The civilians of the agri planet of Masali were terrified and hiding in their homes. They had to be coaxed out by the Guard and the Ultramarines, to take care of their duties until the Tyranids arrived. And that was actually important since Masali was a very rare desert planet that also served as an agri world. The irrigation systems and other agriculture really could not go even a day without attention. The Tyranids would do plenty of damage, but they didn't need to damage it themselves ahead of time. So the civilians finally tentatively came out of their homes, scared as mice, and tended to their duties under the empty gaze of Necron warriors.

Well. Mostly.

"Who sets up an agri world on a DESERT? Also, how's this work?" A human worker flinched as a pwi-Necron examined the irrigation system he was trying to work with. "Oi? You know how to talk?" The human went pale as he tried to edge past the very large machine.

"Does he know how to speak Terran or Necron? No. Stop bothering the man or learn low Gothic." Another, more sensible member of the Indominable Cabbits, said as he gently caressed his gauss flayer. That was a habit that unnerved the humans almost as much as the one trying to talk to them, but he didn't particularly care.

"Oh. OH! Well, I'm stupid." The curious one ambled back to the rest of his squad, to everyone's relief. "Still though, why a desert world? Is this practical?"

"It must be or they wouldn't have done it. I would guess there's not a lot of good interstellar real estate around here. I mean, think about the problems we're having setting up colonies." So far, Hope really had its eye on only a handful of planets. One of them was an absurdly beautiful planet of ice and fire, tidally locked with one side constantly facing the sun and the other hidden in cold shadow. It was only habitable in a narrow band, and only in valleys that were shaded from the great storms that raged between the two sides. And yet, because of the rich minerals hidden in the crust and the fact that it could produce food, it was top of the list for colonization.

"That's true…" the humans struggled to ignore the chattering machines. Others, meanwhile, had noticed.

"Never knew Necrons talked this much," one of the Guard stationed nearby noted. His commander, who had fought Necrons before, knew better.

"They don't. And certainly not high Gothic." He could recognize the language even if he couldn't speak it. "Just leave them alone." The Commander knew there was something very strange about these Necrons, but that wasn't his business. Getting ready for the fight of his life was and he knew quite well that by the time the week was over, he'd likely have breathed his last.

Elsewhere, in a completely different dome, the Death Seekers were busy being themselves.

That meant they were sparring but in honor of the occasion, they had stopped using live weaponry. No one wanted to chance being out of commission for a fight against the Tyranids. That would be peak failure, an utter disgrace that might require ritual suicide. There was no greater disgrace for the Death Seekers than missing a good battle, mainly because cowardice was simply unthinkable.

(Orks would have gotten along with them quite well)

(well, if they could be convinced not to kill each other)

Ultramarines were able to observe the Death Seekers at play. The pwi-Necrons said nothing to any of the humans or Astartes – they had no use for them – but the sparring was vicious, even without weapons. No tactic was off limits and while all the injuries were relatively minor, given the regenerative powers of necrodermis, it was still impressively nasty to onlookers.

"These are the ones they say are humans?" One of the Ultramarines said in an undertone to his Battle Brother. The behavior was clearly not normal Necron, although he'd say calling it human was a stretch.

"They remind me of the Blood Angels, when they're having a festival." Oh. "Or the Space Wolves, they act like that too." That was… true, actually. It was definitely not the Ultramarine way, but some of their cousins could be interesting, to say the least.

"I suppose we shouldn't judge," the first Ultramarine said, giving up. Although. "Well, not judge that." They could judge EVERYTHING else, just not the homicidal dedication to bloodshed they were displaying. It was perhaps even commendable.

They would certainly be making use of it very soon.

Deep in the deserts of Masai, the Canoptek Scarabs were feasting.

The greatest talent of the scarabs was to take anything, any material, and convert it to pure energy. Then they could use it to build new structures, albeit only more Canoptek Scarabs and rather simple buildings. They could not magic a gauss flayer or a Doom Scythe out of thin air. But they were very, very good at making more Scarabs.

That was what they were doing right now. Entire sand dunes were vanishing and waves of Scarabs were being created. Normally that would have filled the armies of the Imperium with dread but right now, if they could have seen it, they would have been grateful. The Canoptek Scarabs would be doomed to destruction soon, in the acid spittle and venom of Tyranids. But even as they died in droves, they would shred numerous Tyranid bio organisms. So the more the better, and the Scarabs continued their orgy of replication. Whenever the hoard reached a certain level, groups of them stopped replicating and moved to the domes. Others sought out any hint of moisture in the desert. Tyranids were hardy creatures, but they did prefer moisture for seeding. They would strike at those areas preferentially, before trying to seed themselves in the harsh desert.

