Manric Duleth was a very powerful, very unusual and even partly artificial psyker.

Over the many years of meditating with his spear, and living as a Necron, he had figured it all out. When he'd taken up the spear as a young man, he'd been a weak but real psyker, roughly the same level as Zelda. His witchsight had been so unreliable, Manric had mistook it for migraines, and his empathy had been easy to mistake for good people skills. The fact that he genuinely did have excellent people skills made it even more confusing.

The spear though, had gently coaxed his gifts into full flower. The ancient aeldari spirits in the spear had tested his soul and spirit, and found him to be worthy. So instead of just letting him fumble along, they had silently trained his mind and soul. The pathways of his brain had been gently rewritten, routed on new paths, and Manric related to the Warp in a way more similar to an Eldar than a human. Oh, he was vastly less powerful than any true aeldari, but his instinctive grasp of the Immaterium was great. He felt little fear of it, despite knowing the dangers, and the presence of the Warp in the back of his mind was like a gentle murmur of distant conversation. Putting on a blackstone collar felt like a mutilation, like a piece of his brain had suddenly been excised. Close to unbearable, and Manric would only do it in the most necessary of circumstances.

Fortunately, because of the rewriting of his brain, Manric's defenses against the Warp were of excellent caliber. That was important because while Hope itself was relatively safe – the walls of reality were thick there, probably thanks to that warp storm – many of the worlds he went to were not. Manric had felt a few things knocking on the doors, so to speak. But they quickly abandoned him, realizing all the doors were locked and bolted shut.

Curiously though, Manric's psyker powers were partly useless. His best ability was empathic telepathy, but that was strangely worthless for anything violent. Yes, he could shriek terror into the minds of his enemies… if he wanted to experience it himself. Yes, he could puppeteer their bodies, whole groups of them, if he wanted to be assaulted by a psychic backwash of shock and horror. Yes, he could cause vile hallucinations and madness, if he wanted to feel it himself. And there was no way to avoid that backlash. Meditating on the spear and communing with the aeldari had revealed to him that Eldar with his gifts were normally healers, not warriors. Empathic telepathy was just not suited to combat.

The only thing it was good for was projecting confidence into his troops. Using his empathy, Manric could rally his men when things were getting tough, instilling into them fresh courage in the face of despair. Or he could even project bloodlust, for the Death Seekers in particular. Manric didn't particularly enjoy that, but he knew what they liked. And it worked a little on the true Necrons as well, although it was completely variable what they might respond to. Some reacted well to courage, while others responded much better to a hearty dose of bloodlust.

(if he'd known about the Flayer virus, Manric might have made a connection)

The only other main use for his empathic telepathy was countering a dominating attack, like the Librarian had attempted. Manric just couldn't bring him to launch such an attack of his own. Experiencing the pain of others, when he was the one causing it, was a psychic torment to him. But if someone else instigated the attack, he could respond in kind.

Beyond his empathy, though, Manric had developed new abilities. The spear made them easier to use but he'd realized they were not entirely dependant on it. The little warp snares he used were a derivative of telekinesis. Manric didn't need the spear to pull apart the veil of reality and generate a warp rift. Using the aeldari spear was infinitely safer, though, because the spear sealed the rift with no effort on his part. And Manric had discovered, to his surprise and pleasure, that he could punch corridors into the Warp, using the spear or his own abilities to cross great distances in the blink of an eye. The only problem was knowing the target destination… Manric was a bit wary of doing it blindly, he wanted visual confirmation of the target.

There were a lot of things he couldn't do, of course. Manric had observed many other psykers by now, who unfortunately were mostly dead, and some of their powers were amazing. The one power Manric truly coveted was something called the Scrier's Gaze. He had only been told about it, because it wasn't the kind of thing you could observe… it was the ability of a psyker to view the entire battlefield like they were an eagle on high. That power would have worked well with his warp rifts, in addition to being a fine thing for any General. Alas, that he simply couldn't do it. He had tried, and had managed to separate his awareness from his body but only for a very short time. It just wasn't among his gifts.

