"I am old… This is a reality that all life must face in time, but for the priesthood we often forget that we are indeed human. Limited by mortality, damned to wither to dust as all things must. For most adepts, this becomes a matter of stealing the vitality of younger humans. Organ transplants, supplemented blood, and stolen years sustain us so that we may imitate the immunity to time enjoyed by that of the Legiones Astartes. We strive to be like the machine… But we are not, in fact, Machines."
- From, De rebus machinis et xenaritis. Written by Archmagos Battista Albrecht Ghetaldi, 348.M36
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Quill held the Heretic Astartes down with his data spike, his malicious kill codes coursing through the antiquated power armor. Illusory devices couldn't stop the vulnerabilities of such an old machine spirit. They were but a pale imitation of the robustness of the Mark X. Armaros desperately reached a hand forwards for his chainsword, but it was snapped up by another one of Quill's mechanical snakelike appendages.
"You won't be needing this when we're done with you, traitor. I'm certain your fellow squadmates will be curious as to who you really are." Armaros laughed, which isn't what Quill expected. What he knew of the Alpha Legion was that they were every bit as serpentine as their iconography, "Yes, I'm sure they're morbidly curious Magos. I'm certain…" While his cogitators were certain that the most direct route was the correct one, as computers often decided, Quill had that ever present seed of doubt. Armaros, or whoever this was, was privy to this.
"Perhaps we should contact them right now, you can tell them my secrets so long as you're alright with me doing the same with yours."
"Alternative outcome, I simply kill you now and blame one of the Wraiths."
"You could do that, Magos. Unless I leave the other four a quick emergency message, I've studied our codes for a long time, priest. Do you trust your ability to stop me before I tell the others what I know about you? Alternatively… We can come to an agreement, since neither of us are exactly strict adherents to the Emperor's will."
As much as Quill believed himself to be working within the bounds of the wills of the Omnissiah, he was painfully aware how little his methods were accepted by the rest of the cohort, let alone the priesthood. Quill knew of how astartes encoded their messages to each other, he likely couldn't stop him from ruining his own plans.
"The fact of the matter, Magos, is that we are both working for ulterior motives. Motives we all wish to keep enshrouded, there is nothing you can do that would prevent me from bringing yours to the attention of every interested party on this planet." Quill's augments were working furiously to find any potential traps at hand, yes he could shut off Armaros's Vox but he could have other, hidden devices to transmit data to agents elsewhere who could simply carry out his sabotage for him. He'd have to thoroughly check for anything of the sort, and that would take far too long. While his sensors were working towards finding a way out, he heard something. Claws scraping and metal dragging. A rumbling tore through the stonework beneath them and Quill's dataspike was ripped free by an Ophydian Destroyer lunging from the ground at the both of them. Armaros immediately grabbed his flamer and was back on his feet, but before he could steal back the Darkfire Cannon, Quill had already grabbed it. The two were separated by the tunneling Xenos before them, Armaros chuckled.
"I believe this is a matter best handled by you, Magos." a distortion formed around the Astartes, opening into a warp rift which Armaros retreated through immediately.
"Ave Deus Mechanicus!" Quill hailed the other four Astartes within the tomb, "This is Magos Tahr'Kull. I need assistance immediately! The Cryptek has been felled but there are more Necrons converging on my location!"
"Acknowledged, Magos. We are on our way," Sergeant Azracai's voice responded, "what of Brother Armaros?" Quill was about to answer, every instinct screamed at him to warn Azracai of Armaros' true allegiance, but he couldn't get one thought out of his head. There was no guarantee there weren't more traitors in here with him. Were he to say everything now, that could serve only to doom him. Subject to either being hunted by Alpha Legionnaires or cast out of the Cult Mechanicus entirely. For now, he was trapped.
"We… Were separated, but if I am to die here in this Omnissiah forsaken crypt then I cannot help you find him!"
"I am sending a closer rendezvous point than we previously established, we're on our way with all haste." Communications closed, and Quill broke for the exit. The Destroyer charged after him, Quill whipped around and unleashed a shot from his Volkite blaster, which plinked ineffectively against the Destroyer's armored body. Quill would have stood and fought, but his sensors picked up two more sources of tremors in the stone, there were more and he was little else but prey. That he had killed their master meant nothing to the mindless beasts of metal and blasphemy. Without anything giving them orders, they defaulted to the only thing they knew. Hunt down the invading outsiders.
