Ahmakeph hadn't said anything to Manric, but he was intrigued by his description of Yentark.
So he decided to do the obvious thing and hunt this pwi-necron down and challenge him to a spar. Ahmakeph had to ask a few of the pwi-necrons for directions but found him in the end. Yentark was watching his men practicing with their gauss flayers, refining their aim. Ahmakeph paused a moment to examine him.
Yentark was in an Overlord-class body but a new one, built in Hope and following a completely new design. The face was more human than a true necron, but still meant to be a death mask and just as intimidating in its' own way. He did not have the braided metal 'hair' many of the humans favored but instead, wore a bronze headdress that was very necron styled. His body was very solid, a strong and barrel-chested Overlord and Ahmakeph felt a tingle of anticipation as he examined Yentark. Ahmakeph had spotted the power sword hilt at his hip and the shield generator on his arm and he was sure the former human could use them well.
Yentark seemed to feel his gaze and his head turned. Their eyes met and Ahmakeph held his gaze, a silent challenge as he walked closer. Yentark turned to face him squarely and Ahmakeph halted in front of him.
"So you are Yentark. I have heard of you from Manric," Ahmakeph said, just to see what he would say. Yentark lifted his chin and Ahmakeph felt some hostility from his body language.
"Let me guess. He told you I am a great war hero who led us to victory," Yentark said and while it was hard to read necron tones, he sounded sour. "I call it no victory, losing so many men and nearly my own life, even if my objective was completed. And I have told everyone that the next person to call me a hero will get a beating." Oh really?
"In that case, show me what you can do… hero." Ahmakeph said provocatively and Yentark's eyes flared.
"I see, you are that kind… very well, I will teach you." Oh yes, he could see what Manric meant about Yentark's personality. He came off every bit as cold and brutal as the Stormlord. But did he have the skill to back it up?
As it turned out, he did. Ahmakeph was favorably impressed as they sparred, his staff against Yentark's power sword. The live weapons gave the whole thing an extra layer of excitement and danger that Ahmakeph deeply enjoyed. Yentark, meanwhile, fought with deadly purpose, moving with skill and grace. His natural style of fighting involved no bouncing around like Manric, it was much closer to the style a Necron Overlord would naturally favor and worked well with his new body. Ahmakeph had no idea which of them would win and he exulted in it.
In the end it was Yentark that won, although it was a near thing. Ahmakeph fell for a very clever feint and realized it just a hair's breath too late for any recovery. Yentark's sword went deep into his chest and he ended up on the ground, a knee pressed hard into his abdomen as the other Overlord loomed over him.
"Do you yield?" Yentark rumbled and Ahmakeph nodded. If he didn't yield, he was going to see far too much of his flux. Yentark carefully pulled the blade free and Ahmakeph felt his repair systems kick in. "My apologies. That was perhaps too far, we should use training weapons next time."
"It's fine." He didn't mind a good spar with live weapons even if it was more dangerous. Ahmakeph pulled himself to his feet. "You're good but Manric would wipe the floor with you," he said, just to see Yentark's response. His eyes flared.
"I know that." Ahmakeph was a bit surprised to hear that. "But does Manric know that?"
"…" Ahmakeph leaned against his staff, struck by that question. "You are like Imotekh." It was remarkable. Yentark tilted his head.
"I will take that as a compliment. Although, I will never come close to equalling him." Yentark shook his head. "Tell Manric to stop being foolish and face me, so I can pledge my loyalty. He might still see me as his old commander, but I have not seen him that way for decades."
"Lucky," Ahmakeph muttered. The biggest problem he still had with Zahndrekh was that he would always be his little cousin. It had gone from wildly irritating to merely annoying, but he was resigned that it would not change. "I will tell him." After this conversation, Ahmakeph was convinced the problem here was on Manric's end. Some kind of deep-seated fear of an ancient authority figure? Ahmakeph could understand, they all lived in dread of inspiring Imotekh's ire.
Ahmakeph didn't go to find Manric right away. He decided to check out Yentark's new unit first. It was a bit hard to say, just from watching them practice, but they looked solid. But then, with Yentark in charge of them he wouldn't expect anything else.
We're going to have some fun around here, Ahmakeph thought to himself. Not on the moon, mostly, but the planet. Necrons weren't food so the Genestealers they were still trying to find wouldn't stir out of their holes, and they could take over the planet and do some war games while they waited here for something to happen. And there was definitely going to be things happening. Would Imotekh pull them away or would they get pulled away by an urgent situation? And what would the permanent forces stationed here be? Ahmakeph thought this planet was about to become too vital to give up, so it would have a chunk of their fleet on permanent garrison. Just as well, the humans deserve it. Not that he cared too much about organics, but these ones had been through several layers of hell between the Genestealers and the necrons. It would be too cruel, saving their lives just to sacrifice them to Szarekh or the Nihilakh.