What was easily among his gifts, though, was singing the ghost wood into being. Manric absolutely loved it, feeling wonderfully alive as he gathered up the energies of the Warp and coaxed them into becoming something physical. He had essentially invented the ritual for it, but working with the aeldari spirits of the spear. It was modified to suit humans, which was why the material was not true wraithbone. Manric suspected that any race capable of making a solid warp material would make something just a touch different, reflecting their different natures.

So when he came back to Hope, Manric always took the time to make some ghost wood. The biotransference project was going quite well, although they were currently stuck on the final step, extracting the soul from the ghost wood and returning it to the body. Manric was confident they would get there. And the spirits in the spear would not help any further… they communicated to him largely via emotions, in line with his gifts, but Manric could understand the blunt "figure it out yourself, Mon'Keigh," message.

Manric would never have let him know, but he was predisposed to approve of Rafeef as a husband for his daughter. Zelda was the most powerful psyker they had and a union with an even more powerful psyker would be good for Hope in general. Also, Rafeef was a combat veteran. To Manric, that was very important. He was used to the idea that except for a few exceptional circumstances, like Reinhart's eyes, it was the place of a man to join the army and fight. Youngsters in Hope no longer had to follow that path and Manric understood they needed them in other industries, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that a bit of military service was needed to be a man.

So when Manric gave Rafeef a hard time, it was mostly for show. And while the psyker probably didn't think so, Manric was definitely going easy on him. Zelda recognized it, though, when he let Rafeef use his name.

"Thank you daddy!" Manric chuckled as he gently patted her shoulder. Rafeef beat a hasty escape which suited Manric just fine, he wanted to spend time with his daughter. "Did you want to go up to the roof?"

"Oh yes." The research facility was so deep underground, which was wonderful for security against demonic incursions but also made it a bit cold and musty, despite their best efforts. They took the elevator up, followed by several different elevators before they reached the top of the skyscraper.

What was on the roof was a lovely little recreation area. Meant for the government and office workers who occupied the tower, it was also available for the researchers. There were benches, tables and chairs and umbrellas to provide shade against the sun. Manric gazed out over the city for a moment, taking in the commanding view.

"Hope has changed." It was all so fast. Manric knew it would be, he'd been behind it, but it was still shocking to see. Zelda's hand slid into his and she gave him a gentle squeeze.

"It must be crazy to see it, when you've been away for so long." Yes… yes, that was it. If he had been here the whole time, it wouldn't be striking him like this. "Want to sit on the bench?" He would to be beside her.

They took a seat on a very sturdy bench and Manric just enjoyed the sun and the breeze for a moment. It was a truly glorious day, with nary a cloud in the sky. A slight haze of pollution, but it couldn't be helped. At least the breeze was keeping that moving.

"How have things been for you, aside from your suitor?" Manric asked. Zelda wrinkled her nose at him.

"You sound so old fashioned sometimes." Well, he WAS well past fifty now. God, how old was he? He could probably figure it out using her age, but decided he really didn't want to. "Daddy, did you hear what has been happening with Artur?"

"No, please tell me." Artur was his oldest son, and he was a Knight armor pilot stationed at Hive Antioch. He was well blooded against the Orks now, and earning some glory as a competent if not inspired Knight. Manric wished he knew what was happening with his children, but there was just no way to pass letters. The Necrons did have FTL communication but it was reserved for important matters, like Imotekh's orders or a planet coming under assault. Not passing news of private matters.

(Necron FTL communication was an area that was infinitely better than anything the human race had ever produced, even in the dark age of technology)

(it was even possible for a Tyranid attacked world to get help before it was too late)

Manric listened attentively as Zelda told him what was happening with Artur on Antioch. It was actually more pertinent to strategy than he'd expected and the idea of making a city within a city for Hive duties was very interesting. It made him glad he'd put the God's Hands to the garrison duties. Surely it was one of them, probably an old veteran, who had come up with this and made it happen.