Elatus had been Armaros for a long time. Though his perception of time had been all but destroyed by the sheer length of his life, he figured it had been about five standard Terran years. Years of plotting, a plan set within plans. All to destroy one very inconveniently placed waystation. Their real goal was a long destroyed Manufactorum, rife with supplies and machinery that could sustain him and his warband. To move the Venerable Basilisks in their entirety would set off alarms for certain. A nudge here, a slight misfiling there, and careful strategizing ensured Elatus had everything he needed to send the initial fake protocols of awakening to the Tomb that lay right beneath their feet. The Lion's sons were unaware of the Necrons, but the Sorcerer Telemateus had told Elatus of an ancient human settlement that warned of the dead rising on nights of heavy rain.
Superstition built on coincidence, Elatus was sure. But the original cause of the myth was irrelevant in the face of how useful it could prove to the Alpha Legion, their path lay open. Though Elatus couldn't help but note the growing excitement within the ranks of the Dark Mechanicum on board Obsidian Whisper. He had learned, over the eons, that when the Dark Mechanicum got excited it meant things were going to get messy fast.
His brief warp travel left him clattering to the deck of his vessel, Deception's Venom. It was just as he had left it, still reeking of the struggle to survive in his absence. Scylia stood ready to greet him. She hadn't changed much either save for a few extra emblems sewn into her gown, a new tattoo on her wrist depicting a serpent coiling around it like a bracelet, and a face that betrayed five years of worry and exhaustion. "A pleasure to have you back, Lord. Fair winds among the first legion?"
"As fair as could be expected. The Machine Cult arriving was not part of the plan, why was I not warned?"
"We found out around the same time you did, they transmitted into realspace after Azracai sent out an unexpected emergency distress call." Elatus looked aside, trying to remember the last five years in detail. He was certain he'd destroyed every possible method of sending out such a request. Scylia interrupted his thoughts, "Lord, we need to leave the area. The Shrouded Basilisks are prepared to cast off, we just have to bypass the Mechanicus."
"Not yet." Elatus gruffly spat. Scylia looked up at the Chaos Lord with a look that made her confusion obvious, "Why… Not? My Lord?" Elatus motioned for her to follow him, "The Magos you warned me about when I first went down into that damned crypt. He tapped into our vox net, I underestimated his cunning. A mistake I don't plan on making twice, we need to watch these explorators to ensure they do not alert the Dark Angels to my true nature."
"And… If he does, Lord?"
"Drop the data payloads to his fleet, if he wishes to ruin us we will ruin him."
"Why not just do it now? We could sink him, maybe bring down some of their ships in the chaos." Elatus shook his head, such a direct approach was Scylia's folly from time to time. A holdover from her time in the Astra Militarum.
"We have a proverbial cannon at Magos Tahr'kull's head, our purposes are best served if we don't make an enemy of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The station is destroyed, our lives will be easier if the Explorators get what they came here for, then we slip by without drawing fire upon ourselves we cannot handle." Elatus continued for a beat until he turned back to Scylia, "Unless the entire fleet has been repaired, our armaments have been replenished, and we've recruited new agents?"
"That last one's true at least," Scylia said quickly, "but… Your point is well taken, Lord."
Elatus nodded, "Now, leave me. I have a lot of catching up to do with my brothers." Scylia bowed, and departed. Elatus stopped at a viewport open to the depths of space, his gaze fell across the fleet of ghosts. Floating carcasses, wreckage and junk cobbled together with no discernable markings or identifiers. Phantoms in the void, each hiding a veteran battleship underneath. Each one appearing weak, each one a beautiful lie in its own way. The Chaos Lord always enjoyed looking over the fleet, it helped him plan. Given the presence of the Machine Cult, he had a lot of planning to do in even less time than the Basilisks initially thought.
