Chapter 883 - 882

Zahndrekh bowed even lower.

He seemed to be offering this reawakened ancient city, this city that had crawled back from the abyss, the deepest submission he had shown any being in millions of years.

"Praise the stars. Praise our civilization..."

He whispered softly as the scene before him became entangled with ancient memories deep within his data-logic.

"I have witnessed it. With my own eyes... I have witnessed that we were once... living beings."

A breeze swept in from the distant desert, passing over the pyramid complex and stirring the tattered linen covering Zahndrekh's head. The clamor in the streets continued unabated.

The Nemesor remained rooted to the spot, staring blankly ahead.

He stood at the edge of history, silently weeping for a civilization that had finally begun to sprout anew.

He desperately wanted to break down and sob, but he had no tears.

At some point, Eden had quietly disappeared.

He had accomplished his objective, so there was little reason for him to remain. It would be better to let Zahndrekh experience all of this by himself.

Eden had left the choice in the Nemesor's hands.

He trusted that the wise old commander had already realized the benefits of possessing emotions, as well as the magnitude of the blessing the new god had bestowed upon the Necrontyr.

"The Necrontyr need a new god. It is their only hope of salvation."

Eden knew Zahndrekh would make the correct choice, whether guided by emotion or reason.

It took a long time for Zahndrekh's emotions to settle.

When he finally spoke, his voice was extraordinarily lucid. He understood exactly what he had received.

"Obyron, walk through the city with me, just as we did in the old days."

Like every other Necrontyr here, the Nemesor immersed himself in the city district.

This was not some act or role he was playing. He was genuinely living.

He was still somewhat reserved and unaccustomed to the experience. Even his footsteps were exceedingly gentle.

It was as though he feared making too much noise and waking himself from this dream.

The Nemesor and his vargard wandered through the bustling city.

Zahndrekh patiently observed every aspect of the district. He watched the pedestrians passing by, browsed the goods in the shops, and even crouched beside Necrontyr merchants to speak with them.

He wanted to understand them as thoroughly as possible. His only regret was that he did not possess any local currency.

Zahndrekh soon discovered that the behavior of these Necrontyr had not been deliberately programmed or controlled. They had simply regained their original identities.

For instance, the Necron Warrior before him had slaughtered countless lives on the battlefield. Before undergoing biotransference, however, he had merely been a small-time merchant who sold handicrafts.

The warrior had never enjoyed war. He had only undergone biotransference because his lord had forced him into it.

After the Necrontyr nobility discovered that the C'tan had deceived them, they forcibly converted all the subjects under their command as well.

This ensured that their people would accompany them forever. It also strengthened their armies, allowing them to continue their war against the Old Ones.

There had been darker motivations as well.

Some of the newly transformed living-metal rulers could not bear to look upon their still-living subjects.

The sight made those rulers feel foolish and humiliated.

Of course, the primary reason had been the Silent King's command. He ordered every Phaeron, Overlord, and Lord to subject all Necrontyr to biotransference.

Nearly every dissenter was slaughtered.

"The Silent King and those war... warmongers killed us. They made us... lose everything!" the Necrontyr merchant said, his voice broken and indistinct.

The great new god and his Divine Emissary had restored his freedom, allowing him to resume his life whenever he was not at war.

Zahndrekh gradually fell silent as he listened to the grievances of a Necrontyr commoner.

As a member of the nobility, he could offer no rebuttal.

Nor could he explain that the Necrontyr Empire's prolonged fragmentation had forced its rulers to create a new enemy, if only to prevent the endless internal conflicts from consuming them.

The entire race had been trapped in irreconcilable contradictions. This outcome had become unavoidable, and no one possessed the power to stop it.

Every dissenter had already been torn apart.

The Necrontyr had long since grown weary of their endless wars against one another. They wanted it all to end, even if ending it required an even greater war.

If the Necrontyr Empire could unite in the face of an external threat and defeat that enemy, then the empire would finally overcome its divisions and usher in an age of unprecedented glory.

Unfortunately, the Triarch had been too arrogant and self-assured.

They wagered the fate of their entire race and foolishly chose the Old Ones, an enemy far beyond their strength.

That decision marked the beginning of everything's collapse.

Yet no matter how they attempted to explain it, the Necrontyr Empire's decline had begun with the greed of its nobles. They coveted more territory and resources, but could never agree on how to divide them.

That ultimately led to the Wars of Secession.

The entire Necrontyr race had been forced to bear the consequences. No one had escaped unscathed.

In this merciless galaxy, the Necrontyr's enemies would show them no mercy. The rise or fall of their race determined the fate of nearly every individual within it.

That was an undeniable reality.

After all, the old Necrontyr Empire had enslaved other species. The entire Necrontyr race had benefited from the tribute extracted from those slaves, and they knew exactly what retaliation awaited them if their empire ever declined.

Those enslaved races would never forgive them.

