Manric and Ahmakeph were in a private meeting with Zahndrekh and Obyron. The entire army was abuzz, talking and speculating on the play they had seen and the message they had been given, but as they were the ones most involved Zahndrekh had decided to consult with them privately.
"This play… this act of the War in Heaven… I have never seen it before. And it's odd. As far as I know, Imotekh doesn't have a son." Zahndrekh said but his tone had the flat, mechanical note that indicated he was blotting something away, forcing away knowledge that would have broken his endless dream. Manric felt a deep helplessness and glanced at Ahmakeph, meeting his glance. They were both thinking the same thing.
"He did have a son, I am sure of it," Ahmakeph muttered and Manric looked at the ground. A son he didn't remember. Just as Ahmakeph hadn't remembered Zahndrekh and had almost plotted against him. Ah, this was going to be bad, although it did have one silver lining.
"I believe this means that our work in finding a cure for the plague will soon be met with success." Obyron looked at him sharply. He understood what that meant. Ahmakeph just nodded as Zahndrekh seemed sunk in a kind of depression. "However, there will be a cost to be paid. Some will find joy but for most, it will be great suffering." Manric rubbed his chest, feeling the ache there. "A suffering of remembrance." There would be so much pain, so many regrets.
"Should we send a transcript of what occurred to Imotekh?" Obyron asked and Manric knew why… this was not really a battle, they COULD suppress it. And yet.
"We must. It is a warning," Ahmakeph said and Manric nodded. "He needs time to prepare himself." Manric honestly thought Imotekh would scoff and dismiss it as eldar garbage, but he still deserved the warning.
"You really believe that Imotekh…" Zahndrekh went silent. "His son… what was his name…?" Zahndrekh was trying to remember, Manric realized. The knowledge was hidden somewhere inside his mind and he knew it was there, but he couldn't find it.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that we will cure the plague. If there is a price for that, we will pay it," Ahmakeph said bracingly, trying to cheer Zahndrekh up, in his way. And it worked, as Zahndrekh slowly found his customary cheer.
"Ah, cousin, you are right! To never need to give mercy again would be such a wonderful thing. I am sure Obyron agrees!" Obyron nodded stoically. He was the one who usually gave it, although Manric had handled his own soldiers who had chosen it. That had been nightmarish and Manric very much looked forward to never having to do it again. "Well, if we are decided on that, on to other matters." Yes, there was more than that to discuss although this part wouldn't directly involve Ahmakeph. "Manric, do you have a response from Phaeron Rahkaak?"
"Yes, she assents to your plan," Manric said and could sense Ahmakeph's curiosity. He glanced at his friend. "We're going to move roughly ten thousand warriors from Itolyx to other units, to make up their recall failures. They'll be replaced with a combination of seasoned pwi-Necrons from my forces and new recruits."
"Oh." Ahmakeph was a bit taken aback. "We've had that many recall failures? And Rahkaak consented to this?" Manric understood his dubiousness… this was essentially giving up those warriors, forever, to members of the Sautekh Dynasty. All of the Overlords under Zahndrekh's command were former Nobles and the warriors they commanded were their commoners. Manric knew that was why a few of them were not that good… but Zahndrekh was well aware of everyone's strengths and weaknesses, and no commander beneath him was actually incompetent.
"We really have had that many recall failures, in Overlord Kepatosekh's unit in particular." Ahmakeph glanced at Obyron and Manric sighed internally. Kepatosekh was completely untrustworthy and he was sure SOME of those casualties had been due to Obyron taking care of plots against Zahndrekh. But… "The Harlequins hit him particularly hard. He lost over a thousand in that conflict alone." And he'd been well under strength before that.
"Yes, he has been unfortunate. And while I know he dislikes me, he is a quite competent commander. I would prefer to keep him here rather than send him back to Gedrun," Zahndrekh said before clapping his hands together. "And the other matter?"
"I've been thinking about it… I think I would recommend the commander of the Death Seekers for promotion to Overlord." They were considering splitting Manric's forces. They were actually getting too large, thanks to the new recruits from the Hope forces. It wasn't for just yet, given the men he would be giving up to Itolyx, but in the future it would be needed. "His name is Diarmuid Lynch. Frankly, he's a stone-cold sociopath who likes to kill things. But he's completely loyal and has a mania for efficiency, in addition to being one of the few people who can actually put the Death Seekers on a tight leash."
