below made the situation delicate, and losing Nephalut's trust by enforcing his will over her interests was far beyond consideration. Nephalut most likely knew things she had not told him yet, and to break ties now would result in him losing a potential ally in the oncoming strife.

Nephalut followed him out and the two returned to his throne where they watched the reports come in from the Wraiths.

Szazadrekh's jaw loosened, and Belakh caught it before it fell. Nephalut sighed. "I don't know what those are," she said. "But its definitely Necron."

"Doesn't look like it came from our ship," Szazadrekh said as Belakh reattached his jaw. "I don't remember Kophtet having any level of craftsmanship, never mind this high quality. Belakh, check with the rest of the fleet." The scarab jumped off and scurried into the shadows. The Lord turned to Nephalut. "Maybe we should ask our friend."

"Maybe," said Nephalut.

"Belakh! Call our dear friend."

The Display glyphs organized themselves and fizzed into clarity as Azultep's second-in-command came into view. "Kahz'rael?"

"Yes?" Her face was corrupted by her melancholy pout. She gazed down upon the Lord and Cryptek in her usual patronizing glare, the shadow around her eyes enhanced by the shadows around her.

"Have any information this?" Szazadrekh tapped at a few glyphs and soon Kahz'rael was observing the data. A brow of hers rose.

"No." She said. "No I don't. Neither will any of Azultep's forces assist you. Are there any other questions?"

"Currently, no." Szazadrekh said.

"Goodbye." And she vanished.

"She isn't telling us something," Szazadrekh said.

Nephalut sighed and pet Malat. "Obvious is obvious. I'm thinking we should do it ourselves, seeing as theres still rogue Deathmarks down there and the only ones best equipped to deal with them are ourselves, as far as we know."

The Lord caressed his jaw. "Let's not leave Azultep and Kophtet out of the picture."

"I wouldn't rely on them to take care of the Deathmarks. After all, that ancient automaton is on a pastry hunt."

Szazadrekh rested his chin on his fist and took a moment.

"Think of the logistics," Nephalut added. "You send an entire army down there. You have those Deathmarks and those parasitic things. It's going to be a mess, more of a mess than it was up here, and you surely remember how it was like up here with just those Deathmarks."

"Go on."

"So instead of sending an army down there to get cut to pieces, we keep it small, elite, and direct."

"We already sent wraiths-"

"Correct, but I doubt their ability as well as any other Canoptek or warrior of ours to deal with a hot location like down there, where the stability of the situation is fluid and can turn any moment."

"So we don't send any army, squad- Am I right in thinking you're again suggesting we ourselves go down there."

"Obvious is obvious. We're the best equipped."

Szazadrekh slouched back in his chair. "Oh my C'tan. . . You do remember what I said a while ago, about my preference to stay away from danger?"

"But you also said this was a serious problem, and you didn't know what to do. If I remember correctly you also said you were, along the lines of, going to face this problem directly."

"Did I?" Szazadrekh scratched his chin. "Eternity can whittle at the memory quite a bit."

"I believe you did. Regardless, we should go down there and deal with it ourselves." She brushed her finger down his wrist and forearm. "We're equipped for dealing with this issue."

"Stop repeating yourself, and do give me a while to think. I'm not that forgetful. . ." Szazadrekh said. "Neither do I want to rush into the fray head first."

"Of course," she replied and left the Lord be.

*********#####**********

Nephalut touched the torn skin as she gazed into her reflection on the wall. The pieces of burnt flesh, torn bits of hair. . . It was all ruined thanks to that Deathmark.

She did not regret being turned into an immortal machine, but she did miss the perks of being flesh and bone. Even in all the suffering that flesh and bone brought, she felt alive. Life around her felt. . .

Real.

The problem with immortality, she felt, was that everything seemed like it was one long dream, one great slumber. It was like she entered those furnaces and fell asleep in their scorching warmth, only to dream forever.

Although she did not feel entirely numb, there was a slight feeling of it, a feeling that what was around her was not real. That perhaps she wasn't real.

Ever since she traded her flesh and bone, she was stuck on a cliff where the firm ground of assuredness stopped and the abyss of the unknown began. As a Cryptek it was her duty to venture into the unknown. However, this unknown was unfamiliar territory, something not in her usual field. . . This unknown of not the physical, but the meta-physical.

It disturbed her.

Other unknowns had some sense of beginning, some sense that there was something out there to grasp or to head back to, something to begin understanding. She knew what she lacked, and she knew what it was like to have and to not have what she lacked. But she did not know what to reach out for, what to seek and what goal to reach.

For a moment she glanced at the little mechanical scorpion on the table. The same scorpion that was with the mutant Ork. She thought she remembered some strange conversation between the two, about finding goals unknown. Did she still have the head? She wasn't sure.

"Malat," she said. "I want you to repair our little rogue automaton in containment. Save him until I return."

She knew who she was in the present, who she was in the past, and was comfortable to whoever she would be in the future. Identity wasn't what she struggled with, rather it was her connection to that around her. She knew where she fit it, but it was the experience of fitting in to her surroundings, her place in life, that she had difficulty with. She was sure of where she was, but not her senses. She felt pleasure and pain, but she also felt a bit numb.

The door to the lab opened, and in came a wraith. In its grasp was the corpse of a Terran female. Brought with her was a strong Terran male. The pair were of fair skin. On the male was brown hair, and the female blonde. Nephalut wasn't keen on light hair colors or pale skin. She would have to alter the pigments in order to make the skin feel more natural with a darker flesh and black hair. The torn blue flesh that she wore, pale enough that it appeared bleached, had never matched how she saw herself.

She pointed to the other side of the room. The wraith passed her, and she felt the difference between how a breeze felt on Necrodermis compared to skin. The skin, although numb, sent a more vivid sensation. Skin was great, and she knew how to produce it in the lab. However, harvesting from corpses was more feasible than spending the time molding grown flesh and working out the details. She preferred the authenticity of natural skin, and here it was.

"Malat," she said. "Bring Szazadrekh." She had a plan, but would he go along with it?