After his conversation with the clone, Manric was highly amused.

It reminded him, deeply, of many times he had dealt with young and arrogant warriors. Not now, and not for a long time – bad news gets around – but when he was younger, still beginning his career. Newcomers to his unit, often very skilled and aware of it, mistaking his kind and quiet demeanor for weakness. Manric took some pleasure in deliberately gulling them, letting them see him as a gentle soul before he pointedly taught them their folly.

Fulgrim fit that exact mold and he would also be taught his folly. Manric had absolute confidence in himself, and for much better reason than the young clone. Would he be so sure of himself if he knew he was effectively challenging Sanguinius, not some random xenos? Manric smiled internally at the thought. While Manric was not truly Sanguinius, with such an important matter he was sure the soul shard would give its' all. Along with the Spear of Ancients and his own skill, he was confident of the win.

Fulgrim would put up a very good fight though, with all of his skill and power, so this called for additional measures. Manric got in touch with Simokh via the STC and AI networks. The communications were so smooth now, beautifully two way and visual. How much things had improved in such a short length of time.

"Simokh, this is what I need…" Manric explained the entire situation, and the forces that could potentially be unleashed when he and Fulgrim battled without restraint.

I see… I should be able to manage this. We do possess a single C'Tan shard, that we traded for long ago. It was used to power the protections on the Grand Tomb and is currently in use generating a small amount of blackstone for use in our shells, but it can be moved to the shielding in the arena instead. Ah, excellent! From what Manric understood of the C'Tan shards, that should magnify the power of the shielding exponentially. Shall I invite Trazyn to this match? Ah.

"It would be rude to exclude him, so yes," Manric said reluctantly. He had an incredibly low opinion of the Grand Archaeovist, but excluding him from this would be a pointless insult, even cruel. Two wrongs did not make a right, and he did not see the point of that. "It is a pity Imotekh's fleet is not here." Imotekh himself would probably love to see this, not to mention his Overlords.

Indeed, but Rahkaak's court and her Overlords will appreciate it. That was true. With the awakening of Abydos, Rahkaak had several martial Overlords. They would absolutely love this display for many reasons… pure enjoyment, but also to see a Primarch in action.

That arranged, Manric had to deal with something a bit unexpected.

"Manric…" Sehenna was deeply concerned for him, almost consumed with anxiety. Manric was a bit surprised by it. "Are you sure…?" she looked at him with burning green eyes and for a moment, Manric imagined her as a living woman, looking at him with worry before he went to war.

"It will be fine," Manric said before gently embracing her. She made an odd, grating sound that with the input of her emotions, Manric interpreted as a sniffle.

"It's just… I know this must seem strange, since I'm a warrior too, in my own way." Oh, it wasn't strange at all, he completely understood. "But if you were on the ship with me and we went to battle together, we would live or die together." Yes, this was not fear of death precisely, but fear of being left alone. Manric cuddled Sehenna gently, knowing she would have to move past this.

"I am not a great nemesor yet, Sehenna. I will be leading from the front for a very long time." Zahndrekh never used his weapon at all, trusting in Obyron to defend him on the rare event that something dangerous reached him. That was taking things a bit far, but the nemesors of the Stormlord's wings rarely engaged in battle themselves. Ironically, the one most likely to do that was Imotekh himself. "Fortunately, even if I am killed, I will most likely recall." Although recall always had that haunting chance of failure. In some ways, Manric thought it was even crueller than what humans went through on the battlefield… for humans, the dead were dead. How many times had one of the pwi-necrons, or even the Lords and Overlords, assumed someone was going to fine to find out that they most definitely weren't? Manric was sure it had happened many times.

"I know. I'm sorry, I will get used to it," Sehenna said, cuddling against him. Such a strange feeling, their metal bodies together, but Manric was coming to enjoy it. Sehenna was smaller and slighter which helped them fit well together. "We should spend some time outside with the children."

