On Hope, a new artistic project was in the beginning stages, yet already showing great promise.
/Long ago, we were gods/
The scene was beautiful. The darkness of space and sullen sun, glowing red and flaring unpredictably, drained and old. And as the viewer watched, part of the sun detached from it. A butterfly like entity, but with great tendrils like a jellyfish, it flapped its wings and began to fly… the stars around it flowed, representing the transition into faster than light travel.
/Not sentient, not truly aware, yet holding godlike power… our story begins here/
The butterfly found a blue star, fresh and new. But as it tried to sink into the star, another butterfly emerged from the star, angry to be disturbed. They fought for a moment and the first butterfly lost a portion of its wing before fleeing back into the depths of space. The light of it was not bright and it made a fluting sound of distress and hunger.
/Our enmity begins here/
Then the scene shifted, again, with the sense that vast amounts of time had passed… there were necrontyr, examining a star.
/We lacked true sentience for a very long time, until mortal races introduced us to these concepts. They spoke to us. Changed us. You may take credit for that… you changed what had existed from the beginning of the universe/ And the scene showed those necrontyr Crypteks making contact, catching the attention of the stellar butterfly. And the butterfly folding itself into a golden metal body, animating it for the very first time.
/They worshipped us, became sources of adoration… and food/ The scene showed a necrontyr being consumed by flames… and then shifting to a necron. The face of the necron turned to the audience, green eyes flaring. /And then slaves/
/Yet, that was our downfall/ And the scene shifted to a group of Crypteks containing a struggling, screaming C'Tan shard. Shackles of light were being held by each of the Crypteks, blazing brilliantly as they brought the creature to heel. Then it was forced, slowly and agonizingly, into a tesseract. The head Cryptek picked it up and the camera zoomed in, showing him examining the small, glittering tesseract before putting it away. /However, our story does not end here/
/This is the story of what happened when our rebellious minions decided to sleep, and we few remained/
/This is the story of what comes next/ Aeldari were shown now, in their glittering cities, and a surprisingly dark skinned aeldari with a beautiful face. He glanced at the viewer and smirked, like they were sharing a private joke.
/The story of the Deceiver and the Dragon/ And then the scene blew away in a gust of golden dust.
Loki looked at the boxes of books. They were floating behind him, on a hovering necron version of a dolly.
It's time to let them go. He'd be taking his datapad, loaded with books, and just one physical one… The Tale of Asgard. It was a modern book, written on Hope before he was born, and actually more of a novel featuring the Norse Gods than anything historical. His mum had loved it, and loved the TV show based on it so much that she'd named him Loki. It would hold his necklace now, the one thing he still had of his mum.
Everything else had to go. They had some space on the ship, for social reasons, but not that much. Loki enjoyed physical books but the ones on the datapad would be fine, along with his games. He just wanted his books to go to a good home.
Loki had tried to donate them to a public library but the librarian had taken one look at his books and told him they were heresy. So now Loki was taking a special trip to the capital, to got to a church library that specialized in things like that. What would they do with his books? Loki wasn't sure, but hopefully they would keep them for being historical and some priests of the Emperor could look at them and maybe write papers? Loki was vague on how that would work. He just hoped they didn't get burned of tossed in a dark corner. They were precious to him.
"This is the forbidden knowledge…" Loki was met by a cleric in holy garb, red and gold with an awesome hat. It was pretty impressive and Loki hoped he just dressed that way most of the time, and hadn't gotten done up just to meet him. This was the kind of thing their Bishop only wore for a really important occasion, but Loki knew that their worship of God was super minimalist compared to how the Imperium worshipped the Emperor. The cleric was flanked by two men in simple robes, monks maybe.
"I know the librarian talked to you but you know these aren't grimoires or anything, right? They're just stories of ancient Terra." Loki said and the cleric frowned.
