40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 635 18. Interlude: Gods and the Dead (Part )
Make a pact with a god, the content of which concerns the future of the entire race.
That sounds a bit fishy, ​​doesn't it?
Some not-so-nice memories followed this thought and flowed into one of Trazyn's neural pathways, then spread to the entire neural matrix. As a result, those long-lost memories came back one after another, and in an instant Trazyn's thoughts became very complicated.

He even had to manually activate a security protocol and roughly stuff all those memories back into the neural matrix.

At this moment, they were like a pile of corpses run over by a chariot, mixed together and staying in a corner of Trazyn's neural matrix. No one could tell the difference.

However, the moment he got rid of the influence, Trazyn immediately showed a strange smile.

He thought it would be hard not to call this a sacrifice. In any sense, it should be defined as such - but if he really defined it as such, then what was he doing?

It's really a ghost. The Endless One sighed and spoke slowly.

"First, I would like to ask a question, Your Excellency."

Orikan almost gasped.

His lungs—if he still had any—suddenly began to ache, all because of Trazyn's actions.

The astrologer almost screamed: "Dead God! Are you planning to make demands before the negotiation even begins? You idiot!"

Of course, no one knew what he was thinking, and the god nodded slightly, causing Orikan to swallow his scream back into the sounder. He breathed a sigh of relief, but soon became nervous again because he saw Trazyn smiling.

The unfortunate metals that made up the ugly face had been slightly deformed in obedience to their master's wishes, and their excellent qualities made Trazyn's smile look very obvious at this moment.

Orikan was furious—yes, furious at what Trazyn hadn't said, what he hadn't done.

It turns out that he was right and he should be angry.

In his anger, Trazyn slowly raised his left hand, pointed it precisely at him, and then spoke loudly in the darkness.

"I want to know what that little glitch in my friend's neural matrix is ​​all about—"

Orikan interrupted him with a trembling voice: "--That's not a mistake."

He received a look from Trazyn, one full of confusion and displeasure.

Screw you. The astrologer cursed inwardly. Allowing you to lead this conversation was the biggest mistake of my life.
Facing their different opinions, the god tilted his head in amusement. Trazyn sighed deeply, turned to Orikan, spread his hands helplessly, and a thought came to him through the communication protocol.

Didn't you agree to let me come out and talk?
I wish I hadn't agreed to it! Orikan roared in the agreement. Look at what stupid things you have done!
You are the stupid one, my friend Trazyn said, and then he quit the communication protocol directly.

At the cold and empty prompt tone, Orikan was stunned involuntarily, and what Trazyn did next surprised him even more - he saw the fool walking towards the depths of darkness with a very deliberate and elegant step.

A green light quietly lit up, and the Empathic Annihilation Rod fell into Trazyn's hand and shone brightly. The space around him began to vibrate, and the anomaly caused by the transmission protocol filled the air with high-pitched noise.

A few seconds later, one hundred and thirty Astartes in black armor appeared here accompanied by green light.

Although their armors were all black, the details were completely different. Some were clearly well-maintained, while others were shabby and some were even broken beyond recognition.

Most of the weapons in their hands were in the same situation. Less than one-third of them were well maintained and had sufficient ammunition. Some people even held a bolt pistol in their hands, which was ridiculous, without a magazine inserted.

Trazyn turned proudly, his hands raised, the Staff of Transmutation Obliteration floating in the air, his cloak billowing high.

"One hundred and thirty!" Orikan heard him shouting in the distance. "They're all here!"

Then, Trazyn walked back quickly. There was an expression on his face that Orikan didn't want to see at all. Orikan had seen this expression so many times in the past that he could completely guess what Trazyn was going to do next.
To the point that he felt desperate.

"My level of restoration of cultural relics is pretty good, sir?" Trazyn asked expectantly. "I have done my best!"

"Compared to you, they are not considered cultural relics," the god responded in a very low voice. "Also, you should find a way to improve your occupational disease, Trazyn."

