40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 630 13. The Past of Sovet (V. Two Courts Part )

"It's been a long time, sir," Trazyn said dryly.

Khalil nodded at him, "Indeed."

The conversation between them was brief and calm, just like two old acquaintances who had not seen each other for many years suddenly met on the streets of a strange city one day. They both had something to say, but chose not to because they both had things to do.

And Orikan was confused by this.

Very confused.

His single eye was fixed on the male human, who had slaughtered all of Trazyn's guards and technicians by himself in the three fleeting seconds that had just passed and were not even perceptible to ordinary people.

Their remains now lay scattered at his feet like worthless trash.

Orikan did not think that his compatriots were particularly talented, but they were Necrons after all - and they were as fragile as a pair of flesh and blood, which should have been weak.
A word suddenly popped up in Orikan's mind: glass.

This is a human description, a human vocabulary, born out of what they call language.

Orikan still remembered what to call it - High Gothic, a long, complex, and not very creative language. It was as ridiculous as the so-called long history that the human race always boasted about.

There are finer expressions in the language of the Necrons, of varying lengths, vulgar and beautiful, some sounding like ballads and others as sonorous and powerful as the roar of war drums.

For an eternal race, they need every diversion they can find to pass the time, and playing with language is one of them. In fact, if Orikan's voice machine had not been destroyed by Trazyn, he would probably have started singing by now.

Five nanoseconds after this thought was born, Orikan's neural pathways revealed to him a terrible truth: he was crazy, which was why he had such an unrealistic and ridiculous idea.

He is not a jester, so why should he sing at a time like this to amuse himself and please others?
But why? The astrologer asked himself in confusion. Why do I have this runtime error?

If Trazyn could have known what his friend was thinking, he would have jumped for joy, mocking and laughing at Orikan in the manner of a true jester and clown.

When Orrickan could no longer bear it, Trazyn might tell him the truth. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. He had no way of knowing what the astrologer was thinking, nor could he act as indifferent as he did in the past.

Orikan's problems are not unique.

Program error. Trazyn felt that tiny problem and actually felt a little smile.
Yes, real smile, real emotion.

Different from the fake smile he showed when he got the new collection, different from the sneer he showed when he saw Orikan was furious, and different from any smile he had shown since he became a Necron.

His neural pathways can mimic those vague emotions based on old memories, living metal can make his iron face show a twisted smile, and the voice box can make him laugh with a real heart - it's almost as if he is still alive.

But what is gone is gone.

Librarian Trazyn had died after being pulled into the Bio-Forge by his compatriots, and Trazyn the Endless was nothing more than a twisted phantom carrying his personality and memories.

Anything he had done in Trazyn's name was of little consequence, neither merit nor petty quarrel. Trazyn was dead, Trazyn lived forever, and Trazyn would live forever to mock Trazyn and the Necrontyr.

But now he actually felt a little emotional.

Is this an illusion? Another runtime error, or—

"——The Endless." The instigator called softly, interrupting his thoughts.

Trazyn reconnected his visual sensor and regained his sight, but the operating error had disappeared. He was unable to even save it, and watched this precious error being buried before his eyes.

It is a mistake, true, but it is also a gem, surrounded by endless sands of emptiness.

Now it has disappeared, flowing into the yellow sand.

That's it.

Trazyn smiled humbly, trying to lighten the mood, but the person he was trying to please simply raised his right hand calmly, indicating that he didn't need to do so.

"Discard all this red tape and unnecessary pretense, Trazyn. I did not actually kill these of your subordinates, and your rebirth protocol still stands."

Trazyn nodded silently, slightly.

He fully understood what the other person was saying and what lay behind those words.
But he didn't think this was a good thing, because it meant that Caryl Rohals no longer intended to communicate with him in a normal way - perhaps because he had lost all respect for me?
Well, I deserve it, the Endless thought. I just bombarded their ship.

"I'm sorry," Trazyn said. "I didn't expect this meeting to turn out this way, sir. Although it may sound unbelievable, please believe that the attack was not caused by me."

"Does it make a difference?" Khalil asked.

"There may be no difference between official and political levels, but we don't seem to be in an official setting right now, and we are not talking to each other using our political identities."

Trazyn shrugged with a cautious, yet humorous tone.

"Unless you firmly believe that this nameless cruiser that does not belong to any Necrons dynasty is under my command."

"Doesn't it belong to you?"

"I came here with all the necessary preparations," Trazyn replied solemnly, holding up a finger. "I wiped its identity records, its place of manufacture, and all maintenance reports for the past forty centuries—without telling the technicians, of course."

