Simokh considered their experimental subject thoughtfully. He – or she, it could not be determined – gazed back with the absolute patience of a machine. Was there a person still there, trapped within the metal? What was his or her life like, if so? A dream or a nightmare?

At least Simokh could take some comfort from the telepaths. Manric very rarely caught even the slightest flicker of emotion from regular Necron warriors, and actual telepaths like Zelda reported a slight "buzz", similar to what they could read from more advanced AI. It was thought, after a fashion, but nothing that could be called true sentience.

Well, he had wasted enough time. Simokh turned to his tools. The small modifications to the Necron body needed for the attachment of the ghost wood could easily be performed on a living Necron. He went to work, altering the Warrior's body to allow the attachments. They did not expect this experiment to work, but it would be very interesting if it did.

Would a soul repair my engrams? Simokh brushed that thought away like an errant scarab. It was possible, but not worth concerning himself about. As he finished his work, he noticed the Warrior seemed to be looking at him.

"You may be the first Necron with a soul," he told it, but it said nothing. He, or she, could say nothing. As Simokh put away his tools, he wondered if a soul would break that programming as well.

They would have to see.

Manric felt dead inside as he gazed over the atomized ruins of what had once been a beautiful Civilised world.

Once upon a time, it had been a lovely planet, filled with crystal lakes and dotted with beautifully worked, high tech cities. A strong Guard recruitment planet, it had prided itself on providing better equipment for its recruits than most worlds. In the sky hung two moons, one of them also populated, although far more sparsely.

All gone now. Every city on the planet had been utterly destroyed, reduced to ash and slag. Many of the rivers and lakes had boiled away, and poisons had permeated much of the land. Even most of the smaller towns had been utterly destroyed, razed by Doom Scythes and other Necron technology. The survivors numbered in the millions, on a planet that had once hosted billions.

And the worst part, the part that was utter ashes in his mouth, was that this was the best outcome. If the Imperium had found this gem of a world as they did, completely taken over by a Genestealer cult at the very highest levels, Genestealer spawn manning all defenses and crewing all ships, they would likely have just given it an Exterminatus. Instead, Imotekh's forces had taken it and he wanted this planet as an important military position and staging ground against the Imperium. They had considered just destroying it when they'd perceived the extent of the infection, but after a quick consultation with the Stormlord, had continued instead.

It had, perhaps, been the wrong call but it was very hard to say. Despite how cavalierly the Imperium used Exterminatus, Manric thought and Imotekh agreed that interstellar real estate was at a premium. With combined Necron/DAOT knowledge, creating a completely artificial world, then terraforming it, was possible. It was also a complete resource sink and only worth doing for some deep tactical advantage or if they had resources to toss around. So if it was possible to take a planet intact, they would do it.

(this attitude had a lot to do with how Hive World Antioch had survived long enough to become useful)

"What are you going to do with us, foul xenos?" A man demanded, his arms around a crying woman. They were both in the secure area put aside for those who had already been tested and found to be pure of taint. Manric was standing beside it, watching the ongoing testing in the other pen. There was a lot of crying and terror in that section, as they had to watch their own be mercilessly gunned down when they were determined to be tainted. But "their own" was a huge stretch, as many of them revealed their true nature at the very last, attacking with claws before they died.

"You might want to follow that with 'no offense'." Manric said dryly and from the dumbfounded look on the man's face he hadn't expected a response at all, let alone a polite one. "Is that a real question you want an answer to?" The man swallowed hard as he realized he was in a genuine conversation with a foul xenos, but then continued gamely.

"Yes. What do you intend to do with us?"

"Mmm. Well…" Manric glanced up in the sky at the two moons. It was possible to see a sliver of them even in daylight. "You are aware that one of your moons is habitable?" Surely he was. "That colony was completely infected and has been purged. The moon though, the moon is much easier than your planet to completely purge of any Tyranid bioforms." That was partly because it was smaller, and also because it lacked some of the geological attributes of the planet that made it challenging. "So when you have all been deemed clean of taint, you will be removed to the moon to begin a new life there. Then, we will begin work on the planet."

"What sort of work?" The man asked and Manric considered it. There was no reason NOT to tell him, that he could see.

"We are going to conduct what we call a 'scorch' on the planet. It's a modified version of what Necrons do to create a Tomb world… they eradicate all life from it, down to microorganisms. The scorch is a less thorough version, meant to utterly destroy any form of agricultural base for roughly five hundred years, or until a terraforming is completed." The man swallowed hard, but Manric wasn't done. "The purpose of this is to deprive the Genestealers of food and force them into hibernation. You are aware that your planet possesses a great system of caverns?"

"…Yes. We have built into them," the man said and Manric thought he was intelligent enough to see where this was going. "The Genestealers are in them?"

"Yes. Once they are forced into hibernation, we will dispatch kill teams of Necrons with scanners to find them and complete the purge of the extremely foul xenos." The man didn't laugh, but his lips twitched at the echoing of his earlier insult. "Once this planet is thoroughly cleansed, a terraforming team will be sent to rehabilitate the world and you will be able to recolonize. How long this process will take, I do not know… we do not necessarily work on human time. It might be your descendants returning to this world." There was a long pause and Manric noticed the woman had stopped crying and was just hiding her face in the man's chest.