"Yes." They were often at lessons, of course, but there always seemed to be someone on break. Schooling on Hope had moved through many iterations and now had settled on intense, computer run lessons interspersed with many breaks for the children to move and use up their energy. Manric was a bit vague on how it worked for the lower classes of Hope, he had so little connection to the human population anymore.

However things were done, it meant there was usually some child running about and more than eager to play a wide variety of games. They were having a spirited game of tag, where Manric and Sehenna deliberately gave the children a fighting chance, when Fulgrim came out to observe. He did not participate but Manric thought nothing of it… he was probably unaccustomed to children and would not want to possibly injure them.

The children, though, were quite curious about him and were soon introducing themselves, to Manric's amusement. Fulgrim was kind to them and willing to answer questions about himself, returning it with interest about them. He quickly became quite a hit with the children, to Manric's amusement.

Simokh sent him a notification that everything was ready and the time at which everyone would meet for the match. Manric sent back a quick acknowledgement before going to Fulgrim's side.

"We will be having our match before supper," Manric mentioned as Fulgrim watched the children with a small, wistful smile. "Have you ever had any children?" Manric suddenly asked, curious. Fulgrim shook his head.

"Oh no… as I am now, I am much too young. And as I was…" Fulgrim fell silent for a moment. "I was married but I suspect we are not fertile with ordinary humans. Or perhaps I was just unlucky." Manric could sense his disappointment in that. "You were once human. Did you have children?"

"Oh, yes," Manric said, a touch surprised. But then he realized he hadn't specified it, or formally introduced Fulgrim to the other inhabitants of the manor. "My daughter Zelda is staying here, with her husband Rafeef. Four of the children are theirs." Zelda had been quite busy while he was away, to his deep pleasure. "I also have another daughter named Nanci. She stays on her husband's estates." He really should go to spend some time with Nanci soon. That did have the disadvantage that Istaal's estates were far away from Hope's Landing. "And a son named Artur. Alas, he has followed in my footsteps and is currently a Short Knife pilot."

"Short Knife?" Fulgrim asked and Manric wished he was able to talk shop with him. Alas, it could not be.

"A necron weapon, a vehicle… I am sorry, as we are not truly allies, I cannot speak further on that." He really wished he could, so they could compare notes. Did the Imperium have anything similar, piloted by servitors perhaps? Although they would mostly still have the limits of flesh and blood.

Before the duel, Manric corrected his oversight and formally introduced Fulgrim to his family. Fulgrim was a bit startled to see Rafeef but accepted the former Imperial psyker without comment. Rafeef was a bit intimidated but he had met Astartes before and managed to take a Primarch in stride. Manric was sure it helped, how many powerful necrons he had met in the course of the resouling operations.

Then the time for the duel came and they departed for the Tomb World.

"If you fear to unleash your full power, do not. The shielding has been augmented to take our abilities into account," Manric said and Sehenna made a soft sound. She was coming with them, she had wanted to see the battle but that was out of concern for him rather than an interest in the battle itself. "Sehenna," Manric gently reproved her and she looked down. Fulgrim watched the interplay with interest.

"Do not worry, I will not hurt him," Fulgrim said to Sehenna and Manric shook his head.

"Thank you," Sehenna said and Manric was reminded that she had never seen him fight. For a moment he contemplated trying to correct them both, then gave up. This was as ridiculous as… as one of the Overlords asking an opponent not to hurt Imotekh, or a Blood Angel asking an enemy not to hurt Sanguinius! But it was so absurd that it was easier to just let them both see it and realize how addled they were.

The battle arena of the Uhnashret was not nearly as grand as the Sautekh. Smaller in scale but still quite large, it had none of the self-modification abilities o the arena of the greater Dynasty. But that was fine, they did not need that, they only needed a good clear space and the shields around it. The shields were specifically made to be as translucent as possible, just a mere shimmer in the air. Manric fancied he could feel the extra power in them, in the gentle humming. Behind those shields were arrayed most of the nobility of the Uhnashret Dynasty. Even those who had little interest in martial matters had come, curious to see a Primarch.