Given the opportunity, alien weapons would burn their homes to ashes, just as countless other species had been exterminated before them.

And yet, the Necrontyr had still failed.

"The Necrontyr committed unforgivable mistakes, and we have paid the price. What we must consider now is how to undo the damage."

Zahndrekh refused to wallow in the twisted history of his people. His race had already suffered a cruel retribution.

Now, they needed to consider how to escape the prison of living metal and bring an end to the Necrontyr's suffering.

That was the duty he was obligated to fulfill as a Nemesor.

It was also his ideal.

Zahndrekh had already glimpsed a possibility.

Whatever else might be true, the restoration of the Necrontyr's emotions and senses was cause for celebration. They had begun to resemble living beings once more.

The Nemesor continued wandering through the city. He experienced the bustle of the residential districts, watched a performance depicting the glorious history of Phaeron Ramses, and finally visited the public baths at the center of the city.

He experienced the joy of life.

He was living within a vibrant city, just like every other Necrontyr around him.

It was an experience unlike anything he had known before.

Zahndrekh now understood what the Sacred Soul Cult and its new god could bring them.

Through some unknown means, they could grant the Necrontyr emotions and physical sensation. Perhaps, one day, they might even restore their flesh and souls.

Those were the very things the Necrontyr had sought so desperately, yet had never been able to reclaim.

...

The bathhouse.

The entire complex had been constructed from a special stone. Intricate patterns hidden within the material sustained the bathhouse's various functions.

Zahndrekh and Obyron sat immersed in one of the pools, experiencing a peculiar sense of mental comfort.

It was a form of therapeutic pool. The water contained minerals, anti-radiation compounds, and medicinal substances that could soothe physical ailments. It had also served as a place where nobles and priests purified their bodies.

The water even benefited their living-metal forms, allowing their bodies to operate with greater flexibility.

Bathing had been an important ritual for the Necrontyr.

Before performing ceremonies or worshiping their ancestors, even common Necrontyr had been required to cleanse their bodies as a sign of sincerity and respect.

"My lord, I must remind you that we are about to miss the final deadline the Stormlord gave us for our arrival," Obyron said.

The command had been issued by the being who would soon proclaim himself the Storm King. Disobeying it might earn them Imotekh's condemnation and wrath.

"What do you think of the Sacred Soul Cult?"

Zahndrekh seemed not to have heard Obyron's warning. Instead, he asked an entirely different question.

"They are remarkable. Their... god appears capable of granting us physical sensation through some unknown method.

"But I remain concerned. After all... it is a god. It must have some objective of its own."

The vargard voiced his thoughts without reservation.

He remained wary, even fearful, of gods. The horrors the C'tan had inflicted upon them, along with the immense emptiness left by the devouring of their souls, remained vivid in his memory.

Obyron looked at the Nemesor.

"The Stormlord will never tolerate the Sacred Soul Cult's existence. He has always despised so-called gods, and he has no fondness for religious factions of any kind."

The Stormlord refused to submit to any being, whether it was the Silent King or a god.

Imotekh believed that faith in a deity would weaken their living-metal bodies and rob them of their ambition to conquer the galaxy.

Not every Necrontyr wished to regain flesh, particularly the most fanatical warmongers among them.

"Furthermore... the Silent King will not allow the Sacred Soul Cult to spread. If he learns what is happening here, he will immediately dispatch the Triarch Praetorians," the vargard added.

For the Silent King, bowing before gods and subsequently being deceived by them had been an unbearable humiliation.

The existence of a new god would also undermine the foundations of his rule.

If this new deity truly appeared, the Necrontyr would be reminded again and again of the Silent King's past humiliation and disgrace. He would no longer be the most exalted being among them.

That sovereign and his supporters would do everything in their power to suppress faith in the new god.

"You are correct. It appears you are not quite so slow after all," Zahndrekh said. "Given the current situation, the Sacred Soul Cult will find it extremely difficult to expand. The moment it attempts to spread into other territories, it will face attacks from both the Stormlord and the Silent King.

"The only reason no one has acted against it yet is because everyone assumes it is merely a madman amusing himself, rather than proof that a genuine new god has appeared.

"But the truth cannot remain hidden much longer.

"I am certain that an unknown divine being stands behind the Sacred Soul Cult. Only power of that magnitude could accomplish something so extraordinary.

"And perhaps that is a good thing."

Zahndrekh shifted into a more comfortable position before finally announcing his decision.

"We no longer need to reinforce the Stormlord. Remaining here and following the Sacred Soul Cult is the better choice. They may be able to revive Necrontyr civilization..."

The Nemesor felt no burden at the thought of rejecting the Stormlord's command.

He had never truly sworn allegiance to Imotekh. His loyalty belonged to the Necrontyr Empire itself.

Whoever could restore the Necrontyr Empire would receive Zahndrekh's wholehearted support.

