**Author's note: I think my views are busted because it is telling me that zero people have touched this fic for days. So, if you're still reading and like this, drop me a comment so I feel better, heh**

Elsewhere:

The stranded renegade Navigator Ven Tristan of the destroyed mercenary ship the Ebon Hare concentrated on breathing regularly, willing his heartbeat to slow as he watched the stellar fireworks outside his ship. Something big was happening to the southwest, and for the last fifteen minutes, a rope of bright energy had begun to grow across the void of space. If he didn't know any better, he would say that it almost resembled the light of the Astronomican, but that was impossible out here in the Ghoul Stars.

The gold glowing lash of energy at least gave him something to look at as he contemplated his mortality, and he took grim satisfaction that the relentless vessel that had scuttled the Ebon Hare was now also likely doomed. He took a drink of amasec, and smiled. His keen intuition told him that the horrible gold eagle ship that was responsible for his vessel's destruction had gone to the very area that was now ablaze with strange light, and that nothing within its bounds would escape annihilation. Oh, what a terrible shame!

The gold light began to increase, actually causing shadows to scatter in his vestibule, and with a brief final shine, it fizzled away to black. Whatever it was had destroyed everything in a thousand light year radius, his intuition told him. He smiled.

"Here's to you, gold bird; let's hope you're dead!" the renegade Navigator toasted the death of his killer, and took another swig from his liquor bottle.

Regrets swam in the renegade Navigator's mind as he ruminated on how foolish he and his crew had been. No wonder the Sinclairs on Tar Vigaz offered them so much money for a job that looked so simple. Damned jackals were always so damn duplicitous! Sleazy Grigori was probably behind this shit. Tristan and his crew should've known better! And at the very least, they should've fled the moment they saw Necrons coming out of the planet. Sticking around and being curious had ultimately led to their doom.

Here, in what was to likely be his coffin, Tristan remained stranded in interstellar space. But at least he was still alive, and that was something. This was the second time a horrible twist of fate had left him the only survivor of a ruined expedition. The irony of it was not lost to him. He even found it morbidly amusing, and a dry chuckle escaped his cracked lips.

Before serving on the Ebon Hare, he had served under the Imperium on an official courier vessel for many years. His tenure had ended when a band of birdlike xenos had butchered his entire crew, and sadistically left the Navigator alive for some unknown reason. And now, just a few days ago, a giant gold bird had chased his vessel until it overheated, causing a catastrophic Gellar Field failure. Why did birds seem to hate him? Fate had a sick sense of humor.

Ven Tristan laughed bitterly, and shook his head. He settled back down once again on his command chair. His vestibule had been able to detach successfully from the Ebon Hare right before the Gellar Field failed, and shunted itself back into realspace. The little space that now served as both his escape pod and his tomb wasn't large, only about three meters around cubed. Tristan's chair was a cushioned, expensive red velvet seat that he had insisted that Captain Rhul install when he had signed on as a bonus. The Navigator had also asked for a few more specialized alterations to his vestibule after a few successful campaigns after he had proven his worth. Reluctantly, Rhul had allowed the construction and reinforcement of this space to serve as a makeshift escape pod in the event of an emergency, all while giving Tristan a hard time, and joking that he was being paranoid. After what he had been through before, the renegade Navigator had convinced his new captain that this would alleviate his fears and boost his morale, considering he had almost died in a derelict ship before.

Tristan was now both happy and sad that he had requested these modifications. He could've died with his adoptive family, and not died slowly all the way out in deep space, drunk and gasping for air in the indifferent dark. Unlike the people he had served before, the Navigator had actually grown to enjoy the company of the "normies" he traveled with. His camaraderie with the Ebon Hare's crew had actually altered his world view, and made him more tolerant of baseline humans. They had, in a way, become not only his crewmen, but his brothers and sisters, something that he had never felt with anyone else before. He had finally been happy, and fate had taken it all away.

Not having anyone to worry about anymore, Tristan had let his red bandana fall around his neck, and left his Warp eye open as he sat miserably in the dark. In the last day or so, he had taken to staring at the currents of the Warp wash against the shore of reality instead of watching the foreign stars hanging in the void outside, judging him with their cold eyes. The bright flash of energy to the southwest gave him little comfort, ultimately. It did not change his circumstances.

No one was coming to save him.

