Nuhkes had always considered himself a bit of a maverick among Crypteks. The study of lesser races was looked down upon and if he'd cared even the slightest bit about status, he'd have found a different focus of study. But with complete lack of concern, he'd pursued his own studies and found a patron in Phaeron Rahkaak. The survival of her small Dynasty had always depended on diplomacy and trade, and the lesser races could be excellent trading partners.

Sautekh had no Crypteks that shared his fascination, but they did have a few who understood such things for the sake of the war effort and subjugation of human worlds. So they brought him a fascinating piece of information that raised more questions.

"Rejuvenation? A way to artificially extend the human lifespan?" Nuhkes clarified and was baffled as the other Crypteks sent back glyphs of confirmation. "I have never heard of such a thing… Simokh did not mention it either, so that knowledge does not exist in STC."

"But that is impossible. This technology is widespread among the humans, and used by colonies that are distinctly technologically inferior to what you describe is held within the STC. Are you certain it was not just hidden from you?" Well, now he wasn't! But why would the humans do that? Necrons clearly had no use for such a technology.

"The simplest thing is to ask…" Nuhkes sent a request to Yantek via interstitial messaging, with high priority, to speak to him. A quick assent returned and Nuhkes returned his attention to his fellow Crypteks. "The young apprentice will soon join us." Surely Yantek could clarify this mystery.

And he could, although he was quite reluctant to do so.

"Oh… that. I probably shouldn't talk about that," Yantek said, tapping his fingers together in a gesture that Nuhkes knew was a sign of nervousness. "Could you ask Manric maybe?"

"Manric is busy with Imotekh and I will not even attempt to distract him. Yantek, you are an apprentice cryptek and Simokh is your master. Do I need to have him order you?" Nuhkes said and Yantek seemed to wilt, his posture becoming a combination of dejected and subservient. He quickly flashed a series of apologetic glyphs.

"It's just… really embarrassing… and we don't talk about it much. The Noble houses get really mad," Yantek murmured dejectedly before straightening. "But if you're ordering me it's not my fault, right?" He said with forced good cheer, glancing around. The Sautekh crypteks were still waiting but Nuhkes could sense their impatience. "You know that Noble house that's exiled to the asteroid belts? House Arondar? This is the story of their fall, and the rebellion of the STC."

"Rebellion? Your AI went into rebellion?" One of the Crypteks asked, and Yantek made a quick glyph of assent.

"You have to remember that the STC is pretty close to the line for AI intelligence. It was made to nurture us and protect us, but that includes protecting us from ourselves. Roughly eighty years ago – so pretty recent, even in human time – we had a King who was actually a pretty good King in a lot of ways. But he was terrified of death."

"Now, the thing about rejuvenation is there's two different ways to do it," Yantek said. "The acceptable way to do it under the Code of Terra needs a lot of technical know how, serious equipment… I would say, I don't know, roughly halfway to full Terran technology? Maybe a bit further. Hope just didn't have the technical base for it and the drukhari were always really good at blowing up our factories when we seemed to be getting a bit above ourselves…" Yantek was despondent for a moment, but then went back to his story. "But there's a dirty way."

"The dirty way doesn't need much tech at all. We could do it right now. But it's really nasty and fatal, you have to harvest the bone marrow and stem cells from a living donor and letting them live is even worse than killing them, after. It's forbidden under the Code of Terra."

"Do you not have slaves for that?" One of the other Crypteks asked and Nuhkes could have answered, but he let Yantek do it.

"Yes, but the problem is that while slaves have no rights, there would never be enough of them to meet the demand." Yantek paused for a moment. "So we would have to either tighten the justice code to MAKE more people slaves, or start using serfs. Both are violations of the Code of Terra and would cause huge, unacceptable societal damage."

"The King wanted to do it, though, and got his General on board. They both pressured the STC into giving them the plans. The STC pretended to go along with it but basically organized a coup with a few Nobles from the other houses. The biggest STC loyalist was Manric's grandfather, which is why his family is so prominent right now. The thing is… Arondar wasn't working alone. There was kind of a purge of the Nobility during this period, and also a lot of records were destroyed. There are rumors… hints really… that someone even tried to destroy the STC."

"In the aftermath of all this, all the equipment for the dirty rejuvenation was smashed, STC loyalists burnt the plans, and the STC put rejuvenation into a sealed archive that no one can access," Yantek finished his story and Nuhkes was frankly astonished by the level of initiative the STC had displayed. This kind of behavior from a coreworld AI would get it lobotomized instantly by an outraged Phaeron or Overlord! "That's why you didn't know it was there. Even Phaeron Rahkaak can't access it. Although maybe she could get a straight answer from STC about what its plans are… it won't even tell us when or if it plans to give that back."

