Kneeling beside the medical stretcher, Manric gently held Istaal's hand. There was sweat on his face and his pupils were wide, indicating the use of advanced narcotics. Yet despite all the drugs, he was still in pain.

"I think you're going to be getting biotransference soon. It's good that Nanci is done having children," Manric said, trying to make light of it. It was hard though. Istaal's Knight Armor had fallen foul of a Demon Prince and he was very lucky to be alive. The armor itself was so damaged it would just be discarded. Istaal though, would never be the same and Manric said a small prayer of thanks for biotransference. He would not need to be trapped in this husk, he would have his body back.

"Really miss eating. Won't miss hurting like this though…" Istaal rasped out and Manric nodded sympathetically. "Father… I… am going to make it… right…?" Manric was surprised to hear Istaal call him 'father'. It was appropriate usage but he had never done that before… it was likely the pain.

"You are going to be fine, I promise. This body will not die and a new one will be ready for you," Manric assured him, squeezing his hand gently, although he knew Istaal could not feel it. He was not lying, Hope's medical care was top notch and while his body was beyond putting together, Istaal would certainly live long enough for a shell to be made. Bionics were an option but not a good one… the nerve damage he had suffered would make bionics less likely to integrate well. Given that he already had a lovely family, a shell simply made more sense.

"Father?" Manric looked up and saw Artur. He was also not intact… he was missing an arm, but that was honestly quite fortunate. His Short Knife had been shot down in the battle of Valhalla, as he and the other fighter pilots had run a strafing run against the hordes getting past the glue traps. Given all the other injuries suffered, both by the humans and necrons, a missing arm was low priority so it was being ignored for now. "Let me take your place here. You should go to the festivities."

"I'm really not…" Manric stopped as Artur flashed glyphs of frustration. "Oh. You mean I should be there as a… chaperone?" He wasn't sure what else to call it.

"Something like that. I do not believe there will be any trouble, but if you are there, I am sure there will not be." Ah. Good point. "Although at least the eldar are not here, although it is a bit of a shame… still, it is for the best." Manric nodded, thinking for a moment about that situation.

In the aftermath of victory, great celebratory plans were put into effect. No one had really discussed it – they all considered it bad luck, to talk about victory celebrations when the battle was not even won – but they had all quietly prepared. The drukhari had left already, intending to have their celebration on Commorragh, to the great relief of everyone else. No doubt Vect would create a planetary celebration the likes of which the dark world had never seen. Meanwhile, the Exodites had also left, intending to celebrate in their own way on their planets. Despite the victory they had no intentions of changing their way of life.

The Craftworlders had gone to Iyanden for their celebration. Manric thought they wouldn't include the human colonists in it, but would likely pass them a few treats in recognition of the occasion. And in Valhalla, they had quietly been preparing for months… great stocks of beer and mead, wine and hard liquor had been put away. The fishing boats had been busy, building a great stock of frozen fish fillets, ready to be defrosted en mass. The great mixes of flour and herbs were ready to be joined with vast amounts of water and eggs, and the cauldrons of oil were bubbling. The potatoes had been prepared and frozen in time, just waiting for the oil to reach the right temperature. Valhalla was about to host the most massive fry up seen in the galaxy.

(the chefs had been quickly brought down from Iyanden and were being well paid indeed)

(they had also been part of the preparations so they knew exactly what to expect, in the event of a victory)

The forces of the Imperium had gladly consented to join them, so the vast quantities of food would be needed. As Manric went to see what they were up to, he saw the one problem with the celebration… there was no building on Valhalla meant to accommodate this kind of crowd. They had dealt with that by simply having it largely outdoors, using portable heaters to help a bit with the temperatures. Also, the wine had all been dumped into a great cauldron with spices and hot spiced wine was being handed out to anyone who needed a bit of heat. Along with a second cauldron of hot chocolate, for anyone not interested in alcohol.

Manric circulated through the crowd, evaluating the feelings of the celebration. To his relief, everyone was joyful and taking that energy to the festivities. To his bemusement but not surprise, some of the necrons were joining the celebrations… chief among those was Zahndrekh, Obyron by his side. Manric made his way to his nemesor for a chat.

"How did everything go?" Zahndrekh had been in charge of the battle of Valhalla, directing the defenders with adroit skill. It was no surprise, really, that the Slaaneshi forces had tried to assassinate him. Even necrons enemies wanted to assassinate him, they just often didn't dare, given that breaking the rules of war had consequences for them.

