The Emperor’s Angel of Death

In the deeper recesses of the vessel, within a grand, tomb-like hall, a figure with a long chin sighed, though its mechanical organs had long ceased to expel gas, and its fleshless body remained motionless. This was purely affectation, an instinct ingrained over countless ages.

Many newly awakened Necrons found this difficult to remember, their memory circuits blurring the past and present.

Surrounding corridors and conduits emitted a light that bathed the hall in a chilling emerald glow. Pillars and walls were covered in the script of this race, forgotten by history, and like other tombs, it was adorned with cumbersome sarcophagi and obelisks, devoid of function, merely habitual decoration.

Several figures stood within.

“This may be a… less than perfect success.”

The ominous whisper resembled a conspiracy behind courtly drapes. A figure crowned with a tall headpiece lurked in the shadows beneath a pillar, its occasional flickering energy nodes resembling will-o'-the-wisps in a graveyard.

“…The first intruders to violate this great warship.”

“Exterminate them all!”

The Immortal’s deep command dripped with murderous intent.

“…The situation is not optimistic. Perhaps we need to recall some troops from the ground…”

“…That would be an admission…”

“…The Dynasty cannot accept such humiliation.”

Perhaps the numerous whispers finally disturbed the true master of this place. The darkness within the hall shifted, like the formation of a black hole, accompanied by a loud, drawn-out rustling sound, as if air were escaping the lungs of a corpse. At the hall's end, within the darkness of a towering platform, something slowly coalesced into substance.

In an imperceptible breeze, shimmering fragments of a cloak materialized from the darkness with the sound of parchment rustling. A figure then emerged from the shadows, radiating an aura of immense authority. The base of his bladed staff struck the metal floor with each step, until the Necron Overlord’s ornate metallic body, enveloped in an inky cloak, was fully revealed.

Maklann Kuthlakh, the renowned Overlord of the Menekh Dynasty, the legendary general hailed as the ‘Starbreaker’ during the War in Heaven, and the sinister lord who chilled the hearts of countless beings, appeared before his courtiers.

“Hohne, what is the status of the Life Ender?”

A Cryptek then emerged from the shadows, appearing as a gaunt sorcerer, laden with various devices, amulets, and looking glasses, as well as orbs containing unknown substances. A vial filled with liquid alloy hung from his waist on an ornate chain. Upon closer inspection, one could see that the vial contained a red giant star, constantly erupting with flares like an overripe fruit. The vial was secured by some terrifying technology that bound the dying star within it. It was hard to imagine the horrific disaster that would occur if it were to shatter.

“My lord, the ship is largely intact, but there are several severe breaches, and several particle generators have been destroyed. The stellar pulse is also damaged, and dozens of non-critical systems are severely damaged, which may slightly affect speed.”

Clearly, the Cryptek’s standard of “largely intact” was rather high. This was, in fact, a very serious state of damage.

“What of the intrusion?”

“Weak flesh cannot withstand metal. The inferior minds of these vermin cannot contend with the great superior race.”

After delivering a generous eulogy, the Cryptek changed his tone.

“But their numbers are a bit… excessive, and are rapidly depleting our soldiers and Canoptek constructs. They are also attempting to sabotage our monoliths and energy nodes. I surmise that they intend to seize the Life Ender by primitive means.”

“Kill them!”

A white-noise hiss echoed once more, and a tall, hunched figure emerged from the shadows, or rather, crawled out. Its body was covered in fresh human skin, and a mask of stitched-together human faces concealed its own. Hate-filled emerald eyes burned within the tattered eye sockets of the leather mask.

After the Flayer Curse departed, those nobles of the Menekh Dynasty who had been cursed regained their sanity, but their behavior was permanently altered. Now, what drove them to slaughter was no longer the delusion of being alive, but pure hatred, rational hatred. Even donning human skin became a symbol for them—even if they regained their minds, their former comrades would still instinctively shun them, and they could no longer integrate into the old aristocratic circles, leaving them to form their own small groups.

This nascent group had a new name in the Menekh Dynasty—the Flayer Court.

More than a title, it was a self-deprecating term. They were like the lucky few who survived a plague, only to find that those around them still looked at them with horror. More terrifyingly, though the plague had receded, the scars it left behind remained.

The Flayer Lord raised his head, brandishing razor-sharp claws that replaced his fingers, inadvertently tearing several strips from his leather robe, which fluttered gently to the floor.

“Allow me to destroy their fragile flesh!”

Kuthlakh narrowed his eyes, as if two small flames were burning within his insidious gaze, pleased by the murderous intent emanating from the Flayer Lord.

“Go, let blood engulf the enemy.”

Like a hound unleashed by its master, the Flayer Lord immediately turned and raced towards a corridor, followed closely by a group of Necron warriors with similar physical deformities, all heading out to hunt.

As soon as the Flayer Lord left, another noble strode out of the shadows.

“My lord, should we recall the ground forces?”

The somber Overlord shook his head.

He offered no explanation, not even a reply, but the noble simply lowered his head and retreated back into the shadows.

In fact, this battle had become somewhat strange to them. From beginning to end, the renowned World Killer had never stated what they were here to do. At first, the nobles assumed they were here to destroy the vermin, but once they arrived, the Overlord chose to attack the ground first. Of course, this was a common tactic in previous invasions, but even the most incompetent noble could see that a heavily guarded system was not the same as a panicked and unprepared one. Moreover, their fleet was not large, and their forces were limited, and throwing them all onto the ground might not even secure it in the short term.

All of this could only indicate one thing:

The ever-victorious Kuthlakh had likely underestimated the enemy.

“Hohne, what is the status of the Ill Will?”

The Cryptek retrieved a small piece of black crystal from his person, which then projected an image of another tomb ship. Human soldiers in red and black armor could be seen swarming towards a pyramid, shouting madly. Some wielded rifles, others were strapped with grenades, and some even brandished the arms or leg bones of dead Immortals, only to be quickly reduced to ash by gauss rays and lightning bolts. The Immortals were assembled and lined up in front of the pyramid, methodically slaughtering their opponents under the command of a Despotek, while the pyramid behind them swept the enemy with powerful firepower.

“My lord, it appears that the situation there is also favorable.”

“I see. Return to your work.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As the holographic tactical platform rose again before him, the Overlord’s deep gaze returned to the battlefield, watching the massive warship.

“So… is this all you’ve got?”