Manric had kept the gauntlet in a carrying box, padded and molded to the gauntlet. Before they entered the arena, he removed the gauntlet from the box and donned it, flexing his hand and feeling the smoothness of the tiny motors. It felt like his own hand, which was the greatest compliment any such gauntlet could be given. Then he went into the arena to meet Fulgrim. Fulgrim was standing tall and proud, a power sword in one hand and a power shield on the other. Manric could tell from looking at them that they were acceptable weapons but nothing more. Did Fulgrim have any idea how badly he was outgeared? It was unfair but life was life and those weapons would never serve against Manric's spear.

"What is that?" Fulgrim noticed the gauntlet and his brows pulled down as he registered something strange about it.

"This is a new weapon I recently required," Manric said innocently. He'd thought of giving it a name but as it really was a temporary thing, in terms of the soul fragment, he had decided against it. "I am still practicing with it." That was true, actually. He hadn't fully mastered the powers of the gauntlet. Although, he should stop this nonsense. "However, this gauntlet is why I am confident I will defeat you." Manric raised his hand, making a fist and displaying the ruby to Fulgrim. As he did, he connected to it via his empathy, allowing the soul fragment to flow into him and gain a measure of control. As he did, a glow surrounded him and beautiful wings appeared behind him. Fulgrim's eyes went wide. "Are you ready to face me… little brother?" Manric said in a voice that was not his own.

Manric gave Fulgrim no time to recover from that surprise. He simply launched himself at the clone, his spear outstretched with deadly intent. Fulgrim reacted instantly, with the battle trained reflexes of a Primarch, and his blade clashed with the spear. Manric felt the blade whine and adjusted the power of his spear downwards a touch, mentally shaking his head. That weapon would not do, would not do at all.

That adjustment was perfect though and their weapons clashed over and over in a vicious duel of death. Manric was favorably impressed with Fulgrim in every way. Strong, fast and deadly, he moved with a grace most Astartes could only dream of. There was also an indefinable quality, a kind of mystical energy that in a real battlefield, Manric would have been extremely wary of. A power that indicated to him that miracles could happen.

Manric, however, was every bit as graceful and with the gauntlet he had that magic too. He went back to following his favorite strategy… don't get hit. As he did, he concentrated on evaluating Fulgrim's style. Manric let Fulgrim push him around a bit, clashing with him very evenly as he vaguely heard some cheering from the spectators.

When he felt he had a very solid grasp of Fulgrim's style and abilities, Manric did not move to offense… he moved to full defense. That emboldened Fulgrim as he thought he had the upper hand, too young to recognize he was being baited. Manric wove an absolutely excellent defense, dancing with ineffable grace. When the time came he faked a mistake, as if he had jumped a tiny bit wrong, and Fulgrim seized that minute opportunity.

Manric's hand darted out like a serpent and caught Fulgrim's wrist. Fulgrim's eyes went wide and invoking the magic of the warp entity living in his soul, he moved with a speed and flexibility that should have been beyond him and he managed to evade the raking spear but put himself badly off balance. Manric employed the fire powers of the gauntlet for the very first time and blasted Fulgrim right in the chest. He flew back and landed hard, rolling but quickly bouncing to his feet. And now, Manric moved to full offense.

Manric attacked in a deadly dance of death, moving with the speed and grace that was his stock in trade. Fulgrim quickly adapted to it, which was pleasing, but kept falling to little tricks that someone older and wiser would have realized were feints and tricks. He realized it though, and started to adapt, becoming suspicious of everything Manric was doing. That was also a flaw however, as he began to miss more genuine opportunities for fear they were false. And all of it came down to one thing.

He is just too young. This was the kind of seasoning that could only come with age. Manric knew how incredibly lucky he had been, to defeat that one drukhari and take the spear as a young man. Sometimes he wondered if the spear itself had intervened, moving against the wielder to help him die and find a worthier bearer. If not for that, his life might have ended right there, all promise lost before it could be realized.