"I know him. He's very fun to spar against, if you don't mind possibly going for recall," Ahmakeph said and Manric was sure he knew. "He does enjoy it all far too much. I swear he even enjoys getting hurt." That sounded about right. Manric didn't spar with Diarmuid, that was not the kind of match he enjoyed.
"Oh really? How interesting! I don't think I've met him, can you summon him?" Well, there was no reason he couldn't. Manric sent out the summons and received a quick glyph of acknowledgement in reply. Diarmuid was surprisingly good with glyphs, Manric had once seen him create a whole poem.
(it had been a very gruesome and detailed description of what he'd do if his men failed him, but it was still a poem)
What came into the room was an Immortal, but one that had been heavily modified. Instead of the normal silvery necrodermis, his had been painted jet black. He'd somehow modified his flux as well so instead of the usual green, it was tinted with red, giving it a sickly glow. He carried a power axe that had always been his weapon, as a human and Necron, but now it had been heavily modified to be more powerful. That had happened in Mandragora and Manric didn't know, or want to know, how Diarmuid had convinced the Sautekh Crypteks to work on his gear. Right now the axe was slung over his shoulder, held in place with a surprisingly jaunty metal ribbon. But as a man, Diarmuid had always had a sense of style.
"Oh my. Are you a Destroyer?" Zahndrekh asked and Manric could understand the confusion. Many regular Necrons did think that on first seeing Diarmuid.
"No sir, I am not afflicted with the Destroyer virus," Diarmuid said and his voice was always another shock… it had a surprisingly high tone, which Manric knew mimicked his living voice, a rather musical tenor. Diarmuid had altered his Immortal body quite thoroughly to suit him. "Sir?" Diarmuid looked at Manric and tilted his head questioningly.
"You're here to be evaluated for your suitability for promotion," Manric said and Diarmuid blipped an acknowledgement before looking at Zahndrekh. It would be up to him to ask any questions, Diarmuid was not that talkative normally. Zahndrekh tilted his head and Manric could sense that he was quite curious.
"Manric said you're a sociopath. What do you say to that?" Manric winced internally although Diarmuid surely knew what he thought.
"Well, I say he's an idiot sir." What?! "I am not a sociopath, I am a high functioning psychopath. Get it right sir," he said in a chiding tone and Manric sighed internally.
"What does it matter," he muttered but unfortunately, Diarmuid heard him.
"They are related conditions but still different diagnosis and if you know anything about it, I am clearly NOT a sociopath." Diarmuid was actually a touch offended, Manric realized. "I do have sociopaths under my command and I often have to stomp on them hard. They have no ability for long term planning or delaying gratification." That was true, Diarmuid was capable of both those things. "As a psychopath, I can wait for years if necessary, in the pursuit of my goals."
"That is an interesting admission," Obyron rumbled and Manric knew what he was thinking… for most of Zahndrekh's commanders, these would be very bad attributes. That sailed completely over Diarmuid's head, though.
"It was necessary, sir. The drukhari followed a schedule, arriving on Hope every five to ten years and then remaining for six months to a year. I had to patiently wait for them, mind my behavior, focus on training. It could be difficult sometimes, very difficult, but I schooled myself well. A few of our worst behaving warriors would always end up court martialed, in those pauses, but not me. I waited." While this was impressively psychotic, Manric could sense Obyron's concerns easing as he perceived that Diarmuid only cared about the art of slaughter. Similar to a Destroyer but more narrowly focused, he would never be a threat to Zahndrekh in any way.
"My word. What made you this way?" Zahndrekh asked and Manric winced a little inside. That was an almost childishly naïve question, brought about by his endless dream of the past. And as far as he knew, such mental disorders were inborn.
Then, though, Diarmuid surprised him.