That was above his pay grade, though, and above Manric's too. Speaking of whom, Ahmakeph found him watching some of the Canoptek scarabs at work. They were erecting some building shells to act as warehouses for the supplies they were getting in.
"So apparently we're going to need some special vacuum seals or other containers for any food shipments." Eh? Why? "The beetles around this place are almost as voracious as our scarabs. Just drop a bit of food on the ground and watch them go." Oh, damned things. Ahmakeph felt a very unpleasant memory get dredged from the back of his mind… on campaign with Zahndrekh and finding all the food was infested with squirming white bugs. Then eating them.
"Geh," Ahmakeph muttered, making disgust glyphs. Why was the one food he remembered those fucking insects and how they'd been almost nutty when they were roasted? He had the distinct feeling they hadn't been the worst thing he'd put in his mouth, which was just sad. "That's nice and you're evading your real duty. Yentark wants to talk to you, to pledge his loyalty." Did he mean that literally? Ahmakeph wouldn't be the least bit surprised. Manric turned his head to look at him.
"That isn't necessary… I just think it might be wiser for him to be under someone else." Ugh, this was so frustrating!
"Why?" Ahmakeph said bluntly. "And don't tell me about the past, tell me why NOW." Something was bothering Manric a bit beyond that time when he was young. There was a brief pause as Manric mulled it over.
"It's all very vague," Manric finally said and Ahmakeph just waited. "My empathic telepathy… I never liked Yentark and I always had the distinct impression that he didn't care for me. And while Imotekh doesn't really love me as a person, it was a bit beyond that… I'm not entirely sure what I was sensing, I wasn't aware I was a psyker back then and he was so controlled. We worked together, he was a member of the Council but I could tell things were not right between us." That set Ahmakeph on his heels for a moment, but only a moment.
"Then ask him about it. Grab whatever it is and pull it into the open. And if he won't talk about it, send him to Diarmuid." That was a very likely outcome, given Yentark's personality, that he might just stonewall the question. Imotekh did not answer questions he did not care to, and he never had.
"That is a good idea," Manric seemed relieved and Ahmakeph snorted internally at his foolishness. He'd been dithering so hard, the obvious had not occurred to him. Well, it happened sometimes. "Right now?"
"Why wait?" They might want to pull Yentark away from his men though. One did not reveal weakness in front of them and this might be some form of weakness, or what Yentark would think was so.
Ahmakeph handled it, bringing Manric to Yentark and then pulling him off the field. The two Overlords squared off against each other, although not in a hostile way. More thoughtful, on Manric's end, and a bit impatient on Yentark's.
"Captain, this might seem like an odd question, but even though we worked well together I always had the impression you very much disliked me, and not quite in a normal way," Manric said and Ahmakeph saw Yentark's eyes flare, just that bit of sparkle that indicated strong emotion. It was interesting how they did that. "I never brought it up because you were a civilian and I was not, but if we are to work together again I want to know why."
"Hmph… if you had asked me this as a civilian, I would have told you it was none of your business. And how did you even notice? These cursed psyker powers of yours?" Yentark sounded angry. "I would like to state that I resent this prying into my mind." Huh, that was an interesting point. Manric looked down.
"I am sorry… I passively pick up emotions, I can control it somewhat but I can't stop it. Also, I didn't even realize I was a psyker then, I thought I just had good instincts," Manric said apologetically. Yentark waved it away.
"I suppose it cannot be helped… Manric, that was envy." Ahhh. Ahmakeph immediately understood. "If not for my injuries, I could have been in your place. Perhaps you don't know, as young as you were, but I was on the path to become General. Leopold had tapped me to succeed him… I gave it up to do my duty and I regret nothing, but it still hurt. I had it well under control, which is probably why you thought it was dislike, but it was never really that." Yentark paused for a moment before continuing in a way that was grudging indeed. "You likely did better than I could have. Still, it stung."
"Oh, I see," Manric said, making glyphs of relief and understanding. "In that case I will have you, if you are willing." He offered Yentark a hand and he took it, clasping it in a comradely way.
