Elsewhere in the galaxy, word of events was spreading.
Such things moved slowly, as the trade patterns of Necron Dynasties were badly broken. There were so many threats that could take a trade ship, so much danger in the universe, and it did not help that many of the Dynasties had kept the locations of their Tomb Worlds secret. For very good reason as the fate of Xahkeph graphically illustrated. FTL messages between Dynasties were only feasible if you were the Silent King, with his hook into the FTL networks of every Dynasty. Everyone else had to do it the hard way.
Phaeron Galmakh of the Novokh Dynasty sat in his throne, tapping his fingers together as he thought. The throne was a mood, yes it was and he chuckled before deliberately adjusting himself to a posture that would have been slightly obscene back in the Flesh Times. Oh, he was in quite a mood today.
Not a bad mood though, rather the opposite. The Ferric Blight had been ravaging one of his Tomb Worlds and they had quarantined it off as the Crypteks worked hard to fix the problem. They had created a prophylactic spray that would ward off the 'disease' and were still working on a true cure, with several promising avenues. It was likely everyone on the Tomb would be dead by the time they were done, but that was life and Galmakh wanted a cure for the future. Not just for his Dynasty, but so he could sell it to others when they fell afoul of the Pallid Hands.
The war with Hive Fleet Arachnae had been decided in their favor. Novokh had beaten off the foul bugs and were now focused on the wretched ork vermin. Along with that had come a re-establishing of contact with the Sautekh Dynasty, as they were attacking the same ork warbands, just from a different angle. Galmakh was mildly concerned that someday, Sautekh might decide to take his Dynasty, but that time was a long way off. And who knew? By that time, perhaps he'd be ready to swear loyalty.
And a bit of contact with the Sautekh had led to miraculous things. Galmakh frankly loved the portraits of the necrontyr they'd given him, particularly the commoners. He could only vaguely remember the Flesh Times but knew he had been an earthy leader, speaking to the commoners directly on many occasions. Galmakh missed how wonderfully alive it had all been and he was actually seriously considering subjugating some ork worlds. Oh, they would constantly be in rebellion but that could be fun!
Phaeron Galmakh didn't let on to his Overlords, but a lot of what he did was motivated by considerations of what was just amusing to him. An agent of chaos in a more fundamental way than Trazyn ever could be, Galmakh had even betrayed other necrons for the pure joy of seeing the looks on their faces. (well, so to speak. They didn't have much expression but it was still fun) Of course, that was why the Novokh Dynasty had a hell of a reputation for being unreliable, bloodthirsty lunatics but Galmakh didn't really care. No one understood his genius.
Right now, the prognostications of his Chronomancers were amusing Galmakh greatly. No one else knew about his great and treasured Chronomancer, Ahnu the Silent. He was named that because he could not speak… he had been a deaf-mute long before the time of biotransference and had carried that over to his necron form, even though it could have been fixed. He communicated entirely via writing, gestures and glyph poems. Even more curiously for one of his ilk, Ahnu had no interest whatsoever in fame and fortune. Even when Galmakh offered him rewards he spurned them, seemingly content with nothing but a pat on the head. Baffling, but Galmakh wasn't going to complain, Ahnu's loyalty had been proven a hundred times over.
So Galmakh had beautifully detailed prognostications at his fingertips, works of Chronomancy that would make Orikan proud. And they made him laugh heartily at the absurdity of it all.
I have to do nothing at all! That was the nature of the prognostications, that Sautekh and Szarekhan would go to war and all Galmakh had to do was sit on the sidelines with some snack food in hand. Well, not literally, they couldn't do that anymore but he entertained himself with an image of it. Ah, what fun. Did it matter who won? No, not really, although a Sautekh victory was somewhat preferred because a Szarekh victory would just be so boring. No organics left to kill, no bugs to stomp and they would get to spend millions of years growing mold. Boooring. Still, it WOULD work and Galmakh could be patient. The Sautekh victory, though, would be a vibrant and brilliant thing as they solved the problem of the bugs just to go back to the endless wars. Galmakh preferred that heavily, and Ahnu thought it was the more likely outcome but it was hard to say.
Right now, Galmakh was waiting for the Sautekh's ambassador to arrive. Something coming so soon was very easy for Ahnu and he should be arriving within the hour.