The Machine Cult prided itself on a steel will, souls of iron and minds of pure logic, this in turn made retreating a very rare prospect for them. The augmented forces of the cult favored offense resembling a hammer, crushing those they fought against a metaphorical anvil. Many adepts of the cult held to this mindset, despite the risk it posed to their soldiers. That was why Pythagoras was infuriated at seeing the Skitarii legions retreat from the attacking Seraptek. He had given no such fall back orders, nor had he sent the structured retreat protocols. Someone had, evidenced by the lockstep vanguard teams covering each others' retreats near flawlessly, but it hadn't been him.
He was the ranking tech priest on site, the battle was under his command until the rest of the cohort landed. Pythagoras boiled with rage at an upstart Skitarii violating his will twice now. Pythagoras directed his robotic giants to rush down the Seraptek; two shots of horrid energy broke through their repulsor grids. Leaving the robots little more than useless scrap, which collapsed onto allies and enemies both as they died. Panicked code flooded from his Cybernetica acolytes, they were rapidly running out of automata to throw at the threat and with command structure failing to reach the Skitarii they had no recourse to stop the onslaught that was driving them back with no signs of stopping.
Pythagoras was busy sending plans and protocols to the rest of the Legio Cybernetica when his vox buzzed to life.
"Adept Xanryl, losses within Skitarii Cohorts exceed acceptable levels. Explain this failure at once"
Pythagoras winced internally, this was the last thing he needed right now. "A temporary setback Lord Anaxagoras. The Nephilimech abominations have unleashed a siege construct to attempt to break us, all we need is to allow the retreating Skitarii to bait it into the effective range of our eradication rays."
"Negative. Statement repetition, we have exceeded acceptable losses. Why have you not sent full retreat routines?" Pythagoras scanned the battlefield, and spotted him. That Omnissiah forsaken Marshal… The one defying his orders, the one who dared violate his routines. Pythagoras burned with disdain for Epsilon and his stolen machine, "This breakdown in command structure is the fault of Marshal unit β, he has driven the battle beyond planned battlelines. The Necron counterattack would never have been so disastrous for the Skitarii had he not overextended, there is a malfunction in his augmetics. I recommend we apprehend him at once after I wrest control of the soldiers back and get us out of this mess." Anaxagoras was silent for a while, but the vox was still open.
"... I am sending a mass retreat, use your automata to slow the Seraptek's advance. The shuttle will make planetfall within one standard hour, ritual commencement will ensure our weapons destroy the offending construct. As is the will of the Omnissiah."
Only then did the vox cut off, Pythagoras sent a belligerent string of binharic curses at Epsilon's name. That was when the datasmith made a decision, a minor redirect to the Kastelans' routing. The robots froze briefly, then turned to charge the Seraptek from a faintly different direction. As a datasmith, Pythagoras was amazing at processing alot of data accurately and quickly. Mounting death rates, split second analysis of enemy defensive capabilities, or the current projected path of a specific troublesome Skitarii Marshal.
"Omnissiah damn you to oblivion…"
Epsilon was desperate for any safe way out of this, one by one entire squads around him were deatomized without even a mere second to scream. Their retreat was structured, and followed all known standard battle routines. But, the problem arose when the Necron defenders rejoined the Seraptek. Shoving the Skitarii back at an exponentially increasing rate, this was the last gasp of the tomb world. With Quill's sabotage complete, they would run out of warriors soon. It wouldn't matter if the attacking army was wiped out before they could recover the STC Fragment and evacuate. While distracted with the frenzy of noospheric data flowing over the cohort, a footstep cut him off. Slamming into the ground next to him, mere inches from crushing him. Had he been following normal procedures, he'd have been crushed to mush and scrap metal.
The impact of the Kastelan charging past them shook the ground, kicking up a new dust storm and sending both Epsilon and the cyberhound he rode to the ground with a metal clang. Emergency contingency code activated, releasing the maglocks. One of unit GR-37Δ's legs was crushed by the second Kastelan's passing. Above, the robots slammed into the Seraptek. Titanic legs thrashed against the ancient machines.
Singularity Cannons fired, but were sent off target by the force of the impact. This brought the retreating Skitarii precious moments to get back to the safety of the line of Dunecrawlers and Ironstriders. The problem was that it also left Epsilon woefully out of position. He sprinted for cover, taking refuge behind the corpse of one of the fallen Kastelans, the cyberhound limped after him with spastic movement and whining servos.
