Like the first Orks struck by the Gauss weapons, all of his skin and muscle tissue were flayed away layer by layer under the barrage of green lightning, vaporized and drawn into the barrels until nothing remained but a bare skeleton.
[Purge!]
[Purge!]
The demise of a mighty foe stirred no emotion within the Necron Warriors. Green light flashed through their mouth slits as they fired unceasingly, striding toward the surging Ork tide.
"Waaaaaagh!"
With an enraged howl, Orks trampled over the ashes of their fallen kin and finally reached the Necron Warriors, landing crushing blows to butcher the metal Humies.
Countless Necrons were decapitated, sparking electrical bursts as their mechanical limbs twitched and fell.
In the very next moment, the Orks were utterly dumbfounded.
The metal Humies they had hacked into pieces had severed limbs crawling across the ground, piecing themselves back together into whole forms.
Such was the nature of Living Metal.
So long as it was not completely obliterated, the living alloy would, with the passage of time, coalesce back into its predetermined structure.
The more severely damaged Necron Warriors vanished outright from the battlefield.
Deep within the Tomb World, rows of teleportation arrays illuminated. Damaged Necron Warriors from the battlefield materialized, their Living Metal fully reconstructed, before stepping through the portals once more to rejoin the fray.
"I must head to orbital space."
Inside the Joint Command Center, Junior glimpsed the Auspex feed and immediately excused himself, setting off toward the void ship hovering in orbit.
Watching the Necron warships rise from beneath the earth and ascend enveloped in green light, he knew precisely what had to be done.
"An ancient race is stirring from slumber; we must be fully prepared."
Junior glanced at Sigismund and turned away from the command console: "I have synchronized the relevant archives to the Joint Operations Center."
He walked briskly, never having seemed so anxious, shaking his head repeatedly as he left.
He finally understood why this nameless Star System was so abundant in natural resources.
This was the resting ground meticulously chosen by the Necrons before their great hibernation!
Furthermore, Junior knew he had to reach the void ship to prepare for the impending naval engagement.
Once the Necrons established an orbital blockade, it would be far too late.
Between the lines of the Gene-Father's archives, deep apprehension toward these ancient Overlords was evident; none dared view them with the slightest contempt.
The Necrons held an unimaginable, absolute supremacy in the realm of physical science and technology.
Those unkillable Necron Warriors were merely the basic soldiers of that formidable race.
Other far mightier units and vastly more incomprehensible technologies were reawakening deep beneath the ground.
They ought to have slumbered peacefully, yet had been disturbed by the external war; now waking with fury, their hatred would engulf all in its path!
Amidst the desolation, crescent-shaped Necron void ships emerged directly from the subterranean soil, climbing swiftly into the heavens via arcane technology.
The Ork scrap cannons fired immediately to intercept, shells crashing against the Living Metal hulls and leaving cratered gouges.
Yet in the next second, the Living Metal writhed, restoring the hulls to pristine perfection.
The fifteen-kilometer-long void ships broke through orbit in a mere dozen seconds, vanishing at speeds beyond human comprehension.
The Necron warships shot into the sky, breaking free from the kill web spun by humanity and the Orks, and hurtled toward the depths of the starry expanse.
At that very moment, bizarrely shaped warships across various worlds utilized dimensional technology to burst from underground, escaping the atmosphere at maximum speed to rendezvous with friendly forces in the void.
Aboard the shuttle, Junior's handsome face turned grim as ice as he watched the Xenos constructs breach the surface and voidships continuously ascend into the sky.
All of this proved that the awakening of the Necrons was now an undeniable fact.
Junior's thoughts raced: Faced with the cataclysm of this core dynasty, how could it be stopped?
The reflection of green warships flashed across his dark eyes, and his heart tightened: Judging by the scale of the awakening, this Star System was very likely the core territory of the Necron Dynasty.
"Relay my orders."
Inside the shuttle, Junior issued a low, crisp command, and the holographic order panel lit up immediately, awaiting his directives.
"Imperial Fists fleet, abandon the blockade of the war world and fall back at top speed to defend the Phalanx."
"Luna Wolves fleet, center on the Vengeful Spirit, tighten your formation, and engage the Necrons fleet with conservative tactics."
"Iron Warriors fleet, pull back your defensive line, secure high orbit over the ground forces, and defend against the Necrons fleet. The Argent Nur fleet will assist you in holding the front line."
Three consecutive orders, all leaning toward conservatism, abandoning their existing advantages.
"Archon." Holographic figures flickered to life alongside the greeting; the conservative orders had indeed met with resistance.
Following the departure of the Primarchs, the three appointed temporary Legion Commanders appeared in the holographic projection.
"Your Excellency, Archon." Forrix dipped his head slightly in respect before raising an objection: "Such an order is unacceptable to the Iron Warriors."
He pressed his case firmly. "Our current favorable situation—the systemic advantage won with such difficulty—is the result of the Lord of Iron's master strategy."
"As his Gene-sons, the Iron Warriors will defend our Gene-Father's victory with our blood."
Forrix refused to execute the command: "Forgive our insolence, but we cannot carry out your order."
The Iron Warriors' First Company Commander remained unyielding, the resolute lines of his rugged face drawn tight, his eyes filled with unshakable determination.
Sejanus nodded slightly; though he spoke no words, he made the stance of the Luna Wolves clear.
Lastly, Sigismund—the Templar Knight furrowed his brows in silence, his gaze deep and his attitude ambiguous.
Evidently, the Legion Warriors' personal friendship and reverence could not sway the Commanders' resolve into giving orders that contradicted the strategic situation.
Junior was not surprised, sweeping his gaze across the three men's faces.
He knew that deep within the hearts of the Space Marines lay a blind veneration for their Primarchs; they would not lightly question or overturn a Primarch's deployments and decisions.
"I am not negotiating with you."
Junior was straightforward; he did not have the luxury of time to persuade the Legion Commanders to submit.
In such a pivotal moment, a far more forceful authority was required to decisively centralize power.
Coincidentally, he held just that in his hands.
Hearing the Archon's uncompromising words, the holographic projection plainly revealed the astonishment across the temporary Commanders' faces.
They had never imagined the Archon would dare defy three Primarchs at once.
Junior paid no heed to their reaction. His gauntleted hand touched the adamantine chain at his waist, lifting the heavy tome suspended there.
The Ancestral Lineage Tome, Junior's most treasured personal possession, recorded countless glorious names.
With an impassive expression, he unfastened the clasp, opened the adamantine cover, and drew a parchment decree from between the pages of the lineage tome.
Upon the scroll were The Emperor's personal signature and seal, alongside a single drop of the Emperor's crimson, sacred blood.
This was its most prominent feature.
Beneath it, the Roman numerals of twenty-one Legions lined up in a row, bearing the signatures and seals of Imperial Chancellor Malcador and Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes Constantin Valdor.
"Emperor above!"
Shouting The Emperor's name in unison, even across the holographic projection, the three Legion Commanders sank to one knee and bowed their proud heads.
The Military Conscription Authority!
The supreme authority bestowed by The Emperor upon the Warrior King to rally the Imperium of Man.