There wasn't even a wreckage to mourn like last time, he thought sadly. He couldn't say a prayer over the bodies of his crew members like he had done before. All of it was gone. Everything had been swallowed by the Warp, leaving no trace of Ebon Hare or its inhabitants. All of their adventures and stories had been erased forever. It made his heart hurt to think about.

The only illumination in here were the slowly dying red emergency lights, and his stashed water and rations had nearly been completely consumed. At least he had snuck a bottle of amasec in here awhile back. He didn't need to be sober when he suffocated to death, at least. He reached under his chair, and found the bottle. Uncorking it, it took a swig for bravery, and he took a deep breath, bracing himself.

Tristan again reached under his chair, and his hand found his last friend. Curling his fingers around the pistol, he brought it up to his face, where it was barely visible. The cruel starlight reflected off the metal as he considered his future again. The likelihood of being rescued out here was minimal. When he had been miraculously saved last time, it had been along a well-traveled trade route. This time, he was nowhere. He should've died with his crewmembers.

He took the pistol, and slowly raised it upward. He weakly wished again that fate would somehow intervene and save him, but his hopes fell on the deaf reality of his situation.

But then, there was something...

"I heard you..." a voice said somewhere. The Navigator paused. He must be going mad. Oxygen must be running out.

"You called to me here, and I have come," the voice said again. Through his Warp eye, he then noticed a small glowing blue bird fluttering before him. He blinked his more ordinary eyes, and found that the thing was now somewhat material.

"Who are you?" Tristan asked.

"You know me. In the dark, I hear your hopes. In the hidden shadow of your soul, I heard your yearning for your salvation, and I found it beautiful," the bird said in a voice of many whispers, some of the voices echoing his teachers, his family, Captain Rhul, and the old Imperial Admiral he had always had a problem with so long ago.

Ven Tristan shook his head and then started to raise his pistol again. He was losing his mind.

"Stop that. It is unnecessary," the little bird said, and his hand froze. His fingers became cold, and he dropped his pistol to the floor. He found himself lowering his hand. "You and I, we are already acquainted. Twice, fate has intervened for you, and twice you take it for granted. Foolish, foolish, Ven Tristan. Now, I ask you this question. Would you like to live?"

He had to think for a moment, but deep down, despite his despair, a tiny spark of hope remained within him. The Navigator always found a way to land on his feet, despite whatever ruin came his way. He was resilient, if nothing else.

"Yes, I do," Tristan said. He reached for the bottle of amasec, uncorking it. He took a long drink instead of blowing his own brains out. "Anyone would want to live. Of course I want to live. Stupid question," he said to the hallucination.

"That's what I like to hear, Tristan," the bird was smiling. How could a bird smile like that? "I like you, you know. You and I can be friends. In fact, I hear the sweet song of fate singing of your survival. Consider this a formal offering of friendship between us."

"Who... what are you?" the Navigator said to the little entity, suspicion now gripping him. It was now dawning on him that this was a daemon sent to torment him in his last hours. He knew that Warp entities fed on the woes of mortals, so of course one had appeared here at the end of his life.

"Many names, many, many names," the bird twittered, still smiling. "Normally, I tend to ask for a service in return for the favor I'm performing for you. But, for now, I would simply appreciate your gratitude. Remember who saved you. That is what I want."

"I'm not making any deals with you, daemon," Tristan said, settling back into his chair.

"Oh no, you misjudge me. I don't speak of deals, mortal. What I simply wish for is your gratification. So, how about a 'thank you'?"

Tristan did not respond. He took another drink of his amasec. Daemons lied, and he knew to never trust them.

"Don't believe me? Turn toward the west, toward the faint red star. Your deliverance shall come from there. Consider it a kindness offered to you from fate's hand. That's all. If you'd like to express further gratitude, find a time to offer a thank you, and perhaps we can talk further."

"Please go away," Tristan slurred, swatting at the little entity that was tormenting him. The bird sat ahead of him on his console, and continued to smile. It then started to gently laugh, and that made the Navigator upset. "Stop it! Stop smiling! Stop bothering me! Just go away!"

"Remember what I said!" the bird replied happily as Tristan clutched the bottle of amasec, and smashed it where the daemon had perched. In the lack of gravity, shards of glass and liquor exploded across the vestibule. A jagged piece of broken glass struck him on the cheek.