The Endless shrugged generously.

"If I had my way, I would have kicked it out of my mind long ago. I don't keep it for fun, it's a disease that will follow me until the end of the world. Anyway, let's get down to business, sir."

"Okay." The god said. "Which aspect do you want to start with?"

This sentence made Orikan immediately start to doubt whether there was something wrong with his hearing system - did this sentence really come from the mouth of a god? Waves finally began to appear on his expressionless death mask.
Finally, Orikan had to admit one thing: his understanding of the gods and the one standing in front of him were probably different. "I don't think this matter needs to be broken down into too many parts and discussed one by one, sir. It would be a waste of time. I will just get straight to the point: what is the nature of the error in Orikan's mind?"

"Echo," the god said quietly.

He seemed to be lost in thought, but that was probably not the case.

If Orikan was still interested in observing, he would definitely be able to detect what the gods were doing at this moment from those suddenly rising abnormal readings. But, unfortunately, he was no longer in the mood to do so.

echo.

This simple word echoed in Orikan's ears like thunder, and millions of different interpretations were slowly born from it.

There has never been a moment when the astrologer wanted to get the answer to a certain question so urgently that he even had the urge to turn back time to keep thinking and finally find out the truth.
Of course, this was a very stupid thing to do, as even he was willing to admit.

but--

"—what echo?" Trazyn asked.

His voice was calm, as if he was not troubled at all. His approach was much more direct than Orikan's twisted solution, and this time, the astrologer did not judge whether his behavior was appropriate or reasonable.

He no longer had the luxury of such things, and he even began to admire Trazyn's courage in spite of himself.

The god smiled slightly, as if to confirm, and he slowly spoke: "This is the last echo left in the warp by a race called the Necrontyr. It is full of regret."

In silence, Trazyn used his security protocol again, using it as a sledgehammer to beat out the unnecessary emotions in his heart until those old illusions were completely destroyed.

By this time, he had completely calmed down and even had enough time to make bitter self-deprecating remarks.

Perhaps being a Necron has some benefits, at least you can clear your mind in this way. However, in a galaxy like this, the clearer you are, the more miserable you will be.

Trazyn spoke again, refusing to give in—at least the pain was real, he kept repeating to himself.

"So, this echo can be brought out of the Warp and used against us?"

"can."

"At no cost?"

"Is the Necrontyr dead?" the god asked. It was a harsh question, no doubt, but Trazyn thought about it seriously. In the end, he gave an answer that would anger many of his compatriots.

"Yes." The Endless replied solemnly and sadly. "The Necrontyr is dead and no longer exists."

"Then the price does not exist either."

".I see." Trazyn whispered. "So, what impact will this reverberation have on us?"

The god shook his head: "I am not an omniscient god, Trazyn, and I don't know the answer. However, one thing is certain: the echo of the Necrontyr will help you regain your emotions."

mood
Trazyn muttered the word silently, feeling an indescribable bitterness.

His neural matrix faithfully responded to the long-established program, and according to those logics, it extracted the responses from the librarian Trazyn's memories and personality and returned them to Trazyn through simulation.

Every neural pathway in his core was active for this event. But how could a real living creature, a creature that could actually feel joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, so easily perceive every step and detail of this complex reaction?

For living people, emotional reactions are instincts within instincts, and are a mechanism that occurs immediately as long as they are stimulated without any thought.
The self-deception behind this matter is simply overflowing. What could be more hypocritical than this?
Each of the Necrons nobles has retained a relatively complete personality and memory, so they can talk to each other as if they were alive. Their emotions are not derived from biological instincts, but the result of careful calculation.

Trazyn could not help but feel a sense of fear: What would we become if we regained our emotions?
But fear did not stop him from getting things done.

He whispered, "Well, let's start with the most basic conditions."

"As you wish." said the god.

(End of this chapter)