Time flowed by, day by day, amidst a state of tense and orderly activity. On Amara Prime, the construction of underground engineering projects progressed steadily. Vast networks of tunnels and fortress complexes gradually took shape, serving as the ironclad foundation for resisting future threats.
However, as the engineering delved deeper, an invisible and heavy pressure began to shroud the entire Orpheus Sector. Every sentient being, whether deep within a Hive City or on the bridge of an Expeditionary Fleet, felt a growing sense of unease churning in their hearts.
It was a primal, wordless omen—a spine-chilling dread rising from the depths of the marrow, much like animals instinctively sensing an impending natural disaster. It heralded a catastrophe that could not be resisted.
Yet, humans are different from animals. Animals flee in panic to save their lives, hiding from the descending calamity. But on this planet, the Death Korps of Krieg and the Astartes of the Astral Claws waited in silence. They did not flee, nor did they retreat; they held their ground on Amara Prime, waiting for the "Death" that was destined to arrive, waiting for the final confrontation with the foe.
Finally, the day everyone had long awaited arrived. The Karakur Twin Suns reached the end of their immense lifespans, announcing their conclusion with a world-shaking supernova explosion.
At that moment, the universe seemed to be torn asunder. Blazing light swallowed everything, and titanic energy fluctuations spread in all directions at inconceivable speeds, warping the Warp and staggering the material universe.
This magnificent and terrifying supernova acted like an ancient alarm clock echoing across the cosmos. Its energy ripples pierced the barriers of dimensions, reaching a fold in space that had been deliberately hidden away.
There, the Maynarkh Dynasty—a Necron dynasty that had slept for tens of millions of years—felt the colossal impact. In countless cold tomb worlds, eerie green lights flickered to life one by one. The sleeping rulers of the dynasty, those frigid monarchs forged of living metal, began to awaken en masse from their long stasis.
However, this awakening did not go according to the Maynarkh Dynasty's wishes. As the first wave of awakened Necron nobles rose from their crypts, the expected order and solemnity were absent.
A piercing metallic shriek shattered the dead silence of the tomb world. A newly awakened Necron noble's optical sensors, which should have been cold and precise, were now flickering with a frenzied red light.
It let out a non-human howl, completely stripped of its former reason and dignity. Its living metal weapons flailed wildly, tearing the surrounding awakening apparatus and innocent Necron warriors into shards, its metal skeleton twisting and deforming under immense strength. After a bout of wanton destruction, the maddened noble's form blurred and vanished into thin air, as if dipping into water, entering some sub-dimension that made it impossible to track.
This was an ancient and terrible curse suffered by a race whose technology reached the pinnacle of the universe—it was known as the Flayer Virus.
Necrons infected by this curse lose all reason and fall into a state of extreme bloodthirsty madness. They can inexplicably phase through dimensions to launch ambushes with terrifying agility. Furthermore, they possess a morbid obsession with the skin of living creatures, delighting in cutting it away to drape over their cold metallic frames.
The Maynarkh Dynasty had entered their collective Great Sleep tens of millions of years ago partly due to the spreading Flayer curse. Yet, contrary to their hopes, these tens of millions of years were clearly insufficient for the curse to dissipate.
Quite the opposite—during the long stasis, the curse had spread across the Maynarkh Dynasty on a massive scale through incomprehensible means. Even the Necron nobles who retained their sanity began to exhibit symptoms: a hunger for flesh and increasing irritability. Morbid cravings for fresh life would occasionally flicker through their core programming.
In the core tomb world of the Maynarkh Dynasty, after the chaos was suppressed, the sane Necron nobles finally gathered. Their bodies, composed of living metal, reflected a cold luster under the glow of eerie green energy.
However, even these ancient and powerful beings could not hide the despair emanating from their optical sensors. A heavy silence filled the tomb hall, broken only by the faint scraping of metal bones—a sound like a silent lament.
The dire situation caused an atmosphere of despair to spread like frost. A senior Necron Lord spoke with undisguised frustration: "The Flayer... it is worse than we remember. Tens of millions of years of sleep have not weakened it; instead, it has intensified. Whether we can last until the technology for biotransference is rediscovered has become a question. Perhaps the Maynarkh Dynasty will march toward total ruin under this terrible curse, leaving behind nothing but crazed metal husks wandering aimlessly through the sea of stars."
His words resonated with the other nobles. They were the most technologically advanced race in the universe, having once conquered the stars and manipulated time and space, yet they had been helpless against this ancient curse for eons.
An even more hopeless view was proposed. Another noble said pessimistically: "Even... even if we do manage to achieve biotransference and change from the dead back into the living, the impact of the Flayer curse will not disappear. This curse clearly does not act upon the soul, but upon our consciousness—upon the thought circuits imprisoned within these living metal bodies. It has gone into our very marrow, becoming a morbid part of our existence. Even with bodies of flesh and blood, the internal chaos and bloodlust would continue to torment us."
Upon hearing this, the entire hall fell into a deathly silence. If even returning to flesh could not offer an escape, then what was the point of the immortality and revival they sought? The shadow of nihilism began to shroud these ancient mechanical beings, threatening to push them into the abyss of self-destruction.
Seeing her dynasty on the verge of self-annihilation due to this deep nihilism, the Matriarch of the Maynarkh Dynasty, Xun'bakyr, finally spoke.
"We, the children of Maynarkh, shall not indulge in such decadence," Xun'bakyr said, her green optical sensors scanning every noble in the room. "The Flayer is indeed fearsome, but we are not powerless to resist. We once conquered the galaxy and held the stars in the palm of our hands. Our enemy is by no means our own despair."
She paused, letting her words echo in the hearts of the Necron nobles. Finally, she announced a new command—a goal that could shift all focus and reunite the dynasty's will:
"The Maynarkh Dynasty will continue the mission we held before our sleep—the extermination of all sentient life other than our own race. We shall begin with the xenos who dared to occupy the territory of the Maynarkh Dynasty in such force during our slumber!"
"We shall awaken all sleeping legions and reforge our glory. Let the short-lived species tremble in fear; let them realize what it means to be the true overlords of the universe!" Xun'bakyr's voice became cold and resolute. "Of course, before granting them destruction, the noble and elegant Necrons will follow ancient protocols and inform these xenos of the situation. Ensure they do not die in confusion, but know clearly who has returned, and why they are being erased from the universe."
As these words were spoken, the atmosphere in the hall shifted. The shadow of despair did not completely vanish, but at least a clear objective had been established. Foreign war might temporarily suppress internal chaos and reignite the "fire" within these ancient mechanical beings. After all, nothing makes a Necron feel the meaning of its existence more than a war of total extermination.