Among the necrons there were essentially two types of engrammatic damage, hardware and software problems.
Hardware problems were generally insoluble. Damage to the actual mechanisms of the mind, they included things like Simokh's inability to feel emotions and the outright dementia that many necrons suffered. Sometimes, they could be patched – Ahkaros' mental damage was in fact hardware, and he'd patched it himself – but by and large, the Psychomancers could do little. Even when a soul cured the disorder, the Flayer virus left behind hardware issues. Taking a soul did not help with such damage.
Then there were software problems. Difficult to work with yet normally soluble, they included various personality disorders and delusions. The Destroyer virus was a personality disorder, normally caused by some kind of personal trauma or, sometimes, problems like germophobia. An ancient disgust or revulsion, turned into a deep insanity. Such things were possible to fix for the Psychomancers, although they required both changes to the mind and a process similar to therapy. A soul was extremely helpful for this kind of disorder, often curing lighter ones entirely.
Galmakhs' problems were software related. Orikan had peered into the currents of the future, so they knew a soul would help him immensely, bringing back the person he once had been. And that was what they all desperately wanted, beyond anything else.
For Galmakh, coming back to consciousness felt odd, not like the usual recall. Ah, he was in stasis. That female Cryptek from before, the one with the strange powers, had a piece of wood? Ah, was this a soul? They planned to ensoul him, but why? Was Sautekh not going to take over the Novokh Dynasty and make them their own? This indicated they would not, but why?
Galmakh was distracted from his thoughts as warmth filled his chest, followed by a sharp, intense pain. But that pain eased quickly as that odd female Cryptek touched his chest. It was followed by the strangest feeling, as though life had flowed back into his body from some mysterious place. Was this the magic of a soul?
Then memories, so long lost in the back of his mind, came gently nudging back. Galmakh would have blinked or tilted his head as the first thing he remembered was, quite clearly, what he'd looked like. Ah, he had been so handsome! So tall and so large, full of corded muscles and with a fine, chiseled face. Yet, why did he – oh. Oh, of course, every day he had inspected himself in a mirror after the servants applied his war paint! Sometimes the paint wasn't quite right and he had them fix it. The Phaeron's war paint of Novokh, that was an important matter of ancestral pride and since his father died he did not go a day without it. It was not vanity! No it was not!
(it absolutely was)
Galmakh remembered leaving his great pavilion to see the salutes of the warriors, the bright smiles of his Overlords, the camaraderie and joy to serve another day. And he remembered the present, remembered the resigned obedience of his Overlords and wondered where it had all gone. Ah, but he knew where it had gone, he knew… his madness had crushed it underfoot, like he had crushed his enemies. His poor people, to deal with his madness for so long! Yet, he was the Phaeron and he could not apologize as such, not to those beneath him. Yet… there were things he could do that would carry the message, without compromising his authority.
Then Imotekh came into view and Galmakh was freed from his stasis, wavering a little before catching himself.
"Galmakh. How do you feel?" The Stormlord was trying to sound kind. How very odd. But now Galmakh knew they had been friends, so long ago. How had he forgotten?
"I feel regretful at my own actions," Galmakh answered honestly. Imotekh was a Phaeron too, now. He could say such things to him and the only others in the room were that strange Cryptek and Orikan. Speaking of which. "Who is this?" Galmakh looked at the small Cryptek again. Such feminine designs were quite unusual these days, although not unknown. Many female Crypteks, though, were visually indistinguishable from the males. Galmakh wondered about that now. Why had female Crypteks been given beards? Had the C'Tan just mass produced the designs?
(that was in fact exactly what they'd done, although for the Crypteks there had been three different common designs. One was meant for female Crypteks. If there were too many female Crypteks, though, they just got whatever)
"This is Cryptek Merywa. She is one of our new psykers," Imotekh said as Merywa bowed deeply to him.
"Ah! That was what froze me in place, the witchery of the Warp? Be careful, they say the souls of the damned can scream in your ears and melt your mind!" Galmakh had been interested so he'd captured a few human psykers and commanded them to do tricks. He'd airily given the task of caring for them to the Crypteks and they had mysteriously died. In retrospect, Galmakh realized that while Dhol VI had an atmosphere and water it really had no food… what had he been thinking? Well, he hadn't been thinking, that was clear. Hopefully their ends had been merciful – oh wait, no they hadn't and that reminded him. "Do you have more souls? My companion in madness needs one!" Ostanakh had surely claimed those psykers for his experiments before disposing of them. It wasn't his fault, though, it really wasn't. Galmakh remembered him as arrogant and prideful, but also kind to those beneath him, if in a patronizing way. He would not have behaved so if his mind had been intact.
