The Emperor’s Angel of Death

#2690 - The Emperor's Wrath

Like all Flayers, Lana saw before her a wretch draped in stolen remnants of biological tissue, a pathetic imitation of the living.

Except, it bore a mysterious symbol composed of white bones on its back, and its throat emitted a white noise-like hiss—it was trying to speak to her.

When she met its gaze, she felt a chill rise from the depths of her heart, the brakes within her system failing as her chest attempted an impossible breathing action, triggering a chain reaction throughout the rest of her body. Deep within her mind, ghostly warning runes piled up, accumulating faster than she could clear them—each signal trembling as it screamed, warning her that she couldn't breathe, but she shouldn't have fear, just as she didn't have lungs. Yet, even knowing this, she couldn't calm the surging terror.

How the Flayer Curse spread was debated even among the Tech-priests. Some said it was through contact, others that mere eye contact was enough to infect, and a darker theory suggested that the Flayer Curse was already embedded in the memory circuits of every Necron, that all were 'infected,' and the Flayers were merely the 'symptomatic.' This was undoubtedly the most terrifying possibility because there was little left that could frighten the fully metalized Necrons. The Flesh Curse was one of those things. Those cursed Necrons would tirelessly search for the flesh they once possessed in eternal darkness. They didn't know their bodies had long perished, but they could sense that the shelter that once sustained them, providing warmth and nourishment, was gone. Receiving only residual mental stimuli, they would gradually descend into madness.

Even more terrifying was that the curse could lie dormant for a very, very long time—centuries, millennia, even tens of millennia. But a moment of carelessness, a slight yielding to bodily instincts, would break the cage imprisoning it, and the cursed one's reason would vanish in an instant.

Such an end was naturally unwelcome to any Necron, and Lana was no exception, instinctively recoiling from the creature.

Seeing Lana retreat, the Flayer swayed, struggling to produce a deathly warble with its former vocal organs—it seemed to be singing a dry, stuttering dirge.

Lana was perplexed. What did this abominable creation want? Was it demanding something from her? To hand over something she possessed? Or was it just spouting gibberish from its long-decayed memory circuits?

Suddenly, broken laughter emerged from its throat, as if a ghost had suddenly possessed its body, followed by fragmented words.

"Go Leave Go Leave Away Leave"

All the words seemed to mean the same thing. Lana pondered, and suddenly realized something—she had always assumed the Flayers were chasing her, but in reality, they had never attacked her, and had even created much chaos to help her escape.

And their current behavior seemed to support this. They clearly had opportunities to attack, but they didn't, instead acting as if they were protecting her here.

If something was indeed using them to convey a message, did that mean it wanted her to leave? To leave this world?

Just as when she had arrived, as Lana pondered, the Flayers quietly retreated into the darkness, vanishing without a trace.

Why were they so eager for her to leave?

Did they not want the item to fall back into the hands of the Nhah Dynasty?

Lana took out the skull again, gazing at the ruby-filled eye sockets. The eerie palace suddenly appeared around her like flickering images, startling her, and she quickly put it away.

"It's true, I should leave. It just so happens these humans have reinforcements. If I could just sneak onto their ship…"

Contemplating her next move, Lana jumped onto Rose's back, and the Canoptek Spider rapidly moved, quickly disappearing into the complex tunnels.

Less than ten minutes after Lana left, a tall figure cloaked in shadows appeared in the cavern, approaching the spot where the Deathmark Flayer had been crouching, and touched the blood and gore on the stone with a blue-gauntleted right hand.

"Just left. No signs of a fight. So, they've been following something all along."

As he spoke, several slender figures leaped down beside him with extreme speed but in an elegantly silent manner.

"All squads, thoroughly search the nearby tunnels."

Ockham relayed the orders while approaching the area where Lana had been, and squatted down, his fingers brushing over the marks on the ground. Familiar with Necron constructs, he identified them as the tracks of a Canoptek Spider.

"The priority is a large, multi-legged machine, or rather, a Canoptek Spider."

"The Flayer Skull must not leave this world."

In the palace illuminated by green flames, Phaeron Boeot stood before his throne, holding his ornate scepter. The dynasty's nobles and Tech-priests stood scattered on their respective tiers, with Lychguard arrayed in formations on either side of the great hall, like statues.

And on the avenue before the throne stood three tall figures, clad in heavy armor, wielding bladed scepters, with unique equipment on their backs. The one standing at the forefront of the three spoke.

"This is not permitted."

"Permitted?"

Boeot abruptly raised his tone, like a clear bell. The emerald flames that had been slowly burning like dying embers in a furnace between his ribs were reignited as his fury surged from his memory circuits, spreading to every energy node on his body.

As the light intensified, a new star shone like an emerald, illuminating the throne and making his gleaming silver shell even more radiant, the dotted energy nodes across his body resembling a green star chart composed on a flashing panel.

The Phaeron's anger caused all the surrounding courtiers to lower their heads.

"If you were not Triarch Praetorians, you would have lost your head for those words! No one can command me! Not even Szarekh himself, let alone you!"

However, the Triarch Praetorians remained unmoved, only saying grimly:

"Choose your next words carefully; they represent the future fate of the Nhah Dynasty."

"Insolence!"

A crowned general pointed at them and rebuked.

"Kneel, apologize for your impudence! And beg for forgiveness!"

But they didn't even glance at him, only continuing to gaze at Boeot.

After a moment, the Phaeron raised the scepter in his hand, ordering the enraged crowned general to silence.

"If your eyes are not damaged, you can see that we have been trying to capture her."

"I am merely emphasizing the outcome."

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