He took a moment to assess, and he was glad to see the Cult soldiers getting away. He glanced down, and saw some of the remains of Skitarii crushed under the robot's collapse. Senseless death, at the hands of those they trusted to have their backs. It was also further evidence that, in Epsilon's mind, justified he and Quill's shared disdain for Pythagoras. He heard the metal monsters getting closer, he was nowhere near the new gunline. Making a break for it now would end with his death, but so would staying put. He gripped his relic pistol, and prepared to hold off the Necrons on his own. He knew it wouldn't make any difference, but what choice did he have?
A wave of noospheric commands slammed into his mind. While he had been micromanaging weaker less overarching commands to try and direct the battle, the Explorator Majoris was capable of sending overwhelmingly powerful noospheric data, he was able to distribute commands and protocols to an entire battle force throughout the cohort. These were significantly harder to resist and ignore when compared to the protocols sent by Pythagoras. Without knowing, Lord Anaxagoras may have just sealed Epsilon's fate. In a desperate bid, he sent one last Binharic command, an emergency code for when ranking officers were in danger. All he could do was hope anyone was left alive to hear it.
Almost there. That's what Quill kept telling himself, just a bit more before he'd reach the Dark Angels' position. His damaged machine body was beginning to struggle under the strain of keeping him going in such a panicked state.
"Magos…"
Quill's augments were working over their expected capacity and speed, keeping him alive. Every time an Ophydian lunged for an attack his machine mind repelled and struck at the monster. It retreated into the stone or into an extra dimensional gate to repair itself and attack again in moments. This was an impossible task to keep up, even for a senior priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
"You will die soon, Magos…"
"I do not know how I could do any better, blessed spirit." Quill came to the room with the carcass of the Tomb Stalker from before, and backed up slowly. The Ophydians would be funneled onto the narrow bridge, where their burrowing ability would be heavily restricted. His augmetics sent requests for aid and his location to the Dark Angels. He could run no longer, he felt himself losing power. Something about channeling the energy of the Cryptek's chamber had overloaded and damaged him.
"You are losing power, Magos. Strike out with your mechadendrite, there is yet more power all around you". Quill's back hit the pillar, he heard the scraping and crushing of stone approaching rapidly, "Where? There are no generators here!" The relic on his person thrummed with an unknown presence, an energy foreign and alien to him. Not a power he could use, but one that told him the great spirit was awakening more.
"It is within them, Magos."
An Ophydian Destroyer burst from the wall overlooking the bridge and leapt forward, green blades of energy hungry for the blood of an intruding human. Quill's body moved before his mind recognized the danger, his implants still functioned but they would soon fail if they did not find rest. His dataspike trembled, and almost against his will slammed into the Ophydian Destroyer's skull shaped head. That same scream sounded in his mind, the one that accompanied the death scream of the Cryptek. It wasn't one of fear or pain, it was… Different. Distorted ecstasy mixed with an ancient tongue. Power coursed through him, though this was far less concentrated than before it was still stressing out his augments.
"More Magos, it is the only way to survive!"
Quill struggled against his own body, his dataspike ripped free and the ingress of power stopped suddenly. "I cannot!" Quill shouted with his flesh voice, mostly out of frustration, "Ave Deus Mechanicus, I am not purely machine holy one. Please understand I am bound by the limits of my remaining flesh form!" Quill stumbled, and grabbed onto a blackstone wall to support himself. He rejected the vile power that permeated him, but this left him drained and exhausted. The final two Ophydians broke through the wall and leapt for him, Quill closed his one remaining eye and awaited the cold of the final death before joining the light of the Omnissiah.
The sound of a burst of flame echoed through the hallway behind him, Quill looked up just in time to see a decorated Marine in shining gold, deep green, and a black pauldron leap into the battle. The head of a Thunder hammer connected with the Ophydian, sending sparks of lightning and the crash of thunder echoing in the chamber. The Necron's head deformed, and its body was sent slamming into the wall. Before falling as a crushed husk down into the depths beneath them. Withering heavy boltgun fire preceded the entrance of a hulking figure in Gravis armor, holding the Ophydian down behind cover. A shimmering barrier of warp energy surrounded Quill, and Lazaron knelt down. Shouldering his force sword.