The Sacred Soul Cult, the Ramses Dynasty, and the new god had shown him hope that their civilization could be reborn.

"You mean that we will support a religious faction and serve this new god?"

Obyron stared at the Nemesor in disbelief.

"Did you not previously despise religion and gods? Moreover, gods cannot be trusted. We have already been deceived once..."

He found that his master's beliefs had undergone far too many changes in such a short time.

"Who said I trusted this so-called god?"

A flash of light passed through Zahndrekh's eye sockets. His mind was perfectly clear.

"No matter how foolish the Silent King might have been or how many mistakes he committed, he ultimately led the Necrontyr in stealing power from the C'tan. In the end, he defeated the Old Ones and prevented our race from being exterminated.

"Gods may be greedy, cunning, and cruel, but they possess things the Necrontyr need. We should not reject those powers.

"What I have always rejected are foolish religious factions that use ignorant faith to turn our people into slaves of the gods."

Zahndrekh looked at Obyron and chuckled softly.

"We have both received something we desired from the new god, including emotions and physical sensation.

"Look at us now. We can speak far more fluently than before instead of sounding like cold machines. We can even feel the temperature of the water.

"We already possess these gifts. Are you willing to reject them again?"

Obyron fell silent.

After a moment, the vargard shook his head.

Deep within himself, he could not bear to reject the emotions and senses he had regained.

They were simply too intoxicating.

"And therein lies the problem. The Sacred Soul Cult and its new god possess many things that the Necrontyr cannot refuse. They represent our people's hope of restoring our civilization and attaining salvation.

"Rulers such as the Silent King and the Stormlord will never allow such a faith to exist, even if it benefits the entire Necrontyr Empire.

"That is why we must do something. Joining the Sacred Soul Cult is our best option."

Zahndrekh looked at Obyron, who seemed to have more to say.

"Admittedly, making contact with a so-called god carries tremendous risks. It may greedily demand more from us.

"But our race has nothing left to lose, does it?

"If that is true, why should we not take something from this new god?"

His gaze became unfathomably deep.

"If the new god proves as greedy as the gods of old and attempts to devour the Necrontyr, then perhaps we can do what we did sixty million years ago...

"We can overthrow and destroy this so-called god, then seize its power for ourselves.

"We are a race that has slain gods, after all."

The Nemesor felt little fear toward the new god.

He had witnessed the fall of the C'tan with his own eyes.

When those lofty gods fell, they wailed just like any other living creature.

Zahndrekh slowly rose from the pool. Despite the scars covering his body, his movements were vigorous and powerful.

"Obyron, it is time for us to get to work."

...

The Phaeron's Pyramid, royal court hall.

Royal guards stood in formation along both sides of the obsidian steps, radiating an imposing aura.

"At last, they're here."

Dressed in magnificent ceremonial robes, Eden stood at the top of the stairs and waited expectantly.

Figures appeared within his field of vision.

Zahndrekh, Obyron, and their royal guards were ascending the steps, following some ancient courtly ritual.

"Cousin."

Zahndrekh stopped before Eden and slowly bowed. The other royal guards dropped to one knee in the same posture.

He was addressing Eden as his senior kinsman, though it was a formal term used among the nobility. His behavior was considerably more restrained than it had been during the banquet.

It was a gesture of submission.

The Nemesor understood that he was better suited to serve as a general than as a ruler.

He could also tell that Phaeron Ramses shared his lofty ideals. Eden held little genuine reverence for the new god and was merely exploiting that deity.

He had founded the Sacred Soul Cult and placed its faith firmly under his own control, all in the name of the new god. By doing so, he was preventing the Necrontyr from becoming the new god's slaves.

Zahndrekh believed that he and Phaeron Ramses could realize their grand ambitions together and restore their entire civilization.

"You have made the right choice.

"We share the same ideal. Together, we will make the Necrontyr great again!"

Eden stepped forward and gently helped Zahndrekh rise, wearing an expression that said he understood everything.

This was the advantage of possessing a cloned living-metal body. It allowed him to quickly become accepted as one of the Necrontyr.

If he had simply attempted to spread his faith as a god, he would have encountered immediate resistance from within their society.

That was why Eden had always cultivated a particular image among the Necrontyr elite: a Necrontyr supremacist who was exploiting the new god and had even placed himself above that deity.

But how could any of them know that Eden and the so-called new god were one and the same?

Perhaps Zahndrekh had some ulterior motive for joining the Sacred Soul Cult, but the old Nemesor could see no further than the third layer of the scheme.

Eden was already standing on the fifth.

Sooner or later, Zahndrekh would be thoroughly molded into the new god's shape.

After accepting Zahndrekh's submission, Eden immediately established a new command protocol.

He could barely contain his excitement.

He had acquired an immensely powerful Necron army.

Now, the next stage of his plan could finally begin!

(End of Chapter)

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