Far away, in the Segmentum Pacificus, the Thokt Dynasty went about their business.
The Thokt Dynasty was ensconced deeply into the Hyrakii depths. Surrounded and cocooned by dreadful radiation, the Crownworld glowed with blue energy, reflecting from the glorious metal surface of the world. Slowly spinning in a stately dance, the Coreworlds orbited the Crownworld, glowing with the same energy and surrounded by their heavily weaponized moons. It was a beautiful cradle of war.
But in the nature of that cradle was its' downfall, for the legions of Thokt could not march far from home. The incredible energy of the Hyrakii depths could be stored and refined, distilled and carried, but it was a difficult and laborious process. When the legions of Thokt left home it was impossible to keep a supply line of that precious energy and they had become too dependant on it. Without it, they would wither and die.
Yet, was that truly a bad thing? Phaeron Onryx did not think so. Much like Imotekh, Onryx thought that trying to claim the entire galaxy was a fool's dream. It was too vast, too hard to manage. Instead, he craved a smaller but mighty Empire with the Hyrakii depths as the core. Within a certain radius, the supply lines could be managed. Relays could even be set up, broadcasting the energy of the Hyrakii depths a bit farther. Of course, that meant they would render the planets they took radioactive but that was fine. Onryx had no interest in governing lesser races. Instead he wanted to re-take ancient territory and spread his forces far and wide. He had plenty of warriors, Lords and Overlords, entirely new worlds could be brought to his banner once the pesky organics were exterminated.
Onryx did not care at all about the Sautekh Empire and what Imotekh was up to. He was too far away to be a factor in Onryx calculations. Yet, despite that, very strange rumors had reached him about the Sautekh. Rumors that they had re-lit the fires of biotransference, using humans as the fuel, but the humans had created the plans for it themselves and thus, it was not taboo? Rumors that they were taking souls, also harvested from the humans, and that Sautekh was granting human worlds the status of serf, an intermediate rank between slave and commoner? Rumors that Sautekh had acquired an aeldari Craftworld intact, and taken their ancient enemies as Lords?
Onryx might have dismissed all these wild rumors as a mad fever dream if not for what else came with them. The image of organics that he was assured were actually the ancient necrontyr. Onryx actually did not doubt it… on looking at the images, a powerful reaction had occurred in his mind. Onryx had not understood why he had been so deeply moved, but knowing they were necrontyr explained it. The traders bearing the images had told him that they were only made possible by the resouling of Necron Warriors, who awoke with their memories of the Flesh Times intact. That was particularly remarkable to him and Onryx wondered if it would be true of their Warriors. Due to an ancient flaw, or perhaps by design, all of the Thokt Warriors were aberrant. Not fully sentient but on the same level as the Immortals, they could all speak and had basic reasoning functions intact.
(it had actually been a mistake, during the biotransference of the Thokt Dynasty the C'Tan in charge had loaded the wrong program for the Warriors and accidentally given them Immortal mental functioning)
(correcting it had been too much of a bother so they'd shrugged and moved on)
Since Onryx was accepting this as true, however, he had to think to himself… were the other rumors true? Some of them had come from the traders, others filtered through FTL messages with neighboring Dynasties. One rumor that caught is attention was the suggestion that Sautekh were using biotransferred humans as new Crypteks and some were extremely promising. That was incredibly interesting because it suggested Sautekh might someday have an oversupply of Crypteks.
Onryx reflected on the status of the Cryptek class with a bit of grimness. There was a reason crypteks were not expected to maintain loyalty to their Phaeron if they were captured. Even the most minor of crypteks was too precious to be callously wasted. They were not coddled, precisely – they strode onto the field of battle, in service to the Phaeron – but when captured, they were treated much better than any other caste. Despite that, the ranks of the Crypteks could only thin, precious knowledge being lost every time a recall failed. Not to mention the in-fighting… oh, the in-fighting. Onryx had almost had the mechanical equivalent of an aneurysm when two of his Crypteks managed to kill each other and neither of them had the decency to recall, thanks to sabotage by the other. Damn them both!
Onryx still had no use for the lesser races, but if Sautekh humans could fully master necron technology and take up their own bodies of steel, was there any lesser about it? Not that he would spare the humans surrounding him… Onryx had seen the Mechanicus creatures and the wretched servitors serving them, they were nothing like what he seemed to be hearing about from Sautekh. No, he would purge them out and retake his Empire. But perhaps, just perhaps, he could see about acquiring more crypteks from Sautekh. It would be a long-term goal, Sautekh probably had need of all its' Crypteks at the moment, but in the future maybe they could spare some.