The renegade Navigator then woke up from his drunken stupor. "What?" he rasped to the empty space. There was no blue bird, and his bottle of amasec lay in the crook of his arm, intact and still partially full. A nightmare. Low oxygen, alcohol, and hopeless resignation wasn't good for dreams.

He rubbed his eyes, and it was then that he noticed that there was movement out the upper left corner of his window. Near a faint red star, a bright spot was growing larger and larger. A few calculations on trajectory and probability, and he had deduced that this was some sort of vessel, and it was heading this way. How could this be? Had he been saved again? Tristan quickly placed his bandana up across his forehead once again, covering his Warp eye as to not accidentally hurt anyone if they were his rescuers, and not pirates.

As he moved his bandana back up, his fingers felt wetness on his cheek. Tristan put his hand up to touch it.

He was bleeding where he had been cut in his dream. Far away, the Navigator almost heard someone say "remember me" as he watched the bright spot advance closer in chilled amazement.

Elsewhere:

The Nome King was in an angry mood, and at such times he was very destructive. Everyone kept away from him, even his Chief Steward Kaliko, an enigmatic Arch-Cryptek clad in blood red robes.

The King stormed and raved all by himself, walking up and down the buzzing gold corridors of the bridge of his personal flagship, a customized gem-encrusted Harvest Ship called the Grandiloquent Abundance. Then he remembered that it was no fun being angry unless he had some one to frighten and make miserable, and he rushed to his tall metal throne at the fore of the bridge, sat down, and pressed a button.

Roquat the Red, or as he was known more commonly, the Nome King, was a Necron Overlord of both high intelligence and high eccentricity. Some called him mad, but most knew better than to actually voice that opinion to him directly. The King preferred the term, "emotional", as he saw his emotions as blessings that demonstrated to everyone that was a very special Necron indeed.

Before the Great Sleep, the Nome King had conquered this remote region of space, and he and his dynasty had personally shattered a fleeing C'tan known as Rza'Thae, the Sleeper. Who or what this C'tan was was unfortunately now completely lost to the memories of every single Necron, but one thing was certain. The Nome people ("Nomes", as they were called), from then on, were notoriously colored in emotional peculiarities that were uncommon in Necronkind. They were, paradoxically, quite emotional for being undead robots, but unfortunately for everyone that wasn't them, they tended toward insanity, incredible greed, and anger. A viral quirk in their programming was blamed, and while it wasn't as terribly contagious as the Flayer curse, it resulted in most other dynasties opting to shun the Mad King instead of having to deal with him, which only infuriated him further. Roquat's excuse to himself as to why no one liked him was that he was fortunate enough to actually possess a soul, and that everyone else was "just jealous".

While Roquat himself had been awake for a few millennia, only recently had the rest of the Nome kingdom fully woken from the Great Sleep, and they had woken to find themselves defiled! Their great riches had been plundered! To add insult to injury, the planet they had been sleeping in had been cracked, causing the loss of multiple ships, and crippling the mighty Nome King's military to a mere fifth of what it used to be! They had shattered one of the C'tan, and this was the thanks they got? Outrageous!

In the last two days, Roquat had consolidated what remained of his forces after he had been able to reform his body. Trazyn had been responsible! That contemptuous, traitorous dog! To befriend him a thousand years ago and then so suddenly stab him in the back! To steal his riches, jewels and precious things and to break his planet so disrespectfully! Trazyn had even led filthy fleshy alien outsiders to his domain so that they could steal from him too! The insult of it was almost too much to bear, and the Nome King began screaming impotently on his throne, jamming his metal finger down on the button that would summon his Chief Steward.

Roquat the Red, like most Necron Overlords, was a distinctive creature. He stood tall and thin, and wore a sharp tall crown inlaid with various gemstones of many colors on his head. The King's love of precious gems was further illustrated by the lines of perfectly cut emeralds that adorned his long limbs in elaborate patterns, causing him to sparkle in any light. He wore an articulated cloak of ruby-plated metal down his back which was attached directly to his shoulders which he often enjoyed swirling about dramatically when in a fanciful mood.

In the Nome King's hand, he held his staff, his mighty station of office. It was as tall as he was, and topped with a softly glowing emerald orb with often glimmered with a mysterious inner light that bewitched all who beheld it. He was glad to have recovered it from the wreckage of the planet below, but something far more important was missing.

