Author's Note: I think I should clarify my use of the term necrodermis. The wiki seems to refer to all the Living Metal by that term, but I find that puzzling because dermis specifically refers to skin. It goes back to derma, which is Greek for skin. I find it nonsensical that you would refer to a necron's entire body with that term, so I'm going with my own take… necrodermis refers to a softer, flexible coating of living metal that covers a necron's entire body. It gives most necrons their silvery shade although it can be alloyed with real silver or gold, giving a beautiful appearance, or painted to other shades. It can be fairly easily penetrated but such damage is completely meaningless, as the necrodermis will mend itself in short order.
Losing the necrodermis entirely, though, is not great. The first problem is that it gives the necron in question a dark, pitted appearance that is socially unappealing and typically marks them as being punished in some way. Second, without a necrodermis, the Living Metal beneath is more exposed to the elements and can get dusty, dirty or even worn away by acidic or caustic environments. That can be compensated for with Canoptek scarabs, though, but depending on how the necrodermis was lost they might not be available and that is a serious problem. Without a necrodermis or scarabs for maintenance, the lifespan of a necron would be significantly decreased as corrosive damage started to accrue.
Anyway, that's just clarification for the purposes of this story. On with the show!
For Adler Reinhart, scion of House Reinhart, the next few months were strange and tense.
Adler was used to being watched. He was lovely and he knew it, and was more than willing to use it. He was accustomed to feeling the regard of others, both admiring and envious. This, though, was different. This was a strange regard that Adler almost thought wasn't human. It was like nothing he'd ever felt around necrons, though, and it often felt strangely malignant. He couldn't help but wonder if he was imagining things… but Adler trusted his instincts. They had never been wrong before.
Adler was completely unaware of it, although if he'd examined his family lineage, he would have realized he likely had psychic ability. The Noble Houses of Hope often married each other, although they just as often married prominent commoners. Adler was fairly closely related to Manric, and also related to one of the few other psykers on the planet, the scion of a trade family. So while the Reinhart family itself had produced no psykers, it could be inferred that Adler might have some ability.
So while Adler could not in any way be called an empathic telepath, he had a touch of that gift. And what he was sensing was very real. It came and went, often disappearing for an entire week, but then it came back. What was it?
It all came to a head one night when Adler went to go to bed. Lindi was waiting for him there. They had not jumped right into bed together, they'd given it a good six months, but Adler was not meant to be a monk and Lindi felt much the same. So this was nothing unusual.
And yet, as Adler looked at the woman he loved, he felt like he was looking at a venomous serpent. She was beautiful, her body completely bare and she looked over her shoulder with a small smile. There was nothing visibly wrong. Yet Adler looked into her face, the soft brown eyes that should have been gentle and sweet and were anything but, and he knew.
"You aren't Lindi," he said, utterly certain of it. She tilted her head with a quizzical smile and Adler took a step back. Then she turned, fully exposing her beautiful breasts and Adler wished she wouldn't. This felt like a horrible mockery, seeing Lindi's loveliness while he instinctively knew that he was looking at something completely alien and wrong.
"Well, well, that's a bit surprising," she said and Adler felt like the mask was already coming off. It wasn't even trying to imitate Lindi's speech patterns. "You must have a touch of psyker magic. Although only a very particular gift can detect me so easily." Adler wasn't distracted by that, the situation was too concerning, but he did note it for later. "However, I'm just here to congratulate you." Then Lindi began to shift and Adler swallowed as her body morphed into gold metal.
What was left, lounging on the bed, was a golden figure with a comedy mask of a face. Adler had known, intellectually, that Mephet'ran was a real being and all the necrons had told him his portrayal of it was close to accurate. That made this moment even more terrifying. Still, Adler didn't think the C'Tan shard would respect him if he simply remained in a terrified silence. Quite the reverse.
"Well, I certainly didn't expect to meet you! I'm glad you enjoyed my work," Adler said with a charming smile, counting on his instincts. They had never let him down. "Were you hoping for an encore?" Mephet'ran's eyes flared in a way that felt amused to Adler.
