After a series of precise calculations, the Tomb Technician quickly reached a conclusion.
This is indeed a threat worth taking seriously.
It seems those creatures who call themselves "humans" do have some merits when it comes to technology.
The accuracy and power of this plasma attack are genuinely noteworthy; even among Tomb Technicians who specialize in ionics, it would be considered praiseworthy.
And yet… the Tomb Technician fell into contemplation.
Freshly awakened, he knew too little about this galaxy to identify the attackers or their weapon.
Fortunately, he had other options.
The Tomb Technician strode on, through the grand corridor, and finally stopped.
His mechanical frame tilted back, regarding the colossus that loomed ahead.
It was a squat black monolith, four arcing cannons crowning its summit, a green glow seeping from the yawning gate in its face.
This was a Necron Obelisk, a terrifying anti-gravitic mobile fortress. Not only did it mount potent gauss-arc projectors, but within it imprisoned a transdimensional gate, able to link to distant Tomb Worlds and ferry troops through.
The Tomb Technician did not wait long.
Soon a tall metal figure, staff in hand and cloak upon his shoulders, stepped from the Obelisk.
Unlike the customary elegance of the Necrons, this Overlord seemed relaxed; he emerged craning his neck to gaze about in open curiosity, finally resting his eyes on the Tomb Technician before him.
"Long time no see, old friend."
The newcomer spoke, voice tinged with life. "Voidbringer Sardon… has it been a hundred thousand years? A few hundred thousand? Ah, I've lost count."
He performed an exaggerated, almost human sigh—rare among Necrons—and continued, "To see you revived and not maddened by the long sleep delights me."
"I am equally pleased to meet you,"
Tomb Technician Sardon replied calmly, studying him, "especially to hear you remain intact and, remarkably, awake so early—never having slipped back into slumber."
"Trazyn the Infinite."
His voice echoed through the vast hall, revealing the name of the one before him.
Trazyn the Infinite, a Necron Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, guardian of history, protector of the Solemnace Tomb World, chief archivist of the Necrontyr before biotransference, and the greatest collector in the galaxy.
Even among the idiosyncratic Necron nobility, he stood out.
Even with his name spoken aloud, Trazyn merely inspected his surroundings with elegant curiosity.
"Don't bother; there's nothing here worthy of your collection."
Sardon cut his reverie short.
"It's not theft, merely temporary safekeeping—wait…"
Suddenly sensing something, Trazyn froze, suspicion clouding his gaze. "Weren't you just revived?"
Do I not know you?
Sardon felt speechless, but after a moment he passed the blame to an absent Tomb Technician.
"Orikan the Diviner told me."
"I knew it!"
Trazyn ground his teeth; Sardon could almost hear him muttering choice Necrontyr-era curses.
After a while, Trazyn finally remembered the matter at hand.
"You rarely summon me; what's happened?"
"Indeed. Canoptek Scarabs woke me. Civilizations that arose while we slept have begun desecrating my tomb, forcing me to awaken…"
Having swiftly outlined his problem, Sardon looked to the Overlord.
"I need to understand those civilizations that flourished in our absence. You, awake so long, should be able to help."
"You've come to the right Necron!"
Trazyn beamed, hands dancing before his chest as though playing an instrument. "No one understands humans better than I!"
Watching the performance, Sardon felt a headache coming on.
Is this lunacy starting again?
Does he need a Tomb Technician to check his mind-core?
An hour later.
After a brief viewing of war footage projected by a Tomb Spyder, Trazyn, fingers stroking his empathic obliterator, began his lecture.
He rattled off the origins and every unit of the Adeptus Mechanicus shown in the hololith with effortless familiarity.
Sardon grew curious: what had Trazyn been doing all these millennia to know so much?
Surely he hadn't been working inside some branch of the Imperium of Man?
Shuddering at the thought, Sardon dismissed it and asked, "What do you know of that plasma weapon?"
"That… I don't have."
Trazyn rubbed his smooth metal chin. "But it makes sense; the Adeptus Mechanicus love to dig out precious relics from their vaults. During the Dark Age of Technology humanity reached heights rivaling our own."
"Finding a surviving artifact would be no surprise."
"I see."
Accepting the explanation, Sardon nodded. "Infinite one, you may go; I have no further questions."
"Just like that, you chase me away?"
Trazyn looked wounded, astonished at his pre-transformation friend. "I don't remember you being so cold, Sardon."
What else should I do—wait for you to turn my Tomb World inside out?
Sardon sighed. "What do you want?"
"To help you, my friend."
"Then, Infinite one, what is the price?"
Without a trace of courtesy, Sardon pressed.
He knew any sign of weakness would let this shameless Necron push further.
"What do you seek? Like Thanasar the Traveller, a tenth of my arsenal and troops?"
he demanded.
"No, no! How could you think that of me?"
Trazyn waved extravagantly. "You misunderstand; as a collector I've simply taken an interest."
From nowhere he produced a hyperdimensional micro-maze, cradling it. "Such a potent relic in Adeptus Mechanicus hands is wasted—they know nothing of historical value and will squander it."
"That is when a kindly collector must offer a little assistance."