Their vision blurred before the gilded script; none had expected this original decree, bearing such monumental responsibility, to be in the hands of the Archon.
Junior closed the aged pages, concealing the parchment scroll's brilliance, and asked once more, "Do you have any objections?"
The three Commanders shook their heads and answered in one voice, "We will execute The Emperor's will."
Wherever this decree went, it was as though the Emperor had arrived in person. The Archon's will was The Emperor's will; trust in the Archon was trust in The Emperor.
The Warrior King had entrusted it to the Archon out of trust as well, believing that whoever received it could bear such a heavy mantle.
From no perspective could the Legion Warriors refuse.
"You still do not understand," Junior said, closing the lineage tome and hanging the heavy book back at his waist, "what kind of enemy the Necrons are."
"They are an ancient, powerful race whose history traces back sixty million years."
"The technology they wield is like magic, capable of reshaping reality at will and subjugating the laws of physics."
"Take a good look at the data I transmitted." Junior's voice was chilly, laced with a frosty edge. "Learn about our enemy within three minutes."
With that, he terminated the holographic communication and directed his focus elsewhere.
"Notify the ground battle fortresses." Junior adjusted the battlefield continuously without a moment's pause. "Overload automated factory output to manufacture plasma, melta, and other energy weapons, replacing the electromagnetic flechette rifles of the Argent Nur elite Legion."
"Pure kinetic energy has limited lethality against Living Metal."
"The automated factories aboard the general supply ships will coordinate in producing weapons and auxiliary equipment, completing a total replacement within three hours."
"Contact the Adeptus Mechanicus, detail the technology of the Necrons, and entice the Tech-Priests into committing all their Skitarii to help hold the ground battlefield."
One order after another surged through the quantum communications network, reaching the command posts of every participating force.
By the time Junior returned to the old glory, the entire battlefield had roared back to life amid urgent redeployments.
The Luna Wolves pulled back their formation, establishing a defensive screen around the flagship Vengeful Spirit, their warships providing mutual cover.
In the space surrounding the Phalanx, the Imperial Fists fleet anchored themselves to their mobile base, establishing a lethal kill zone.
In orbit over the war world, the Iron Warriors decisively yielded orbital dominance, pulling back directly above the ground battlefield to maintain regional control.
Farther out in the starry expanse, green engines trailed long wakes; the Necron warships made no effort to conceal their movements, massing right beneath the eyes of humanity.
Five fifteen-kilometer-long crescent warships lined up abreast, leading secondary cruisers, prowling the stars with haughty arrogance.
Orks, Xenos.
Ahead of the Necron advance, all units were subjected to indiscriminate slaughter.
Junior ascended his command throne and looked down across the battlefield once more, his heart exceedingly heavy.
"Aang." Gripping the throne's armrests, he closed his eyes and called upon his Iron Men partner: "Unlock all warship functions. Iron Men, interface with the warship's intelligence system and initiate full-scale networked operations."
"The enemy's power surpasses all imagination."
"Understood." Aang descended, his diamond-shaped chassis docking into the cogitator cradle, his consciousness sinking into the vessel.
Through external sensor systems, the Iron Men understood the terrifying power of the Necrons far better than any Space Marine could.
Confronted by such an adversary, relic technology had to be unleashed.
While humanity feverishly prepared for battle, the void erupted into a tempest of slaughter.
The somber, grayish-black fleet of the Necrons drifted elegantly through the void, mercilessly annihilating every non-Necron presence.
The crescent-shaped Cairn-class Tomb Ships, due to their peculiar design, were virtually equal in length and width, their flattened hulls etched with circuit-like power pathways.
At the rear of each warship stood a dark pyramid, its engines discharging sickly green, unknown energy.
*Crackle!*
Emerald lightning storms erupted across the cosmos as the Cairn-class Tomb Ships discharged Gauss arcs, reducing Ork scrap-ships to ashes in an instant.
Carrying astounding energy, the lightning arcs leaped repeatedly through cosmic space like living beasts, vaporizing one warship after another.
The Orks were like lambs to the slaughter, wholly incapable of offering any meaningful resistance.
Their shells were still in mid-trajectory when high-speed arcs intercepted them, disintegrating them into clouds of atomic dust.
In the face of absolute technological supremacy, mere numbers lost all meaning.
Thousands of torpedoes and boarding craft swarmed forward, yet with merely a flicker of lightning arcs from the Necron warships, Gauss energy swept the entire sector clean, leaving behind deathly
silent ashes.
The accelerating charges of the Ork warships were nothing more than a joke in the eyes of the Necrons.
Utilizing their "Inertialess Drives," the Necrons demonstrated supreme maneuverability—vanishing in an instant, only to reappear directly behind the Orks.
This near-teleportation agility allowed them not only to outmaneuver foes within a Star System, but also to carry the Necrons across the sea of stars.
The Inertialess Drive was one of the crowning achievements of Necron apex technology—the cornerstone for ruling the stars and sustaining an immense empire.
It was the ultimate method of transit humanity dreamed of: navigating the Realspace completely severed from the Warp.
The Orks were utterly confounded.
The Necron warships were like specters, ghostly and unpredictable; one moment directly ahead, the next on the flank or rear, or even striking from beneath vulnerable ventral armor.
The Necrons' almost showy annihilation was witnessed by the entire Star System.
The Imperium of Man fell into silence, finally understanding why the Archon had ordered the fleet to assume the tightest defensive formation.
With the Orks serving as a cautionary tale, and despite prior knowledge, the various Legions took up the general intelligence reports on the Necrons once more, studying every single word with meticulous care.
The Space Marine Commanders began to realize that not a single word in the Necron intelligence was exaggerated; every statement strictly reflected reality.
The Tech-Priest's bionic lungs ran in overdrive, venting scalding machine oil vapor like a heavy sigh.
From the Necrons, they saw another form—mechanical ascension!
Although the files submitted by the Archon explained that this Xenos race was already dead, and that what now drove their mechanical bodies were merely remnants of past memories,
overall, this mechanical form completely detached from the flesh was precisely the perfection pursued by the Adeptus Mechanicus.
"Reporting to the Lord Archon."
Aboard the Ark Mechanicus, the most prestigious Magos stood at the fore, backed by representatives from all factions of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Before them was a holographic transmission connected to the Bridge of old glory.
"The Adeptus Mechanicus agrees to deploy our fleet and ground forces to combat this unprecedented Xenos enemy."
Magos Vitruvius Morr clasped his mechanical mechadendrites, resting his primary arm against a great forge-axe, the mechanical half of his face failing to conceal his excitement: "Your promises have shown us your sincerity."
"Once the war concludes, the Adeptus Mechanicus will claim our due share."
"Agreed," Junior nodded from his throne, signing his name upon the virtual light-screen.
The accord was struck.
The Adeptus Mechanicus would commit fully to the war, in exchange for acquiring a portion of Necron technology to bring back to Mars for reverse engineering.
Were it any other Xenos technology, Junior would never allow the Adeptus Mechanicus to study it, fearing the insidious schemes of the Chaos Gods.
But since the Xenos were Necrons, that was an entirely different matter.
The ancient race's technology was grounded purely in the physical laws of the Realspace, directly touching the workings of the universe.
