Overlord Kallathsek of the Charnovokh was having the absolute worst time of his life.

It had all started with the fleet of Sautekh vessels dropping into his system and massacring his forces. He could call it nothing else… they had been vastly outnumbered and outgunned. They had also employed FTL message blockers, carefully laid ahead of time, to prevent them from sending any kind of distress call to their Crownworld. The whole attack had been completely planned and what were the damned eldar ships there for? Kallathsek thought he knew… to pin the whole thing on the drukhari. But why? What had they done to anger the Stormlord?

The answer seemed to be nothing, and for some damned reason he'd been taken captive. All of his augmentations had been stripped away, leaving him in a shocking state of deprivation. While his body was still clearly that of an Overlord, he had not been fully remodeled, all the internal mechanisms that truly made him one were gone. Kallathsek wondered how the Necron Warriors could survive, being this limited… but then, they were not fully sentient and even if they were, they knew nothing else. Was this how it felt to be an organic? So weak and so incapable?

He was far from the only captive they had taken and in some ways, they were the lucky ones. All of the recall facilities on the planet had been destroyed, so anyone not taken had tasted true death. Yet, Kallathsek feared something much worse than that awaited them. But what? What could the Stormlord have in store for them, and WHY? Had they done something to deserve this?

The answer was no and he found out, most disgustingly, from an organic.

"Ah, finally, our test subjects," a damned HUMAN said, pushing his glasses up his face with the tip of his pen. Kallathsek would have torn him apart, if he hadn't been quite fully restrained. "I am Researcher Zivok. You can consider yourself honored to be part of our efforts to permanently cure your race of the Flayer virus." …Wait, what?

"That is impossible. If it could have been done, our Crypteks would have done it, you little maggot!" Kallethsek snapped back and the human shook his head.

"No, they were unable to do this as it requires knowledge of the soul." The soul?

"What are you, some kind of human version of Illuminator Szeras?" He was researching that too, from what he'd heard. Zivok tapped his pen against a clipboard.

"It's odd that you mention that. Several people have compared me to him in a way that implies it's a bad thing." Oh no. No no no, this was bad. "However, unlike Szeras, I am not deeply concerned with understanding the very fabric of the soul. Some things should remain in the realm of the mystical. I only concern myself with learning how to manipulate them and for that, you will be quite helpful as a truly sentient test subject." …

"Imotekh destroyed our Tomb World, kidnapped us, all so you could have test subjects?!" Kallathsek demanded, feeling a soul deep rage. Zivok nodded.

"It is the Flayer virus. I'm sure you understand." RUST OFF! "Now, let us begin…" Zivok began connecting something to his body and Kallathsek could only helplessly endure. It didn't hurt at all, not yet, but he was sure the pain would be coming. And just like Szeras, Zivok would not give a solitary damn. Vaguely, Kallathsek wondered… Szeras was known to turn off his audio receptors when the sounds of pain annoyed him. What would Zivok do? Cut his vocal apparatus?

(actually, Zivok would simply wear a sound cancelling headset)

(screams of pain were valuable feedback)

"We've learned to speed up this part of the process, although it does require a personal touch. Fortunately for us both I am a psyker, albeit a quite weak one. Let me see…" Zivok took a step back and signalled to someone outside of the containment area. Kallathsek could feel and see nothing, to his utter frustration. He was absolutely certain that his previous vision would have registered something! Then Zivok pulled down his collar and Kallathsek saw he was wearing a collar of blackstone. He fiddled with it for a moment, and the markings on it went from red to green. "This works with a modified mindshackle scarab to enhance my abilities. Speaking of which, it's time for a bit of help my friend." Was he talking to a MINDSHACKLE SCARAB?

"You are insane," Kallathsek said, shaken. This was completely abnormal behavior for anyone, let alone an organic.