He would not let that happen to Fulgrim and that thought deeply moved the spirit in the gauntlet. Dark red fire glowed in the greaves of the gauntlet, crackling around his body and white wings extended again as Manric attacked with the fierceness of Sanguinius. He put Fulgrim fully on the defensive now and could see the sweat on his face, the strain he was feeling at keeping Manric away, a growing sense of panic.

What took the win was the power of the Spear. Manric had carefully not used the little loops of force through the entire battle, waiting for just the right moment. That moment came and just like he had to Obyron, Manric tripped Fulgrim. That in itself might not have been enough but instead of lashing out with his spear, Manric rammed into him with his shoulder, enhancing his own weight and force with the magic of Sanguinius. He knocked Fulgrim down and then snugly fit the spear beneath his chin.

"Do you yield?" Manric said in a voice that was still not entirely his own. Fulgrim glared up at him and Manric could sense his deep frustration. Ah, it reminded him so much of those arrogant, skilled young men, so long ago.

"You cheated," Fulgrim snarled and Manric wanted to sigh. That was childish and from the blush that started on pale cheeks, Fulgrim realized that after he said it. "I – I mean, you…" Fulgrim stopped and Manric was glad he had the intelligence to realize this was stupid.

"You know as well as I do that a Demon Prince will have no qualms about cheating. Rather the opposite." Manric did not know Demon Prince Fulgrim personally of course, but he thought it could be assumed that he would cheat with verve and elan. "Also, if you want to see what is actually cheating, give me your shield," Manric said, pulling away his spear. Fulgrim pulled himself up and, with a mildly puzzled air, surrendered the shied generator he had been wearing on his arm. Like his sword it was a good piece of equipment, well made and suitable for any common warrior or perhaps, even a more elite unit.

For a Primarch, who hoped to beard a Demon Prince, it was nothing. Manric turned on the generator and tossed the crackling shield into the air. Summoning all the power of his spear, the strength meant to shred gods, he struck as the shield fell. It shorted out instantly, sundered by the spear and then the generator itself was slashed in two. The broken pieces of the equipment fell to the ground with a sad tinkle.

"That would have been cheating," Manric said in the sudden silence and turned to look at Fulgrim. "You need better gear." That was not his fault, not at all, but it was just the truth. Fulgrim looked a bit appalled at the destruction, but nodded.

"I know… these were the best father had and I tried to make my own sword but…" He fell into an embarrassed silence and Manric guessed something unfortunate had happened with that. "I was going to try again but then father betrayed me." Ah, yes. Manric did not look towards the audience to pick out Trazyn.

That reminded him of the audience, though, and he became aware that there had been cheering while they spoke. Manric turned to wave to them and also picked out Sehenna, deliberately waving at her. She waved back and Manric could sense her intense relief. Phaeron Rahkaak clapped her hands together and said a few words to them all, signifying the end of the match. Manric turned back to Fulgrim. The spirit of the gauntlet wasn't done yet and hopefully now, the young clone was listening.

"Please little brother. There is no honor in putting down a rabid dog. Do not face him yourself, face him with your brothers, your sons, all of your battle brothers. Even these xenos of steel and soul, if need be. Bring him down like the dog he is, with everything you have. Take no chances. You are worth so much more," the voice of the long dead urged the living. Fulgrim looked down for a moment but then nodded. It was a reluctant nod, but Manric could sense it was sincere.

Then, though, he looked up and stared at him quizzically.

"How did you come by that gauntlet? It looks so fine, it would make Vulcan proud, and it has the Imperial aquila but those runes…" Fulgrim examined the gauntlet dubiously. It did look odd, but beautiful, with its combination of cultures. Manric knew he deserved a full explanation.

"We should probably go somewhere a bit more suitable, and I can explain how this occurred. And yes Trazyn, you can come too." He hadn't left and Manric had sensed his regard… from a random Warrior that should have just been standing guard. He turned to regard the 'Warrior' severely. "Put that poor thing back." It was pointless anyway, Manric could easily tell when he was present.