"Please. I would not mind serving under Diarmuid, but my men seem to be terrified of him. Apparently, they have heard some stories. Probably exaggerated," Yentark said and Ahmakeph reflected on the fact that they probably weren't. Diarmuid was certainly an interesting one and no mistake. Manric made glyphs of humor.
"Probably not. I don't think you've ever met him, I should introduce you." Ahmakeph was looking forward to that! In fact.
"Just don't fight him with live weapons unless you like going for recall. He cut my head off once," he volunteered and Yentark blinked his oculars at the information. "And he'll hurt you quite well even without them." Diarmuid's training axe was weighted to match his real one and could do substantial damage without even being a power weapon. Manric made another glyph of good humor.
"You got him back for that, I remember." Yes, Ahmakeph had gone for a rematch and managed to cave in Diarmuid's chest. They had both agreed to switch to practice weapons after that, when one of the crypteks had lit into them for foolishly courting recall failures. "Yes, use practice weapons. Diarmuid doesn't like it, but he understands the necessity." He was just too dangerous. The other Death Seekers weren't as intrinsically deadly as their leader although they did try.
"Interesting… Did you want to see my men? Most of them know you," Yentark said and Manric readily consented. Ahmakeph decided to leave them to it, going to tend to his own duties. As he did, he was quite pleased.
That minor problem was taken care of and he was sure Yentark would fit in quite well.
Oramoton was ready to see Orikan the Diviner.
Replacements had been arranged and he and Sisus had bid Valdar and Casimir farewell. They had caught a ride on an equipment bearing ship, taking a load of new Doom Scythes and new engines for retrofits to Mandragora. From there, the weapons of war would be distributed to the Stormlord's wings. Recall only saved the lives of necrons so there was always need of more Scythes.
When they arrived in Mandragora, they had to make another trip to Orikan's true sanctum. That was easy enough… it was situated in the same system as Mandragora, built into one of the moons orbiting a great gas giant. Just a tiny speck of celestial dirt, but paying host to a great gem of necron technology.
Orikan was not surprised, of course. Oramoton had done nothing to cloud his eye so foreseeing his arrival was as easy as breathing to him. As they faced each other, Oramoton felt like speech was almost superfluous. They both know what he would say and how Orikan would respond… yet, the words should still be said.
"Orikan the Diviner, I wish to swear myself to your personal service," Oramoton said humbly. "I no longer call myself the Eternal, and likely never will again, but I will still be of worth to you. This is my apprentice, Sisus. I would request that he remain by my side." As a fully sentient, Sisus would have problems with some of the tasks Orikan sometimes set his minor Crypteks to. They did not care or feel pain, generally speaking, when their minds and processing powers were fully engaged in performing background support for Orikan, often for long periods. That kind of experience would be difficult for Sisus.
(as the resouling progressed, Orikan had actually replaced many of those minor Crypteks with AI equivalents. While slightly annoying, it was actually helpful as they could now be trusted with greater tasks as they became more than mere automatons)
"I have foreseen this day for some time, and you will bring great honor to me. I accept your service," Orikan said, fulfilling his part of the future they had both foresaw. "You may engage in your project until I need you." Ah, of course he had seen what Oramoton desired. "You may keep your apprentice by your side, and continue to train him. I have foreseen that while he will never be a great light, he will ultimately achieve a decent level of competence." Yes, since his resouling Oramoton's skill had improved and he had peered into Sisus' future to determine if this really was the best path for him. Thankfully it was… despite starting out of mere boredom, Sisus would fall into deep fascination with the arts of Chronomancy and become a lesser but still bright light. "You can start with the Necron Warriors I keep here, if you wish." Oramoton bowed slightly.
"Thank you, I will do so." There would likely be fertile ground here, or Orikan would be directing him to Mandragora. And there were Warriors everywhere, forming the backbone of defenses, so it was no surprise Orikan would have plenty.
Oramoton's pet project was to tease out the futures of individual Warriors if they were to be immediately resouled. Using that knowledge, they could be labeled and set aside for later. Unfortunately, such a project required a highly accomplished Chronomancer and most of them were busy… aside from himself. Also, this would be very good practice for both himself and Sisus.
It wasn't hard to find the Warriors. Now that Oramoton was formally accepted into Orikan's service, he could access the AI and have it show a map of the facility and the patrolling Warriors. Then he could just stop them in their patrol, pull them aside and check their futures before labelling them with the AI and letting them go. To help him, Sisus performed a basic incantation, a mantra that raised power and allowed him to use it. When someone like Orikan did a great work, he would have a large circle of such crypteks assisting him but even one was helpful.