"Is it? It's programmed to answer my commands. It can do all kinds of wonderful things, like completely cutting off my ability to feel pain or momentarily enhancing my strength. It's fascinating really. Did you know we only use a small fraction of our brains? Of course, the reason for that is that the excess is meant as backup systems in case of damage and exceptional circumstances. Using the Scarab to activate all of that extra can allow me to do incredible things, but there is quite a price. Yet sometimes, I must pay it." Why was he being forced to listen to a damned organic giving him a soliloquy? Was he cursed? "Not today though, not today. This won't require but a fraction… ah… here we are…" The mad human started to hum and Kallathsek began to feel something.

At first it felt warm, even pleasant. Like sunlight in his core. But that warmth quickly became heat. Heat that stung, a dull burn that slowly built to a raging fire. Kallathsek was unaware of his own body spasming, his voice rising in a scream. The pain quickly reached the point of feeling like his entire body was being slowly peeled away, down to the tiniest atom and he very sincerely wanted to die.

"Interesting, so a fully sentient test subject experiences this as pain. I am a telepath so I can tell you that the non-sentients seem to experience only chaos and confusion." HOW NICE FOR THEM! "I don't suppose you could stop screaming long enough to detail how it feels?" NO! "Well, I wasn't really expecting it. I know I'm going to deeply regret this but I do sacrifice so much for science."

Kallathsek already thought the human was insane, but that went to the next level as he felt a cold touch on his mind. All of his blackstone had been stripped away, along with his other augments, so he had no defense against the mind prying against his. A cold intellect that was frighteningly keen examined him and with utter calculation, experienced his pain. There was no flinching, no recoil at all, just a shocking ability to examine and evaluate the pain in question. What had made the human like this?

(like Diarmuid, Zivok had come by his mental disorders honestly enough. In his case he had been tortured almost to the point of death as a small child)

(he didn't enjoy pain, but his tolerance for it was immense)

Then the intellect cut off from his and Kallathsek was alone in his head with the pain again. It was an improvement, albeit a minor one.

"Ugh. That is completely unacceptable," Zivok muttered and Kallathsek wondered what that meant. To his slight pleasure, he saw the human's eyes were bloodshot and there was blood dripping from his nostrils. Zivok reached up to brush the blood away before muttering. "Shut it down my friend, shut it all down." Then he flipped his collar from green to red and Kallathsek was sure the human was also hurting from what he'd just done. Not that he had a shred of sympathy. "I need to take a nap. We'll take this up later." A nap. A NAP?!

"Rust off you piece of dung you – " Kallathsek managed to choke out but Zivok just ignored him, leaving the containment field. He was stumbling a little, the human really had paid a price for that. It was small consolation though as the pain continued to sear him. As he struggled to find a way out of it, a way to manage the endless agony, Kallathsek wondered.

How was this supposed to cure the Flayer virus?

After Kototep took Panaa away to the human world, Simokh pondered the whole interaction with a sense of puzzlement.

Kototep was not acting entirely like himself with Panaa. In his experience, the other Overlord deeply enjoyed being flattered and fawned over, but it had seemed to distress him from Panaa. Was it because she was a Cryptek? It was true that the Cryptek caste was not required to fawn over nobility. A very minor Cryptek like Panaa should be respectful, to be sure, but in the way of a lesser noble to a greater. Crypteks were an unofficial nobility of the necrontyr in many ways.

Or was it, perhaps, because she was female? Female Necrons were much rarer than males in general. Simokh had an ugly suspicion it was because many female nobles who were essentially nothing but mothers had been relegated to necron warriors, just like the commoners. Female necrons did exist, but they were universally women who had held positions of power like Rahkaak. Female necrons like Kototep, with very little true skills, simply did not exist.

(Simokh was correct in that and the reason behind it was the Star Gods had reasoned that the 'brood mare' class of nobility would never forgive the sacrifice of their children, and it would be difficult to fully suppress the memories, so it was safer to just lobotomize them)

(the memory of those lost that way had been wiped from the minds of the remainder)

Simokh ruffled through his memories, as well as he was able to, and tried to determine if Kototep's behavior was different with females. To his surprise, he even dredged up a vague memory from the Flesh Times… Kototep speaking to a female commoner, reassuring her, easing her past that excessive fawning to something like trust. Ah, of course, that was it. From a female, that kind of flattering and fawning could be a shield from male attention.