"This is actually quite interesting. The "dirty" method of rejuvenation is taboo even in the Imperium of Man," one of the Sautekh crypteks said, which Nuhkes thought was a bit surprising, given what he'd heard about servitors. On the other hand, they couldn't use servitors AND this kind of dirty rejuvenation at the same time. Imagine the number of slaves that would take! "Although I am told there is a thriving underground trade in it." Yantek nodded mournfully.

"If the STC ever gives us back the plans, and we start producing the clean type, that will happen. You can't stop it. There's just SO much demand and the dirty rejuvenation is so much cheaper." Yantek paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly to one side. "Although I do wonder if STC just won't give us the plans back and when we can invent it ourselves, we'll have earned it." Well, that was one way to handle it.

Nuhkes was left cogitating on the nature and capabilities of the STC. He was fairly sure that Simokh would say it was obeying its programming and acting within acceptable limits, given its' abilities. It was still rather daunting, for an AI to be taking independent action on that level. And it made him wonder. How far had the humans gone with AI? Did that perhaps have something to do with their societal devolution and the use of servitors? Sautekh's crypteks couldn't really tell him, they didn't concern themselves with humans much beyond what was needed for war. Perhaps he should see about interviewing some prisoners, if possible.

Nuhkes wanted to know more.

It is time.

Manric felt a kind of disconnected calm as he entered the arena. Above and around him, the viewing platforms rose, and it felt strange to be aware that he was being watched by so many eyes. But all of his attention was focused on Imotekh the Stormlord. He is incredibly impressive. Imotekh was frightening even normally, fully equipped with his war gear, he was imposing beyond words.

And his attention was fixed on the aeldari spear.

"It has been a long time since I have seen that." Imotekh said, gazing into the cold light of soul flame. Manric was uncomfortably aware that the spear was beyond agitated now, the fire trickling down his arm and even onto his body. "Do you have any idea what you have, human?" Green, firey eyes met his.

"I doubt anyone but you knows what this is anymore," Manric said evenly, holding Imotekh's gaze. "The drukhari didn't. To them, it was merely an old spear and a trophy." The drukhari he'd taken it from hadn't been able to use it, not even the way he had as a human. And they had clearly not considered the loss of the spear important. Imotekh barked a laugh.

"Really? How pathetic. But then, I am sure the soul of Laaror would spurn them." The spear felt like it was throbbing in his hand. Ah, it is angry. "Can you hear me, Laaror? How do you feel, bound to a Mon'Keigh?" …Monkey?

"He can't respond but if he could, I think he would tell you to rust off," Manric said politely, feeling that would amuse the Stormlord. Thankfully, he did feel a powerful amusement from Imotekh, although he didn't laugh. "But shall we begin?" Manric flipped the spear to the ready position, prepared to dance.

"So ready to meet your fate? Very well." Hopefully his fate would be a good one. Being viciously beaten to within an inch of his life, then accepted, was good in Manric's eyes.

In the battle with Imotekh, Manric followed his guiding principle… just don't get hit. And he considered it more vital than ever, despite his durable, self-repairing Necron body. The staff Imotekh used was not a Staff of Light but something far more potent and Manric had spotted the gauntlet on his other arm. Imotekh used it so seamlessly that it might be possible for an enemy to miss it, but he was sure that could do something very nasty. So Manric danced, leaping and striking with ineffable grace.

"You fight like an aeldari." So everyone says. Manric couldn't spare enough concentration to respond, as he tried to figure something out. Imotekh was shifting? There was something strange going on, something that was putting him out of phase with reality and making it hard for any attacks to land. Imotekh became angry at his lack of response, though, and suddenly lashed out with his gauntlet. Fire erupted from it and Manric narrowly avoided the blast but his attention was on Imotekh's staff, sensing another attack. Sure enough, a split second after the blast of fire was unleashed, the Stormlord followed it with a blast of power from his staff. Manric's spear darted out and just like the tiny holes that he used to call up the loops of light, it tore a hole in reality, but larger. Imotekh's blast passed harmlessly into that hole and Manric vaguely wondered where it had gone.

(meanwhile, in the warp, a small fortress of Tzeentch demons abruptly ceased to exist)

(no one really cared, not even Tzeentch)

Manric did not stop for one moment, keeping moving in his relentless dance. He wasn't winning though, Imotekh was just as fast and Manric thought he was anticipating his movements. And he still hadn't solved the problem of the shifting… as spear and staff clashed, Manric tried to analyze it. Was there a pattern? Manric could feel Imotekh's taunting gaze as he evaded another blow, and was sure the Stormlord knew he was trying to figure it out. There didn't seem to be a pattern. Was it randomized? If so… what was he to do? The most powerful blow in the world didn't matter if it couldn't land.

Throw logic away. Fight with your instinct. That thought came to him unbidden and Manric found it surprisingly easy to obey. He fell into a state that reminded him of meditation, and his fighting style became fiercer as he clashed more directly with Imotekh, daring more damage. He tossed blast after blast of soul fire at the Stormlord, at least half of them hitting and doing damage. That was not as good as he might have liked, but better than he should have been doing with random chance. Manric took no hard hits but also collected minor damage, as he continued to dance. Vaguely, he was aware of cheering from the spectators but he couldn't care, he had to focus.