As he checked the futures of the Warriors, Oramoton found they were split almost evenly into three groups. The common warriors, the common civilians and the lost. The warriors were exactly what they seemed, young men from the army and a sprinkling of older officers, not quite fit for Immortal but more experienced. Those, Oramoton gave a slightly higher priority for resouling.
The common civilians were, alas, low priority for resouling. Ranging from potters to bricklayers to wives and mothers, they had very little to offer. Just the backbone of the society that no longer existed, it was hard to see what they could even do now. Perhaps be integrated with humans and find a place there? Oramoton really didn't know, and it saddened him.
The lost were, of course, the most terrifying. Oramoton was dismayed to discover a large number of them… it was worse than the Crypteks of Uhnashret had guessed, if what he was finding was any indication. All of them had suffered locked in syndrome and their minds were gone. Those were marked as completely useless, to never be resouled.
But hidden amidst the chaff were small nuggets of gold. It took almost a week of combing through the Warriors in Orikan's service but he found two who were very important indeed.
As Sisus murmured his incantation, moving his hands in the gestures of power, Oramoton immersed himself in a trance and added his own voice and gestures, synchronizing and harmonizing. Then he peered into the future of this one Warrior, from the possible future of sending her to be resouled immediately. And for the first time, he saw something of great interest. He let the future play out a bit, to confirm his immediate deductions before stopping, rousing from his trance and speaking to the AI.
"Mark this one as of high importance. She is a palace concubine, but she has a photographic memory. She will be able to produce portraits of many high nobles, including Imotekh." That was wonderful and would give Osatek so much material to work with.
The next one, though, was awe inspiring. When Oramoton perceived what he had, he bade the Warrior to accompany him and went straight to Orikan.
"We must bring this one to Imotekh immediately. She is his daughter in law, the young female who was married to Overlord Khamus. She is also daughter to Overlord Udjemka." This was a very high noble, just lost, dropped into the teeming masses of commoners like she was nothing. And to the C'Tan, she had been nothing, only a young mother. Oramoton's heart ached for her. "We should caution him that Udjemka should be there for the resouling… she lost her young daughter." That trauma would be difficult for her but she would recover and Oramoton saw a bright future for her working beneath her mother. And while it would pain Imotekh slightly, he would still welcome back his daughter in law. Orikan stared at him for a moment before stirring.
"I knew you would find something valuable here, but I admit I was not expecting that. Remarkable… Imotekh is not in Mandragora at the moment, but I will send him a message and ask him to arrange to have Udjemka here. I am sure she will come." Yes, from what Oramoton had seen she would come instantly. He had seen her holding her daughter as she wailed her grief, for her child and her husband, when she found that Khamus was gone. As he returned to checking the other Warriors, Oramoton felt a deep sense of accomplishment. It was only a start, but he was beginning to make amends for the past.
He wondered what else he might find among the ranks of the Warriors.
Elsewhere in the galaxy, a small flotilla of necron vessels moved towards Chogoris.
This was not in any way a hostile force, just an acknowledgement of the situation. Chaos was highly active in the area and while it would make little sense for the Red Corsairs to attack a necron fleet, Chaos was defined as making little sense. Also, they hoped to retrieve survivors from the Tomb World so it was practical to have some extra space for them.
The crew was entirely necron and pwi-necron because of another unfortunate reality, the need for food and water. With a purely mechanical crew, they would only need to pause once in the trip to refuel their engines at a suitable celestial object. If they had brought humans, they would have needed to resupply several times from Imperial worlds. Not impossible but an unneeded expense. Actual trade vessels would do things differently, as they would be largely crewed by former Imperial citizens, but this was not a trade mission.
When they arrived, the necron fleet signalled that they were there to complete the bargain and waited for acknowledgement. When they were given permission, they cautiously approached the world and settled into a non-threatening formation. It was all a bit tense at first – Chogoris defenses could have annihilated the small fleet – but quickly relaxed as they proceeded.
Small shuttles were dispatched to the location of the Tomb World entrance, which the defenders of Chogoris noted as being the same place the single necron ship had bombarded, so long ago. While that was happening, other ships came down with the equipment and shell for the biotransference. That quickly got a bit odd for the necrons and pwi-necrons, who regarded the antics of the tech priests with bemusement.
"Is this normal?" One of the pwi-necrons dared to murmur to one of the White Scars as the tech priests invoked what appeared to be a full religious ritual, waving censers and chanting in the binary cant. They were preparing the medical vessel containing Jubal Khan for opening. Several White Scar apothecaries were also assisting and they seemed more concentrated on the real work.