"Wonderfully! Although it was the strangest thing… I've never been so afraid Obyron might actually win a battle!" That was a peculiar situation. Manric was sure it had never come up before. "We delivered the tesseract to that drukhari woman, along with the key to use it… hopefully she knows what she's doing." Manric was sure Lelith was up for the challenge. "Oh, Manric, behind you." Eh? Manric turned just in time to spot another necron moving quickly through the crowd towards him. Then he spotted the scarf.

"Sehenna!" Manric felt a deep pleasure, almost joy, at seeing her here. She had stayed in the ships, which had not been directly involved in the battle at all. So hard for her, knowing he was going into that kind of danger and as they met she hugged him tightly. Manric returned the embrace, sensing her deep relief.

"I was so worried…" Sehenna said softly as Manric gently ran a hand down her spine, projecting reassurance. Her emotions quickly lightened as she looked into his face. "Is this a party? Can we stay?" Manric felt her longing for something like this, a callback to what felt like normal to her.

"Of course, I would love to have you by my side," Manric said. Having Sehenna here really did change his feelings about this celebration… he'd mostly been here to make sure everyone behaved, not taking much pleasure in it himself. Now that Sehenna was here, his interest in the festivities was kindled.

Manric took great pleasure in taking Sehenna around and introducing her to everyone. Fulgrim was very helpful in that, greeting her by name and encouraging his Space Marines to talk to her a bit. Manric detected the surprise of some of the Astartes, and unease of others, as they realized this necron was essentially just a young female. Very similar to a young human Naval rating, it was strange to them to realize that a xenos could be so similar. Manric knew better than to think it would make any real difference, in the long run, but he could hope.

Manric could no longer eat and had no true desire for it, but the fish and chips looked and smelled excellent. He was very pleased to see everyone enjoying them, and the drink as well. The Space Wolves were having fun teaching some of the Valhallan PDF and the Knight Armor pilots the songs of their people, hymns to the Emperor that sounded suspiciously like Norse battle hymns to Manric. Manric was a bit afraid they might reciprocate with songs praising God, but fortunately they fell back on something more neutral, an ancient song in defiance to the drukhari. The Space Wolves loved it and Manric added his voice to the chorus.

/Here on our lands we make our stand/
/We disregard your demands/
/It's fight or die and the stakes are high/
/We live or we die, there's no time for goodbye's/
/Weapons in hand we make our stand/
/We spit upon your demands!/
/We will never comply, we would rather die/
/Curse you to the pits of hell, take us if you can!/

"Can you teach me that song?" Sehenna asked and Manric nodded. Soon Sehenna was lending her voice to the song, and learning the songs of the Astartes as well. The mood of the gathering was very positive and Manric concentrated on keeping it that way, soothing a few minor conflicts and radiating positive energy. It might have been a bit exhausting for him, but Sehenna's joy was infectious, buoying up his mind.

With her support, he felt like he could do anything.

The opening of trade relations between the Sautekh Empire and the Imperium of Man led to some rather odd things.

There were many goods that were unregulated, or lumped into large categories. Entertainment was one of those categories… while the equipment used to entertain, the screens and players of various types, were tightly controlled the media itself was not. What did Imotekh care if a work of fiction migrated between worlds? As long as it was not a vehicle for Chaos, it meant nothing.

For Guilliman, it also meant nothing but for the Inquisition it would mean a great deal. Regular traders knew that and would not touch such things, but there were others, Rogue Traders who were effectively Inquisition and Mechanicus agents. Not only would they trade in such things, they would search them out, to deliver them to their masters.

The serial work about the life of the necrontyr had been named and released and become a great hit on Hope. That had led to it being released on Antioch and Luminous as well… as they were both Serf worlds, they had access to such things and a production company had bought it for a relatively low price, then subtitled it with Low Gothic. It wasn't any kind of great hit on those planets, being focused entirely on the lives of xenos, but it achieved a decent following. On Hope, the material had been licensed out and a few books written, two so far. Those were translated and also sold on Luminous and Antioch.

That made it relatively easy for a Rogue Trader going to Luminous to pick up a bit of physical media, a box set of the series and the books. He was actually trading fine silks for adamantium, which Imotekh did allow, within limits. A load of adamantium in his hold, he went back to the Imperium to deliver it to a Forge World and also handed over the media for a finder's fee.