Rooted in reality, yet transcending reality.
Ever since the War in Heaven, the Necrons had despised the psychic tricks of the Old Ones, advancing step by step, delving deep into physical science until reaching the ultimate pinnacle.
They had thoroughly severed themselves from Psionic Energy, looking down upon the power of the Warp.
Therefore, taken as a whole, the Necrons' technology was relatively safe for mankind and held undeniable heuristic value.
For all these sound reasons, Junior signed the agreement.
As Commander, he needed a fleet to hold the front line and absorb the Necrons' firepower.
The Adeptus Mechanicus suited that role perfectly.
Just as they usually stood behind the Legions, scavenging STC templates from worlds soaked in the Imperium's blood.
With the accord signed, the communication terminated.
Junior truly could muster no fondness for these half-crazed zealots who worshiped machinery.
"Notify the Adeptus Mechanicus auxiliary fleets," the Tech-Priest turned, his crimson robes swirling like a blazing torch. "Deploy Titans to the war world, and unleash the Cybernetica Cohort."
"Have the fleet alter course, maneuver out of the defensive array, gather the Necrons' behavioral logic, and prepare for naval combat against the Xenos."
The Magi raised their staves and roared, their raspy, mechanical voices converging into a single chant: "Omnissiah!"
All present were shrewd individuals of great power and status; naturally, they recognized that the Archon was using the Adeptus Mechanicus as a shield.
Yet they did not care.
For the promises Junior offered were alluring enough to sway the Adeptus Mechanicus, easily offsetting the loss of an entire fleet.
On the path of exploring science, there was always a need for a few "trivial" sacrifices.
Had time not been so pressing, the Magi would have certainly rallied a mechanized armada from Mars and other Forge Worlds to overwhelm the Xenos.
The Necrons, those filthy metal skeletons, were unworthy of mastering the ultimate mysteries of the Omnissiah; it was only proper that the Adeptus Mechanicus reclaim them.
For knowledge to be wielded by Xenos was, in itself, a blasphemy against the Omnissiah.
Spurred by tangible incentives, the Adeptus Mechanicus entered the direct fray, no longer lingering on the fringes of the battlefield merely providing technical support.
Above the war world, transport fleets entered orbit directly, deploying the Cybernetica Cohort, Titans of all classes, Skitarii, and various heavy vehicles, raining them down like a tempest.
When the shadow of the first Warlord-class Titan loomed over the battlefield, a Space Marine could not help gripping his Bolter tight, muttering a curse: "These damn 'advisors'—did they come here to fix engines, or to wage a war?"
Dazzled and awed, the Space Marines finally realized that the "technical advisors" accompanying the fleet commanded such colossal military power.
In the void battlefield, the Ark Mechanicus surged forward in the vanguard, confronting the armada that had shattered the Ork fleet and was now boldly advancing—
—the Necron fleet.
Magos Vitruvius Morr stepped onto the command throne, linking his consciousness to the Ark Mechanicus.
His flagship, the Truth Seeker, was forged in the foundries of Mars, an embodiment of the Omnissiah's will.
"All weapon systems unlocked; entering combat engagement mode."
As his will merged with the Machine Spirit, the Tech-Priest's mastery over the warship reached an unprecedented degree.
Within the mind-link, the data streams of the Machine Spirit surged like boiling liquid steel, a powerful, singular command impulse washing over his consciousness time and again—the primal yearning ingrained in every Ark Mechanicus upon its birth: the pursuit of knowledge.
"Human?"
An inquiring greeting echoed directly across the Ark's Bridge, drawing countless startled gazes.
A holographic projection forcibly manifested, garbled code piecing together into a metal skeleton.
Unlike the infantry on the surface, its head lacked eyes; in their place was mounted a glowing green orb, swirling with incomprehensible data runes.
The astonishment of the Magi and Tech-Priests stemmed from this abrupt intrusion by the Xenos race.
They had failed to detect the origin of the Necron signal, as the warship's data flow remained as clean as ever.
"Xenos?!" Magos Morr demanded harshly.
Known as the "Forge Anvil," he was a master of heavy forging and Titan maintenance; his temperament was nothing like that of ordinary Magi, brimming instead with the volatile fury of flame and molten iron.
With his flagship breached and the Machine Spirit transmitting displeasure, Magos Morr naturally gave the intruder no quarter.
"Creations of the Old Ones," the mechanical skeleton hummed, looking up and down at the half-machine, half-organic being before it, disdain dripping from its voice. "Inferior beings, imitating the bodies of our race with crude machinery."
"You should consider yourself fortunate."
The flickering projection zoomed out, revealing a complete metallic chassis with a ring of chronocubes draped around its neck: "I, Cryptek Senet, have been commanded by the Phaeron to observe humanity."
The Cryptek's bearing was haughty, assuming an attitude of supreme condescension.
"Then you, too, should consider yourself fortunate," Magos Morr retorted without yielding an inch, his sizzling mechanical vox barking back: "For it is I, Vitruvius Morr, who shall bring about your destruction."
"Your constructs will be dismantled, your alloys analyzed, and your Tomb Worlds smelted," Magos Morr's vocalizer hissed. "Beneath the glory of the Omnissiah, you are not even worthy to be called relics—merely a pile of high-grade raw materials waiting to be reclaimed."
"Crude!" the Cryptek spat softly. "Humanity's barbaric inferiority, coupled with your inexplicable confidence, truly comes as a surprise to me."
"In that regard alone, you are far more amusing than those Greenskin beasts."
The Cryptek raised the shimmering blue cube in its grasp, the glowing orb on its brow flickering as its mechanical voice sighed faintly: "Alas, all that you say is mere delusional fancy."
"I walk outside of time; I can alter any outcome."
"With merely the twitch of a finger, the press of a button, I can rewrite the temporal flow of this entire battlefield and forge the rules I desire."
In arrogant fashion, the Cryptek expounded upon the Necrons' inconceivable temporal technology, declaring that humanity had no hope of victory.
"Hmph!" What answered it was the Tech-Priest's contemptuous snort.
"I see your tricks," beneath his crimson cowl, Morr gave a slight nod, picking up an archaic red button, and asked the Cryptek in return: "Then do you know what this is in my hand?"
Senet's projection leaned close, craning its neck to inspect the red button, finally concluding: "A destructive mechanism of considerable potency."
"As to its precise function, through a mere projection, I cannot ascertain for now."
"However—" the Cryptek sneered once more, "holding it, in the words of your mankind, is like an underage child clutching a nuclear launch button, liable to press it at any moment."
"Knowing it is hazardous, yet ignorant of why it is hazardous; capable of unleashing its cataclysmic might, yet incapable of controlling or directing it."
The Cryptek observed with rigorous precision and rendered its verdict, looking smugly at the Tech-Priest, radiating the serene composure of one who saw through everything.
Hearing this, Magos Morr raised his hunched neck, meeting the Xenos Cryptek's gaze, and broke into a cruel smile: "Congratulations, you guessed right."
"With a twitch of your finger, you can alter the tide of battle."
"However—" the Magos's grin grew increasingly sinister, revealing yellowed teeth as he spoke with primal malice, "once I press this button in my hand, even I have no idea what will happen."