"The drukhari made me this way. Until the age of eight, I was a completely normal boy," Diarmuid said and Manric stared. He had never heard this story. "They murdered my parents in front of me and when I screamed at them that I would kill them, they laughed and told me they would give me the tools to do it. They told me they would make me like them. Then they did something to me… I'm told I was in a coma for a year. When I awoke, I was like this." Diarmuid shrugged. "I wonder if perhaps they destroyed my soul. I know that others say they feel different after taking the transference, but I don't. Whatever they did to me, they made me the monster I am today, and they seemed to take delight in it as they do with all of their monsters. It disgusts even me, but I still live to kill and to die. It is all my life is for." There was a leaden silence before Ahmakeph broke it.
"What do you think of being promoted? Is that for you?" Ah, that was a good question! Diarmuid tilted his head to one side, seriously thinking about it.
"A shame to leave the frontline… a shame… but then, I could direct the overall slaughter more efficiently. Manric is often too kind on them," Diarmuid sounded mildly irritated and Manric was sure he would rule his command with an iron fist, just like he currently ruled the Death Seekers. But he would hardly be alone in that and it was definitely a style of command that worked. "I know of course, Manric is very different from me, he can inspire from hope and charisma while I use fear." Diarmuid really was quite self-aware. "It would be nice to have a command post and then I could join the battle on the best targets… yes, if you wish to promote me, I will gladly accept."
"Thank you. I believe that is all for now," Zahndrekh said and Diarmuid nodded, accepting the dismissal. When he was gone, the nemesor spoke again. "I believe he is suitable. We should arrange the marks of rank when we return to Mandragora." Zahndrekh meant the remodeling to Overlord but in his dream of the past, he thought of it as permanent tattoos. Apparently that was something that had often been done, back in the time of the necrontyr. "Then we can see about splitting the units." That might leave Manric a little understrength, depending on where they were at, but that was fine. New recruits trickled in, more than they lost and would return him to strength in time.
"I already know some of the units I will give him." The Lion Hearts would join the Death Seekers. Their current commander was not a psychopath, but he was every bit as iron-handed as Diarmuid so they would take to it well. Manric would have to think about the others but the one unit Diarmuid would NOT get was the Cabbits. Their bizarre style and antics would drive him completely insane.
"I will spar with him," Obyron said and Manric stared as he tried to picture that. Ahmakeph laughed.
"You should sell tickets to that match!" Indeed, that would be something for the ages. Perhaps Obyron could teach Diarmuid something, though. That was the other reason Manric did not spar with Diarmuid… his style could not be more diametrically opposed to the leader of the Death Seekers. It was worthwhile as a kind of practice, but there was little they could learn from each other. "Well, I should get back to my men." Manric nodded.
"I really should get back to the moon." With his gift of empathic telepathy, Manric had found himself essentially in charge of soothing and organizing the human survivors. He was the only one who could easily break through their violent and terrified xenophobia. Fortunately he would have plenty of time to work with them, they were projected to remain in this system for three years at least, possibly as long as ten. That was how long it would take to start putting in Necron emplacements, fortifications and defenses as well as establish a full defensive picket.
As he went back to the moon, though, Manric ruminated on what he'd learned with a sense of melancholy. He understood the nature of the Death Seekers very well… they were the home of the psychopaths and sociopaths, the fundamentally broken who were nonetheless drafted into the military and told to kill. Almost a mercy, that they could slake their bloodlust for the good of society. But it was also the home of the broken, the changed. Those who had looked into the darkness the drukhari had shown them, and something inside them had responded to it. It was a common path, for a warrior to start in a completely different unit and after one or two tours of duty, to quietly request a transfer to the Death Seekers.
Manric had just never guessed Diarmuid was among them, or that it could happen so young. But he knew that was a bit of his own naivete… he just hated to think of the traumatized children they had saved, growing into traumatized adults and becoming men like Diarmuid. He wanted better for them, better for them all. Even the Death Seekers. In the past, they normally only mustered out due to debilitating injuries and whenever that happened, Manric had tried his best to help them. It had normally come to little, as they were almost always unable to adapt to civilian life. Most became slaves or fell victim to suicide.
At least they had biotransference now. It was a true blessing, to the Death Seekers, that they would never have to fear that again. There was life and death, but no longer disability and decline. And all they wanted was that, to fight forever until finally, forever came to an end.
Why did that make him want to cry?