21 Tragedy of the Necrontyr
(Music of 40k: Warhammer 40K: Space Marine 2 (Empire of Excellence - Daleilla))
Szarekh stared at one of the enormous bio-furnaces that roared across the Necrontyr planet, thickening the atmosphere with charred smoke and gas. Many different C'tan swarmed about in the air the smoke exits of the bio-furnaces. He was being led by a soldier who had already undergone the biotransference process and now possessed an immortal metal body of necrodermis. Szarekh was being taken to a specific part of the bio-furnace, where high-ranking figures, such as himself, would be given a body of necrodermis to match their status.
He entered the bio-furnace and took in everything around him. The area smelled of decay and rot, not too unfamiliar with sulfur, as the old diseased bodies of the Necrontyr were abandoned. Along the sides of the walls, stood rows and rows of immortal Necrontyr soldiers standing at the ready.
'The Old Ones won't be able to cope with our new power.' Szarekh thought in satisfaction.
He nodded to the guards as he passed by them, but they didn't return the greeting, only standing idle as if awaiting orders. Szarekh might have realized that something was terribly wrong at this point if only his thoughts were not consumed by the benefits of these changes in the coming retaliation war against the Old Ones.
He stepped through a portal door to the room with his specialized body was stored and the biotransference protocol would take place. His new body looked about 1 meter taller than the average Necrontyr soldiers he had just passed. Equipped with additional features and technology that allow for streamlined communication and command of the ranks of Necrontyr forces, it would let him become a menace to the Old Ones during the war.
Szarekh walked up the short set of stairs and reached a coffin covered in pipes, wires, and fluorescent green energy in circuit lines and patterns. On the front of the coffin was a glowing green symbol of an Ankh and the symbol of the current dynasty below it. Flexible wires and pipes connected directly into the immortal Necrodermis body laid on the slab table next to it.
He took a deep breath and took in the final moment before he entered the coffin before him. He glanced at the soldier who had followed him up to this point and resolved himself. He stepped into the coffin. The machine buzzed and green lightning arced out from it. The bio-transference process had finally begun.
...
2 hours later.
Szarekh stood silently as he watched a C'tan gouge itself on the fumes exiting the bio-furnace he had just exited from. He no longer felt the aches and pains he always had as a Necrontyr. The nigh endless stamina and immortality this new body of Necrodermis offered was the dream that all Necrontyr had since millions of years ago. And yet, as Szarekh watched the animal-like enjoyment of the C'tan as it feasted on the fumes, he had just now realized that he had made a great mistake.
He could no longer feel the emotions he used to. There was something important missing from his very being, a will and imagination that made up who he was. Now, he only had his mind left. He could feel his intellect run faster than ever before. He could calculate impossibly long mathematical equations in only a few seconds. But he had lost everything that made him- himself.
'What gains a man if he obtains the whole universe, but loses his soul?' Szarekh thought sadly.
The C'tan continued to feast, and Szarekh recognized what it was eating now. With his new body, he could sense the life energy of living things more clearly than before. The C'tan were eating the life energy of himself, of all the Necrontyr people who underwent the process. Somewhere, within those mix of fumes, That C'tan was eating what was left of his soul.
Szarekh felt something flicker within him for a slight moment. Perhaps it was only the remaining residue of who he once was, but no matter the cause, it happened. He felt overwhelming fury at the C'tan.
'BETRAYAL' Szarekh screamed in his mind.
But despite screaming these thoughts in his mind, his body did not make any outward movements. It continued to watch the C'tan, awaiting orders from it. The C'tan were extremely clever with their plans, adding hierarchical structure into the command structure of the Necrodermis bodies. As the Necrontyr were reduced to mere sentient robot soldiers, the C'tan would strip away all resistance they might have had to them as their personal army.
All Szarekh can do now is rage in the depths of his mind. Slowly and silently, he recorded a task in his dead mechanical heart as even the anger faded into blandness. Justice must be done for the Necrontyr people. His people deserve justice for this betrayal and for the priceless treasure they have lost.
...
Mephet'ran, the Deceiver, stood comfortably in front of a podium among the circle of podiums in a large room. Rows and rows of soldiers stood at attention surrounding him and the rest of his fellow C'tan. The other C'tan stood at their own podiums, with their sets of troops also standing behind them. Each C'tan took to customizing the legions under them to some small degree and Mephet'ran was no different. He added spider leg appendages that curled around his important commanders' heads and shoulders. In some cases, he would imbue a small portion of himself into these figures, allowing them to also warp reality and manipulate energy in small areas.
He looked around the room at the satisfied fluctuations coming from most of the C'tan present. They had tasted the sweetness of the life energy of an entire race of people and they all knew that they could never go back to the blandness of star radiation. They were here now, they had an immortal army of death that would bring them the food of entire races in this universe.
"Necrontyr- no. Necrons-" Mephet'ran paused.
"Who is your master?" Mephet'ran finished asking.
"We serve the C'tan. We serve Mephet'ran(Different legions saying the name of their C'tan commander)." The Necron's mechanical voices overlapped as they spoke.
"It is time. Among you, we will select chosen. Our knowledge, we will teach you and you will be the Crypteks." Mag'ladroth, the Void Dragon, announced.
"Then there will be war. " Nyadra'zatha, the one who gave the Necrontyr the Dolomen Gates, spoke.
"There will be death." Aza'gorod, the Nightbringer, followed.
"There will be... a feast." Iash'uddra finished, its creepy overlapping voices echoing.
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More chapters on my pat reon:
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