"The only thing I know for certain is—we will die together."
Within the light and shadow, the Cryptek's form froze in dumbfounded stillness.
The holographic projection dissolved, leaving behind a hollow parting remark: "Utterly unreasonable."
Watching the fading projection, the Magos curled his lips into a cold smirk: "Madness is a necessary inspiration."
"Destruction is impartial; it obliterates all forms of life, including haughty arrogance."
"Warning to all living beings in the Star System!"
The Necrons used technology defying conventional logic to forcibly hack into the communication systems of all races.
At this moment, regardless of race, whether engaged in battle or not, all gazes turned toward the holographic projections.
A tall, lead-gray robot appeared within the green holographic projection, broadcasting to the entire Star System.
"We are the Necrons, an ancient and powerful race."
No one questioned these words; the Necron fleet had already sown a powerful impression across the sea of stars.
The robot wearing a crown inlaid with three gems claimed thus: "I am Sakh-Nehru, the Phaeron of the Nehru Dynasty."
Its voice was majestic and elegant, slow and composed, carrying the scrutiny of an ancient race: "This is a pre-war notice, born from our race's ancient etiquette, and also an obituary for the end of your lives."
The Phaeron raised the scepter in its hand, pointing at every life before the projection: "Cherish your final moments. Soon enough, you will be nothing more than elementary particles in the universe."
*Click.* The Necron Phaeron severed the communication, leaving behind an arrogant declaration.
After humanity retreated, the Xenos Allied capital relied on its years of foundation and Madam Clara's Psionic Power to withstand the Orks' incessant assaults.
Just as they breathed a sigh of relief, the Necrons crawled out from the underground, launching a fierce attack under the Phaeron's warning.
Beam after beam of Gauss fired upon the city walls, decomposing matter into atoms and leaving behind dark gray hollows.
Under the Necrons' attack, the Orks had long since collapsed into disarray, fleeing in all directions like beasts.
Now, the Xenos Alliance faced the race at the pinnacle of Realspace.
The indestructible city walls were crumbling under the bombardment of the obelisks, with breaches appearing in many places.
The Necron Warriors converged into a sea of steel, advancing in silence, with only the Psionic Energy barrier struggling to hold on.
"Psychic arts."
The Necron Overlord in charge of the assault pointed toward the city ramparts, its hoarse tone filled with disgust: "Sixty million years have passed, history has turned the page, but the glory of the Warp remains sickening."
"Merely petty tricks of the Old Ones." A Cryptek stepped out from behind the Overlord, holding a staff in one hand and cradling a green celestial orb in the other: "Before the might of the physical laws, they are utterly frail."
"Keep the warriors maintaining their offensive pace." The Cryptek's voice was calm: "Three hours from now, blackstone will stand upon the earth, suppressing the psychic arts."
Having experienced the War in Heaven, no race understood how to wage war against Psionic Energy better than the Necrons.
Compared to the Psionic Power they had witnessed, Madam Clara's strength was merely a pawn in the War in Heaven.
Within the Necrons' database, there were tens of millions of ways to suppress Psionic Energy.
"The Xenos have sent a notice of surrender."
Fluorescent light flowed within the Necron Overlord's eye sockets as it acquired information directly on the electromagnetic level, requiring no one else to relay or notify it.
The Cryptek, preparing to suppress the Psionic Energy, asked curiously: "What do you intend to do?"
"Hmph!" The Overlord gave a disdainful chuckle and said contemptuously: "They are not worthy!"
"These damned Xenos are base and filthy. They are low-tier creatures; fundamentally, they cannot even compare to Orks and humans."
"After all, the latter two are both creations of the Old Ones."
"Although the Old Ones were defeated at our hands, they are respectable opponents, and the life form of their creations is half a tier higher than ordinary creatures."
The Cryptek nodded and said: "I agree with your philosophy."
"Then let the Xenos perish, leaving behind a few experimental subjects will suffice."
The Necron Overlord nodded, commanding the obelisks and Necron Warriors to continuously fire Gauss rays, steadily dismantling the city-state's walls.
"My Lord."
Suddenly, the technomancer floating in mid-air cried out hurriedly, a rare panic evident in its mechanical voice.
"What has happened?" The Cryptek turned back displeased, scrutiny flashing within the gemstone on its forehead: "If there is no reasonable explanation, I wouldn't mind submitting your charges and then reshaping your personality."
"Spatial point anomaly detected," the assistant replied hastily. "Coming from a higher-dimensional jump."
"Signal detected." At this point, the technomancer's voice was distorted and deformed by terror, letting out a terrifying mechanical screech: "It's the Flayed Ones!"
As the three words 'Flayed Ones' were uttered, the Necron command post paused.
"Quick! Quick! Quick!" The Necron Overlord completely lost its composure, its body trembling and losing all elegance. "Activate the quantum barrier to isolate the quantum state viral infection."
It issued the order in near panic: "Order the warriors and Destroyers to be on guard against quantum jumps. Elevate the Flayed Ones matter to the highest level; if they appear on the battlefield, blast them into atomic ashes immediately!"
Compared to the Necron Overlord's loss of composure, the Cryptek was slightly more steady.
But in reality, it wasn't much better off.
The Cryptek rubbed its forehead with the back of its hand, wiping away non-existent sweat, its hand holding the celestial orb trembling slightly: "Why would the Flayed Ones seek us out?"
After pondering, it arrived at a terrifying conjecture: "Could it be—?"
The Cryptek turned to look at the Overlord, and the two senior Commanders obtained the answer from each other.
They said in unison: "The Flayed One virus has not stopped infecting with the Great Sleep; instead, it has become even more severe!"
The Flayed One virus.
The curse that the Necrons were unwilling to speak of, originating from the death wail of a fully slain Star God.
At the end of the War in Heaven, the Necrons finally defeated the Old Ones, and the Star Gods also rarely showed signs of fatigue.
To prevent their race from becoming slaves, the Silent King ordered the Necrons to launch an attack against the Star Gods.
They annihilated the Deceiver, the Nightbringer, the guilty gods who destroyed the Necrontyr, at their moment of exhaustion.
Gathering the entire power of their race at its most prosperous period, the Necrons defeated the Star Gods.
Most of the deities were shattered by god-slaying weapons, becoming prisoners of their former servants, suffering humiliation in pitch-black dimensional cages.
But there was one exception, the Star God Llandu'gor.
It was thoroughly killed, and along with the physical laws it represented, was forever erased from Realspace.
Before the Realspace deity's dying breath, it inflicted the most vicious punishment upon the servants who betrayed it—the Flayed One virus.
It released the curse before disappearing.
It was not a string of code, but rather "the underlying logic of reality being tampered with."
Llandu'gor's hunger, madness, and very existence were forcibly engraved into the Living Metal bodies of all Necrons.
The first infected case appeared in the Maynarkh Dynasty, which launched the final strike against Llandu'gor.
After being infected, a Necron's mechanical body would experience phantom pain and cravings: Necrons, which ought to have been insensate, began to feel a hollow "hunger" and "thirst."
This craving was not for energy, but a morbid yearning for warm flesh, fresh blood, and the tearing of skin.
