Imotekh regarded the one-way FTL communication from Manric with puzzlement before accepting it.
Phaeron, I have a great deal to report. How? Imotekh hadn't even reached Hemingway yet, let alone Manric. He would take a bit longer, he was coming from further away. When I heard the name Ishtar, it reminded me of my childhood. I realized I had seen a statue of her as a small child… this is an ancient religion, from old Terra. I have found a specialist on this matter, a Warrior named Loki. I should warn you, he is a bit eccentric, in the way of a very high strung but good natured Cryptek. Imotekh did understand what Manric was trying to convey. It was unusual but some of the Crypteks were very high energy and were often accidentally disrespectful. It was best just to humor them, as that energy also made them quick in their work. He has a truly great knowledge of history, and all the works involving Ishtar are on his datapad.
However, in addition to that, I have learned that Loki is a very powerful psyker, Manric said and Imotekh tilted his head, intrigued. I had to meditate on my spear to fully understand… he seems to possess only one ability, astral walking. That is the separating of the soul from the body, allowing one to travel within the Warp and also into the real world as a kind of projection. That projection can be damaged or even destroyed and that destroys the soul. Manric paused a moment. This is very strange. The spirits of my spear had indicated this is an advanced skill even for the aeldari, and not remotely intuitive. We might want to investigate Loki more fully, possibly send him to the aeldari, to understand how this has occurred.
But because of this, Loki accidentally made contact with the Chaos Marines of the Thousand Sons. What?! They were the ones to tell him he was a psyker, and make him realize that he was not simply dreaming. This was treachery! Loki did approach his Captain and get permission to speak to them about non-classified matters, although it was permission to 'talk to the voices in his head'. ARGH! Imotekh wanted to curse everyone involved. Also, how 'eccentric' was this person? Because of that, Ahriman of the Thousand Sons has an offer.
Imotekh listened silently as Manric detailed the problem the Thousand Sons faced, how the Rubric Marines were essentially completely the opposite of necrons, disembodied souls haunting their armors. And it was every bit as destructive as being a body without a soul… they were mindless husks, and Ahriman had been working since the Horus Heresy to fix his great mistake. The theory they had that if a sentient soul were introduced to a mindless Warrior, then the body customized to the soul, these Marines might be returned to sentience. Imotekh immediately wanted to reject this… but then Manric explained the offer.
The Key to Moebius. The very fact that this Ahriman knew of it, indicated that the offer was legitimate. Imotekh paused the FTL communication to think.
Moebius was home to the Nekthyst Dynasty and it was an ever-shifting maze of hyperspatial crypts. Once upon a time, that maze had been under the full command of the Nekthyst but that had been a long time ago. The greatest Crypteks of the Nekthyst had allowed the Phaeron some control, but they had kept the true 'key' in their own hands. A great mathematical equation, complicated beyond words, it was said to confer true mastery of all aspects of Moebius. It made perfect sense to Imotekh that a Chaos Sorcerer could not use it… to utilize the Key, you had to actually understand the math. Imotekh might not be able to do it, he might have to delegate the Key to Ibianza. Although he did have an excellent grasp of math and his mind was excellent, so perhaps the Crypteks could teach him enough to use the Key. That would be a great deal of work, but worth it.
Imotekh knew how he would use the Key. It was not easy to get into Imotekh's list of people he despised, largely because the Stormlord tended to kill anyone who reached that point. However, Oblis the Enslaver, Phaeron of Nekthyst had managed to enter that short list a very, very long time ago. Imotekh wondered why, now. True, Oblis was crude, but so was Galmakh and Imotekh had once deeply respected him. Oblis was unpleasant and had delusions of grandeur, but so did Sylphek of the Nephrekh Dynasty and Imotekh had no quarrel with him. What had happened between himself and Oblis? Something must have happened, back in the Flesh Times.
Without a soul, Imotekh would have had no hope of resurrecting the memories, but now they were within reach. Centering himself, he reached for the distant past.
In the great Wars of Succession, things did not always go smoothly.