"My, you are perceptive! That was actually exactly what I was hoping for." Really? He'd just been throwing that out. "Your performance was truly amazing. I've never imagined a human or even a necron could capture me so well. I would love to see you in that role again… so I brought you this." Mephet'ran gestured to the bedside. On the end table, there was a book. It appeared to be a diary, unmarked and bound in black leather. "I normally don't have a diary, so I wrote this out just for you… my history with the Void Dragon and our rather amusing feud. Oh, the fun we had with each other!" Adler was certain no one else in the galaxy would enjoy that 'fun'. Also, probably the Void Dragon hadn't liked it either. "And how I eventually overcame him and arranged for him to be sealed. Or did I? Well, you can decide," Mephet'ran said with a twinkle in his eye and Adler blinked as what he felt was actually a terrible, soul deep malice coupled with satisfaction. "I'm sure your artists can do something with this."
"I'm sure they can. Perhaps a musical?" Adler asked. He'd actually wanted them to put some musical numbers into the necron play, but he'd been shot down. They'd wanted to keep things more serious, particularly for the first original work the necrons would see. But for this… perhaps he could finally have some musical numbers? There would be nothing better than two enemies doing a duet! "I can see it now… a duet between the two of you where you are taunting the Void Dragon and he's vowing eternal enmity… although I need to know more about his personality…" Adler was willing to bet the Void Dragon was the straight man while Mephet'ran was the eternal (and malicious) prankster. The C'Tan shard seemed delighted at the idea.
"Wonderful! That would be delightful. I'm glad to see you're inspired by this. However, I want to make one thing clear… if you don't reprise your role, I would be disappointed. Very disappointed." Adler's mind was sharply pulled away from his speculations as he registered the naked threat of that. Taking a deep breath, he bowed slightly to the shard, that was still lounging on the bed.
"Unless some tragic accident befalls me, I assure you, no one else will have this role but me," Adler said with perfect sincerity. He was NOT going to spite a star destroying entity of pure malice over something so trivial. Even if he had to break another contract and take the role for free, he would do it. "I do love that role… there is nothing more fun than playing a good villain." Most actors he'd met agreed, being the villain of the piece gave you the freedom to really let loose. Mephet'ran's eyes twinkled again.
"Excellent! Well, I will leave you to that then," and the shard abruptly vanished. Adler blinked at the way the blankets settled, a physical object suddenly removed and gravity taking over. But then his mind went to important matters.
"Lindi…" He needed to check on her. It was highly unlikely the C'Tan had hurt her, she was probably just in her own rooms, but he needed to check on her. Then Adler needed to alert Reinhart. Something was badly wrong with the home's defenses and even the STC. Why was the STC not sending an alarm to the Coreworld AI and alerting Phaeron Rahkaak? "STC?" Adler said as he quickly walked to Lindi's room, not quite running but moving quickly. "STC!" Nothing.
Lindi was in her rooms, quietly reading a book and was surprised when he let himself in.
"Oh, Adler, what's wrong?" she could immediately spot that he wasn't his normal self. Adler breathed out a soft sigh of relief to see her.
"Everything is wrong… where is Reinhart?" he asked and Lindi frowned, setting aside her book.
"I think he's out attending a night concert." Damn it! "What's wrong?"
"I think the entire security system has been compromised. The STC won't respond. Where is Malek?" he was in charge of the security system. Lindi frowned at him.
"You could just use your datapad to reach him." Adler had thought of that but if the STC wasn't responding he was sure that wouldn't work. Lindi reached over and picked up her datapad, quickly tapping at it before blinking. "Oh… everything is down?" Yes, what he'd suspected. "Let me help you go find him," she said and Adler nodded.
"We should rouse everyone. If the security systems are entirely down, that's not good." They did have to worry about crazed fans. It would be a horrible coincidence for one to turn up at exactly the same time the C'Tan shard had disabled everything, but you never knew. Adler went about rousing the entire household and getting hold of Reinhart, wondering how the C'Tan shard had done it. He was no technical expert, but hopefully the Crypteks could figure it out.
Phaeron Rahkaak would be very alarmed at this intrusion into her domain.
Horosska had weighed everything in her mind and decided they had no choice but to follow the Silver Peoples' guidance.
Yasska's idea of handing them to their enemies was appealing, but as the hard headed War Leader, Horosska saw what was there. The burning of the grasslands made no sense if they were here for Valdar and Casimir. Quite the opposite, it would alert the two Silver People, making them much harder to find.
Horosska also had no problem believing that these creatures hated all life. Valdar and Casimir were very alien, but still curiously like their own People. Two arms, two legs and they had some gestures that were the same, like nods. Valdar and Casimir had no head fronds which made them rather inscrutable but they put effort into trying to convey their emotions, using gestures and even stating how they were feeling. They wanted to be understood.