"Did it have to be this way…" he said and Manric sighed internally.

"It did. There was no other way to cleanse the planet. Do you believe the Imperial Guard and the Astartes would have treated you differently?" he asked and the man snorted.

"They would have. They'd have used virus bombs." HAH! Manric involuntarily laughed, and the man twitched a moment before understanding what the buzzing sound meant. "I wasn't talking about what you did, not really. Just… everything…" Oh, that had been a rhetorical question.

"Forgive me, what is your name?" Manric asked. This young man seemed intelligent and had the small signs that Manric could spot, things that indicated he might once have had high status. His teeth were perfect, for instance. "What is your background?" He did not think this was just some bricklayer, although he doubted the man had been anyone important. He was too young and frankly, too alive.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now… I'm Galen Vertexiac." Ironic that Manric was fluent in three languages and working on a fourth, but he didn't think he'd be able to pronounce that last name. The woman suddenly looked up and this seemed to be news to her, as well. "My family was the highest nobility of the planet. I'm probably the only one still alive… I was a university student under a fake name. It's really awkward, when the lecture hall is named after your family." Oh god Manric knew how that felt. "I managed to get out of the city and hid in the countryside after the coup."

"I see." Manric made a mental note that this man might be of use in the future. Then he suddenly felt something wet on his shoulder, and heard a faint splat. Looking down, Manric stared in pure bafflement as… a vegetable? Oozed down his shoulder. "Someone just…?" Someone had thrown a TOMATO at him? Wait, that angle –

Manric whirled in time to see a stranger launch themselves at him. The attack that followed was blindingly fast and graceful, forcing Manric to abruptly summon his full skill to counter it. He looked into a blue mask, vaguely saw a trenchcoat and what looked like jester finery? As they fought in earnest. Manric quickly realized he was facing an aeldari and he snapped to the humans behind him.

"Get back!" The eldar had no concern whatsoever for the lives of humans and there were screams from them. Manric could not really spare much attention from his own battle but he still tried, glancing and seeing another of these strangers had seized a human woman, pulling her into the air by a wire around her throat. Manric suspected she was already dead but still lashed out, tossing a small blast of warp energy to sever the wire and drop the woman to the ground. That cost him though, when the one he was fighting caught him in the side. Damage warnings rose through his buffer and Manric lunged to the side, evading another strike.

Then two others all went for him and Manric knew he was in dire straights indeed as he danced with all his skill, and found his dance matched. Nemesor, I'm about to go for recall. If you knew it was about to happen, no matter what you did, it was good to notify your superior. There was no reply, but Zahndrekh was undoubtedly busy issuing orders to people who would be able to respond to them.

Then, to his surprise, more of those wires flashed out from strange tubes on their wrists. The wires could not actually damage him, except for minor scratches on his necrodermis but they did immobilize him briefly. Manric expected the killing blow to come but instead the leader seized his head in both hands.

…?! Manric felt a searing agony as his mental defenses were brutally sundered by a psyker far beyond his ability. Vaguely he realized that he wasn't going for recall after all… this would be a true death, completely permanent. But instead of finishing him off, his mind was touched almost gently in a merging of thought that told him everything the enemies… the Harlequins desired, in vivid detail. It seemed completely insane to him, but Manric could perceive that they were completely, utterly dead serious in their desires and offers. He returned a cautious assent, with the knowledge that he would need to inform Zahndrekh and arrange things. They released him and retreated.

Zahndrekh, Manric sent his message as the highest priority possible and included all the other Overlords, making it a general broadcast. They are about to disengage. DO NOT continue to fire on them. I know what they want, and if we give it to them they will go way. As he sent the message the Harlequins began to do that, dancing back and disengaging with the Necron forces. There was confusion and a bit of fire, but it quickly stopped as Zahndrekh reaffirmed his order and the Overlords transmitted it.

Manric, what is happening? What do they want? Zahndrekh sounded completely cold. This was how he sounded when things were going very, very badly. Manric had only heard it once before. What kind of permanent casualties had they just taken?

They want us to put on a play with them. The sheer absurdity of it all would have been laughable if it all hadn't been so dead serious. This meant a lot to them, Manric knew. They want us to play the Necron part of the War in Heaven.

We don't have time for that! Ahmakeph said and he was echoed by several other Overlords, and many of them appended disgust glyphs. The whole thing got a bit confusing before Zahndrekh forcefully silenced them.

Not the whole thing. An act from the War in Heaven, from the Eldar perspective. It should be a day at the most. Probably much less, since Eldar had only organic endurance, typically. They also needed to eat and drink and sleep. It will depict the final confrontation between Laaror and Imotekh. With the help of my spear, I will play Laaror. Ahmakeph, I want you to play Imotekh.

What?! I am not an actor! Are you insane? Ahmakeph sounded furious. It was perfect.

We will spar and you will 'kill' me. I will feed you the lines, you just have to sound angry.

Cousin is good at that… and if we do this, they will depart in peace? Zahndrekh said and Manric sent assent glyphs.