In furtherance of that goal, Onryx decided to send a delegation to Sautekh. He would have them modified before they left, to use regular flux instead of the energy of the Hyrakii deeps. An unpleasant operation that would greatly weaken them, as they were not meant to use regular flux, but they would bear it for the sake of duty. They would arrive with handsome gifts and spend many years in the Sautekh court, learning and observing. Onryx was confident Imotekh would receive them graciously and keep them from any information he deemed truly sensitive. Hopefully they would arrive intact… that was the major fail point, Thokt was so far from Sautekh, they could easily be waylaid along the way and Onryx would have no way to know. And then hopefully they would get BACK intact, after roughly ten years perhaps.
Assuming that went well, perhaps he could secure a supply of crypteks for the future.
Imotekh stood on the top of a ziggurat, staring over the beauty of Mandragora. The poisonous green atmosphere, the Canoptek scarabs and the glittering green lights of the great navigation aides and defenses were all highly pleasing to his senses.
Matters were becoming clearer. Orikan had perceived that if they lost to Szarekh and the Pariah Nexus was activated, the ensouled necrons would not survive the death of the Immaterium. The Warp would reclaim their souls in a desperate effort to survive and that would cause a fatal engrammatic dysfunction in them all, resulting in true death. Once these bodies had accepted souls, they would not give them up. If he had known that before the resouling operations, would he still have done it? Imotekh considered the thought for a moment before brushing it away like an annoying gnat. What was done, was done.
(Orikan had not known when he accepted a soul but now that he perceived it he had decided, with a sense of deep malice, that he did not care. If Szarekh won, he would let his dreams of bringing the necron race to a new form die with him)
(The Silent King did not deserve it)
Right now, he was considering what to do with the knowledge. Imotekh was honorable and would not give out more souls without warning the recipients of that risk. That was troublesome, though, because certain necrons could deeply benefit from a soul… Galmakh was chief among them, but also Zarathusa of the Mephrit.
The solar technology of the Mephrit Dynasty was frighteningly potent and Imotekh was glad that it was both partially lost, and also fully outside of the Silent King's hands. Once upon a time, they had assisted the Silent King in the brutal crushing of the Wars of Succession but that loyalty was long gone. Zarathusa, in particular, was disenchanted with their ultimate ruler.
If only he had not lost his mind. 'the Ineffable', pah! What did that even mean? Although Imotekh supposed it was fitting in a way, the old Phaeron of the Mephrit had styled himself the Eternal. Look how well that had worked out for him! Imotekh had always believed that such titles should be given by others. He had not named himself the Stormlord, the Phaeron had called him that and it had instantly caught on. From what he understood, the same was true of Orikan and even Oramoton… others had given them their titles. That was as it should be.
Zarathusa, though, was falling hard into self-delusion. He'd always had quite an ego but now it was completely out of control. Imotekh cynically thought the rogue Overlord believed himself to be a true luminary, a light of brilliance to equal all others. A soul could fix that, though. That kind of extremely light engrammatic damage, just a soft whiff of insanity, was actually what the resouling process worked best on. It would bring his mind back into alignment, maybe even get him to stop calling himself the Ineffable.
Would he take a soul though? Imotekh considered carefully what his move should be. The Mephrit Dynasty was in complete chaos, their Phaeron slain and multiple candidates vying for the throne. Despite his delusions, Imotekh favored Zarathusa because of his known disillusionment with Szarekh. And if he was willing to commit an entire wing of his fleet, Imotekh could easily decide the struggle of the Mephrit in favor of Zarathusa. Would that be a worthwhile use of resources if Zarathusa would not take a soul? Should he demand it, as the price of his alliance?
Imotekh was no diplomat and growled a bit as he tried to decide the approach. There was a time for flattery and ego stroking, and there was a time for harshness. Suhbekhar had been an obvious case of the former. Mephrit, though, stood broken and torn with war. Feeding Zarathusa's ego might actually be counterproductive compared to attempting to snap him back to reality. But who should he send?
Imotekh finally decided that this matter was so important, the diplomacy so critical, that he could send only his best. Imotekh would brief Manric on Zarathusa's instabilities and hopefully, the empathic telepath might even be able to help him a touch. But Manric would not go in a scout ship… no, he would be part of a fleet. Imotekh would commit Djenakht's wing to this task and they would go to Zarathusa in full force, with a soul for him if he chose to accept. That would be a condition of their aide, and a guarantee that Zarathusa would back them fully against Szarekh.
While Manric was at that, he could take Kakkophet to Djenakht. It made Imotekh want to hammer his head against a wall, but when Manric had diffidently told him about the Angel's warning, he'd taken it to heart. Imotekh could already see signs of it in the Immortals in Mandragora… many of them were resouled now and they were bereft without the worship of the Star Gods. Several of the pwi-necron crypteks were now handling that in Mandragora, instructing them on the new forms of worship. In terms of other resouled Immortals, Imotekh had concentrated on Zahndrekh's wing and Djenakht's wing. Zahndrekh because he already had pwi-necrons and Djenakht just because he needed the combat boost. Not that he was bad in any way but if Imotekh were evaluating the strength of each of his wings, Djenakht was slightly weaker than the others.