The Destroyers were quite a different matter. Horosska found them frightening, on an atavistic level… the one with two faces, fused strangely together, particularly disgusted her but she also did not like the one with four legs. It scuttled so strangely, with preternatural swiftness and Horosska had no problem imagining it running down an animal and impaling it with bladed arms. Another was a squat thing, hovering in the air and with an incredibly strange thing affixed to its chest. That one was just too alien for Horosska to evaluate at all.
And around them were throngs of Silver People, but compared to Valdar and Casimir they were… wrong. Horosska could not quite put her finger on it and thought this was something Yasska could have articulated better than her, if she had seen them, but those Silver People were… not right. Perhaps it was the way they moved? Horosska could easily tell Valdar and Casimir apart, despite the fact that they were superficially identical. But Casimir had a straighter posture and was clumsier. Valdar tended to move slightly hunched over, slouching, but he was very silent when he wanted to be. They were different. These new Silver People, though, all moved in a very similar way. She could not have told them from each other, but put Valdar or Casimir beside them and Horosska was sure she would be able to pick them out instantly.
That did not mean she was enthusiastic about the march to the mountains. Horosska grimly knew how difficult this trip would be. She knew that they would lose many members of the Anaut, the old and the young. It could not be avoided, for the old especially… they would not be able to keep up and the tribe would not wait for them. Not with the fires at their backs.
By the time they began their journey, a smell was spreading. Smoke, but tainted with something, not the natural smoke of a grass fire. It made them cough and put speed into their steps.
"By two days we will reach the territory of our enemies. Be ready." Horosska reminded everyone. This would be a violent clash, as they forced themselves through the territory of their long rivals. Horosska respected and hated the Shosspak. They had long fought over a mineral deposit, a great salt lick. Well, the Shosspak could have it now. Their packs were laden with precious salt, among other things.
When they reached Shosspak things went exactly as Horosska expected. Trilling war cries suddenly erupted as the Shosspak attempted to ambush them, leaping out of the grasses. There was a violent clash and the slings proved their worth… Valdar was particularly deadly, tossing a single rock and splitting the head of a Shosspak warrior, followed by another. Horosska managed to use it only once, and badly hurt but did not kill one before they closed and she had to drop the sling. In close combat, the Silver People were simply absurd… copper knives could not truly hurt then and they could smash fragile flesh like it was nothing. After a short, very onesided battle the Shosspak fled, trilling in fear.
Horosska could not blame them for trying – they didn't know the Silver People would be so dangerous – but she did begrudge every moment of delay. When the Shosspak had fled, they quickly began their trek again and Horosska noticed an old one beginning to flag and fall behind. Well, that was the way of things.
Or it wasn't. Casimir noticed as well and gently scooped her up, carrying her to give her a rest. Horosska blinked at that, but was not surprised… Casimir was the gentler of the two. It made her frown, though.
"Please do not do that, until we are fairly safe," she said to Valdar and he nodded.
"I am too valuable with the sling, I understand." Yes, he'd taken many of the Shosspak before they can even close. "Truthfully, Casimir is not really a warrior… I was, a long time ago. I will remain on guard." Good, that was good. The well being of the entire tribe had to come first.
It hurt, but that was how things were.
The story of the Maynarkh Dynasty was, in its' own way, a story of tragedy.
Once, the Maynarkh had not been what they now are. A powerful but civilized Dynasty, they had fallen to war with one of their neighbors. It was a bitter war, occasioned by a great (and accidental) insult. Locked deeply in contention, they both engaged in the honorable combat of the necrontyr. The codes long ago developed to keep their bloodthirsty tendencies at least somewhat under control, by the laws of those rules, the Maynarkh were losing.
They could have accepted that loss and made an awful peace treaty. It would have required great sacrifice, the death of their Phaeron among others. The swearing of loyalty as a vassal dynasty and then painful tributes, leading to starvation among the commoners. But in time, the origins of them as a hated, broken enemy would be forgotten and they would be incorporated into their conquerors, gaining status over time. Such was the fate of the vanquished, in necrontyr society.
The Maynarkh spurned that fate, and spurned the doctrine of war. They began violating the codes of war in terrible, malicious ways and managed to turn the tables upon their enemies. Bringing down that rival Dynasty, they tore the Phaeron to shreds and spat on his corpse.