While the flesh might be gone, the instincts from it remained and Simokh found it mildly amusing to think that Kototep was reacting according to those instincts. It was likely he had no idea what he was even doing. Fortunately, if he kept following those instincts, it meant Kototep could be relied upon to keep Panaa from any harm. That was the duty of a male to a female, after all.

Putting the whole thing out of mind, Simokh went back to his own duties. He was planning out the path of Jan and Iplanen's course of study. He was very pleased with both their progress and thought that soon, Jan would start to surpass him. At that point, he intended to send him to Mandragora to continue his studies with more advanced Technomancers. Unlike his brother Yantek, Jan had no interest in any other field of study but the arts of Technomancy.

However, that raised the question of what to do with Iplanen. He was a very able student as well and Simokh knew he, too, would soon begin to surpass him. But even if he accepted biotransference, would it be acceptable to send the tech priest to Mandragora to enter the Cryptek community? Technically, he was a slave and had not sworn true loyalty to the Sautekh Dynasty. Would he be willing to do so? Simokh made a mental note to include all of these questions and concerns in their next report to Imotekh. The Stormlord read all the reports he received and responded to any questions asked, so he would soon have an answer.

If the answer was no, Simokh thought he would continue to teach Iplanen until there was truly nothing more to learn, then move him over to other projects. He had already provided a great deal of assistance to Jan's father and the other researchers who were working on implants and cyborg technologies. It might be disappointing to him, but Iplanen would be very valuable to them.

When Kototep and Panaa returned, they were standing rather close to each other. Simokh observed the body language with fascination. Was Kototep making another conquest? Well, not really, they were past all that but there did seem to be a budding trust there. Interesting.

"Would you like to see?" Panaa shyly offered him the pictures and Simokh took them, looking at the portrait of the male necrontyr. That was interesting, but it was the picture of Rahkaak that hit him like a gauss flayer in the chest.

She was so beautiful. Simokh could not understand the emotions that were trying to rise through his broken engrams, as he stared at the picture. All he knew was that his damaged mind was trying to find intense emotions and almost managing it, but not quite making the final connection.

"This is a precious thing," he finally said, still staring at the portrait.

"It truly is. I wish I could remember what I looked like," Kototep said with glyphs of melancholy sadness. Simokh nodded although from that vague recollection, Kototep had been handsome enough. Alas that the memory was too vague, too fragmentary and likely to blow away, to be any use for something like this.

"We should show the Phaeron." Simokh sent a query to the Coreworld AI, which checked in with Rahkaak and confirmed she was available. "We can see her now."

"It was my idea," Kototep said with his more usual querulousness and Simokh graciously gave back the pictures. It was indeed his right to present this gift to the Phaeron, without him none of it would have been possible. Simokh knew he would never have thought of it.

"Simokh? Kototep? Is something wrong?" Phaeron Rahkaak asked as they met her in her quarters. "Panaa?" The young Cryptek bowed deeply in the presence of the Phaeron.

"Quite the opposite Phaeron, something is very right," Kototep said with understandable excitement. "With the help of Panaa and a human sketch artist, we have recovered the visages of the ancient necrontyr." That was truly a great thing. As far as Simokh knew, no one had a true rendition of the necrontyr anymore. There were statues, but they were badly weathered from the passage of time. Truly, it was remarkable they existed at all, given that it had been sixty million years. Anything less permanent, like parchment, had perished. "Please accept this gift to you, my beloved cousin." Rahkaak accepted the pictures and stared at them. She gently flipped through them, then stopped with an odd, mechanical sound and just stared at the picture. Simokh was sure she had found her own portrait.

They all patiently waited but Rahkaak seemed completely lost in the image. Simokh knew her well so he finally moved to stand beside her, gazing down at the portrait before gently touching her back.