Imotekh was young at this time. A few good victories beneath his belt, he owned his Staff and phase shifter but not his gauntlet. A rising star of the Sautekh, his warriors almost worshipped the ground he walked upon, for he had come from them. A commoner born and so young, he was theirs as much as the Phaeron's. Even when Imotekh was old, and far above them, that thread of connection would remain… he was one of them.
At this time, though, Imotekh was close to his past and he despised the necessity of military police. Imotekh had no truck with true cowardice, he would slay a warrior himself who did not meet his standards. Yet, he placed absolutely no trust in those tasked with maintaining discipline. Often very low nobles, or incompetent ones, they were trained to maintain the iron discipline a necrontyr army required. That meant they often erred on the side of harshness. Imotekh would always remember, until the day his flesh was taken from him, how his career had almost ended before it had begun. He and his squad had been late returning to the front, due to an unexpected fog. A brand new enforcer, who knew nothing of them, had dared to accuse them of shirking their duties. Imotekh had not been willing to tolerate that and had told the errant fool to shut his mouth. It had degenerated from there… things could have gone very badly for him, in the end, but one of the nemesor's Lychguard had been passing by and had intervened, telling the enforcer to learn more of the men before saying such things.
Imotekh believed, quite firmly, in fairness. He would not make excuses for failure, but he would also not call a failure what was not. In one particular battle, he tasked a particularly strong unit with holding a valuable position. With them went forces of their ally at the time, warriors of the Nekthyst. Unfortunately, the position was indeed valuable and the tide of war led to them taking heavy fire, wavering and breaking beneath the onslaught. Imotekh thought nothing of it, just sending them reinforcements. With that buttressing, they recovered and held strong.
Afterwards, when the enemies were broken and another victory won, Imotekh went to that unit with the intent to thank them for their efforts. And he was very glad he did, because he saw a ghastly scene.
Phaeron Oblis was lashing his men, and Imotekh's men, with vicious words. Castigating them for their failure, in terms that Imotekh would not even repeat. His own men were staring at him with dull and empty eyes, while Imotekh's forces were wide-eyed and frightened, behind their stoic masks. They were unaccustomed to hearing such from anyone, let alone a Phaeron, who had the power of life and death over them. Oblis could snuff out their lives in an eyeblink and they all knew it.
Imotekh speeded his steps and as they spotted him, his men registered tremendous relief. Oblis saw the change and turned in intense irritation, before scowling as he saw him.
"Sautekh filth! What will you do with this trash?" Oblis said and Imotekh stiffened. He did not particularly care about insults to himself, but he cared, deeply, about the honor of his Dynasty.
"You may dishonor me as you will, but keep the name of the Sautekh out of your mouth. And I came to thank them for their honorable service," Imotekh replied, holding to a civil tone with all his will. He was a young nemesor and Oblis was a Phaeron. He could not talk back.
"THANK them? For holding back the enemy as well as a whore holding back a randy sybarite?" Imotekh was vaguely surprised at the mouth on this one. He was a soldier, accustomed to crudities, but it was odd hearing it from an extremely high noble. The Phaeron of Sautekh would never speak so. "Are you insane? I would not have thought the mighty nemesor of the Sautekh would make excuses for failure."
"Have you not eyes? Can you not see the casualties they have taken, the wounds they bear, all on the front?" Imotekh said, knowing he was being dangerously insolent but feeling a soul deep impatience with this stupidity. He could see this unit had taken heavy casualties and he could easily pick out the wounds on the remaining men. Honorable injuries, all of them, not a single one in the back. "And your men look the same. Iban! Did the honored warriors of Nekthyst fight well?" The warrior Imotekh had singled out was a soldier of some renown, a valuable squad leader. He had come through the battle with only minor injuries.
"They fought well, Stormlord. I would be honored to fight beside them again," Iban said and Imotekh noticed, again, the strange blankness of the Nekthyst warriors. Like they knew this didn't matter. Oblis sneered at them.
"Is he your khalshtokh?" That was a word similar to catamite, but with even darker meanings. Rage filled my mind, but I acted not from anger, but from calculation. I lashed out with my staff, lightning fast and I could have crushed Oblis' skull if his protective force field had not engaged. He jerked back, surprised at my quick action and I looked him right in the eye, my gaze cold and deadly.