"That's good, the Stormlord mentioned his feelings about that particular world." Exasperated was the best way to describe it. "At least it sounds like they have a handle on things." The constant war against the orks was ugly and violent, but the men had everything under control. Casualties weren't the best, particularly compared to the other worlds, but were well within acceptable limits. "It does sound like they're putting some heavy wear on the Knight armor, though." The mechanical havoc was a bit extreme.

"Orks like to go for the hard targets, Artur says." Well, that did make sense. At least it actually kept the casualties down a bit, as the Orks broke themselves on the Knight armor. "Daddy, can you tell me about what you've been doing?" Hm… did she really want to know? "Not the gruesome parts, but can you tell me about the worlds you've seen?" Ah yes!

"The last world I went to had three moons…" Manric began regaling his daughter with stories about the beautiful and exotic planets he had seen. The Death Worlds were particularly fascinating to her, the places that were just barely good enough for humans to live but intrinsically hostile to human life. Manric could see why they would be fascinating in abstract, but in person he thought they were an incredible pain in the ass. The next time he saw a Death World would be too soon.

When Manric ran out of stories about planets, and a few amusing anecdotes about his troops, they just sat quietly for a while, enjoying the day. Then Zelda brought up something slightly painful.

"Are you going to see Mother?" No… no, he probably wouldn't. Eloise was remarried now and had given birth to twins. She was quite a bit younger than Manric, he'd married later in life. Still, those children would undoubtedly be her last, she was in her forties.

"That would be awkward. I don't think her husband would care for it," Manric said, making a light joke of it. Not that he would be a threat of any kind. Zelda looked downcast.

"It's kind of hard sometimes…" Yes, he knew. Manric unbent a little.

"If we have a family dinner, I will come." It would be strange for him on many levels, since he couldn't eat anymore as well, but he would come to be around the children. "And if your Mother doesn't mind." Eloise might mind, he wasn't sure about that. Zelda looked a touch relieved.

"Not a family dinner, that would be silly, but we're all getting together for the baptism of the babies." Ah, that would not be a terrible event for him. He wouldn't have to speak too much to Eloise and could keep Zelda and Nanci company. Speaking of which.

"As much as I love spending time with you, I really need to go say hello to Nanci." Manric knew where to find her, she was married and living on her new families' estates. One of the Noble houses, it was not an arranged marriage but what she had chosen after meeting a young man at formal balls. Manric was a bit iffy about him, in some aspects, but despite his arrogance Istaal was a good Knight armor pilot and a worthy man.

"Yes, her husband is on Luminous, she could use the company." Yes, it was always hard being a young wife with your husband far away. "Have fun!" Zelda's smile was always so bright. Manric would have smiled, if his face could make that expression.

"You as well. Don't let that young man seduce you," Manric said jokingly and saw his daughter flush scarlet. Oh no. "He already did, didn't he." Was it too late to kill him? Zelda slapped him on the arm.

"DADDY! Leave Rafeef alone!" Oh well. Manric sighed internally but made a mental note as he was leaving.

He was going to be expecting some wedding bells soon.

Manric couldn't put a finger on it, but something was wrong with Ahmakeph.

His empathy was picking up something, a strange nervousness. Ahmakeph wasn't comfortable with his fellow Overlords right now, and it made little sense to him. He'd been doing quite well in his battles, fighting with wonderful skill, enhanced by his sparring with Obyron. His troops were also handling themselves quite well… Ahmakeph had been part of the flanking maneuver that had crushed the Imperium in the last battle. He had gained status and glory. So what could be wrong?