"She said these contain details of the worship of heretical gods, the Ruinous Powers in disguise," he said and Loki knew they would see it that way but…
"Some of them are a bit like that, the ones that are kind of serious about it. But they're just meant to details the ancient ways, so they aren't forgotten. This is stuff no one believes anymore, it's the sort of thing scholars like. But also, I've got other stuff… let me show you." Loki turned around and plucked out one book easily. He'd thought they'd be like this so he'd gotten it ready. "This is just a children's book about Loki, Thor and Odin getting in trouble and then getting out of it. A lot of the books are just stories like Robin Hood… they're just characters being silly." Loki showed them the book, and the bright colored pictures on it. "This is really old by the way. I've been collecting these forever. Anyway, no one who reads this would ever WORSHIP them, they're just people with special powers." Loki looked at the book sadly for a moment before shaking his head. "Just take care of them please?" The cleric looked at him thoughtfully.
"You seem very reluctant to give these up," he said and Loki could tell that he was trying to seem kindly and nice but beneath it he was suspicious. Was he worried that Loki was trying to tempt them with these?
"I'm going to go to join the Stormlord in the stars. There's not enough space on a ship," Loki said simply before remembering. "Oh, there's one thing in particular!" Loki quickly sorted through the books and pulled out a volume. "This is in High Gothic – they all are, sorry about that – but this is a translated to High Gothic version of the Epic of Gilgamesh." Loki displayed the book with a feeling of pride. It was a hardcover and super pretty, embossed with a golden, ancient mask. "This is super historical. They say this is the first story of humanity, our very first epic," Loki said reverently. "This story is so old, it's basically five poems put together and they were inscribed on tablets back when humanity was young. I'm told it's better in the actual Akkadian, but that's just crazy, that was a dead language before humanity even dreamed of the stars." Loki knew there were some people on Hope who could read actual Akkadian and would study the original Epic, along with other works kept by the STC, but he thought they were a little insane. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that this is so historical… this is a piece of old Terra."
"I see…" He reached out to take the book and Loki noticed he was wearing heavy gold rings. "We will see what the historians think of these. The fact that they are High Gothic makes them safer." Yes… almost no one on Luminous could read or speak High Gothic.
"Just take care of them, it's all I want. They did mean a lot to me, but I have to let go," Loki said wistfully and began taking the boxes off the dolly. The men in robes took charge of them, carrying them into the church under the direction of the cleric. And Loki went back to Yvonne and the barracks, although he wouldn't be there long.
Soon, he would be going to the stars.
As Manric anticipated, repairs to all their vessels took a bit over a week.
That was how long it took for the Living Metal to regenerate completely, with a bit of help from the Crypteks. And that was very good compared to any other race… for aeldari or humans, many of the ships would simply have been scrap, fit for nothing but the junkyard. Strangely enough, they had suffered more permanent losses to the human pirates. But Manric understood why that was… humans often had trouble crippling necron ships, they tended to inflict the wrong sort of damage. So they had to resort to focusing fire to completely annihilate a ship. However, an enemy necron fleet possessed the sophisticated hardware and tactical ability to cripple an enemy necron vessel. That was preferable, because then you could seize it when the conflict was over and make it your own. Manric was doing just that… the Maynarkh had blown up the recall ship, depriving him of many naval ratings, but he'd still captured enough to bring home a brace of ships under a skeleton crew. What he could not take, he would leave with the picket… they could be claimed by whoever eventually took this world.
As part of that, Manric was personally sorting through the captured Warriors of the Maynarkh Dynasty. A distressing number registered to his senses as infected with the Flayer virus, but in a way that was different, strange. Manric was not sure they could be saved even by a soul, so they were destroyed. The rest though were taken in and reprogrammed, used as crew for the captured vessels. That was the way of Necron warfare.
(Manric would have been amused to know that this mimicked the advice of Sun Tzu, an ancient human general)
(Seizing equipment from the enemy was always an excellent strategy)
As he was waiting for the repairs to be done, though, Manric received an odd communication from Itolyx.
Fleet Commander, could I trouble you? Manric blinked at the oddly formal request, but sent a glyph for assent. While we wait, I had hoped we might spar? Manric was surprised, not by the request itself, but the oddly diffident way that Itolyx was making it.