Those works made their way to the Mechanicus who specialized in xenos and from them, to the Ordo Xenos. Opinions on the works were sharply divided, particularly in how human the interactions appeared to be. In terms of events, they could easily have been watching a drama of ancient Terra. That was in sharp contrast to similar works made by the eldar or the Tau, which were sometimes deeply puzzling to human watchers. Some of the Mechanicus tech priests thought this was because the authors of the work were human, infecting the story with their human perspective. However, members of the Ordo Xenos disagreed… they had managed to speak to necrons who indicated the work was an accurate rendition of their species.

This led to quite a row among the Mechanicus, but in the best of ways, as they debated theories back and forth. It was finally decided that while it was an abominable idea, it appeared to be an example of parallel evolution. It was not the first time the Mechanicus had observed this… two alien, avian races, from completely different worlds on opposite ends of the galaxy, were virtually physically identical. It had been so striking that they had actually genetically tested them and confirmed they were not in any way related, they had simply evolved in a similar way by mere chance. It was bizarre to think that sixty million years ago, a race had existed that strongly resembled the humans of today.

That did not soften the Inquisitions attitude to the necrons, of course. Quite the contrary, they knew perfectly well how dangerous their fellow humans were. For some, it actually raised the necrons a bit in their estimation of threat. And in truth, rightly so.

Imotekh had no desire to take control of the entire galaxy, but there were others with very different opinions and ambitions.

Elsewhere in the galaxy, the Maynarkh were moving.

The Nihilakh civil war was still raging without a clear sign of the victor. Shockingly, and rather sadly, Gidrim had suffered an orbital bombardment. The pieced together, ancient statues were no more. Trazyn was not remotely distressed… those pieces of alabaster he'd used to make them had been so destroyed that he considered the resulting pieces ahistorical, more fiction than reality. A very good fiction, to be sure – Trazyn knew necrontyr architecture well – but fiction all the same. Zefrehna, though, deeply mourned the treasures she had spent so long preserving. Alas, such damage was just the way of things.

Time was running out for the Nihilakh, however, and when that clock ran out Imotekh would move in force. Then Szarekh would try to counter him, try to support his own contender, but his forces were simply inferior to the Stormlord and the Silent King himself was not the same level of strategist. He was very, very good and was easily equal to most of Imotekh's wing commanders, but that was not the same level as the Stormlord himself.

To help counter the simply numerical advantage the Stormlord enjoyed, Szarekh was trying to call in support. Most of the Dynasties he reached out to were extremely unreceptive… the rumors swirling of the sacrifice of the children had reached them and many Crypteks had realized they held a note of truth. They all possessed the ancient plans for biotransference and examining them confirmed that they would not work well on juveniles, so what had happened to the children of the necrontyr?

Still, there were those who did not care and Maynarkh was chief among them. They could not weaken their own defenses too much, but they dispatched a fleet equivalent to two wings of the Stormlords forces.

Unfortunately for Szarekh, Theokh had been right when he predicted they would become distracted. At one point the Maynarkh dropped out of FTL to refuel their ships at one particular nebula and to their utter disgust, discovered a small Mechanicus outpost studying the strange energies of the dead stars. The Maynarkh considered this nebula part of their Empire, that they had yet to reclaim, although another Dynasty would have had something to say about that. For now, though, they obliterated the Mechanicus… and noted as they did that within the nebula was a larger settlement.

That led to a campaign in the nebula and the Mechanicus summoning aide, a force of great ships and skitarii. The nebula hosted some still living stars and almost dead worlds, so ground battles commenced. And elsewhere, Szarekh wondered where his reinforcements were and tried to reach them, but the peculiar energies of the nebula were noted for defeating necron FTL communications. That did give him a hint where they were, and he quietly wanted to die.

Would they even arrive before the battle for Nihilakh was decided?

For Szarekh, things only became worse.

Szeras was continuing his work, studying the very fabric of the soul as he attempted to master the secrets of creation. Even without that full mastery, he was capable of manipulating souls and Szarekh was confident that when the time came, Szeras would be able to take the re-ignited Immaterium and fashion them souls from it. Like the god he truly aspired to be, he would spin forth their souls and they would reclaim them in new bodies of flesh, perfect and beautiful.

Then, though, Szeras brought him terrible news.