"Although I don't think they can report to the parliament without my knowledge, I still have to be on guard against others. What do you think, Your Excellency?"

Khalil folded his hands and asked again, "So, how do we solve the problem of firing?"

"A gun overload, a programming error—" Trazyn said, holding up a second finger. "—or perhaps a shady betrayal, a technician turned spy by one of my enemies, intent on slaying me while I was away."

"Would you travel on a ship without a file?"

"The Overlord of the Solomus Dynasty, Trazyn, would not, but the Collector Trazyn would." The Necrons chuckled a few times and raised a third finger. "I should be well-known in the Inquisition and other institutions, Your Excellency. They will believe this."

Khalil raised his eyebrows and tilted his head: "So."

He prolonged the sound.

“So?” Trazyn asked.

"Are you asking me to collude with you?"

Trazyn stepped back dramatically and bowed with human courtesy, then looked up and grinned. "I had no such intention, Your Honor—how did your pipe go last time?"

"Honestly, I never used it once. I don't smoke, Tarasim."

"Perhaps you can give it to someone else. It already belongs to you, sir." Trazyn said calmly. "Do whatever you want with it."

Khalil did not respond to the undead's words. Trazyn's reaction was very strange. Those seemingly humorous words were filled with emptiness that came from nowhere.

The Endless may know many secrets of the galaxy and can easily pull out the crystallization of a civilization, but he does not know how to conceal his true emotions.

Khalil did not go into the issue any further, but raised his hand and made a gesture. The green light emitted by the console was still flashing, and the multiple runes on it suddenly began to buzz.

This meant that they were activated, and then, accompanied by a crackling sound and a flash of green light, two Astartes in black armor stood on the empty bridge.

Despite this, they did not move, but remained completely still, not even breathing.

Khalil approached them and examined them carefully, and Trazyn followed him in due time and did his work.

"I found them on the Banjo-4, sir. However, as you can see, they have erased all the markings on their armor, even the most basic emblems such as the Skyhawk logo have been scraped off. Therefore, I believe that they are the fallen angels that are rumored." "Rumors?" Khalil chuckled without turning his head. "You are very careful with your words, Trazyn, but I don't believe this is the first time you have seen a fallen angel."

"Isn't that the point, sir?"

"What is it, then?"

"The point is—" Trazyn raised his voice. "—these two Fallen Angels are about to end their escape!"

"What? Are you going to use your official identity? The Overlord of the Necrons Solomus Dynasty, Trazyn the Infinite, wishes to hand over two Astartes to the Imperium of Man? If so, I'm afraid I must consult the Primarch Lion El'Jonson, who will then meet with you to discuss the details."

Trazyn was silent for a while, then uttered a number: "One hundred and twenty-eight."

Khalil finally gave a pleasant smile: "Really?"

Trazyn sighed.

"Capturing Fallen Angels is a difficult task, Your Excellency. It is very different from taking one or two dying Space Marines on the battlefield. The first problem I have to face is their excessive vigilance."

"You may not know this, but these people have been forced by the long-term pursuit to evolve an instinct that is difficult for me to understand. Any slight disturbance can cause their tense nerves to twitch suddenly, and then they will disguise themselves and escape without stopping."

"And I'm not the only one in the galaxy who's interested in them. That is to say, if I take a fancy to one or more Fallen Angels, I'll have to deal with the Dark Angels hunting them first before I can turn around and deal with them."

"At this point, they have usually already fled. Of course, there are some who have lost the desire to fight and spend the rest of their lives in some remote place, and some even farm the land. But I have to say that even for such people, it is not easy to take them away."

Khalil nodded thoughtfully: "You are very professional. When can they reach the Banjo system?"

Trazyn looked up with a lack of interest, his eyes flashing green, and he answered in a tone that would be familiar to philosophers: "Forty-six Terra hours at the latest."

"Thank you," said Khalil. "Now, let's talk about one last thing?"

Trazyn was silent for a moment, then suddenly shook his head: "I don't think this is necessary, sir. From any perspective, this meeting--"

A shrill electronic synthesizer voice interrupted him.

"—Trazyn!"

The Endless One looked down and saw a tall shadow struggling to stand up among the wreckage of technicians and guards. It was his old friend Orikan.

But compared to the past, the astrologer now looked much more embarrassed. His limbs were taken from the remains of the guards, and they did not match his specialized body.

Although the living metal followed protocol and repaired the damaged parts of his body, the differences between the neural pathways could not be simply commandeered by his higher authority.
At this moment, the Astrologer walked with a limp, like a malfunctioning servitor with a programming error.

Trazyn almost laughed out loud—did I just call him a servitor? Oh, by the dead god.
"You!" Orikan roared at him angrily. "Explain it to me clearly!"