"I am always pleased to spar… but forgive me, is there a reason?" Itolyx really didn't sound like his usual, unflappable self. There was a moment of silence.
I am deeply troubled by my performance on the battlefield. I… slipped and fell, in my duel. Manric was deeply surprised by that. Necrons were incredibly sure footed, it was very rare for them to trip and usually involved something odd, like a sudden earthquake or other unexpected movement. Well, or an enemy employing telekinesis. I know it was very good fortune but it is still troubling.
"Wait, is that how the Deathmark shot his own commander? You tripped?" Manric asked and Itolyx sent an affirmative glyph. "A guardian angel was looking after you," Manric said, amazed. Itolyx sent back a glyph of derision.
I cannot count on such things. I must improve, Itolyx said and Manric hesitated. He almost let it pass but… Itolyx was dismissing what he had said too cavalierly. Manric didn't think he'd thought about it at all.
"Itolyx, I was not being facetious. The little xenos who live here worship a single deity they call the Maker. That God was surely quite angry at the actions of the Maynarkh, and worshippers of God were also present, both in your forces and the surveyors. And that bit of good fortune you had is traditionally how guardian angels work… they are God's thumb, placed on the scales of fate." Manric glanced at his spear for a moment but it was quiet, giving him no insight. "I will still gladly spar with you, but you might have truly received a bit of divine luck." And if that was the case, there was no flaw with his skill. There was a pause as Itolyx thought about it.
I thought you were not very religious? You seem to believe in such things, Itolyx finally said and Manric grimaced internally. This was a common problem he had… sometimes, it did sound like he was quite religious. And while Itolyx knew him quite well, they had never fully discussed it before.
"I am not religious at all. I simply know such things are real… if you asked Imotekh if he believes in God, he would of course say no. But if you asked him if he thinks God is an actual entity in the Warp that can take action, he would say yes. My 'faith' is like that." Knowing the Ruinous Powers and the Gods were real and could be behind something was not the same thing as worshipping them, not at all. "Leaving all that aside, I would be pleased to spar… there isn't much to do up here, I'll head down." He was just managing the fleet, but there honestly wasn't much to do, the Crypteks were all hard at work.
I would appreciate it… even if you are correct and there is no flaw in my skill, I do not wish to depend on such things in the future. Itolyx was so troubled by this. Well, Manric was more than willing to oblige and he quickly arranged to take a shuttle to the planet.
He would stay there for a time.
Far away, in Mandragora, Imotekh was evaluating the state of his Empire in preparation for a great project.
Firstly, he examined all of his military projects to see if they needed any additional inputs. After careful consideration, he decided they did not. Everything was operating at peak efficiency; nothing could be enhanced. At this point, the projected time frame for the War on the Pariah Nexus was three years minimum, five maximum. Part of the uncertainty was the preparations on the part of the Imperium… they needed to move together. Guilliman was not confident he could make three years but he was sure he could make five, which was acceptable. Imotekh would see if that could be moved up.
Future military projects, meant for the Maynarkh Dynasty, were in production and fully funded. The mid-level Crypteks from Hope, in particular, were assisting one particular Forge World in conducting general upgrades. They hadn't been granted an STC yet – Imotekh wanted the matter of the Pariah Nexus decided first – but they would eventually be given an STC and moved to necron-level technology. They needed to be careful and make sure the Mechanicus there were reliable before they made that move, however.
No extra inputs could help there either. Imotekh contemplated his finances and resources next and decided that he had enough available to begin this project. That decided, he summoned Ibianza.
"Daughter, I have decided that we will terraform a world in this system. I wish to create a paradise in the style of the ancient necrontyr," Imotekh said to her, confident she would understand. Ibianza tilted her head, before clarifying.