"Have you wondered how they are remembering?" Szeras asked and Szarekh tilted his head. His triarchs were by his side, assisting him not just with their presence but with their processing power. Hapthatra and Mesophet were bound to him now and many other necrons had noticed, but what they did not know was that it was by their own will. They believed in his goals and shared his vision of the future, and had voluntarily surrendered their dynasties and independence to support him. "Have you wondered how this is happening?"

"Will you tell us?" His triarchs said in chorus, speaking for him. Szarekh was in a mood today and had no intention of using his own voice. It was one thing to be forced to remain silent, it was another to choose it of his free will and today, he relished that choice. Szeras did not particularly care and with a fine sense of drama, stripped away the cloak of shadows that had been hiding his prisoner.

To Szarekh's eyes, the prisoner looked like nothing but a Necron Lord. There was nothing particularly special about him, just a generic lesser Lord. Perhaps before he'd fallen into Szeras hands, he'd indulged in some jewelry or garments, but if so they were gone now. His chest cartouche eschewed the Ankh of the Triarch, showing instead a simple glyph for the word Hope. Although alas, that was becoming quite common, apparently the Ankh had been replaced among the entire Sautekh Dynasty, replaced with their own symbol or with unit insignias. Nor were they the only ones… with unity of their species broken, many were choosing to state it by removing the Ankh. Szarekh hated it, but there was nothing he could do.

"Just kill me," the Lord rasped and Szarekh tilted his head, not particularly surprised but curious. Szeras did not care about his experimental subjects at all, many of them would beg for death. However, what experiments could he be running on a necron? Then he spotted another glyph… they were a touch hidden, inscribed on his arm plates, but Szarekh recognized them as the glyphs for the Uhnashret Dynasty.

"This is a biotransferred human?" The triarch said as Szarekh suddenly remembered, the name of that human colony was Hope, was it not? Szeras nodded, pleased.

"Indeed it is. And with a most curious attribute…" Szeras walked around the Lord before gently stroking his chest cartouche, in a falsely kind gesture. The Lord jerked wildly, with a squealing sound. Szarekh was too controlled to flinch as the Lord strained against his bonds, but he did stare as Szeras repeated the gesture again. And again.

"Not like that, oh god, not like that, just cut my head off, please don't kill me like that…" the Lord begged as Szeras paused for a moment. Szarekh had a horrible feeling he understood what Szeras was demonstrating to him. But surely it could not be so?

"He has a soul," the triarchs stated for him and Szeras nodded, pleased. Szarekh felt absolutely sick. This was what they were doing? This was how they were remembering?

"And I can tell it is not his original soul. I won't bore you with the details but I can tell from my examinations of his two companions that the souls they have were artificially customized to their bodies and minds, merging them with these constructs of steel. I do have the skill to do this myself, but doing so would bind us to the Immaterium as it is. And that is not part of our plans." Yes. It wasn't.

"Why did they have to do this now…" the chorus murmured as Szarekh felt a deep despair. He understood exactly what Szeras was showing him, now.

The entire Sautekh Dynasty had reclaimed their souls but in doing so, bound themselves to reality as it existed. Szarekh knew exactly how his Pariah Nexus worked, and he knew that any souls originating in this version of the Immaterium would be extinguished, snuffed out along with the glow of the Warp. And as Szeras had been showing him, on this sad prisoner, the soul could not be removed without killing the body and mind.

Why did they have to do this now? Why couldn't they have waited? Szeras wondered if there was any way he could have prevented this. Perhaps if he'd told Imotekh all his plans sooner… perhaps, that might have stopped him from doing this. But it was too late now. Too late.

Szarekh reached out and found this Lord was currently tied to the Szarekhan recall system, likely to facilitate Szeras' experiments. With his authority he deactivated the recall functions and with a smooth move, decapitated him. The body spasmed a brief moment, as a misfire occurred, then went limp. Removed from the main power supplies and left unsupported, engrams quickly faded and died.

(necron heads could be kept alive, decapitated, but it required some support)

(Subhekhar had demonstrated that to Charnovokh, when they had returned their ambassador)

Szeras just watched, completely calmly, as his test subject was killed. But then, Szarekh was sure he'd foreseen this and no longer had a true use for that Lord. Szarekh turned away, intending to leave, but then Szeras spoke.

"So that is your answer?" he asked and they both knew what he truly meant. Szarekh stopped for a moment, contemplating it. But there was really only one response.

"Yes." This time he used his own voice, before leaving the audience chamber. As he did, Szarekh accepted the truth of the matter. He would not allow this to change his plans.

If the entire Sautekh Empire had to die, so be it.