That meant Djenakht needed a 'prophet' to bring the word of God to his Immortals. Just thinking that made Imotekh's head hurt but risking Chaos corruption from Khorne was infinitely worse, so Kakkophet had been trained and was very… passionate about his task. No doubt he would meet with great success, that was the kind of passion the necrontyr understood. Zahndrekh's wing needed no help. With so many believers around, the Immortals had already started learning before Manric even brought the problem to him.
All of that decided, Imotekh pulled up a canned FTL message and began dictating his instructions to Zahndrekh. Manric would go to meet Djenakht's wing and then they would move towards Perdita, to see if Zarathusa would take their offer. Imotekh thought that he would, but he wasn't entirely sure.
It was hard to predict the actions of those falling into engrammatic damage.
Anhomqena was deeply pleased with her new body, and even more pleased to visit the planet of Hope.
No longer a bland bit of putty, she was an elegant, graceful being of bronze and black. The sketches of her face had let the Crypteks replicate it in a death mask, to her intense pleasure. To her further pleasure, Osatek and Imotekh had delivered their long ago promise… she was now a Lord and had a small cloak of plaques, a sign of her new status. The only thing that saddened her was that she could not bring her children into her new caste. Having children had always been part of Anhomqena's dreams and she had deliberately put it off so they could be born into the highest possible caste. She had wanted the best for them. Well, that was in the past and Anhomqena brushed away the thought like an errant fly. If she had had her children in the pleasure caste, they would have been eaten by the C'Tan. It was better that she had died childless, to spare them all pain.
The planet of Hope was a beautiful little jewel that reminded Anhomqena strongly of the necrontyr world she had spent much of her adult life on. The world the Stormlord had been fighting over, part of his great campaign, it had also been colder than necrontyr liked but Anhomqena had found it pleasant. She found Hope pleasant as well, as a brisk breeze tinkled her cloak, making them almost sound like wind chimes. A bit of snow was falling and she lifted her face, letting it land on her bronze necrodermis. Their bodies had some natural heat and the snow melted, leaving behind little drops of water that she wiped away.
"You enjoy that? I have always found it unpleasant," Osatek said and Anhomqena nodded.
"It reminds me of the past," she said vaguely. She tried not to remind Osatek that she had once been his father's concubine. It was a little awkward, although he surely knew. Anhomqena remembered… so long ago, when she had set her gaze on Osatek, she had worried the Stormlord would step in. Fortunately, when he had seen them together, he had just been amused and given her a nod. But then, Imotekh knew her quite well. "Is that Reinhart?" She had spotted a truly beautiful shell, as gorgeous as hers but in a completely different way. Osatek turned to look.
"Ah yes, it is!" He waved and Reinhart spotted them, coming over. Anhomqena admired his appearance a bit more, as he paused to return the favor.
"My, that is unusual… It's actually quite fitting. I would never mistake it for a human shell, it's obviously necron, yet so beautifully made and individual." Anhomqena preened a little at the praise. Although.
"Sketch artist Lexaac Hengard and the Crypteks of Mandragora deserve great credit." It was always important to acknowledge those who gave you help. "It was my vision, but they did marvellously at bringing it into reality." She could never have done it herself. Reinhart nodded.
"I had an artist design my shell as well. Hexi of the fantastic four… you will be meeting her, I have engaged all of them for this project." She didn't know who they were, but she assumed they were talented. "Please follow me."
Reinhart escorted them to a transport, one of the ones meant for necrons. Anhomqena curiously examined the city as they travelled. In many ways it strongly resembled the core of a great city of the necrontyr, although it was missing the ziggurats and shrines. Still, the gleaming skyscrapers and vast transport systems were quite familiar. A great billboard had the image of a very pale, beautiful woman with feathers in her hair, glamorously displaying a very beautiful bottle of perfume. The bottle was decorated with enameled wings.
The transport set down close in a wealthy neighborhood before whisking away. Anhomqena had been able to walk freely though the capital of the Sautekh as a member of the pleasure caste and she knew neighborhoods like this, where the lower ranks of the nobility and the very wealthy commoners lived. The homes were lovely but with relatively small plots of land, compared to the great space the middle and high layers of nobility could command. The home he escorted them to was open and airy, much too large for a single person.
But it was not meant for a single person, as they easily discovered inside. They met the four humans nicknamed the Fantastic Four in a great workroom and Anhomqena examined them curiously as Reinhart introduced them.
Hexi was a lean, athletic woman with a certain air about her that Anhomqena recognized. Perhaps it was foolish to attribute this to an alien species, but she tentatively thought that Hexi would prefer her own gender. Her skin was extremely dark and her hair had been elegantly dyed, into a steel grey that carried hints of other shades, little tints of red and blue and green. She was a painter who liked to work with mixed media.