Sure enough, the tiny little survey ship arrived in his system. It had been sent like a little skitter-bug, slipping past the orks and their worlds to come see him. That was very smart of the Sautekh… the accursed orks loved to just jump into the Warp, counting on Gork and Mork to bring them to battle. Was it beyond plausibility that an ork force could get dumped onto a small diplomatic fleet, this close to ork space and also within Gork's Grin? Oh hell, it would probably happen, Galmakh thought with a great belly laugh. Or it would have been, if he'd still been capable of that. Instead it was the scream of a machine.
The ambassador was shown to him and Galmakh recognized him. Overlord Anhoros, in all his glory, Staff of Light in hand. He cut quite a figure, his body washed with silver and touches of precious gold, the mark of royalty. He wasn't related to Imotekh but rather to the old Phaeron and the Stormlord honored the old leader of Sautekh, so Anhoros was still allowed that distinction. He had a glorious neckpiece of gilded silver, set with cabochon star sapphires. Galmakh reflected that Anhoros had always taken that off before a fight, careful of the precious metals and gems.
(the truth was that Anhoros had previously had no idea why he was so careful with that, aside from the value of the it. Now he knew it had been a present from his mother, kept through the biotransference and placed on his new body by the Silent King himself)
(it was a bitter memory)
"Phaeron Galmakh, I come with greetings from Imotekh the Stormlord, Phaeron of the Sautekh Dynasty," Anhoros said and Galmakh settled more comfortably in his throne, knowing it would look like he was grinning. Just like Trazyn, he'd perfected the art of manipulation of the necrodermis and he loved to look like the troll he was.
"Greetings, greetings! Welcome to my illustrious court. I have no refreshments to offer but please enjoy my beautiful décor, my fantastic artwork," Galmakh said before gesturing at the trophies that decorated his vast throne room. Ranging from the mummified, preserved remains of a potent Hive Tyrant all the way to the helmet and skull of an Astartes, they were trophies commemorating his campaigns. Anhoros glanced at them but then stopped dead on one in particular. "Ah, you like that one? Skophrekh annoyed me for the last time." The dead eyes of a necron, snuffed of all life, met Galmakh's gaze as he glanced at the corpse. It was badly battered but somewhat intact and the way it had been brutalized made it clear that the last moments of the occupant had not been pleasant. Galmakh felt a hard hit of almost sensual pleasure as he remembered taking that life.
"You are sick, even if he deserved it," Anhoros said and Galmakh laughed again. Anhoros twitched at the shriek.
"If you think that is sick, you should have seen what I did to the humans!" They'd deserved it too though, by his standards. He'd been minding his own damned business when those 'Deathwatch' creatures had come to call, thinking they could take a world back from him. They'd learned otherwise. Anhoros waved that aside.
"Spare me your depravities… Galmakh, Imotekh has sent me to you with an offer. Do you wish to join Sautekh as a favored vassal?" Galmakh grumbled internally at the offer, although he understood the logic of it. Novokh was too small to be any kind of true threat to Sautekh, but if Imotekh tried to take them, Galmakh would give him plenty of hard knocks. The Stormlord was offering to absorb Novokh without a fight in return for very favorable status in his Empire. "There are some great advantages."
"This business of souls? Ptoie, I hardly need one," Galmakh said, making the most remarkable simulated sound of spitting any necron had likely managed. Anhoros actually blinked his oculars. "So no, not at this time. Tell Imotekh that if he wins against Szarekh, I'll take his offer but not until then." Galmakh had no intention of getting his small Dynasty involved in this clash of titans. And while a Sautekh victory was more favorable, he couldn't take their offer because Ahnu had prophesied that if Szarekh won, every necron to take a soul would die. They could not survive the death of the Warp from which those souls had come. It made Galmakh chuckle. Szarekh truly was a master of genocide, wasn't he? It was almost admirable.
"You do need a soul, Galmakh." For what? "With a soul, maybe your broken mind can be fixed." …What was he saying now? Galmakh came to his feet in a smooth move that would have made anyone in his court sweat a bit of lubricant out of their necrodermis. Anhoros just looked at him, eyes burning. But then, he'd never been one to back away from a challenge.
"My mind is broken? That is what you say?" Galmakh growled, pacing closer. Anhoros held his ground.
