For Ahmakeph, Rahkaak's presentation to Imotekh had a very strange consequence that caught him completely off guard.
His status among the other Overlords experienced a sudden, artificial inflation. From being a near-pariah, disgraced by his failures, he became a fascinating figure that everyone wanted to talk to, to find out more about Rahkaak, the humans, the biotransference, everything. At first that was very pleasant but it quickly became tiring.
Ahmakeph found relief from it, oddly enough, by staying close to Zahndrekh. The addled nemesor didn't really understand what was happening and that made it hard for anyone to question him when he was in Zahndrekh's presence. So whenever the attention was becoming too much and he couldn't stand repeating things for the twentieth time, Ahmakeph retreated to his nemesor. Of course, Zahndrekh noticed.
"I am so glad you're spending more time with me, cousin," Zahndrekh said happily and Ahmakeph held back a sigh. Were they actually cousins? Honestly, he didn't even know, he couldn't remember much of anything from the Flesh Times. Maybe Zahndrekh was right or maybe he'd just made it up, fitting Ahmakeph into the mold of the Wars of Succession. "I really don't understand what is happening, it is all so confusing, but we are going to see gladiatorial matches soon?"
"Yes, they are just being arranged." Such things took coordination and planning. Fortunately, the convocation always had gladiatorial events and they had plenty of prisoners and beasts waiting. They wouldn't want to use them all on this but given the length of the convocation they could get more before it was over. Ahmakeph did wonder how the pwi-Necrons would take to fighting other humans, from the Imperium. Although surely they knew that was coming? Zahndrekh was silent for a moment and Ahmakeph glanced at him. It was always hard to read the emotions of other necrons, unless they employed glyphs, but the nemesor did not seem his usual, cheerful self.
"I am quite worried… I tried to speak to Imotekh about Manric, but he told me to go away." Ahmakeph winced internally at the thought and glanced at Obyron. The Vargard met his gaze evenly and Ahmakeph was willing to bet Zahndrekh's protector had been terrified for his nemesor in that meeting. Imotekh valued Zahndrekh, but even the highest could fall from favor.
"Manric can take care of himself," Ahmakeph said and wished he thought it was true. "You can't do anything for him." That, at least, was true.
"He's such a good commander. I just don't understand…" Zahndrekh sounded forlorn.
"He brings peace." Eh? They both looked at Obyron. "It is like nothing I have seen before. Never would I have imagined you would swear loyalty to Zahndrekh."
"Oh rust off," Ahmakeph muttered and Zahndrekh flashed glyphs of amusement. Obyron was above such things, or he was sure the Vargard would also be displaying amusement. "Just promising not to kill him is not swearing loyalty." Although for Overlords, it did come uncomfortably close.
"It really does come very close! You know cousin, you should join us during the gladiatorial events. We'll have an excellent spot." That was very true. As a powerful nemesor, Zahndrekh would have a spot almost as good as Imotekh himself and Ahmakeph would be a fool to pass up that offer.
"I would be pleased to do so," Ahmakeph responded. He really was looking forward to the gladiatorial combat. Although, even though it would be a great battle, he couldn't look forward to Manric's duel with Imotekh.
It was a foregone conclusion who was going to win, and he couldn't enjoy someone he knew and respected getting demolished that way.
A few days later.
Manric stood beside Imotekh the Stormlord in his private dais overlooking the gladiatorial arena. In keeping with the glory of Sautekh, the arena was a great thing that could be rearranged via arcane technology he didn't understand. Obstacles and terrain features could be instantly created, which would make it excellent for war games. But what was going to happen today was not any kind of game.
Manric felt very nervous as he glanced at Imotekh. He was with the Stormlord to explain the character and attributes of each of his units that would be on display. Imotekh had consented to it, because he did seem to be giving them a real chance to change his mind, but Manric could tell it was going to be an uphill battle and in particular, Imotekh detested his presence. He wasn't used to being disliked like this and it put him on edge.
I will just have to do my best to win him over. That was going to be insanely difficult, but Manric resigned himself to the task. He glanced down at the battlefield again. Death Seekers vs Imotekh's Immortals. That was going to be spicy, to say the least, and they had been given some nicely broken terrain to work with.
"This unit is called the Death Seekers. They are named that because they seek death avidly, both their own and the enemies'. They are one of the few units that the drukhari were actually able to recognize, and would sometimes deliberately avoid." That was the highest compliment the dark eldar could give to any of their units, that they were dangerous enough to be worth avoiding. "They will be coming back later, this is a small demonstration of their talents." A relatively straightforward conflict that would not highlight some of the Death Seeker's more lunatic inclinations.
"Hm." Imotekh said nothing, just watching intently and Manric was at least relieved that he seemed to be interested in the tactics on display. The Immortals were absolutely excellent infantry, the best the Necrons had to offer, but the Death Seekers were meeting them with unconventional tactics, utilizing hit and run and various other strategies. The Immortals quickly adjusted to that and compensated for it, though, as was their way.
As that was going on, though, the Death Seekers were preparing a trap. Manric watched as Imotekh bent forward, getting a better look at what was going on. He didn't ask what was happening, though, so Manric said nothing. Instead, he glanced down at what was happening on the battlefield. The Death Seekers were making use of the broken terrain to settle down glue traps, nice thick ones. Their efforts required a deft touch and absolutely no mistakes, a difficult thing on the battlefield, but their field engineers carried it out with single minded perfection. Then it was time to lure the Immortals into the trap.
This part of the operation was delicate as well, as it also required no mistakes. At best, a mistake would cost the life of a soldier. At worst it would alert the enemy and they might manage to warn the rest of their units before the trap could be sprung, rendering it completely useless.
