Author's Note: I really feel bad that I went through the final battle a bit too quickly. I'm not good at fight scenes, I'll do better with the Pariah Nexus, I promise. Now here's a bit more things... so sorry about this!

Istaal was fully merged with his Knight Armor.

That was the glory and magic of the Knight Armors. The implants all the Knight Armor pilots were gifted with let them interface completely with the beautiful machines. It was seamless, turning the Knight Armor into their own body. That was why to many of the pilots, the Armors were almost sacred… using them for parts was like sacrificing pieces of their own bodies. Istaal had forgiven Jan for that, he understood that it had been practical, but he still hated it.

Istaal was in the midst of fighting the Demons of Slaanesh. He was a fairly religious man and finding out that demons were real and did in fact want to drag you to Hell, had raised his fervor. So he fought with a holy fire in his chest and honestly, his blackstone protections were probably unnecessary. This was exactly the kind of belief that the Sisters of Battle had, the kind of belief that formed an armor.

The valley in front of him was a mess. Leaving Valhalla proper was where the farming started. This far North, the land wasn't that fertile so it hadn't been given to farmers like Borin. But they'd still been raising goats on the scrub and now, that scrub was on fire. Istaal vaguely knew that the farming communities would suffer too, as random daemons destroyed them because they could, but it didn't matter. What mattered was holding Valhalla.

Then a Demon Prince entered the battlefield. The Titan's great Void Shields had to engage, as it protected itself from a fiery blast of power. Istaal saw the Prince clearly… it was a hideous thing, trying to be beautiful but failing miserably in Istaal's estimation. They were all like that, going too far with everything and becoming garish and absurd.

However, Istaal could not actually give less of a damn about the creatures' aesthetic sense. Without even the slightest pause, he launched himself directly at it. He smoothly cut through the daemonettes, heading for the high value target and it did not even cross his mind that he might be outmatched. This was what he was here for. He was here to kill and to die.

Die he almost did. Istaal fired as he ran, and the Prince defected his bolts, but he had a power sword. A great sword, suited to the size of his Knight Armor, he activated it and leapt. It was a beautiful, smooth leap and he was ready to deliver absolute destruction.

Unfortunately, his Knight Armor had no Void shields and when the power of the Prince hit him, it scythed through his armor's legs. Istaal still tried, and almost did land his blow, but then he was blasted away. Warnings went wild before internal systems died and the armor was forced to rely upon backup systems. Istaal was in so much of an adrenaline high that at first, he did not register the pain.

Then the pain hit, and it was agonizing. Istaal could smell cooked meat and realized that stench was coming from his own body. The Knight Armor, what little was left of it, responded to his distress by injection pain stims and also activating a distress beacon, meant to signify that this armor was down and the pilot needed recovery. Yet no one could get to him, as the battle raged on and Istaal could only gasp as he was trapped in what remained of his Knight Armor. It was an experience he would remember until his dying day, and it would be deeply traumatizing.

Yet knowing that they had succeeded and held Valhalla, against all odds, would help him to recover in the end.

Just load and fire. Just load and fire.

Stiglart Kenzie was part of the forces manning a fixed emplacement, a great cannon. His job was to help loading the bolts into it and he did that with a single-minded intensity.

The Valhallan PDF were not suited to directly skirmish with daemonettes, unless they absolutely had to. Instead, they preferred to engage in distance attacks while the Knight Armors took on the demons in hand to hand, their power swords flashing. And what they loved to use, most of all, were the heavy armaments. The kind of weapons that cities like Hope's Landing had fielded, back in the war against the drukhari, these were the big guns.

"Changing target," the targeting officer said cooly as Stiglart passed over another bolt. This could have been automated and sometimes it was, but the AI's and robots used had to actually be fairly advanced. They had several kinds of ammunition so they would need to be able to switch on the fly. Also, the gun itself was not entirely fixed… they could move their position if they absolutely had to. At that point, making a combat AI flexible enough to handle the tasks was becoming dangerous. The Necrons knew that, which was why their combat AI's were rather stupid and typically just ran right at the enemy. Making something smart enough to be good at combat was inviting trouble.

(that was in fact exactly how the Terran empire had gotten into trouble, so long ago)

(the Men of Iron had been combat model AI's)

Stiglart couldn't know, but they were targeting a Keeper of Secrets now and it took exception to their effrontery. A blast of power impacted the cliff close to their position, causing stone to melt and ooze. The heat in their emplacement immediately went up but Stiglart paid it no mind. It was his job to load and fire.

The next blast was, unfortunately, much better aimed. And there is no more to this story.

Zahndrekh was trying to ignore it but beneath his usual calm was a seething cauldron of anxiety.

"You are going to be well, old friend?" he asked Obyron anxiously, even as his mind plotted every part of the battle and he sent out a few interstitial orders. He was particularly focused on the glue traps, they were having breakthroughs along the ridges and he needed to send some Short Knives to lay down suppressive fire.