The mechanical body began to loathe the surrounding cold metallic environment, feeling that the Living Metal body was a "cage."
Conversely, Necrons became abnormally sensitive to the scent of organic life, much like an addict craving drugs.
After mutation began, the infected would secretly collect organic spoils of war such as flesh, skin, and bones.
Initially, it might just be as "specimens," but it would soon evolve into "attire" draped over their bodies.
The infected developed bizarre personal rituals: for example, smearing their faces with the victim's blood, or gazing at corpses for long periods after slaughter and muttering to themselves.
Then came the mutation stage, where the infected grew sharp claws.
The most typical symptom was: fingers beginning to stretch, twist, and fuse on their own into huge sickle-shaped metal claws.
These claws were extremely sharp, capable of easily tearing through armor, and would permanently maintain this form.
During the skin fusion stage, the flesh draped over them would magically fuse with the Necron's own Living Metal, forming a bizarre outer layer of half-metal and half-decaying organic matter.
These skin cloaks could never be removed!
After the mutation deepened, the Necron's facial metal structure would distort, simulating a fixed expression of a wide grin or a mask of extreme agony.
They could no longer speak, only emitting hoarse groans or manic laughter.
Finally, the curse was no longer confined to reality.
For unknown reasons, the infected mastered the ability to freely travel between reality and pocket dimensions.
They could vanish into thin air, or suddenly drill out from walls and underground for random ambushes.
At this stage, "flaying" was no longer a purpose, but a faith.
The mechanical body would engage in endless slaughter, solely to drench its form with fresh blood and decorate its shell with skin. Even if this flesh would immediately rot and fall off, they would stubbornly repeat it.
The Flayed One virus became the most feared entity for the Necrons.
Before the Great Sleep, the Silent King issued a cruel command—isolate the Maynarkh Dynasty.
Even though Maynarkh's Destroyer Matriarch was a loyal supporter of the Triarch.
To quarantine the virus, the Maynarkh Dynasty was isolated into the dark Star System, far separated from the sleeping grounds of other dynasties, eliminating the possibility of physical infection.
At the edge of the battlefield, green hexagons flashed in Realspace, and steel warriors with sharp claws and fangs crossed through dimensions to arrive.
Their mechanical bodies were ferocious and brutal, with steel spikes growing from their shoulder armor and backs, and the blade-like spines were hung with the skin of an unknown animal.
Their steel bodies carried a dark red, which were traces formed by being soaked in blood for a long time. They lacked the cold, hard texture that steel should have, and instead looked extremely like real flesh and skin, with rust resembling freckles growing on them.
Flayed Ones!
The moment the ominous beings arrived on the battlefield, their mouths, which should not have been able to open, split apart forcefully. Mechanical cables pulled the lower jaw like ligaments, squeezing out terrifying laughter from deep within their throats.
"Heh! Heh! Heh!"
Hearing this frantic laughter, the mechanical bodies of the Necrons, which should have been unfeeling and unaware, actually felt a cold chill.
"Creak~ Creak~"
The claws of the Flayed Ones wriggled, and the sound of rusted friction rang out, piercing into the auditory systems of the Necron higher-ups like a sharp blade.
They felt fear.
Yes, fear.
Although they had long lost emotions and souls, within their mechanical neural circuits, they could still simulate that inferior sensation called "fear".
"Kill them!"
The Necron Overlord waved its Overlord staff, ordering all firepower to be poured onto its former kin.
"Bzz~ Bzz~ Bzz~"
Innumerable sickly green beams struck, but the figures of the Flayed Ones instantly vanished. The Gauss beams landed on the ground, reducing what they touched to ashes, but returned empty-handed.
"Damn pocket dimension!"
The Overlord roared to vent its anger. The reason why the Flayed Ones were difficult to eradicate was precisely this extremely bizarre dimensional movement.
The Star God's curse of thirst turned the Necrons into hateful monsters and also bestowed upon them the ability to travel through dimensions, allowing the Flayed Ones and virus carriers to come and go freely.
"Roar!"
The Flayed Ones let out inhuman roars, charging towards the towering city walls and launching attacks on organic creatures.
They had no interest in the Necrons, pursuing the scent of flesh and blood instead.
What the Necrons feared was not the Flayed Ones themselves, but being infected by the virus they carried.
The Flayed Ones virus was a Star God curse, active at the quantum level, and could completely not be cured and eradicated.
Once infected by the virus, no matter how advanced the metal body was, it would only degenerate into a mindless flesh hunter.
Moreover, the virus carried concepts, and the infected could not shake it off at all.
Even consciousness transfer would not work!
"I have a plan!"
The Flayed Ones' invasion from the flesh dimension stimulated the Cryptek's potential. The orb between its brow rotated, and it immediately thought of a solution.
"Speak!"
At this moment, the Necron Overlord had no mind to put on airs, and only wanted to quickly expel the Flayed Ones and ensure the war continued.
If the war effort was obstructed, no matter what the reason, the Phaeron would inevitably mete out punishment.
It did not want to be punished.
The Cryptek said sinisterly, "Open a portal, leak the life aura of other worlds, and attract the Flayed Ones away from our battlefield."
Obviously, this was a selfish idea that harmed others to benefit oneself.
Deceiving the Flayed Ones to other planets would inevitably interfere with the battlefield and harm the Overlord responsible for that theater of war.
"Good!" The Overlord's staff landed with a resounding thud, and it agreed without hesitation, "Hurry up and send the Flayed Ones away."
It would not consider the impact at all, as long as its own responsible area was fine.
As for how the dynasty's colleagues died, it was completely outside the scope of consideration.
"Execute immediately!" The Cryptek acted with decisive promptness, controlling an obelisk to land where a large group of Flayed Ones tore open dimensions.
Where to teleport them?
In a nanosecond, hundreds of millions of thoughts flashed through the Cryptek's mechanical core, searching for enemies with whom it had old grievances.
"Eh?"
The Cryptek let out a soft cry of surprise, somewhat astonished.
Just now, a teleportation request from Planet Three had connected to the battlefield coordination system.
According to statistical data and common sense, calculated from the forces deployed from that world, there shouldn't have been an outward teleportation request, and it had come so hastily.
"It's you!"
The Cryptek chuckled weirdly to itself, decisively approving the request and opening the obelisk portal.
Planet Three, the main battlefield designated by the Phaeron, was also the "capital" region demarcated before the dynasty slumbered.
There were a massive number of Orks there, as well as tens of millions of humans.
Compared to this life-barren world, the Flayed Ones should like it there.
"Screeech!"
The moment the teleportation request passed, the green vortex on the obelisk base opened, carving out a cross-world portal in Realspace.
Sure enough, the next second the portal opened, the Flayed Ones sensed the rich life aura, immediately turned, and poured into that vortex portal.
Seeing the Flayed Ones file in one after another, the Necron Overlord and the Cryptek breathed a sigh of relief.
On the other end of the portal was another world entirely.
In the deep lead-gray corridors, green light shone grimly between the architectural gaps, as if one had arrived in the legendary nether hell.
Countless Canoptek Scarabs flew forward, resisting the human warriors' surprise attack.
"What kind of creatures are you?"