"I am married to the Phaeron's sister. Keep Sautekh out of your mouth!" To make such a suggestion was to dishonor the Phaeron and THAT, I would not stand. Oblis flushed purple, aware he had gone too far but that only motivated him to set his weapon in the ready position. I readied myself, aware we were about to fight. Utter foolishness, but pride would settle for nothing less.
Then we were interrupted.
"What is this errant foolishness?" I did not welcome the interruption of the great Triarch, for it could go ill for me. I was but a nemesor, Oblis was a Phaeron. But, perhaps he could put a stop to this nonsense.
"Phaeron Oblis wishes to punish his men and while that is his right, he has no right to punish mine. Further, I say that it is foolish to waste such fine warriors who have proven their valor in battle," I said, keeping my eyes on Oblis. He immediately responded, making me feel oddly that this was a court and we were both presenting our positions to the Triarch.
"Nemesor Imotekh is a fine commander, but his background as a commoner blinds him to a deeper truth. Failure cannot be tolerated. Weakness cannot be tolerated. It must be burned out, to make way for greater strength." This was indeed the harsh regimen that our people lived beneath.
"I do not disagree with that. I only disagree with your definition of failure and I see no weakness here. I see warriors who have given all they have for the glory of the Dynasty and the Silent King," I replied stubbornly. "I did not give them this position to hold because I thought they were lacking."
"Are you suggesting that the fault lies with me, for not stationing enough forces there initially?" No, you daft fool, things change and the decision was correct! They took heavy fire, but stood long enough! Imotekh might have responded but he could tell the Triarch was getting angry at them both.
"ENOUGH!" Imotekh's eyes went wide as he saw energies build around the Triarch and understood what he meant to do. His phase shifter would save him easily, but not his men. Imotekh moved with lightning speed, positioning himself between the Triarch and his men. He spread his arms, using the power of his Staff of the Destroyer and his own hekatic will. Power blazed around him as he had to distort the energies of the Staff, to create a protective force field for his men.
Imotekh trusted his phase shifter but still suffered searing agony, as the Triarch unleashed the strength of a captive sun. Despite the phase shifter keeping his body safe, pain licked all of his nerves as he maintained the force field with all off his strength. The warriors of the Nekthyst had no such protection and Imotekh was aware of them being wiped out, turned into nothing but sizzling corpses, but he could give it no attention. It was all he could do to protect his own.
Then the torrent of fire came to an end and Imotekh barely held to his feet. Pain lashed him and his muscles trembled, reminding him that this madness had come after a long day of fighting. He was tough, the necrontyr were tough, but there were limits. The Triarch, though, was regarding him with disdain.
"Oblis is right and Sautekh is fortunate that you are not their Phaeron. If you wish to coddle your warriors, you may, but do not interfere in the doings of others. I do not want to see this again," he said before departing. Oblis followed, a sickening smirk on his face and Imotekh's hand tightened on his staff as true hatred filled his mind.
"Stormlord… thank you," Iban said softly and Imotekh turned to look at his men. They looked back at him, the calm, stoic masks that the common warriors were expected to maintain at all times. Their ranks thinned, so many injuries, and this was coddling? To just see what was there?
"Do not thank me. I did what I must. Please report to the medics." Imotekh sent a few quick communications, ceding command temporarily to Zahndrekh. His whole body ached, now, and his muscles were burning. There was no point in pushing himself past his own stamina when the battle was already won.
Imotekh went back to his tent and surrendered himself to the hands of the medics and also his beautiful concubine, a female with talented hands. After all his wounds were tended, she gave him a relaxing massage, soothing away his pain. When he was completely relaxed, Imotekh ran the whole thing through his mind. Did Oblis and the Triarch have any kind of point? Was he too gentle to the men, with his past as a commoner born? After analyzing everything in his mind, Imotekh came to the conclusion that no. No, he was not being too gentle, too kind, he was merely treating them fairly. Of course, that was where his mindset parted ways with the true nobility… 'Fairness' was not something well thought of among the necrontyr, where the Phaeron's word was law. Yet for Imotekh, his soul craved that kind of order and it was the path he would follow. And there was another path he would follow, if he ever had the chance.