His belt! Roquat's "magic" belt was missing! His precious, precious belt! It was an artifact infused with one of two remaining C'tan shards of Rza'Thae. The Nome King had poured much of his power, energy, and will into the enchanted belt so that it could be used to easily interface his intelligence with the rest of his forces, allowing for unparalleled control of his Nomes, and nearly enslaving them all as easily as a C'tan would so many millions of years ago. Without it, he was greatly weakened. He, of course, initially blamed Trazyn for this, and instantly began plotting a course to Solemnace to conquer it with the paltry remains of his military. One of his generals, however, informed him that a red-robed metal-human had purloined his preciousness and absconded away from the planet on a spaceship in the shape of a gold bird!

Now, that couldn't be true! That had to be a deception, a terrible prank! Gir'Auda was gone, a relic spawned from the Old Ones' greed from millions of years ago! It was consigned to the dustbin of history, the wretched thing! The Nome King had been able to hear and sense what was going on when he had been subsumed by Trazyn's identity back on Nome Prime, their Tomb World, but Trazyn was sneaky and specious. Perhaps the old kleptomaniac had somehow found a way to make it appear as if Gir'Auda had visited his world to throw the King off his scent? Roquat was too clever to fall for that deception, he thought, tapping his staff against the floor of the bridge. Even Kaliko had been duped! His Chief Steward had tried to convince him of Gir'Auda's return, which only fully proved just how clever Trazyn was in his web of lies! Those fools will rue the day they crossed Roquat the Red!

In came Chief Steward and Arch-Cryptek Kaliko, chin held high and noble as his blood-red robes swung about his metal legs. The King remained irritable, but he forgave Kaliko for his short-sightedness. Not everyone could be as brilliant as the fantastic Nome King himself!

"Send the Chief Counselor here, and leave us!" shouted the angry monarch in a piercing voice.

Kaliko bowed deeply. The Chief Steward turned around on his heel, and with a swirl of his robes, departed the bridge. The Chief Counselor then entered the bridge. This Necron also wore the signature red robes of those who served the Nome King, and he leaned on a plain metal staff for support like an old man. Roquat had actually forgotten this Counselor's name and designation, but the singular eye on his head suggested that he was a Cryptek as well. If he had been in possession of his Magic Belt, Roquat would've known instantly who this was, but alas! The The King scowled and said to him:

"I'm in great trouble over the loss of my Magic Belt. I wish to set about accomplishing my great galactic work again, but I can't because the Belt is gone. The loss of my belt makes me angry, and when I'm angry I can't have a good time. Now, what do you advise?"

"Some people," said the Chief Counselor, "enjoy getting angry." The Necron before him prostrated himself to the floor. Well, of course some people enjoy getting angry! Having a soul means that you get angry, and emotions remind you that you're alive! What an obvious sentiment!

"But, not all the time," declared the King. "To be angry once in awhile is really good fun, because it makes others so miserable. But to be angry constantly, as I am, grows monotonous and prevents my gaining any other pleasure in life. I wish to begin my great crusade once again. Now what do you advise?"

"I would suggest that your majesty consider another emotion aside from anger."

Hearing this, the King glared at his Counselor with a furious expression and clenched his fists so hard that the tips of his metal fingers carved furrows into his metal palms.

"You are a fool!" he exclaimed.

"I share that honor with your Majesty," dared the Chief Counselor, suddenly snapping in frustration at his maltreatment. "You will not listen to any of us! We try to tell you that Gir'Auda flies again, but you do not listen! It is not only Trazyn that has stolen from you, but a group of enfleshed aliens, one of which has stolen your belt, not Trazyn!

The King roared with rage and stamped his foot. The Chief Counselor did not move from his position on the floor, and he was fuming.

"Guards!" The King bellowed in the wide space of the bridge. Four tall lychguards also wearing long red robes strode into the room.

The King said to them:

"Take the Chief Counselor and throw him out of the airlock. He has injured my mood!"

Then the guards took the Chief Counselor, and bound him with chains to prevent his struggling, and dragged him away from the bridge. The King began pacing up and down his gold bridge, even angrier than he was before. Being angry like this was definitely an emotional experience, and emotions were normal to have when you had a soul.