(Trazyn had been absolutely right to think Manric would have detected him in Calder)

(Manric would also have attempted to exorcise him. Trazyn would have left before going through that)

"Remarkable! We really need to talk." Could he pass? "But thank you!" Then the Warrior went back to being non-sentient and the real Trazyn joined them. Fulgrim regarded him with some alarm, but said nothing… he didn't blame Trazyn for what had happened, but also wanted nothing to do with him.

The Tomb did have some pretty places to just stand and chat, spots where there were ancient works of art and pieces of fine necron architecture, between paths for walking. Manric knew where to go and when they were in a good spot, began explaining how the ruby and the aquila had come into his possession.

It was a long story but in their own ways, they both deserved to know.

While he was resouling the Uhnashret Immortals, Manric also gave a bit of attention to the Necron Warriors.

Not much, but Simokh and the other crypteks had been noting any that appeared to be aberrant. In particular, they looked towards the ones that had come with Rahkaak through the great sleep. The Phaeron had deliberately picked the best Immortals, with the highest functioning, to join her in the Great Tomb but she had also found some slightly higher functioning Warriors. Ones who actually had a word or two, or showed signs of greater cleverness than normal.

The Warrior Manric was resouling right now had a two-word vocabulary, yes and no. It made it possible to ask him a question and get a rational, albeit extremely limited answer. And the answers were not random, they had tested that to be sure, so he was taking in the world around him and was capable of some degree of reasoning. Most Warriors were, of course, but this one seemed to have answers for questions most of them would have trouble comprehending even if they had words. Manric felt that was extremely promising. Roughly the functioning of a very limited Immortal, he should not have locked in syndrome.

(the fate of that one Necron Warrior still haunted him)

After the resouling was done, there was the usual confusion that Manric had to rouse the Warrior from. It was easier than usual, much easier, which in retrospect was a warning of what was to come. The Warrior looked at him, then looked down at his own body.

"Praise the Star Gods," he said. Then he continued to speak, but in a version of the necrontyr language that Manric did not understand. Was that more archaic?

"Sir?" Manric said cautiously. The Warrior continued to chant. "May I ask your name?" Manric was starting to become alarmed at the emotions he was sensing. A kind of exaltation, a reverence that approached a sensation Manric could only call love. It was extremely heady and seductive to Manric, but also deeply worried him because never in all his life had he experienced such a thing. The WAAAUGGHH! of the orks was more familiar to him than this. "I am nemesor Manric Duleth in the service of Phaeron Rahkaak. Give me your name," he said, effectively pulling rank. The chanting suddenly stopped as the Warrior glared at him?

"Show respect to the hands of the gods!" Oh. This was a priest, and an extremely fervent one. "I will bow my head to Phaeron Rahkaak and no other! She is the manifestation of the will of the Star Gods upon this world, not you, trash!" Manric was a bit speechless. This was a commoner, speaking so to someone who he must realize was necron nobility. But he did it with such assurance that Manric felt he must have had weight behind him, in the long-ago Flesh Times. Hmm.

"Forgive me. I only wish your name, so I can give it to Phaeron Rahkaak," Manric said humbly, bowing his head slightly. The Warrior's glare lessened.

"I am tekhenu Kakkophet." Manric did not know that word, and he did not think it was because of any fault in his understanding of the necron language. He thought it was a lost word, something that had been purged from their vocabulary and he had an idea as to why. "Take me to the Phaeron so I might praise the gods and anoint her temples in the sacred incense." Dear gods.

"Kakkophet, please calm yourself. Much time has passed and things have changed. Please, look around you," Manric said carefully. He needed to help Kakkophet to find the truth himself. If Manric just told him, he would immediately disbelieve it.

"What are you talking about? I am…" Kakkophet paused to actually look around. They were in the research facility, within a force field, in case Manric had been wrong and the Warrior had become violent. "Where am I?" There was deep puzzlement as he looked over the equipment and the curiously watching human technicians. "What are they?"