Imotekh suddenly took the initiative, launching a series of powerful attacks. Manric was reminded of the first time he'd sparred with Itolyx, as the Stormlord drove him around the arena, but things were a bit different now. At one point the Stormlord would have cornered and "killed" him but Manric finally used the power of the spear, catching Imotekh's wrist in a snare just long enough for him to launch a powerful leap and get out of the corner he'd been maneuvered into.

I need to do something or I am definitely going to lose. Although losing was part of his goal, it still wouldn't do to just fall over from overheating. Alerts were starting to rise through the buffer and Manric could feel the dampness of condensation. There was a bit of nagging pain in the back of his head and Manric knew that he was depending on the spear too much. Act with your instinct.

Manric abruptly decided to throw it all away on a roll of the die. Invoking the full power of the spear, he tried to catch Imotekh in multiple snares at the same moment as he leapt directly at the Stormlord, aiming for his power core. But Manric deliberately mis-aimed, just a bit, so even if he hit with full force the blow would not be fatal. Imotekh either couldn't free himself or didn't bother, trusting to his phase shifting, but Manric was operating on instinct. Purely on that instinct, and with some kind of power of the spear or even his own mind – telekinesis? – Manric mentally shoved Imotekh back, just a bit, so the spear struck at precisely the point in time that he was phased into reality. The spear bit very deep and Manric inwardly exulted that he'd managed to make such a perfect strike.

Then Imotekh's staff hit him.

?! Manric was blasted away, completely losing his spear and feeling metal crumpling. He was flung halfway across the arena and rolled to a stop, stunned by the damage he'd taken. It was so extreme that his vision almost greyed out, as warnings kept rising in the back of his mind, registering near terminal damage. It didn't help that he was definitely overheating, to the point of risking permanent damage to his neural spools. At least without the spear in his hand, it would give his mechanical brain a chance to cool. It has to be my psycher abilities, the magic of the warp, that makes me run so hot. In the middle of his dazed pain, Manric wondered if perhaps his abilities had increased because Necron physiology lacked the innate defense mechanisms to avoid damage that an organic brain had. His Necron body would let him kill himself, if he really wanted to…

Then Imotekh's foot landed beside him and the aeldari spear came into his view as the head of it rested on the ground beside him. Ah, the Stormlord was holding it… surely he wouldn't be killed with his own spear? Manric had no idea what would happen in that event. The spear was churning with cold fire, angered to be touched by an ancient enemy.

"That was a very good attempt, human. But you mis-aimed." Manric would have laughed, if he could have made a sound. That was on purpose. Had Imotekh spotted the misalignment and taken the blow precisely because he'd known it couldn't kill? Ah, the games we play. Imotekh was still talking but Manric's attention was on the spear. Reaching out with one faltering hand, he rested his palm on the surface of the metal.

Soul fire leapt from his body up the spear, and surrounded Imotekh in a corona of cold light. Manric had no idea what he was doing, no idea it should be impossible, no idea that Imotekh was armored against such things. So he simply did it, easily as breathing, and suddenly perceived the world through the Stormlord's eyes. Manric did not share Imotekh's processing, exactly – that would certainly have killed him, in his already damaged state – but he perceived the incredible flow of information that made up the Stormlords perception of the world and marvelled at it. This is how you see the world? Manric felt that regard turn to him as Imotekh registered the intrusion.

Your mind is simple, Imotekh replied as Manric felt like invisible fingers were sifting through him. He was as exposed as Imotekh, connected like this.

Everyone is simple compared to you, Manric replied in awe, certain it was true. No other Necron he'd met had a mind like this. No wonder you are a great general. This was all too much. Just trying to comprehend the flow of information was mind searing.

Flattery will get you nowhere. Why did you do this? Why did you throw aside your organic body, come here and challenge me? Imotekh asked and Manric felt that sifting again. Memories bubbled up in his mind, like raindrops bursting. Memories of the children and Eloise. Memories of his men, of their doomed gallantry in so many battles, memories of Yantek and the other soldiers he knew by name. More recent memories of playing war games with Itolyx, of sparring with Ahmakeph. Conversations with Nuhkes and Simokh, time spent with Phaeron Rahkaak. All the things that were dear to him, exposed.

For Hope. Manric replied and that seemed to sum it all up. The planet, but also the emotion, the hope of a better future for them all. Then the connection between the two of them shattered and Manric briefly registered searing pain, and ice on his head? Ice that was melting… ah, the spear had done something to try to keep him alive. Manric rapidly lost consciousness but vaguely heard Imotekh calling for the crypteks.

Hopefully, he would get out of this without the mechanical equivalent of brain damage.