"What do you want to explain?" Trazyn asked, moving his feet to stand behind Khalil. He put his hands behind his back and tilted his head towards Orikan very gracefully.

"What do you want me to explain, old friend?" Trazyn said, with a look of sudden enlightenment. "Ah, your prophecy. You mean to say that all this is not as you saw it in the prophecy, right?"

"Fuck your prophecy!" Orikan roared, gasping for breath.

Before Trazyn could marvel at his friend's vulgarity, he heard the astrologer speaking with difficulty a long and intricate code, which he soon deciphered, but which, contrary to his expectation, was not a curse.

It was actually just an invitation to link, an invitation that would allow Trazyn to connect directly to Orikan's mind.

The expression on Trazyn's long metal face suddenly became serious. He lowered his head and patted Khalil's shoulder, whispered an apology to the latter who was watching the show silently, and then strode behind him and came in front of Orikan, who had become very tall.

The Endless looked up, staring into the glowing green eyes of his old friend, and suddenly asked, "Are you serious?"

"Hurry up!" Orikan urged angrily.

Tarazin wordlessly activated the improvised link and entered Orikan's mind.

This place was not much different from his own, and from the many Necron minds he had entered and replaced. Just as empty, just as boring, but Trazyn noticed something was wrong at the first sight.

An unnecessary data redundancy, a program error that Orikan was trying his best to protect.

It was stuck between Orikan's personality and way of thinking. The astrologer's self-instinct and self-preservation mechanism wanted to clear it out, but his own reason, or rather, his mind unit, firmly stopped it.

The astrologer held it tightly in his hand.

Trazyn was stunned. He had not expected to see such a scene. He was surprised, no doubt about that. Part of his surprise even came directly from seeing Orikan's persistence at this moment.
The astrologer did what he could not do. Of course, Trazyn could use the saying that everyone has his own specialization to make up for the loss. After all, Orikan was an astrologer, and his control over his "soul" must be better than Trazyn's.

However, this does not explain the whole thing.

Because this data redundancy was slowly destroying Orikan's mind unit, it was initially just a program error that would be repaired as the program ran automatically.

In the past, Orikan would not even be aware of the existence of this thing. But it was a mistake after all, and the price to pay for keeping it was staggering.

For the undead, this is a huge and slow destruction. The longer this mistake is preserved, the more painful it will be.
It's like jumping into lava with a flesh and blood body, Trazyn thought.

Silently and carefully, he touched a part of Orikan's mental unit that was still intact.

The astrologer's words followed closely and rushed into the fragile link, roaring violently, all thoughts mixed together, leaving no room for breathing, one question after another almost drowned Trazyn.

+Tell me what's going on. Why can he do such a thing? How did my emotions come into being? My prophecy did not foresee this scene. Shouldn't he be the evil god of hatred? Why can he do such a thing? Tell me the answer, Trazyn! +
+I don't know either.+
Trazyn sent this sentence in a packet through the transmission protocol. More questions came pouring in, some were questions and some were requests, some were crazy curses and an emotion that had never appeared in Orikan before, which could almost be called crying.

mood.

mood?

Trazyn looked at the data redundancy. That damnable error had consumed nearly 2 percent of Orikan's mental units. This was a terrifying number, and its efficiency would be further improved.

But if just two percent is enough to cause such a huge emotional fluctuation in Orikan, then what will happen when it goes further?
Trazyn exited the link and turned to look at Caryl Lohars.

As if it was a coincidence, the latter raised his head almost at the same time and met Trazyn's gaze. There was nothing in those dark eyes, like a mirror, reflecting Trazyn's own appearance.

His superior visual sensor unit allows him to clearly see every particle in the air, and it is even easier for him to capture his own expression through reflection.
But he actually has no eyes at all, and this is not true sight. It is just a ridiculous imitation of the flesh and blood of the Necron by the Necrons using technology.

Just like his expression, it was all fake.

Behind him, Orikan emitted an unconscious electronic cacophony, the pain of which Trazyn could hear clearly.

This is the truth. Even if it is painful, it is far better than his exaggerated hypocrisy.

"Is our last agreement still valid, sir?" Trazyn asked softly.

"Of course." Khalil nodded.

"I want to change it - I want to change my identity during the meeting from collector, archaeologist and naturalist Trazyn to the overlord of the Solomus Dynasty, the Endless Trazyn. What do you think?"

Khalil smiled.

"Forty-six Terra hours later," he said, his voice low, waves of darkness appeared in his shadow, and an unspeakable chill began to spread. "The gods will be waiting for you here."

(End of this chapter)