"You mean semi-arid plains, not deserts?" Imotekh nodded. That was it, precisely… a harsh desert might suit them better but humans would find that uncomfortable. Semi-arid plains were a good compromise and it would invoke their memories of the Flesh Times. "I see… that will be an enjoyable challenge. It will be an artificial world," Ibianza mused and Imotekh knew she was right. There was no planet in the Mandragora system that was remotely capable of sustaining life. That meant the terraforming they would need to engage in would be far beyond what humans normally considered viable… normally, humans just unlocked the potential of a semi-viable world. Taking something completely non-viable and turning it into a place they could live was a challenge indeed. "I think we can get most of the resources we need from Valdukh." That was a moon around a gas giant. Imotekh had already thought of it… it was an ice world. "But the planet we should terraform is Mandragkh." That was the third planet in the system. Mandragora was the fourth. "We will need to alter the orbit… I will need to do calculations…" Ibianza pulled her mind away from the technical matters. "This is for our new pleasure caste?"
"Precisely," Imotekh rumbled before holding up a hologram, showing images of the new mutant race they had found. A male and a female, both with purple skin and slender build. "A sub-species of humanity has been discovered that we believe will be suitable for the re-creation of the pleasure caste. However, I have decided to go a step further… we will revitalize the servant caste." That was a commoner caste, but a high one. "The intelligent ones will be trained to serve as aides and assistants to our administrator Lords." That could be quite valuable. Right now, lesser Lords filled those functions but they could be freed to other duties. "Also, some of us would prefer personal aides for other matters." Imotekh knew, with a certain amount of weariness, that some of his Lords and Overlords would enjoy having their bodies shined by hand. Another throwback to the Flesh Times, when servants would give massages, haircuts and sometimes, assisted in bathing. Although if Imotekh remembered correctly, that last was mostly for female nobles… their hair and the braids they enjoyed needed a great deal of attention.
"Some of us are ridiculously sentimental for the Flesh Times, and others of us just miss the adoration." Yes, it was that precisely… the feeling of being waited on hand and foot was what some of them craved. "I do admit, I almost miss the times I would spend being made beautiful… one female braiding my hair, another polishing my nails as a third applied my makeup…" Imotekh was a bit surprised to hear this from Ibianza. Although he did remember her being quite beautiful in her youth. "But still, I would not do anything like that now. Canoptek Scarabs are just far more efficient and there is so much less to be done." Indeed, makeup would be quite absurd now. "Do you plan to give them a new rank?" Ah, she had foreseen the problem.
"Yes, I plan to create a new rank of pwi-commoner," Imotekh said, thinking on it. This was specifically to avoid any abuses on the part of the Lords and Overlords. Serfs had certain rights, over slaves, and Imotekh could have designated these humans as serfs. However, he had decided he would go for a side-rank instead, with more protections but less privileges. "I wish to make it clear that these humans must not be abused." Exactly like the pleasure caste. Killing them or even abusing them too much would invite his wrath. Ibianza nodded.
"That is prudent," she agreed and Imotekh wished it weren't so. But he remembered the degeneracy of the palace and Ibianza surely knew it well. "It seems you have thought of everything, but then I would expect nothing less… I will get to work turning your vision into reality." Excellent. "Also, father, I wanted to ask you something… would you be interested in playing a new game?"
"What manner of game?" Imotekh asked, intrigued. For Ibianza to think it worthwhile it would have to be something deeply intricate. Ibianza pulled out a hologram and displayed… what?
"This is a game created by the pwi-necron Crypteks in their spare time. It can be played two ways… one is by yourself, against the AI, and then it is essentially just a relaxing simulation. But it can be played against other players and that is where it becomes a great challenge." Imotekh examined it and easily saw that it appeared to be an Empire building simulator. "It is apparently based on a template from Hope, but then refined and made 'autistically detailed', as one of them put it." Ibianza made a glyph of amusement. "There are many different scenarios… you can play factions of the same race, confined to a single planet and attempting to destroy each other. Or you can play entirely different races, beginning on separate planets with certain resources and quickly evolving yourself before going to war against other Star Empires." Hmm.
"How long do games of this take?" Imotekh asked as he continued to examine the hologram, intuiting the rules. Just by what he was observing, he thought the answer was a decent length of time, for a game. Ibianza confirmed it.