When the first Tyranid pods came down, the Scarabs would be waiting.

Despite every advantage they had given themselves, the battle for Masai was ugly.

It couldn't be avoided. Zahndrekh's strategic vision was without peer and he annihilated countless Tyranid Hive ships, but many got close enough to spore the planet. As the battle raged above, so too below, and the Scarabs could not keep up with the seeding organisms. They did their best, but scouting organisms like Lictors were soon stalking the human leadership. Zahndrekh knew exactly how Tyranids worked, though, and had anticipated that. While assassins were not something he used in honorable combat, there was nothing honorable about combating an organic plague. So the Deathmarks were deployed in full force and some were shadowing the Ultramarine and Guard leaders, confident that Tyranids would come to them.

Gaunts of various types also started to spawn, overrunning the Scarabs and already adapting to spit venom and acid to deal with the threat. Gauss flayers blazed and bolters chattered. Human tanks fired as Doom Scythes blazed by overhead, rending the Tyranids before being rent in turn by flying organisms. The Tyranids continued trying to devour and evolve, as was there way, and the desperation of the Hive Fleet for biomass only made the activity more frenetic.

Within that madness of battle, there were vignettes.

I am dead, an Ultramarine thought with surprising calm as he held a snarling xenoform away from his face with both hands. He'd lost his bolter when the monster tackled him and as soon as it got its legs under him, it was going to shred him with it's talons, which were capable of penetrating his already battered armor. Yet there was nothing to do, if he let go it would just do the same to his face.

Then the Tyranid's head exploded in a welter of gore. For a moment, he thought it had been a bolter, but then he saw the green flare of a power weapon. It was wrenched out of the monster's head and he was looking into the face of a different xenos.

The Necron said nothing, just grabbed him by the chest and yanked him to his feet. The lost bolter was shoved into his hands and then the Necron was off to his next target. The Ultramarine was startled by the rescue but immediately went back to the teeming hordes of xenos, neatly shooting one that was in danger of impaling a Guard. They weren't surrounded, but it was a very target rich environment.

Elsewhere, the Guard was in danger of being pushed back into one of the domes. That was bad, because if they were pushed back too far, the Tyranids might reach the civilians. They fought valiantly, but a Hive Tyrant had managed to spawn and was directing this part of the battle with consummate skill.

"Hold the line! Reinforcements are here!" A mechanical voice shouted in horribly mangled low Gothic. Then gauss flayers blazed, neatly finding safe spots to get past the Guard and tear apart the Tyranids. "Cabbits! Cabbits! Cabbits!" The Guard assumed that was a war cry, as all the Necrons took it up. Then three Doom Scythes blazed through the air. The subsonic vibrations that caused terror in organics were somehow easier to bear, when you knew they were allies, and the three of them targeted the Hive Tyrant. It actually went spectacularly badly for them as the Tyrant had anticipated it and they were met by Hive Crones, requisitioned from the space battle. Although in the brutal battle that followed, the Scythes claimed the Crones, if not the Tyrant. Unfortunately one destroyed Doom Scythe crashed on the wrong side of the battle, annihilating a group of the Guard and many of the Cabbits. Alas, that was the fortunes of war and the other two Scythes went down among the Tyranids.

For Manric, overseeing the battle, that Hive Tyrant was a problem.

"Bastards," he muttered to himself as the creature roared, throwing off a powerful psychic field of terror. It even affected the Cabbits and Astartes, so it could certainly make the Guard cry, pee their pants or just flee the battlefield. Raising a hand, Manric concentrated on his empathic telepathy. He still wasn't fully recovered from the damage to his soul – punching a corridor in the Warp was out of the question and he wasn't even sure about making ghost wood – but this was his most innate power. Manric radiated courage, countering the terror of the Hive Tyrant. He swore for a moment that mad eyes looked at him, as the Tyrant recognized another mind on the battlefield. Ahmakeph, Itolyx, are you busy? Would you like to go Tyrant hunting? Ideally, they should kill this thing and the Doom Scythes were not having much luck.

Sounds like a fine time. Things are good on this end, I'll be there shortly. Ahmakeph's response came back.