"They are a race called humans. They have given their loyalty to Phaeron Rahkaak, praise be her name." Manric said and Kakkophet echoed that automatically, but Manric was starting to sense uncertainty and worry in him. "Please, can I take you to see our city, that Phaeon Rahkaak rules over now?"

"Can I not see Phaeron Rahkaak?" His worry was increasing and Manric bowed slightly. At the same time he shamelessly cheated, projecting reassurance and trying to convince Kakkophet to trust him.

"The Phaeron will gladly receive you, but it would be good if you understood what has come to pass, to prevent distressing the Phaeron." Being told to thank the Star Gods and being offered unguents would definitely distress Rahkaak. Not enrage her, because she understood the problems with some of the newly souled, but she would not be remotely happy. "Please, follow me?" Manric asked, not wanting to touch Kakkophet. He wasn't sure why, but he had the strong feeling he would take it very ill if he was touched in any way, even a hand on his arm.

"It is only right that I see the Phaeron's domain," Kakkophet said but Manric could tell he was trying to reassure himself. Trying to tell himself everything was fine. Everything wasn't fine, but Manric wanted him to start coming to that realization himself.

Manric led Kakkophet through the complex, nodding at a few of the researchers. They looked at Kakkophet curiously but said nothing, sensing the odd tension in the air. Kakkophet was looking at everything and his unease increased as they took the elevator.

Several elevators later, and a few trips through the building, and they had reached the roof. It wasn't entirely as Manric remembered, the décor had changed slightly and there were now some raised flower boxes, carrying beautiful flowing petunias. Kakkophet looked at the flowers, then gazed over the city, moving towards the railing to get a better view.

"…Where am I…" he finally said.

"You are on your homeworld. It has just been a very long time," Manric said gently. Kakkophet looked at him, then back at the city.

"I do not understand. How can it have been a long time? I cannot…" Kakkophet fell silent a moment. "I remember strange things. I remember… firing a weapon. I remember the accursed aeldari and krork, but also alien worlds, places I do not know, people I do not know," he said and Manric could feel a deep stress building in him, what he could only define as existential dread. "How long can it have been?"

"Sixty million years," Manric said and Kakkophet's head snapped back to him. Manric met his gaze without flinching. "It has been sixty million years."

"What…" Kakkophet fell silent for a moment before suddenly flaring in anger. "Why do you say such nonsense?! That cannot be true! The Star Gods promised us immortality, how could something like this have occurred?"

"The Star Gods delivered their promise. They just did not tell you that your immortality would be as mindless tools, slaved directly to their will, and the will of the Silent King," Manric said before carefully reaching out, stretching out a hand but not touching Kakkophet. Merely offering a hand. "The Star Gods betrayed your people, and were betrayed in kind. For what they did to you, they were shattered into shards and locked away."

"That cannot be. That cannot be," Kakkophet said, his mind locking up in shock. "How can you say such things? It cannot be," Manric finally gently took his hands. "Do not touch me. You will render me ritually unclean," he said but automatically, rather than the violent rejection Manric was sure it would have been before.

"I am sorry. The Star Gods are dead, and your people are free. Phaeron Rahkaak charts her own fate among the stars," Manric said and felt the other necron start to shake. The rejection was too intense, so intense that Manric actually felt a slide into madness beginning. How could he stop it? Manric was not religious but he knew many who were deeply connected to their faith. He had also observed many awakened Warriors by now and while none of them had reacted this badly, like Panaa, they had all begun turning to the worship of God. "Kakkophet, do not despair. There is still a God for you to worship, who will not turn aside from you. Who will never place you in chains to his will, a God who demands you only live with honor and dignity and goodness in your heart," Manric said, reflecting on the insanity that he, a virtual atheist, was promoting the word of God. But Kakkophet would never be able to follow a path other than religion so it was a kindness to give him what he needed. "Others who have awoken from the endless dream have already turned to his light." Perhaps Panaa would be helpful to deal with this.