The Death Seekers made no mistakes. When they seemed to be retreating, they safely crossed their own trap, but the Immortals did not. The drukhari-based glue was potent enough to stop a Pride tank and had no problem at all taking down multiple groups of Immortals. Then the Death Seekers turned on them viciously, annihilating the trapped units and quickly turning the tables on their opponents. From there on the melee deteriorated into a vicious series of smaller battles, as the Immortals changed their tactics to account for the massive losses they had just taken. They were going to lose, but also make the Death Seekers pay for their victory. Manric felt proud of them all.
"What was the nature of that trap they used?" Imotekh asked and Manric was sure he'd guessed, but wasn't entirely sure. There were other possible mechanisms.
"It was a glue trap. The drukhari had minions that would spit it on our soldiers, and they also liked to use it for restraint and torture. We figured out how to harvest it from the corpses of their minions, and repurpose it." Manric glanced down at the battlefield. "We also have plans to artificially synthesize it, eventually, but right now it's a limited military resource. Only the Death Seekers are allowed to use it." He flashed a quick humor glyph. "Mostly because other units will reliably glue themselves to the ground."
"Your glyphs are clumsy, human." And he'd been trying so hard!
"I apologize. I am not skilled in writing in general, beyond the necessities." Eloise had compared his letters home to reading an action report. "If you want a pwi-Necron who is skilled with glyphs, I recommend Yantek, our apprentice cryptek." Imotekh glanced at him and Manric detected a bit of surprise, behind his complete lack of expression. He gave a small, respectful bow. "I am told he demonstrated his skills to Orikan and was not found wanting."
"Is that so. Is he your only cryptek apprentice?" Manric nodded, still keeping a bit of an eye on the battlefield. The Death Seekers were taking more casualties than he might have liked at this stage, but it was how things went for them. They just didn't care about that sort of thing when victory was in hand.
"I hate giving up my field engineers, they're so useful, but I should probably move a few more over. From what I understand of crypteks, they're already functioning as basic Technomancers." Pulling things together on the fly, in a battlefield, was the duty of a low level Technomancer. "They were the ones who set up that glue trap." Not all of them would be suitable, of course, but Manric could name at least two others off the top of his head who would likely qualify.
Imotekh called a halt to the battle when it was clear who had won. Then the Death Seekers went back to the glue traps, pulling out some pre-prepared sprayers that had been put together by the crypteks and Lord in charge of organizing the gladiatorial matches. The glue traps had to be manually removed, or they would foul the next match.
The next match was a much smaller melee. Manric knew nothing at all about how gladiatorial events were normally staged – Hope did not practice such things – but apparently a large scale melee was usually followed by a smaller one, and the maximum put on in one day was six matches, usually only four. That was to give the spectators a chance to leave and discuss what had happened, talk about the tactics and compare the outcomes.
Just because it was smaller, though, did not make it any less fierce. A single monster, a thing like nothing Manric had ever seen before, was released into the arena to fight a small group of the Indominable Cabbits. Fortunately the awful creatures of the drukhari had somewhat prepared them for massive, evil beasts. The wildlife of Hope certainly had nothing like it, even in the tropical bands.
"These warriors are from the Indominable Cabbits. They excel at teamwork, but are also noted for being… not the brightest unit under my command." Imotekh looked at him and Manric could only shrug. "Some of the things they have done were frankly moronic. But somehow, they're still among my better units." The Cabbits tended to pull victory from the jaws of defeat.
Ironically, it went that way today… it honestly looked like the monster might massacre them, before one of the Cabbits accidentally fed himself to the beast. The other Cabbits took advantage of the moment to slide under it and pour gauss fire into its belly as it was busy macerating the victim. The beast shrieked, an utterly ear-splitting sound and rolled away, smoking. Two of the Cabbits hammered it with gauss fire while the others ran in with power weapons in an attempt to carve it up. The beast claimed one more victim, tearing open a chest cavity before finally succumbing to the massed firepower. Manric just hoped all the recall functions worked. Being resurrected, over and over, was something they were getting used to but there could always be a fatal flaw and a soldier would be lost forever.
The next battle was a larger one and sadness smote Manric's heart as he saw the combatants and the unit that had been chosen. It would be the God's Hands. They were up against a sizeable force of Imperial guardsmen, who from what Manric understood, were being partially controlled by Mindshackle Scarabs. Only partially, since it wasn't actually difficult to convince them to fight.
Manric became aware that Imotekh was watching him and met his gaze for a moment. What is there to say? Then he turned his gaze back to the battlefield and began to explain.
"This unit is the God's Hands. As the name implies, they are the one of the more religious of our units… mostly retired warriors, who were too old or physically damaged to continue to fight, they came back when the call for biotransference was put out." This part was a bit bittersweet to Manric. He wasn't religious, but respected the sentiment behind it. "God's Hands is a phrase from a prayer usually said before battle. 'In God's hands do I commend my immortal soul.' In this case, it is a reference to death and that they have already surrendered their souls to God." And the dead would protect the living.
"Mortal nonsense," Imotekh brushed it away, but Manric could detect a bit of thoughtfulness in him. "And what will they think of killing their own kind?" …Ah.
"I wish it had been a different unit. Like the Death Seekers or the Lion Hearts, a unit that would feel nothing… this will scar them. But it is what it must be, and we are all aware that other humans are our greatest threat." That was merely a fact and Imotekh said nothing more, watching intently as the battle progressed. If there was hesitation, the God's Hands showed no sign of it, and the fierce attacks from the Guardsmen surely helped. Manric felt sad but also proud of them.
As difficult as it might be, they would do their best.