"Your mind is so broken you don't even know what you've lost. So broken you've forgotten who you used to be… a necrontyr I was glad to call friend." Galmakh couldn't even say why, he had no recollection, but that hit him like the blow of a power weapon. There was a deep pain in his core, and that well-hidden part of his mind wanted to draw a breath but the air was too heavy and his lungs didn't work anyway. He still mimicked the action, making a soft rattling sound as his mind filled with a kind of rage.
"Get out of my sight before I string you up beside Skophrekh," Galmakh snarled, his good humor completely gone. Anhoros did not look away from him but took slow steps backward, until he was out of the throne room and the doors closed behind him. Galmakh glared viciously at those ancient, sandstone doors before glancing at the final part of Ahnu's predictions.
Everything the Sautekh Ambassador will tell you will be true.
"You think I am broken, Ahnu?" Galmakh muttered, tempted to go to his Chronomancer and give him a thrashing. But he regretfully let that thought pass… Ahnu had always served him so loyally and well, a bit of insubordination should be tolerated. Truthfully, it was better for even a Phaeron to not abuse the Crypteks too much. The entire caste going into rebellion was the stuff of nightmares as they could bring even a great Crownworld to a complete standstill, putting the Phaeron in his place. Galmakh had no desire to lose face that way. "Pah! We shall see." His enjoyment rekindled at the thought of watching the war, if only through Ahnu's prophecies.
Whoever ultimately won, Novokh could not lose.
Far away, in the Jericho reach, a messenger was reaching the ancient Suhbekhar Dynasty.
This messenger was also using a small scout ship. Imotekh had taken a bit of an interest in them and decided they were eminently practical for diplomatic missions. They were very fast, which was not a minor consideration, and also incredibly stealthy because of their size. Organic races would not look for something too small to mount a credible weapon and too small for proper life support. Necrons were also prone to overlook something so completely harmless.
Of course, that meant they were hideously vulnerable if something should happen to find them. At least one scout ship was known to have been destroyed by a Chaos warband, sending a helpless little FTL message before they met a sad and crunchy end. Still, Imotekh thought that overall, it was an acceptable risk. A much larger flotilla could easily befall the same fate with far more lives lost.
Cryptek Iozaka was not thrilled with her mission. She had heard of what had happened to the last diplomat sent to the Suhbekhar. To be fair, though, he'd been an arrogant fool and Iozaka had no intention of following in his footsteps. She would show proper respect.
"Greetings to the Suhbekhar. Honor to the Suhbekhar. I come from the Sautekh Dynasty, in the name of Imotekh the Stormlord. Please, I ask that you grant me an audience with your Phaeron so he may hear the words of my Phaeron," Iozaka intoned, sending the message. There was amusing confusion from the ships around the Suhbekhar Crownworld. Then they found her and several systems targeted her ship, making the warnings squeal. She gestured sharply and the pilot of the little vessel muted them. She wasn't alone in here, although her companions were only two pwi-necrons.
(Valdar and Casimir weren't exactly thrilled, but they were getting hazard pay)
What is that ship? The question was not hostile, merely confused and Iozaka answered.
"It is a survey and scout ship. We favor it for diplomatic missions despite the risks," Iozaka replied, folding her hands together. "May I please have an audience with your regent-Phaeron, for the good of all?"
Wait. Not the friendliest, but that was acceptable.
"Better than Charnovokh," one of the pwi-necrons, the one named Casimir she thought, muttered. The other gestured sharply at him for silence. That was wise because the reply came back a moment later.
Overlord-regent Ahhotekh grants your request. Enter the realm of the Hollow Sun. Both of the pwi-necrons had been briefed on this but there was still a great trepidation as the solar matter of the sun twisted, opening a channel for them to enter. They could all be killed in a heartbeat, the Suhbekhar just had to close that channel on them and they would be incinerated. Despite that, the pilot obediently set the little ship on the path through that channel. Iozaka kept her hands folded together, just patiently waiting as they glided smoothly through that opening and into the depths of the realm of the Suhbekhar.
It really was intensely glorious. Iozaka marveled at the feat of insane engineering, even more ridiculous in its' way than Solemnance or the rumored wormhole generator of the lost human civilization. Buried deep in the star, not entirely at the core, was the great Crownworld of the Suhbekhar. Iozaka knew that what they were experiencing was largely just a display… the more practical way to reach the Hollow Sun was via a Dolman Gate. Suhbekhar was attempting to overawe them and she would admit that it was working.