"He does not need one. Alas, I have peered into the future and a soul cannot benefit him so for the good of our race, he is dead." Orikan the Diviner replied and Galmakh wanted to take umbrage at their highhanded action. Yet… did he really have any right to do so?
"You wish me to swear loyalty to Sautekh as a vassal Dynasty?" Galmakh asked to clarify, although he was sure it had to be that. If Imotekh meant to simply conquer them, he would not have kept Galmakh alive. No, he would have slain the Phaeron entirely and made one of the traitors his new trusted subordinate, governing Novokh in his name. Galmakh was a more valuable minion but would require more respectful treatment.
"That is my demand to you," Imotekh said simply and Galmakh felt a great, helpless anger. To regain his mind just to be made a vassal! Well, there was a price to all things and this could be considered the price of his madness. "I wish you to join me, personally, in the assault on the Pariah Nexus." And just like that, his anger blew away in a cloud of joy.
"To finally tell Szarekh what I think of him! Ah, my life has not been for nothing!" Galmakh knelt before the Stormlord before making his formal pledge. "I, Galmakh of the Novokh Dynasty, do swear myself and all those beneath me to your service. May the – " Galmakh suddenly stopped in confusion. The correct words were 'may the Star Gods strike us down if I lie' but that no longer worked. He scrambled to find a substitution and came up blank. Then Imotekh's hand gently touched his shoulder.
"I accept your oath. Serve me well, and we will prosper together," he said gravely and Galmakh felt deeply relieved that he had been rescued from that moment. This soul thing would take some getting used to!
"Forgive me, but I must tend to my Overlords," Galmakh said, as he mentally summoned his traitorous Overlords to the Throne room. To his vague surprise but pleasure, Amenhoros was within reach as well. He knew how Amenhoros' mind worked, how was he still alive? So honorable and straightlaced, so pained whenever Galmakh broke royal protocol, and how he sometimes did that just to tease the rigid Overlord. But Amenhoros was just the type to commit suicide when dishonored, how was he still alive?
With Imotekh's leave, Galmakh went to the throne room and was a bit dismayed at the sight of it. His entire collection, gone! And if he was part of the Sautekh Empire now and had to obey their peace treaties, it would be tough to get human – no wait, what was he thinking? Chaos Marines were human enough and there were plenty of those around, he'd have this place redecorated in no time! Which was a good thing, since virtually none of it was salvageable.
"Well, this is quite a mess," Galmakh observed as he surveyed the wreckage. It smelled awful, too, so much burnt hair and seared, mummified organic matter. Also the molten remains of that cretin Skophrek. He still did not regret that at all, although he had been very cruel. With his mind returned, he would more tear off an arm and beat the fool to death with it. Well, water under the bridge. Galmakh turned to look over his Overlords and they all knelt before him. Hmm.
"All of you! You will all be punished for this," Galmakh said, relishing the dread he sensed. They deserved to have some dread for how they had betrayed him, no matter how justified it had been. "We will stage a great gladiatorial event and all of you will face me!" Even more fear, but they didn't understand yet. "I will beat you badly and then, all will be forgiven!" Several heads came up, and a few dared to make glyphs of shock. "Except for you, Amenhoros!"
"I beg my Phaeron for honorable – gkh," Galmakh seized him by the throat, lifting him up.
"Honorable death? I think not! No, your fate shall be…" Galmakh pulled him close, so their faceplates were almost together. "To clean this up!" Galmakh released him, letting him drop before waving towards the destruction of his Throne room. "Clean this all up, make it spotless! Then, I shall beat you too, and all will be forgiven!" Galmakh glanced around them and saw that they were starting to realize what this meant. He was only demonstrating his pre-eminence over them, not giving them true punishments.
"Phaeron, are you truly back?" One dared to ask. A rather silly question, but Galmakh understood the pain behind it.
"I am back. Thank you for waiting for me," he said gravely before noticing one Overlord in the crowd. Oh, this was a problem. "Ah, Overlord Remula… you are a problem. I cannot beat a woman," he said and detected confusion from his Overlords, as they looked at each other and at her. She was the only female Overlord among the traitors. "And these are no longer the Flesh Times so I cannot order you to attend to my bed, or have you pour wine." Although ordering her to his bed would have been more a reward than a punishment. She likely could not remember, but they had become lovers after one marvelous victory feast. Ah, beautiful Remula, it was such a shame that cold steel had replaced her gorgeous curves.