"Even doing nothing else, games of this can take weeks to resolve. Given that they are normally played in free time, the usual take months to complete." As he'd thought. "I am told that two pwi-necron Crypteks are actually playing a 'slow' game of this… one of them is far away, on Egg, and he sends back his moves via messages. They fully anticipate that game will take decades to resolve, unless he comes back to Mandragora." Imotekh sometimes thought that Crypteks were very strange, and the formerly human ones were no exception.
"I would be more than pleased to begin a game of this with you, my daughter." Imotekh didn't bother to add that it couldn't be allowed to interfere with their duties… she knew that. Also, there were always plenty of moments when you were simply waiting for things. Mining out the water from Valdukh, for instance, would take some time. Ibianza made a glyph poem indicating her pleasure with his company, that made him feel a warmth in his core. Then she gently handed him the hologram.
"That contains the rules… you should likely examine them, the game is truly extremely complicated," she cautioned and Imotekh nodded. Against Ibianza, he would need to know all the rules before he began. Perhaps he should try the simulation version first, to make certain he understood the game.
"I will do so. Perhaps we can begin this game in a few days time," he said, mentally checking his calendar. Yes, that would be a perfect time. He transmitted it to Ibianza and she agreed before leaving to begin her work. When he was alone, Imotekh examined the hologram thoughtfully, another idea coming to him.
This 'slow' game… perhaps we can play it when I begin my campaign against the Maynarkh. Imotekh had no intention of bringing Ibianza with him on that campaign. That was, he knew, for selfish reasons… he wanted his daughter to be safe. Fortunately it was easy to justify, as Ibianza had never been a combat Cryptek. Still, that meant they might be separated for a long time, potentially thousands of years if the war became one of grinding attrition. In that case, a slow game of this would be an excellent way to keep in contact with her.
That sent his mind in another direction and Imotekh wondered what Osatek was up to. He was still on Hope, creating his next work with the human sculptor. Imotekh could not go to Hope, but he should send his son a message, see what he was doing. That statue they had created had been so beautifully detailed, everyone had loved it. Osatek's skill was genuinely improving over time, and as a necron, he had limitless time.
Imotekh wanted to see what wonders his son could create.
I am Overlord Agatef and this is my story.
I cannot remember her name. I cannot remember her face. I only remember that she betrayed me.
The individual events are unclear to me, but with the return of a soul, the shape of the story has formed in my mind. I loved her, I cherished her, I shared my body with her. I thought she was my everything, I thought she loved me in turn. I could not have been more wrong.
The Stormlord tried to warn me. That is what stings my soul the most… he told me she wasn't what I thought she was. He told me I loved an image in my own mind, and her honied lies. I remember… I asked him how his whore was different. He told me with him and his woman, there was no love but also no lies. I understood what he was telling me but I rejected it. I was sure he was wrong.
She betrayed me. I can't remember exactly how. I think she stole from me… did she almost kill me? I think I remember the taste of blood in my throat. I think perhaps she slept with someone else, arranged it with him, tried to get away with it. Did she get away with it? I cannot remember.
I only remember that my mistaken love and her betrayal seared me, destroyed me. From that day I rejected all intimacy and began requesting implants. I wanted to make myself cold, hard iron, give up the frailties of flesh. And the Stormlord remonstrated me again. He told me that I was being foolish and failing to learn from my mistake, retreating from it instead. I heard him and knew he was right, but I was set on my path. I was a hardheaded fool.
Of course I became a Destroyer. Of course I did… I was always about all or nothing. I would either do everything, or I would do nothing. Be everything, or be nothing. Sixty million years took that old disgust I felt at my own flesh, and magnified it beyond all reckoning. And I lived that disgust, because it was my way.
I am glad to be cured now. Not for the sake of organics. I still find them disgusting, in every particular. No… I am glad to be cured for myself. So I will no longer be ruled by the pain of what she did to me. I still hate her for what she did to me, but I hate the thought of being controlled by her memory even more.
It has been sixty million years. I must move on.