"Seems we arrived not a moment too soon, Magos Tahr' Kull, Emperor be praised." From the hallway behind the Ophydians came more Necrons from the shadows, basic warriors they may have been but that did nothing to diminish the destructive power of their weapons.
"We have to go!" Shouted Azracai as he ducked behind cover, "Protect the Magos and keep trying to get a hold of Brother Armaros!" Lazaron assisted Quill up, and maintained the protective barrier as both made their way past the covering fire of the first legion towards the waiting Apothecary around the corner.
"Throne, you look like you've been through an entire campaign on your own Magos." Said Haradia as he prepared to quickly treat Quill's most pressing flesh wounds before rapidly realizing Quill had very little flesh left to actually wound. "Lazaron, go assist the others in their retreat. I'll get the Magos out of here." Lazaron nodded and returned to the hallway to provide the other three a chance to escape. As they fled, Azracai hailed the Mechanicus above ground, "This is Sergeant Azracai to Explorator Majoris Anaxagoras, our mission is complete. The explosives will be set off as soon as we are out of the tomb."
"Acknowledged, we will prepare the counterattack for the first opportunity that arises." Sunlight filtered into the tomb from the entrance they entered initially, the wings of the damaged thunderhawk cast a distinct shadow that gave the squad enough of a push to burst out of the entrance and all but collapse on the ground the moment they were out. Quill actually did collapse, but the Astartes all took up defensive positions to pick off anyone that pursued them further. None came.
"We cannot set off the charges while Armaros is still down there!" Shouted Araleal, Lazaron glanced at Quill. A spark of acknowledgement flashed in the Epistolary's eyes, he didn't know specifically what had happened but he knew something was off about Quill's explanation and emotions. Lazaron glanced down, then put a hand on Araleal's ceramite pauldron.
"I'm sorry brother, but I cannot sense him anymore. Armaros has fallen in service to the Emperor." Quill said nothing, it was better to let them think that or let them think they were fooling him. Whether these were real Dark Angels or more Alpha Legionnaires. Azracai walked past the others, and offered Quill a hand up.
"Do it, Magos. Send these damned abominations back to the hell they clawed their way out of."
Caenryx had to give these humans some modicum of credit, they were impressive builders. In a primitive, barbaric way. The winding corridors and inner guts of this ship were a complex maze of steel, copper, and wiring. Some parts were well kept, some looked like intestines spilling from a wound in a metal body. Fiachyth shook her head, and leaned against a pipe. They'd been traveling for a while, never stopping lest the humans detect their presence. She was growing tired from the numerous days strung together like notes in a choir without a single minute of rest. Everything had happened so fast, not too long ago she had been training with her guardian team. Her warlock, her mentor. Dead, the image of his helmet shattered open with thick red blood, skull fragments, and brain matter scattered to the floor hung in her mind.
She was brought back to the present by Caenryx shaking her shoulder. Odd, she thought, normally he was far more rude or obnoxious about getting her attention when she was distracted. Caenryx, however, knew the look and stance of someone who's mind opened the past like a fresh scar, even through their armor.
"Holding up alright, cousin?" Fiachyth shook her head rapidly and continued as if nothing had happened, "I am fine, let us find somewhere to stop as soon as we can." The two exited the maintenance shaft into a room bathed in heat that even the two of them could feel through their gear. Illuminated by molten metal and hydraulic forges, rhythmic clanging of metal on metal and conveyor belts carrying parts of the war machines the humans employed. More of the lobotomized humans roamed the factory floor maintaining the assembly lines, robed adepts and Skitarii soldiers overlooked the proceedings, most of which held weapons designed not to kill, but to torture.
"... Not here, agreed cousin?" Caenryx began to turn back, but Fiachyth grabbed his arm. Caenryx stopped, and gave her a sideways glance. "I know you're hungry for revenge, but we can't get into a fight with that many-"
"No," she interrupted, "Look, across the factory" Caenryx turned to where she was pointing, and there was a round hatch covered in a bit of rust. It looked like it hadn't been used in years.
"We're not going through that." Caenryx said.