"Yes. Don't say anything or you'll make it worse." Alright then. Although he was glad to see that someone else thought it was all rather foolish. "So this is the shell?" The White Scar, actually a very high member of the chapter, examined it thoughtfully. "It is beautiful… I am a bit surprised that you made something so appropriate." The pwi-necron glanced at the shell, taking it in. It was a beautiful work of art, made by the greatest artisans of Hive Antioch.
"Well, you have to remember that it was made on Hive Antioch and they used to do Astartes armor and munitions. It was easy for them to draw up the pattern for the White Scars, then amend it to a shell." That was the theme of the shell. It had started plain silver, but then been painted and enameled in the colors of the White Scars. The body was mostly white with red accents, and had the red, winged skull on the chest as was proper. The symbol of the White Scars was painted and enameled onto one of the shoulders, but also on the face, a jagged red thunderbolt that crossed over one eye. The face was generic human, not customized but simple and handsome. The 'hair' was the usual metal braids, all white but capped with red beads. While civilian shells were often smaller than military ones, this one was made the full eight feet, in deference to the usual size of an Astartes.
As the rituals were going on, the crypteks and pwi-necrons were quietly and expertly assembling the portable equipment for biotransference. Because of the importance of the matter, they double and triple checked everything, testing it in various ways before pronouncing it good. In their own way, under the religious symbolism, the tech priests and apothecaries were doing the same and when they were confident, they brought forth the Great Khan. He was actually capable of walking, after a fashion, with two of the White Scars gently assisting him. His eyes were milky and his face was in a breathing mask, his body failing rapidly as they guided him through the gate.
The biotransference went perfectly. As the body vanished into ash, the new, mechanical body animated. Jubal Khan twitched, rolling his shoulders and turning his head before taking one tentative step.
"Ah, it is so good to move again. So good to truly have a body again," he said, flexing his hands. Then a necron Cryptek came to his side, holding the ball of ghost wood that contained his soul. He held still as the ghost wood was attached, and then the cryptek, also a psyker, gently shooed the soul back into the body. Given that they would be leaving, they had decided to do it the quick way.
"Great Khan, you are truly…" One of the White Scars sounded deeply moved. Jubal Khan nodded.
"Yes, I am here. And this body… it is so wonderful, to have a body that is impossible to torture." That caught attention from several of the crypteks and one gestured sharply in negation.
"Do not think that. The ancient pain functions are removed with the newer shells, but it is still NOT impossible for you to be tortured, merely very difficult. If there is one thing we have learned over millions of years of existence, it is that there is ALWAYS a way to inflict pain." A daunted silence fell for a moment, but then Jubal Khan shook his head.
"I am corrected… you are right, the creativity of Chaos knows no bounds. I will not be foolish. How is the evacuation of the Tomb World progressing?" The Great Khan asked with keen interest, even as he tested his body a bit. It was understandable that he would want to know, the humans and Astartes of Chogoris were pleased to have a potential menace removed from their world. Tomb worlds awakening tended to go badly for everyone on them.
"We will only know if the news is very bad. Let me reach out to Overlord Khanokh," the Cryptek said before opening full communications. As he did that, the other crypteks and pwi-necrons began working at breaking down the apparatus.
It's not good. It looks like it was hit with a very sophisticated electro magnetic disruptor, overwhelming most of the defenses. We think of a few of the sealed crypts might still be holding the living but even then, we expect engrammatic damage. Khanokh shook his head, making his headdress tinkle lightly. He favored a very elaborate headdress with hanging plaques. Worse yet, someone got here before us. This Tomb World has already been looted.
"It wasn't us," one of the White Scars said before being summarily hushed by a sharp gesture from the Khan. The Overlord snorted at the thought.
Of course it wasn't you. Whoever did it re-sealed the Tomb when he left. It was Trazyn the Thief, curse his name. He was selective in what he took… all the artifacts, all the items of power, are missing. He left behind the things that didn't interest him, probably as a nod to the few survivors. Overlord Khanokh's vocalizers managed a very credible sigh. I do not have high hopes but we should know in a week. Breaking open these crypts takes some time.
"I see. Please let us know when you are done," Jubal Khan said and Khanokh nodded before the communication was ended. The Crypteks finished packing up their equipment and moving it out as the apothecaries and tech priests began examining the Khan's new shell. They did not entirely trust the necrons and wanted to understand how it was made. Without the ability to take it apart, they wouldn't be able to learn too much, but they were up for the challenge.
They were always up for the challenge.