The King finally sat back down on his throne, and then, pressed another button on its circuitry. His Chief Steward Kaliko appeared again, his single eye impassive, as if none of this surprised him.

"Fetch my pipe!" yelled the King.

"Your pipe is already here, your Majesty," replied Kaliko as the pipe phased into existence in the Nome King's mouth.

"Then get my herb!" roared the King.

"The herb is in your pipe, your Majesty," returned the Steward, and metal flakes appeared inside the smoking implement.

"Then bring a live coal from a furnace!" commanded the King.

"The herb is burning, and your Majesty is already smoking your pipe," answered the Steward.

"Why, so I am!" said the King, who had forgotten this fact; "but you are very rude to remind me of it."

"I am indeed a lowborn, miserable villain," declared the Chief Steward, humbly, bowing in obsequious submission.

The Nome King could think of nothing to say next, so he puffed away at his pipe (while imagining that he still had lungs) and paced up and down the room again. Finally, he remembered how angry he was, and cried out:

"What do you mean, Kaliko, by being so contented when your monarch is unhappy?"

"What makes you unhappy? Do tell me, oh wise one, for I live to serve," asked the Steward.

"I've lost my Magic Belt. They all say to me that a metal alien in red robes and his flesh companions stole it from me, and they flew away in Gir'Auda. Now, that is preposterous! Gir'Auda has not flown since the War of Heaven! How could such a craft fly now? For certain, it is forgotten!" said the King, seething in rage.

"But, this is the truth, your highness," Kaliko ventured to say. "I witnessed these events first hand along with Orikan the Diviner. I saw the gold ship in its majesty, and the thieves who piloted it. One of them was an alien in red robes, not like us, but similar. Your advisors tell you the truth."

The King fumed before Kaliko for a few long seconds, steam beginning to rise from his crowned head in anger. Abruptly, something in his mind switched, and he was now able to accept that such a thing had happened, that it was not Trazyn who had stolen his Magic Belt, but the other aliens that he had come with.

"I must have my Belt! Half my power is gone with that Belt!" roared the King miserably, finally coming to the conclusion that everyone was telling the truth. "Retrieve the Chief Counselor from space, at once!"

Kaliko stood up only to bow deeply once again, and his singular eye flashed. "The order has been given, your Majesty."

"Good, good," the Nome King mumbled, his green eyes lashing to and fro. "We need to focus on rebuilding our forces and retrieving my Magic Belt, and not focusing on the words of foolish counselors. I do not enjoy having my entire kingdom wake to see their once glorious monarch at half-strength!"

"Certainly, oh wise one. The first question we must tackle is where do we start? Our military is crippled. We only have one Harvest Ship remaining, the one we currently ride upon."

Roquat made a musing sound, and tapped his long fingers against his staff. "Firstly, I must ask, is it true, Kaliko? Is it really true? Gir'Auda flying again? Is this true, and not a deception? How could such a thing be?"

"Yes, your Majesty. Gir'Auda flies once again. It is most unfortunate that those who pilot it are also those who have stolen from you. It seems fate weaves fickle stories in childish hands, your Majesty."

"That's certainly a poetic way of putting it. You should write that down! I like that!"

Kaliko's eye flashed again, giving an order to transcribe what he had just said. The King seemed to forget what he had been talking about for a brief moment, until brightening again.

"Gir'Auda. The hated Equerry of the Old Ones..." the King mused, steepling his fingers on his throne. "The shattering of such a thing would bring our people's names to the fore of all Necrons, you know. We'd be respected once again, and not shunned simply because of our unique souled natures, and we'd have enough living gold to build an even more luxurious capitol ship! Perhaps fate wove our next move into the tapestry of time, no?"

Kaliko did not understand. "Your Majesty?"

"What I tell you is that I require both the return of my belt, and the reconstruction of our military. Facing Gir'Auda with a single Harvest Ship and a small fleet would be suicidal, and since I am quite happy with my soul, I do not wish to die and lose it. Perhaps a visit to less organized neighbors and their allyship is in order?"

"What are you proposing?"

"I know that my brother has been awake for some time. He languishers in his Kingdom far to the southeast. He suffers from depression and a darkening of his spirit, as he has also been shunned by his fellows for the crime of possessing a soul. It has been too long since I have visited dear brother Valgûl. I could not rouse him from his ennui when I visited him alone recently, but perhaps, if I show him that I am ready to be active once again in the galaxy with my awakened Nome people, he will brighten and spring to life!"