"You were as beautiful then as you are now," he told her and Rahkaak pulled herself out of her dream, looking at him. He offered a hand and she took it, golden necrodermis against silver.

"Simokh…" Rahkaak's voice held an emotion he did not know but Simokh acted instinctively, squeezing her hand. She gazed at him a moment longer before turning her attention to Kototep and Panaa. "Kototep, Panaa, today you have honored our Dynasty. These images, the only true portraits of our people, are precious beyond words. I will have copies sent to Imotekh." While the Stormlord had little appreciation of art, this would make even him take notice. Kototep stirred.

"I almost hate to suggest this, Phaeron, but we should also send copies to Trazyn. This is precisely what he would love the most, and we don't want to risk the originals suddenly vanishing in the night." Ugh. They likely would, too. Trazyn's skill as a thief was without peer. Rahkaak flashed glyphs of amusement.

"I believe the scout ships should be coming in for their maintenance soon. When they do, we will have one of them take copies to him." That would be practical enough. The tiny scout ships moved extremely swiftly and carrying just a few pieces of paper to Solemnance would be no problem for them. "Perhaps we can spread them to other Dynasties as well… these should be considered common heritage." Yes, although Panaa herself was a treasure of the Uhnashret. Still, it would be good to spread these to all the necrons, even those who might someday be enemies.

Something so precious deserved to be given to everyone.

Panaa knew, intellectually, that her own people had lost all of their memories. Most of them could not even remember what it was like to be alive. They could certainly not remember the details of life in the time of the necrontyr, before the Star Gods had betrayed them.

Still, sometimes their questions managed to shock her.

"You want to know about the blood sacrifices of the necrontyr?" Panaa asked, feeling a deep and atavistic dread at the question. To her, this was not something that had happened sixty million years ago… it was something that had happened last year and she had been required to watch. "I… I was not that kind of priestess…" It made her shiveringly grateful that she was not. The priestly caste had many duties and she had specifically been a funereal temple dancer. With all the deaths, she had been far too busy to ever be called upon for anything else.

"Yes, but you must have knowledge of those practices." Simokh put things so oddly sometimes. Panaa wanted to whimper but deliberately worked towards finding calm. It was so hard though, to even think of such things.

"Y-Yes, of course," Panaa said, playing with the ends of her scarf. She had decided to get one and it was a very soft woolen fabric, matching the violet of her inlay. Hanging from the end of the scarf was a golden rune, the necron symbol for Hope. That particular character was very popular among the humans, for obvious reasons. "Phaeron Rahkaak was most kind. She did not demand any sacrifices beyond the minimum, to satisfy the gods." That had not been typical at all. Another reason the commoners had loved her.

"In a normal year, there would be slaves put to death at the special festivals. Ten in the year, to mark the seteths, what humans would call months?" The necrontyr had divided their solar year into ten sections. The length of the solar year depended on the system they inhabited, so the length of the seteth could vary greatly. "Each one was to honor the C'Tan… in the Feast of Llandu'gor, the slave would be flayed and the skin worn by the priest." Panaa hesitated but… the anger of the Star Gods no longer mattered. "Oh Simokh, our Phaeron was so gentle, so caring… she allowed us to sedate the slaves." They had all appreciated it, although for very different reasons. Those like Panaa who had to watch were relieved by the lack of screaming, while the priests who specialized in the butchery appreciated how the victim did not move. "Some said we would anger the Gods but it was always debated if the gods cared about such things."

"Knowing the C'Tan, it is likely they preferred to feast on the pain of the victims," Simokh said and Panaa shuddered. "Please continue."

"There was the Feast of Burning, where three slaves were burned alive…" Panaa detailed the horrible sacrifices, the supplication to the gods. But there was more. She didn't want to talk about it, not really, but leaving it out would do a great disservice to the history of the necrontyr. "But those were… those were normal years. There was also the great Solar Festival that was held every ten years."