Ronan was a very large human. Not overweight but extremely solid, his build reminded her a bit of Osatek, when he'd been alive. His skin was paler than most Hopians, a light brown and he had a great bushy beard and a mass of wild hair, black and kinky. He was a sculptor and might be working directly with Osatek, if they decided to do a joint project.
Aleksander was a very slender man who looked rather unwell to Anhomqena's eyes. He was the palest of the four, with skin that was nearly translucent. She could see the blue veins under the skin, which made her feel uneasy. Perhaps that was the only reason she had a feeling of sickness, but she didn't think so… his eyes were tired and there was just something about him. For a moment she considered saying something, then let the thought pass by. It would be rude and really, she didn't know enough of humans to be sure.
The last of the group was a beautiful woman named Anastasia. Her skin was beautifully dark and her hair was heavy and straight. She wore very little, tights and a skin tight leotard of pure black, displaying her buxom build. Her face was gorgeous and refined and Anhomqena admired it a bit. She thought Anastasia would have done extremely well in the palace, if she had been a necrontyr. And maybe even as she was… as far as Anhomqena knew, the ancient necrontyr had never encountered a race this close to their own. It was honestly a bit shocking to see, sixty million years later. Anastasia was the one person they might not be working too much with, though, since she was an actress, singer and interpretive dancer. She was the only one to wear a bit of jewelry, a silver cross on a black ribbon around her throat.
"These are the pictures we've made so far. Our project is to recreate, in artistic form, the ancient world of the necrontyr," Osatek said before offering them the pictures. They were soon spread over a table and the artists were exclaiming over them. Anastasia was humming softly as she looked at them, her eyes bright and curious. Anhomqena was actually most interested in her speciality… while she had owned no talent for art, Anhomqena had been a talented dancer in life. Perhaps they could do something together, recreate some of the ancient dances of the necrontyr? With CGI, they could even alter the image of her so it appeared two necrons were dancing together. Or alter the image the other way, so it looked like two necrontyr were dancing together like in the Flesh Times.
"This is my tentative plan for this project," Reinhart said after the artists had been able to examine everything. "Hexi, Aleksander, I want you both to work with Anhomqena to generate more sketches. She has a photographic memory and we want to depict the entire world of the necrontyr, so you can take as long as you need. Ronan, you can work with Osatek with what we currently have. I would suggest a statue of Imotekh." He nodded and Anhomqena could sense Osatek's relief and anticipation. He so wanted to make a tribute to his father but the thought of displeasing him had him in a tizzy of worry. Having an experienced human sculptor to help would make things so much easier for him… if they got along at least. But from just a first impression, Anhomqena thought that would not be an issue, Ronan seemed an agreeable sort. "Anastasia… I am honestly not sure how we will use your talents just yet. Perhaps you can assist Ronan and Osatek?" Anhomqena made a soft, grating sound that served as clearing her throat. "Hm?"
"I was a palace prostitute when I was alive and that included the duty of dancing for the pleasure of the Lords. I was an extremely fine dancer and we could work together to recreate those ancient dances," she said, reflecting on it. Many of those dances had been meant to arouse the male nobility, so two females dancing together was not unusual, not at all. Osatek suddenly spoke up.
"Oh yes, I remember that! Remember when you danced with Cleoshen and she always made a point to try and trip you?" Yes… yes, she did remember that. Anhomqena always took care to honor and respect those who did her a favor, but also remembered those who did her ill.
"I got back at her for that," she murmured softly. It had been a minor thing, so she had responded with equally minor things. Cleoshen had kept losing her hair products, it had been quite a mystery. Their feud had rather abruptly come to an end when she was murdered by one of the nobility, a male all of the palace prostitutes had been very afraid of. He had been too highly placed to be executed but the Phaeron had quietly lost his temper and had the male exiled to a far-off rock. Some things were a bit too much, even in the decadent and degenerate palace. Reinhart, though, made glyphs of relief and interest.
"That would be fascinating." Anhomqena had the distinct impression that Anastasia had been included in this mainly because she was a member of this group, not because they thought her skills would be useful. But they hadn't known that Anhomqena was also a dancer. "When the sketches are done, you will work with Anhomqena to recreate these dances. Are we all agreed?" There were nods from everyone. "Good. Call me if I am needed, I am going to work on another project." What project was that? Anhomqena almost asked, but then thought better of it. Reinhart seemed like the kind of person to be constantly working, a natural born administrator who craved endless projects. She did not understand it herself – Anhomqena was more the kind to enjoy a life of leisure – but she had seen it many times in the Palace. And people like Reinhart were incredibly valuable to the Phaeron, receiving recognition and accolades.
As they began the work of sketching the past, Anhomqena felt that they were all in good hands.