"Of course not, but if we find another hallway that goes in that direction…"
Caenryx nodded slowly, "Then we found our hiding place without leaving a noticeable trail. Good thinking." The two nodded at each other and slipped into the factory, sticking to shadows and using their natural physical gifts to maneuver around the overseers and servitors alike. Fiachyth was not as fast or well equipped as Caenryx, but she was still Aeldari. Dancing around these primitives was child's play. The stench of sweat, burned metal, and death permeated every inch of the manufactorum. Fiachyth was repulsed, "How do these humans command so much power with this level of reckless barbarity?"
"Ask again, but from their perspective. How can they not command power?" Caenryx pointed at a Servitor, a massive las-cutter had replaced its natural arm many years ago. A vacant depressed look filled its graying tired eyes. "That thing could turn that tool on its masters at any point, but it doesn't. They've forced its brain to obey and think of nothing but one task. If that's not a good way to maintain obedience I don't know what is. The upside for me is I find it hilarious."
Fiachyth was still a bit unsettled by Caenryx's willingness to take joy in this depraved misery, but she figured old habits die hard. She was only glad he didn't drag her screaming to the Dark City, as any other Drukhari would have done.
"Stick close, I think I see a way forward." The two picked up the pace to get past the floor unseen as a secutor turned his attention to a machine part that needed inspection. They ducked into another similar maintenance tunnel that looked almost indistinguishable from the one they'd left before, but unknown to either a disembodied skull had spotted them. It flashed and sent a wave of Noospheric data elsewhere, a location unseen and unheard by any within the fleet. Once it had sent its message to its master, it flew after the Eldar.
Epsilon fired two shots into the head of a Necron warrior that had advanced to his position, it drew its gauss blaster but the Marshal was faster. Another warrior was separated from its head, a Necron Immortal was burned to molten circuits and an empty metal body by a blast of flame from the heavily damaged cyberhound unit. They'd put up a valiant fight, but the main wave of Xenos was almost upon them, Epsilon turned to face the sound of an approaching enemy, but was knocked aside by the bayonet of a Necron weapon. Though he reached for his weapon, the Necron spun up their gun in preparation to disintegrate him.
A green transonic razor cleaved the weapon in two, causing it to backfire. The Necron was reduced to nothing but half a torso and a pair of legs. Epsilon looked over, KM.438-XOR stood ready for more combat. The Ruststalker had been fully repaired from their encounter with the Eldar, and Epsilon was relieved to have some backup. Xor's robes had been stained brown with the immensity of the dust kicked up in the battle but that distinct Stygian black still shone through the grime. From behind Xor, more green lenses pierced through the dust and approached. Five Skitarii in the colors of Stygies, each ready for battle.
Epsilon recognized one of the Skitarii as the sole survivor from the Exodite planet; Quill had made good on his promise to allow this one to join their personal cohort. Epsilon felt a gust of wind, and above them flew a formation of Transvectors carrying the priesthood down to the battle. They landed and binharic hymns joined the cacophony of battle. The air began to grow palpable with electricity, as the priesthood deployed giant coils and generators to flood the area with immense amounts of the motive force. The battle was soon to turn, the backline just needed an opening. Epsilon looked around, and saw it. A downed Onager Dunecrawler lay behind them, one of its rear limbs had been destroyed but it otherwise looked to be in working order.
"Skitarii units, target designation uploaded. Coordinates incoming, destroy all in our path. Unit KM.438-XOR, run bodyguard routines." The Skitarii saluted, while Xor slipped backwards on stilt-like limbs into the cover of the sandstorm. A menial may think Xor had abandoned his post, but Epsilon knew how Sicarians worked. Almost as if by providence, a Canoptek Wraith that had been heavily damaged by combat charged for Epsilon. The Ruststalker flew from the dust and cleaved it in half with humming blades of energized metal.
Epsilon took off, unit GR-37Δ and the Skitarii elite followed. They carved a path of destruction through the Necrons. Their weapons feeding off the electricity in the area, making each one significantly more powerful than they should have been. Arc rifles left Necrons spasming on the ground, Plasma rent them apart in the same manner they rent the humans. They were making good time, and the Necrons were losing momentum.