Manric decided he needed to know what was wrong. Just as much as Itolyx, Ahmakeph was a true friend and for Manric, that was very important. Ahmakeph was still stubborn as a mule, though, and wouldn't want to talk about whatever was bothering him. So Manric decided to surprise him.

Manric got Zahndrekh's permission to come over to the Yama, and the authority to unlock any door. Not to his surprise, the nemesor had noticed something was troubling his cousin and cheerfully accepted Manric's help in the matter. So Manric went to Ahmakeph's quarters and let himself in.

"No, don't! Get out!" Ahmakeph's tone was rasping and urgent. Manric disregarded it.

"Ahmakeph, we're worried about you. What… is…" Manric stopped as he registered a thick, heavy smell in the air. Blood. His gaze darted to the ground and Manric stared at the human corpse there. It was relatively fresh and from the clothing, a civilian from the planet below. Manric wasn't even horrified or disgusted, he was too baffled. Why? Ahmakeph was not a killer for fun, he took no joy in death, not even like the Death Seekers did. Looking up, Manric saw blood had been smeared on Ahmakeph's face.

"Why?" Manric's voice was soft and wondering. It just made no sense. Ahmakeph laughed, a jagged, grating sound but Manric could feel his soul deep shame, but beneath it was a complicated morass of emotions and the strangest feeling of hunger.

"You don't even know what it is." No, he… he didn't. "No one told you. Of course they wouldn't. No one talks about it." Ahmakeph's posture was as alarming as the emotions Manric could sense roiling within him. He was hunched over, his fingers rubbing against each other. Did they look… pointed? "Just leave me. I'll deal with it. I'll tell Zahndrekh myself, I just… just need a bit of time." Ahmakeph's voice wavered and Manric knew he hadn't come to terms with whatever this was. And he couldn't bear it anymore. Manric stepped forward and gripped Ahmakeph's shoulders, making him stiffen. "Don't touch me you fool! It's contagious!" He didn't care.

Manric slid easily into using his empathy. He experienced Ahmakeph's deep, burning shame, his rage against the unfairness of it, and beneath them both, despair. But beneath that was an awful, chattering thing, a desperate hunger that mindlessly demanded food. That was what Manric reached for, and soothed with false promises. You're already full. Don't you know you're already full? Manric vividly conjured the feelings of life, things stored in the back of his mind. Feast days, the feeling of fullness and satisfaction. The blood taste of a rare, rare steak.

It worked. That mindless, aching hunger receded and Manric wondered if he was imagining things or had Ahmakeph's fingers just become more normal? The hunger was still there though, just curled up in the back of Ahmakeph's mind, momentarily satisfied. Ahmakeph's voice was much steadier when he spoke again.

"That's temporary and you're a complete moron." Oh, he was? Manric let go of his shoulders. "We'll know soon if a pwi-Necron can contract the Flayer virus. You are most thoroughly exposed." Some kind of virus?

"That isn't a computer virus. I don't know what it is." It wasn't exactly physical but wasn't exactly spiritual. It was a malaise of reality, but on a level that transcended reality. Yet, Manric wasn't too worried that he would catch it, whatever it was. He was somehow sure that such a thing could not exist in the presence of a soul. "It's definitely not something of the Warp… what is it?" Surely Ahmakeph could tell him.

"It's the curse of Llandu'gor, the Flayed One. He was the first and only C'Tan we destroyed entirely… we didn't know. We didn't know that the C'Tan are tied to the underpinnings of the universe and destroying one destroys part of the universe too." What! "He cursed us. Cursed us to be like him." Manric spared a brief moment of horror to the thought of what this C'Tan had to have been like. Some kind of serial killer glutton but with the power of infinity? "We can all fall to it. We don't understand what it is or how to cure it… I'll tell Zahndrekh. He'll put me on a ship for the Bone Kingdom." Ahmakeph had a better hold on himself but his mind was still filled with bitter despair. Manric felt shaken by it.