I as well. Manric nodded to himself before deciding to include the Ultramarines, if they cared to join the party. They had communication lines with them, jury rigged during the wait, and he opened a line to the commander.

"We are going to take on that Hive Tyrant soon." It was fairly close to the front line now, disdaining holding back. They would be able to reach it easily. "Anyone is welcome to the party, provided they avoid friendly fire."

Acknowledged. That was the only response, and Manric assumed they had no idea if they would be able to free themselves from whatever they were currently doing. Fair enough, they were lucky things on the other sides of the dome were going well enough that Ahmakeph and Itolyx felt they could leave their units to help him. What would he have done if they weren't available? Hmm. Try to get the Ultramarines in to help him, Manric supposed. Taking on a Hive Tyrant just by himself was a bit dicey, he might win but he also might not. And given the need to counter the field of terror, going for recall right now was not acceptable.

(Manric wasn't worried about his soul surviving recall, he'd already been recalled once without issue)

(ironically, it had been due to friendly fire)

Hive Tyrants were tough targets, but not as tough as some others Manric had fought. The three of them converged on the monster, followed by several Ultramarines and a Librarian. The Hive Tyrant was highly intelligent, but also arrogant. It launched a powerful psychic attack, aiming to shred their minds, but Manric shielded Ahmakeph and Itolyx. The Librarian did the same for his companions, and then the battle was joined in earnest. Manric found himself relegated to a supporting role, employing his psychic abilities to counter the Tyrant over and over, to its intense frustration. Too late, it realized that it had fatally underestimated them and after a very fierce battle, one of the Ultramarines struck the fatal blow. A chainsword went through the already weakened Hive Tyrant's carapace, and the rest of them continued to pour fire into it, ensuring it was dead.

After that was done, exhaustion and pain hit Manric in a wave. There was ice on his head again, quickly melting as it tried to cope with his overheated brain. His chest hurt in a deep, abnormal way that Manric registered as his soul. All the psychic activity was aggravating the existing damage.

"I need to rest," Manric said, although he knew it wasn't a good time. But he couldn't continue like this, he had to get out from the front line.

"Then do so. The battle is going well." Itolyx said and Manric nodded. It was true, he could take a break, particularly now that the Hive Tyrant was no longer dictating strategy and broadcasting terror. Then Manric sensed something and looked towards the Ultramarines. The Librarian was looking at him and Manric could sense his emotions, so clear they were almost words. I could kill you now. Compared to him, the Librarian was fresh. A psychic strike at this moment, when Manric was completely exhausted, would surely be fatal.

"You could do that, if you wanted to ruin our alliance," Manric agreed out loud and Ahmakeph and Itolyx both sharply looked towards the Ultramarines. "Don't worry. It's just a temptation. He has more sense than that I'm sure." Manric said in low Gothic and the Librarian looked away. There was a moment of sharp tension, but then the Ultramarine Commander ordered them back to the battle.

"Bastards," Ahmakeph muttered. "I'm staying with you." That… might be prudent, honestly. The burning in his chest was going to take some time to ebb and until then, Manric didn't want to use any psychic abilities. As for physical fighting, in that area he was going to recover more quickly, but he still needed a bit of time.

"I will try to handle both our sections." Itolyx probably could, as long as things were going well. He'd brought a few of the aberrant Immortals from Hope, and they could cover for him a bit. Manric went back to overseeing the battle from his platform, Ahmakeph by his side, trying not to hunch over at the pain.

Meanwhile, in the space beyond the skies of Masali, the Hive Fleet received their death blow.

That blow was the arrival of Guilliman and the forces of Macragge. The panicked civilian ships had arrived on Macragge with word of what was going on, and also a very garbled astropath communication had gotten through. It had been partly scrambled by the shadow in the warp, but "Tyranid" had been repeated so many times that the word had gotten through.

So Guilliman had put together the pieces and come to the correct conclusion. He was not remotely surprised to come out into a fierce battle between the Necron fleet and the Tyranids, and his ships immediately deployed against the Hive Fleet. At this point, the Tyranids had had enough. The gambit of coming from beneath the galaxy had failed and this planet had become a death trap for them. Weaker units stayed behind, fighting to the end to buy an escape for the stronger. Those stronger units broke up into small fleets, each aiming to survive on their own. It was like the splitting of a fleet after a great feast, but the very opposite, splitting in a desperate attempt to find food to survive. In the path between the stars, some of those stronger units would feast on their own, all to survive a bit longer in the search for sustenance.