As they approached the Dunecrawler, they'd drawn unwanted attention, and had to take cover before they could load into the damaged war machine. A skitarius sent Epsilon a string of machine code, alerting him and the entire squad that the walker's main gun had been damaged. They'd need time to repair it.
Epsilon cursed, and as he was about to respond tremors ran through the ground underfoot. Five points of the main crypt exploded in a spray of fire, shrapnel, and blackstone rubble. The Necrons didn't stop to notice, but some of them were struck by the flying debris as were some of the Mechanicus. Epsilon noted the tomb's heavy damage left the Necrons that came out partially damaged themselves, or less numerous. Now they had to clean up what remained, though the Seraptek's continued lethal assault made that a difficult proposition.
With it getting so close to the backlines, Epsilon had figured they'd unleash on it with their heavy weapons. Yet they didn't, Epsilon opened the Vox net and hailed Pythagoras, "Datasmith Xanryl, Seraptek is closing in on optimal positions, state cause of delays for ground team to attempt to overcome."
Elsewhere, Pythagoras was fuming to hear Epsilon was still alive but the giant Necron monstrosity that was getting closer to him superseded his grudge. "We cannot kill it with this, not yet. We need more time! The cohort is charging up power for us now but it will take us longer than we have!"
Epsilon glanced at the Dunecrawler then back to the Seraptek, "Divert excess power to my position."
"What?! You dare demand diversion of the Motive Force now?! I should-"
"Field team located at almost operational walker unit, weapons systems will provide enough of a distraction for Seraptek defender. Opportunity to strike with full cohort power will follow, likelihood approaching certainty provided previous parameters are met."
"I… Ave Deus Mechanicus… Fine, I will tell the Corpuscarii to send acolytes to you with excess power. May the Omnissiah save us all…" Epsilon immediately began sending orders to the Skitarii, he, Xor, and the heavy weapons would defend this position while the remaining Skitarii worked on repairs. Fortunately, the Emanatus Forcefield was functional and gave them a zone of protection. They had to ensure the repairs were uninterrupted and finished by the time the Corupuscarii arrived, Epsilon was growing less certain they were capable with each passing second. The amount of Necrons that had diverted from the battle to chase them was alarming.
A tide of silver approached, only the Omnissiah knew how they were to defend against it. Xor stood ready to leap at any attackers that breached the field, galvanic and specialized weapons cut down the attackers as fast as they could, the Dunecrawler's Heavy Stubber kept at least some warriors from breaching the perimeter.
"Marshal, present armaments insufficient to contain Xenos threat. Requesting reevaluation of battle strategy." One of the Skitarii said, which in Skitarii terms could be either very bored or extremely panicked. It was hard to tell sometimes.
Rumbling grew close, Epsilon glanced aside briefly and saw an extremely damaged Kastelan robot charging forward. Smashing into the approaching Necrons, its repulsor grid deflected some shots, while only absorbing others. Its shoulder mounted phosphor blaster melted down Necrodermis, its one remaining fist smashed into Heavier Necrons. Flattening them. Epsilon was confused, until he saw Pythagoras of all people break through the Emenatus forcefield and take up a position next to him. "Omnissiah damn you Marshal unit, by the Three-in-One I don't know why I bother saving you when you ended up this far out of position."
"Statement carries purposeful ignorance of causation, ground team demise equals demise for entire explorator ground army. Demise for ground army equals demise for orbiting personnel. Unit and Datasmith have had many disagreements, this does not qualify as one. We must save the fleet."
There was a beat of silence as the two stared at each other, both of their faces had long since been replaced by steel and glass, but the meaning was clear. For all their bickering, they couldn't allow the fleet to suffer. Neither of them were willing to put the self above the many.
"The electro-priests will be here in a Transvector momentarily, accompanied by personally requested fusillade bombardments. I may not like you, but Ave Deus Mechanicus I'll rust before I allow damned Necrons to kill anyone under the service of the Cult Mechanicus." Epsilon nodded sternly, any appreciation he felt could wait. They had to survive first, whether their grudge did or not. In the face of an almost unstoppable juggernaut like that, or the impending breakout of an entire Necron tomb, neither of them could deny one overwhelming truth. Despite Quill's success, despite their initially effective hold, and despite their cohort's arrival, one wrong move could mean a disaster for the entire sector of Imperium space.