"Pour wine? Was that a punishment based on status?" Intenshet asked tentatively and Galmakh was surprised they could not remember. But then, it had been so long and until he'd taken a soul Galmakh had not remembered a thing.
"Yes indeed. In the palace, that was a duty for the Servant caste. On the field, even worse, it was a duty for the casteless prostitutes who followed our forces in hopes that they would be elevated in caste." Just like Sautekh, Novokh had given those females a path to the military caste. It was fairly common among the necrontyr as a whole. "For a great nemesor like Remula, that would be most humiliating indeed, to pour wine like a common prostitute! But what can I do now? I cannot hit a woman, my father's ghost would spit upon me," Galmakh mused, thinking about it. His father had died as a necron so he likely did not have a real ghost but he still could not disrespect him in such a way. His father had taught him quite firmly that females should always be respected.
"Perhaps the colors of shame?" Intenshet asked, to his surprise.
"That is for – oh. I see." The colors of shame had previously indicated those under a death sentence, but when was the last time it had been used so? "We could change the colors of shame to a temporary punishment, for female Overlords." Novokh was not Charnovokh, they had female Overlords, even if they were rare. "Also, for the Crypteks who betrayed me! Yes! That will be perfect!" They also deserved a punishment but beating them would be no fun and they would take it ill.
"Phaeron, you are back… you are truly back…" one of them said before raising a cheer, making glyphs of joy. The rest joined in and glyphs shone brightly as Galmakh moved amongst them, gently touching shoulders and reassuring them that yes indeed, he was back. He bathed in the adoration, and returned it, remembering all of this. Yes, he was back.
Yet with all that done, there was still one thing to do, of paramount importance. Galmakh had left this for last because it would require all of his time and concentration, nothing could be permitted to interfere. The long walk through the halls of the Chronomancers gave him plenty of time to think and remember.
Galmakh had seen Sephekh many times, but until the great Chronomancer was dying, he had not once seen Anhu.
Sephekh brought the younger necrontyr to him, shrouded in a robe of midnight blue. Galmakh could see virtually nothing of his face, beyond a bit of his nose and rather fine lips, so he commanded Anhu to pull back his hood. Galmakh had regarded him with fascination as Sephekh explained the situation, taking him in. Anhu had held a kind of waif-like beauty. So thin and so slender, yet also quite masculine, Anhu had a thin but well kept beard and a very distinctive face. What captured Galmakh the most were his eyes. Beautiful implants of the very finest caliber, they were midnight blue but etched with tiny silver stars. Galmakh thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.
(Anhu had not bothered to specify to Imotekh that his eyes had not actually been spared, not really, but he'd been able to see a bit as a child and because the parts of his brain governing sight had been undamaged, implants had been feasible)
(It was too hard to convey with glyphs and pointless information in any case)
Galmakh honored Sephekh's wishes and let Anhu seclude himself among the Chronomancers, a hidden resource of his Dynasty. Yet, he was curious and attracted and wished to know him. Galmakh went to the astrarium many times, often late at night, and learned the gestures Anhu used to communicate. They spent time there, just talking, for so long. And when Galmakh gently drew Anhu into a kiss, it just felt right.
Galmakh never neglected his wife and concubines, of course! He loved female flesh beyond all others. But he always came back to Anhu, for deep conversations, his beautiful smile and the pleasure they shared. Ah, Anhu, with stars in his eyes. Anhu…
Galmakh walked through the final curtain and saw what had become of Anhu now. It made him feel helpless anger, to see the ports on Anhu's back, the way he was hunched over… this was not the grace he remembered. What had the C'Tan done to him? This was surely their work. But Anhu was looking at him and gestured, the ancient gestures that were so familiar now. Why had Anhu stopped using them?
Do you understand? Sadness smote his heart as Galmakh realized Anhu had stopped using the gestures because he, Galmakh, could no longer understand them. He lifted his hand and made a simple gesture.
Yes. Anhu moved then and Galmakh met him, gently embracing his most beloved Chronomancer. It was so much harder, when they were cold metal, but they managed and Galmakh gently stroked his back, the ports and mechanisms there. "Ah, Anhu, you waited for me. I am sorry I kept you waiting for so long," Galmakh murmured. Sixty million years and Anhu had waited for him. Then fingers gently traced a pattern on his necrodermis and Galmakh could recognize it. I love you. Galmakh returned the gesture, tracing the return pattern on Anhu's necrodermis. I love you too.
Anhu had waited so long, but they had each other again.
Author's note: A rather short chapter, but it really should have been part of the previous one. Then that chapter would have been huge though lol. Next chapter I think I will concentrate more on the Imperium of Man.