"I know what I need to do," Obyron rumbled and Zahndrekh did not find that comforting. It only took one mistake and then what would they do? Try to imprison the creature and take him to the eldar, he supposed. The very thought gave Zahndrekh more anxiety because what if they couldn't do anything? "Calm down. It will be fine." Obyron could see his uncharacteristic nervousness.

"It's a matter of your soul, is all," Zahndrekh said, clasping his hands together. It was so strange, to think about their immortal souls again after so long without them. It was wonderful to have them back and Zahndrekh felt so alive, now. He even cherished the memories that had been returned to him, despite the way it had all ended. Little Zahndria… holding her, seeing her face… he would treasure that memory. Ah, if only she had been allowed to grow.

His mind was going in every direction and that was not good. Zahndrekh forcefully pulled himself back, examining the battlefield in his mind's eye, aided by dozens of info sources feeding directly to his perception. This was the magic of a battle nemesor, something that came effortlessly to him. His own commanders had something similar with their units, which would prepare them if Zahndrekh ever fell in battle and one of them had to take his place. Although, comparing the data feed for a commander to a nemesor was quite a step up in complexity.

Zahndrekh knew when the moment had come. He picked up the subtle vibrations on the hull of his command post and alerted Obyron that it was coming. Obyron just nodded stoically as the hidden Crypteks were ready… they had the equipment, the things that would normally be used to chain a C'Tan. They were taking no chances.

Zahndrekh was actually taken aback as he first saw Lucius the Eternal. He'd been told that followers of Slaanesh usually tried to be 'beautiful', by their own standards if no one else's. Lucius seemed to be bucking that trend as no one would call this scarred hulk beautiful. Although from what he understood, worship of Slaanesh also involved other things, like the pursuit of sensations and perfection. Perhaps Lucius was focused in a different area… such as perfection of his sword skills.

The monstrous creature was armed with a great, fleshy whip and a powerful looking sword. It was also huge, although no moreso than Obyron. The battle dance began then and Zahndrekh tried not to watch, tried to keep his attention on the battle raging outside the command post. He couldn't allow himself to become consumed in what was happening here, he had duties elsewhere.

Still, he couldn't help but divert part of his attention to the duel between Lucius and Obyron. Lucius' skill was beyond peer but so was Obyron's and as he always did, Obyron was exploiting the durable nature of his body. That was the great advantage powerful necrons had over the lesser races, their potent necrodermis and quick regeneration abilities. Lesser necrons, not so much, but even there they could ignore injuries that would easily have a human screaming in pain.

The whip was barbed and seemed to move with a will of its own, but the barbs were simply ineffective at inflicting actual injuries on Obyron. The light punctures were repaired almost instantly and were essentially meaningless. The only thing the whip was good for was tugging him off balance, and Obyron was more than able to deal with that. The true threat was the power sword in Lucius other hand, which was a potent weapon indeed. Zahndrekh had no breath to hold but if he could have, he would have been holding his breath as Obyron engaged this foe. He'd never been so worried that Obyron might win before!

(the truth was, Zahndrekh never worried much at all about Obyron or even himself going for recall. Oh, it would hamper the battlefield to be sure, but he had command protocols in place to flow to his designated successor and he had faith in his Overlords)

(rightly so, really. While many enemies thought that eliminating Zahndrekh would cause confusion and stop the necron advance, it really wouldn't. If they were incredibly good, they could exploit the fact that the new necron nemesor would not be up to Zahndrekh's standards, but that was all)

Lucius moved with a preternatural speed, enhanced by combat drugs, but Obyron was also fast and canny. He accepted injuries that did not matter and blocked ones that did, while steadily causing damage to Lucius, working to weaken and bleed him out. From the grin on Lucius face, he did not in the least bit care. But then, he had no idea that Obyron understood what was happening.

Obyron was acting on a plan. He carefully maneuvered Lucius into the right position and that activated a special protocol, that had been worked into the floor. A restraining field sprung up and Zahndrekh saw Lucius' surprise, followed by rage as two Crypteks stepped out and activated the powerful restraints, designed to hold a C'Tan. Then they enabled the tesseract. It was a sign of Lucius power, his blessings of Slaanesh, that he resisted it for a time as his expression became absolutely murderous.

"Who warned you…" Lucius said before he was sucked into the tesseract labyrinth. Zahndrekh felt a tremendous relief that it was done. The Cryptek wordlessly handed him the tesseract and Zahndrekh nodded, putting it away. He would make sure it got to that particular drukhari female. Tesseracts could be used by races other than necrons, as long as they could master them, but Zahndrekh would also provide the key for easy use. There was no point in being rude.

That done, Zahndrekh was able to devote himself wholeheartedly to the battle. Obyron was a comforting presence by his side and Zahndrekh felt tremendous relief again.

If there was one thing he would never recover from, it was losing his best friend.