"If we can't fix this, would you prefer mercy?" Manric asked quietly, reaching out to take Ahmakeph's hands. He suddenly flared up, although he did not pull his hands away.

"There is no fix for this, fool!" Manric refused to believe that. There had to be a way and one had already occurred to him, although it verged on utter lunacy. "Mercy… I don't know. That's the cowards way out." Ahmakeph's voice was dull, despairing. "But become a Flayed One… I don't know. Maybe."

"I'm going to try to find a fix for this. Give me some time to meditate on my spear," Manric said softly. Ahmakeph flashed glyphs of derision but Manric persisted. "I don't think this can infect me. The realm of the soul is anathema to it. So if I can somehow give you a soul…" Even a small one would be enough!

"What? What lunacy is this? How would you do that, break your own soul apart?" Manric hadn't been expecting him to guess. Ahmakeph pulled his hands away. "You are insane! What would that do to you?!" That… was definitely the question.

"I don't know." Manric admitted. He only thought it was possible because of how much time he had spent spinning out the power of the Warp and solidifying it. Spinning out his own soul should theoretically be similar. "I do think it would eventually repair itself…" Although it might take a very long time, potentially centuries. "Please, I just need to meditate on my spear for a while." The aeldari spirits would no doubt tell him he was insane. Ahmakeph laughed, a dark, jagged sound before turning away.

"You're insane. Go away." Taking that dismissal, Manric went to get his spear. He'd brought it to the Yama but left it with Zahndrekh and Obyron. It could be a bit unwieldly when he was just walking around.

"Ah, Manric! Have you found what is wrong with my cousin?" Zahndrekh sounded quite concerned and Manric hesitated, thinking of how to explain.

"He isn't feeling well," Manric said and saw Obyron stiffen, just a touch. He knows. "Can we just leave him alone for a little while? I want to meditate on my spear and see if I can find something that will make him feel better." Obyron's posture didn't change but Manric could detect his extreme dubiousness at that idea. Zahndrekh was also very concerned.

"Not feeling well? Almost no one has troubles unless…" Zahndrekh fell silent for a moment. Obyron hovered close to him, deeply concerned. "He probably just has a stomach ailment. Perhaps I could make him some tea?" Zahndrekh's voice didn't sound right though, and Manric sensed that he was clinging to his own delusions to keep sanity safe. He truly cares about Ahmakeph.

"Yes, perhaps, but please give him some time alone. Is there a room I can use for my meditations?" He asked and Obyron spoke.

"I will take you." Zahndrekh radiated quiet distress but said nothing as Obyron led him out. When they were safely out of earshot, Obyron spoke again. "He has it?"

"Yes." Manric said, sensing that the Flayer virus was a very taboo topic for the Necrons. No wonder he had never heard of it. Obyron was silent for a moment as they kept walking.

"You think you can cure him?" He wanted to hope, because of Manric's warp powers, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Disappointment would be too cruel. Manric answered honestly.

"I think so, but at great cost to me." What would the effects be? Would they be permanent? Could he die? "I need to see if the spirits in my spear can advise me." He could already tell they weren't particularly happy with him. Not angry, not upset, just… unhappy. Disappointed? Perhaps. "If it would be fatal, I can't." It was possible there was no safe way to do what he was proposing.

"I see." Obyron kept his hope well tempered, which was good. Manric was definitely not promising anything.

He was shown to an empty, unfurnished room and Manric stabbed his spear into the metal floor, mentally apologizing for the minor damage. The scarabs would fix it quickly enough. Then he knelt in front of it, falling quickly into a trance. It was very easy today and Manric sensed the spirits of the spear wanted to speak to him.

They did, and Manric could hear them clearly, which was unusual.

What you wish to do will work. You have the perfect abilities and skills for a healer of the soul. But do you understand the cost? The voice Manric had come to know as Laaror echoed through his mind.

No. Will it be my death? That was the only thing that was unacceptable. Anything short of that, he could bear.