"Valgûl..." Kaliko hummed, his singular eye flickering as he retrieved all relevant information on Roquat's equally eccentric (and dangerous) brother. The two were somewhat estranged, but ultimately, the brothers did care for one another. Both were the twin sons of a great Phaeron from millions of years ago, his name and kingdom unfortunately forgotten to time. Both Roquat and Valgûl held the grand achievement of shattering a C'tan (with Valgûl actually destroying his foe), but still, both brothers remained inexplicably shunned by all other Necrons.

Why were they all so mean to them, Roquat abruptly thought, imagining suddenly that he was crying, but no tears fell from his face as he waited for Kaliko to speak. It was so wretchedly unfair!

"Are you proposing we take our remaining forces to Drazak in an offer of allyship, your Majesty?" Kaliko dubiously asked.

"There's no way that we can, with what we have now, retrieve our lost riches and complete our great galactic work in our present state. Valgûl has a strong military, but he is not a good military leader. His troops, from what I saw, are very undisciplined! It would be good to have another meeting with my brother anyway, for I have not visited him in some time."

"What about your Magic Belt, oh wise one?"

"It will be retrieved, fear not, Kaliko! Have you already forgotten about the second remaining shard of The Sleeper?" The King tapped his fingers against his staff, and it briefly glowed brightly. "We can always sense where the belt is through my staff, but we need a strong military in order to attempt an assault on Gir'Auda herself. Valgûl will help us, I'm sure. It is a righteous cause!"

Kaliko was about to form a protest, but then, the green orb at the end of the Nome King's staff began to brighten, and a strange multicolored radiance began to spill from it. As quickly as it brightened, it began to dim once again. The King began to slowly smile. "You see, even the alien could not resist putting it on. My belt is certainly alluring, and now that it is being worn, we can now track the thief even easier as he flies in Gir'Auda's bosom. We have time, Kaliko, but right now, we don't have resources to strike at the Equerry directly."

The Chief Steward did not respond, and even seemed to sigh in resignation even though he lacked breath. None of the erratic behaviors demonstrated by the Nome King surprised Kaliko. Roquat was as eccentric as he was brilliant, and Kaliko certainly hoped a more moderate mood would strike the King as time went on. And if not, Kaliko would certainly be there to become the new King of the Nomes should the unthinkable occur. With new leadership in the future, maybe the Nomes would not be so tilted toward madness? Orikan had told him as much when they had met, so for now, the Chief Steward continued biding his time.

The King was now in a very happy mood, and leapt off his feet to strike a heroic pose. He swirled his flowing metal cape around him, and struck his staff against the floor dramatically. "We set course for Drazak. It will be good to see my dear brother once again. Isolation causes him depression and it is not healthy for his soul, no no! A military campaign to shatter legendary Gir'Auda will certainly cheer Valgûl up right as rain, so I know he will agree! After I retrieve my belt, all the galaxy will know us as heroes for shattering that gold abomination, and all the Necron people will finally respect us!"

"As you wish, your Majesty," Kaliko responded with a deep bow once again, his eye flickering as he sent the order to another Cryptek who passed it on to Roquat's remaining three generals, who responded in alarm, even assaulting the unfortunate Cryptek who relayed the information in disbelief. The journey to Drazak would be long, so maybe the virally-cursed Necrons of the Nome Kingdom would have time to relax before encountering the similarly-cursed Necrons of the Bone Kingdom. Relaxation and the moderation of one's emotional facilities was an essential part of owning a normal soul that could experience the full spectrum of feeling, after all.

Kaliko was then able to perceive that the Cryptek he had given orders to had now been beaten into unfunctionality, and Roquat's generals were now brawling mindlessly among themselves. It would be a long journey, indeed.

Elsewhere:

"The xenos are moving," Tay'Vahl whispered in a small voice as he placed a hand against his psychic hood. The four marines beside him watched him eagerly for news in the small space inside the Fidelus Oculous, a small stealth craft built for dangerous missions in the far wild reaches of the Ghoul Stars.