Deep within the green corridor echoed the Necron Overlord's unbelievable scream.
It fought while retreating, and under the protection of Lychguard, prepared to shake off the pursuit of the human warriors.
The Necron Overlord had campaigned for tens of millions of years, having never been in such a disheveled state, nor had it ever seen such warriors.
If it hadn't witnessed it with its own eyes, it would absolutely not believe it: thirty human warriors had forcibly punched through the Necron Warrior defense line, fought all the way to the tomb node, and started destroying the dynasty's facilities.
"My Lord! Hurry and leave!"
At the very rear of the team, the Lychguard holding scatter shields and phase swords were fighting against an unprecedented formidable enemy.
"Pursue them!" Further away, the human roars followed one after another: "Do not let the Xenos escape!"
The berserk roar was extremely iconic; it was a powerhouse under the Champion of the Alistair Doom Marine Legion, leading Legion brothers to destroy the Xenos energy nodes.
He hadn't expected that a Necron Overlord was personally stationed here.
"We are humans!" Junior shouted loudly, his footsteps treading on the metal floor, his spear dancing into illusions.
His opponent was a Lychguard, a warrior far stronger than ordinary Necrons.
Lychguard were the bodyguards of the dynasty's upper echelons, frequently appearing beside Overlords or Phaerons to protect the safety of the dynasty's rulers.
They were tall in stature, wearing golden coronal of valor, and their mechanical bodies were not withered, instead exhibiting an extraordinary sense of power.
When the Necrontyr still existed, Lychguard were mostly Necrontyr nobles or high-ranking warriors. After transformation, they obtained Living Metal bodies of the same grade as their masters, far surpassing ordinary warriors.
"Screeech!"
Teeth-aching collision and dragging sounds rang out. The Doom Marine's dimensional spear collided with the Lychguard's phase sword, and the bursting sparks almost tore apart the surrounding space.
Neither side felt surprised, extremely quickly brewing their next move.
The Necrons' phase sword blade was not static, but underwent ultra-high-frequency phase transitions between material space and other dimensions.
This caused its material form, at every single instant, to be in a superposition state of "existence" and "non-existence".
The special dimensional characteristics allowed the blade to "pass through" the target's sturdy armor shell or energy shield, directly "appearing" on the fragile flesh or precision organs inside, causing fatal damage from within.
However, the phase sword encountered the Dimensional Light Blade.
The two hyper-dimensional weapons unfolded in the three-dimensional world, their quadrants rapidly overlapping, and the two different dimensions collided together.
Space split open into a spiderweb from the blade collision point, then healed at an imperceptible speed.
When the dimensional blades collided, Junior's arms exerted continuous force. Under the blessing of enormous strength, the spear directly flicked the Lychguard away.
The moment the enemy lost its balance, his spear exerted force once again, following up with a diagonal slash that split open the Lychguard's head and coronal.
The next second, the Lychguard's mechanical body vanished, teleporting back into the tomb for repairs.
By Junior's side, Legion Warriors continuously pushed forward, while the Lychguard put up a desperate counterattack, escorting the Overlord away from danger.
In the long, narrow corridor, the scene instantly became somewhat chaotic.
The Lychguard held scatter shields, which could bounce back energy shots and physical damage, causing the Doom Marine's shoulder cannons to be unable to fire.
The powerful shoulder cannons were restricted, and could only be used to clear Canoptek Scarabs and destroy the energy circuits seen along the way.
The Doom Marines rushed up, engaging in a melee battle with the Lychguard, fighting in close combat.
"Stop right there!"
The Lychguard chief guard let out an angry shout, raised its shield, and swung its phase sword to fend off the incoming enemy.
Its mechanical nerves were taut, its brain-core calculations had reached their peak state, and every single atom of its Living Metal body was serving the battle.
At this moment, the chief guard's combat state had already reached its peak.
Ever since the gods were defeated and their arch-enemies perished, the chief guard had not entered this state for a very long time.
The chief guard—Mosa—discovered with astonishment at this moment that the hand holding its phase sword was trembling.
This was simply an impossible thing.
The Living Metal body of a Lychguard was countless times more precise than that of a low-tier warrior, and it was absolutely impossible for such a fatal deviation to occur.
Yet the trembling had happened nonetheless.
Mosa did not investigate the mechanical failure; it knew this was a bodily restlessness triggered by a warrior's instinct.
Just like in the era of the Necrontyr, when those short-lived, agonizing flesh-and-blood bodies welcomed fierce battles, their bodies would secrete hormones injected into every nerve, forcing muscles and nerves to operate at high loads.
Now that they had become Necrons, their advanced mechanical nerves perfectly simulated the palpitation, yet lacked the unique terror and shuddering that a flesh-and-blood body burst out with when facing life and death.
Inside the mechanical body, there was only cold calculation.
Within a single nanosecond, the mechanical brain-core provided hundreds of millions of countermeasures against the enemy, but uniquely lacked the all-in desperation of a flesh-and-blood body.
Mosa yielded to the cold calculation, yet due to lingering vanity, it abandoned efficient mechanical swordsmanship and instead used the martial techniques of the Necrontyr era to meet the enemy.
It had a better choice, using a machine's way: mechanical swordsmanship known for its efficiency.
Perhaps driven by past vanity, it chose to use the combat techniques of the Necrontyr era to combat an unprecedented formidable enemy.
"Human!"
The cold roar was devoid of emotion, carrying the gloomy chill unique to the dead.
Mosa's phase sword slashed down with an angle so perfect that there was not the slightest deviation, forcing the human warrior to dodge sideways, and then immediately sweeping horizontally with its blade, dragging a fierce blade-light into afterimages to force back another human warrior.
It immediately raised its shield to resist the human blade of light cleaving onto the split shield, and its proud mechanical voice rang out once more: "We are the Lychguard, the personal bodyguards of the Dynasty Overlord."
"Before we fall, your blades cannot touch the Overlord of the Dynasty."
The chief guard's movements and voice carried a unique temperament and determination as it formed a shield wall with its comrades, completely blocking the narrow corridor.
"Like I care!"
Responding to the Necron's ancient etiquette was an impatient low roar and a charge.
Junior leaped high, his knee crashing into the split shield, and the immense strength combined with his weight forced the Lychguard to topple backward.
The Lance in his hand stabbed down fiercely, piercing through the Lychguard's crown and skull, the blood vessels in his arms bulging as he roared: "Get out of my way!"
Screeech~
Junior used brute force to drive the dimensional Lance, ripping out the Lychguard's head along with its spine, dragging dark green electric sparks as he smashed it toward another Lychguard.
"Fall back!"
The chief guard gave the order, and the Lychguards resolutely retreated, abandoning the flawed formation and blocking the front of the Doom Marine once more.
Their movements were flawless; they were fearless when charging, and without hesitation when retreating.
Junior led his Legion brothers, launching another raid.
The Doom Marines formed a phalanx, holding Lances in both hands, piercing the Lychguard formation at an unimaginably fast speed.
Azure blades penetrated the mechanical bodies, and before the Lychguards were cleaved open, there was no astonishment or anger, only regret for failing their duty.
From the previous exchanges, they had already perceived that their mechanical bodies could not keep up with the human warriors in terms of reaction speed.