"Oooo," Casimir murmured and Iozaka nodded her head as they approached the beautiful gem of necron technology. It was in the shape of a decahedron, a glittering black gem that blazed with green fire. On each side of the decahedron were beautiful runes, declaring the glory of the Suhbekhar Dynasty. "Wow. How do you attack something like this?"
"You crush the star, obviously," Valdar said, ever the practical one. Iozaka had become used to the two of them in the long trip and she nodded. "We even have a tool for that."
"Which is why there are ships guarding the sun," Iozaka agreed. There were other necron Dynasties with technology that could take care of this, the Nephrekh Dynasty in particular. She could not think of a reason they would strike at Suhbekhar but you did not survive by assuming that could not happen. "However, against lesser races this is most effective." Generally speaking, only other necrons could threaten the Hollow Sun.
They were allowed to dock with the decahedron, their little ship being ushered into a space dock. Perhaps that was why they had the capacity to open the star itself… moving many ships through the Dolman Gate would be a little impractical. When the ship was docked Iozaka left the vessel, going alone. While Valdar and Casimir were quite fluent in the necron tongue and had good manners, she did not want to risk even the slightest chance of offense. They were delivering bad news and that was very, very dangerous. Behind her came a small, floating tray holding a casket. The Suhbekhar would assume it was some form of gift or tribute, which was true. A small phalanx of Immortals converged on her, serving as an escort and honor guard, bringing her to the regent. A positive sign.
Overlord-regent Ahhotekh was an imposing sight. Tall and imposing, his body was largely bronze and beautiful malachite green. He wore a skirt of malachite green plaques, segmented so he could move easily and there was more of that lovely inlay all through his body. Little bits of gold adorned him, a sign that he was now royalty, although nothing excessive. Iozaka was genuinely afraid of him… she knew well his reputation and he was every bit as brutal and merciless as the Stormlord, deeply conniving and dangerous. Untrustworthy? To his peers he surely was, but to other Dynasties he would likely keep his word, if only because of reputation. Lesser races, though, should never trust him if he deigned to speak to them at all. Iozaka bowed deeply to him.
"What word do you bring me of Sautekh?" Ahhotekh rumbled and Iozaka would have taken a deep breath, if she could have. Instead she arranged her engrams for a moment before launching into her speech.
"Great Overlord-regent Ahhotekh, greetings. The Sautekh Dynasty recognizes your honor and wishes no conflict with you. However, there are matters that lie between us and require attention." He tilted his head slightly, no doubt confused. Suhbekhar and Sautekh had never been allies but also never enemies. Merely two ships, sailing in tandem but never touching. "Imotekh the Stormlord has declared the Silent King to be an enemy." There was no point in hiding it any longer when Szarekh knew. Ahhotekh stared at her intently, his attention suddenly caught. "In furtherance to that end, he has absorbed Charnovokh as a vassal Dynasty." Ahhotekh's eyes flared as he understood the problem. "Hostilities against Charnovokh are now hostilities towards Sautekh. We beg of you to understand… we know of your long feud towards Charnovokh, but please, accept as punishment for them that they will never again stride the halls of power." Well, that wasn't entirely true… if Sautekh experienced an incredibly dramatic upheaval, like Imotekh and his chosen successor both dying, it was possible Charnovokh could regain independence and rise again. But that was an insanely unlikely outcome and would indicate something so dramatic, Charnovokh might also be devastated. "As a token of our great esteem to you and a hope for the future, we have brought a gift… a possible cure for the madness of your Phaeron." Iozaka stopped, hoping that would distract Ahhotekh from removing her head. He was surely tempted, his temper could be much, much worse than Imotekh's.
"It is madness to even suggest that Ahmontekh's mind could be healed. Do you understand what his rage did to us?" Ahhotekh said in a way that suggested he was losing his patience. But he was at least distracted from Charnovokh and Iozaka bowed deeply and apologetically.
"We do, but we know that this treatment has shown great success at healing previously thought to be untreatable conditions. We have cured the Flayer virus and are attempting to modify our Destroyers." Agatef's treatment was showing great promise. They had to be wary though, because he lied a great deal about what he was experiencing. They listened to his words, but their best psykers were also evaluating him. There was talk that Manric would need to be called to Mandragora for a time to assist.
"I had heard of this, but I thought it was mere rumors. These pictures that were passed to us… it is true that you are reclaiming your souls, but harvested from the lesser races?" Ahhotekh made glyphs of both fascination and disgust. Iozaka nodded.