"That is… heresy…" Kakkophet muttered as his mind continued to grapple with what had happened. And Manric hadn't even told him about the children yet. "A god… another god… I… will I sacrifice to his honor…?" Ah no. Was that what tekhenu meant?

"Our God does not require sacrifices of death, only of life. That you live morally and well, and spread word of his glory," Manric said, fudging the truth a bit on the last part. But Kakkophet needed something he could do. And it was not entirely untrue, while they did not actively proselytize they were willing to share the word of God when asked. Hmm. "You can also fight in his name, protecting the virtuous from the predations of the unworthy." If he could convince Kakkophet to take up a weapon, he could send him to the God's Hands. Manric did not know if the priests on Hope were up to dealing with this but he thought the old warriors of the God's hands might be able to direct this effectively.

"What is the name of this god?" Kakkophet was thinking in terms of pantheons, like the Star Gods. To Manric's relief he was starting to re-centre himself, although he was uncertain about the whole thing. Vacillating between thinking he was committing heresy to glancing around and realizing that everything was wrong and at least some of what Manric was saying had to be true.

"God is god, the only god, the true god. There are no others, so he needs no other name," Manric said and Kakkophet found that an alien concept but also appealing. "However, I am not a priest. I will find one who can give you proper instruction." Manric needed to speak to Panaa urgently.

"When can I see Phaeron Rahkaak?" Kakkophet said with a bit of suspicion. Manric hesitated a moment but he knew if he kept Kakkophet away from her, he would surely start regarding everything Manric was saying with suspicion. Still, he needed to prepare the Phaeron for this.

"I must speak to her." How to explain this? "Kakkophet, the Phaeron, and the other nobles, were not put to sleep as you were. They have been awake for a long period of time… not the full sixty million years, but many millions." How many? Manric had no idea. "Their memories of life are fractured and broken. I must speak to her… forgive me. I know my question might seem strange, but what does tekhenu mean?" Manric thought he had guessed but it would be good to have confirmation.

"It means the priests who conduct the sacrifices to the gods." Ah, as he had thought. "We are not a caste, no one can be born into this rank, it is earned and a great honor." Manric could detect his great pride, at what he has achieved. "I mortified my flesh and sacrificed my genitals upon the alter of the gods." …Wait, what? "Everything I am, everything I was and ever would be, was given to the gods. How… how can this be true? I must speak to the Phaeron. I must…" Kakkophet glanced around again and Manric gently squeezed his hands.

"You will speak to the Phaeron. Let me take you to the Tomb, where she resides. I will speak to her first and she will greet you and confirm my words," Manric said and Kakkophet nodded, feeling a great relief at the thought of seeing Rahkaak. Manric reflected on how lucky he was to be an empathic telepath… without the ability to make that connection, he was sure this would have gone infinitely worse.

Manric took Kakkophet on the trip to the Tomb World, and he found that an intensely disturbing experience.

"This is where we live now…" Kakkophet looked around the Tomb, seeing the necron architecture and the other necrons, but feeling a deep unease at it all. More evidence that Manric was telling the truth and a great amount of time had passed.

Phaeron Rahkaak, I have a resouled Warrior that I want to meet you. However, I need to speak to you first, Manric sent, quietly asking the AI where Rahkaak was. It helpfully advised him that she was in the Great Tomb. Simokh, can you please meet me outside the Great Tomb? He wanted someone to watch over Kakkophet while he spoke to the Phaeron and Simokh was the best they had. Nuhkes would have been better, if only he had been present… Kakkophet might as well be an alien species, for how well the ancient necrons would understand him.

Speak to me first? Is something wrong? Rahkaak asked as Simokh sent a quick blip of assent.

He is a priest… this is proving very difficult. Manric wasn't sure how else to describe it, like this at least. He couldn't spare too much attention from Kakkophet. We will be there shortly.