Innumerable tactics were stored in their mechanical brain-cores, but their bodies could not keep up with their thoughts, leaving them completely helpless.
Another row of Lychguards fell, and the shield phalanx retreated once more, covering the Dynasty Overlord as it headed toward the portal.
"Move aside!"
Junior roared, slamming into the Necrons' dim-glimmering great shield with an iron mountain lean.
His tyrannical strength was like a tank, slamming the blockers until sparks flew beneath their feet, their mechanical joints emitting groans of unbearable strain.
Mosa was in a very bad state right now; its mechanical joints were severely damaged, and various damage reports from its system occupied the majority of its consciousness.
Its phase sword was held horizontally across its armpit, blocking the human warrior's raid.
Suddenly, the split shield felt light once more.
Not good!
The chief guard cried out internally that it was bad; the calculation module in its mechanical brain-core had already fully predicted the human warrior's next action.
But prediction was prediction; its body simply could not make a response.
With a speed surpassing machinery, Junior instantly moved away from the side of the shield, sweeping a whip kick horizontally at the enemy before him.
Mosa was as if struck by a heavy catapult, its two-and-a-half-meter tall body smashing fiercely against the black wall, cracks spreading across its back like a spiderweb.
It slid weakly to the ground; although it still gripped the shield tightly, its body was twitching bizarrely, sparks bursting from its joints and spine, making it evidently incapable of further combat.
Knowing it was the Commander, Junior took advantage of the gap appearing in the shield phalanx, transforming into a black phantom as he pursued, his Lance piercing straight through its chest!
Just as he was about to deliver the final blow to the Xenos, the situation on the field suddenly changed.
"Move aside! Move aside!"
At the end of the passage, the Necron Overlord, who was originally about to enter the portal, directly turned back, roaring as it batted away the Lychguards blocking its path with its staff.
The sudden change caught the two Lychguards off guard; they never expected that the Necron Overlord they had protected with all their might would turn around and attack friendly forces.
The next second, the fallen Mosa's body stiffened, and it cried out to the human warrior in a shrill and terrified voice: "Kill me!"
Its voice was severely distorted, begging the enemy to kill it!
Because the chief guard saw that behind the Dynasty Overlord, the hideous and terrifying bodies of the Flayed Ones were stepping through the portal.
It finally understood why the Overlord had fled back in such a disheveled manner, disregarding its majesty.
That kind of ominous existence—no Necron would ever want to provoke it.
Junior's movements were very fast; his Lance swept up, cleaving open the skull upward from the chest, the movement smooth and uninterrupted, defeating the Lychguard within seconds.
The remaining Lychguards all stopped resisting, charging onto the human warriors' sharp edges to die.
This peculiar shift instead made the Doom Marines even more vigilant as they looked toward the portal behind the Overlord.
"I'm going to kill you!" the Necron Overlord clamored, its stony dark-green cloak dragging straight behind it as it raised its staff high and charged toward the human warriors.
It targeted the most ferocious one, wanting to let that opponent end its life.
Its escape just now was because it did not want to die at human hands and avoid damaging the majesty of the Necron Overlord.
Now it charged forward voluntarily, only wanting to die quickly so it could return to the tomb world to be reborn and escape the terrifying Flayed Ones virus.
Junior wielded his dimensional Lance, meeting the Necron Overlord head-on, his blade of light piercing toward the spine at the Overlord's neck.
The azure Lance swept across the void, pulling out a perfect angle; this strike was destined to be precise and fatal.
With a tear, the Lance blade penetrated the mechanical body, yet Junior froze in place, watching the Necron corpse's head slide to his hand due to the impact force.
He had stabbed toward the spine at the Necron Overlord's throat, intending only to sever the opponent's body control so as to capture the Necron upper echelon and obtain battlefield intelligence.
However, the Lance pierced right through its forehead, completely destroying the cognitive control area.
It was as if the Necron Overlord didn't want to live anymore and slammed into it voluntarily?
Junior's puzzlement did not last long; he shook off the Necron Overlord's corpse, held his Lance horizontally across his chest, and gazed sharply toward the portal.
From the deep green vortex, monsters with spine-sprouting backs had already rushed out!
"Twenty brothers, hold them off! Everyone else, go destroy the tomb facilities."
"Understood!"
The thirty Doom Marines performed their respective duties; twenty were responsible for frontal combat, while the remainder immediately left the line to plant bombs on the Necron equipment.
This was their primary mission; running into the Necron Overlord and Lychguards was truly an accident.
"These things are not normal!"
Junior's voice was sharp as he issued a hurried warning.
The monsters appearing on the other side of the portal used an indescribable spatial jump to dodge the shoulder cannon fire!
Another warrior said in a deep voice: "They can teleport!"
"Not just teleportation," someone immediately added, "These twisted things are completely different from ordinary Necrons; they are more agile and much faster."
He pointed toward the end of the corridor, where the newly emerged Necrons defied the laws of physics, crawling up the walls and hanging upside down from the ceiling, surging forth like The Swarm pouring out of a nest.
"Flayed... Flayed Ones..."
The name was uttered in terror by the still-conscious Lychguard before it swallowed its last breath.
Junior looked toward the sound; the Lychguard had completely died, and its body was teleported away.
Not only that, but as he looked around, the corpses of the Necron Overlord and all the Lychguards were completely teleported away.
Even the seemingly endless, densely packed scarabs were nowhere to be found at this moment.
"Flayed Ones?"
Junior softly chanted the name, finding it rather fitting.
Those barbed spines and cold, gleaming sharp claws were indeed born naturally for flaying and deboning.
He looked at the drawing-closer Xenos, his gaze condensing with killing intent: "Slaughter the Xenos monsters!"
Inside the tomb's corridors, a localized skirmish was perilous in the extreme.
The Flayed Ones, abominations born of a Star God's curse; the Doom Marines, the mightiest warriors in Realspace.
Neither were ordinary beings, and their battle defied conventional reasoning.
Sensing an abundance of vital essence, thousands of Flayed Ones surged toward the Doom Marines' phalanx, the blades on their fingertips glinting cold.
Slash—
Azure energy blades sliced through the air, tracing invisible dimensional filaments as they cleaved toward the Flayed Ones.
The parrying finger-blades were severed like butter, split in two by the energy blades and scattering across the corridor.
In the next instant, just as a blade was about to split its skull, a Flayed One vanished on the spot, teleporting through space to reappear behind Junior, its razor-sharp fingers lunging toward the warrior's unguarded lower back.
In the blink of an eye, offense and defense flipped!
Yet the anticipated sight of gushing blood never came to pass.
As if possessing eyes in the back of his head, Junior swept his spear backward, cleaving the Flayed One into two pieces.
His movements were blindingly fast, capable of executing a hundred strikes within a single second while performing dozens of body rotations.
The Flayed Ones struck ferociously, and their spatial teleportation was elusive and unpredictable. Ordinary men had no hope of defending against them, and even Space Marines found them to be a major headache.
Unfortunately for the Flayed Ones, as they poured from their portals, they encountered Doom Marines!
By the time the first Flayed One fell, twenty Battle-brothers had already slaughtered over a thousand of the twisted Xenos.