For Zahndrekh, that meant the time had come for a retreat. Stubborn dynasties were stubborn, and this planet was too far outside the Sautekh sphere of influence to be taken and held. They had come for one purpose and one purpose alone, to stop the spread of a plague. Orders went to the forces on the ground and they began to depart. Without Manric, they would have left without a word, but he felt the need to inform the Ultramarine Commander.

"Your forces from Macragge have arrived and should be making planetfall shortly, so it is our time to depart. Forgive me, you'll have to make it a bit without us." That was unfortunate but it couldn't be helped.

Understood. You fight well, xenos. Manric chuckled softly to himself. That was the closest they would ever come to respect, he was sure. He would take it.

Manric couldn't know, but the departing of the Necron fleet was a matter of deep frustration for Guilliman. He had received Tel-Yanak's report and he desperately wanted to talk to the pwi-Necrons, Manric in particular. The name of the great General of the human world had entered her report, so Guilliman knew who he was, and guessed that he had to be the psyker Necron who had slain a Librarian. Yet, Guilliman understood perfectly why Zahndrekh was pulling out. He would have done exactly the same, if he'd brought a fleet to save hostile xenos from Tyranids. So he let them go, but wished it could be different.

Perhaps he would try to find a different way to make contact.

For the first time in a long time, Obyron didn't just wonder who was the most miserable at Zahndrekh's victory feast. He also wondered who was having the best time.

It was probably Manric. He loved many things about the feast. He loved the ornate table, with its beautiful depictions of Zahndrekh's armies and victories. He actually enjoyed the pretense of a banquet, and pretended to sip his wine. And most of all, he enjoyed casually talking to some of the other Overlords. Ahmakeph and Itolyx, primarily, but sometimes the other Overlords unbent enough to join their conversation.

It might have been Itolyx. He was living the dream, an Immortal that had been promoted to Overlord and was now serving under nemesor Zahndrekh. While he had no particular use for the feasts, Itolyx would tolerate them gladly as the price of service.

It wasn't Ahmakeph. Obyron was glad for Zahndrekh's sake that his cousin had remembered their shared past, and a bit astonished to find he was also part of it. He couldn't remember Ahmakeph at all, but he had been informed that in the Time of Flesh, he'd gently shown a child Ahmakeph the first lessons on how to fight. Still, while all that had largely diffused Ahmakeph's constant anger towards Zahndrekh, he still didn't care for the banquets. Completely understandable, Obyron didn't either.

If matters were different, I would be quite worried about this. Manric, Ahmakeph and Itolyx had formed a block of friendship and deep bonds among Zahndrekh's court. That kind of thing was usually a prelude to an attempt to overthrow the nemesor, but this time the idea was laughable and Obyron was glad of it. It was incredibly unusual to have Overlords actually loyal to Zahndrekh and although he couldn't remember the past clearly, it made Obyron feel nostalgic. Somehow, he was sure things like this had existed in the Flesh Times.

Then the nostalgia was abruptly deepened to unfathomable levels.

An FTL message floated in, a canned communication, but instead of going to Zahndrekh it went to Manric. He regarded it in utter confusion.

"For me? Does Phaeron Rahkaak need me?" That was deeply concerning if so. Manric reached out to take it, incautious of the setting. But as a mere Overlord, he had little to conceal.

The message that came was completely unexpected, as a dark-skinned human woman appeared in the air. Behind her was a beautiful spring day on a pleasant world, incongruous among cold machines.

Daddy, can you come home? I understand if you can't, but I want to get married soon. Can you respond to let me know? Please don't feel bad if you can't come, I know how important your work is. Obyron felt frozen as a terrible yet wonderful familiarity filled his mind. Somehow he knew that back in the Flesh Times, messages like this had come and gone so many times.

"Oh," Manric sounded stunned. And Zahndrekh was overjoyed.

"Ah, a joyous occasion! And perfectly timed, we are closer to Hope than ever! I grant you leave to return to your family." Yes, this was an excellent time for this. They were currently travelling back to the main part of the territory claimed by the Sautekh, but they were definitely closer to Hope than they usually were. "A toast!" Zahndrekh raised his glass and only Manric played along, but a few of the other Overlords gave him congratulations. Ahmakeph and Itolyx certainly did, but Obyron was a bit surprised at how many others were willing to say a few words. Then again, everyone liked Manric. It was virtually impossible not to.

Obyron wasn't sure what to make of this change to Zahndrekh's court, but he thought it was for the best.