Are we really going to humor these eldar filth as they humiliate us? Overlord Ka-saketh asked. Then another Overlord responded.

My forces have just taken massive casualties. What are the recall failure rates projected at? They should already have a tentative estimate and the Harlequins were using warp-based weapons.

So far, twenty percent. Manric winced internally. That was utterly ruinous and strongly indicated to him that the Harlequins were deliberately trying to cause recall failures as an incentive to cooperate. If we can avoid it, we should end this without further conflict. Manric, what do we need to do?

We need five blocks of Necron warriors, each led by an Overlord… Manric detailed the plan that had been imprinted in his mind, confident that Zahndrekh would be able to execute it. It wasn't really that complex. And he had been told that all Necron Warriors had a 'drama' mode programmed into them, where they would complete maneuvers and pretend to fire their weapons, but the gauss flayers would stay cold. It had been created specifically for things like the War in Heaven and was just a general program now.

Zahndrekh started the maneuvers and for a moment, Manric was able to relax and consider his own part in the play. As he did, he glanced down at the mess on his shoulder and summoned a scarab or two to take care of it. The spear would help him take on the true semblance of Laaror, but he should still be presentable.

"What is happening…?" Galen said and Manric did not take his eyes from the 'battle' that was occurring in front of him. In keeping with how such things worked, the Harlequins were inflicting fatal damage on the Necron warriors, but now they were not using anything that could cause a recall failure. And they were also miming their own deaths, as the maneuvers continued to play out… Manric could see that they were portraying a force of Eldar who were badly outnumbered but fighting hard.

"We are putting on a play," Manric answered and for the first time, the woman spoke.

"What?! Are you crazy?" Hmm, that was a good trick the eldar had pulled off there, cleverly 'killing' the Overlord. He was smart enough to understand his part, so he pretended to die rather than actually being fatally damaged. The Canoptek Scarabs worked together to drag his 'body' far enough away so that he could gracefully exit the stage, rather than being trampled by the coming warriors.

"No, but they might be," Manric answered absently. This was actually quite enthralling. "You might want to watch although it's a shame you won't be able to understand the main act." They would be speaking in Necron. From what he understood, in that brief glimpse, that was just historically accurate.

"What are they?" Galen asked.

"Eldar. Harlequins, to be precise." Although until a few moments ago, Manric had been completely ignorant of the Harlequins and that they followed Cegorach. Which was rather ironic, since Cegorach was one of the few Eldar deities he actually knew a bit about, thanks the drukhari.

"What is an eldar…?" The woman said and Galen quickly whispered to her. Manric thought they were intimately involved and she was exactly as she seemed to be, a young farmgirl. But he kept his attention firmly on the play. He needed to see his own cue.

The moment came and Manric leapt onto the stage in a flurry of activity. He engaged with the current Overlord, who put up a good fight before 'dying' to a slap of the spear against his throat. As that battle was occurring, Manric signalled Ahmakeph to join the field and gave him his first lines.

/Laaror, my old enemy/
/Finally, I will claim your head/ As Ahmakeph spoke, Manric detected a power that left him in awe… the Harlequins were performing a psychic translation. To the humans watching, they were speaking low Gothic and they would understand every word.

/Is that so?/
/Well I have heard your prophecy/
/Let me give you my own/
/You will kill your own son/
/For the crime of betraying you/ Manric quietly fed Ahmakeph the next lines and asked him to be blisteringly angry.

/You speak nonsense/
/My son would never betray me/
/And even if he did/
/I would not take his head/
/Eldar filth!/ Perfect delivery, Ahmakeph really was excellent for this role.

/Is that so?/
/Let me give you another prophecy/
/You will win/
/I will die here/
/Shall we see if this prophecy is true before you dismiss my first?/ Manric said his lines in the best taunting tone he could manage, dripping with scorn.

/Pah!/
/I will kill you if that is what you desire/
/Now die!/

The battle was joined then. For Manric, it was like a very pleasurable spar, as he danced with all of his skill. For a moment, he wished he could see what the watchers saw… the powers of the Warp the Harlequins had invoked had blanketed him with the appearance of Laaror, so they would see an Eldar battling a Necron. Ahmahkeph also fought with all of his skill and the one flaw in the play was that he had nothing like Imotekh's gauntlet and his Staff of Light was greatly inferior to the Stormlords staff. But then, this was a play, they really didn't need fatal injuries.

After a time, Manric pretended to flag, like he was running out of endurance. Ahmakeph pressed the attack and Manric erupted in a sudden flurry of activity, trying to bring the 'Stormlord' down quickly. He failed as intended and Ahmakeph knocked him to the ground. Manric lay there and fed him his next line.

/Do you have anything more to say, Laaror?/
/Any nonsense to spout before you die?/ Manric made a sound that he knew the magic would interpret as a gargling laugh, as blood rose up in his throat.

/Yes/
/One day you will remember my words/
/And regret everything/ Then Manric 'died', going limp. There was a sense of finality, the curtains closing, and the Harlequins vanished into the webway, leaving everyone confused.

And sure they'd just been given a message.