It will be painful, beyond your wildest imaginings, but we know you do not care about that. No. It will permanently damage your soul. It will repair itself over time, but it will never be quite the same. A point of weakness will be formed and this means you will never be able to do it again. Never do it again… Do you understand? This is a sacrifice that is normally done from love. And you are proposing to waste it on a soulless machine.

It will not be wasted. He is worthy of it. But Manric understood the warning he was being given. Once he had done this for Ahmakeph, he would never be able to do it for Zahndrekh, for Obyron, for Itolyx. Or even Imotekh himself. If any of them caught the Flayer virus he would be condemned to watch, knowing he'd given up the precious gift for someone else. And yet. I could not live with myself if I let him die this way. And it was a form of death, akin to dementia, but infinitely worse. Like the old stories of ghouls, perhaps. There was a soft sigh.

We would give you advice on how to mutilate yourself, but your friend is as stubborn as you are. What? If you wish to save him you must do it now. Manric was abruptly shoved out of his trance and he KNEW.

"Ahmakeph!" Manric snatched the spear from the ground and ran out of the room. Why did Ahmakeph have to be like this?!

He arrived barely in time. Ahmakeph was kneeling in front of Zahndrekh, his head bowed, and Obyron was ready with his scythe. A voluntary execution, Ahmakeph had chosen mercy. Manric felt absolutely sick seeing it.

"Stop!" Manric got in the way, grabbing Ahmakeph's shoulder, and felt Obyron's relief as he stepped back.

"No, you stop! I will not let you make this absurd sacrifice for me!" Ahmakeph was equally furious. "And do not lie to me! They told me!" DAMN! Manric wanted to curse the spirits of his spear, but realized that they had acted out of true fairness. Ahmakeph had the right to know what his friend intended to do.

"Oh my, this is quite a scene. I feel like it should be immortalized in a play…" Zahndrekh sounded dazed at it all. Ahmakeph displayed a furious series of insult glyphs. Manric squeezed his shoulder.

"Ahmakeph, please, you are my friend. I need to do this for you," Manric said and for the very first time, he used his empathic telepathy in an offensive way. He used it to dominate Ahmakeph, invade his mind and freeze him in place. More insult glyphs came, more furious than before, but Manric ignored them as he let go of Ahmakeph's shoulder. He placed his hand on his chest and began to sing.

A Necron singing was normally an absolutely awful thing, as the loss of the soul seemed to remove any ability to actually hit the notes. Manric didn't have that problem and his mechanical song had a strange, unearthly beauty. As he sang, Manric became aware of the other side, and he directed his witchsight onto himself. Yes. There.

Manric gently spun out the filaments of his own soul, carding them like coarse wool with his fingers. To his eyes, the fabric of his soul was that same pale color as the spear, just faintly golden. When he felt he had just enough of it, he gently pressed it against Ahmakeph's chest cartouche. It resisted for a moment then seemed to catch, sliding inside. It was the strangest feeling since Manric was still aware of that soul fragment, which was still fundamentally him. There was a final step required. Manric grasped the spear and with the delicacy of someone clipping a line of embroidery thread, he severed the string connecting them.

The pain that hit him then was like nothing he had ever dreamed. It was a bit like being flayed alive, a bit like being burned to death, a bit like being dipped in hot oil. It was a bit like all of those things but was a sensation all of it's own and Manric very sincerely wanted to die.

"Oh god." Manric heard himself say involuntarily as his eyesight went red and grey. His Necron body responded oddly to the bizarre pain signals, spasming like he was having a seizure. "Oh god…" Ahmakeph caught him before he would have fallen over and was saying something, but Manric couldn't hear. He wanted to die. Could someone please help him die?

You do not deserve it, but we will show you some mercy. Did that mean they could help him die? But then something heavy seemed to hit him between the eyes.

With a deep sense of gratitude, Manric lost consciousness.