Yet, such a victory was not really a victory at all because it left the winner tainted. And so it was for Maynarkh. All other Dynasties had observed the nature of their victory and labelled them as honorless scum. They were treated as such, given no trust in the great games of war and politics. That left them with no recourse but to employ violence and they did so, at every turn. That might have led to their end, as other Dynasties turned upon them, but the Silent King intervened.
Long before the birth of Szarekh, the Silent King saw the Maynarkh Dynasty as useful. They bloody handed butchers they had become were valuable and he gave them special favor, forging an alliance with them. The Maynarkh Dynasty became the hands of the Silent King, enforcing his will. Over time, that alliance served to rebuilt their honor somewhat and no one remembered how Maynarkh had become the monsters they are. Yet, the monstrous nature of them remained.
The War in Heaven sealed that beyond all hope of redemption. On the Silent King's orders, along with the Ithakas Dynasty, they had been chiefly responsible for the final death of Llandu'gor the Flayer. As such they had taken the brunt of his curse and it had infected them on every level. Even those who were fortunate enough to not directly fall to the Flayer virus were distorted by it and the disorder of the Destroyers was rampant among them, among other problems.
Overlord Nasamehyt was typical of his breed. In better times, he had been a ruthless, bloodthirsty killer who nonetheless had a kindlier side, that he shared with his family. That family and all memory of them were gone, and he was distorted by the curse, rendering him a vicious, sadistic psychopath. Like Diarmuid had been broken by forces outside his will, so had Nasamehyt.
The current victim of his sadism was something that would have puzzled, disgusted and horrified other necrons, in equal measure. Once it had been a necron but now it was badly broken. The necrodermis had been stripped from it, leaving a dark, pitted surface and naked mechanisms. It was more degraded than any Necron Warrior, save one who had seen hard combat. Wires were exposed and the Living Metal was attempting to regenerate, but not having much luck, as it foamed in a strange manner. The foaming was disgusting, but what would have horrified most necrons were the signs that it had once been of extremely high rank. Purely out of a desire to humiliate, shards of the former glory had been left, little pieces of tiling and ornaments. To another necron, they would indicate an even higher rank than Overlord and that was ghastly to contemplate.
"Why don't you just burn away the atmosphere," it asked, voice badly refracted from the abuse it had taken. Chains clinked as it moved and a collar was tight around its' throat, glittering with living darkness and green light. In other circumstances, it might have been a marvelous adornment but in this setting, it was anything but.
"What would be the fun in that?" Nasamehyt asked, looking at the green world through his screen. It was a beautiful little place but it would be much lovelier when the color of the atmosphere started to change. Nasamehyt had seen it before, the blue and green of a healthy world becoming slowly clouded with dark clouds and eventually becoming a sickly orange hue. He deeply enjoyed watching that change. "The Destroyers need their diversions." It would have been much faster to just burn away the atmosphere. That was a necron version of Exterminatus, although one the Imperium of Man did not have the technology to replicate. It worked equally well, stripping away any life in a few hours. Exquisite agony for the ones subjected to it and for many of the Destroyers that would have been sufficient, but others preferred the personal touch. "I only wish I could join them. I bet you wish I could too, hmm?" Nasamehyt taunted his captive and it knew better than to respond to that, just staring at him with hatred and rage. Even that stare was a mistake, of course, but pride would allow for nothing else.
Nasamehyt activated the collar and watched his victim arc in agony. It was completely soundless, as pride also did not allow for screams and this kind of pain was not truly all-encompassing. Nasamehyt could have done that, could have fully opened all the pain receptors and inflicted an agony that force it to scream, but what was the fun in that? He preferred to build up slowly, take the pain down and up, keep his prisoner unbroken for longer.
Eventually that bored him and he shut off the collar, turning back to the combat display. His ships were arrayed in a formation around the planet. They had decided they would claim this world and Charnovokh was a sad, broken shell of their former glory. They would not be checking on this planet, a far off world they did not technically claim at all. The Imperium of Man wasn't here, the orks weren't here. What could trouble them?
If Nasamehyt had been able to suddenly be granted knowledge of the scout ship that had sent an incomplete report to the Uhnashret Dynasty before stopping all contact, he would have changed all of his plans. But there was no way for him to know and what were the odds of such a thing happening? After all, it had gone missing due to a psychopath plotting to become a pirate king and stealing the ship. What were the odds?
We may never know.