"It is said that it dates back to the time when we lived under the Bitter Star, that cursed us so heavily that all our knowledge could not fix it." They had tried. The necrontyr had developed advanced medicines, sequenced their own genetics and tried, with sad futility, to remove their own flaws. And they had met with some success, lengthening their lifespan slightly, so that fifty years was not as unusual as it had once been. But overall, it had been nothing but failure. "In those ancient days the sun would flare and spit, burning the whole world… crops would fail, rivers would boil and we would fall to great hysteria of prayer and supplication." Panaa understood that madness, because… "And even when we left, we maintained the tradition of it. So every ten solar years, we performed the great sacrifices." Panaa looked down, feeling a soul deep shame as she remembered. Not for anything she had done but for the times she had become part of the madness, the frenzy of it all. It had been… infectious. Then a hand gently touched her shoulder and Panaa looked up.

"We can continue this later, if you feel you cannot continue," Simokh said and Panaa shook her head.

"No, now that I have started, I want to finish." If she was going to speak of this, she wanted to get it all out. "In that time, hundreds would be put to death… we were a small Dynasty, we did not have enough slaves. Phaeron Rahkaak would import as many as she could but it was never enough." Panaa shivered as she remembered. "Families would be picked by – by lottery. If you were selected you had to give a life. It could be a slave, if you had one, but if not it would be one of your own." And if you refused to select, someone would be dragged away, screaming. Most families did make a selection, when it came down to it, either giving up the very old or rolling the dice. "And there were also the special sacrifices."

"When a solar year was coming, some would volunteer to be the warriors and handmaidens of the Gods… they would prepare themselves ahead of time, to participate in the rituals." Panaa looked at her hands for a moment, remembering. "They would often do that for their families… if you chose to participate, your family could not be drawn, and in honor of the sacrifice they would also be excluded next Solar Festival. It would also give them great honor… some very low status families might even be allowed to enter a higher caste, if the performance was particularly good." It was all so hurtful to think of. Young warriors, in the prime of their lives, and beautiful young women, giving themselves to the Gods. "There were many rituals…" Panaa detailed them, the symbolic rituals and plays that would be put on, and how the sacrifices would be killed. The large scale sacrifices would often include the special sacrifice, the position of honor.

"I expected this, but it is still very grim to hear. I have a difficult time imagining Phaeron Rahkaak presiding over this slaughter," Simokh said and Panaa hastened to reassure him.

"Oh, she did not enjoy it! She often would provide free, or nearly free, pemina paste." Simokh did not know what she meant. "It was a drug, it would blunt everything, make it easier to bear. We ate so much of it in the Solar Festival. Also so much wine." Wine wasn't as good though, because you had to stay conscious and aware, to sing the praises of the Star Gods. Drinking yourself to a stupor could annoy the priests and get your unconscious body added to the rituals. "We all praised the Phaeron," Panaa said most fervently. "Other Dynasties had it so much worse… there were rumors, stories, that some very warlike Dynasties followed these rituals at all times." Panaa could not imagine living like that, yet she believed it to be true. "They said they would sacrifice their enemies to please the Gods and gain more victories in battle, that the temples ran red with blood year round… oh, we were all so happy to not live in a place like that." Panaa could not imagine what it would be like. The ten-year rituals were traumatic enough, what would it be like to do that every single year? Would you just get used to it? Would it become… normal? Panaa never wanted it to be normal. It was terrible that just the regular year sacrifices were normal! There was a silence from Simokh as he digested that.

"I am not a xenologist, but I will have to do my best to compose a report on these practices," he said to himself before tilting his head to one side. "Perhaps some of the others would be better suited to detail this. I will look into it." …She wouldn't have to repeat this, would she…? "I have recorded our conversation." Oh, thank the… well, the Gods had betrayed them. Thank the human God? "They might have questions."

"I will do my best to answer," Panaa said sincerely. As awful as speaking of this was, it seemed more awful to her that all the sacrifices should be forgotten. All those bright young men and women, even all the slaves, should not have given their lives just to be lost to the mists of time.

It was painful, but they should remember.