The elite Deathwatch Kill-team had been hastily sent on a secretive mission from Fort Pykman after many of their sensitive numbers had been plagued with terrible dreams and visions of a golden bird blazing across the galaxy. The visions had reached a fever pitch after the Great Rift rended the galaxy in twain in a scream of agony that rang across the Warp like a bell. Rooms in the Omega Vault on Watch Fortress Erioch had opened, and one of them had contained a small sculpture of a gold bird, along with a mysterious information disk which the Techmarines of Erioch were currently decrypting. The Inquisition had been notified, but they had not yet heard a response yet concerning this. In the meantime, the Deathwatch had decided to investigate.

At the same time as all of this, another Warp rift had torn a hole in reality where Levant used to be. And even worse, heightened Aeldari activity had been noted in the area around the Exodite world of Quilan, which caused grave concern to the Watch Fortress. Tay'Vahl, their oldest and most venerated Librarian, was sent with four other Deathwatch marines along with a Navigator and a bare bones crew of servitors to investigate where his dreams had told him to go. Most strangely, the Librarian had found his intuition directing them to an unremarkable Necron Tomb World named Kolch.

The Kill-team had only come out of Warp less than an hour ago in the periphery of the Kolch system, and had been met with the horrifying surprise of a newly awakened Necron fleet emerging from the damaged planet like flies buzzing around spoiled meat. Kolch had been cracked, and now, a swarm of hated silver fiends flew dangerously about the wreckage of the planet. Far too outmatched, the Deathwatch stealth craft snuck behind the wide rings of an outer planet, and hoped that they had not been seen. Right now, the xenos appeared confused, but were now beginning to swarm together like a cloud of metal locusts, organizing themselves.

"They are now orienting themselves to the galactic southeast. They seek-" the Librarian closed his eyes and reached within the Warp, searching for any indication of what their mysterious destination might be. "They are seeking to meet with more of their kind. That is what I can safely perceive of them from here. To do a more comprehensive study, we would need to get closer," Tay'Vahl took a short breath to continue speaking.

"Good work," Captain Tullan quickly interjected. "Anything about a gold phoenix? A gold eagle of fire?"

The Librarian opened his grey eyes, and clenched his jaw impatiently, irritated on being interrupted from his viewing. He furrowed his brow. "A fading vision, I believe. It was here, but it has since departed. It is the the reason, I sense, Kolch has been broken. The Warp here is damaged as if from a violently imperfect Warp translation, but I cannot be certain. My inner eyes are cloudy on this."

"So, the bird may be a xenos weapon? Necron?" Brother Ljor asked, his mechanical hand clenching on the hilt of his power sword. Ljor was a veteran of fighting Necrons, and it was no secret among his brothers that he held a special hatred toward the soulless aliens after they took his right arm.

"Uncertain. It may even be that the Necrons were attacked by it. The gold construct's Warp shadow is heavy, I doubt that it is Necron technology. I feel the impression that the construct went in the opposite direction that the Necrons travel in. If we get closer, I might be able to refine my sense, but I do not recommend chasing the tail of a newly-woken Necron Fleet. They are many, we are one, and we know not the nature of these newly awoken xenos." The Librarian was growing impatient with the eagerness his crew, as they were all under half his age, and despite being fine warriors, they were also impulsive. Impulsivity in this dangerous region of space would get anyone killed. Luckily, Tay'Vahl was the ranking leader on this mission, and not the trigger-happy Captain.

"We are no further to understanding any of what we set out to understand concerning the gold bird, then," the Captain replied. "Can you tell where the construct may have flown?"

The Librarian gritted his teeth in annoyance, and touched his psychic hood again with his hand as he pushed his psychic eye outward into the region, and to the west, where felt the subject of their curiosity had flown. Maybe it wasn't even a physical construct at all, he wondered idly. It could be some kind of Warp entity, considering how bright it always seemed to be in visions. If that was the case, then this was more a job for the Ordo Malleus, and not them. He would have to have a talk with the Watch Master when they got back.

As he prodded, his mind's eye was drawn to something. The wide dust cloud surrounding what was called the "Broken Desert of Nubua" seemed to be brightening. The Deadly Desert was always a dark place, and to view it brought visions of despair, so it was typically avoided. The sudden brightening of the dark band of dust was very unusual.

Tay'Vahl decided to look further.

"Open the shutters, point craft toward the Broken Desert of Nubua. Something is happening there, I sense it," the Librarian brusquely instructed the Kill-team and pushing himself to the front of their vessel.