They were the sharpest edge of the Legion, having proven their prowess on Terra and followed their Primarch through the Daemonic War.
The Legion Warriors moved with shared purpose and flawless coordination, forming an impassable dam before the Flayed Ones.
No matter what bizarre angle the Flayed Ones attacked from, they fell continuously, their talons never once managing to touch the Doom Marines' armor.
In just over a dozen seconds, the mechanical corpses of three thousand Flayed Ones had piled into a small hill.
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"Something is very wrong," a Legion Warrior remarked.
The issue he raised was something his Battle-brothers were already well aware of.
The corpses of the Flayed Ones had not vanished; instead, they piled on the ground, contradicting the records compiled by their Gene-Father—the death of the Necrons was never true death.
They were supposed to teleport back into the depths of the tomb to reassemble their limbs before returning to the battlefield.
Yet the Flayed Ones had not disappeared. Their dead, ominous dark-red bodies lay heaped together, untransported.
"Fall back!" Junior ordered. "Fight as we withdraw. Don't let the corpses cut off our retreat."
Right at that moment, a transmission came through the comm channel: "The bombs are set."
At that, Junior roared over the comms, "Retreat!"
Boom!
The moment he finished speaking, the ground began to quake, and green streams of energy rushed through the grayish-black mechanical walls.
The Techmarine immediately concluded, "The Necrons are overloading their power engines! They're trying to destroy this place!"
"Run!" Junior flung aside a Flayed One, unclipped a chronal grenade from his waist, tossed it out, and bolted down the passage without looking back.
The other warriors followed, racing out of the corridor at top speed.
Behind them was the stasis zone created by the chronal grenade, temporarily halting the Flayed Ones and buying time for the Doom Marines to withdraw.
Thirty shoulder cannons swung backward in unison, firing dense volleys into the time-dilation zone to accumulate overwhelming firepower.
Once the temporal effect expired, the concentrated barrage would annihilate a vast swathe of Flayed Ones.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Violent explosions erupted as the dual reaction of the charges and the energy overload obliterated the tomb structure, sending a mushroom cloud billowing into the sky above the battlefield.
The thirty Doom Marines picked themselves up from the ground, shaking the dust from their armor.
Junior looked up, only to realize that during their ten-minute raid, the outside world had been utterly transformed.
The war world had become something he barely recognized.
The strike team had emerged on a hill along the rim of the Adamantium Basin, which had now been leveled by the tomb structure's self-destruction.
Along the basin's perimeter, black obelisks rose from the ground, discharging destructive lightning that reduced Orks to swaths of ashes.
In the core sector, the Space Marine Legion and Adeptus Mechanicus forces were holding back the Necrons while simultaneously defending against Ork assaults.
"Chaos" was no longer adequate to describe the current state of the battlefield.
Every faction fought for itself, battling each other and opening fire on anything that was not their own.
The fiercest fighting occurred in the sector held by the Adeptus Mechanicus, where dense formations of the Cybernetica Cohort mounted proactive assaults against the Necrons.
Two distinct kinds of steel bodies clashed violently on the battlefield.
The melee weapons mounted on the Cybernetica automata crushed Living Metal, while their shoulder-mounted solar rays incinerated lines of Necron Warriors.
Yet the Necrons were no pushovers; the battle engines of the ancient Overlord possessed power beyond mortal comprehension.
Centipede-shaped Tomb Sentinels drifted effortlessly across the adamantium ground, shredding swathes of Skitarii.
Equipped with dimensional phase devices, they did not interact with physical matter; rather, they phased through non-material dimensions. While seemingly undulating through the earth, they were actually navigating higher dimensions.
The Exile Cannons mounted on the Tomb Sentinels flashed green intermittently, opening swirling vortices that cast Cybernetica automata into other dimensions.
Razor-sharp claws flared along their centipede-like frames, churning up a bloodbath as they crawled; the screams of the Auxilia were ripped apart as they were reduced to gory shreds draped across the machines' iron carapaces.
"Tal Rasha succeeded."
Standing beside a boulder, a Legion Warrior crushed the skull of a dazed Ork that had stumbled near, flicked the brain matter from his gauntlet, and pointed toward the far side of the battlefield.
Following his finger, everyone saw a Necron pyramid imploding as Legion brothers sprinted out of its tunnels.
It was a glorious victory; with a vital Necron node eliminated, the pressure on the Imperial frontline was drastically reduced.
Junior pointed toward the sky, where impossibly swift Necron aircraft were unleashing immense firepower, vaporizing both humans and Orks. "Our next target."
The crescent-shaped aircraft roamed rampantly and unchecked, for there was no rival on the battlefield capable of checking them.
Even the most agile Thunderbolt Fighters of the Imperial Navy were little more than flying target dummies to the Necron aircraft.
The Imperium of Man and the Necrons did not even share the same tier of technology.
The gap between them could not be bridged by sheer determination or pilot skill; they were separated by an entire dimension.
Countless pilots had sacrificed their lives simply to contest the skies.
Drones plummeted in droves, all to harass the Necron craft and ensure the Xenos could not threaten the core sector.
Seeing the Xenos craft run rampant, Junior marked them as the next objective. The Battle-brothers had no objection, but asked, "How do we execute this?"
"The Xenos technology is too advanced; they don't have traditional airfields. How are we supposed to destroy them?"
His Battle-brother's question left Junior momentarily at a loss for words, unsure how to respond.
Looking toward the core battle zone, where their Space Marine cousins had dispersed into small squads, using high mobility to weave through Necron-held territory and smash energy nodes, he fell into deep thought.
Ultimately, he had made a sound strategic judgment, but had subconsciously overlooked the means of execution.
Human habit of thought was playing tricks on him, assuming that alien craft also required maintenance lifts or staging runways.
Junior looked up at the Necron flyers maneuvering in complete defiance of physics, realizing they probably didn't need airfields at all.
"Young warriors."
While the Legion Warriors were pondering, an exceedingly elegant voice speaking High Gothic drifted out from the shadows.
"Who goes there!"
Almost instantly, the Doom Marines shifted into combat formation, their weapons locked onto the source of the sound.
They saw a number of slender figures in flamboyant garb, walking with graceful strides, raising their hands as they slowly emerged.
The newcomers moved with an ethereal grace reminiscent of classical courts, as though the clamor of war had nothing to do with them.
"Aeldari!"
Junior's voice came through his respirator grille, slightly raspy, as he uttered the ancient species' name: "Eldar?!"
Without hesitation, he swept his hand forward, pointing at the Eldar. "Kill them!"
On this chaotic battlefield, Junior made the safest choice—nip any unforeseen variable in the bud.
"We bear no malice!" The Great Harlequin cried out hurriedly, keeping his hands raised in a peaceful gesture and pointing toward the sky. "Here is our proof of sincerity!"
Junior turned his head and saw hundreds of graceful Eldar aircraft piercing through the clouds, heading straight for the Necron flyers.
When bitter enemies meet, their eyes burn with fury!
The hatred between these two ancient races had spanned tens of millions of years.
The Night Scythes of the Necrons abandoned their assault on humanity and the Orks, banking to face the Nightwings of the Eldar.