When they arrived, Simokh was waiting for them. Kakkophet couldn't recognize him of course, but when Simokh introduced himself Kakkophet knew him and greeting him with the respect of an equal. Manric left them together and went to speak to Rahkaak. She looked at him curiously, wordless inviting him to explain and Manric bowed before doing his best.

"His name is Kakkophet and he says he is a tekhenu. Do you know that word?" Rahkaak flashed a glyph of negation. "It appears to mean one of the priests who responsible for conduction the blood sacrifices of the necrontyr." Rahkaak did not recoil, but Manric could sense her soul deep repulsion. "He is in a state of great stress now. I have done my best to gently move him past his… religious crisis, but he desperately desires to speak to you."

"He is…" Phaeron Rahkaak started, then stopped. Her next words were venomous. "Should we not put him to death for what he has done?" Manric felt badly for her, he truly did. And yet, that was supremely unfair to Kakkophet.

"Phaeron, you must understand. He is a religious fanatic. Tekhenu was not a caste, but a position that had to be earned… he says he earned it by sacrificing his genitalia." Rahkaak recoiled at that. While necrons no longer had such parts, the thought of such deliberate mutilation was still appalling. "The depth of belief I sensed in him, before he began to understand that things were wrong, was frightening. I believe that if the C'Tan had appeared before him and bade him to set himself fire, he would have done so, and chanted their praises as he burned." There was a leaden silence before Rahkaak stirred.

"I see… I see… and it would be wrong for me to hold this against him. He may have conducted the ceremonies, but I presided over them." That was true and the thought had crossed Manric's mind, but he had not wanted to say something so hurtful. He might have though, if Rahkaak had truly wanted to execute Kakkophet. But that had just been a feeling of the moment. "You may bring him in."

As soon as he laid eyes on the Phaeron, Kakkophet prostrated himself.

"Phaeron Rahkaak, great Queen of the Uhnashret, we adore you," he said the customary greeting and Manric could feel that deeply religious fervor again. To the others, Rahkaak had been their beloved Phaeron, a great and well-loved ruler. To Kakkophet, she was also holy, the mouth of the gods.

"Please, rise," Rahkaak said and Kakkophet came to his feet.

"Phaeron… this one, this Manric, he tells me that an eternity has passed and the Star Gods have betrayed us. Can this be true?" Kakkophet's voice wavered. "He said the Star Gods chained our will to theirs, making us nothing but mindless tools… is that true?"

"I am afraid that it is," Rahkaak confirmed and to Manric, Kakkophet felt her words like a blow.

"If the Star Gods have turned away, what is the point in going on?" Kakkophet said and Manric realized he was seriously contemplating suicide. Rahkaak could see it too. "All my life was devoted to them and their worship. What was the point of my entire life?"

"Oh Kakkophet, please do not give up. The Star Gods were never quite what we thought, but it was not our fault. They lied to us from the very beginning. We must find our own way now," Phaeron Rahkaak said, trying to encourage him.

"He tells me of another god…?" Kakkophet asked and Rahkaak glanced at Manric. He quickly sent her a private interstitial message. I do not believe he can live without some form of worship. Rahkaak knew that the other re-souled Warriors and some Immortals were turning to the worship of God and while she did not forbid it, she did not encourage it. Rahkaak hesitated a moment.

"The God of the humans is worthy of respect. I do not follow that path myself but if you choose to, I do not forbid it. And there are others here already following that path, including a priestess named Panaa. Perhaps you can speak to her about it?" Kakkophet tilted his head.

"The temple composer? I know her." Ah, excellent! "I will go speak to her, if you can direct me?" Manric readily consented to acting as Kakkophet's guide. He was completely unused to the Tomb World and the coreworld AI. Also, Manric preferred to be there for the first meeting. He wondered how Panaa would react… if Kakkophet knew her, she might know him but how would she feel about him? Would she be afraid to see him again? The things she had dropped, and a few of the others, had suggested that the butchers of the gods were held in great fear.

Despite that, Manric was determined to do his best for Kakkophet.