"Sudden motion risks the xenos discovering our location," the Captain protested.

"I'm giving you an order, Tullan. Don't want to hear any guff from you anymore," Tay'Vahl growled.

The shutters at the front of the vessel snapped open. Ahead of a stellar backdrop of stars, and the band of the Milky Way galaxy itself in the southwest, rocks and dust from a large planetary ring partially obscured their view, but with a few gentle turns of the Fidelus Oculus, they were now pointed in the direction of the mysterious Deadly Desert. Further away in the system, the xenos did not appear to notice them on their scanners, and continued to organize themselves like a flock of chaotic metal birds.

Tay'Vahl pushed his psychic vision further as the Deadly Desert slowly continued to brighten. What was happening there?

The Librarian then staggered back as if struck in the chest. His psychic vision brightened and blazed like the fury of the Emperor's light, racing through his soul like wildfire!

"The Astronomican!" Tay'Vahl abruptly shouted, pointing toward the dust cloud thousands of light years to the southwest. "It brightens the cloud!"

"How can this be?!" Captain Tullen stood aside the stunned Librarian, mouth agape.

For a few long seconds, no one else could say anything as the Kill-team watched the display in awe. Even if the Great Rift did not exist, they were still far out of the typical range of the Astronomican's light. This was impossible! But still, the Broken Desert of Nubua, normally a black obscuring smear on any long range scanners, continued to brighten until it resembled a shimmering serpent of flame dancing across space!

"The Astronomican surges! It cuts through the Great Rift! The Emperor's eye is affixed to the Broken Desert! The... the..." Tay'Vahl could scarcely compose himself as he witnessed images he could not comprehend in his mind, each flickering and dying before the Librarian could study them. When the next words came through him, he did not know what they meant. "The Weeping King seeks the Omega? The..."

A scream from behind them as their Navigator cried out in pain, similarly affected. The other members of the Kill-team had backed up from this scene, and were now drawing their weapons, uncertain as to what they should do.

"No, no it can't be! A woman?!"the Librarian shouted with emotion as the Broken Desert brightened further. A light began to push through the desert, and even began to brighten their craft! "A woman of holy light astride the Great Eagle! She seeks the Wizard! She seeks. She-" the Librarian's eyes began to bleed. "The Omega is on a quest! She seeks the Wizard!"

"The Wizard!" the Navigator was now also screaming. He began to claw at his face with his hands, cutting bloody furrows into his cheeks with his own fingernails. "She's off to see the Wizard!" he laughed in a mad, sing-song voice!

"She's off to see the Wizard!" Tay'Vahl madly gasped out, his voice cracking in his reverie. "The wonderful Wizard of-"

Molech! the Librarian felt the word strike him, but he did not voice it. Using his great discipline, he kept the name of that planet secret within himself, and committed it to memory. Molech! The Great Eagle was flying to Molech! He had to tell his superiors!

A vision struck him then, stronger than any vision he had even held before in his six hundred years.

A tall woman bathed in golden light held two thin swords of holy power. She had long white hair, gold eyes like stars, and wore a gold crown of laurels upon her head. The Librarian instantly knew that she was a holy force of divine retribution against the enemies of mankind. Before her, a monstrous Chaos marine wearing profane black armor stood, his body wreathed in the corrupting energies of the ruinous powers. His eyes were also gold, and his wicked pale face was etched with both depthless hatred, and the tiniest sliver of fear as he stood before the defiant angelic power before him. His daemonic sword radiated hellish strength, and it supernaturally thirsted for the soul of the woman before him. The sword's name was "murder", and it hungered. Around this scene, the four Chaos powers gibbered and laughed in delightful entertainment, the Changer of Ways laughing the loudest as he ascended as the new preeminent Chaos power in the galaxy.

The Librarian fell to the ground as stigmata erupted from his eyes and ears. Alarms had now begun to blink in the cabin as one of their crew noticed that they had been seen, and that the Necrons were now heading their way!

**Author's note: The Nome King section was taken very closely from a chapter of "The Emerald City of Oz". The chapter referenced can be found under a google search of "How the Nome King Became Angry". While this fic isn't a strict crossover, I still use a lot of Wizard of Oz elements. Knowledge of Oz lore isn't essential to enjoy this fic, but it is fun. Thank you everyone for reading this far!**