Phaeron Oblis might laugh at the thought that a mere nemesor considered him an enemy, but if Imotekh ever had a chance, he would take that bastard's head.
Dropping out of that trance of the far off past, Imotekh felt a deep and visceral disgust.
To throw away the lives of his own men so cavalierly. Oh, things had been different then, the military caste had bred like flies. The necrontyr in general had bred madly, with their genetic doom screaming that they needed to procreate at every turn. Even so, it was so wasteful and now, with their bodies become cold metal, it was downright criminal. Yet did Imotekh think Oblis had changed? The thought made him snort. He knew for a fact that the Enslaver had not changed one iota.
With the Key of Moebius, Imotekh could utterly destroy Oblis. The Phaeron of the Nekthyst did not have full control over Moebius, as all the Crypteks with the full mathematical expression had been lost. Imotekh knew exactly how he would use it… he would declare war upon Oblis, attack him in the traditional way. Oblis would count on Moebius to protect him, moving his forces deep into the maze and forcing Sautekh to engage in a terrible, grinding war of attrition. And that was when Imotekh would crush him. Taking away control of Moebius at a critical moment, he would annihilate the Nekthyst and claim the Phaeron's head. Then, all the treasures of the Dynasty, all the riches of Moebius, could be added to Sautekh.
This might all be a long term project. Imotekh had no idea how long it would take them to master the art of bringing the Rubric Marines back to 'life', if they even could. Yet it was incredibly appealing and Imotekh realized, with a bit of amusement, that he'd made his decision. But then, while he hated Chaos, his hatred of Oblis was deeper and more visceral. A personal hatred, not just of the Phaeron, but the pure indifference and malice he embodied. The nobility who looked upon the commoners and saw nothing but mindless cattle, to be driven and slaughtered as they willed.
Imotekh allowed Manric's communication to finish, approving of the idea that Ahriman would give him the Key and he would verify it's functioning before finishing the work on the Marines. This was all good, provided they could hold their end of the bargain. Imotekh quickly sent back a communication.
"Tell this Loki to inform Ahriman that I agree to these terms. However, the technology I will give will be civilian level only. I will not share our military level technology," Imotekh rumbled. He was sure that wouldn't bother the Space Marines, they could come up with all kinds of ways to turn civilian level shells into weapons of war. "Advise him to bring the ten Rubric Marines to transshipment point Galadriel." That was a planet that was being used as a transshipment point with the Imperium of Man, where trade goods could be held in warehouses and moved from one ship to another, so vessels did not have to go outside their own Empires. Imotekh had chosen Galadriel because it was conveniently located, nothing else. The planet itself was an ugly lump of rock, cold and wet and filled with bizarre fungal life. The biology of it was so alien that terraforming it would require sterilization, then reworking from scratch. Imotekh had decided he preferred it to remain as it was… the nature of it discouraged anyone from lingering and that should help prevent incidents. If someone truly wanted to socialize, they could go to Egg and Phoenix instead, where they would find Zahndrekh and the pwi-necrons. That was much safer, as all of that wing of his fleet understood humans quite well. "If for some reason this is unsuitable, ask him to suggest a location." Imotekh doubted it would be. Surely a Chaos Sorcerer worth his salt could pretend to be a regular Imperium vessel! Also, Imotekh would leave instructions with his commander in the system to be on the watch for them. "Also, ask him to send them as quickly as possible. I will put Zivok on this immediately." Speed was important because Zivok was pledged to the Thokt Dynasty. Although if worst came to worst, Imotekh could politely request to keep him a bit longer to complete this work. However, he would prefer to avoid that.
Imotekh sent the message and clapped his hands together, feeling deeply energized. This could potentially be a great victory for his Empire. He could easily add another entire wing from captured warriors of the Nekthyst, and force many Overlords to submit and swear loyalty. Crypteks would be taken and added to his forces and with the Key of Moebius, it would be so easy! Well, he should not become too excited, they still needed to see if the Rubric Marines could be saved. For a moment, Imotekh pondered the question of what to do with this Loki. Send him to his aeldari subjects for proper training? That did seem a logical choice, but he would see.
He would be meeting this eccentric genius soon.