"Necrontyr genetics are forever lost, so it cannot be otherwise. This cures the Flayer virus, in the sense that it can no longer recognize us as necrons." They were sure that was the mechanism of it. "It helps with most engrammatic damage, but does not cure it. Orikan the Diviner has prophesied that giving your Phaeron a soul will not necessarily save him, but it will give him a chance to save himself. It will take thousands of years, but he can do battle against his own rage and possibly overcome it." Iozaka paused a moment for dramatic effect. "He will either rise from his crypt to lead you, stronger than ever before… or he will die, his mind extinguishing beneath the weight of his conflict." There was a long pause as Ahhotekh mulled that over. Due to the intensely powerful command protocols he was unable to plot against his Phaeron, but he could still see how both these outcomes would benefit him. Right now, the greatest problem Suhbekhar faced was that Ahmontekh was alive but insane. If the Phaeron were dead, that would be registered by all members of the Crownworld and with Ahhotekh already designated regent, the command protocols would flow to him. And if the Phaeron rose from his slumber, fully functional and sane, Ahhotekh could surrender his position and serve his Phaeron again. Despite his ambitious nature, Ahhotekh would gladly give up his place.
"Rahkoz has already told me that your offers are true," Ahhotekh finally said and Iozaka was not surprised by that. Rahkoz was as great a Chronomancer as Orikan, if even more frustrating to deal with. "So for this we must foreswear our vengeance on the Charnovokh?" He made no glyphs but Iozaka could detect his rage.
"No, regent. This is only a gift and even if you declare hostilities in this moment, it will still be given. We only ask you to please reconsider. Imotekh does not wish conflict with you but for the sake of his honor, he will defend Charnovokh. We only ask that you think on this, and consider if it is possible to let this grudge be laid to rest, out of respect for Sautekh." Ahhotekh's eyes dimmed a bit as he registered her sincerity.
"You have a honied tongue, ambassador. Well, I will give you this… we will consider it." Ahhotekh's tone was grudging but Iozaka thought that was a hopeful sign. Perhaps he truly meant to think on it. Although Ahhotekh was more than capable of feigning reluctance to cozen them in, so she could take nothing for granted. "What does this giving of a soul entail?" Ah, yes, that needed to be explained.
"Physical contact is required…" Iozaka detailed exactly how resouling usually went and Ahhotekh summoned his crypteks. They would need to modify the Phaeron's tomb to allow the contact needed, without waking him. Given their incredible abilities, Iozaka was sure they would have no problems completing the changes although it might take them some time. Would this save Phaeron Ahmontekh? She truly did not know. Even Orikan did not know. What he DID know was that if they did nothing, Suhbekhar would move on Charnovokh within the next fifty years, when Imotekh was projected to be fully engaged in a long war with Maynarkh. It would be an intensely frustrating waste of resources, defending Charnovokh from Suhbekhar so it was best to nip it in the bud if they could. Iozaka could only hope this mission would bear fruit.
At least she could see her own future at this point, and Iozaka was fairly certain it involved getting out of the Hollow Sun with her head on her shoulders. They could still die trying to get back to Sautekh, but it was another step forward to survival.
In a great sea of rage and bitterness, a fleck of rationality floated helplessly.
Phaeron Ahmontekh's mind was not entirely gone. That deep bitterness he had carried in his heart had bedeviled him for sixty million years, infesting his mind during his slumber and growing into a monstrous force of madness. Despite that, the true Ahmontekh still existed. The person he had once been was still there, as locked in as the most unfortunate Necron Warrior, but not entirely lost to madness. He wanted to take back his mind and body, step out of his crypt to lead his people, but there was nothing for him to grasp or work with. Nothing but this great sea of rage.
Then there was something. Ahmontekh had no idea what it was, but it was like he had been tossed a raft, or perhaps given a small piece of land to step on, something to get out of the sea. He clung to it desperately and when he felt that his position was a bit firmer – his feet under him – he began to fight against the madness. It was a ridiculous task, like a man on a raft trying to calm the ocean, but Phaeron Ahmontekh had not got where he was by giving up. And with this tiny bit of ground beneath his feet, he could finally fight for his own mind.
Ahmontekh would reclaim himself or die trying.
Author's Note: I think I should do a few more of these before moving on. Thokt Dynasty is on my list, are there any others you would really like to see? Let me know in the comments.